Ophelia
she's baaccckkkk ;)
Member since 5/06 23378 total posts
Name: remember, when Gulliver traveled....
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Re: Favorite poem or poet
I have a ton. I love poetry to read. it's so hard to write.
Lord Byron e.e.cummings Pablo Neruda Edna St. Vincent Millay Emily Dickenson (some of her work anyway) Carl Sandberg Keats Shakespeare Dante Maya Angelou Robert Frost William Butler Yeats Edgar Allen Poe Anne Bradstreet Countee Cullen Dylan Thomas
I am one of those weirdos that loved her high school and college lit anthologies for all the poems.
ETA: the thread is going to kill me
I forgot
Tennyson
The Oak Live thy Life, Young and old, Like yon oak, Bright in spring, Living gold;
Summer-rich Then; and then Autumn-changed Soberer-hued Gold again.
All his leaves Fall'n at length, Look, he stands, Trunk and bough Naked strength.
Seven Ages of Man, Shakespeare All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players, They have their exits and entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws, and modern instances, And so he plays his part.
Acquainted With The Night, Robert Frost have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain - and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night
I Love You First, but Afterwards your Love, Christina Rossetti
Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda. – Dante Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore, E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore. – Petrarca
I loved you first: but afterwards your love Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. Which owes the other most? my love was long, And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong; I loved and guessed at you, you construed me And loved me for what might or might not be – Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong. For verily love knows not ‘mine’ or ‘thine;’ With separate ‘I’ and ‘thou’ free love has done, For one is both and both are one in love: Rich love knows nought of ‘thine that is not mine;’ Both have the strength and both the length thereof, Both of us, of the love which makes us one.
I Wish I Could Recall that First Day, Christina Rossetti Era gia l’ora che volge il desio. – Dante Ricorro al tempo ch’io vi vidi prima. – Petrarca
I wish I could remember that first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me, If bright or dim the season, it might be Summer or Winter for aught I can say; So unrecorded did it slip away, So blind was I to see and to foresee, So dull to mark the budding of my tree That would not blossom yet for many a May. If only I could recollect it, such A day of days! I let it come and go As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow; It seemed to mean so little, meant so much; If only now I could recall that touch, First touch of hand in hand – Did one but know!
She Walks in Beauty, Lord Byron
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
Poema 20, Pablo Neruda (in spanish b/c it captures the nuance, but I also included english translation) POEMA 20
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: «La noche está estrellada, y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos».
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos. La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería. Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella. Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.
Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla. La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos. Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca. Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles. Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise. Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos. Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero. Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos, Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa, y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.
Pablo Neruda, 1924
Poem 20
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example: "The night is shattered, and the blue stars shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines. That I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this one, I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too. How could one not not have loved her great, still eyes?
Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is shattered, and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same the same trees. We, we who were, are the no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that is certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her ear.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that is certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms, my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer, and these the last verses that I write for her
Message edited 8/30/2011 5:17:51 PM.
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TheDivineMrsM
2 girls 4 me!
Member since 8/08 7878 total posts
Name: Mama mama mama....
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Re: Favorite poem or poet
I read this one to my daughter all the time. =)
Maya Angelou - Phenomenal Woman Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size But when I start to tell them, They think I'm telling lies. I say, It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
I walk into a room Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, It's the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them They say they still can't see. I say, It's in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I'm a woman
Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
Now you understand Just why my head's not bowed. I don't shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing It ought to make you proud. I say, It's in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need of my care, 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
Christina Rossetti - Remember Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
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