They are like food for the soul. So, we were talking about soulmates, loneliness, fear…This week I want you to share your favorite poem. It can be in your language. I’m going to share my favorite poem, one of them of course. And you’re always welcome to return to this blog and share another poem. But if you have to single out one poem, what would it be?
I suggest you to post in English/Portugues/Françai/Espanol. But you can also post in your mother tongue. In this case, it will take more time to be moderated, because we need to translate to avoid spam.
Please feel free to put your favorite poem and share with other readers. I selected one Greek (in English) and one in Portugues. They are in the post # 1
Thank you!
Paulo
UPDATE: I am surprised with the quantity/quality of posts. Today I suggested a good friend in HP Printer Division consider publishing around 200 poems that are pubic domain. An anthology by popular vote! He is considering
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Hymn to Isis
3rd to 4th century BC, Hymn to Isis was found as part of the Nag Hammadi find. Paulo Coelho opens Eleven Minutes with Hymn to Isis.
Dear all,
************************************************
Poem
************************************************
What kind of Poems should I write?
What kind of Songs should I write?
What is favorite, popular, like or,
Dislike, loathed, hated creation?
Because, I know only to write,
Should I copy someone’s creation and say,
I like this poem,
Should I run down my own words and create something for fun,
Simple but Keep it Very simple, Stupid!
You are confused to choose your creation!
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha…..
Why are you laughing?
You are very simple in words,
Your poem has very simple tone,
You aren’t got any talent in poetry,
Come on, you can’t write poem,
Please go back and write something
Nice, funny, readable and appreciable,
There were Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet,
There was Pablo’s love and despair,
There is Mirza Ghalib poems and difficult verses,
And you, stand nowhere in between legends, my dear!
Shakespeare play got started, Act II, Scene II,
Romeo said, “Good Night, Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
Pablo was confused and stated,
“Tonight I will write my saddest lines….”
Mirza Ghalib stated,
“He gave me heaven and earth, and assumed I’d be satisfied,
Actually I was too embarrassed to argue.”
Then comes, a poor boy who says,
Life is like a flowing river, surrounded by sufferings and pain,
Life is like a flowing river, bounded by borders and rain,
Life is like movement of waves in ocean, touched by emotions and stake,
Politics, Science, Religion and Spirituality,
Affirmation, Confirmation, love, hate and distraction,
Life is like flowing river, moves along the sides of pain,
I don’t have rankings of creation,
Sorry but I don’t know how to rate,
What a stupid poem said, a women;
Smiling and laughing loudly in vain,
She continued-
What are you writing without any purpose and reason?
You are not poet neither you will ever become a poet,
You have written something funny but nobody is going to pay any attention,
Write something better and write more, Son!
My favorite lines are not of anyone’s
It is my own stupid creation-
As love brings hope in life,
I have faith in your eyes,
When I look deep into your eyes,
I cannot promise I will live with you hundred years,
I cannot promise I will stand by your hundred years,
But
I can promise I will always feel closeness,
When I look deep into your eyes,
Whatever be the lines or creation-
I am simple ordinary writer,
Writing is my simplest of simple creation
*********************************************
God bless you all !
Dear Santosh,
Thank you again. As you might have understood by now..I pay attention to your poems. In Norway sometimes instead of saying wow, we say Himalaya! Reading of your woman above who says; ‘Nobody is going to pay any attention’, I tell her; Himalaya! You cannot claim this. To prove it, let me site one of your beautiful poems, I just had to copy when I read it;
***
Unseen event,
Unheard news,
Unexpected pain and
Unfaithful lover,
besides everything in life,
love remain Unexplained.
(By Santosh Kalwar 2009)
***
love,
Heart
I do not have a favourite poem, any more than I have a favourite book, or a favourite piece of music. It all depends upon my mood. It also depends upon the reading as something I have never been able to do is read poetry. Therefore I much appreciate poetry reading. A couple of years ago I went to a dramatised poetry reading at the Guildford Book Festival, some might call it performance poetry.
http://www.indymedia.org.uk/en/2007/11/384995.html
I will therefore completely ignore the ‘rules’ and instead give my thoughts on poetry and poets I have come across and like.
An Iranian poet ( Hafiz 1325-1389 )
Not all the sum of earthy happiness
Is worth the bowed head of moment’s pain,
And if I sell for wine my dervish dress, worth more than what I sell is what I gain!
Land where my Lady dwells, thou holdest me
Enchained; else Fars were but a barren soil,
Not worth the journey over land and sea,
Not worth the toil
Down in the quarter where they sell red wine,
My holy carpet scarce would fetch a cup-
How brave a pledge of piety is mine
Which is not worth a goblet foaming up !
Mine enemy heaped scorn on me and said:
“ Forth from the traveled gate!” why am I trust
From off the threshold? Is my fallen head
Not worth the Dust
Wash white that travel-stained sad robe of thine!
Where word and deed alike one color bear,
The grape’s fair purple garment shall outshine
Thy many-colored rags and tattered gear.
Full easy seemed the sorrow of sea
Lightened by hope of gain- hope flew too fast!
A hundred pearls were poor indemnity,
Not worth the blast.
The sultan’s crown, with priceless jewels set,
Encircles fear of death and constant dread;
It is a head-dress much desired- and yet
Art sure it’s worth the danger to the head ?
They were best for thee to hide thy face from those
That long for thee ; the Conqueror’s reward
Is never worth the army’s long-drawn woes,
Worth fire and sword
Ah, seek the treasure of mind at rest
And store it in the treasury of ease;
Not worth a loyal heart, a tranquil breast,
Were all the riches of thy lands and seas!
Ah, scorn, like Hafiz , the delights of earth,
Ask not one grain of favor from the base,
Tow hundred sacks of jewels were not worth
Thy soul’s disgrace!
Corazón coraza
Porque te tengo y no
porque te pienso
porque la noche está de ojos abiertos
porque la noche pasa y digo amor
porque has venido a recoger tu imagen
y eres mejor que todas tus imágenes
porque eres linda desde el pie hasta el alma
porque eres buena desde el alma a mí
porque te escondes dulce en el orgullo
pequeña y dulce
corazón coraza
porque eres mía
porque no eres mía
porque te miro y muero
y peor que muero
si no te miro amor
si no te miro
porque tú siempre existes dondequiera
pero existes mejor donde te quiero
porque tu boca es sangre
y tienes frío
tengo que amarte amor
tengo que amarte
aunque esta herida duela como dos
aunque te busque y no te encuentre
y aunque
la noche pase y yo te tenga
y no.
Mario Benedetti
It’s one of my favorites.
Hermoso!!! Mario Benedetti también es de mis escritores favoritos.
Saludos!!!
hi dear paulo
it is one of my favourite poems, was writing by Dolores Veintimilla a ecuadorian writer , i think is melancholy maybe a few sad but i like it .
COMPLAINTS!
And I love him! … The existence of the sun
there was just dreamy soul …
My poor heart lost its calm
since the fatal moment when he found.
His words sounded in my ear
soft music and delicious;
rose to my face tint of the rose;
as the leaf on the tree hesitate.
His image in the dream I harassed
always happy, always in love;
thousand times surprising, beloved mother,
in my mouth a burning sigh;
and so it started in my chest,
him, the fascination of my senses;
he ideal of my fondest dreams,
him, my first, my ardent love.
Without it, for me, the pleasant countryside
instead of flowers presented to me Abrojos;
without it my eyes were grim
sun’s rays in the month of April.
He lived his life imprisoned;
was the center of my soul the love of his,
it was my aspiration, it was my pride …
Why do so presto I forgot the vile?
Is not mine and his love, which prefers to another;
their caresses are cold as ice.
Their faith is a lie, pretending devotion …
But do not deceive me with his fiction. . .
And I love crazy, crazy!
No! I have not haughtiness its abuse;
and if not to forget the ungrateful reach
You arrancaré chest, heart!
True Love
by Wislawa Szymborska
True love. Is it normal,
is it serious, is it practical?
What does the world get from two people
who exist in a world of their own?
Placed on the same pedestal for no good reason,
drawn randomly from millions, but convinced
it had to happen this way – in reward for what?
For nothing.
The light descends from nowhere.
Why on these two and not on others?
Doesn’t this outrage justice? Yes it does.
Doesn’t it disrupt our painstakingly erected principles,
and cast the moral from the peak? Yes on both accounts.
Look at the happy couple.
Couldn’t they at least try to hide it,
fake a little depression for their friends’ sake!
Listen to them laughing – it’s an insult.
The language they use – deceptively clear.
And their little celebrations, rituals,
the elaborate mutual routines-
it’s obviously a plot behind the human race’s back!
It’s hard even to guess how far things might go
if people start to follow their example.
What could religion and poetry count on?
What would be remembered? What renounced?
Who’d want to stay within bounds?
True love. Is it really necessary?
Tact and common sense tell us to pass over it in silence,
like a scandal in Life’s highest circles.
Perfectly good children are born without its help.
It couldn’t populate the planet in a million years,
it comes along so rarely.
Let the people who never find true love
keep saying that there’s no such thing.
Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.
Dear Tina,
What a wonderful poem. Thanks for sharing :)
That was cool!
It’s true, there can be no substitute, these experiences of love must be first hand…but I see no difference between me and the “ones without faith” because I was once an “unbeliever” myself. May love and the light guide them towards greater understanding
Soneto de Fidelidade
Vinicius de Moraes
De tudo ao meu amor serei atento
Antes, e com tal zelo, e sempre, e tanto
Que mesmo em face do maior encanto
Dele se encante mais meu pensamento.
Quero vivê-lo em cada vão momento
E em seu louvor hei de espalhar meu canto
E rir meu riso e derramar meu pranto
Ao seu pesar ou seu contentamento
E assim, quando mais tarde me procure
Quem sabe a morte, angústia de quem vive
Quem sabe a solidão, fim de quem ama
Eu possa me dizer do amor (que tive):
Que não seja imortal, posto que é chama
Mas que seja infinito enquanto dure.
Este é um dos poemas mais lindos que existe.
Erst die Möglichkeit einene Traum zu verwirklichen, macht unser Leben lebenswert.
Only the possibility to realise a dream, makes our life worth living
Paulo Coelho the Alchemist
O amor é um sapo!
O que verdadeiramente ama-se em outrem?Todos empenham-se em buscar o amor dos contos de fadas, velam por princesas magras,virgens,indefesas e príncipes fortes e louros,castelos,cavalos brancos ,lutas com dragões,contudo descobrem pela via experiencial que o amor é um sapo ou uma rã,raramente o amor ocorre entre casais bonitos,ricos,inteligentes e famosos,qual a razão?É simples o amor não é a beleza física,nem a riqueza material ou presentes caros,O AMOR É UM SAPO,prefere locais ermos,possui caráter humilde,é úmido,a emoção personificada,porém internamente é fogo,a serpente kundalini,não alimenta-se de presas caras,o sapo come moscas,assim como o amor,quando se ama,ama-se mais os defeitos do que as virtudes,pois pessoas virtuosas há em todo lugar,mas é “aquele defeito” que nos cativa,e o amor também não costuma falar de si,mas quando a língua estica-se para apanhar as moscas do ser amado,mostra a verdadeira grandeza de si,o perdão é a forma de amor mais sublime.
Atualmente tivemos um grande exemplo de uma forma de amor,Susan Boyle,de uma rã que mostrou o amor ao mundo,cantora desde os 12 anos,disse aos jurados ser um sonho cantar para uma grande platéia,desde jovem resistia a tentativa de cantar em público,a qual era apoiada pela mãe,ela afirmava que “aparecer em público para cantar era coisa de artistas bem apessoados e para mulheres lindas”, com “quase 48 anos” ainda não foi beijada,está desempregada e mora sozinha com seu gato,porém chega o momento,apresenta-se com um vestido humilde,cabelos bagunçados,um pouco nervosa,mesmo sendo cinicamente ridicularizada pela platéia e por dois jurados ao ser perguntada sobre sua idade,diz ser apenas uma parte dela e conserva o bom humor.
O que poucos viram foi que, não foi ela quem cantou a canção e sim a canção quem a cantou,foi uma resposta a platéia e também um pedido de ajuda de toda a humanidade de oprimidos,feios,velhos,pobres,que são discriminados e expostos ao ridículo,apenas por sua aparência,que são ridicularizados pelos seus sonhos,esperanças,porém desde jovens seus sonhos eram destruídos,mesmo que tudo tentassem,as pessoas aproximavam-se suavemente,com sua hipocrisia e críticas ferinas e despedaçavam suas esperanças e sonhos,os transformando em vergonha,e ainda assim os humilhados persistem e carregam os sonhos consigo por toda vida, sonhos de uma vida melhor que o inferno em que vivem,mas as pessoas cotidianamente matam seus sonhos .
Susan boyle é um grito de socorro,um anjo empunhando a espada da justiça e do amor,para nos mostrar a beleza verdadeira,a beleza da alma,provando que mesmo sendo gordinha e desajeitada foi capaz de transmutar os sentimentos de todos que a viram,é a espada de todos os humilhados e excluídos,contra a hipocrisia humana ,ela cantou a música da alma,o amor,mesmo sendo uma rã.
Nunca é tarde para parar,pensar e repensar as atitudes e abandonar os preconceitos,a beleza verdadeira é apenas para os que tem bons olhos e Cristo já dizia: “Se os teus olhos forem bons, todo o teu corpo será luminoso;se, porém, os teus olhos forem maus, todo o teu corpo estará em trevas. Portanto, caso a luz que em ti há sejam trevas, que grandes trevas serão!”
Quem vê apenas o externo,o fútil,verá sempre trevas,porém quem usar os olhos da alma,verá sempre luz.
“Porque o SENHOR derramou sobre vós o espírito de profundo sono, e fechou os vossos olhos, e vendou a vossa cabeça.”Sendo assim,ao renascermos não nos lembrarmos de nada ou quase nada,para que possamos escolher o caminho da luz,da verdade,que não é física,nem famosa,nem rica ou bela materialmente,ela está dentro de vós e é o AMOR…
Link da postagem original:http://victorreispba.blogspot.com/2009/04/o-amor-e-um-sapo.html
Paulo, se me olvidaba este que me fascina
de Antonio Machado
Caminante no hay camino
Todo pasa y todo queda,
pero lo nuestro es pasar,
pasar haciendo caminos,
caminos sobre el mar.
Nunca persequí la gloria,
ni dejar en la memoria
de los hombres mi canción;
yo amo los mundos sutiles,
ingrávidos y gentiles,
como pompas de jabón.
Me gusta verlos pintarse
de sol y grana, volar
bajo el cielo azul, temblar
súbitamente y quebrarse…
Nunca perseguí la gloria.
Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar…
Hace algún tiempo en ese lugar
donde hoy los bosques se visten de espinos
se oyó la voz de un poeta gritar
“Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar…”
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso…
Murió el poeta lejos del hogar.
Le cubre el polvo de un país vecino.
Al alejarse le vieron llorar.
“Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar…”
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso…
Cuando el jilguero no puede cantar.
Cuando el poeta es un peregrino,
cuando de nada nos sirve rezar.
“Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar…”
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso.
besos
Pilar
I dont read a lot of poems, and im not shore that I wrilly understand this one, I just think its beatiful.
“White Birds” by William Butler Yeats <3
I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We fire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky, has awaken in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that my not die.
A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew dobbled, the lily and the rose; Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes, or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:
For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you!
I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore.
Where time would surely forget us, and sorrow come no more;
Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flames would we be,
Where we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!
I love it!..Thank you Silvia from Norway for sharing this poem..It’s beautiful!..I think i understand it but will not explain with my own words for I might ruin it’s beautiful meaning…
oxoxoxo…
lezah
By Rabindranath Tagore
***
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
If your braided hair has loosened, if the parting of your hair be
not straight, if the ribbons of your bodice be not fastened, do
not mind.
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
Come, with quick steps over the grass.
If the raddle come from your feet because of the dew, if the
rings of bells upon your feet slacken, if pearls drop out of
your chain, do not mind.
Come with quick steps over the grass.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky?
Flocks of cranes fly up from the further river-bank and fitful
gusts of wind rush over the heath.
The anxious cattle run to their stalls in the village.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky?
In vain you light your toilet lamp–it flickers and goes out in
the wind.
Who can know that your eyelids have not been touched with lamp-
black? For your eyes are darker than rain-clouds.
In vain you light your toilet lamp–it goes out.
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
If the wreath is not woven, who cares; if the wrist-chain has not
been linked, let it be.
The sky is overcast with clouds–it is late.
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
Theme for English B
by Langston Hughes
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you–
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me–we two–you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me–who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records–Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white–
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me–
although you’re older–and white–
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
Estimado Paulo,
Estos son mis poemas favoritos:
Nada Te Turbe
Nada te turbe,
Nada te espante,
Todo se pasa,
Dios no se muda,
La paciencia
Todo lo alcanza;
Quien a Dios tiene
Nada le falta:
Sólo Dios basta.
Eleva el pensamiento,
al cielo sube,
por nada te acongojes,
Nada te turbe.
A Jesucristo sigue
con pecho grande,
y, venga lo que venga,
Nada te espante.
¿Ves la gloria del mundo?
Es gloria vana;
nada tiene de estable,
Todo se pasa.
Aspira a lo celeste,
que siempre dura;
fiel y rico en promesas,
Dios no se muda.
Ámala cual merece
Bondad inmensa;
pero no hay amor fino
Sin la paciencia.
Confianza y fe viva
mantenga el alma,
que quien cree y espera
Todo lo alcanza.
Del infierno acosado
aunque se viere,
burlará sus furores
Quien a Dios tiene.
Vénganle desamparos,
cruces, desgracias;
siendo Dios su tesoro,
Nada le falta.
Id, pues, bienes del mundo;
id, dichas vanas,
aunque todo lo pierda,
Sólo Dios basta.
Santa Teresa de Jesús
(Santa Teresa de Ávila)
____________________
Campos de Soria
de Antonio Machado
Es la tierra de Soria árida y fría.
Por las colinas y las sierras calvas,
verdes pradillos, cerros cenicientos,
la primavera pasa,
dejando entre las hierbas olorosas
sus diminutas margaritas blancas.
La tierra no revive, el campo sueña.
Al empezar abril está nevada
la espalda del Moncayo;
el caminante lleva en su bufanda
envueltos cuello y boca, y los pastores
pasan cubiertos con sus luengas capas.
II
Las tierras labrantías,
como retazos de estameñas pardas;
el huertecillo, el abejar, los trozos
de verde oscuro en que el merino pasta,
entre plomizos peñascales, siembran
el sueño alegre de infantil Arcadia.
En los chopos lejanos del camino,
parecen humear las yertas ramas
como un glauco vapor—las nuevas hojas—,
y en las quiebras de valles y barrancas
blanquean los zarzales florecidos
y brotan las violetas perfumadas.
III
Es el campo ondulado, y los caminos
ya ocultan los viajeros que cabalgan
en pardos borriquillos,
ya al fondo de la tarde arrebolada
elevan las plebeyas figurillas
que el lienzo de oro del ocaso manchan.
Mas si trepáis a un cerro y veis el campo
desde los picos donde habita el águila,
son tornasoles de carmín y acero,
llanos plomizos, lomas plateadas,
circuidos por montes de violeta,
con las cumbres de nieve sonrosada.
IV
¡Las figuras del campo sobre el cielo!
Dos lentos bueyes aran
en un alcor, cuando el otoño empieza,
y entre las negras testas doblegadas
bajo el pesado yugo,
pende un cesto de juncos y retama,
que es la cuna de un niño;
y tras la yunta marcha
un hombre que se inclina hacia la tierra,
y una mujer que en las abiertas zanjas
arroja la semilla.
Bajo una nube de carmín y llama,
en el oro fluido y verdinoso
del poniente las sombras se agigantan.
V
La nieve. En el mesón al campo abierto,
se ve el hogar donde la leña humea,
y la. olla al hervir borbollonea.
El cierzo corre por el campo yerto,
alborotando en blancos torbellinos
la nieve silenciosa.
La nieve sobre el campo y las caminos,
cayendo está como sobre una fosa.
Un viejo acurrucado tiembla y tose
cerca del fuego; su mechón de lana
la vieja hila, y una niña cose
verde ribete a su estameña grana.
Padres los viejos son de un arriero
que caminó sobre la blanca tierra,
y una noche perdió ruta y sendero,
y se enterró en las nieves de la sierra.
En torno al fuego hay un lugar vacío,
y en la frente del viejo, de hosco ceño,
como un tachón sombrío
—tal el golpe de un hacha sobre un leño—.
La vieja mira al campo, cual si oyera
pasos sobre la nieve. Nadie pasa.
Desierta la vecina carretera,
desierto el campo en torno de la casa.
La niña piensa que en los verdes prados
ha de correr con otras doncellitas
en los días azules y dorados,
cuando crecen las blancas margaritas.
VI
¡Soria fría, Soria pura,
”cabeza de Extremadura”,
con su castillo guerrero
arruinado, sobre el Duero;
con sus murallas roídas
y sus casas denegridas!
¡Muerta ciudad de señores,
soldados o cazadores;
de portales con escudos
de cien linajes hidalgos,
y de famélicos galgos,
de galgos flacos y agudos,
que pululan
por las sórdidas callejas
y a la medianoche ululan,
cuando graznan las cornejas!
¡Soria fría! La campana
de la Audiencia da la una.
Soria, ciudad castellana,
¡tan bella! bajo la luna.
VII
¡Colinas plateadas,
grises alcores, cárdenas roquedas
por donde traza el Duero
su curva de ballesta
en torno a Soria, oscuros encanares,
ariscos pedregales, calvas sierras,
caminos blancos y álamos del río,
tardes de Soria, mística y guerrera,
hoy siento por vosotros, en el fondo
del corazón, tristeza,
tristeza que es amor! ¡Campos de Soria,
donde parece que las rocas sueñan,
conmigo vais! ¡Colinas plateadas,
grises alcores, cárdenas roquedas!…
VIII
He vuelto a ver los álamos dorados,
álamos del camino en la ribera
del Duero, entre San Polo y San Saturio,
tras las murallas viejas
de Soria—barbacana
hacia Aragón, en castellana tierra—.
Estos chopos del río, que acompañan
con el sonido de sus hojas secas
el son del agua cuando el viento sopla,
tienen en sus cortezas
grabadas iniciales que son nombres
de enamorados, cifras que son fechas.
¡Álamos del amor, que ayer tuvisteis
de ruiseñores vuestras ramas llenas;
álamos que seréis mañana liras
del viento perfumado en primavera;
álamos del amor cerca del agua
que corre y pasa y sueña,
álamos de las márgenes del Duero,
conmigo vais, mi corazòn os lleva!
IX
¡Oh!, sí, conmigo vais, campos de Soria,
tardes tranquilas, montes de violeta,
alamedas del río, verde sueño
del suelo gris y de la parda tierra,
agria melancolía
de la ciudad decrépita,
me habéis llegado al alma,
¿o acaso estabais en el fondo de ella?
¡Gentes del alto llano numantino
que a Dios guardáis como cristianas viejas,
que el sol de España os llene
de alegría, de luz y de riqueza!
My favorite poem is a short one by Stephen Crane:
“Think as I think,” said a man,
“Or you are abominably wicked;
You are a toad.”
And after I had thought of it,
I said, “I will, then, be a toad.”
DEFINIÇÃO DE POESIA
Um risco maduro de assobio.
O trincar do gelo comprimido.
A noite, a folha sob o granizo.
Rouxinóis num dueto-desafio.
Um doce ervilhal abandonado
A dor do universo numa fava.
Fígaro: das estantes e flautas
Geada no canteiro, tombado.
Tudo o que para a noite releva
Nas funduras da casa de banho,
Trazer para o jardim uma estrela
Nas palmas úmidas, tiritando.
Mormaço: como pranchas na água,
Mais raso. Céu de bétulas, turvo.
Se dirá que as estrelas gargalham,
E no entanto o universo está surdo.
Boris Pasternak
Gosto principalmente dos últimos versos.
Another poet i like is khalil gibran. i’ll quote here a part of his poems, on children.
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, ‘Speak to us of Children.’
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
Dear Irina,
Beautiful :)
I read this poem in M.Scott Peck’s book “The Road Less Traveled” (one of the best books I’ve ever read) and it resonated with me for years. The lines in this poem inspired me to write one of my own…I would feel greatly honored and privileged if you guys would read it <3
The Archer
Sometimes as a young man, through the confusing jungle of rules, I didn’t know what to believe. The world seemed hostile and I felt paranoid, insecure and scared. Seeking refuge from my misery, I fled to the ocean where something lying on the shore caught my eye. It was serendipitous that night when I was graced with that bow and arrow that awakened the warrior inside.
Abandoned by another, I picked you up from fallen ground. I observed your contours with beauty, awe and appreciation. Opening my heart to you gave my life renewed purpose and meaning. As I held you in my hands and arms, I looked forward to our future together. Growing up I hardly ever had much; I felt so grateful to have you.
I never knew that an arrow could break down walls until I saw mine collapse within. I treated you like a jewel, devoted my attention to your different dimensions and gained deep knowledge and respect for you. Trust, responsibility and care united us in action in the fields. Through days of snow, sun, and rain you were at my side to my rescue and I was there to guide your way. I developed a stable foundation, stronger courage and clearer conscious interacting with you. I came to need you because I loved being with you. I thanked you for having shown me so much about myself.
Treading up and down hills, through dark woods and turbulent waters, time served as our stepping stones. The more we stumbled unlocked our potential to dance along the trails in synchronized movement. Despite prospective storms looming on the horizon, I saw through the clouds of adversity and learned to carry on with happiness. Looking towards clear blue skies, I know each day is a gift and that every moment is significant.
We had survived many battles in the arena of life. As an archer we give our hearts, but not necessarily to each others’ keeping. Prior to firing, I see the path before the arrow as infinite. I whisper, “You have value and goodness to you. You deserve the best.” Through our relationship I realized there’s no gaining or losing in life, only greater understanding. I now believe in love and the only failure through it is if we quit.
I felt tension grow as I pulled the arrow back. Releasing all feelings of attachment and dependency, I let go. And even though I lose sight of the arrow, I have faith in where you’ll go. I hope that you travel far down your path of life and that your aim meets your mark…
This is my favorite poem of all time.
e.e. cummings – somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
Dear Wendy,
I love EE Cummings. I just posted another poem :)
Lost
Stand still.
The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost.
Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes.
Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost.
Stand still.
The forest knows
Where you are.
You must let it find you.
*David Wagner
Dear Eva,
Absolutely lovely :)
Lost Angel
Pray to all the Angels outside.
Dont pray for her.
Cause I am praying.
Dont cry for her.
Cause I am crying.
Dont wait for her.
Cause I am waiting.
Dont hope, dont try.
Cause I am hoepfully trying.
Trying to keep the one,
you are searching for.
Trying to show the one,
I am feeling for.
I pray for your lost angel.
I pray for the sweetest being,
touched by earth.
I pray for the cutest seeing,
left by heaven.
I pray to stay with me.
I pray for my lost angel.
written by myself (Puya P.)
21.02.2004
Dear Puya P.,
That’s really touching. Well done!
SONNET XVII (Pablo Neruda)
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
that this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
This poem make drills through my heart and my soul…
#R;
I love,love, love this poem!!! It just cuts right through me
Beautiful, that poem is great way to describe real love! A+ thanks for sharing!
Olá Paulo, o meu favorito é do Fernando Pessoa:
“Tudo vale a pena se a alma não é pequena:
Ó mar salgado, quanto do teu sal
São lágrimas de Portugal!
Por te cruzarmos, quantas mães choraram,
Quantos filhos em vão rezaram!
Quantas noivas ficaram por casar
Para que fosses nosso, ó mar!
Valeu a pena? Tudo vale a pena
Se a alma não é pequena.
Quem quer passar além do Bojador
Tem que passar além da dor.
Deus ao mar o perigo e o abismo deu,
Mas nele é que espelhou o céu.”
Abraços grandes!
Mar sonoro
Mar sonoro, mar sem fundo, mar sem fim.
A tua beleza aumenta quando estamos sós
E tão fundo intimamente a tua voz
Segue o mais secreto bailar do meu sonho.
Que momentos há em que eu suponho
Seres um milagre criado só para mim.
Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen
Dear Paulo….I have many ..but for today I will give my top favourite….
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by William Butler Yeats
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet:
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
with love to you Paulo……Angela
The Protection of Poseidon
Eyes that overflow
an ocean of sorrow
there at the bottom I pick pearls
line them up on the beach
build sand castles
doing puzzle with mussel shells
quality of life
wearing black veil
the waves swallow my dreams
a vision doesn’t last long
the thunder follows on
tears down heaven and earth
hurls its anger
into the sea
the foam froths the water surface white
Poseidon calls for
the horses of the sea
splits open water
I follow the flow
-leave the storm that far
© Linda Garbén
Here is my poetryblog
http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=335359940&blogId=470839973
This is one of them,
Vem är du som smeker
min sönderskrapade hud
som gråter dina salta tårar
rakt ner
i mina öppna sår?
Har du inte sett nog nu;
hur stillar man din hunger?
Du har sett mina nederlag,
att jag bottnar överallt
Ser du inte
att jag har blivit större än du?
***
Hello,i wrote some poems about love,and i will post them here:
Amor?(english version)
I gaze your silence as a requiem
I know that I can not feast in your arms
taste your lips
touch your body, feel the warmth of your arms
Tired of trying, and failing to
prefer to live in illusion
you can still exist
Óh love-pain that consumes me more and more and more every time
languid gluttony as languid that I lack courage
to say
I love you?
////////////////////
Você(englih version)
i think in you
i do not know why
i tried to understand
i do not know what?
To know what?
i only know that i think…
E alguns em português:
Amarás…
Amarás e sendo amado amando amado amará mais amor amando mais a sua amada amando o amor de ser amado e estar amando o amor que nos ama e nos faz serem amados,seres amados,seres amando o amor de amar o ser amado e ser amado e ser o amor do teu amado e o amado do teu amor,teu amor do teu amado
,amando o amor do teu amado,amando o amor,o amor será amado,os amados serão amados e o amor vos amará…
/////////////////////////////////////////////
Amor/Deus(uma homenagem a minha namorada)
Procuro buscar nos céus,estrelas,ares,mares,terra,mas não encontro explicação
ora,mas o que buscais?Me perguntam
busco explicar o Amor
será possível?
Prosto-me diante de nossos momentos,delírios,êxtases e até em nossas brigas,nossos desatinos
medito no deserto,no templo,na floresta
nada consegue me explicar como explicar o que sinto aqui
dizem ser dentro do peito,mas pedaços de carne não tem sentimentos
Observo as pessoas,as relações humanas,porém o que vejo é infelicidade,ignorância e brutalidade
isto não é o que busco,busco Amor,e vejo que entre os humanos,ele está quase extinto
vasculho na natureza,vejo companheirismo,mas não é apenas disto que é feito o Amor
É,o Amor não está em nenhum lugar,enquanto está em todos os lugares ao mesmo tempo
ele move o mundo,sem sabermos nem ao menos explicar o que ele é,será Deus o Amor?
Sim,quando nós amamos nos tornamos Deus e fazemos um Deus o ser amado…
/////////////////////////////////
Distância acompanhada
Ah é como uma noiva sem par
é como contar 2 sem ter 1
é como o tilintar de uma taça só
É noite eterna de sofreguidão solitária
ah meu doce fantasma
como é bom estar contigo
Companhia eterna
velada
oculta
minha única felicidade
Meu amor…
/////////////////////////
Uma dose de amor
Ao longe,avisto o Sol
ocultando-se por detrás das montanhas
porém,aqui tenho frio
Nem certeza tenho se algo aqui dentro jaz!
Neste frio que me assola
tudo em gelo se forma
homem das neves sou
ou talvez, seja eu a neve dos homens!
Por que condenado sou a tamanho apocalipse?
ossos se quebram,sangue em pedra se faz
busco algo que me esquente,talvez um conhaque…não!
Preciso de Amor
podes me dar uma dose?
por favor…
///////////////////////////////
Onipresença
E mesmo que não me sintas
sou o vento
que roça teu rosto
que tenta entrelaçar-se com teus cabelos.
Sou o reflexo da água
que sempre tenta fixar-se em ti
para que eu jamais esqueça de teu facho.
Sou o Sol,e seu imenso olho que atenta em observar-te o dia todo
sou o raio do sol
que esquenta os teus dias.
Sou o reflexo da água
que sempre tenta se fixar em ti
sou o suor que escorre por teu corpo em meu imenso calor.
Sou o luar
que ilumina tua janela e tua paisagem
para que atentes e olhe o meu céu cheio de lágrimas brilhantes…
Espero que gostem dos poemas,caso se interessem,possuo textos falando sobre o amor,no meu blog.Abraço a todos,PAX ET LUX!
Helt underbar
Linda
This is my favourite poem. It’s called “We, Reall Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks.
I love how it captures the dangers living life mediocrity in such simple words.
“We, Real Cool”
THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
Dear Alexis,
Great rhythm to this poem. Thanks for sharing :)
Eles não sabem que o sonho
é uma constante da vida
tão concreta e definida
como outra coisa qualquer,
como esta pedra cinzenta
em que me sento e descanso,
como este ribeiro manso,
em serenos sobressaltos
como estes pinheiros altos
que em verde e ouro se agitam
como estas aves que gritam
em bebedeiras de azul.
Eles não sabem que o sonho
é vinho, é espuma. é fermento,
bichinho alacre e sedento.
de focinho pontiagudo,
que fossa através de tudo
num perpétuo movimento.
Eles não sabem que o sonho
é tela, é cor, é pincel,
base, fuste, capitel.
arco em ogiva, vitral,
pináculo de catedral,
contraponto, sinfonia,
máscara grega, magia,
que é retorta de alquimista,
mapa do mundo distante,
rosa dos ventos, Infante,
caravela quinhentista,
que é Cabo da Boa Esperança,
ouro, canela, marfim,
florete de espadachim,
bastidor, passo de dança.,
Colombina e Arlequim,
passarola voadora,
para-raios, locomotiva,
barco de proa festiva,
alto-forno, geradora,
cisão do átomo, radar,
ultra som televisão
desembarque em foguetão
na superfície lunar.
Eles não sabem, nem sonham,
que o sonho comanda a vida.
Que sempre que um homem sonha
o mundo pula e avança
como bola colorida
entre a mãos de uma criança.
(António Gedeão)
The Broad Bean Sermon by Les A. Murray
Beanstalks, in any breeze, are a slack church parade
without belief, saying “trespass against us” in unison,
recruits in mint Air Force dacron, with unbuttoned leaves.
Upright with water like men, square in stem-section
they grow to great lengths, drink rain, keel over all ways,
kink down and grow up afresh, with proffered new greenstuff.
Above the cat-and-mouse floor of a thin bean forest
snails hang rapt in their food, ants hurry through several dimensions:
spiders tense and sag like little black flags in their cordage.
Going out to pick beans with the sun high as fence-tops, you find
plenty, and fetch them. An hour or a cloud later
you find shirtfulls more. At every hour of daylight
appear more than you missed: ripe, knobbly ones, freshy-sided,
thin-straight, thin-crescent, frown-shaped, bird-shouldered, boat-keeled ones,
beans knuckled and single-bulged, minute green dolphins at suck,
beans upright like lecturing, outstretched like blessing fingers
in the incident light, and more still, oblique to your notice
that the noon glare or cloud-light or afternoon slants will uncover
till you ask yourself Could I have overlooked so many, or
do they form in an hour? unfolding into reality
like templates for subtly broad grins, like unique caught expressions,
like edible meanings, each sealed around with a string
and affixed to its moment, an unceasing colloquial assembly,
the portly, the stiff, anf those lolling in pointed green slippers …
Wondering who’ll take the spare bagfulls, you grin with happiness
–it is your health–you vow to pick them all
even the last few, weeks off yet, misshapen as toes.
And another one of my favourite one, Mascha Kaleko:
Mein schönstes Gedicht?
Ich schrieb es nicht.
Aus tiefsten Tiefen stieg es.
Ich schwieg es.
Translation:
My most beautiful poem?
I didn’t write it.
From the deepest depths it rose.
I kept it silent.
Thank you, dear Hildegarde, for your kind words. Everybody is a butterfly!
Love, Leina
Apakah aku sudah gila?
Terus memikirkan dirimu
yang terkejut saat kubilang
aku suka kamu di Facebook
Padahal yang kuingat darimu
hanyalah memori saat SMA
dan SMP. Apakah aku sudah
gila bila aku menyatakan
bahwa aku suka kamu
kamu yang sekarang dan
yang dulu. Tapi hidupku
berjalan tanpamu.
Aku sadar, engkau tercipta
bukan untukku. Namun
aku sangat berharap
aku dan kamu dapat bersua
di surga kelak,
duduk di dipan sambil
memandang sungai
translation
Am I nuts?
keep thinking about you
who surprised when I say I like you on Facebook
but what I remembered of you were memories by the time we were on junior and high school. Am I crazy
if I say I like you
you at present and you at past.
but my life walks without you
I realized you were not meant for me
But I have a hope
that we can sit on Heaven’s bench
while looking at the river
My favourite poem is from Fernando Pessoa:
My glance
My glance is clear like a sunflower.
I usually take to the roads,
Looking to my right and to my left,
And now and then looking behind me…
And what I see each moment
Is something I’d never seen before,
And I’m good at noticing such things…
I know how to feel the same essential wonder
That an infant feels if, on being born,
He could note he’d really been born…
I feel that I am being born each moment
Into the eternal newness of the World…
I believe in the World as in a Daisy
Because I see it. But I don’t think about it
Because thinking is not understanding…
The World was not made for us to think about
(To think is to be eye-sick)
But for us to look at and be in tune with…
I have no philosophy: I have senses…
If I speak of Nature, it’s not because I know what
Nature is
But because I love it, and that’s why I love it,
For a lover never knows what he loves,
Why he loves or what love is…
Loving is eternal innocence,
And the only innocence is not think…
— Alberto Caeiro (in ‘Keeper of Flocks’)
Dear Sheela,
yes, I love this words, too. They represent all what I think and feel. When I read this poem first time I thought it comes deeply from my heart! I’m happy that I can share it with people like you! All the best for you,
Leina
***********
I have no philosophy: I have senses…
If I speak of Nature, it’s not because I know what
Nature is
But because I love it, and that’s why I love it,
For a lover never knows what he loves,
Why he loves or what love is…
Loving is eternal innocence,
And the only innocence is not think…
****************
Oh, I love this poem so much!!.. From now on i will stop thinking too much…i will stop trying to understand…i will look but not think for i have been ‘eye-sick’ for so long…thank you so much Leina for sharing this…
oxoxxo..
lezah
Sublime confession
De la societe ne jugez point l’aspect exterieur
Mais seulement ce que s’y cache en son interieur.
Ce simple dicton s’appliquant aux choses comme aux etres,
Aura pour l’humain le merite de mieux se connaitre.
Jadis etait un homme, tendre epoux, bon pere,
Qui taisait ses sentiments sous un visage austere;
Comme le sphinx aux flegmatiques yeux percants,
Malin qui put juger ce que pensait ce monstre d’antan.
Sans mot dire, en lui s’entassaient joies et miseres,
Sentiments genereux, amour qu’il voulait taire.
Nul doute, son ame refletait son passe, sa triste enfance
Collant a sa peau ou penetrait la perfide demence.
Tel le forcat tirant sans fin sa lourde chaine,
Lui, s’interdisait de montrer son desarroi et sa peine.
Aucun mot tendre ne sortait de ses levres paraissant soudees
Honte a lui si par megarde un seul avait ete prononce.
Alors s’accumulaient sur ses freles epaules voutees
Le poids de sa solitude, de ses remords tant de fois museles.
Il aurait voulu vous crier, vous clamer sa tendresse,
Dire a tous vents de mettre un baume sur son immense detresse
Mais sa vanite, sa fierte,son orgueil deplace,
L’empechait de s’epancher et serrer contre lui ses etres bien aimes.
Un jour peut-etre, rencontrerez-vous cette epave, cet homme,
Marchant au hasard sur une route , o combien monotone?
Faites lui l’aumone d’un regard, et ce chemineau de l’incomprehension,
Vous remerciera et murmurera pour vous sa sublime confession.
Rea Victor dit Herve
Life
From the breaking of the dawn,
To the receding of the sun,
The tide beats rhythmically,
Never ceasing
And always clawing at the sand for its
returns,
To the depths.
For it ends where it begins,
It repeats and never relents,
As the debris becomes weakened
By the continuing thrashing,
It falters and breaks and returns to
its origin.
S. Forward
“BURNISHED DAY,
CONCH OF THE VOICE…”
by Odysseas Elytis.
Burnished day, conch of the voice that fashioned me
Naked, to step through my perpetual Sundays
Between the shores’ cries of welcome,
Let your wind, known for the first time, blow freely
Unfold a lawn of tenderness
Where the sun can roll his head
Can enflame the poppies with his kiss
Poppies nourished by men so fine
That the sole mark on their bare chests
Is the blood of defiance that annuls sorrow
And attains the remembrance of liberty.
I spoke of love, of the rose’s health, of the ray
That by itself goes straight to the heart,
Of Greece that steps so surely on the sea
Greece that carries me always
Among naked snow-crowned mountains.
I give my hand to justice
Diaphanous fountain, sublimest spring,
My sky is deep and changeless
All I love is incessantly reborn
All I love is always at its beginning.
Just to note that: “BURNISHED DAY, CONCH OF THE VOICE…” by Odusseas Elytis above, was translated as above by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard.
Dear Christiana,
Such beautiful words. Thank you :)
My favourite poem by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated from German into English by Robert Bly:
I live my life in growing orbits
which move out over the things of the world.
Perhaps I can never achieve the last,
but that will be my attempt.
I am circling around God, the ancient tower,
and I have been circling for a thousand years,
and I still don’t know if I am a falcon, or a storm
or a great song.
Elke,
loved your poem!
Thank you.
My Chatty Aunt and Your Green Chest
(In the memory of the late and great Mustafa Noor)
The raving beauty of undefiled truth I treasure
Yet I laughed out rhapsodic angst
Cried out illegitimate wishes
Sulked, basked in unchased fear
O dear Aunt, my satirized ego trampled by illiterate lust
Your happiness my marriage, o my chatty Aunt
Im sick with this untamed animistic desire
Shackled yet free yet stuck yet open yet drowned in this pre-dejavu realism
Rhymeless sigh over natural high
The ankle, the earcups – lets not be us for a second and forever
But her chats linger on, get my head – shut up!
Simulated pleasure of your green chest and creamy skin
Are you game? Lets play, time’s running out
Forget about over stretched dogma and overdone doctrines
Ignore my mortgaged pride, hush your sweet peppered longings
We are ours in this dimension
Wake me up Aunt, cant you see the nude shadows of delirious joy
Romping in seven unholy circles chanting names, mine and his
Read me my life story, sing me angelic lullabies
Sorry I can’t do it, my pre-sunrise private bliss I won’t vend
Let me rust in peace, you’re mine, Im never yours
Get it?
Arrest me now, kill another me, bury yet another me
I’m still here in whichever me, still counting your long black eyelashes
I kiss my right palm, my left eye will always lie to me
The chat goes on, the red reddens me, the green haunts me
I’m just perfectly me when you’re around
Arent you whenI’m not?
I failed
The new year came with no preface,
the ones that left carried too much of myself away
Suddenly I forget to breathe, I suffocate, I suffer
Always at my own hands I wither
Where sympathy has mercy decorating its ugly face
And pity came with bright red lipstick smiling at me
Ifailed ifailed ifailed, I am hurt, so tears came to rescue
Icried icried icried, but pain remains
oh how failure-embarrassment-pain
the loyal triplet in my courtyard
with unusual grand silence
where has everybody gone to?
moving… so wonderful!
I agree. Very moving Hisham :)
favorite poem from Konstantinos Kavafis – Oso mporeis (as far & as long as you can)
Όσο μπορείς
Κι αν δεν μπορείς να κάμεις την ζωή σου όπως την θέλεις,
τούτο προσπάθησε τουλάχιστον
όσο μπορείς: μην την εξευτελίζεις
μες στην πολλή συνάφεια του κόσμου,
μες στες πολλές κινήσεις κι ομιλίες.
Μην την εξευτελίζεις πηαίνοντάς την,
γυρίζοντας συχνά κ’ εκθέτοντάς την
στων σχέσεων και των συναναστροφών
την καθημερινήν ανοησία,
ως που να γίνει σα μια ξένη φορτική.
with love and respect to all human beings.
xenia
My favourite poem.
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
AUTOR DESCONOCIDO
Yes, to mi too.Come to my life many yeats agou and I have in a decortive piece too.
Kises for you
Great advice in this poem. Beautiful Rosa. Thank you for sharing :)
I enjoyed reading this poem. It speaks of Warrior of Light in this ‘I am here and what will the world give me’ type of society.
Me gusta este poema porque me recuerda a mi papá, a quién también le gusta mucho jeje
Saludos Rosa De Los Vientos!!!
Good if you feel good.
Thank you for write me Love and Light for you.
A Sad Child by Margaret Atwood
You’re sad because you’re sad.
It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.
Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.
Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.
My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you’re trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,
and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside you head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.
Margaret Atwood
Looking For Your Face
by Rumi
From the beginning of my life
I have been looking for your face
but today I have seen it.
Today I have seen
the charm, the beauty,
the unfathomable grace
of the face
that I was looking for.
Today I have found you
and those that laughed
and scorned me yesterday
are sorry that they were not looking
as I did.
I am bewildered by the magnificence
of your beauty
and wish to see you with a hundred eyes.
My heart has burned with passion
and has searched forever
for this wondrous beauty
that I now behold.
I am ashamed
to call this love human
and afraid of God
to call it divine.
Your fragrant breath
like the morning breeze
has come to the stillness of the garden
You have breathed new life into me
I have become your sunshine
and also your shadow.
My soul is screaming in ecstasy
Every fiber of my being
is in love with you
Your effulgence
has lit a fire in my heart
and you have made radiant
for me
the earth and sky.
My arrow of love
has arrived at the target
I am in the house of mercy
and my heart
is a place of prayer.
that’s lovely Carolina, thank you Love
Marie-Christine :)
thank you, there is some strange fluid coming from my eyes now, must be a magical poem…
it is a perfect poem, isn;t it
thank you so much for sharing, Carolena!
Is a beautiful poem,. I like very much Rumi
Tanck for sharing
Terrific Carolena. I will be searching for more. :)
Yes, :)
„Эта ночь непоправима” by Osip Mandelshtam (Russian poet and essayist) – one of my favourite poems.
Эта ночь непоправима,
А у нас еще светло.
У ворот Иерусалима
Солнце черное взошло…
Солнце желтое страшнее -
Баю-баюшки-баю -
В светлом храме иудеи
хоронили мать мою.
Благодати не имея
И священства лишены,
В светлом храме иудеи
Отпевали прах жены.
И над матерью звенели
Голоса израильтян.
Я проснулся в колыбели -
Черным солнцем осиян…
1916
Depois de algum tempo, você aprende a diferença, a sutil diferença, entre dar a mão e acorrentar uma alma. E você aprende que amar não significa apoiar-se, e que companhia nem sempre significa segurança. E começa a aprender que beijos não são contratos e presentes não são promessas. E começa a aceitar suas derrotas com a cabeça erguida e olhos adiante, com a graça de um adulto e não com a tristeza de uma criança.
E aprende a construir todas as suas estradas no hoje, porque o terreno do amanhã é incerto demais para os planos, e o futuro tem o costume de cair em meio ao vão. Depois de um tempo você aprende que o sol queima se ficar exposto por muito tempo. E aprende que não importa o quanto você se importe, algumas pessoas simplesmente não se importam… E aceita que não importa quão boa seja uma pessoa, ela vai feri-lo de vez em quando e você precisa perdoá-la, por isso. Aprende que falar pode aliviar dores emocionais.
Descobre que se levam anos para se construir confiança e apenas segundos para destruí-la, e que você pode fazer coisas em um instante das quais se arrependerá pelo resto da vida. Aprende que verdadeiras amizades continuam a crescer mesmo a longas distâncias. E o que importa não é o que você tem na vida, mas quem você tem na vida. E que bons amigos são a família que nos permitiram escolher. Aprende que não temos que mudar de amigos se compreendemos que os amigos mudam, percebe que seu melhor amigo e você podem fazer qualquer coisa, ou nada, e terem bons momentos juntos.
Descobre que as pessoas com quem você mais se importa na vida são tomadas de você muito depressa, por isso sempre devemos deixar as pessoas que amamos com palavras amorosas, pode ser a última vez que as vejamos. Aprende que as circunstâncias e os ambientes tem influência sobre nós, mas nós somos responsáveis por nós mesmos. Começa a aprender que não se deve comparar com os outros, mas com o melhor que pode ser. Descobre que se leva muito tempo para se tornar a pessoa que quer ser, e que o tempo é curto. Aprende que não importa onde já chegou, mas onde está indo, mas se você não sabe para onde está indo, qualquer lugar serve. Aprende que, ou você controla seus atos ou eles o controlarão, e que ser flexível não significa ser fraco ou não ter personalidade, pois não importa quão delicada e frágil seja uma situação, sempre existem dois lados.
Aprende que heróis são pessoas que fizeram o que era necessário fazer, enfrentando as conseqüências. Aprende que paciência requer muita prática. Descobre que algumas vezes a pessoa que você espera que o chute quando você cai é uma das poucas que o ajudam a levantar-se.
Aprende que maturidade tem mais a ver com os tipos de experiência que se teve e o que você aprendeu com elas do que com quantos aniversários você celebrou. Aprende que há mais dos seus pais em você do que você supunha. Aprende que nunca se deve dizer a uma criança que sonhos são bobagens, poucas coisas são tão humilhantes e seria uma tragédia se ela acreditasse nisso.
Aprende que quando está com raiva tem o direito de estar com raiva, mas isso não te dá o direito de ser cruel. Descobre que só porque alguém não o ama do jeito que você quer que ame, não significa que esse alguém não o ama, contudo o que pode, pois existem pessoas que nos amam, mas simplesmente não sabem como demonstrar ou viver isso.
Aprende que nem sempre é suficiente ser perdoado por alguém, algumas vezes você tem que aprender a perdoar-se a si mesmo. Aprende que com a mesma severidade com que julga, você será em algum momento condenado. Aprende que não importa em quantos pedaços seu coração foi partido, o mundo não pára para que você o conserte. Aprende que o tempo não é algo que possa voltar para trás.
Portanto… plante seu jardim e decore sua alma, ao invés de esperar que alguém lhe traga flores. E você aprende que realmente pode suportar… que realmente é forte, e que pode ir muito mais longe depois de pensar que não se pode mais. E que realmente a vida tem valor e que você tem valor diante da vida!”
William Shakespeare
I will love you always
you may love me at your leisure,
I shall wait here for you
Come to me whenever you wish,
Through the night I shall wait for you
Awake on my forlorn bed,
Come just for a momeent at dawn and
look at me with a smile,
Your presence is in the sweet breezes of spring
You are eternally a-bloom in the wooded groves,
Go along on your chosen way
Afloat on the current of your happiness,
If I chance upon you then
I shall also flow along with you,
It matters not if I lag behind-
Erase my memory from your mind.
Lovely Neil :)
O Marvel! a garden amidst the flames.
My heart has become capable of every form:
it is a pasture for gazelles and a convent for Christian monks,
and a temple for idols and the pilgrim’s Kaa’ba,
and the tables of the Torah and the book of the Quran.
I follow the religion of Love: whatever way Love’s camels take.
Love is my religion and my faith.
Ibn Arabi (1165 Murcia, Spain-1240 Damscus, Syria)
قد صار قلبي قابلاً كل صورة فمرعى لغزلان و بيت لأوثان
و دير لرهبان و كعبة طائف و ألواح توراة و مصحف قرآن
أدين بدين الحب أنى توجهت ركائبه فالحب ديني و إيماني
إبن عربي
He is simply marvelous!
You’re welcome
Dear Hildegarde,
I am glad to hear that!
I believe it is a collective human universe..
Thank you for your kind words..
Love
Tarek
This poem makes me teary eyed…It’s message is profound!..Mine too, Love is my religion and my faith. Thank you so much Tarek for sharing…Wouldn’t it be perfect world if there is only one religion and it is called Love?…
oxoxo..
lezah
kann sein! ich bin oft dort!
Liebe Gruße
Tarek
I like very much Ibn.
Thank you Tarek Love is my religion and my faith too.
Hi,
I would like to share poems for Jalaluddin Rumi, He is a persian poet from the 13th century..
Here is a mix of 3 of his greatest love poems.. My favorites..
“A lover asked his beloved,
Do you love yourself more than you love me?
Beloved replied, I have died to myself and I live for you.
I’ve disappeared from myself and my attributes,
I am present only for you.
I’ve forgotten all my learnings,
but from knowing you I’ve become a scholar.
I’ve lost all my strength, but from your power I am able.
I love myself…I love you.
I love you…I love myself.”
“I am your lover, come to my side, I will open the gate to your love.
Come settle with me, let us be neighbors to the stars.
You have been hiding so long, endlessly drifting in the sea of my love.
Even so, you have always been connected to me.
Concealed, revealed, in the unknown, in the un-manifest.
I am life itself. You have been a prisoner of a little pond,
I am the ocean and its turbulent flood. Come merge with me,
leave this world of ignorance. Be with me, I will open the gate to your love.”
”I desire you more than food or drink
My body, my senses, my mind, hunger for your taste
I can sense your presence in my heart
although you belong to all the world
I wait with silent passion for one gesture, one glance from you ”
With Love..
Sara from Lebanon
Check This link…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqyH6GQEH1A
Sara
That is one of my favourites as well, thank you.
Beautiful one
lovely poem…:)
thank you all..
Luminita here is the translation in romanian.. it’s by google so it’s word by word.. i hope u enjoy it more now
Un iubitor de cerut lui iubita,
Îl iubeşti pe tine mai mult mă iubeşti?
Răspuns iubit, am murit pentru mine şi am trăi pentru tine.
Am dispărut de la mine şi mi atribute,
Sunt prezente doar pentru tine.
Am uitat toate learnings mea,
dar sa stii de la tine l-am devenit un savant.
Am pierdut toate puterea mea, dar de la putere sunt în stare.
O iubesc pe mine … te iubesc.
Te iubesc … O iubesc pe mine. ”
“Eu sunt iubitul tău, vino la partea mea, mi se va deschide poarta pentru a-ţi place.
Vino rezolve cu mine, să ne fie vecini de stele.
Aţi fost ascunde atât de mult, endlessly deriva din marea mea dragoste.
Chiar şi aşa, pe care le-aţi fost întotdeauna conectat la mine.
Ascuns, a evidenţiat, în necunoscut, în-un manifest.
Sunt viaţa însăşi. Ai fost un prizonier de un mic iaz,
Sunt ocean şi turbulentă de inundaţii. Vino merge cu mine,
părăsească această lume, de ignoranţă. Fii cu mine, mi se va deschide poarta pentru a-ţi place. ”
“Am dorinta de ai mai mult de alimente sau băuturi
Corpul meu, simturile, mintea mea, foamei pentru gust
Pot să-ţi simt prezenţa în inima mea
cu toate că vă aparţin tuturor lume
Eu aştept cu pasiune silenţios pentru un gest, o privire de la tine ”
Cu dragoste ..
Sara din Liban
Soneto de Fidelidade
Vinicius de Moraes
De tudo ao meu amor serei atento
Antes, e com tal zelo, e sempre, e tanto
Que mesmo em face do maior encanto
Dele se encante mais meu pensamento.
Quero vivê-lo em cada vão momento
E em seu louvor hei de espalhar meu canto
E rir meu riso e derramar meu pranto
Ao seu pesar ou seu contentamento
E assim, quando mais tarde me procure
Quem sabe a morte, angústia de quem vive
Quem sabe a solidão, fim de quem ama
Eu possa me dizer do amor (que tive):
Que não seja imortal, posto que é chama
Mas que seja infinito enquanto dure.
Tb amo este.
My favourite poem is “Ithaca” by Konstantinos Kavafis, the great Greek poet.
Ithaca
When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon — do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.
Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.
Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.
Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.
I just posted the same poem before I saw you posted it too – it means a lot to me, especially when I see that other people know what these Ithakas mean :-)
Salut c’est Mamadou du Sénégal. Mon poème préféré est de Charles Baudelaire.
L’invitation au voyage
Mon enfant, ma soeur,
Songe à la douceur
D’aller là-bas vivre ensemble !
Aimer à loisir,
Aimer et mourir
Au pays qui te ressemble !
Les soleils mouillés
De ces ciels brouillés
Pour mon esprit ont les charmes
Si mystérieux
De tes traîtres yeux,
Brillant à travers leurs larmes.
Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.
Des meubles luisants,
Polis par les ans,
Décoreraient notre chambre ;
Les plus rares fleurs
Mêlant leurs odeurs
Aux vagues senteurs de l’ambre,
Les riches plafonds,
Les miroirs profonds,
La splendeur orientale,
Tout y parlerait
À l’âme en secret
Sa douce langue natale.
Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.
Vois sur ces canaux
Dormir ces vaisseaux
Dont l’humeur est vagabonde ;
C’est pour assouvir
Ton moindre désir
Qu’ils viennent du bout du monde.
- Les soleils couchants
Revêtent les champs,
Les canaux, la ville entière,
D’hyacinthe et d’or ;
Le monde s’endort
Dans une chaude lumière.
Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.
J’aime aussi “Femme noire” de Léopold Sédar Senghor
Femme nue, femme noire
Vétue de ta couleur qui est vie, de ta forme qui est beauté
J’ai grandi à ton ombre; la douceur de tes mains bandait mes yeux
Et voilà qu’au coeur de l’Eté et de Midi,
Je te découvre, Terre promise, du haut d’un haut col calciné
Et ta beauté me foudroie en plein coeur, comme l’éclair d’un aigle
Femme nue, femme obscure
Fruit mûr à la chair ferme, sombres extases du vin noir, bouche qui fais lyrique ma bouche
Savane aux horizons purs, savane qui frémis aux caresses ferventes du Vent d’Est
Tamtam sculpté, tamtam tendu qui gronde sous les doigts du vainqueur
Ta voix grave de contralto est le chant spirituel de l’Aimée
Femme noire, femme obscure
Huile que ne ride nul souffle, huile calme aux flancs de l’athlète, aux flancs des princes du Mali
Gazelle aux attaches célestes, les perles sont étoiles sur la nuit de ta peau.
Délices des jeux de l’Esprit, les reflets de l’or ronge ta peau qui se moire
A l’ombre de ta chevelure, s’éclaire mon angoisse aux soleils prochains de tes yeux.
Femme nue, femme noire
Je chante ta beauté qui passe, forme que je fixe dans l’Eternel
Avant que le destin jaloux ne te réduise en cendres pour nourrir les racines de la vie.
Mamadou, ca y est je pars en voyage grace a toi et a Baudelaire.
Merci! :)
No, Annie, you are not wrong! It is one of Paulos’s favourite! :)
You’re welcome. I simply love this poem!
:)
Dearest Heart,
I have understood that there are people somewhere far away from where I am but they are so close to my words, poems in particular.
Your appreciation and praise, made me smile… :)
Thank you so much, appreciated from bottom of my heart !
God blesses you too !
and
God bless you all !
Dear all,
Poem title: I look deep into your eyes
Year: 2009
Link:
http://mybheja.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-look-deep-into-your-eyes.html
God blesses you all !
Dear Marie-Christine,
That brought me to a different place. Thank you :)
By the way…two more days of rain….aaaaargh!
Absolutely lovely Annie :)
Thank you very much Annie for sharing this beautiful poem.
Kises for you Annie
Strange fluid? I know what that is, it’s a little salty isn’t it? I’m all to familiar with that strange fluid! ;)
You’re welcome!
me too! you’re welcome!
:)
Dear Lezah,
I really know what you mean. Think of Pessoa or of “the little prince”. Go on your way or like Paulo says: Stop being who you were and become who you are. Be a butterfly!
All the best and much love for you,
Leina
woah I love it too. thanks
tHANK YOU sARAH i HAVE THIS POEM INTO MY HEART SINCE MANY YEARS AGO.
My favorit from Khalil.
Timeless.
Oh yes it would be wonderful if the only religion in this world would be love..
But my be perfection is not meant for this world..
Greetings from Vienna.
Tarek
Hello and thank you Annie and Santosh!
Thanks for the encouragement!What to do?Perhaps,I’ll do like Santosh,publish them myself?Don’t know.
Sunshines and LOVE to you!
:)
Yes to the warriors of Light in the life. Ideas Clears.
Thank you and I´m very glad if you liked.
Estupendo que tu padre te haya leido poemas. Creo que esto se tenía que recuperar.
Saludos para ti también
Well, Khalil is timeless indeed. i simply love his writings
Giggles Annie. I see Annabel Lee posted several times. When I asked Mike this morning, about his favorite poem ever, he said the Raven, and could site me most of it by heart!
Love,
Heart
XXX
Thank you so much!
I do love Gwendolyn Brooks!
Sarah,
About the rain -
looks like this was just the ticket!
:)
lovely Sara thank you!
:)
Everytime I read this poem I feel my heart being held in the hands of my beloved, the one cannot be with… and I look into my daugther’s eyes and hope she should never feel what I feel… but I know that is just a hope… she is will be in control of her destiny, I can just guide her… so my pain might not be for nought.
#R;
I love this poem also, and a lot of Gibran’s writing :)
Dearest Annie,
Thank you so much for your kind words.Much appreciated.
Love from -the poet-
Marie-Christine
Dear mikroteri athelfi,
I like it a lot. Thank you. Still, I enjoy even more, those musical, poetic lines you write yourself. To me you are more talented.
Blowing you a kiss :)
Heart
Jag vet ;-), tack.
: ) I’m so glad you saw it and read it!!
Lovely declaration.
your words make me courageous.
what a moving words..it resounds to my heart! :D
im so young to understand this but wat i got was tremendous
i like ur style “love and gratitude” can i also use it
I LOVED IT!
Thanks a lot!
Lots of Love,
Maya
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