classic poetry
Preciosa Y El Aire
POSTED IN classic poetry April 27, 2016
Preciosa Y El Aire
Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene
por un anfibio sendero
de cristales y laureles.
El silencio sin estrellas,
huyendo del sonsonete,
cae donde el mar bate y canta
su noche llena de peces.
En los picos de la sierra
los carabineros duermen
guardando las blancas torres
donde viven los ingleses.
Y los gitanos del agua
levantan por distraerse,
glorietas de caracolas
y ramas de pino verde.
*
Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene.
Al verla se ha levantado
el viento que nunca duerme.
San Cristobalón desnudo,
lleno de lenguas celestes,
mira la niña tocando
una dulce gaita ausente.
Niña, deja que levante
tu vestido para verte.
Abre en mis dedos antiguos
la rosa azul de tu vientre.
*
Preciosa tira el pandero
y corre sin detenerse.
El viento-hombrón la persigue
con una espada caliente.
Frunce su rumor el mar.
Los olivos palidecen.
Cantan las flautas de umbría
y el liso gong de la nieve.
¡Preciosa, corre, Preciosa,
que te coge el viento verde!
¡Preciosa, corre, Preciosa!
¡Míralo por dónde viene!
Sátiro de estrellas bajas
con sus lenguas relucientes.
*
Preciosa, llena de miedo,
entra en la casa que tiene,
más arriba de los pinos,
el cónsul de los ingleses.
Asustados por los gritos
tres carabineros vienen,
sus negras capas ceñidas
y los gorros en las sienes.
El inglés da a la gitana
un vaso de tibia leche,
y una copa de ginebra
que Preciosa no se bebe.
Y mientras cuenta, llorando,
su aventura a aquella gente,
en las tejas de pizarra
el viento, furioso, muerde.
Federico García Lorca
………………………………………………..The gypsy and the wind
Playing her parchment moon
Preciosa comes
along a watery path of laurels and crystal lights.
The starless silence, fleeing
from her rhythmic tambourine,
falls where the sea whips and sings,
his night filled with silvery swarms.
High atop the mountain peaks
the sentinels are weeping;
they guard the tall white towers
of the English consulate.
And gypsies of the water
for their pleasure erect
little castles of conch shells
and arbors of greening pine.Playing her parchment moon
Preciosa comes.
The wind sees her and rises,
the wind that never slumbers.
Naked Saint Christopher swells,
watching the girl as he plays
with tongues of celestial bells
on an invisible bagpipe.Gypsy, let me lift your skirt
and have a look at you.
Open in my ancient fingers
the blue rose of your womb.Preciosa throws the tambourine
and runs away in terror.
But the virile wind pursues her
with his breathing and burning sword.The sea darkens and roars,
while the olive trees turn pale.
The flutes of darkness sound,
and a muted gong of the snow.Preciosa, run, Preciosa!
Or the green wind will catch you!
Preciosia, run, Preciosa!
And look how fast he comes!
A satyr of low-born stars
with their long and glistening tongues.Preciosa, filled with fear,
now makes her way to that house
beyond the tall green pines
where the English consul lives.Alarmed by the anguished cries,
three riflemen come running,
their black capes tightly drawn,
and berets down over their brow.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Star light, star bright
POSTED IN classic poetry April 24, 2016
Star light, star bright
Star, that gives a gracious dole,
What am I to choose?
Oh, will it be a shriven soul,
Or little buckled shoes?Shall I wish a wedding-ring,
Bright and thin and round,
Or plead you send me covering-
A newly spaded mound?Gentle beam, shall I implore
Gold, or sailing-ships,
Or beg I hate forevermore
A pair of lying lips?Swing you low or high away,
Burn you hot or dim;
My only wish I dare not say-
Lest you should grant me him.
Dorothy Parker
A very short song
POSTED IN classic poetry April 23, 2016
A very short song
Once, when I was young and true,
Someone left me sad-
Broke my brittle heart in two;
And that is very bad.Love is for unlucky folk,
Love is but a curse.
Once there was a heart I broke;
And that, I think, is worse.
Dorothy Parker
A dream within a dream
POSTED IN classic poetry April 3, 2016
A dream within a dreamTake this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?Edgar Allan Poe
Phenomenal woman
POSTED IN classic poetry March 8, 2016
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 womanPhenomenally.
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.
Maya Angelou
Written in March
POSTED IN classic poetry March 1, 2016
Written in March
The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The plowboy is whooping—anon-anon:
There’s joy in the mountains;
There’s life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!
William Wordsworth
When I Was One-and-Twenty
POSTED IN classic poetry January 21, 2016
When I Was One-and-Twenty
I heard a wise man say,
“Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.”
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
“The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
’Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.”
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.
A.E. Housman
Vivat! Crescat! Floreat!
POSTED IN classic poetry January 15, 2016
Happy birthday, Mihai Eminescu! (15.01.1850-15.06.1889)GLOSSA / Gloss
Vreme trece, vreme vine,
Toate-s vechi si noua toate,
Ce e rau si ce e bine
Tu te-ntreaba si socoate;
Nu spera si nu ai teama,
Ce e val ca valul trece;
De te-ndeamna, de te cheama,
Tu ramai la toate rece.Multe trec pe dinainte,
In auz ne suna multe,
Cine tine toate minte
Si ar stea sa le asculte?…
Tu aseaza-te deoparte,
Regasindu-te pe tine,
Cand cu zgomote desarte
Vreme trece, vreme vine.Nici incline a ei limba
Recea cumpan-a gandirii
Inspre clipa ce se schimba
Pentru masca fericirii,
Ce din moartea ei se naste
Si o clipa tine poate;
Pentru cine o cunoaste
Toate-s vechi si noua toate.Privitor ca la teatru
Tu in lume sa te-nchipui;
Joace unul si pe patru,
Totusi tu ghici-vei chipu-i,
Si de plange, de se cearta,
Tu in colt petreci in tine
Si-ntelegi din a lor arta
Ce e rau si ce e bine.Viitorul si trecutul
Sunt a filei doua fete,
Vede-n capat inceputul
cine stie sa le-nvete;
Tot ce-a fost ori o sa fie
In prezent le-avem pe toate,
Dar de-a lor zadarnicie
Te intreaba si socoate.Caci acelorasi mijloace
Se supun cate exista,
si de mii de ani incoace
Lumea-i vesela si trista;
Alte masti, aceeasi piesa,
Alte guri, aceeasi gama,
Amagit atat de-adese
Nu spera si nu ai teamaNu spera cand vezi miseii
La izbanda facand punte,
Te-or intrece nataraii,
De ai fi cu stea in frunte;
Teama n-ai, cata-vor iarasi
Intre dansii sa se plece,
Nu te prinde lor tovaras:
Ce e val ca valul trece.Cu un cantec de sirena,
Lumea-ntinde lucii mreje;
Ca sa schimbe-actorii-n scena,
Te momeste in varteje;
Tu pe-alaturi te strecoara,
Nu baga nici chiar de seama,
Din cararea ta afara
De te-ndeamna, de te chema.De te-ating sa feri in laturi,
De hulesc, sa taci din gura;
Ce mai vrei cu-a tale sfaturi,
Daca stii a lor masura;
Zica toti ce vor sa zica,
Treaca-n lume cine-o trece;
Ca sa nu-ndragesti nimica,
Tu ramai la toate rece.Tu ramai la toate rece,
De te-ndeamna, de te chema;
Ce e val ca valul trece,
Nu spera si nu ai teama;
Te intreaba si socoate
Ce e rau si ce e bine;
Toate-s vechi si noua toate;
Vreme trece, vreme vine.1883
Mihail Eminescu
…………………………………
GlossDays go past, and days come still,
All is old and all is new,
What is well and what is ill,
You imagine and construe
Do not hope and do not fear,
Waves that leap like waves must fall;
Should they praise or should they jeer,
Look but coldly on it all.Things you’ll meet of many a kind,
Sights and sounds, and tales no end,
But to keep them all in mind
Who would bother to attend?…
Very little does it matter,
If you can yourself fulfil,
That with idle, empty chatter
Days go past and days come still.Little heed the lofty ranging
That cold logic does display
To explain the endless changing
Of this pageantry of joy,
And which out of death is growing
But to last an hour or two;
For the mind profoundly knowing
All is old and all is new.As before some troupe of actors,
You before the world remain;
Act they Gods, or malefactors,
‘Tis but they dressed up again.
And their loving and their slaying,
Sit apart and watch, until
You will see behind their playing
What is well and what is ill.What has been and what to be
Are but of a page each part
Which the world to read is free.
Yet who knows them off by heart?
All that was and is to come
Prospers in the present too,
But its narrow modicum
You imagine and construe.With the selfsame scales and gauges
This great universe to weigh,
Man has been for thousand ages
Sometimes sad and sometimes gay;
Other masks, the same old story,
Players pass and reappear,
Broken promises of glory;
Do not hope and do not fear.Do not hope when greed is staring
O’er the bridge that luck has flung,
These are fools for not despairing,
On their brows though stars are hung;
Do not fear if one or other
Does his comrades deep enthral,
Do not let him call you brother,
Waves that leap like waves must fall.Like the sirens’ silver singing
Men spread nets to catch their prey,
Up and down the curtain swinging
Midst a whirlwind of display.
Leave them room without resistance,
Nor their commentaries cheer,
Hearing only from a distance,
Should they praise or should they jeer.If they touch you, do not tarry,
Should they curse you, hold your tongue,
All your counsel must miscarry
Knowing who you are among.
Let them muse and let them mingle,
Let them pass both great and small;
Unattached and calm and single,
Look but coldly on it all.Look but coldly on it all,
Should they praise or should they jeer;
Waves that leap like waves must fall,
Do not hope and do not fear.
You imagine and construe
What is well and what is ill;
All is old and all is new,
Days go past and days come still.Translated by
Corneliu M. Popescu
Christmas Bells
POSTED IN classic poetry December 25, 2015
Christmas Bells
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Symptom Recital
POSTED IN classic poetry September 13, 2015
Symptom recitalI do not like my state of mind;
I’m bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn’s recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I’m disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I’d be arrested.
I am not sick, I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men….
I’m due to fall in love again.Dorothy Parker
