Poezia

[omudindulap]

Scurta despartire

[omudindulap]

I don't give a damn
if women's breasts are like magnolias
or like dried figs;
a complexion like a peach
or like sandpaper.
I give a importance equal to zero
to whether they awake with an aphrodisiac breath
or a breath like insecticide.
I am perfectly capable of bearing a nose
that would take first prize at a carrot show;
but one thing is for sure!
and in this I am intransigent.
Under no pretext whatsoever will I forgive them
for not knowing how to fly.
(for A friend)

[miere]

Mei, mei dar ce romane de pozeii pe aici.Cu siguranta sunt destui care sa le citeasca
Ar fi interesant daca s-ar deschide un topic si pentru creatiile eului propriu.

Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii

Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii
şi nu ucid
cu mintea tainele, ce le-ntâlnesc
în calea mea
în flori, în ochi, pe buze ori morminte.
Lumina altora
sugrumă vraja nepătrunsului ascuns
în adâncimi de întuneric,
dar eu,
eu cu lumina mea sporesc a lumii taină -
şi-ntocmai cum cu razele ei albe luna
nu micşorează, ci tremurătoare
măreşte şi mai tare taina nopţii,
aşa înbogăţesc şi eu întunecata zare
cu largi fiori de sfânt mister
şi tot ce-i neînţeles
se schimbă-n neînţelesuri şi mai mari
sub ochii mei-
căci eu iubesc
şi flori şi ochi şi buze şi morminte.

Poemele luminii-Lucian Blaga

[andreiu09]

Gion shouja no kane no koe
shogyou mujou no hibiki ari.
Shara souju no hana no iro
jousha hissui no kotowari o arawasu.
Ogoreru hito mo hisashikarazu,
Tada haru no yo no yume no gotoshi.
Takeki mono mo tsui ni horobinu.
Hitoe ni kaze no mae no chiri ni onaji.

Sper să vă placă

[MariaMona]

Minunata! Numai ca nu am inteles nimic!

[marllenn]

Soacră-mea-ntr-o seară, cum stătea proţap,
Ceasul din perete i-a căzut în cap!
Eu privind pendula ce-i turtise nasul...
Zic: -n-aduce anul ce aduce ceasul!

[chuckyfan]

Tocmai ce a plecat verisoara mea de la mine si am gasit o poezie care a compuso acum ( ea e in clasa a - VI - a ). Nu stiu de ce dar mie mi se pare destul de reusita.

Nu am modificat nimic, o copiez exact cum e pe foaie. N-are titlu.

Cand si ultima speranta dispare
Si ultima raza de soare se pierde in zare
Nu-ti mai ramane decat sa astepti
Sa treaca furtuna ca soarele sa-l vezi
Si daca furtuna se ca inteti
Tu cauta curcubeul de culori vii
Si daca curcubeul nu il vei afla
Cauta ochii mei in intuneric
Ei iti vor spune ce sa faci.

Pareri?

[ionutderbedeul]

Frumoasa poezie a scris verisoara ta....sincer, nu stiu cu cine seamana asa desteapta...

[omudindulap]

Din nou, maestrul Bukowski

dinţi alb perfecţi

până la urmă mi-am cumpărat
şi eu un televizor color
şi noaptea trecută am dat peste
filmul ăsta:
în Paris e un individ care
n-are nici un ban
dar poartă un costum de fiţe
şi-un nod perfect la cravată
nu e nici îngrijorat nici beat
în schimb
tipul stă toată ziua într-o cafenea
şi toate femeile frumoase sânt
îndrăgostite de el şi
cumva reuşeşte să-şi plătească
la timp chiria şi
tot urcă şi coboară nişte scări şi
cămăşile strălucesc pe el şi
le spune fetelor
că ele nu ştiu să scrie poezie
că el ştie dar
nu simte
deocamdată
nevoia
pentru că el acum caută
de fapt Adevărul.
tunsoarea lui e şi ea perfectă
nu e niciodată mahmur
n-are nici un tic
nu i se zbate nici o pleoapă
iar dinţii
veşnic alb perfecţi.

ştiam ce urmează:
tipul avea să rămână cu poezia
femeia şi
Adevărul.
aşa că am închis televizorul
gândindu-mă, aşa-ţi trebuie,
în pizda mă-tii, cretinule,
le meriţi pe toate
trei.

[miere]

@chuckyfan
Ma ung pe suflet poeziile celor mici Vezi daca mai are!

[Sorin87]

am si eu una dar e cu prostii, pot sa o postez asa sau trebe cenzurata? e foarte tare oricum

[dragonfly_drk]

Să te urăsc
(George Filip)

N-am banuit ca-n grota vietii
voi poposi asa putin;
Acolo, printre lighioane
de noapte, mi-a parut senin.

Trapasii tineretii mele
s-au adapat din vagi fantani
iar tainele adolescentei
eu ti le-am dibuit in sani.

Trecut-au pasari de lumina
dar le-impuscau braconieri
convivi, ce stiau al dracu'
s-azvarle mainele din ieri.

Intai, cind aprindeam tigara
ma excitam precum un manz,
si nu stiam, prin timpul lacom,
de-i miezul noptii sau e prinz.

Am invatat sa svarl cu pietre
si bumenrangul sa-l arunc,
dar tinta mea nevinovata
era mereu acelas prunc.

Sunt prada tineretii mele
ce-a nins pe mine dintr-o stea,
de-aceea pot, la nemurire,
sa te urasc, iubita mea.

[Chambord]

Oh thou poisonous viper
Thy tongue aims sharper
Than a sniper

Cred ca am sanse sa ajung mai bun ca Shakespeare

http://www.tare.ro/anonim/2051602-ce...a-asta-in-gura

[omudindulap]

Caótica Ana

[Socal]

Meserie.. bratara de aur.. aurul e f scump merge bine la cerneala, cerneala e si ea pana la urma meserie te baga la parnaie, te sciate de pe felie. Apa trece, pietrele raman... aurul ramane, oamenii se descompun.....

[omudindulap]

Sper sa ma vindec de tine in cateva zile
Trebuie sa incetez sa te fumez, sa te beau, sa te gandesc
E posibil. Urmand prescriptiile unei moralitati sucite
Aceasta mi-a dat reteta timpului, a abstinentei, a singuratatii.

Ti-ar placea sa te iubesc doar pentru o saptamana?
Nu e mult, nici putin, e suficient.
Intr-o saptamana se pot uni toate cuvintele de iubire
Care s-au pronuntat vreodata pe acest pamant si le putem da foc
Te voi incalzi cu aceasta cenusa a unei iubiri fierbinti.
Si de asemenea cu tacerea.
Pentru ca cele mai frumoase cuvinte de dragoste sunt intre 2 oameni care nu-si spun nimic.

Trebuie la fel sa ardem si acel vocabular lateral si marginal al iubirii.
Tu stii cum iti spun ca te iubesc atunci cand iti spun:
ce cald e!
Da-mi apa!
Stii sa conduci?
s-a facut noapte!
Printre lume, cei din lumea ta
Si lumea mea, ti-am spus doar “deja este tarziu”
Si tu stiai ca ti-am spus “te iubesc”.

O saptamana in plus pentru a uni toata iubirea timpurilor.
Pentru a ti-o da.
Pentru a face cu ea tot ce-ti doresti tu.
s-o pastrezi
sa ai grija de ea
s-o arunci la gunoi.
Nu e suficient, ai dreptate.
Nu vreau decat o saptamana pentru a intelege lucrurile
Pentru ca ce mi se intampla este asemanator cu iesirea dintr-un ospiciu pentru a intra intr-o manastire.

Mi-ar fi placut s-o fi scris eu, dar...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUsyP...eature=related

[redmen]

Getting along with women,
Knocking around with men,
Having more credit than money,
Thus one goes through the world.

(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Claudine von Villa Bella, 1776.)

[icb1]

Preferata mea...

George Coșbuc - La Oglindă

Azi am să crestez în grindă
Jos din cui acum, oglindă!
Mama-i dusă-n sat! Cu dorul
Azi e singur puișorul,
Si-am inchis ușa la tindă
Cu zăvorul.
Iată-mă! Tot eu, cea veche!
Ochii? hai, ce mai pereche!
Si ce cap frumos răsare!
Nu-i al meu? Al meu e oare?
Dar al cui! Si la ureche,
Uite-o floare.
Asta-s eu! Și sânt voinică!
Cine-a zis că eu sant mică?
Uite, zău, acum iau seama
Că-mi sta bine-n cap năframa,
Și ce fată frumușică
Are mama! ...

...Doamne, de-ar fi dat de mine,
Ce bătaie!

Și a mea

[icb1]

,,Lupul în piele de oaie."


La Moscoviți se duse vestea
Că lupu-și schimbă iar povestea:
Din lacom, rău și-nfumurat,
În oaie s-ar fi transformat...

Dar de la Nistru pîn' la Iași:
,,Da-vai, da-vai" tot ce-adunași!
Iar de la Nistru pîn' la Don:
,,Da-vai ceas, da-vai palton"!

Din veac, din Nistru pîn' la Tisa,
Tot Românu plânsumi-sa.

[icb1]

Hyperion -Luceafărul

de John Keats
cu traducere liberă

BOOK I --Prima strofă din Hyperion--Luceafărul lui John Keats, în traducerea mea liberă și complect originală


În umbre adânci pe-o vale verde
Ce dimineața nu o vede,
Departe-i Luna ce străluce
Și-acel Luceafăr--Steaua cea cu cruce
Stă Saturn c-un păr albit de Vremi
Tăcut ca stânca din poemi,
Încremenit într-o tăcere
Ce-i sapă adânc a sa Putere...
Păduri peste păduri se-nalță asupra Lui
Asemeni unor nori peste alți nori în zori
Nici aerul nu mișcă în liniștea cu flori
Nici viață nu-i oriunde sub bolta Cerului
Și nici sămânța-n iarbă nu se mișcă
Iar unde frunza cade, stă- nu mișcă
Izvorul curge fără sunet
Un suflet parcă fără cuget
Iară Naiada de pe lac își puse
Un deget rece pe-a ei buze.

BOOK I

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung above his head
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day
Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
By reason of his fallen divinity
Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds
Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.

Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went,
No further than to where his feet had stray'd,
And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed;
While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth,
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.

It seem'd no force could wake him from his place;
But there came one, who with a kindred hand
Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low
With reverence, though to one who knew it not.
She was a Goddess of the infant world;
By her in stature the tall Amazon
Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en
Achilles by the hair and bent his neck;
Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel.
Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx,
Pedestal'd haply in a palace court,
When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore.
But oh! how unlike marble was that face:
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
There was a listening fear in her regard,
As if calamity had but begun;
As if the vanward clouds of evil days
Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear
Was with its stored thunder labouring up.
One hand she press'd upon that aching spot
Where beats the human heart, as if just there,
Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain:
The other upon Saturn's bended neck
She laid, and to the level of his ear
Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake
In solemn tenor and deep organ tone:
Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue
Would come in these like accents; O how frail
To that large utterance of the early Gods!
"Saturn, look up!---though wherefore, poor old King?
I have no comfort for thee, no not one:
I cannot say, 'O wherefore sleepest thou?'
For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth
Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God;
And ocean too, with all its solemn noise,
Has from thy sceptre pass'd; and all the air
Is emptied of thine hoary majesty.
Thy thunder, conscious of the new command,
Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house;
And thy sharp lightning in unpractised hands
Scorches and burns our once serene domain.
O aching time! O moments big as years!
All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth,
And press it so upon our weary griefs
That unbelief has not a space to breathe.
Saturn, sleep on:---O thoughtless, why did I
Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude?
Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes?
Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep."

As when, upon a tranced summer-night,
Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods,
Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
Dream, and so dream all night without a stir,
Save from one gradual solitary gust
Which comes upon the silence, and dies off,
As if the ebbing air had but one wave;
So came these words and went; the while in tears
She touch'd her fair large forehead to the ground,
Just where her fallen hair might be outspread
A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet.
One moon, with alteration slow, had shed
Her silver seasons four upon the night,
And still these two were postured motionless,
Like natural sculpture in cathedral cavern;
The frozen God still couchant on the earth,
And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet:
Until at length old Saturn lifted up
His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone,
And all the gloom and sorrow ofthe place,
And that fair kneeling Goddess; and then spake,
As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard
Shook horrid with such aspen-malady:
"O tender spouse of gold Hyperion,
Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face;
Look up, and let me see our doom in it;
Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape
Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the voice
Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow,
Naked and bare of its great diadem,
Peers like the front of Saturn? Who had power
To make me desolate? Whence came the strength?
How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth,
While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp?
But it is so; and I am smother'd up,
And buried from all godlike exercise
Of influence benign on planets pale,
Of admonitions to the winds and seas,
Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting,
And all those acts which Deity supreme
Doth ease its heart of love in.---I am gone
Away from my own bosom: I have left
My strong identity, my real self,
Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit
Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search!
Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round
Upon all space: space starr'd, and lorn of light;
Space region'd with life-air; and barren void;
Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell.---
Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest
A certain shape or shadow, making way
With wings or chariot fierce to repossess
A heaven he lost erewhile: it must---it must
Be of ripe progress---Saturn must be King.
Yes, there must be a golden victory;
There must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown
Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival
Upon the gold clouds metropolitan,
Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir
Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be
Beautiful things made new, for the surprise
Of the sky-children; I will give command:
Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?"
This passion lifted him upon his feet,
And made his hands to struggle in the air,
His Druid locks to shake and ooze with sweat,
His eyes to fever out, his voice to cease.
He stood, and heard not Thea's sobbing deep;
A little time, and then again he snatch'd
Utterance thus.---"But cannot I create?
Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion forth
Another world, another universe,
To overbear and crumble this to nought?
Where is another Chaos? Where?"---That word
Found way unto Olympus, and made quake
The rebel three.---Thea was startled up,
And in her bearing was a sort of hope,
As thus she quick-voic'd spake, yet full of awe.

"This cheers our fallen house: come to our friends,
O Saturn! come away, and give them heart;
I know the covert, for thence came I hither."
Thus brief; then with beseeching eyes she went
With backward footing through the shade a space:
He follow'd, and she turn'd to lead the way
Through aged boughs, that yielded like the mist
Which eagles cleave upmounting from their nest.

Meanwhile in other realms big tears were shed,
More sorrow like to this, and such like woe,
Too huge for mortal tongue or pen of scribe:
The Titans fierce, self-hid, or prison-bound,
Groan'd for the old allegiance once more,
And listen'd in sharp pain for Saturn's voice.
But one of the whole mammoth-brood still kept
His sov'reigny, and rule, and majesy;---
Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire
Still sat, still snuff'd the incense, teeming up
From man to the sun's God: yet unsecure:
For as among us mortals omens drear
Fright and perplex, so also shuddered he---
Not at dog's howl, or gloom-bird's hated screech,
Or the familiar visiting of one
Upon the first toll of his passing-bell,
Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp;
But horrors, portion'd to a giant nerve,
Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright,
Bastion'd with pyramids of glowing gold,
And touch'd with shade of bronzed obelisks,
Glar'd a blood-red through all its thousand courts,
Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries;
And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds
Flush'd angerly: while sometimes eagles' wings,
Unseen before by Gods or wondering men,
Darken'd the place; and neighing steeds were heard
Not heard before by Gods or wondering men.
Also, when he would taste the spicy wreaths
Of incense, breath'd aloft from sacred hills,
Instead of sweets, his ample palate took
Savor of poisonous brass and metal sick:
And so, when harbor'd in the sleepy west,
After the full completion of fair day,---
For rest divine upon exalted couch,
And slumber in the arms of melody,
He pac'd away the pleasant hours of ease
With stride colossal, on from hall to hall;
While far within each aisle and deep recess,
His winged minions in close clusters stood,
Amaz'd and full offear; like anxious men
Who on wide plains gather in panting troops,
When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers.
Even now, while Saturn, rous'd from icy trance,
Went step for step with Thea through the woods,
Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear,
Came slope upon the threshold of the west;
Then, as was wont, his palace-door flew ope
In smoothest silence, save what solemn tubes,
Blown by the serious Zephyrs, gave of sweet
And wandering sounds, slow-breathed melodies;
And like a rose in vermeil tint and shape,
In fragrance soft, and coolness to the eye,
That inlet to severe magnificence
Stood full blown, for the God to enter in.

He enter'd, but he enter'd full of wrath;
His flaming robes stream'd out beyond his heels,
And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire,
That scar'd away the meek ethereal Hours
And made their dove-wings tremble. On he flared
From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault,
Through bowers of fragrant and enwreathed light,
And diamond-paved lustrous long arcades,
Until he reach'd the great main cupola;
There standing fierce beneath, he stampt his foot,
And from the basements deep to the high towers
Jarr'd his own golden region; and before
The quavering thunder thereupon had ceas'd,
His voice leapt out, despite of godlike curb,
To this result: "O dreams of day and night!
O monstrous forms! O effigies of pain!
O spectres busy in a cold, cold gloom!
O lank-eared phantoms of black-weeded pools!
Why do I know ye? why have I seen ye? why
Is my eternal essence thus distraught
To see and to behold these horrors new?
Saturn is fallen, am I too to fall?
Am I to leave this haven of my rest,
This cradle of my glory, this soft clime,
This calm luxuriance of blissful light,
These crystalline pavilions, and pure fanes,
Of all my lucent empire? It is left
Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine.
The blaze, the splendor, and the symmetry,
I cannot see but darkness, death, and darkness.
Even here, into my centre of repose,
The shady visions come to domineer,
Insult, and blind, and stifle up my pomp.---
Fall!---No, by Tellus and her briny robes!
Over the fiery frontier of my realms
I will advance a terrible right arm
Shall scare that infant thunderer, rebel Jove,
And bid old Saturn take his throne again."---
He spake, and ceas'd, the while a heavier threat
Held struggle with his throat but came not forth;
For as in theatres of crowded men
Hubbub increases more they call out "Hush!"
So at Hyperion's words the phantoms pale
Bestirr'd themselves, thrice horrible and cold;
And from the mirror'd level where he stood
A mist arose, as from a scummy marsh.
At this, through all his bulk an agony
Crept gradual, from the feet unto the crown,
Like a lithe serpent vast and muscular
Making slow way, with head and neck convuls'd
From over-strained might. Releas'd, he fled
To the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours
Before the dawn in season due should blush,
He breath'd fierce breath against the sleepy portals,
Clear'd them of heavy vapours, burst them wide
Suddenly on the ocean's chilly streams.
The planet orb of fire, whereon he rode
Each day from east to west the heavens through,
Spun round in sable curtaining of clouds;
Not therefore veiled quite, blindfold, and hid,
But ever and anon the glancing spheres,
Circles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure,
Glow'd through, and wrought upon the muffling dark
Sweet-shaped lightnings from the nadir deep
Up to the zenith,---hieroglyphics old,
Which sages and keen-eyed astrologers
Then living on the earth, with laboring thought
Won from the gaze of many centuries:
Now lost, save what we find on remnants huge
Of stone, or rnarble swart; their import gone,
Their wisdom long since fled.---Two wings this orb
Possess'd for glory, two fair argent wings,
Ever exalted at the God's approach:
And now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense
Rose, one by one, till all outspreaded were;
While still the dazzling globe maintain'd eclipse,
Awaiting for Hyperion's command.
Fain would he have commanded, fain took throne
And bid the day begin, if but for change.
He might not:---No, though a primeval God:
The sacred seasons might not be disturb'd.
Therefore the operations of the dawn
Stay'd in their birth, even as here 'tis told.
Those silver wings expanded sisterly,
Eager to sail their orb; the porches wide
Open'd upon the dusk demesnes of night
And the bright Titan, phrenzied with new woes,
Unus'd to bend, by hard compulsion bent
His spirit to the sorrow of the time;
And all along a dismal rack of clouds,
Upon the boundaries of day and night,
He stretch'd himself in grief and radiance faint.
There as he lay, the Heaven with its stars
Look'd down on him with pity, and the voice
Of Coelus, from the universal space,
Thus whisper'd low and solemn in his ear:
"O brightest of my children dear, earth-born
And sky-engendered, son of mysteries
All unrevealed even to the powers
Which met at thy creating; at whose joys
And palpitations sweet, and pleasures soft,
I, Coelus, wonder, how they came and whence;
And at the fruits thereof what shapes they be,
Distinct, and visible; symbols divine,
Manifestations of that beauteous life
Diffus'd unseen throughout eternal space:
Of these new-form'd art thou, O brightest child!
Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses!
There is sad feud among ye, and rebellion
Of son against his sire. I saw him fall,
I saw my first-born tumbled from his throne!
To me his arms were spread, to me his voice
Found way from forth the thunders round his head!
Pale wox I, and in vapours hid my face.
Art thou, too, near such doom? vague fear there is:
For I have seen my sons most unlike Gods.
Divine ye were created, and divine
In sad demeanour, solemn, undisturb'd,
Unruffled, like high Gods, ye liv'd and ruled:
Now I behold in you fear, hope, and wrath;
Actions of rage and passion; even as
I see them, on the mortal world beneath,
In men who die.---This is the grief, O son!
Sad sign of ruin, sudden dismay, and fall!
Yet do thou strive; as thou art capable,
As thou canst move about, an evident God;
And canst oppose to each malignant hour
Ethereal presence:---I am but a voice;
My life is but the life of winds and tides,
No more than winds and tides can I avail:---
But thou canst.---Be thou therefore in the van
Of circumstance; yea, seize the arrow's barb
Before the tense string murmur.---To the earth!
For there thou wilt find Saturn, and his woes.
Meantime I will keep watch on thy bright sun,
And of thy seasons be a careful nurse."---
Ere half this region-whisper had come down,
Hyperion arose, and on the stars
Lifted his curved lids, and kept them wide
Until it ceas'd; and still he kept them wide:
And still they were the same bright, patient stars.
Then with a slow incline of his broad breast,
Like to a diver in the pearly seas,
Forward he stoop'd over the airy shore,
And plung'd all noiseless into the deep night.



Parțial , acest Hyperion, l-ar fi inspirat puțin și pe Mihai Eminescu