' Live-Poets Society ' – A Corner For Poetry

[Parker Owens]

 

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

 

   Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: 

   What if my leaves are falling like its own!

 

 

 

Such a wonderful quotation, and the images are so evocative. How easy it is to slip and fall among those thorns.

[asamvav111]

Such a wonderful quotation, and the images are so evocative. How easy it is to slip and fall among those thorns.

I'm enslaved by that face

No one's allowed to see,

Driven mad by ringlets

No one's allowed to touch.

A thirsty flame licks my breast,

And displayed in the distance

A refreshing drink

No one's allowed to taste.

 

...My heart was flayed, my heart

was ripped to shreds. Why won't 

these complacent fools allow me

to tear off these tattered clothes?

Today the breeze picked up

the smell of my heart and spleen.

Careful, be sure it's not

allowed to blow his way.

 

Khusrau was pierced again and again

by cruel thorns of separation.

Will he ever be allowed

to pluck a rose from your cheek?

 

(man banda-yi an ruy ki didan naguzarand, translated by Paul E Losensky)

[William King]

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY.

(last stanza)

 

NO HAY PÁJAROS EN LOS NIDOS DE ANTAÑO.

Spanish Proverb.

 

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,

To some good angel leave the rest ;

For Time will teach thee soon the truth,

There are no birds in last year's nest !

[Parker Owens]

I'm enslaved by that face

No one's allowed to see,

Driven mad by ringlets

No one's allowed to touch.

A thirsty flame licks my breast,

And displayed in the distance

A refreshing drink

No one's allowed to taste.

 

...My heart was flayed, my heart

was ripped to shreds. Why won't 

these complacent fools allow me

to tear off these tattered clothes?

Today the breeze picked up

the smell of my heart and spleen.

Careful, be sure it's not

allowed to blow his way.

 

Khusrau was pierced again and again

by cruel thorns of separation.

Will he ever be allowed

to pluck a rose from your cheek?

 

(man banda-yi an ruy ki didan naguzarand, translated by Paul E Losensky)

 

Such a tragic poem, full of yearning. Thanks for finding it and sharing it. I feel it keenly.

[dughlas]

I am intrigued by the poems from non-western cultures ... the use of words we might not contemplate. Thanks for sharing them.

[Emi GS]

Small poem of local slang Urdu:

 

Chaar lafz kaafi naheen

Nah hi un bay shumar.

Jindagi sirf ek bahaana thi

Allah tho ruh kabeeka jod diya.

[William King]

Small poem of local slang Urdu:Chaar lafz kaafi naheen

Nah hi un bay shumar.

Jindagi sirf ek bahaana thi

Allah tho ruh kabeeka jod diya.

You'll have to translate it, because Google translate doesn't do it justice. It translates to hindi and anyway never does slang

[Emi GS]

You'll have to translate it, because Google translate doesn't do it justice. It translates to hindi and anyway never does slang

I'll do it. But you have to wait until tomorrow. I am expecting someone, anyone, could make best out of it.

[Emi GS]

Okay! As no one dared to translate my little poem of four lines( ), then I'll do it myself. And this poem, I wrote it in the memory of SacredLove, who is not online for so long. And it's dedicated to him.

 

Four words are not enough

Not even those countless

Life is simply an excuse, but

Allah has already meld our souls.

[asamvav111]

wonderful poem... but what do you mean in memory of?

[Emi GS]

wonderful poem... but what do you mean in memory of?

What I mean is, it's crossed a year that I have written a poem for him. And he has been absent about almost half year. I just wanted to write something for him, something that might drag, like magic, him to be here on GA.

[Aditus]

I'm working on a lecture of the work of my favorite poet Heinrich Heine in English. Germany. A Winter's Tale captivated me once again, and I thought I'd share it with you. 

[Parker Owens]

I'm working on a lecture of the work of my favorite poet Heinrich Heine in English. Germany. A Winter's Tale captivated me once again, and I thought I'd share it with you. 

Thank you for sharing this. I enjoyed it!

[Defiance19]

I'm working on a lecture of the work of my favorite poet Heinrich Heine in English. Germany. A Winter's Tale captivated me once again, and I thought I'd share it with you.

 

This was lovely to read out loud and since I'm amongst friends, I will admit to fancy elocution.

[Mikiesboy]

I'm working on a lecture of the work of my favorite poet Heinrich Heine in English. Germany. A Winter's Tale captivated me once again, and I thought I'd share it with you. 

Oh Adi ... this is a wonderful!!  I loved it!!   Thanks for posting it!

[Former Member]

I think this is a pretty good poem...

 

 

 

I've had a vision of a future time

When this world will be mired in cruel war;

Wallow in pollution and sink in crime;

A time when both trees and men die rank at core.

They will look back at us and demand to know

How greed and apathy played such a part

When we recklessly let everything go,

Saying the future will be state-of-the-art.

But a beacon shines in my vision too,

A hope, and also an absolute –

A want that none of my foresight will come true;

And a faith in mankind that's resolute.

For eyes yet unborn, but reading these words,

Will know Love as we did ever afterwards.

[Mikiesboy]

I think this is a pretty good poem...

 

 

 

I've had a vision of a future time

When this world will be mired in cruel war;

Wallow in pollution and sink in crime;

A time when both trees and men die rank at core.

They will look back at us and demand to know

How greed and apathy played such a part

When we recklessly let everything go,

Saying the future will be state-of-the-art.

But a beacon shines in my vision too,

A hope, and also an absolute –

A want that none of my foresight will come true;

And a faith in mankind that's resolute.

 

For eyes yet unborn, but reading these words,

Will know Love as we did ever afterwards.

mmm yeah just pretty good!

[Former Member]

I'm enslaved by that face

No one's allowed to see,

Driven mad by ringlets

No one's allowed to touch.

A thirsty flame licks my breast,

And displayed in the distance

A refreshing drink

No one's allowed to taste.

 

...My heart was flayed, my heart

was ripped to shreds. Why won't 

these complacent fools allow me

to tear off these tattered clothes?

Today the breeze picked up

the smell of my heart and spleen.

Careful, be sure it's not

allowed to blow his way.

 

Khusrau was pierced again and again

by cruel thorns of separation.

Will he ever be allowed

to pluck a rose from your cheek?

 

(man banda-yi an ruy ki didan naguzarand, translated by Paul E Losensky)

 

It's beautiful and puts me in mind of a little piece of verse, one a Moorish king in Spain made to his Christian page boy....

 

I have made you my slave,

but the coyness of your glance

has made me your captive. 

[Former Member]

Well...first off thanks to AC for the invitation. 

I see there were discussions about the formats available when writing poetry.

 

The average person thinks that poetry is just rhyming lines...

I know better...Still, I pay less attention to format. (Just the minimal)

I`m focusing more on the message(s) hiding in the lines.

As for reading poetry from famous(more or less) I`m stuck with Hungarian poets.

 

On this site I read a little from everyone. Anyway, I`m probably off topic, so sorry.

 

A quote from József Attila

 

"A semmi ágán ül szivem,

kis teste hangtalan vacog,

köréje gyűlnek szeliden

s nézik, nézik a csillagok."

 

On the branch of nothing sits my heart,

His little body shivering without a sound,

Surrounding him the meek stars,

 

And they gaze, gaze down at him.

 

(probably lost the quality in the translation.)

 

It seems like a beautiful translation. When I was a boy, about 10 or so, our classroom window faced the street. A little house was over there, and in winter, all the birds would line up shoulder to shoulder on top of the chimney. They’d spend hours just staying warm in the rising column oh heat, and I sometimes wondered if they ever looked up. 

 

 

That’s the spirit I get from Attila’s poem here…

Edited January 13, 2017 by AC Benus

[Valkyrie]

I think this is a pretty good poem...

 

 

 

I've had a vision of a future time

When this world will be mired in cruel war;

Wallow in pollution and sink in crime;

A time when both trees and men die rank at core.

They will look back at us and demand to know

How greed and apathy played such a part

When we recklessly let everything go,

Saying the future will be state-of-the-art.

But a beacon shines in my vision too,

A hope, and also an absolute –

A want that none of my foresight will come true;

And a faith in mankind that's resolute.

For eyes yet unborn, but reading these words,

Will know Love as we did ever afterwards.

Yeah...pretty good.   It's incredible.  

[Parker Owens]

I think this is a pretty good poem...

 

 

 

I've had a vision of a future time

When this world will be mired in cruel war;

Wallow in pollution and sink in crime;

A time when both trees and men die rank at core.

They will look back at us and demand to know

How greed and apathy played such a part

When we recklessly let everything go,

Saying the future will be state-of-the-art.

But a beacon shines in my vision too,

A hope, and also an absolute –

A want that none of my foresight will come true;

And a faith in mankind that's resolute.

For eyes yet unborn, but reading these words,

Will know Love as we did ever afterwards.

 

 

Dystopic visions like these always sounded so fictional, so cinematic, to me, until the past few years. Now, as events seem to accelerate, this poem seems frighteningly real. Every year, I am forced to watch  both men and trees die rank at core. The woods behind my home are full of shadowed, bare forms - and I weep to see what people have chosen to do elsewhere in the world. Already, the forest cries out as this sonnet does - how long will it be until the dead ones do the same? Your volta, starting in line 9, is what gives me hope - for it is not the Hollywood cinematic hero that changes the world. It's those of us who love.

 

Utterly beautiful.

[Former Member]

Dystopic visions like these always sounded so fictional, so cinematic, to me, until the past few years. Now, as events seem to accelerate, this poem seems frighteningly real. Every year, I am forced to watch  both men and trees die rank at core. The woods behind my home are full of shadowed, bare forms - and I weep to see what people have chosen to do elsewhere in the world. Already, the forest cries out as this sonnet does - how long will it be until the dead ones do the same? Your volta, starting in line 9, is what gives me hope - for it is not the Hollywood cinematic hero that changes the world. It's those of us who love.

 

Utterly beautiful.

Very kind words, Parker. Thank you

[Aditus]

I think this is a pretty good poem...

 

 

 

 

For me this is almost opening Pandora's box and somehow snatching out hope (that the rest stays inside). On another thought, some people's ignorance and denying makes me so furious as I feel utterly helpless. Gah!

Edited January 13, 2017 by aditus

[Valkyrie]

Fascinating article.  I'd love to hear some of these. 

 

http://www.npr.org/sections/parallels/2017/01/13/509140180/in-england-an-effort-to-preserve-ancient-epic-assyrian-poetry?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=npr&utm_term=nprnews&utm_content=20170114

[Mikiesboy]

Fascinating article.  I'd love to hear some of these. 

 

http://www.npr.org/sections/parallels/2017/01/13/509140180/in-england-an-effort-to-preserve-ancient-epic-assyrian-poetry?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=npr&utm_term=nprnews&utm_content=20170114

Interesting and yes, it would be wonderful to hear them.