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What Poetry Moved You?


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  • 2 weeks later...

walking around

pablo neruda translated by robert bly

 

it so happens i am sick of being a man.

and it happens that i walk into tailorshops and movie houses

dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt

steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

 

the smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse sobs.

the only thing i want is to lie still like stones or wool.

the only thing i want is to see no more stores, no gardens,

no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

 

it so happens that i am sick of my feet and my nails

and my hair and my shadow.

it so happens i am sick of being a man.

 

still it would be marvelous

to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,

or k*ll a nun with a blow on the ear.

it would be great

to go through the streets with a green knife

letting out yells until i died of the cold.

 

i don't want to go on being a root in the dark,

insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,

going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,

taking in and thinking, eating every day.

 

i don't want so much misery.

i don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,

alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,

half frozen, dying of grief.

 

that's why monday, when it sees me coming

with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,

and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,

and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the night.

 

and it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist houses,

into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,

into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,

and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

 

there are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines

hanging over the doors of houses that i hate,

and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,

there are mirrors

that ought to have wept from shame and terror,

there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical cords.

 

i stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,

my rage, forgetting everything,

i walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops,

and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:

underwear, towels and shirts from which slow

dirty tears are falling.

 

---------

pablo's commune with us whiners of the world. ^_^

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"Hope" is the Thing With Feathers

 

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—

That perches in the soul—

And sings the tune without the words—

And never stops—at all—

 

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—

And sore must be the storm—

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm—

 

I've heard it in the chillest land—

And on the strangest Sea—

Yet, never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb—of Me.

 

Emily Dickinson

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  • 1 month later...

My Heart Bled Out And Cried...

Gazal Naushad

 

When you left without a word,

Without reasoning your silence,

Without answering my questions,

My heart bled out and cried.

 

When I waited for you all day and all night long,

During scorching summers and chilly winters,

Still got no trace of you,

My heart bled out and cried.

 

When the rains came home without you,

The sunshine gloomily crept through the windows,

The wind blew and said you are gone,

My heart bled out and cried.

 

Yea, I know you will ne’ er come back,

I hv accepted this truth and decided to move on

May be you ne ’er cared,

May be you will ne’er know but…at times

My heart still bleeds out and cries.

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Love [pablo neruda]

 

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the

perfumes of spring.

I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;

how did your lips feel on mine?

Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,

the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten

your eyes.

Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of

you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will

do me irreparable harm.

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every

window.

Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because

of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting

stars, falling objects.

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It dropped so low in my regard

 

It dropped so low in my regard

I heard it hit the ground,

And go to pieces on the stones

At the bottom of my mind;

 

Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less

Than I reviled myself

For entertaining plated wares

Upon my silver shelf.

 

-- Emily Dickinson

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AFTER A WHILE

 

After a while you learn the subtle difference

Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

 

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning

And company doesn't mean security,

 

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts

And presents aren't promises

 

And you begin to accept your defeats

With your head up and your eyes open,

 

With the grace of a woman,

Not the grief of a child

 

And you learn to build all your roads on today,

Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans

and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

 

After awhile you learn that even sunshine

Burns if you get too much

 

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,

In stead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

 

And you learn that you really can endure...

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth,

and you learn and learn...

With every good bye you learn.

 

Veronica Shoffstall, 1971

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Spring and Fall: to a young child

 

Margaret, are you grieving

Over Goldengrove unleaving?

Leaves, like the things of man, you

With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?

Ah! as the heart grows older

It will come to such sights colder

By & by, nor spare a sigh

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;

And yet you will weep & know why.

Now no matter, child, the name:

Sorrow's springs are the same.

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed

What heart heard of, ghost guessed:

It is the blight man was born for,

It is Margaret you mourn for.

 

--Gerard Manley Hopkins

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Guest biancaanne

Colours

 

( Yevgeny Yevtushenko )

 

When your face

appeared over my crumpled life

at first I understood

only the poverty of what I have.

Then its particular light

on woods, on rivers, on the sea,

became my beginning in the coloured world

in which I had not yet had my beginning.

I am so frightened, I am so frightened,

of the unexpected sunrise finishing,

of revelations

and tears and the excitement finishing.

I don't fight it, my love is this fear,

I nourish it who can nourish nothing,

love's slipshod watchman.

Fear hems me in.

I am conscious that these minutes are short

and that the colours in my eyes will vanish

when your face sets.

 

 

-------------------------------

 

 

Awwwwww...geezzz

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I Wanna Be Yours

John Cooper Clarke

 

let me be your vacuum cleaner

breathing in your dust

let me be your ford cortina

i will never rust

if you like your coffee hot

let me be your coffee pot

you call the shots

i wanna be yours

 

let me be your raincoat

for those frequent rainy days

let me be your dreamboat

when you wanna sail away

let me be your teddy bear

take me with you anywhere

i don’t care

i wanna be yours

 

let me be your electric meter

i will not run out

let me be the electric heater

you get cold without

let me be your setting lotion

hold your hair with deep devotion

deep as the deep atlantic ocean

that’s how deep is my emotion

deep deep deep deep de deep deep

i don’t wanna be hers

i wanna be yours

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  • 2 weeks later...

Loyalty

by Elbert Hubbard

 

If you work for a man in heaven's name,

Work for him, speak well of him,

And stand by the institution which he represents.

 

Remember an once of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness.

 

If you must growl, condemn, or eternally find fault, why?

Resign your position and when you're on the outside, damn to your heart's content.

 

But as long as you are a part of this institution do not condemn it,

For if you do, the first high wind that comes along

Will blow you away and probably you will never know why.

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The Dentist Pulled My Tooth Out

 

The dentist pulled my tooth out

and he thought it was such fun

he grabbed his pliers

and dental pryers

and pulled another one.

 

"Yippee! Hooray! What awesome fun!"

he shouted out with glee.

He grinned a grin

then went back in

and pulled out number three.

 

Then number four and number five

and numbers six and seven

were followed by

a cheerful cry

Of "Eight! Nine! Ten! Eleven!"

 

He took a few more from the top

and some from underneath,

he yanked them fast

until at last

he'd pulled out all my teeth.

 

Without my teeth I cannot chew;

I just eat soup and mush.

But don't be sad

I'm kind of glad--

I'll never have to brush!

 

--Kenn Nesbitt

 

 

-dedicated to the guy who's afraid of dentists

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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 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 simply, without problems or pride:

I love you in this way

because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I nor you,

so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,

so intimate that when I fall asleep

it is your eyes that close.

 

© Pablo Neruda

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  • 4 weeks later...

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