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nightspore Group: Members Posts: 4770 Joined: Mar. 2008 Posted: May 11 2011, 03:46 Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; And I was desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat, Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay; Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet; But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, When I awoke and found the dawn was gray: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, all the time, because the dance was long: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. I cried for madder music and for stronger wine, But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire, Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine; And I am desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. Ernest Dowson (1867-1900) Back to top

Philippe Tavares Group: Members Posts: 1613 Joined: Feb. 2005 Posted: May 11 2011, 06:38   ....next week you'll be surprised..... Back to top

nightspore Group: Members Posts: 4770 Joined: Mar. 2008 Posted: May 11 2011, 07:11 Quote (Tubular Tos @ May 11 2011, 06:38)   ....next week you'll be surprised..... Some Baudelaire, perhaps, TT?   Back to top

Philippe Tavares Group: Members Posts: 1613 Joined: Feb. 2005 Posted: May 11 2011, 09:46 ...no no , i prefer Arthur Rimbaud . i live in the Ardennes of France very "near/close" of the village where he lived and wrote some of his poems....but it's not about them anyway.... Back to top

ex member 892 Group: Members Posts: 827 Joined: July 2008 Posted: May 11 2011, 10:00 Edgar Allan Poe - The City in the Sea Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not! ) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters he. No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently- Gleams up the pinnacles far and free- Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls- Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls- Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers- Up many and many a marvelous shrine Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine. Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. So blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down. There open fanes and gaping graves Yawn level with the luminous waves; But not the riches there that lie In each idol's diamond eye- Not the gaily-jewelled dead Tempt the waters from their bed; For no ripples curl, alas! Along that wilderness of glass- No swellings tell that winds may be Upon some far-off happier sea- No heavings hint that winds have been On seas less hideously serene. But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave- there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide- As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. The waves have now a redder glow- The hours are breathing faint and low- And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence. Love that last bit. Back to top

Scatterplot Group: Members Posts: 1981 Joined: Dec. 2007 Posted: May 11 2011, 11:45 The sky was dark the moon was high all alone just her and I Her hair so soft her eyes so blue I knew just what she wanted to do Her skin so soft her legs so fine I ran my fingers down her spine I didn't know how but I tried my best to place my hand on her breast I remember my fear my fast beating heart but slowly she spread her legs apart And when she did I felt no shame as all at once the white stuff came At last it was finished it's all over now, my first time ...milking a cow. author unknown -------------- We raise our voices in the night Crying to heaven And will our voices be heard Or will they break Like the wind Back to top

nightspore Group: Members Posts: 4770 Joined: Mar. 2008 Posted: May 12 2011, 03:58 A.R. Ammons - So I Said I Am Ezra So I said I am Ezra and the wind whipped my throat gaming for the sounds of my voice  I listened to the wind go over my head and up into the night Turning to the sea I said        I am Ezra but there were no echoes from the waves The words were swallowed up  in the voice of the surf or leaping over the swells lost themselves oceanward  Over the bleached and broken fields I moved my feet and turning from the wind  that ripped sheets of sand  from the beach and threw them  like seamists across the dunes swayed as if the wind were taking me away and said        I am Ezra As a word too much repeated falls out of being so I Ezra went out into the night like a drift of sand and splashed among the windy oats that clutch the dunes of unremembered seas Back to top

Ugo Group: Members Posts: 5495 Joined: April 2000 Posted: May 12 2011, 16:13 I generally don't like reading poetry. Last one I've read was T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land", and that was about 2 years ago. -------------- Ugo C. - a devoted Amarokian Back to top

Philippe Tavares Group: Members Posts: 1613 Joined: Feb. 2005 Posted: May 12 2011, 17:22 Tonight my elder daughter had to learn this one for homeworks of his college . Liberté On my school notebooks On my desk and on the trees On the sands of snow I write your name On the pages I have read On all the white pages Stone, blood, paper or ash I write your name On the images of gold On the weapons of the warriors On the crown of the king I write your name On the jungle and the desert On the nest and on the brier On the echo of my childhood I write your name On all my scarves of blue On the moist sunlit swamps On the living lake of moonlight I write your name On the fields, on the horizon On the birds’ wings And on the mill of shadows I write your name On each whiff of daybreak On the sea, on the boats On the demented mountaintop I write your name On the froth of the cloud On the sweat of the storm On the dense rain and the flat I write your name On the flickering figures On the bells of colors On the natural truth I write your name On the high paths On the deployed routes On the crowd-thronged square I write your name On the lamp which is lit On the lamp which isn’t On my reunited thoughts I write your name On a fruit cut in two Of my mirror and my chamber On my bed, an empty shell I write your name On my dog, greathearted and greedy On his pricked-up ears On his blundering paws I write your name On the latch of my door On those familiar objects On the torrents of a good fire I write your name On the harmony of the flesh On the faces of my friends On each outstretched hand I write your name On the window of surprises On a pair of expectant lips In a state far deeper than silence I write your name On my crumbled hiding-places On my sunken lighthouses On my walls and my ennui I write your name On abstraction without desire On naked solitude On the marches of death I write your name And for the want of a word I renew my life For I was born to know you To name you Liberty. Paul Eluard . And in French. Sur mes cahiers d'écolier Sur mon pupitre et les arbres Sur le sable sur la neige J'écris ton nom Sur toutes les pages lues Sur toutes les pages blanches Pierre sang papier ou cendre J'écris ton nom Sur les images dorées Sur les armes des guerriers Sur la couronne des rois J'écris ton nom Sur la jungle et le désert Sur les nids sur les genêts Sur l'écho de mon enfance J'écris ton nom Sur les merveilles des nuits Sur le pain blanc des journées Sur les saisons fiancées J'écris ton nom Sur tous mes chiffons d'azur Sur l'étang soleil moisi Sur le lac lune vivante J'écris ton nom Sur les champs sur l'horizon Sur les ailes des oiseaux Et sur le moulin des ombres J'écris ton nom Sur chaque bouffée d'aurore Sur la mer sur les bateaux Sur la montagne démente J'écris ton nom Sur la mousse des nuages Sur les sueurs de l'orage Sur la pluie épaisse et fade J'écris ton nom Sur les formes scintillantes Sur les cloches des couleurs Sur la vérité physique J'écris ton nom Sur les sentiers éveillés Sur les routes déployées Sur les places qui débordent J'écris ton nom Sur la lampe qui s'allume Sur la lampe qui s'éteint Sur mes maisons réunis J'écris ton nom Sur le fruit coupé en deux Dur miroir et de ma chambre Sur mon lit coquille vide J'écris ton nom Sur mon chien gourmand et tendre Sur ses oreilles dressées Sur sa patte maladroite J'écris ton nom Sur le tremplin de ma porte Sur les objets familiers Sur le flot du feu béni J'écris ton nom Sur toute chair accordée Sur le front de mes amis Sur chaque main qui se tend J'écris ton nom Sur la vitre des surprises Sur les lèvres attentives Bien au-dessus du silence J'écris ton nom Sur mes refuges détruits Sur mes phares écroulés Sur les murs de mon ennui J'écris ton nom Sur l'absence sans désir Sur la solitude nue Sur les marches de la mort J'écris ton nom Sur la santé revenue Sur le risque disparu Sur l'espoir sans souvenir J'écris ton nom Et par le pouvoir d'un mot Je recommence ma vie Je suis né pour te connaître Pour te nommer Liberté. Paul Eluard Back to top

nightspore Group: Members Posts: 4770 Joined: Mar. 2008 Posted: May 13 2011, 04:15 Quote (Tubular Tos @ May 12 2011, 17:22) Tonight my elder daughter had to learn this one for homeworks of his college . Liberté On my school notebooks On my desk and on the trees On the sands of snow I write your name On the pages I have read On all the white pages Stone, blood, paper or ash I write your name On the images of gold On the weapons of the warriors On the crown of the king I write your name On the jungle and the desert On the nest and on the brier On the echo of my childhood I write your name On all my scarves of blue On the moist sunlit swamps On the living lake of moonlight I write your name On the fields, on the horizon On the birds’ wings And on the mill of shadows I write your name On each whiff of daybreak On the sea, on the boats On the demented mountaintop I write your name On the froth of the cloud On the sweat of the storm On the dense rain and the flat I write your name On the flickering figures On the bells of colors On the natural truth I write your name On the high paths On the deployed routes On the crowd-thronged square I write your name On the lamp which is lit On the lamp which isn’t On my reunited thoughts I write your name On a fruit cut in two Of my mirror and my chamber On my bed, an empty shell I write your name On my dog, greathearted and greedy On his pricked-up ears On his blundering paws I write your name On the latch of my door On those familiar objects On the torrents of a good fire I write your name On the harmony of the flesh On the faces of my friends On each outstretched hand I write your name On the window of surprises On a pair of expectant lips In a state far deeper than silence I write your name On my crumbled hiding-places On my sunken lighthouses On my walls and my ennui I write your name On abstraction without desire On naked solitude On the marches of death I write your name And for the want of a word I renew my life For I was born to know you To name you Liberty. Paul Eluard . And in French. Sur mes cahiers d'écolier Sur mon pupitre et les arbres Sur le sable sur la neige J'écris ton nom Sur toutes les pages lues Sur toutes les pages blanches Pierre sang papier ou cendre J'écris ton nom Sur les images dorées Sur les armes des guerriers Sur la couronne des rois J'écris ton nom Sur la jungle et le désert Sur les nids sur les genêts Sur l'écho de mon enfance J'écris ton nom Sur les merveilles des nuits Sur le pain blanc des journées Sur les saisons fiancées J'écris ton nom Sur tous mes chiffons d'azur Sur l'étang soleil moisi Sur le lac lune vivante J'écris ton nom Sur les champs sur l'horizon Sur les ailes des oiseaux Et sur le moulin des ombres J'écris ton nom Sur chaque bouffée d'aurore Sur la mer sur les bateaux Sur la montagne démente J'écris ton nom Sur la mousse des nuages Sur les sueurs de l'orage Sur la pluie épaisse et fade J'écris ton nom Sur les formes scintillantes Sur les cloches des couleurs Sur la vérité physique J'écris ton nom Sur les sentiers éveillés Sur les routes déployées Sur les places qui débordent J'écris ton nom Sur la lampe qui s'allume Sur la lampe qui s'éteint Sur mes maisons réunis J'écris ton nom Sur le fruit coupé en deux Dur miroir et de ma chambre Sur mon lit coquille vide J'écris ton nom Sur mon chien gourmand et tendre Sur ses oreilles dressées Sur sa patte maladroite J'écris ton nom Sur le tremplin de ma porte Sur les objets familiers Sur le flot du feu béni J'écris ton nom Sur toute chair accordée Sur le front de mes amis Sur chaque main qui se tend J'écris ton nom Sur la vitre des surprises Sur les lèvres attentives Bien au-dessus du silence J'écris ton nom Sur mes refuges détruits Sur mes phares écroulés Sur les murs de mon ennui J'écris ton nom Sur l'absence sans désir Sur la solitude nue Sur les marches de la mort J'écris ton nom Sur la santé revenue Sur le risque disparu Sur l'espoir sans souvenir J'écris ton nom Et par le pouvoir d'un mot Je recommence ma vie Je suis né pour te connaître Pour te nommer Liberté. Paul Eluard In my opinion that poem loses its impact by having too many verses. The "I write your name"s drop out of being after a while, turning them into just a pattern of sounds, a la "Ezra" in the poem I posted. Back to top

HR lover Group: Members Posts: 548 Joined: Sep. 2010 Posted: May 13 2011, 05:36 All that poem tells me is that the person in the poem is a very fervent writer and also a person who writes on all the objects he can find. The author could have just told me that in one sentence! The person strikes me as a nutjob rather than a romantic person.   p.s. hmmm... maybe those two get along. I still don't like the poem; too french for me   -------------- Neither a borrower nor a lender be, For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. Back to top

nightspore Group: Members Posts: 4770 Joined: Mar. 2008 Posted: May 13 2011, 07:06 I found this poem in Poetry Salzburg Review 14, 2008, p. 72. It's by some obscure poet. Cadmium My Muse, inspire me with the epic of this metal: A once-rebuffed stepchild of zinc until the clash over Europa, But of such use thereafter! With an eye towards the future Phoenix My first electron was snatched from our sharp and manly father And borne to Crete, Ground zero of the War's first great strafe. There could be no return for me without her return, No backing down the gun-sights: Just xyster-trysts in one world-spanning cemetery Ensnared by Ares - but what was not, in Fascist 1941? The regents with their razor-wire regalia; The salinelle of stinking plasma: The fount of propaganda my protective coating could not reach, Nor my poison; And yet my shells like teeth were interred in earth If not in farm or flesh As was advised by Athens' spirit on April 27, The Allies and the Axis ranking jointly as the Five, Bipolar in their aims yet therefore Schelling-focused In unity of struggle. And the achievement was the Phoenix! City or Semioticity, who could say? A pattern of signs; a grammar of abstraction; A figuration of forgiveness - Not I; I was now tempered for plans of Harmony, My second valence scion. Eight years brought us to the fifties And serpents of another kind: Deities of indifference (for harmony abrades to this), Hardened by habit. After such forgiveness, what knowledge? Only that buffing burnishes to a mirror patina A tain of rainbowed silver; And in expressing signs I reach attainment: A sterling surface for reflections of any Muse. Back to top

Philippe Tavares Group: Members Posts: 1613 Joined: Feb. 2005 Posted: May 13 2011, 07:11 ..this poem was written in 1942 during second wolrd war...maybe you can understand now.... ..for me a poem is by its definition something that you can write without rules...so why are you searching "formated"... poems have any Nationality , they just are Universal ! ..maybe you could learn French as i've learnt English and i still try to learn today.... @Nightspore:..by chance she just had to learn five verses..   Back to top

ex member 892 Group: Members Posts: 827 Joined: July 2008 Posted: May 13 2011, 07:47 Trying to learn Spanish has given me a real appreciation for how hard it is for non-English-natives to try to converse in English - and of course English is much harder and more illogical then Spanish. Back to top

Ugo Group: Members Posts: 5495 Joined: April 2000 Posted: May 13 2011, 18:20 I'm obviously not a native English speaker, but I don't think English is illogical. Indeed, I've often heard that the English grammar is one of the easiest grammars in the whole world to be learnt by non-native speakers, because it's based on a limited number of fixed and unchangeable rules. That doesn't sound really illogical to me, does it? Italian (and, consequently, Spanish) grammar is IMHO much harder to learn than English grammar - indeed, there are many points in Italian grammar which may look very illogical to foreigners. -------------- Ugo C. - a devoted Amarokian Back to top

nightspore Group: Members Posts: 4770 Joined: Mar. 2008 Posted: May 13 2011, 22:28 A couple of interesting features of English as compared with European languages: 1) We don't divide all objects into masculine and feminine categories; and 2) The second person singular "thou" has become archaic. Back to top

Philippe Tavares Group: Members Posts: 1613 Joined: Feb. 2005 Posted: May 14 2011, 22:57 Nightspore ?.. This one is my favourite , i guess you know why ! Winter Stars I went out at night alone;  The young blood flowing beyond the sea Seemed to have drenched my spirit's wings --  I bore my sorrow heavily. But when I lifted up my head  From shadows shaken on the snow, I saw Orion in the east  Burn steadily as long ago. From windows in my father's house,  Dreaming my dreams on winter nights, I watched Orion as a girl  Above another city's lights. Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,  The world's heart breaks beneath its wars, All things are changed, save in the east  The faithful beauty of the stars.             Sara Teasdale (August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933), Back to top

nightspore Group: Members Posts: 4770 Joined: Mar. 2008 Posted: May 14 2011, 23:35 Quote (Tubular Tos @ May 14 2011, 22:57) Nightspore ?.. This one is my favourite , i guess you know why ! Winter Stars I went out at night alone;  The young blood flowing beyond the sea Seemed to have drenched my spirit's wings --  I bore my sorrow heavily. But when I lifted up my head  From shadows shaken on the snow, I saw Orion in the east  Burn steadily as long ago. From windows in my father's house,  Dreaming my dreams on winter nights, I watched Orion as a girl  Above another city's lights. Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,  The world's heart breaks beneath its wars, All things are changed, save in the east  The faithful beauty of the stars.             Sara Teasdale (August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933), Your favourite constellation too, TT   Back to top

Philippe Tavares Group: Members Posts: 1613 Joined: Feb. 2005 Posted: May 15 2011, 08:19 Did you listened to the chant version at the end of M42 ? Back to top

nightspore Group: Members Posts: 4770 Joined: Mar. 2008 Posted: May 15 2011, 09:44 Quote (Tubular Tos @ May 15 2011, 08:19) Did you listened to the chant version at the end of M42 ? Of course, TT - I listened to it all and downloaded it. I thought the poem worked really well.   Betelgeuse... Rigel... Bellatrix... Saiph... Mintaka... Alnilam... Alnitak.... Back to top

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