The Poetry Thread

Ce muzica mai ascultați, ce filme ați mai văzut și ce cărți ați mai citit.
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Azad
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The Poetry Thread

Post by Azad »

Încep cu ceva clasic de Baudelaire.

Alchimia durerii

În tine unu-şi pune focul,
Natură! altul chinu-şi pune
Ce-i pentru unu-ngopăciune
Pentru-altu-i viaţa şi norocul.

O, Hermes tainic ce-n restrişti
M-ajuţi, dar teamă-n mine semeni,
Lui Midas tu mă faci asemeni,
Celui mai trist dintre-alchimişti.

Cu ajutorul ce mi-l dai
Fac fier din aur, iad din rai;
În giulgiul norilor din zare

Descopăr un cadavru drag
Şi pe cereştile ponoare
Clădesc un mare sarcofag.

Prefer traducerea în romănâ decât cea în engleză.

Şi nişte poezii din The Void pe care le-am salvat de pe forum-ul vechi. Nu mai ştiu dacă Mărar sau Jaunty le-au postat acolo aşa că...credits to both of them.
Spoiler:
The dream of the future you see, dissolves
And with time, so does the apprehension

The world under sun is no exception
And all you see around you, evolves

New traits in things familiar can be sensed
But futile is hope without fruition

The grief you knew begets no vision
The happiness you felt becomes regret

Winter fades and takes its cold and storm
Spring revives the world with love and warmth

But still the law: All things decay and age
Vanity itself won't dry your tears

And so you fear, as your time draws near
The world will turn, but never change

by Luís de Camões
Spoiler:
DEATH:
We never heard again once we departed
The sinner's prayer is sound and discord
An earthly god's communion is reward
From priests in temples never started
The dreams of madness change our savior
We are as bees abandoned by the hive
Like the men of fallen Troy we now strive
And flames predict the time of our failiure
By breathing gusts we are led in dissolution
Long paths unfolding, roads we've never walked
We stroll in blindness as a herdless flock
Rolling thunder, earth and lightning fusion
Exploding fires of doubt and disdain
Our dream's meaning, the world will never gain

by Maximilian Voloshin
Spoiler:
UTA:
By suns that shine at midnight we are blessed
Keen rays descend through mortared spires
The universe's race is paced with fire
The nebulas, the stars, the voided depths
From alpha dog, to Vega, and to Beta
To Ursa Major and sad Pliades
They cross the skies as sage Diadies
Creating planets like divine Excreta
Oh dust of worlds
Oh pure, holy swarm
I measured, checked, adapted, scaled and formed
Gave names, drew maps and specified the order
But starry horror will not let us go
It makes us call to foul, primal woe
When will we know the bliss of later's water?


AVA:
Our dream's meaning the earth will never dash
When morning murmurs meld in single chorus
And silken dawns dissolve before us
The foul scythe will then be burnt to ash
The rippling grey will crush to diamond dust
The egrets drowned in the silent ocean
Our spirits liberated by devotion
The false sun's glitter will fade at last
We are neither stunned by midday desert splendor
Nor to the jewels our wills surrender, no;
We are dead for golden coin's sake.
And robed in silken moon rays we are dressed
By suns that shine at midnight we are blessed
And at the darkest hour... we are awake.
Spoiler:
UNA:
They're not alive, but neither are they dead
They're deaf to words, and their touch is senseless
They're blunt to smell and their pain is endless
Their doom, unaltered by any event, is sealed in darkness
But like giver Phoebis bestows the blind
With overwhelming awe in sight of God
And the concealed cave is turned to christmas den
By holy vortex, the primal night who bore him in her womb
The offspring, sent to her by miser father
Is carrying her gifts to fateful brother
The one by solar rage who was entombed
Who has become the toy of fateless play
Who is alive, yet destined to be fey


IRE:
Entombed, he is destined to be fey
Yet sun's hot bark is clear to his sight
From seplica that arises from midnight he sees the land
Wheat splayed in the rays
Mules approach, scythes crop
A flail beats the ear, rafts drift
Beasts sleep, flitting birds make nests
And from his shroud's folds
He sees the fest of days and nights that spill into the years
Without joy, without tears and pain
He watches over human's idle fates with no black thought
Without asking why
Beyond existance will or any wish in knowing peace
Or any wish unknown to you and I
For to the earth, we are forever banished


YANI:
Those, to earth, who are forever hurled
Cannot enjoy the vastness of the fields
As time's each passing moment yields
The dancing shadows of other worlds
The soul sees the flicker far and vague
As on the surface of this ancient regret
One tried to read the holy alphabet
But lost the pattern in his own plague
And so he walks the dust of earthly sod
In apostate, a self-forgotten god
In things familiar he seeks forbidden codes
His flesh, immortal, is shrouded in flames
And to him, even death does simply nod
Him who saw the dreams and knew the names


IMA:
We exiles, wanderers, and poets
Who yearned to be but failed to become
Where birds have nests, beasts their lair homes
Our lot is a staff and beggar's hovel
The duty is failed, the promises are broken
The path unwalked
And our doom is nigh
Dreams of such roads drowning in a sigh of songs unsung
And poems never spoken
In shards of will it is so hard to find your own true self
So hard to confine the foolish pride
So hard to enter another's marquis
And to beg for bread
Hard for the vanguard's soul to render alive
That never has been truly dead


ELI:
We hold life's transcendant pains apart
We bear grief and disappointment's fire
But the banner or our sorrow's ire
Flutters in the winds of the departed
We hold life's transcendant pains apart
We bear grief and disappointment's fire
But the banner or our sorrow's ire
Flutters in the winds of the departed
Let the biting flames poison our spirit
Singing spirits smothered by corpses
Like Leachowan tangles in knotted snakes
Straining to break free, yet keeping silent
But no bliss will ever change this pain
The dignity of this restraint
The tension, this ecstacy of hopeless prison
For the balm of later's oblivion
We rain a grail of sorrows on the world
We exiles, wanderers and poets


OLE:
The ones who saw the dreams and knew the names
Who heard the grasses talking to each other
Who learned the will of their ancient father
Who listened to the songs of tidal waves
The ones whose souls have been purified
The ones who are harnessed to the pain of challenge
Who lit their mystic candles on the fringe
Who became a pure shade of darkest nights
Who didn't squeeze their grape to sinful glass
And didn't seek the joys of earthly leisure
Not in the priestess's dances
Not in the pleasure
But who descended into Hell's morass
To meet their shadow at the very bottom
They don't expect hearts with love to blossom


ECHO:
Why don't I know the bliss of later's waters?
Why does my spirit cry into the night?
It knows not the taste of burning spite
It pleads not to Satan's wily daughters
The circle is broken, and the chants dispelled
While everyone is bathed in brilliant ways
Rejoicing in the wine of passing days
We are drawn to lights beyond the blue sky's shell
The rustling grass, the shimmer of the swamps
A lazy wind plays out a vain rump
And carries out the shade of Persephone
To Pliadus, who gazes through the gust
Yet my spirit has a sad mistrust
Crying as I contemplate antiquity


AYA:
My spirit cries, entangled by the weeds
They grew from seeds nourished by blackness
Their poison stuns, they bind in shackles
Like horrors sealed in the pyramids
But neither fireborn marble nor granite
Can make a frame immune to the power of the flows
Of ageless, primal lava, that runs through our veins
And fills us with might
The tomb of suns, the urn of dead world's ash
The corpse of moon and Saturn's lifeless flesh
Is set in mind and taken by the heart
In dying stars, life is born anew
But spirit's force is granted to a few
Who hold life's transcendant pains apart


SELF:
Above the rippling surface waves
Has grown a solemn, rocky island built of bricks
With chasms black and floods of crimson rocks
And boundaries woeful of the land unknown
I see the dreams so marvellously sad
The creeks of land so solid and encrusted
Where wave and tide upon shores are busted
While singing by the mournful twilight's bed
And canvas in the dark plies a quiet course
Trembling with an ancient mystic force
The force of wind and raspy, breathless ripple
In ways of constant dare and righteous struggle
My boat is led along by sheering tumult
And skies are lit with starry, shining sparkle


????:
Through fields of love fly venerable comets
Like flaring, rushing, rolling conflagrations
Like molded fires, hell's manifestations
The universe's warring, biting gauntlets
Come from beyond
Let then, the planets dark
See vengeful swords of doom in our arrival
We head for the sun, though we are blinded
Clad in the winds and shielded by sparks
But strange indeed, soon as we touch the star
We change the root and fly away so far
Along parabolic paths yet to be marked
A blind rebellion leads our fate at bid
To the neverending dusk we said we'd never see again
Once we depart
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Jaunty
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Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Jaunty »

IMPRECAŢIE
de Nina Cassian

Te-mboridez, guruvă şi stelpică norangă,
te-mboridez să-ţi calpeni introstul şi să-ţi gui
multembilara voşcă pe-o crepitură pangă
şi să-ţi jumizi firiga lângă-un hisar mârzui.

Te-mboridez, cu zarga veglină şi alteră,
să-ntrauri eligenţa unui letusc aţod
pe care tentezina humblidelor ţiferă
şi plenturează istra în care hurge Dod.
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DANiel
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Location: Bucuresti

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by DANiel »

Și măslinele cu sâmburi au viermi,
Cu toate că nu sunt pe culori alese,
Cu toate cu nu îi simți între dinți,
Și nu știi dacă vreodată o să-ți pese.

Dar viermii nu au conștiință că să știe?
Sau poate nu or să simtă nimic,
Și-o să rămânem doi cu aceeași simțire,
Viermele mare înghite viermele mic
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Azad
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Joined: 8 Mar 2014, 20:53

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Azad »

"The Colossus"

Sylvia Plath, 1959

I shall never get you put together entirely,
Pieced, glued, and properly jointed.
Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles
Proceed from your great lips.
It’s worse than a barnyard.

Perhaps you consider yourself an oracle,
Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other.
Thirty years now I have labored
To dredge the silt from your throat.
I am none the wiser.

Scaling little ladders with glue pots and pails of lysol
I crawl like an ant in mourning
Over the weedy acres of your brow
To mend the immense skull plates and clear
The bald, white tumuli of your eyes.

A blue sky out of the Oresteia
Arches above us. O father, all by yourself
You are pithy and historical as the Roman Forum.
I open my lunch on a hill of black cypress.
Your fluted bones and acanthine hair are littered

In their old anarchy to the horizon-line.
It would take more than a lightning-stroke
To create such a ruin.
Nights, I squat in the cornucopia
Of your left ear, out of the wind,

Counting the red stars and those of plum-color.
The sun rises under the pillar of your tongue.
My hours are married to shadow.
No longer do I listen for the scrape of a keel
On the blank stones of the landing.
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Azad
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Posts: 1264
Joined: 8 Mar 2014, 20:53

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Azad »

"A murit in zori"

Federico Garcia Lorca

Noapte cu patru luni
şi un singur copac,
cu o singură umbră
şi o singură pasăre.

Caut în carnea mea
urmele buzelor tale.
Izvorul sărută vântul
fără să-l atingă.

Port acel NU ce mi-ai dat,
în podul palmei,
ca o lămâie de ceară aproape albă.

Noapte cu patru luni
şi un singur copac.
În vârful unui ac
stă dragostea mea, rotindu-se.
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Azad
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Joined: 8 Mar 2014, 20:53

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Azad »

"Aftermath"

Sylvia Plath

Compelled by calamity's magnet
They loiter and stare as if the house
Burnt-out were theirs, or as if they thought
Some scandal might any minute ooze
From a smoke-choked closet into light;
No deaths, no prodigious injuries
Glut these hunters after an old meat,
Blood-spoor of the austere tragedies.

Mother Medea in a green smock
Moves humbly as any housewife through
Her ruined apartments, taking stock
Of charred shoes, the sodden upholstery:
Cheated of the pyre and the rack,
The crowd sucks her last tear and turns away.
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Anne
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Location: Cyberspace

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Anne »

Una din poeziile mele preferate, am invatat-o la ora de germana, pun traducerea in engleza:

Erlkönig - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.

"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?"
"Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?"
"My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."

"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!
For many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?"
"Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives;
'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves."

"Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?
My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care;
My daughters by night their glad festival keep,
They'll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not see,
How the Erl-King his daughters has brought here for me?"
"My darling, my darling, I see it aright,
'Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight."

"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ."
"My father, my father, he seizes me fast,
For sorely the Erl-King has hurt me at last."

The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;
He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread, –
The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.

Daca vreti s-o auziti si in germana, pe muzica:

phpBB [video]
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Azad
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Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Azad »

Awesome ^ Eu stiam de varianta asta dar imi place mult mai mult ce ai pus tu. Parca i se potrivesc mult mai bine poeziei o voce groasa si o chitara decat altceva. Thanks for sharing!

"How Annandale Went Out"

Edwin Arlington Robinson, 1910

They called it Annandale—and I was there
To flourish, to find words, and to attend:
Liar, physician, hypocrite, and friend,
I watched him; and the sight was not so fair
As one or two that I have seen elsewhere:
An apparatus not for me to mend—
A wreck, with hell between him and the end,
Remained of Annandale; and I was there.

I knew the ruin as I knew the man;
So put the two together, if you can,
Remembering the worst you know of me.
Now view yourself as I was, on the spot—
With a slight kind of engine. Do you see?
Like this … You wouldn’t hang me? I thought not.
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Anne
I mean business
Posts: 249
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Location: Cyberspace

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Anne »

Cam toata lumea cunoaste varianta aia, eu am ales ceva mai special. Image

SOMETIMES THE SKY BELONGS TO ME - Elizabeth Santos

Sometimes the sky belongs to me
And wraps me in infinity
Sometimes it turns the other way
And hides itself in clouds of gray

Some days the sun consoles my fears
And lifts the wetness of my tears
Some nights the stars and moon embrace
The sorrow written on my face

And lay a sheet of silken weave
Upon the pillow where I grieve
When stars have nowhere else to be
Sometimes the sky belongs to me
Image Image
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Mahdi
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Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Mahdi »

Am mutat offtopic-ul la gunoi. Postați poezii, vă rog.
REMEMBER CITADEL
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Soarecu
Pig Cop
Posts: 791
Joined: 11 Mar 2014, 19:04

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Soarecu »

Beasts Bounding Through Time - by Charles Bukowski

Van Gogh writing his brother for paints
Hemingway testing his shotgun
Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine
the impossibility of being human
Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief
Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town
the impossibility of being human
Burroughs killing his wife with a gun
Mailer stabbing his
the impossibility of being human
Maupassant going mad in a rowboat
Dostoyevsky lined up against a wall to be shot
Crane off the back of a boat into the propeller
the impossibility
Sylvia with her head in the oven like a baked potato
Harry Crosby leaping into that Black Sun
Lorca murdered in the road by Spanish troops
the impossibility
Artaud sitting on a madhouse bench
Chatterton drinking rat poison
Shakespeare a plagiarist
Beethoven with a horn stuck into his head against deafness
the impossibility the impossibility
Nietzsche gone totally mad
the impossibility of being human
all too human
this breathing
in and out
out and in
these punks
these cowards
these champions
these mad dogs of glory
moving this little bit of light toward us
impossibly.
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Fular
Barbugiu înrăit
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Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Fular »

Jose Domingo Gomez Rojas - Acércate

Acércate hasta mi, dejar besar tu cara
de virgencita pálida, bohemia, triste y rara.

Acércate hasta mi, sé flor de mis amores
yo te diré mis penas, mis ansias, mis dolores.

Acércate hasta mi, unamos nuestros cantos,
unamos nuestras quejas, unamos nuestros llantos.

Amo tu alma de artista, comprendo tus rarezas,
acércate y comulga con mi alma y mis tristezas

Juntemos nuestros labios en sacras comuniones;
para empezar la lucha, tus besos danme alientos
y surgen de mis labios cantos de rebeliones
y al choque de tus labios brotan mis pensamientos.

Sunt total pe lângă cu spaniola dar chiar și un ageamiu ca mine poate să distingă o muzicalitate a versurilor fără a fi nevoie să le înțeleagă.
EpicTroll: Vrei să ştii părerea mea? Oamenii cu păreri ar trebui degrabă împărţiţi la zero.
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ola small dickie
Big Daddy
Posts: 14558
Joined: 2 Mar 2014, 19:57
Location: Malta

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by ola small dickie »

Richard Hawley - Run For Me

Later here this morning, if the crowds hold back the rain
I'll declare my intent to race again
Baby I've done running
I've cut myself a deal
Gave myself a ladder, this time for real
And I've got nothing on the inside left to charm, just look at me
And I've got nothing to live up to and nothing to reveal
Go on run for me
Go on run for me
Go on run for me because I can't take it back
Gone the summer gone the past and now it's done
Now it's done

The lane is laced with ashes
My road is paved with fear
I bathed myself in sweet grass to tame the years
And I've got nothing on the inside left to charm, just look at me
And I've got nothing to live up to and nothing to reveal
Go on run for me
Go on run for me
Go on run for me because I can't take it back
Gone the summer gone the past and now it's done
Now it's done
Currently playing: Broken Sword 5: The Serpent's Curse
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Mărar
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Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Mărar »

https://www.gwern.net/RNN-metadata#fine ... generation
In February 2019, following up on my 2015–2016 text-generation experiments with char-RNNs, I experiment with the cutting-edge Transformer NN architecture for language modeling & text generation. Using OpenAI’s GPT-2-small model pre-trained on a large Internet corpus and nshepperd’s finetuning code, I retrain GPT-2-small on a large (117MB) Project Gutenberg poetry corpus. I demonstrate how to train 2 variants: "“GPT-2-poetry”", trained on the poems as a continuous stream of text, and "“GPT-2-poetry-prefix”", with each line prefixed with the metadata of the PG book it came from.

With just a few GPU-days on 1080ti GPUs, GPT-2-small finetuning can produce high quality poetry which is more consistent than my char-RNN poems & capable of modeling subtle features like rhyming.
Extrase:
|Hear the tale that the funeral chant is telling,
2491|For the sorrows of other's children that dwell
2491|Like sweet flowers upon the wold?
2491|'Tis the tale of a life which is fled and gone,
2491|And the star of a hope which shone
2491|Bright above it, though dark may it be,
2491|For the hopes of a brighter day are fled
2491|And the joys of a happier lot?
2491|'Tis the tale of a life with the weary and sad,
2491|Where sorrows begin and rest.
2491|For only a song can the widow's soul glad
2491|Who sits musing 'mid shadows drear.
2491|And only a music, sad with its sighs,
2491|Till sad to the soul as death draws near
2491|As life on her fragile bark!
…which Indra, King of all the Blest,
Had thrown by Rávan’s mighty breast,
The monstrous coil, the brawny hand,
The monstrous mouth, the jaw, the jaw,
The jaw, the jaw and bleeding jaw,
The ungovernable host, the jaw,
And the great bow which never bends,
The arm, the fist, the knee, the ends,
The body laid with mighty stroke,
And the great bow which never bends.
So, when the giants fought, and fell
With murderous strokes, the giant fell,—
So falls the tree with all his trunks
Terrific in its death, that shoots
Wild volley at the mighty trunk,—
So fell the tree with all its boughs
While all the vipers dug and sowed—
So fell the tree with all its boughs.
But Ráma’s heart was sad within
He wept and mourned his captive’s sin
My heart, why come you here alone?
The wild thing of my heart is grown
To be a thing,
Fairy, and wild, and fair, and whole

It's all fun and games until some poor AI hallucinates itself into consciousness.
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sleepknot
Headcrab
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Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by sleepknot »

"La început a fost pustia
Și în pustie era vânt
Și-n vânt ardea ascuns cuvântul
Și în cuvânt era pământ

Pământul nu era decât
Un trandafir în miez de noapte
Pe crucea liniștii uitat
Iubind lumina de departe

Și trandafirul nu era
decât lumina ce-o să vină
Și tot venind s-a întrupat
Lumină trandafir lumină"

(...)

Ioan Alexandru, 1981
"Where there are no gods, there are ghosts" - Novalis
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joonior_bmf
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Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by joonior_bmf »

Bonedog

"Coming home is terrible...
Whether the dogs lick your face or not,
Whether you have a wife, or just a wife-shaped loneliness waiting for you.
Coming home is terribly lonely, so that you think of the oppressive barometric pressure
Back where you have just come from with fondness,
Because everything is worse once you are home.
You think of the vermin clinging to the grass stalks,
Long hours on the road, roadside assistance, and ice creams,
And the peculiar shapes of certain clouds and silences with longing, because you didn't want to return.
Coming home is just awful and the home-style silences and clouds contribute to nothing but the general malaise.
Clouds, such as they are, are in fact suspect and made from a different material than those you left behind.
You yourself were cut from a different cloudy cloth,
Returned, remaindered,
Ill-met by moonlight,
Unhappy to be back,
Slack in all the wrong spots.
Seamy suit of clothes,
Dishrag-ratty, worn.
You return home,
Moon-landed,
Foreign.
The Earth's gravitational pull, an effort now re-doubled... dragging your shoelaces loose...
And your shoulders, etching deeper the stanza of worry on your forehead.
You return home deepened,
A parched well linked to tomorrow by a frail stand of... anyway.
You sigh into the onslaught of identical days,
One might as well, at a time.
Well... anyway, you're back.
The sun goes up and down like a tired whore,
The weather immobile like a broken limb while you just keep getting older.
Nothing moves, but the shifting tides of salt in your body.
Your vision blears, you carry your weather with you;
The big, blue whale;
A skeletal darkness.
You come back with X-ray vision...
Your eyes have become a hunger.
You come home with your mutant gifts to a house of bone.
Everything you see now, all of it...
Bone."

(Eva H.D., Rotten perfect mouth)

Din filmul "I'm thinking of ending things"
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Harley Quinn
Space Invader
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Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Harley Quinn »

Plac'd on this isthmus of a middle state,
A being darkly wise, and rudely great:
With too much knowledge for the sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the stoic's pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;
In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast;
In doubt his mind or body to prefer;
Born but to die, and reas'ning but to err;
Alike in ignorance, his reason such,
Whether he thinks too little, or too much:
Chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd;
Still by himself abus'd, or disabus'd;
Created half to rise, and half to fall;
Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd:
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!

From An Essay on Man by Alexander Pope
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Iavo
Pig Cop
Posts: 518
Joined: 8 Apr 2016, 11:17

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Iavo »

You forgot the "know then thyself" bit and you should really remember it :P
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Harley Quinn
Space Invader
Posts: 47
Joined: 27 Apr 2021, 20:18

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Harley Quinn »

Nu. Am omis partea aia intentionat (asa cum omit intentionat multe lucruri in ultimul timp ;)) De aceea am si scris ca e doar o parte din poezie.

:lol: So funny coming from you.

''omenirea per total nu e chiar la fel de idioata cum ti-o imaginezi'' You should really remember this bit :P
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Ferrrrrrrrrdinand
al IX-lea
Posts: 3303
Joined: 18 Sep 2016, 22:09

Re: The Poetry Thread

Post by Ferrrrrrrrrdinand »

Leoaică tânără, iubirea
mi-a sarit în faţă.
Mă pândise-n încordare
mai demult.
Colţii albi mi i-a înfipt în faţă,
m-a muşcat leoaica, azi, de faţă.
Şi deodata-n jurul meu, natura
se făcu un cerc, de-a-dura,
când mai larg, când mai aproape,
ca o strîngere de ape.
Şi privirea-n sus ţîşni,
curcubeu tăiat în două,
şi auzul o-ntîlni
tocmai lângă ciorcârlii.

Mi-am dus mâna la sprînceană,
la timplă şi la bărbie,
dar mâna nu le mai ştie.
Şi alunecă-n neştire
pe-un deşert în strălucire,
peste care trece-alene
o leoaică aramie
cu mişcările viclene,
incă-o vreme,
si-ncă-o vreme...

Leoaică tânără, iubirea - Nichita Stănescu
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