Everyone has a different opinion about the "best poem". I know that the poems i like at the moment reflect things going on in my life. Dead ends, betrayed by my lover, misplaced trust, And total depression.
Everyone has a different opinion about the "best poem". I know that the poems i like at the moment reflect things going on in my life. Dead ends, betrayed by my lover, misplaced trust, And total depression.
Wish I was too dead to cry
My self affliction fades
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater
You don't need to bother
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on
I won't let go 'till it bleeds
Perhaps not a poem, but poetic and the most beautiful thing written about love that I can find :
I Corinthians 13 (Revised Standard Version)
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends; as for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For our knowledge is imperfect and our prophecy is imperfect; but when the perfect comes, the imperfect will pass away.
When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall understand fully, even as I have been fully understood.
So faith, hope, love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
"Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go" Blake
Annabell Lee
IT was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee.
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee,
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee,
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud one night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
This is one of my all time favourite poems by Edgar Allan Poe. I have lost count of the number of times I find myself reading it. It is most definitely a love poem, albeit a rather tragic one.
Littera Scripta Manet
The Written Word prevails (and the saying continues, the weak word perishes)
A swedish poet called Karin Boye has written alot of beautiful poems about love. Her way of using swedish makes the words sing. Unfortunately english somehow kills them. This one is one of the few that survives translation, if somewhat bruised in the process. It´s translated by Jenny Nunn and I found it at http://www.karinboye.se/verk/dikter/dikter-engelska/ :
How Can I Tell ...
How can I tell if your voice is beautiful.
I only know, that it penetrates me
and makes me shake like a leaf
and tears me to shreds and splits me.
What do I know about your skin and limbs.
It makes me tremble that they are yours,
so for me there is no sleep or rest,
till they are mine.
"Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go" Blake
I'll try and translate it into Logban.
Sorry. I guess it´s some kind of joke but I don´t get it.
Logban?
"Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go" Blake
Never mind, now I know what Logban is (used ten minutes of work time to find clues) Like esperanto?
But why Logban? Will it sound better?
"Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go" Blake
I've got three favourite love poems all very different from each other:
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let airplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
-Auden.
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 was 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
It lies not in our power to love, or hate,
For will in us is over-rulde by fate.
When two are stript long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose, the other win.
And one especially doo we affect,
Of two gold Ingots like in each respect,
The reason no man knowes, let it suffise,
What we behold is censur'd by our eyes.
Where both deliberat, the love is slight,
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
-Marlowe.
I'm nobody, who are you?
Are you nobody too?
There's a pair of us, don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know!
How dreary to be somebody!
This is one of my most favourite poems,I do have more ,but they are in Greek and I wouldn't dare to try and translate them... I Like For You to be Still"
By Pablo Neruda
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.
As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.
I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
Let me come to be still in your silence.
And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it's not true.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas
Logban's purpose would be to create a universal language that isn't rooted in Latin (instead, it will be rooted in all languages). Its purpose is to deconstruct the language of western imperialism, and some other shít.
Anything that starts with Roses are Red. My favorite being:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I love you.
PLEASE PRAY FOR THE MEN AND WOMEN THAT SERVE OUR COUNTRY EVERYDAY IN IRAQ AND ELSEWHERE. THEIR BRAVERY AND SELFLESS SERVICE IS WHAT GIVES US THE FREEDOMS OF EVERYDAY LIFE.
And I bet you believe all the canon bulls*ht, they teach you.
That was wonderful! I´ve never read a love poem like it. Now I have to read something more by Neruda. Thank you.Originally posted by lazy cat
And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
[/B]
"Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go" Blake
I can't imagine he'd find much time for poetry readings between PT and reloading his M16.
He's one of God's soldiers, you know.
God's soldiers are funny. The days of Gallows Hill. Ah, those where the days...
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