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Tue,
you are awesome. the last poem was like a glorious stab in my heart.
And wouldn't it seem more logical that they head butted so hard their heads cracked? If that caused their hooves to fall off, poor little things, the herd would greatly diminish in a quick way because this dueling for the ladies goes on for quite a while doesn't it?
Virgil,
Thanks for the welcome. I certainly will stick around, it's very nice to be able to share my opinions and to hear others. It gives me more confidence. And I am indeed from Vietnam :). But I have been living in England for nearly 8 years now
Rachel,
Thanks so much for your compliment.
I think these mountain goats have a specially developed forehead for the purpose of headbutting...like a bone shield, so they are well-protected..I think.
In our cruel world, though, there isn't much point in dueling, because we have to wait for the ladies to make their choices first :)
Not in Vernon you don't. Guys rule here and they know it. There are I think three girls to each guy.
Well, nice to know you. I went to school with several vietnamese fellows, and I work with several too. That's why I recognize your name as Vietnamese. Here in New York, we get to meet a little of every ethnicity. The Vietnamese fellow I work with was one of the boat refugees many years ago, when he was an teenager. His father was a political prisoner, and to this day he hates the Communists with a passion. He refuses to go back until the communists are out of power.Quote:
Originally Posted by nguyenngoctue
Do you think that a poem only remains beautiful until the feelings with which you wrote it fade away?
No I don't think so. The poem is the poem, not the feelings. There is a separation even for the person who wrote it.Quote:
Originally Posted by nguyenngoctue
...
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Romeo
Alicante
Une orange sur la table
Ta robe sur le tapis
Et toi dans mon lit
Doux présent du présent
Fraîcheur de la nuit
Chaleur de ma vie
--Jacques Prevert
Loose translation:
An orange on the table
Your dress on my rug
And you in my bed
Soft present of the present
Freshness of the night
Warmth of my life.
Shakespeare is the best.
Quote:
SONNET 29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
that sounds like the story of your life dear Virgil.
Quote:
Originally Posted by nguyenngoctue
You asked if The Indian Serenade was still my favourite poem. I must confess I wonder now that I've read yours...
It really is beautiful. Thank you for sharing it...
[IF]
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
--Rudyard Kipling
The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In another's being mingle--
Why not I with thine?
See, the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower could be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;--
What is all this sweet work worth,
If thou kiss not me?
-- Percy Bysshe Shelley
The sun has burst the sky
Because I love you
And the river its banks
The sea laps the great rocks
Because I love you
And takes no heed of the moon dragging it away
And saying coldly, 'constancy is not for you'.
The blackbird fills the air
Because I love you
With spring and lawn and shadows falling on lawns.
The people walk on the street and laugh
I love you
And far down the river ships sound their hooters
Crazy with joy because I love you
-Jenny Joseph
I love so many of the poems you have posted here, but I just wish you guys could read some of my favourite Icelandic love poems. Many of them are so beautiful that it makes me sad that so few can enjoy them. And by the way most people consider you weird if you read a lot and poems are often considered as a thing of the past or out dated...sad but true.
Maybe I will try to find a translation on some of the poems I love, or do it my self....
I've only just started getting into poetry out of choice so I can't say I have a favourite love poem yet but this is one I really liked especially since I'm not normally into the really soppy stuff.
Poem Ended by a Death
They will wash all my kisses and fingerprints off you
and my tearstains - I was more inclined to weep
in those wild garlicky days - and our happier stains,
thin scales of papery silk...F*** that for a cheap
opener; and false too - any such traces
you pumiced away yourself, those years ago
when you sent my letters back, in the week I married
that anecdotal ape. So start again. So:
They will remove the tubes and drips and dressings
which I censor from my dreams. They will, it is true,
wash you; and they will put you into a box.
After which whatever else they may do
won't matter. This is my laconic style.
You praised it, as I praised your intricate pearled
embroideries; these links laced us together,
plain and purl across the ribs of the world...
Fleur Adcock
I wasn't sure if swearing is 'allowed' here hence the asterisks.