September 2011
49 posts
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Eyelids fell like leaves the tenderness of glances crumbled
the stifled throats...
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Zbigniew Herbert, Winter Garden.
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When I wrote of the women in their dances and
wildness, it was a mask,
on...
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Muriel Rukeyser, from ‘The Poem as Mask’.
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And from the blood of the wound
a flower sprang, lilylike, more brilliant
than...
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Louise Glück, from ‘Hyacinth’.
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I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery’s child;
Her hair...
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John Keats, La Belle Dame Sans Merci.
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There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the...
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William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Scene VII: 180-195.
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Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise...
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Der Erlkönig, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
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In this hour I was the white son in my father’s death. In blue showers...
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Georg Trakl, trans. Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt.
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Centre of all centres, core of cores,
almond self-enclosed and growing sweet—...
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Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. Stephen Mitchell.
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There is no other immortality:
in the cold spring, the purple violets open....
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Louise Glück.
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I have dipped into books of Aesthetics, but I had an uncomfortable feeling that...
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Jorge Luis Borges, The Norton Lectures, 1967-68.
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Some likewise are of opinion, that the bodies in the air, and in the heavens,...
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Porphyry, On the Cave of the Nymphs.
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Quivi sospiri, pianti e alti guai
risonavan per l’aere sanza stelle,
per...
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Dante’s Inferno, 3.23.
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the constellations →
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But before all these, when he had appeared on the first day, he remained upon...
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On the Origin of the World, Nag Hammadi Text.
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Sick of the gods and their fires
I lived without the law
in the deepest part...
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Peter Huchel, trans. Joseph Brodsky.
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O Deus, I remember: Self and Other,
and between us every elegy, all the fallen...
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Brian Teare.
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world digital library →
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A poem which is moon-magical enough to walk off the page - if you know what I...
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Robert Graves, The White Goddess.
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There is no coming to consciousness without pain. People will do anything, no...
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C.G. Jung.
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Her burning look holds me fast as if in an embrace. She utters words mixed up...
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Zbigniew Herbert, trans. Alissa Valles.
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And I try to remember
the beginning of beauty—before Orpheus,
before winter—
...
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Alex Dimitrov.
3 tags
the craft of verse →
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August 2011
36 posts
5 tags
Now mourn, plants, now sing dirges, groves,
flowers, now expire in gloomy...
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Epitáphios for Bion.