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Have you ever

por beatriz j a, em 14.05.17

 

 

Clouds
 

Have you ever
stopped to listen
to the things
the clouds
are saying
as the rain
pours down
on this earth?
Maybe they had
a bad day,
and only need
a listening
ear.


-JRM

 

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publicado às 19:05


Incompletos

por beatriz j a, em 04.02.16

 

 

 

Who knew that eyes could hunger?
Mine were starving,

(Sarah Spang)

 

 

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publicado às 04:30

 

 

 

 

 

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publicado às 20:26


Big questions

por beatriz j a, em 23.06.15

 

 

 

In prisons, poetry books are so coveted that they are the first to be stolen from the library.

Why does poetry affect us so deeply?

(Pascale Petit)

 

 

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publicado às 08:19


Poetry, 'Black Privilege' by Crystal Valentine

por beatriz j a, em 13.06.15

 

 

 

 

 

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publicado às 22:53


The moment

por beatriz j a, em 03.06.15

 

 

 

THE MOMENT

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round. 

-- Margaret Atwood

 

 

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publicado às 17:59


Poesia pela manhã

por beatriz j a, em 16.02.15

 

 

 

Self under self, a pile of selves I stand
Threaded on time, and with metaphysic hand
Lift the farm like a lid and see
Farm within farm, and in the centre, me.

 

“Summer Farm”, Norman MacCaig

 

 

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publicado às 09:18

 

 

 Lars van de Goor

 

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

(…)

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

Robert Frost

 

 

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publicado às 21:42


'All perished, all'

por beatriz j a, em 09.06.14

 

 

 

Aleksandr Blok

Aleksandr Blok

.........

"All perished, All!..."

1900

All perished, all! The sun, in flame and brilliance,
As did it long before, the years’ circle fulfils.
A sorrow grave deplores the past existence – 
That was so beautiful – under the solemn hills.
And in the black night a white specter-mist 
Waits other shades, the silent one and grievous.

Oh, whitening shade, again you will obtain
Crowds of others, lost of past, entire.
A night will pass, come a long day again – 
Again will rise, in its self-scorching mire,
Sun of the day, the sun of golden fire,
And will again burn the sad hills and plain.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, October, 2002
(from poetry lovers page)


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publicado às 05:22


There is another sky

por beatriz j a, em 03.05.14

 

 

 

There is another sky

by Emily Dickinson

 

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

 

 

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publicado às 22:34


The Mountain

por beatriz j a, em 13.03.14

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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publicado às 21:52


Incompletos

por beatriz j a, em 12.03.14

 

 

 imagem da net

 

 

 

(...)

And if when I died fully

I cannot say,

And changed into the corpse-thing

I am to-day,

 

Yet is it that, though whiling

The time somehow

In walking, talking, smiling,

I live not now.

 

The Dead Man Walking by Thomas Hardy

 

 

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publicado às 05:27


Poesia ao lusco-fusco

por beatriz j a, em 04.03.14

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 










Two separate divided silences, Which, brought together, would find loving voice; Two glances which together would rejoice In love, now lost like stars beyond dark trees; Two hands apart whose touch alone gives ease; Two bosoms which, heart-shrined with mutual flame, Would, meeting in one clasp, be made the same; Two souls, the shores wave-mocked of sundering seas:

—Such are we now. Ah! may our hope forecast Indeed one hour again, when on this stream Of darkened love once more the light shall gleam? An hour how slow to come, how quickly past, Which blooms and fades, and only leaves at last, Faint as shed flowers, the attenuated dream.

(Dante Gabriel Rosetti,
Two separate divided silences)


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publicado às 18:23


The tought fox

por beatriz j a, em 15.02.14

 

 

 

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publicado às 10:13


Poesia - Poets Translate Poets

por beatriz j a, em 03.02.14

 

 

 

"In Pound's version of this tradition, translation is meant to transform one literature into another. A good poem translated should become another good poem- one belonging as much to the translator as to the original author." (quoted by Amanda)

 

A blonde girl is bent over a poem, With a stiletto-sharp pencil she transfers the words to a sheet of paper and changes them into stresses, accents, caesuras. The lament of a fallen poet now looks like a salamander eaten away by ants. - from Episode in a Library (translated by Peter Dale Scott, 1963)

 

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publicado às 22:21


Argument

por beatriz j a, em 09.12.13

 

 

Argument

Days that cannot bring you near
or will not,
Distance trying to appear
something more obstinate,
argue argue argue with me
endlessly
neither proving you less wanted nor less dear.

Distance: Remember all that land
beneath the plane;
that coastline
of dim beaches deep in sand
stretching indistinguishably
all the way,
all the way to where my reasons end?

Days: And think
of all those cluttered instruments,
one to a fact,
canceling each other's experience;
how they were
like some hideous calendar
"Compliments of Never & Forever, Inc."

The intimidating sound
of these voices
we must separately find
can and shall be vanquished:
Days and Distance disarrayed again
and gone...

 

Elizabeth Bishop

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publicado às 07:44


Not I, not I...

por beatriz j a, em 01.12.13

 

 

 

 

As The Sparrow

.

To give life you must take life,
and as our grief falls flat and hollow
upon the billion-blooded sea
I pass upon serious inward-breaking shoals rimmed
with white-legged, white-bellied rotting creatures
lengthily dead and rioting against surrounding scenes.
Dear child, I only did to you what the sparrow
did to you; I am old when it is fashionable to be
young; I cry when it is fashionable to laugh.
I hated you when it would have taken less courage
to love.
.

Charles Bukowski


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publicado às 17:42


Fields in late fall

por beatriz j a, em 09.11.13

 

 

 

 

 

 

 foto da net

 

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publicado às 17:22


Poesia - A Poisen Tree by William Blake

por beatriz j a, em 02.11.13

 

 

 

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publicado às 19:21


into poetry

por beatriz j a, em 11.09.13

 

 

 

 

When you find a man
Who transforms
Every part of you
Into poetry,
Who makes each one of your hairs
Into a poem,
When you find a man,
Capable,
As I am
Of bathing and adorning you
With poetry,
I will beg you
To follow him without hesitation,
It is not important
That you belong to me or him
But that you belong to poetry.

 

Translation by Bassam K. Frangieh
and Clementina R. Brown

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publicado às 08:22

g.a


3-8-12



no cabeçalho, pintura de Paul Béliveau. mail b.alcobia@sapo.pt

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