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 Posted: Sun Dec 10, 2006 12:10 pm
First of all, if there's a thread like this somewhere else, I'm sorry, I couldn't find it :3
So, post your favourite poem! Translations are nice too.
Mine:
'La Cancre' - Jacques Prevert
Il dit non avec la tête
Mais il dit oui avec le coeur
Il dit oui à ce qu'il aime
Il dit non au professeur
Il est debout
On le questionne
Et tous les problèmes sont posés
Soudain le fou rire le prend
Et il efface tout
Les chiffres et les mots
Les dates et les noms
Les phrases et les pièges
Et malgré les menaces du maître
Sous les huées des enfants prodiges
Avec des craies de toutes les couleurs
Sur le tableau noir du malheur
Il dessine le visage du bonheur.
Translation! (This is my translation, not an official one. Feel free to improve it :3).
'The Dunce'
He says no with the head
But he says yes with the heart
He says yes to that which he likes
He says no to the teacher
He stands
And he questions it
And all the problems it poses
Suddenly laughter takes the fool
And he erases all
The figures and the words
The dates and the names
The sentences and the traps
And despite the threats of the master
Under the cries of the prodigal children
With the crayons of every colour
On the blackboard of misfortune
He draws a smily face.
I love it! <3
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Posted: Mon Dec 11, 2006 2:21 am
Gentle Smile
'The Dunce'
He says no with the head
But he says yes with the heart
He says yes to that which he likes
He says no to the teacher
He stands
And he questions it And he is questionned
And all the problems it poses All the problems are posed
Suddenly laughter takes the foolSuddenly an uncontrollable laughter takes him
And he erases all
The figures and the words
The dates and the names
The sentences and the traps
And despite the threats of the master
Under the cries booings of the prodigal children
With the crayons chalks of every colour
On the blackboard of misfortune
He draws a smily face the face of happinness
I love it! <3
It's le Cancre lol , not "la"
Aw... Don't use a translator D; it losts all its meaning
My favourite foreign poem... Mhh.. I love Funeral Blues ( by W.H. Auden ), i guess it's this one x )
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 aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe 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.
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Posted: Thu Jan 04, 2007 9:14 am
I love Robert Frost's poems. My favourites are those two ( I know both by heart, they're so cute) :
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower,
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day,
Nothing Gold Can stay.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods are these, I think I know.
His house is in the village, though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frosted lake,
The darkest evening of the year
He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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Posted: Thu Jan 18, 2007 9:41 pm
Since I know for a few(many?) of you English is a foreign language, here's a poem that I rather like in English which also happens to relate to how hard a language it can be at times. Probably not my favourite though.
I take it you already know of tough and bough and cough and dough?
Some may stumble, but not you, on hiccough, thorough, slough, and through?
So now you are ready, perhaps, to learn of less familiar traps?
Beware of heard, a dreadful word, that looks like beard, but sounds like bird.
And dead, it's said like bed, not bead; for goodness' sake, don't call it deed!
Watch out for meat and great and threat. (They rhyme with suite and straight and debt.)
A moth is not a moth in mother, nor both in bother, broth in brother.
And here is not a match for there, nor dear and fear, for bear and pear.
And then there's dose and rose and lose - just look them up - and goose and choose
And cork and work and card and ward and font and front and word and sword
And do and go, then thwart and cart, come, come! I've hardly made a start.
A dreadful language? Why man alive! I've learned to talk it when I was five.
And yet to write it, the more I tried, I hadn't learned it at fifty-five.
- Author Unknown
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Posted: Tue Jan 23, 2007 9:31 am
Invictus by William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
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Posted: Wed Feb 14, 2007 6:43 am
Demain, dès l'aube...
Victor Hugo
Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.
J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.
Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.
Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j'arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.
Tomorrow, at Dawn...
Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside whitens,
I will leave. You see, I know that you wait for me.
I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain.
I can no longer remain far from you.
I will walk with my eyes fixed on my thoughts,
Seeing nothing around me, hearing no noise
Alone, unknown, my back curved, my hands crossed,
Sad, and the day for me will be as the night.
I will not look at the gold of evening which falls,
Nor the distant sails going down towards Harfleur,
And when I arrive, I will place on your tomb
A bouquet of green holly and of flowering heather.
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Posted: Sat Feb 17, 2007 4:39 am
Nabatean Demain, dès l'aube...Victor HugoDemain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne, Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends. J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne. Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps. Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées, Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit, Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées, Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit. Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe, Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur Honfleur, Et quand j'arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur. Aw I love that poem. Did you know that he wrote it when his daughter Léontine died?
This poem doesn't have a particular name if my memories are good it is Pièce XVIII :/
You should try Lamartine or Musset . You'll love it. They belonged to Romantism too
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Posted: Mon Feb 19, 2007 12:06 pm
chocfudge Invictus by William Ernest HenleyOut of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. I love this poem to pieces; memorized it for one of my classes last year. I seriously considered having part of it tattooed on my arm. I'm very surprised I haven't seen any Goethe on here... I'd try to post one from memory but I don't doubt I would botch it. I'll have to go fetch my books and post one of them one of these days.
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Posted: Wed Mar 14, 2007 7:06 pm
Ein von meinen Lieblinggedischten
Gefunden
~Göthe
Ich ging im Walde
So für mich hin,
Und nichts zu suchen,
Das war mein Sinn.
Im Schatten sah ich
Ein Blümchen stehn,
Wie Sterne leuchtend,
Wie Äuglein schön,
Ich wollt es brechen,
Da sagt’ es fein :
Soll ich zum Welken
Gebrochen sein ?
Ich grub mit allen
Den Würzlein aus,
Zum Garten trug ichs
Am hübschen Haus.
Und pflanzt es wieder
Am stillen Ort:
Nun zweigt es immer
Und Blüht so fort.
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Posted: Thu May 24, 2007 10:58 am
Aннa Axмaтoвa
МУЗЫКА
Д. Д. Ш.*
В ней что-то чудотворное горит,
И на глазах ее края гранятся.
Она одна со мною говорит,
Когда другие подойти боятся.
Когда последний друг отвел глаза,
Она была со мной в моей могиле
И пела словно первая гроза
Иль будто все цветы заговорили.
* Д.Д.Шостаковичу
1958
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Posted: Sat Jun 16, 2007 2:07 pm
ציפור שנייה
נתן זך
ראיתי ציפור רבת יופי.
הציפור ראתה אותי.
ציפור רבת יופי כזאת לא אראה עוד
עד יום מותי.
עבר אותי אז רטט של שמש.
אמרתי מילים של שלום.
מילים שאמרתי אמש
לא אומר עוד היום.סמוי That's my absolute favourite in Hebrew, though it's a very tough call, as evidenced by the fact that I edited this post three times.
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Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2007 6:18 pm
Warning, tis a very long poem.
Mi Ultimo Adios
By Jose Rizal (Im obssesed with everything Jose Rizal)
¡Adiós, Patria adorada, región del sol querida,
Perla del mar de oriente, nuestro perdido Edén!
A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
Y fuera más brillante, más fresca, más florida,
También por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien.
En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio,
Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar;
El sitio nada importa, ciprés, laurel o lirio,
Cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel martirio,
Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.
Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora
Y al fin anuncia el día tras lóbrego capuz;
si grana necesitas para teñir tu aurora,
Vierte la sangre mía, derrámala en buen hora
Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz.
Mis sueños cuando apenas muchacho adolescente,
Mis sueños cuando joven ya lleno de vigor,
Fueron el verte un día, joya del mar de oriente,
Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente,
Sin ceño, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor.
Ensueño de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo,
¡Salud te grita el alma que pronto va a partir!
¡Salud! Ah, que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo,
Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo,
Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir.
Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar un día
Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor,
Acércala a tus labios y besa al alma mía,
Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba fría,
De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor.
Deja a la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave,
Deja que el alba envíe su resplandor fugaz,
Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave,
Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave,
Deja que el ave entone su cántico de paz.
Deja que el sol, ardiendo, las lluvias evapore
Y al cielo tornen puras, con mi clamor en pos;
Deja que un ser amigo mi fin temprano llore
Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mí alguien ore,
¡Ora también, oh Patria, por mi descanso a Dios!
Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura,
Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual,
Por nuestras pobres madres que gimen su amargura;
Por huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura
Y ora por ti que veas tu redención final.
Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio
Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allí,
No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio,
Tal vez acordes oigas de cítara o salterio,
Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto a ti.
Y cuando ya mi tumba de todos olvidada
No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar,
Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada,
Y mis cenizas, antes que vuelvan a la nada,
El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan a formar.
Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido.
Tu atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré.
Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oído,
Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido,
Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fe.
Mi patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores,
Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adiós.
Ahí te dejo todo, mis padres, mis amores.
Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores,
Donde la fe no mata, donde el que reina es Dios.
Adiós, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mía,
Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar,
Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso día;
Adiós, dulce extranjera, mi amiga, mi alegría,
Adiós, queridos seres, morir es descansar.
English version
Farewell, beloved Country, treasured region of the sun,
Pearl of the sea of the Orient, our vanquished Eden!
To you I gladly surrender this melancholy life;
And were it brighter, fresher, gaudier,
Even then I’d give it to you, to you alone would then I give.
In fields of battle, deliriously fighting,
Others give you their lives, without doubt, without regret;
Where there’s cypress, laurel or lily,
On a plank or open field, in combat or cruel martyrdom,
If the home or country asks, it's all the same--it matters not.
I die when I see the sky unfurls its colors
And at last after a cloak of darkness announces the day;
If you need scarlet to tint your dawn,
Paint with my blood, pour it as the moment comes,
And may it be gilded by a reflection of the heaven’s new-born light.
My dreams, even as a child,
My dreams, when a young man in the prime of life,
Were to see you one day, jewel of the eastern seas,
Dry those dark eyes, raise that forehead high,
Without frown, without wrinkle, without stain of shame.
My lifelong dream, my deep burning desire,
Is for this soul that will soon depart to cry out: Salud!
To your health! Oh how beautiful to fall to give you flight,
To die to give you life, to rest under your sky,
And in your enchanted land forever sleep.
If upon my grave one day you may behold,
Amidst the dense grass, a simple lowly flower,
Place it upon your lips, and my soul you’ll kiss,
And on my brow may I feel, under the cold tomb,
The tenderness of your touch, the warmth of your breath.
Let the moon see me in soft and tranquil light,
Let the dawn burst forth its fleeting radiance,
Let the wind moan with its gentle murmur,
And should a bird descend and rest on my cross,
Let it sing its canticle of peace.
Let the burning sun evaporate the rain,
And with the struggle behind, towards the sky may they turn pure;
Let a friend mourn my early demise,
And in the serene afternoon, when someone prays for me,
O Country, pray that God will also grant me rest!
Pray for all the unfortunate ones who died,
For all who suffered torment unequaled,
For grieving mothers who in bitterness cry,
For orphans and widows, for prisoners in torture,
And for yourself to see your redemption at last.
And when the burial ground is shrouded in dark night,
And there alone, only the departed remain in vigil,
Disturb not their rest, nor their secrets,
And should you hear chords from a zither or harp,
'Tis I, O land beloved, 'tis I, to you I sing !
And when my grave, then by all forgotten,
has not a cross nor stone to mark its place,
Let men plow and with a spade disperse it,
And before my ashes return to nothing,
May they be the dust that carpets your fields.
Then nothing matters, cast me in oblivion.
Your air, your space, your valleys I will cross.
I will be vibrant music to your ears,
Aroma, light, colors, murmur, moan, and song,
Ever echoing the essence of my faith.
Land that I love, sorrow of my sorrows,
Adored Filipinas, hear my last good-bye.
There I leave you all, my parents, my beloved.
I go where there are no slaves, hangmen nor oppressors,
Where faith does not kill, where the one who reigns is God.
Goodbye, dear parents, brother and sisters, fragments of my soul,
Childhood friends in the home now gone,
Give thanks that I rest from this wearisome day;
Goodbye, sweet stranger, my friend, my joy;
Farewell, loved ones. To die is to rest.
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Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2007 6:34 pm
This poem is called "A las Flores De Heildelberg" a spanish poem Rizal made in Germany. I dont know why Rizal wants europeans to come to the Philippines though. There is a german version of this but I dont know where it is.
A Las Flores De Heidelberg
By Jose Rizal
Id a mi patria, id, extrangeras flores,
sembradas del viajero en el camino,
y bajo su azul cielo,
que guarda mis amores,
contad del peregrino
la fe que alienta por su patrio suelo!
id y decid ... decid que cuando el alba
vuestro caliz abrio por vez primera
cabe el Neckar helado,
le visteis silencioso a vuestro lado
pensando en su constante primavera.
Decid que cuando el alba,
que roba vuestro aroma,
cantos de amor jugando os susurraba,
el tambien murmuraba
cantos de amor en su natal idioma;
que cuando el sol la cumbre
del Koenigsthul en la manana dora
y con su tibia lumbre
anima el valle, el bosque y la espesura,
saluda a ese sol aun en su aurora,
al que en su patria en el cenit fulgura !
y contad aquel dia
cuando os cogia al borde del sendero,
entre ruinas del feudal castillo,
orilla al Neckar, o a la selva umbria.
Contad lo que os decia ,
cuando, con gran ciudado
entre las paginas de un libro usado
vuestras flexibles hojas oprimia.
Llevad, llevad, oh flores !
amor a mis amores
paz a mi pais y a su fecunda tierra,
fe a sus hombres, virtud a sus mujeres,
salud a dulces seres
que el paternal, sagrado hogar encierra ...
Cuando to queis la playa,
el beso os imprimo
depositadlo en ala de la brisa,
por que con ella vaya
y bese cuanto adora, amo y estimo.
Mas ay llegareis flores,
conservareis quizas vuestras colores,
pero lejos del patrio, heroico suelo
a quien debeis la vida:
que aroma es alma, y no abandona el cielo,
cuya luz viera en su nacer, ni olvida.
Here is the english version.
Go to my country, go, foreign flowers,
Planted by the traveler on his way,
And there beneath that sky of blue
That over my beloved towers,
Speak for this traveler to say
What faith in his homeland he breathes to you.
Go and say. . . say that when the dawn
First drew your calyx open there
Beside the River Neckar chill,
You saw him standing by you, very still,
Reflecting on the primrose flush you wear.
Say that when the morning light
Her toll of perfume from you wrung,
While playfully she whispered, "How I love you!"
He too murmured here above you
Tender love songs in his native tongue.
That when the rising sun the height
Of Kainigsthul in early morn first spies,
And with its tepid light
Is pouring life in valley, wood, and grove,
He greets the sun as it begins to rise,
Which in his native land is blazing straight above.
And tell them of that day he staid
And plucked you from the border of the path,
Amid the ruins of the feudal castle,
By the River Neckar, and in the silvan shade.
Tell them what he told you
As tenderly he took
Your pliant leaves and pressed them in a book,
Where now its well worn pages close enfold you.
Carry, carry, flowers of Rhine,
Love to every love of mine,
Peace to my country and her fertile loam,
Virtue to her women, courage to her men,
Salute those darling ones again,
Who formed the sacred circle of our home.
And when you reach that shore,
Each kiss I press upon you now,
Deposit on the pinions of the wind,
And those I love and honor and adore
Will feel my kisses carried to their brow.
Ah, flowers, you may fare through,
Conserving still, perhaps, your native hue;
Yet, far from Fatherland, heroic loam
To which you owe your life,
The perfume will be gone from you;
For aroma is your soul; it cannot roam
Beyond the skies which saw it born, nor e'er forget
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2009 3:25 pm
Soneto do Amor Total
Amo-te tanto meu amor... não cante
O humano coração com mais verdade...
Amo-te como amigo e como amante
Numa sempre diversa realidade.
Amo-te afim, de um calmo amor prestante
E te amo além, presente na saudade.
Amo-te, enfim, com grande liberdade
Dentro da eternidade e a cada instante.
Amo-te como um bicho, simplesmente
De um amor sem mistério e sem virtude
Com um desejo maciço e permanente.
E de te amar assim, muito e amiúde
É que um dia em teu corpo de repente
Hei de morrer de amar mais do que pude.
Vinicius de Moraes
¸.•´¸.•*´¨ ) ¸.•*¨ )
(¸.•´ (¸.•' ¤
Cântico IV
Tu tens um medo:
Acabar.
Não vês que acabas todo dia.
Que morres no amor.
Na tristeza.
Na dúvida.
No desejo.
Que te renovas todo dia.
No amor.
Na tristeza.
Na dúvida.
No desejo.
Que és sempre outro.
Que és sempre o mesmo.
Que morrerás por idades imensas.
Até não teres medo de morrer.
E então serás eterno.
* * *
Motivo
Eu canto porque o instante existe
e a minha vida está completa.
Não sou alegre nem sou triste:
sou poeta.
Irmão das coisas fugidias,
não sinto gozo nem tormento.
Atravesso noites e dias
no vento.
Se desmorono ou se edifico,
se permaneço ou me desfaço,
- não sei, não sei. Não sei se fico
ou passo.
Sei que canto. E a canção é tudo.
Tem sangue eterno a asa ritmada.
E um dia sei que estarei mudo:
- mais nada.
Cecília Meireles
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