"Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice. "

(Robert Frost)

I wanna wake up with you
I wanna be there when you open your eyes
I want you to be
The first thing that I see
I wanna wake up with you

I wanna lay by your side, baby
I wanna feel every beat of your heart
And throughout the night
I wanna hold you tight
I wanna wake up with you

All the love inside me has been sleeping
Waiting till the right one came along
You can share the love that I've been keeping, baby
You can put the music to my song

I wanna wake up with you
I wanna reach out and know that you're there
I want you to be
The first thing that I see
I wanna wake up with you

And throughout the night
I wanna hold you tight
I wanna wake up with you

All the love inside me has been sleeping
Waiting till the right one came along
You can share the love that I've been keeping
You can put the music to my song

I wanna wake up with you
I wanna reach out and know that you're there
I want you to be
The first thing that I see
I wanna wake up with you

I wanna lay by your side, baby
I wanna feel every beat of your heart
And throughout the night
I wanna hold you tight
I wanna wake up with you

All the love inside me has been sleeping
Waiting till the right one came along
You can share the love that I've been keeping, baby
You can put the music to my song

I wanna wake up wïth you
I wanna reach out and know that you're there...


Ana. :-*

Bono recită Bukowski...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0e9q...eature=related

Roll the Dice
by Charles Bukowski

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
way. this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or
4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the
worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the
gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.
you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter,
it’s the only good fight
there is.

A very very nice poem!

Ca tot veni vorba de Bukowski, unul dintre scriitorii mei preferati...


Căderea

prea gras

prea slab

sau nimeni.

râs sau

lacrimi

duşmani

iubiţi

străini cu feţe ca

unghiile de la

degetele mari



armate alergând prin

râuri de sânge

fluturând sticle de vin

înjunghiind cu baionetele şi violând

virgine

sau un tip în vârstă într-o cameră ieftină

cu o poză a lui M. Monroe


în această lume există singurătate atât de multă

încât o poţi vedea în mişcarea lentă a limbilor

unui ceas.



oameni atât de obosiţi

mutilaţi

fie de dragoste fie de lipsa ei.



oamenii nu sunt buni

unii cu alţii



bogaţii nu sunt buni cu bogaţii

săracii nu sunt buni cu săracii



ne este frică



sistemul nostru de învăţământ

ne spune la toţi că putem fi

cu toţii învingători de super-căcat.



nu ne-a spus despre şanţuri

şi sinucideri.



sau teroarea unui om

îndurerat, undeva,

singur



neatins de nimeni

căruia nimeni nu-i adresează

nici un cuvânt



oamenii nu sunt buni unii cu alţii.

oamenii nu sunt buni unii cu alţii.

oamenii nu sunt buni unii cu alţii.





cred că nu vor fi niciodată.

nu le cer să fie.



dar uneori mă gândesc la asta.



mărgelele se vor clătina

norii se vor înnora

iar criminalul va decapita copilul

ca şi cum ar muşca dintr-o îngheţată pe băţ.



prea mult

prea puţin



prea gras

prea slab

sau nimeni.



mai mulţi cei care mă urăsc

decât cei care mă iubesc



oamenii nu sunt buni unii cu alţii

poate dacă ar fi

morţile noastre nu ar mai fi aşa de triste.



între timp mă uit la fetele tinere

lujere

flori de posibilităţi.



trebuie să existe o cale.



în mod sigur trebuie să existe o cale la care nu ne-am gândit încă.



cine mi-a pus creierul ăsta înăuntru?


urlă

cere

spune că există o şansă



nu va spune

„nu”.

Îhî, The Crunch. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ai_bG...eature=related Traducerea... ta?

L-am descoperit pe Sergiu Cioiu, după câteva zeci de ani în care îl ştiam doar drept un cântăreţ minor - «Scrisoare din Paris... despre esenţa dragostei» (Vladimir Maiakovski, 1928) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GoRa8pLbDA4

Nu.


Voi care vă întoarceţi acasă
şi după ce-aţi închis uşa
spuneţi “bună seara”
voi nu ştiţi ce-nseamnă
să intri pe uşă tăcînd.


(O. Paler, Singuratate)


Inca una de la maestrul Buk, cred ca se potriveste de minune aici..



Writing

often it is the only
thing
between you and
impossibility.
no drink,
no woman's love,
no wealth
can
match it.
nothing can save
you
except
writing.
it keeps the walls
from
failing.
the hordes from
closing in.
it blasts the
darkness.
writing is the
ultimate
psychiatrist,
the kindliest
god of all the
gods.
writing stalks
death.
it knows no
quit.
and writing
laughs
at itself,
at pain.
it is the last
expectation,
the last
explanation.
that's
what it
is.

Un mic clip şi interviu despre "Writing". http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PtTi...eature=related

Care este legatura dintre el si Sean Penn? :-?

Pe cararea veche
Trec cate o data
Cu speranta vaga
De-a te intalni
Ne cunoastem parca
De o viata intreaga
Neavand puterea
De a ne vorbi.
Prin albastrul moale,
Linistea se aduna
Si prin diafanul
De apus vegheat
Ochii tai de aur,
Ochi de zana buna
Cand aprind in mine
Un ecou ciudat.

Ref.Dragoste la prima vedere,
Cine-ar fi crezut?
Sa iubesc cu atata putere,
Ca la inceput. bis

Ca mi-a fost tarzie
Intalnirea in vreme
Si tarzie clipa
Versuri Ilie Micolov - Dragoste la prima vedere
de pe http://www.versuri.ro
De-a ne fi vazut,
Pe cararea veche
La rascruci de vanturi
Numai timpul stie
Ce e de facut.
Amintirea vie
Mai traieste inca
As da ani din viata sa te regasesc
Ne cunoastem parca
De o vesnicie,
De o vesnicie
Parca te iubesc.

Ref bis.
N-o sa afle nimeni
Poate niciodata
Poate niciodata
N-am sa te-ntalnesc.

As da ani din viata
Sa te am alaturi,
Sa iti simt faptura,
Sa-ti spun te iubesc.(bis ult 4 versurï)

NEBUN DE ALB

Acum sunt mai pustiu ca totdeauna
De cand ma simt tot mai bogat de tine
Si-mi stau pe tample soarele si luna
Acum mi-e cel mai rau si cel mai bine

Si uite n-are cine sa ne-ajute
Abia-si mai tine lumea ale sale
Si-ntr-un perete alb de muze mute
Nebunii negri cauta o cale

Refren x 2:
Si te iubesc cu mila si cu groaza
Tot ce-i al tau mi se cuvine mie
Ca un nebun de alb ce captureaza
Regina neagra pentru o vesnicie

Prin gari descreierate accidente
Marfare triste vin in miezul verii
Iar eu sunt plin de gesturi imprudente
Ca sa te apropii si ca sa te sperii

Jur imprejur privelisti aberante
Copii fragili ducand parinti in spate
Batrani cu sanii gri de os pe pante
Si albastrosi venind spre zari uscate

Refren x 2

Mi-e dor de tine si iti caut chipul
In fiecare margine a firii
In podul palmei daca iau nisipul
Simt un inel jucandu-se de-a mirii

I-aud prin batalii din vreme-n vreme
Ostasii garzii tale ti se-nchina
Iubita mea cu foarte mari probleme
Cu chip slavon sinume de regina

mai Judexule... REVINOOOO-TI !!!

Mă învelesc de frig…
Nichita Stănescu

Mă învelesc de frig într-o speranţă
cum se-nveleşte soba nou zidită
în relieful de faianţă
cu focul pururi logodită.

Nu pune mâna peste mine dacă-i vară
căci n-ai să înţelegi nimic
stimată doamnă-domnişoară
din frig.

Ci vino când nu merge nimeni,
când nu avem picioare, vino
dar mai ales când voi fi orb,
lumino.

deci, vrei să fii un scriitor

Charles Bukowski


dacă nu vine explodînd
din tine
în ciuda a orice
nu o face.
numai dacă vine neîntrebată
din inima şi mintea şi gura şi
viscerele tale
nu o face.
dacă trebuie să stai cu orele
holbîndu-te la ecranul calculatorului
sau aplecat deasupra maşinii
tale de scris
căutînd cuvintele,
nu o face.
dacă o faci pentru bani
sau faimă,
nu o face.
dacă o faci pentru că
doreşti femei în patul tău,
nu o face.
dacă trebuie să stai acolo
şi să o rescrii din nou şi
din nou,
nu o face.
dacă e muncă grea
doar gîndindu-te despre ea,
nu o face.
dacă încerci să scrii ca
altcineva,
uită de asta.
dacă trebuie să aştepţi pentru
ca să răcnească din tine,
atunci aşteaptă răbdător,
dacă nu mai răcneşte
din tine,
fă altceva.
dacă dintîi trebuie să o citeşti
soţiei tale
sau prietenei sau prietenului
sau părinţilor tăi sau
oricărei alte persoane
nu eşti pregătit.


nu fi ca atît de mulţi scriitori
nu fi ca atîtea mii de
oameni care se consideră scriitori,
nu fi nasol şi
plictisitor şi pretenţios,
nu fi consumat cu iubirea de sine
bibliotecile lumii au căscat pînă
la adormire
din cauza acestui fel de scriitură
nu te alătura la asta
nu o face.
numai dacă vine din sufletul
tău ca o rachetă,
numai dacă stînd nemişcat te-ar
aduce la nebunie sau suicid
sau crimă,
nu o face.
numai dacă soarele din interiorul
tău îţi arde viscerele
nu o face.

cînd într-adevăr este timpul,
şi dacă ai fost ales,
se va face
de la sine şi va continua să
se facă
pînă cînd vei muri sau va muri
în tine
nu există o altă cale
şi niciodată nu a existat.

Jackpot,Edgar Allan Poe:P Cred ca e singurul autor strain la care am avut rabdare sa citesc opera scrisa in alta limba decat romana.
Si totusi,ceva de la noi:
Cand dintre pomi spre mare se rasucise vantul,
Si-n catifeaua umbrei nisipul amortea,
L-a scos un val afara cu grija asezandu-l
Pe-un cimitir de scoici ce stralucea.

La marginea vietii clocotitoare-a marii
Sta nefiresc de teapan, trufas, insa rapus.
Priveste inca parca talazurile zarii
Cu gatul gales indoit in sus.

Murdare si sarate-s aripile-i deschise,
Furtuna ce-l izbise ii canta-un surd prohod
Lucesc multicolore in juru-i scoici ucise
Al caror miez caldurile il rod.

De valuri aruncate pe tarmul sec si tare
Murira fara lupta sclipind acum bogat,
Le tulbura lumina lor alba, orbitoare,
Aripa lui cu mal intunecat.

Deasupra tipa-n aer dansand in salturi bruste,
Sfidand nemarginirea, un tanar pescarus.
Razboinicul furtunii zvarlit intre moluste
Rasfrange-n ochiu-i stins un nou urcus.

Cand se-nteteste briza aripa-i se-nfioara
Si, renviat o clipa de-un nevazut indemn,
Iti pare ca zbura-va din nou, ultima oara,
Spre-un cimitir mai sobru si mai demn.

PSALM 5 (Nu-ţi cer un lucru prea cu neputinţă...)

de Tudor Arghezi

Nu-ţi cer un lucru prea cu neputinţă
În recea mea-ncruntată suferinţă.
Dacă-ncepui de-aproape să-ţi dau ghes,
Vreau să vorbeşti cu robul tău mai des.

De când s-a întocmit Sfânta Scriptură
Tu n-ai mai pus picioru-n bătătură
Şi anii mor şi veacurile pier
Aci sub tine, dedesubt, sub cer.

Când magii au purces după o stea,
Tu le vorbeai – şi se putea.
Când fu să plece şi Iosif,
Scris l-ai găsit în catastif
Şi i-ai trimis un înger de povaţă –
Şi îngerul stătu cu el de faţă.
Îngerii tăi grijeau pe vremea ceea
Şi pruncul şi bărbatul şi femeea.

Doar mie, Domnul, veşnicul şi bunul,
Nu mi-a trimis, de când mă rog, nici-unul...

Eternul EMINESCU

Ziua lui Mihai Eminescu
Astazi 15 ianuarie se implinesc 161 de ani de la naşterea sa.


Romania.Eminescu.Poezii
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3w0I32KwVQ


ODA IN METRU ANTIC-M.EMINESCU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVE7i7Yh8r4


MIHAI EMINESCU - Revedere
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTN6J...eature=related


ONE WISH ALONE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wa0_nfHGYfY

Mihai Eminescu-Adio
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHI7R...eature=related


Mihai Eminescu - Glossa
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUMAg...eature=related

Tu cu cruzime m-ai respins cand am voit,copila,
Sa devastez frumusetea ta cea dulce , far' de mila-
Si totusi corpul tau e plin de-o coapta tinereta,
Tu , al amorului duios demonica prasila!
Eu am plecat purtind in piept durerea-mi toata scrisa,
Precum al primaverei vint duce-n vazduh o fila;
Dar noaptea, cand am adormit, atunci durerea-mi toata
Se ghemuieste-n inima-mi, o arde si-o impila;
Parea din somn ca m-am trezit si te-am vazut pe patu-mi,
Botind cearsaful meu cel alb cu ,mina ta gentila;
Abia al hainei tale gaz de umaru-ti se tine
Si sinii tai s-au liberat de-al hainei cruda sila
Si proaspeti, albi, rotunzi si tariei se ridic, se lasa
Si ochii tai in lacrimi ard, in lacrimi dulci de mila.
La rasuflarea cald-a ta se coace-uscata gura,
Se vad frumosi margaritari ce-ntredeschisi defila.
Cu bratul meu eu selele ti le-clestai salbatec
Si-am vrut sa-ti musc gurita ta de tremurai febrila;
Si tu te aperi surizind, c-o man-acoperi sinii,
Privirea ta inoata ud,cand blinda, cind ostila,
De bunavoie lingezind,te lasi de sold rapita,
Dar retrezita de amor tu te desfaci cu sila
Si de turbare s-a-nclestat, s-a strins gurita-ti creata;
Tu de pe frunte paru-ti dai, plingi tremurind ,copila,
In solduri boiul ti-l indoi si-ai vrea sa-mi scapi din mina,
Precum se-ndoaie ,vrind s-o rupi, in degete-o zambila,
Dar singele tau dulce-acum ca mierea cea de struguri
In vine-ti fierbe nebunit si mintea o exila.
Atunci cazusi pe pieptul meu , o sarcina in friguri,
Un fruct rascopt de-amorului caldura fara mila,
Ai mai gemut o data clar ca omul care moare,
Apoi te lasasi patimei ce te ardea, Sibylla,
Si-n lupta noastra te-am adus sub greul vietii mele,
Pecete-am rupt ce pin-acum junetea ti-o sigila-
Un corp am fost ingemanat traind o viat-obscura,
Demonic-dulce ,amoros-spasmotica, febrila,
Si sufletele noastre-atunci pe buze atirnate
S-au contopit in sarutari, in dezmierdari, in mila,
Parc-am trecut noi amindoi in noaptea nefiintei,
Ne-am zugrumat in sarutari, ne-am omorit, copila!

GAZEL MIHAI EMINESCU
POEZIA SUFLETULUI MEU..........O ADOR!

preferata mea :)
 

Mihai Codreanu (1876-1957)

Iisus veni si-n casa mea-ntr-o seara:
Era-ntr-un tainic si suav apus...
Si-am stat in casa singur cu Iisus...
Si-afara era blinda primavara.

Atunci mi-a spus cu vocea Lui cea clara
Ca oamenii sunt buni, desi L-au dus
Sa-L bata-n cuie pe Golgota, sus,
Fiindca i-a iubit din cale-afara.

Si mi-a mai spus ca poate fi iertat
Chiar Iuda ce-L vindu cu-n sarutat,
Ca sa-si sporeasca cu treizeci argintii.

Apoi, plecind, din prag mi-a spus asa:
Comoara sufletului ca si-a mintii
E sa iubesti, pentru-a putea ierta.

O ador!!!

Mei, mei dar ce romane de pozeii pe aici.Cu siguranta sunt destui care sa le citeasca :)
Ar fi interesant daca s-ar deschide un topic si pentru creatiile eului propriu.

Eu nu strivesc corola de minuni a lumii

Gion shouja no kane no koe
shogyou mujou no hibiki ari.
Shara souju no hana no iro
jousha hissui no kotowari o arawasu.
Ogoreru hito mo hisashikarazu,
Tada haru no yo no yume no gotoshi.
Takeki mono mo tsui ni horobinu.
Hitoe ni kaze no mae no chiri ni onaji.

Sper să vă placă

Minunata! :)) Numai ca nu am inteles nimic! :-/

Soacră-mea-ntr-o seară, cum stătea proţap,
Ceasul din perete i-a căzut în cap!
Eu privind pendula ce-i turtise nasul...
Zic: -n-aduce anul ce aduce ceasul!

Tocmai ce a plecat verisoara mea de la mine si am gasit o poezie care a compuso acum ( ea e in clasa a - VI - a ). Nu stiu de ce dar mie mi se pare destul de reusita.

Nu am modificat nimic, o copiez exact cum e pe foaie. N-are titlu.

Cand si ultima speranta dispare
Si ultima raza de soare se pierde in zare
Nu-ti mai ramane decat sa astepti
Sa treaca furtuna ca soarele sa-l vezi
Si daca furtuna se ca inteti
Tu cauta curcubeul de culori vii
Si daca curcubeul nu il vei afla
Cauta ochii mei in intuneric
Ei iti vor spune ce sa faci.

Pareri?

Frumoasa poezie a scris verisoara ta....sincer, nu stiu cu cine seamana asa desteapta...=))

Din nou, maestrul Bukowski

dinţi alb perfecţi

până la urmă mi-am cumpărat
şi eu un televizor color
şi noaptea trecută am dat peste
filmul ăsta:
în Paris e un individ care
n-are nici un ban
dar poartă un costum de fiţe
şi-un nod perfect la cravată
nu e nici îngrijorat nici beat
în schimb
tipul stă toată ziua într-o cafenea
şi toate femeile frumoase sânt
îndrăgostite de el şi
cumva reuşeşte să-şi plătească
la timp chiria şi
tot urcă şi coboară nişte scări şi
cămăşile strălucesc pe el şi
le spune fetelor
că ele nu ştiu să scrie poezie
că el ştie dar
nu simte
deocamdată
nevoia
pentru că el acum caută
de fapt Adevărul.
tunsoarea lui e şi ea perfectă
nu e niciodată mahmur
n-are nici un tic
nu i se zbate nici o pleoapă
iar dinţii
veşnic alb perfecţi.

ştiam ce urmează:
tipul avea să rămână cu poezia
femeia şi
Adevărul.
aşa că am închis televizorul
gândindu-mă, aşa-ţi trebuie,
în pizda mă-tii, cretinule,
le meriţi pe toate
trei.

@chuckyfan
Ma ung pe suflet poeziile celor mici :) Vezi daca mai are!

am si eu una dar e cu prostii, pot sa o postez asa sau trebe cenzurata? e foarte tare oricum

Să te urăsc
(George Filip)

N-am banuit ca-n grota vietii
voi poposi asa putin;
Acolo, printre lighioane
de noapte, mi-a parut senin.

Trapasii tineretii mele
s-au adapat din vagi fantani
iar tainele adolescentei
eu ti le-am dibuit in sani.

Trecut-au pasari de lumina
dar le-impuscau braconieri
convivi, ce stiau al dracu'
s-azvarle mainele din ieri.

Intai, cind aprindeam tigara
ma excitam precum un manz,
si nu stiam, prin timpul lacom,
de-i miezul noptii sau e prinz.

Am invatat sa svarl cu pietre
si bumenrangul sa-l arunc,
dar tinta mea nevinovata
era mereu acelas prunc.

Sunt prada tineretii mele
ce-a nins pe mine dintr-o stea,
de-aceea pot, la nemurire,
sa te urasc, iubita mea.

Oh thou poisonous viper
Thy tongue aims sharper
Than a sniper

Cred ca am sanse sa ajung mai bun ca Shakespeare

http://www.tare.ro/anonim/2051602-ce...a-asta-in-gura

suie
 

Meserie.. bratara de aur.. aurul e f scump merge bine la cerneala, cerneala e si ea pana la urma meserie te baga la parnaie, te sciate de pe felie. Apa trece, pietrele raman... aurul ramane, oamenii se descompun.....

Mi-ar fi placut s-o fi scris eu, dar...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUsyP...eature=related

Getting along with women,
Knocking around with men,
Having more credit than money,
Thus one goes through the world.

(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Claudine von Villa Bella, 1776.)

Și a mea :">

Lupul în piele de oaie!
 

,,Lupul în piele de oaie."


La Moscoviți se duse vestea
Că lupu-și schimbă iar povestea:
Din lacom, rău și-nfumurat,
În oaie s-ar fi transformat...

Dar de la Nistru pîn' la Iași:
,,Da-vai, da-vai" tot ce-adunași!
Iar de la Nistru pîn' la Don:
,,Da-vai ceas, da-vai palton"!

Din veac, din Nistru pîn' la Tisa,
Tot Românu plânsumi-sa. ;) =))

Hyperion-Luceafărul lui John Keats, Partea I-a=Book I
 

Hyperion -Luceafărul

de John Keats
cu traducere liberă

BOOK I --Prima strofă din Hyperion--Luceafărul lui John Keats, în traducerea mea liberă și complect originală


În umbre adânci pe-o vale verde
Ce dimineața nu o vede,
Departe-i Luna ce străluce
Și-acel Luceafăr--Steaua cea cu cruce
Stă Saturn c-un păr albit de Vremi
Tăcut ca stânca din poemi,
Încremenit într-o tăcere
Ce-i sapă adânc a sa Putere...
Păduri peste păduri se-nalță asupra Lui
Asemeni unor nori peste alți nori în zori
Nici aerul nu mișcă în liniștea cu flori
Nici viață nu-i oriunde sub bolta Cerului
Și nici sămânța-n iarbă nu se mișcă
Iar unde frunza cade, stă- nu mișcă
Izvorul curge fără sunet
Un suflet parcă fără cuget
Iară Naiada de pe lac își puse
Un deget rece pe-a ei buze.

BOOK I

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung above his head
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day
Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
By reason of his fallen divinity
Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds
Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.

Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went,
No further than to where his feet had stray'd,
And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed;
While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth,
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.

It seem'd no force could wake him from his place;
But there came one, who with a kindred hand
Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low
With reverence, though to one who knew it not.
She was a Goddess of the infant world;
By her in stature the tall Amazon
Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en
Achilles by the hair and bent his neck;
Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel.
Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx,
Pedestal'd haply in a palace court,
When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore.
But oh! how unlike marble was that face:
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
There was a listening fear in her regard,
As if calamity had but begun;
As if the vanward clouds of evil days
Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear
Was with its stored thunder labouring up.
One hand she press'd upon that aching spot
Where beats the human heart, as if just there,
Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain:
The other upon Saturn's bended neck
She laid, and to the level of his ear
Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake
In solemn tenor and deep organ tone:
Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue
Would come in these like accents; O how frail
To that large utterance of the early Gods!
"Saturn, look up!---though wherefore, poor old King?
I have no comfort for thee, no not one:
I cannot say, 'O wherefore sleepest thou?'
For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth
Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God;
And ocean too, with all its solemn noise,
Has from thy sceptre pass'd; and all the air
Is emptied of thine hoary majesty.
Thy thunder, conscious of the new command,
Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house;
And thy sharp lightning in unpractised hands
Scorches and burns our once serene domain.
O aching time! O moments big as years!
All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth,
And press it so upon our weary griefs
That unbelief has not a space to breathe.
Saturn, sleep on:---O thoughtless, why did I
Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude?
Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes?
Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep."

As when, upon a tranced summer-night,
Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods,
Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
Dream, and so dream all night without a stir,
Save from one gradual solitary gust
Which comes upon the silence, and dies off,
As if the ebbing air had but one wave;
So came these words and went; the while in tears
She touch'd her fair large forehead to the ground,
Just where her fallen hair might be outspread
A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet.
One moon, with alteration slow, had shed
Her silver seasons four upon the night,
And still these two were postured motionless,
Like natural sculpture in cathedral cavern;
The frozen God still couchant on the earth,
And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet:
Until at length old Saturn lifted up
His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone,
And all the gloom and sorrow ofthe place,
And that fair kneeling Goddess; and then spake,
As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard
Shook horrid with such aspen-malady:
"O tender spouse of gold Hyperion,
Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face;
Look up, and let me see our doom in it;
Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape
Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the voice
Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow,
Naked and bare of its great diadem,
Peers like the front of Saturn? Who had power
To make me desolate? Whence came the strength?
How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth,
While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp?
But it is so; and I am smother'd up,
And buried from all godlike exercise
Of influence benign on planets pale,
Of admonitions to the winds and seas,
Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting,
And all those acts which Deity supreme
Doth ease its heart of love in.---I am gone
Away from my own bosom: I have left
My strong identity, my real self,
Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit
Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search!
Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round
Upon all space: space starr'd, and lorn of light;
Space region'd with life-air; and barren void;
Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell.---
Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest
A certain shape or shadow, making way
With wings or chariot fierce to repossess
A heaven he lost erewhile: it must---it must
Be of ripe progress---Saturn must be King.
Yes, there must be a golden victory;
There must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown
Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival
Upon the gold clouds metropolitan,
Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir
Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be
Beautiful things made new, for the surprise
Of the sky-children; I will give command:
Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?"
This passion lifted him upon his feet,
And made his hands to struggle in the air,
His Druid locks to shake and ooze with sweat,
His eyes to fever out, his voice to cease.
He stood, and heard not Thea's sobbing deep;
A little time, and then again he snatch'd
Utterance thus.---"But cannot I create?
Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion forth
Another world, another universe,
To overbear and crumble this to nought?
Where is another Chaos? Where?"---That word
Found way unto Olympus, and made quake
The rebel three.---Thea was startled up,
And in her bearing was a sort of hope,
As thus she quick-voic'd spake, yet full of awe.

"This cheers our fallen house: come to our friends,
O Saturn! come away, and give them heart;
I know the covert, for thence came I hither."
Thus brief; then with beseeching eyes she went
With backward footing through the shade a space:
He follow'd, and she turn'd to lead the way
Through aged boughs, that yielded like the mist
Which eagles cleave upmounting from their nest.

Meanwhile in other realms big tears were shed,
More sorrow like to this, and such like woe,
Too huge for mortal tongue or pen of scribe:
The Titans fierce, self-hid, or prison-bound,
Groan'd for the old allegiance once more,
And listen'd in sharp pain for Saturn's voice.
But one of the whole mammoth-brood still kept
His sov'reigny, and rule, and majesy;---
Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire
Still sat, still snuff'd the incense, teeming up
From man to the sun's God: yet unsecure:
For as among us mortals omens drear
Fright and perplex, so also shuddered he---
Not at dog's howl, or gloom-bird's hated screech,
Or the familiar visiting of one
Upon the first toll of his passing-bell,
Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp;
But horrors, portion'd to a giant nerve,
Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright,
Bastion'd with pyramids of glowing gold,
And touch'd with shade of bronzed obelisks,
Glar'd a blood-red through all its thousand courts,
Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries;
And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds
Flush'd angerly: while sometimes eagles' wings,
Unseen before by Gods or wondering men,
Darken'd the place; and neighing steeds were heard
Not heard before by Gods or wondering men.
Also, when he would taste the spicy wreaths
Of incense, breath'd aloft from sacred hills,
Instead of sweets, his ample palate took
Savor of poisonous brass and metal sick:
And so, when harbor'd in the sleepy west,
After the full completion of fair day,---
For rest divine upon exalted couch,
And slumber in the arms of melody,
He pac'd away the pleasant hours of ease
With stride colossal, on from hall to hall;
While far within each aisle and deep recess,
His winged minions in close clusters stood,
Amaz'd and full offear; like anxious men
Who on wide plains gather in panting troops,
When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers.
Even now, while Saturn, rous'd from icy trance,
Went step for step with Thea through the woods,
Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear,
Came slope upon the threshold of the west;
Then, as was wont, his palace-door flew ope
In smoothest silence, save what solemn tubes,
Blown by the serious Zephyrs, gave of sweet
And wandering sounds, slow-breathed melodies;
And like a rose in vermeil tint and shape,
In fragrance soft, and coolness to the eye,
That inlet to severe magnificence
Stood full blown, for the God to enter in.

He enter'd, but he enter'd full of wrath;
His flaming robes stream'd out beyond his heels,
And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire,
That scar'd away the meek ethereal Hours
And made their dove-wings tremble. On he flared
From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault,
Through bowers of fragrant and enwreathed light,
And diamond-paved lustrous long arcades,
Until he reach'd the great main cupola;
There standing fierce beneath, he stampt his foot,
And from the basements deep to the high towers
Jarr'd his own golden region; and before
The quavering thunder thereupon had ceas'd,
His voice leapt out, despite of godlike curb,
To this result: "O dreams of day and night!
O monstrous forms! O effigies of pain!
O spectres busy in a cold, cold gloom!
O lank-eared phantoms of black-weeded pools!
Why do I know ye? why have I seen ye? why
Is my eternal essence thus distraught
To see and to behold these horrors new?
Saturn is fallen, am I too to fall?
Am I to leave this haven of my rest,
This cradle of my glory, this soft clime,
This calm luxuriance of blissful light,
These crystalline pavilions, and pure fanes,
Of all my lucent empire? It is left
Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine.
The blaze, the splendor, and the symmetry,
I cannot see but darkness, death, and darkness.
Even here, into my centre of repose,
The shady visions come to domineer,
Insult, and blind, and stifle up my pomp.---
Fall!---No, by Tellus and her briny robes!
Over the fiery frontier of my realms
I will advance a terrible right arm
Shall scare that infant thunderer, rebel Jove,
And bid old Saturn take his throne again."---
He spake, and ceas'd, the while a heavier threat
Held struggle with his throat but came not forth;
For as in theatres of crowded men
Hubbub increases more they call out "Hush!"
So at Hyperion's words the phantoms pale
Bestirr'd themselves, thrice horrible and cold;
And from the mirror'd level where he stood
A mist arose, as from a scummy marsh.
At this, through all his bulk an agony
Crept gradual, from the feet unto the crown,
Like a lithe serpent vast and muscular
Making slow way, with head and neck convuls'd
From over-strained might. Releas'd, he fled
To the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours
Before the dawn in season due should blush,
He breath'd fierce breath against the sleepy portals,
Clear'd them of heavy vapours, burst them wide
Suddenly on the ocean's chilly streams.
The planet orb of fire, whereon he rode
Each day from east to west the heavens through,
Spun round in sable curtaining of clouds;
Not therefore veiled quite, blindfold, and hid,
But ever and anon the glancing spheres,
Circles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure,
Glow'd through, and wrought upon the muffling dark
Sweet-shaped lightnings from the nadir deep
Up to the zenith,---hieroglyphics old,
Which sages and keen-eyed astrologers
Then living on the earth, with laboring thought
Won from the gaze of many centuries:
Now lost, save what we find on remnants huge
Of stone, or rnarble swart; their import gone,
Their wisdom long since fled.---Two wings this orb
Possess'd for glory, two fair argent wings,
Ever exalted at the God's approach:
And now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense
Rose, one by one, till all outspreaded were;
While still the dazzling globe maintain'd eclipse,
Awaiting for Hyperion's command.
Fain would he have commanded, fain took throne
And bid the day begin, if but for change.
He might not:---No, though a primeval God:
The sacred seasons might not be disturb'd.
Therefore the operations of the dawn
Stay'd in their birth, even as here 'tis told.
Those silver wings expanded sisterly,
Eager to sail their orb; the porches wide
Open'd upon the dusk demesnes of night
And the bright Titan, phrenzied with new woes,
Unus'd to bend, by hard compulsion bent
His spirit to the sorrow of the time;
And all along a dismal rack of clouds,
Upon the boundaries of day and night,
He stretch'd himself in grief and radiance faint.
There as he lay, the Heaven with its stars
Look'd down on him with pity, and the voice
Of Coelus, from the universal space,
Thus whisper'd low and solemn in his ear:
"O brightest of my children dear, earth-born
And sky-engendered, son of mysteries
All unrevealed even to the powers
Which met at thy creating; at whose joys
And palpitations sweet, and pleasures soft,
I, Coelus, wonder, how they came and whence;
And at the fruits thereof what shapes they be,
Distinct, and visible; symbols divine,
Manifestations of that beauteous life
Diffus'd unseen throughout eternal space:
Of these new-form'd art thou, O brightest child!
Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses!
There is sad feud among ye, and rebellion
Of son against his sire. I saw him fall,
I saw my first-born tumbled from his throne!
To me his arms were spread, to me his voice
Found way from forth the thunders round his head!
Pale wox I, and in vapours hid my face.
Art thou, too, near such doom? vague fear there is:
For I have seen my sons most unlike Gods.
Divine ye were created, and divine
In sad demeanour, solemn, undisturb'd,
Unruffled, like high Gods, ye liv'd and ruled:
Now I behold in you fear, hope, and wrath;
Actions of rage and passion; even as
I see them, on the mortal world beneath,
In men who die.---This is the grief, O son!
Sad sign of ruin, sudden dismay, and fall!
Yet do thou strive; as thou art capable,
As thou canst move about, an evident God;
And canst oppose to each malignant hour
Ethereal presence:---I am but a voice;
My life is but the life of winds and tides,
No more than winds and tides can I avail:---
But thou canst.---Be thou therefore in the van
Of circumstance; yea, seize the arrow's barb
Before the tense string murmur.---To the earth!
For there thou wilt find Saturn, and his woes.
Meantime I will keep watch on thy bright sun,
And of thy seasons be a careful nurse."---
Ere half this region-whisper had come down,
Hyperion arose, and on the stars
Lifted his curved lids, and kept them wide
Until it ceas'd; and still he kept them wide:
And still they were the same bright, patient stars.
Then with a slow incline of his broad breast,
Like to a diver in the pearly seas,
Forward he stoop'd over the airy shore,
And plung'd all noiseless into the deep night.



Parțial , acest Hyperion, l-ar fi inspirat puțin și pe Mihai Eminescu

Hyperion- Books II and III -partea II-a și a III-a
 

Hyperion de John Keats

BOOKS II and III

Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings
Hyperion slid into the rustled air,
And Saturn gain'd with Thea that sad place
Where Cybele and the bruised Titans mourn'd.
It was a den where no insulting light
Could glimmer on their tears; where their own groans
They felt, but heard not, for the solid roar
Of thunderous waterfalls and torrents hoarse,
Pouring a constant bulk, uncertain where.
Crag jutting forth to crag, and rocks that seem'd
Ever as if just rising from a sleep,
Forehead to forehead held their monstrous horns;
And thus in thousand hugest phantasies
Made a fit roofing to this nest of woe.
Instead of thrones, hard flint they sat upon,
Couches of rugged stone, and slaty ridge
Stubborn'd with iron. All were not assembled:
Some chain'd in torture, and some wandering.
Caus, and Gyges, and Briareus,
Typhon, and Dolor, and Porphyrion,
With many more, the brawniest in assault,
Were pent in regions of laborious breath;
Dungeon'd in opaque element, to keep
Their clenched teeth still clench'd, and all their limbs
Lock'd up like veins of metal, crampt and screw'd;
Without a motion, save of their big hearts
Heaving in pain, and horribly convuls'd
With sanguine feverous boiling gurge of pulse.
Mnemosyne was straying in the world;
Far from her moon had Phoebe wandered;
And many else were free to roam abroad,
But for the main, here found they covert drear.
Scarce images of life, one here, one there,
Lay vast and edgeways; like a dismal cirque
Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor,
When the chill rain begins at shut of eve,
In dull November, and their chancel vault,
The Heaven itself, is blinded throughout night.
Each one kept shroud, nor to his neighbour gave
Or word, or look, or action of despair.
Creus was one; his ponderous iron mace
Lay by him, and a shatter'd rib of rock
Told of his rage, ere he thus sank and pined.
Iapetus another; in his grasp,
A serpent's plashy neck; its barbed tongue
Squeez'd from the gorge, and all its uncurl'd length
Dead: and because the creature could not spit
Its poison in the eyes of conquering Jove.
Next Cottus: prone he lay, chin uppermost,
As though in pain; for still upon the flint
He ground severe his skull, with open mouth
And eyes at horrid working. Nearest him
Asia, born of most enormous Caf,
Who cost her mother Tellus keener pangs,
Though feminine, than any of her sons:
More thought than woe was in her dusky face,
For she was prophesying of her glory;
And in her wide imagination stood
Palm-shaded temples, and high rival fanes
By Oxus or in Ganges' sacred isles.
Even as Hope upon her anchor leans,
So leant she, not so fair, upon a tusk
Shed from the broadest of her elephants.
Above her, on a crag's uneasy shelve,
Upon his elbow rais'd, all prostrate else,
Shadow'd Enceladus; once tame and mild
As grazing ox unworried in the meads;
Now tiger-passion'd, lion-thoughted, wroth,
He meditated, plotted, and even now
Was hurling mountains in that second war,
Not long delay'd, that scar'd the younger Gods
To hide themselves in forms of beast and bird.
Not far hence Atlas; and beside him prone
Phorcus, the sire of Gorgons. Neighbour'd close
Oceanus, and Tethys, in whose lap
Sobb'd Clymene among her tangled hair.
In midst of all lay Themis, at the feet
Of Ops the queen; all clouded round from sight,
No shape distinguishable, more than when
Thick night confounds the pine-tops with the clouds:
And many else whose names may not be told.
For when the Muse's wings are air-ward spread,
Who shall delay her flight? And she must chaunt
Of Saturn, and his guide, who now had climb'd
With damp and slippery footing from a depth
More horrid still. Above a sombre cliff
Their heads appear'd, and up their stature grew
Till on the level height their steps found ease:
Then Thea spread abroad her trembling arms
Upon the precincts of this nest of pain,
And sidelong fix'd her eye on Saturn's face:
There saw she direst strife; the supreme God
At war with all the frailty of grief,
Of rage, of fear, anxiety, revenge,
Remorse, spleen, hope, but most of all despair.
Against these plagues he strove in vain; for Fate
Had pour'd a mortal oil upon his head,
A disanointing poison: so that Thea,
Affrighted, kept her still, and let him pass
First onwards in, among the fallen tribe.

As with us mortal men, the laden heart
Is persecuted more, and fever'd more,
When it is nighing to the mournful house
Where other hearts are sick of the same bruise;
So Saturn, as he walk'd into the midst,
Felt faint, and would have sunk among the rest,
But that he met Enceladus's eye,
Whose mightiness, and awe of him, at once
Came like an inspiration; and he shouted,
"Titans, behold your God!" at which some groan'd;
Some started on their feet; some also shouted;
Some wept, some wail'd, all bow'd with reverence;
And Ops, uplifting her black folded veil,
Show'd her pale cheeks, and all her forehead wan,
Her eye-brows thin and jet, and hollow eyes.
There is a roaring in the bleak-grown pines
When Winter lifts his voice; there is a noise
Among immortals when a God gives sign,
With hushing finger, how he means to load
His tongue with the filll weight of utterless thought,
With thunder, and with music, and with pomp:
Such noise is like the roar of bleak-grown pines;
Which, when it ceases in this mountain'd world,
No other sound succeeds; but ceasing here,
Among these fallen, Saturn's voice therefrom
Grew up like organ, that begins anew
Its strain, when other harmonies, stopt short,
Leave the dinn'd air vibrating silverly.
Thus grew it up---"Not in my own sad breast,
Which is its own great judge and searcher out,
Can I find reason why ye should be thus:
Not in the legends of the first of days,
Studied from that old spirit-leaved book
Which starry Uranus with finger bright
Sav'd from the shores of darkness, when the waves
Low-ebb'd still hid it up in shallow gloom;---
And the which book ye know I ever kept
For my firm-based footstool:---Ah, infirm!
Not there, nor in sign, symbol, or portent
Of element, earth, water, air, and fire,---
At war, at peace, or inter-quarreling
One against one, or two, or three, or all
Each several one against the other three,
As fire with air loud warring when rain-floods
Drown both, and press them both against earth's face,
Where, finding sulphur, a quadruple wrath
Unhinges the poor world;---not in that strife,
Wherefrom I take strange lore, and read it deep,
Can I find reason why ye should be thus:
No, nowhere can unriddle, though I search,
And pore on Nature's universal scroll
Even to swooning, why ye, Divinities,
The first-born of all shap'd and palpable Gods,
Should cower beneath what, in comparison,
Is untremendous might. Yet ye are here,
O'erwhelm'd, and spurn'd, and batter'd, ye are here!
O Titans, shall I say 'Arise!'---Ye groan:
Shall I say 'Crouch!'---Ye groan. What can I then?
O Heaven wide! O unseen parent dear!
What can I? Tell me, all ye brethren Gods,
How we can war, how engine our great wrath!
O speak your counsel now, for Saturn's ear
Is all a-hunger'd. Thou, Oceanus,
Ponderest high and deep; and in thy face
I see, astonied, that severe content
Which comes of thought and musing: give us help!"

So ended Saturn; and the God of the sea,
Sophist and sage, from no Athenian grove,
But cogitation in his watery shades,
Arose, with locks not oozy, and began,
In murmurs, which his first-endeavouring tongue
Caught infant-like from the far-foamed sands.
"O ye, whom wrath consumes! who, passion-stung,
Writhe at defeat, and nurse your agonies!
Shut up your senses, stifle up your ears,
My voice is not a bellows unto ire.
Yet listen, ye who will, whilst I bring proof
How ye, perforce, must be content to stoop:
And in the proof much comfort will I give,
If ye will take that comfort in its truth.
We fall by course of Nature's law, not force
Of thunder, or of Jove. Great Saturn, thou
Hast sifted well the atom-universe;
But for this reason, that thou art the King,
And only blind from sheer supremacy,
One avenue was shaded from thine eyes,
Through which I wandered to eternal truth.
And first, as thou wast not the first of powers,
So art thou not the last; it cannot be:
Thou art not the beginning nor the end.
From Chaos and parental Darkness came
Light, the first fruits of that intestine broil,
That sullen ferment, which for wondrous ends
Was ripening in itself. The ripe hour came,
And with it Light, and Light, engendering
Upon its own producer, forthwith touch'd
The whole enormous matter into life.
Upon that very hour, our parentage,
The Heavens and the Earth, were manifest:
Then thou first born, and we the giant race,
Found ourselves ruling new and beauteous realms.
Now comes the pain of truth, to whom 'tis pain;
O folly! for to bear all naked truths,
And to envisage circumstance, all calm,
That is the top of sovereignty. Mark well!
As Heaven and Earth are fairer, fairer far
Than Chaos and blank Darkness, though once chiefs;
And as we show beyond that Heaven and Earth
In form and shape compact and beautiful,
In will, in action free, companionship,
And thousand other signs of purer life;
So on our heels a fresh perfection treads,
A power more strong in beauty, born of us
And fated to excel us, as we pass
In glory that old Darkness: nor are we
Thereby more conquer'd, than by us the rule
Of shapeless Chaos. Say, doth the dull soil
Quarrel with the proud forests it hath fed,
And feedeth still, more comely than itself?
Can it deny the chiefdom of green groves?
Or shall the tree be envious of the dove
Because it cooeth, and hath snowy wings
To wander wherewithal and find its joys?
We are such forest-trees, and our fair boughs
Have bred forth, not pale solitary doves,
But eagles golden-feather'd, who do tower
Above us in their beauty, and must reign
In right thereof; for 'tis the eternal law
That first in beauty should be first in might:
Yea, by that law, another race may drive
Our conquerors to mourn as we do now.
Have ye beheld the young God of the seas,
My dispossessor? Have ye seen his face?
Have ye beheld his chariot, foam'd along
By noble winged creatures he hath made?
I saw him on the calmed waters scud,
With such a glow of beauty in his eyes,
That it enforc'd me to bid sad farewell
To all my empire: farewell sad I took,
And hither came, to see how dolorous fate
Had wrought upon ye; and how I might best
Give consolation in this woe extreme.
Receive the truth, and let it be your balm."

Whether through pos'd conviction, or disdain,
They guarded silence, when Oceanus
Left murmuring, what deepest thought can tell?
But so it was, none answer'd for a space,
Save one whom none regarded, Clymene;
And yet she answer'd not, only complain'd,
With hectic lips, and eyes up-looking mild,
Thus wording timidly among the fierce:
"O Father! I am here the simplest voice,
And all my knowledge is that joy is gone,
And this thing woe crept in among our hearts,
There to remain for ever, as I fear:
I would not bode of evil, if I thought
So weak a creature could turn off the help
Which by just right should come of mighty Gods;
Yet let me tell my sorrow, let me tell
Of what I heard, and how it made me weep,
And know that we had parted from all hope.
I stood upon a shore, a pleasant shore,
Where a sweet clime was breathed from a land
Of fragrance, quietness, and trees, and flowers.
Full of calm joy it was, as I of grief;
Too full of joy and soft delicious warmth;
So that I felt a movement in my heart
To chide, and to reproach that solitude
With songs of misery, music of our woes;
And sat me down, and took a mouthed shell
And murmur'd into it, and made melody---
O melody no more! for while I sang,
And with poor skill let pass into the breeze
The dull shell's echo, from a bowery strand
Just opposite, an island of the sea,
There came enchantment with the shifting wind,
That did both drown and keep alive my ears.
I threw my shell away upon the sand,
And a wave fill'd it, as my sense was fill'd
With that new blissful golden melody.
A living death was in each gush of sounds,
Each family of rapturous hurried notes,
That fell, one after one, yet all at once,
Like pearl beads dropping sudden from their string:
And then another, then another strain,
Each like a dove leaving its olive perch,
With music wing'd instead of silent plumes,
To hover round my head, and make me sick
Of joy and grief at once. Grief overcame,
And I was stopping up my frantic ears,
When, past all hindrance of my trembling hands,
A voice came sweeter, sweeter than all tune,
And still it cried, 'Apollo! young Apollo!
The morning-bright Apollo! young Apollo!'
I fled, it follow'd me, and cried 'Apollo!'
O Father, and O Brethren, had ye felt
Those pains of mine; O Saturn, hadst thou felt,
Ye would not call this too indulged tongue
Presumptuous, in thus venturing to be heard."

So far her voice flow'd on, like timorous brook
That, lingering along a pebbled coast,
Doth fear to meet the sea: but sea it met,
And shudder'd; for the overwhelming voice
Of huge Enceladus swallow'd it in wrath:
The ponderous syllables, like sullen waves
In the half-glutted hollows of reef-rocks,
Came booming thus, while still upon his arm
He lean'd; not rising, from supreme contempt.
"Or shall we listen to the over-wise,
Or to the over-foolish, Giant-Gods?
Not thunderbolt on thunderbolt, till all
That rebel Jove's whole armoury were spent,
Not world on world upon these shoulders piled,
Could agonize me more than baby-words
In midst of this dethronement horrible.
Speak! roar! shout! yell! ye sleepy Titans all.
Do ye forget the blows, the buffets vile?
Are ye not smitten by a youngling arm?
Dost thou forget, sham Monarch of the waves,
Thy scalding in the seas? What! have I rous'd
Your spleens with so few simple words as these?
O joy! for now I see ye are not lost:
O joy! for now I see a thousand eyes
Wide-glaring for revenge!"---As this he said,
He lifted up his stature vast, and stood,
Still without intermission speaking thus:
"Now ye are flames, I'll tell you how to burn,
And purge the ether of our enemies;
How to feed fierce the crooked stings of fire,
And singe away the swollen clouds of Jove,
Stifling that puny essence in its tent.
O let him feel the evil he hath done;
For though I scorn Oceanus's lore,
Much pain have I for more than loss of realms:
The days of peace and slumbrous calm are fled;
Those days, all innocent of scathing war,
When all the fair Existences of heaven
Carne open-eyed to guess what we would speak:---
That was before our brows were taught to frown,
Before our lips knew else but solemn sounds;
That was before we knew the winged thing,
Victory, might be lost, or might be won.
And be ye mindful that Hyperion,
Our brightest brother, still is undisgraced---
Hyperion, lo! his radiance is here!"

All eyes were on Enceladus's face,
And they beheld, while still Hyperion's name
Flew from his lips up to the vaulted rocks,
A pallid gleam across his features stern:
Not savage, for he saw full many a God
Wroth as himself. He look'd upon them all,
And in each face he saw a gleam of light,
But splendider in Saturn's, whose hoar locks
Shone like the bubbling foam about a keel
When the prow sweeps into a midnight cove.
In pale and silver silence they remain'd,
Till suddenly a splendor, like the morn,
Pervaded all the beetling gloomy steeps,
All the sad spaces of oblivion,
And every gulf, and every chasm old,
And every height, and every sullen depth,
Voiceless, or hoarse with loud tormented streams:
And all the everlasting cataracts,
And all the headlong torrents far and near,
Mantled before in darkness and huge shade,
Now saw the light and made it terrible.
It was Hyperion:---a granite peak
His bright feet touch'd, and there he stay'd to view
The misery his brilliance had betray'd
To the most hateful seeing of itself.
Golden his hair of short Numidian curl,
Regal his shape majestic, a vast shade
In midst of his own brightness, like the bulk
Of Memnon's image at the set of sun
To one who travels from the dusking East:
Sighs, too, as mournful as that Memnon's harp
He utter'd, while his hands contemplative
He press'd together, and in silence stood.
Despondence seiz'd again the fallen Gods
At sight of the dejected King of day,
And many hid their faces from the light:
But fierce Enceladus sent forth his eyes
Among the brotherhood; and, at their glare,
Uprose Iapetus, and Creus too,
And Phorcus, sea-born, and together strode
To where he towered on his eminence.
There those four shouted forth old Saturn's name;
Hyperion from the peak loud answered, "Saturn!"
Saturn sat near the Mother of the Gods,
In whose face was no joy, though all the Gods
Gave from their hollow throats the name of "Saturn!"


BOOK III

Thus in altemate uproar and sad peace,
Amazed were those Titans utterly.
O leave them, Muse! O leave them to their woes;
For thou art weak to sing such tumults dire:
A solitary sorrow best befits
Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief.
Leave them, O Muse! for thou anon wilt find
Many a fallen old Divinity
Wandering in vain about bewildered shores.
Meantime touch piously the Delphic harp,
And not a wind of heaven but will breathe
In aid soft warble from the Dorian flute;
For lo! 'tis for the Father of all verse.
Flush everything that hath a vermeil hue,
Let the rose glow intense and warm the air,
And let the clouds of even and of morn
Float in voluptuous fleeces o'er the hills;
Let the red wine within the goblet boil,
Cold as a bubbling well; let faint-lipp'd shells,
On sands, or in great deeps, vermilion turn
Through all their labyrinths; and let the maid
Blush keenly, as with some warm kiss surpris'd.
Chief isle of the embowered Cyclades,
Rejoice, O Delos, with thine olives green,
And poplars, and lawn-shading palms, and beech,
In which the Zephyr breathes the loudest song,
And hazels thick, dark-stemm'd beneath the shade:
Apollo is once more the golden theme!
Where was he, when the Giant of the sun
Stood bright, amid the sorrow of his peers?
Together had he left his mother fair
And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower,
And in the morning twilight wandered forth
Beside the osiers of a rivulet,
Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale.
The nightingale had ceas'd, and a few stars
Were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush
Began calm-throated. Throughout all the isle
There was no covert, no retired cave,
Unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves,
Though scarcely heard in many a green recess.
He listen'd, and he wept, and his bright tears
Went trickling down the golden bow he held.
Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood,
While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by
With solemn step an awful Goddess came,
And there was purport in her looks for him,
Which he with eager guess began to read
Perplex'd, the while melodiously he said:
"How cam'st thou over the unfooted sea?
Or hath that antique mien and robed form
Mov'd in these vales invisible till now?
Sure I have heard those vestments sweeping o'er
The fallen leaves, when I have sat alone
In cool mid-forest. Surely I have traced
The rustle of those ample skirts about
These grassy solitudes, and seen the flowers
Lift up their heads, as still the whisper pass'd.
Goddess! I have beheld those eyes before,
And their eternal calm, and all that face,
Or I have dream'd."---"Yes," said the supreme shape,
"Thou hast dream'd of me; and awaking up
Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side,
Whose strings touch'd by thy fingers, all the vast
Unwearied ear of the whole universe
Listen'd in pain and pleasure at the birth
Of such new tuneful wonder. Is't not strange
That thou shouldst weep, so gifted? Tell me, youth,
What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad
When thou dost shed a tear: explain thy griefs
To one who in this lonely isle hath been
The watcher of thy sleep and hours of life,
From the young day when first thy infant hand
Pluck'd witless the weak flowers, till thine arm
Could bend that bow heroic to all times.
Show thy heart's secret to an ancient Power
Who hath forsaken old and sacred thrones
For prophecies of thee, and for the sake
Of loveliness new born."---Apollo then,
With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes,
Thus answer'd, while his white melodious throat
Throbb'd with the syllables.---"Mnemosyne!
Thy name is on my tongue, I know not how;
Why should I tell thee what thou so well seest?
Why should I strive to show what from thy lips
Would come no mystery? For me, dark, dark,
And painful vile oblivion seals my eyes:
I strive to search wherefore I am so sad,
Until a melancholy numbs my limbs;
And then upon the grass I sit, and moan,
Like one who once had wings.---O why should I
Feel curs'd and thwarted, when the liegeless air
Yields to my step aspirant? why should I
Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet?
Goddess benign, point forth some unknown thing:
Are there not other regions than this isle?
What are the stars? There is the sun, the sun!
And the most patient brilliance of the moon!
And stars by thousands! Point me out the way
To any one particular beauteous star,
And I will flit into it with my lyre,
And make its silvery splendor pant with bliss.
I have heard the cloudy thunder: Where is power?
Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity
Makes this alarum in the elements,
While I here idle listen on the shores
In fearless yet in aching ignorance?
O tell me, lonely Goddess, by thy harp,
That waileth every morn and eventide,
Tell me why thus I rave about these groves!
Mute thou remainest---Mute! yet I can read
A wondrous lesson in thy silent face:
Knowledge enormous makes a God of me.
Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions,
Majesties, sovran voices, agonies,
Creations and destroyings, all at once
Pour into the wide hollows of my brain,
And deify me, as if some blithe wine
Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk,
And so become immortal."---Thus the God,
While his enkindled eyes, with level glance
Beneath his white soft temples, steadfast kept
Trembling with light upon Mnemosyne.
Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush
All the immortal fairness of his limbs;
Most like the struggle at the gate of death;
Or liker still to one who should take leave
Of pale immortal death, and with a pang
As hot as death's is chill, with fierce convulse
Die into life: so young Apollo anguish'd:
His very hair, his golden tresses famed,
Kept undulation round his eager neck.
During the pain Mnemosyne upheld
Her arms as one who prophesied. At length
Apollo shriek'd;---and lo! from all his limbs
Celestial.

Omule, offfff... Mi-e greu sa-ti spun dar e de laba!
De-atatea nopti aud plouand ascult materia plangand blabla...
Te iubeste jumate de cinemagia - multe dintre astea sunt femei. Cheam-o si tu pe vreuna la Braila, ce pizdoiu' ma-sii...

Deci tu te masturbezi in timp ce il citesti pe Poe? De-a dreptu' poetic da incearca sa nu iti mai dai drumul pe aici.

Sa revenim la oile noastre...

De ce-ai plecat?
Tu nu stiai
Ca-n luna mai,
Prin muntii cu paduri de brad
Oricine-ai fi-femeie sau barbat-
Potecile te duc spre Iad
Si nu, ca-n lumea basmelor, spre Rai?

De ce-ai plecat?
Cu vantu-n parul tau valvoi,
Cand niciun glas nu te-a chemat?
Tu nu stiai ca-n luna mai
Potecile sunt inca pline de noroi?

De ce-ai plecat?
Tu nu stiai
Ca-n luna mai,
E luna primului pacat
Pacatul care dintr-o gluma,
Te prinde-n lat si te sugruma
Si-apoi te-arunca afara-n ploaie
In lada cu gunoaie?

Opreste-te!
Priveste-n jurul tau..
Si daca nu ti-ai murdarit
Pantofii de noroi,
Fa-ti cruce
Si-ntoarce-te-napoi,
Fa-ti cruce
Fiindca n-ai pacatuit
Decat in vis..
Si visul s-a sfarsit!

:)


Lucian Blaga

Dorul

Setos iti beau mirasma si-ti cuprind obrajii
cu palmele-amindoua, cum cuprinzi
în suflet o minune.
Ne arde-apropierea, ochi în ochi cum stam.
Si totusi tu-mi soptesti: "Mi-asa de dor de tine!"
Asa de tainic tu mi-o spui si dornic, parc-as fi
pribeag pe-un alt pamânt.
Femeie,
ce mare porti în inima si cine esti?
Mai cânta-mi inc-o data dorul tau,
sa te ascult
si clipele sa-mi para niste muguri plini,
din care infloresc aievea -- vesnicii.
:x :x :x :x :x

Cateodata

eu sunt aici



















Scrisoare de intentie

Bună ziua,
m-am născut acum câteva mii de zâmbete,
am absolvit Școala de Gătit pentru Iubite,
menționez că am o vastă experiența în a face
ochi dulci în timp ce gătesc.
Hobby-urile mele sînt să vă privesc
și să vă șoptesc numele în ureche
deja parcă ne cunoaștem de când iubirea, observați?
Posed abilități deosebite de operare
cu sentimente ușor inflamabile
și emoții de mari dimensiuni,
vorbesc bine limbajul trupului
și foarte bine pe cel al buzelor;
practic de când mă știu înotul
în marea bucurie de a fi, chiar și când
e agitată și vine în valuri.
Vă rog să considerați o posibilă angajare
în caz că aveți disponibil un post de
iubit imperfect. :D

matematica iubirii

tu ai doi ochi
eu am doi ochi
împreună avem patru ochi;
introducem cei patru ochi
în urna relaţiei noastre,
amestecăm bine
apoi, fără să ne uităm,
ha, ha, ce glumă bună -
oricum n-ai ochi când iubeşti,
extragem fiecare doi ochi.
Probabilitatea de a căpăta înapoi
fiecare, cele doua puncte de vedere iniţiale
este de douăzecişicinci la sută;
rezultă că este şaptezecişicinci la sută probabil
ca după iubirea noastră
să nu mai vedem lucrurile la fel;
ceea ce era de demonstrat.

(culese de aici)

S inca una de labis :))

Ce proşti mai suntem amândoi!
Comori de plăceri dorm în noi,
Şi cum le-ar putea deştepta
O clipă din dragostea ta!
E oare-o virute-a răbda? ...
Cu zâmbetul tău mă-nfiori,
Stăpâna atâtor comori:
Eu ştiu că mi-ai da, dac-aş cere,
Tu ştii c-aş primi, de mi-ai da,
Şi totuşi răbdăm în tăcere,
Privind cum viaţa se trece
Pustie, şi tristă, şi rece.

(Nehotărâre, Alexandru Vlahuţă)

Imi plac primele trei :)

Acum am descoperit-o pe tanti asta, extrem de sinistra, Ana Blandiana. Dar imi plac combinatiile pe care le foloseste:

Fără tine

Fără tine mi-e frig
N-am înţeles niciodată
Cum simte aerul
Că ai plecat.
Universul se strânge
Ca o minge plesnită
Şi-şi lasă pe mine zdrenţele reci.
Câinele negru
Cu burta întinsă duios pe zăpadă
Se scoală şi se îndepărtează
Privindu-mă în ochi,
Refuzând să-şi spună numele.
Începe să fulguie.
Mă ustură pielea
Pe locul de unde te-ai rupt.
Şi mi-e frig,
Când simt cum cade moale,
Odată cu zăpada,
Această rugăciune către nimeni.

Lucian Blaga - Gorunul

În limpezi departari aud din pieptul unui turn
cum bate ca o inima un clopot
si-n zvonuri dulci
îmi pare
ca stropi de liniste îmi curg prin vine, nu de sânge.

Gorunule din margine de codru,
de ce ma-nvinge
cu aripi moi atâta pace
când zac în umbra ta
si ma dezmierzi cu frunza-ti jucausa?

O, cine stie? - Poate ca
din trunchiul tau îmi vor ciopli
nu peste mult sicriul,
si linistea
ce voi gusta-o între scândurile lui
o simt pesemne de acum:
o simt cum frunza ta mi-o picura în suflet -
si mut
ascult cum creste-n trupul tau sicriul,
sicriul meu,
cu fiecare clipa care trece,
gorunule din margine de codru.

N-o mai iubesc, asta-i sigur, dar cum am putut-o iubi...
Vocea-mi vrea să fie vântul, să-i gâdile auzul.

A altuia. Va fi a altuia. Ca înaintea săruturilor mele.
Vocea ei, trupul ei de lumină. Ochii ei fără hotare.

N-o mai iubesc, asta-i sigur, dar poate încă o iubesc.
Iubirea e atât de scurtă, şi-atât de lungă e uitarea.

Într-una din aceste nopţi am strâns-o în braţe,
şi sufletul nu mi-e împăcat cu pierderea ei.

Chiar de-i ultima zvâcnire pentru ea,
şi acestea ultimele rânduri.

How do I love thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.