“It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down. And I knocked my brother down. And then we had tea.”
― Dylan Thomas
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I See You Like I See a Flower - Na Tae Joo
I See You Like I See a Flower
Publisher: Apop Books
Price: RM69.00
The collection of Na Tae Joo’s most popular poems that resonated through different generations online, I See You Like I See A Flower, carrier of South Korea’s Nation’s Most Favorite Poem, Grass Flower, is finally available in English!
As seen from popular K-Dramas - A Poem A Day, Encounter, and School 2013
In this book of poetry, we discover beauty in its simplest form, and just as how we think flowers are precious the more we look at them, we unearth the importance of things we’ve always seen as insignificant.
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\\English Below//
Je me sens maussade, nostalgique et mélancolique aujourd'hui. Ce poème de Gérard de Nerval, un poète romantique français du XIXe siècle est toujours un baume au cœur. Des images colorées, brillantes et sombres, sonnent leurs musiques et exhalent leurs parfums. Des impressions païennes, antiques et alchimiques éclosent à travers les mots et entre les silences.
El Desdichado
Je suis le Ténébreux, – le Veuf, – l’Inconsolé,
Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la Tour abolie :
Ma seule Etoile est morte, – et mon luth constellé
Porte le Soleil noir de la Mélancolie.
Dans la nuit du Tombeau, Toi qui m’as consolé,
Rends-moi le Pausilippe et la mer d’Italie,
La fleur qui plaisait tant à mon cœur désolé,
Et la treille où le Pampre à la Rose s’allie.
Suis-je Amour ou Phébus ?… Lusignan ou Biron ?
Mon front est rouge encor du baiser de la Reine ;
J’ai rêvé dans la Grotte où nage la sirène…
Et j’ai deux fois vainqueur traversé l’Achéron :
Modulant tour à tour sur la lyre d’Orphée
Les soupirs de la Sainte et les cris de la Fée.
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I feel gloomy, nostalgic, and melancholic today. This poem by Gérard de Nerval, a French romantic poet from the 19th century, is always a balm to the heart. Colorful, bright, and dark images play their music and exhale their fragrances. Pagan, ancient, and alchemical impressions bloom through the words and between the silences.
"I am the Dark One, – the Widower, – the Unconsoled
The Aquitaine Prince whose Tower is destroyed:
My only star is dead,- and my constellated lute
Bears the black Sun of Melancholia.
In the night of the Tomb, You who comforted me,
Give me back Mount Posillipo and the Italian sea,
The flower that my afflicted heart liked so much
And the treillised vineyard where the grapevine unites with the rose.
Am I Love or Phoebus ?… Lusignan or Biron ?
My forehead is still red from the Queen’s kiss ;
I dreamt of the Cave where the mermaid swims…
Twice victorious I crossed Acheron :
Taking turn to play on Orpheus’ lyre
The sighs of the Saint and the Fairy’s screams."
Traduction by Camille Chevalier-Karfis
Credit: Bruno van der Kraan
Félix Nadar
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Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
Walt Whitman
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How do I love thee?
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 candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the 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
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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the ongoing saga of “apparently christopher paolini likes hermitcraft” continues by apparently inviting him to a Thursday meeting I love hermitcraft
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"Another name for life is finding. Some find friends, some find soulmates, and some keep searching. If you're lucky enough, then you'll find yourself."
Zayd Ali | @ZaydAlix on Instagram
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Famous Poetry Share
We Wear the Mask
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
We wear the mask that grins and lies,It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—This debt we pay to human guile;With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,In counting all our tears and sighs?Nay, let them only see us, whileWe wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our criesTo thee…
View On WordPress
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Norwegian poem from 1936:
"Du må ikke sitte trygt i ditt hjem
og si: Det er sørgelig, stakkars dem!
Du må ikke tåle så inderlig vel
den urett som ikke rammer dig selv!
Jeg roper med siste pust av min stemme:
Du har ikke lov til å gå der og glemme!"
English translation:
"You must not sit safely in your home
and say: It's terrible, poor them!
You must not stand so incredibly well
the injustice that doesn't affect yourself!
I shout with the last breath of my voice:
You are not allowed to walk around and forget!"
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