When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an attic, Gatherings of days too few. Baubles of stolen kisses. Trinkets of borrowed loves. Trunks of secret words, I CRY. – Maya Angelou (1928-2014)
Άρθρα με ετικέτα ‘Ποίηση’
Δεν επιτρέπεται σχολιασμός στο When You Come
Δεν επιτρέπεται σχολιασμός στο Dreams
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow. – Langston Hughes (1902-1967)
Δεν επιτρέπεται σχολιασμός στο The Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens – William Carlos Williams (1883-1963) This clean-cut gem by Jewish American poet and doctor William Carlos Williams invites us into a moment of mindfulness and appreciation of everyday beauty.
Δεν επιτρέπεται σχολιασμός στο Robert Frost
Robert Frost (1874-1963) was an American poet from San Francisco, California.
Δεν επιτρέπεται σχολιασμός στο The Purple Cow
I never saw a purple cow, I never hope to see one, But I can tell you, anyhow, I’d rather see than be one! Gelett Burgess (1866-1951) was an American artist, art critic, poet, author and humorist from Boston, Massachusetts.
Δεν επιτρέπεται σχολιασμός στο Snowball
I made myself a snowball, As perfect as could be, I thought I’d keep it as a pet, And let it sleep with me. I made it some pajamas, And a pillow for its head. Then last night it ran away, But first, it wet the bed! – Shel… (συνέχεια…)
Δεν επιτρέπεται σχολιασμός στο Νικηφόρος Βρεττάκος
Το παιδί με τη σάλπιγγα Αν μπορούσες να ακουστείς θα σου έδινα την ψυχή μου να την πας ως την άκρη του κόσμου. Nα την κάνεις περιπατητικό αστέρι ή ξύλα αναμμένα για τα Χριστούγγενα— στο τζάκι του Νέγρου ή του Έλληνα χωρικού. Να την κάνεις ανθισμένη μηλιά στα παράθυρα των φυλακισμένων…. (συνέχεια…)
Δεν επιτρέπεται σχολιασμός στο Mark Strand
Mark Strand (1934-2014) was a Canadian-born American poet, essayist and translator from Summerside, Prince Edward Island. He was a professor of English and Comparative Literature at Columbia University from 2005 until his death in 2014. Η μετάφραση που έκανα σε αυτό το ποίημα αποτελεί ταυτόχρονα και μία αυθαίρετη ερμηνεία, καθώς δεν είναι σαφές εάν μιλάει… (συνέχεια…)
22 Ιούν 2023
Francisco X. Alarcón
Συντάκτης: Κων/νος Βούλγαρης | Κάτω από: Εκπαίδευση στον 21ο αιώναFrancisco X. Alarcón (1954-2016) was a Chicano poet and educator born in Wilmington, California. In a Neighborhood in Los Angeles Τranslated by Francisco Aragón I learned Spanish from my grandma mijito don’t cry she’d tell me on the mornings my parents would leave to work at the fish canneries my grandma would chat with… (συνέχεια…)
Alicia Ostriker (b. 1937) is a poet from Brooklyn, New York. She is the author of sixteen poetry collections. The Encounter with the Goddess There is one story and one story only That will prove worth your telling —Robert Graves, “To Juan at the Winter Solstice” That one story worth your telling Is the… (συνέχεια…)
James Schuyler (1923-1991) was born in Chicago, IL, but he was inspired to write poetry when he moved with his family to East Aurora, NY, when he was 15 years old. However, his first major collection was published when Schuyler was 46 years old. Sunday The mint bed is in bloom: lavender haze day…. (συνέχεια…)
Δεν επιτρέπεται σχολιασμός στο James Wright
James Wright (1927–1980) was an American poet from Martins Ferry, Ohio. He spoke in defence of the lives of the disenfranchised. He is equally well known for his tender depictions of the bleak landscapes of the post-industrial American Midwest. A Blessing Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass. And… (συνέχεια…)
It Doesn’t Matter What Language It’s Written In It doesn’t matter what language it’s written in. Every language is foreign, incomprehensible. Every word, hardly pronounced, Flees far away, where nothing or nobody can reach it. It doesn’t matter how much is known. Nobody can read. Nobody knows what lightning is— Even less so when it’s… (συνέχεια…)
Michael Donaghy (1954-2004) was a poet and musician, born in New York City to Irish immigrant parents. He grew up in the Bronx. After earning a BA from Fordham University and an MA from the University of Chicago, he moved to London in 1985. Machines Dearest, note how these two are alike: This harpsicord… (συνέχεια…)
Robert Creeley (1926–2005) was a poet born in Arlington, Massachusetts. He grew up in Acton. At the age of two, he lost his left eye. In his later years he was an advocate of, and a mentor to, many younger poets, as well as to others outside of the poetry world. Kore… (συνέχεια…)
Robert Bly (1926-2021) was a poet, essayist, and activist from Lac qui Parle County, Minnesota. The Buried Train Tell me about the train that people say got buried By the avalanche—was it snow? It was In Colorado, and no one saw it happen. There was smoke from the engine curling up Lightly through fir… (συνέχεια…)
Anne–Marie Derèse (b. 1938) is a poet from Franières, Belgium. Face Stolen From a Bird I don’t know who you’re hiding behind your mask, your face stolen from a bird, imprisoned by red ashes. I will love you the way one dies. I will keep you for years to come, you will be… (συνέχεια…)
Derek Walcott (1930–2017) was a poet, playwright, and Nobel Prize laureate from Castries, Saint Lucia. Love After Love The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other’s welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love… (συνέχεια…)
Russell Edson (1935-2014) was a poet, novelist, and illustrator from Connecticut. The Floor The floor is something we must fight against. Whilst seemingly mere platform for the human stance, it is that place that men fall to. I am not dizzy. I stand as a tower, a lighthouse; the pale ray of my… (συνέχεια…)
William Bronk (1918-1999) was a poet from Fort Edward, New York. For his book, Life Supports (1981), he won the National Book Award for Poetry. The Smile on the Face of a Kouros This boy, of course, was dead, whatever that might mean. And nobly dead. I think we should feel he was nobly… (συνέχεια…)
