Plaats hier één favoriet gedicht

Heinz Erhard, Nashorn

Ein Nashorn und ein Trockenhorn,
sie gingen durch die Wüste.
Da stolperte das Trockenhorn
das Nashorn sagte: "Siehste!"

quote:

Op dinsdag 17 augustus 2010 22:04 schreef Ser_Ciappelletto het volgende:
Twee (terechte) klassiekers:

Keats' Ode to a nightingale

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,--
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?

Keats is prachtig!

O dear Lord, you’re the Padishah,

You’re worthy of it!

Every padishah takes refuge in you.

You humiliate the one you don’t like

and exalt the one you love.

Shahdom suits you.

You know each of your slave’s secrets.

If I’m a rebel, please don’t withhold your mercy, give us plenty.

No one can claim their innocence.

You’re the just and I live in your just land.

I’m the only passenger on a sorrowful road that leads to you.

Sometimes tears turn my face red

Because of the shame of my sins.

I’m like dawn full of stars,

The smoke of my burning heart veils my eyes.

This black face of mine is like the black ink of my letters.

My hope lies with no one but you

Forgive me, forgive your Selim!

Gerard Reve - BEKENTENIS

Voordat ik in de Nacht ga die voor eeuwig lichtloos gloeit,
wil ik nog eenmaal spreken, en dit zeggen:
Dat ik nooit anders heb gezocht
dan U, dan U, dan U alleen.

T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair -
(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!")
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin -
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all -
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all -
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all -
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet - and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all" -
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all."
That is not it, at all.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor -
And this, and so much more? -
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

SONNET 138
When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

quote:

Op donderdag 3 december 2009 22:56 schreef Kevincy het volgende:
Geachte Haren van de reet,
Euh, heren van de raad,
Ik vvind het steen geil,
Euh geen stijl
Dat we met verkrachte eenden,
Euh vereende krachten,
de doden in de zeik,
euh de zoden aan de dijk zetten,
en dat de hoeren van Bolland,
Euh Boeren van Holland,
In Harige Kut,
Euh Karige hutjes wonen

En dat zij vervolgens met gespeende lullen
Euh geleende spullen,
De bok van het dak af neuken
Euh, de nok van het dak af beuken.


Serieus:

Sylvia Plath - Lady Lazarus

quote:

Lady Lazarus

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it-----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?-------

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand in foot ------
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart---
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Ik zit mij voor het vensterglas onnoemlijk te vervelen.
Ik wou dat ik twee hondjes was, dan kon ik samen spelen.

Godfried Bomans

Afscheid Adriaan Morriën

Zul je voorzichtig zijn?

Ik weet wel dat je maar een boodschap doet
hier om de hoek
en dat je niet gekleed bent voor een lange reis

Je kus is licht,
je blik gerust
en vredig zijn je hand en je voet.

Maar achter deze hoek
een werelddeel,
achter dit ogenblik
een zee van tijd.

Zul je voorzichtig zijn?

Vooruit nog eentje dan:

Fire and Ice Robert Frost

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.

Ma mignonne,
Je vous donne
Le bon jour;
Le sejour
C'est prison.
Guerison
Recouvrez,
Puis ouvrez
Votre porte
Et qu'on sorte
Vitement,
Car Clement
Le vous mande.
Va, friande
De ta bouche,
Qui se couche
En danger
Pour manger
Confitures;
Si tu dures
Trop malade,
Couleur fade
Tu prendras,
Et perdras
L'embonpoint.
Dieu te doint
Santé bonne,
Ma mignonne

A une demoiselle malade, Clement Marot

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud - William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Ga nu maar liggen liefste in de tuin,
de lege plekken in het hoge gras, ik heb
altijd gewild dat ik dat was, een lege
plek voor iemand, om te blijven.

_{Rutger Kopland}

quote:

Op dinsdag 31 augustus 2010 09:16 schreef suikertaartje het volgende:
Ga nu maar liggen liefste in de tuin,
de lege plekken in het hoge gras, ik heb
altijd gewild dat ik dat was, een lege
plek voor iemand, om te blijven.

_{Rutger Kopland}

Ja die vind ik ook mooi .

Sorry, kan niet kiezen.

-----

i carry your heart with me
E.E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

-----

Question and Answer
Charles Bukowski

he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
night, running the blade of the knife
under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
of all the letters he had received
telling him that
the way he lived and wrote about
that--
it had kept them going when
all seemed
truly
hopeless.

-------

Love's Philosophy
Percy Bysshe Shelley

The Fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law devine
In one another's being mingle -
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain'd its brother:
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

kort maar krachtig:

Had I not known
that I was dead
already
I would have mourned
my loss of life

Ota Dokan
1432-1486

sjaakcl met de visie

that that sythem like therr cuts izz made!
happy tab: em spitted/ stay wit mae
the fine trans flat lands fire she.. dots em nl/
stay! like well like jeeej! she freak all well, well well

baby: 'thuzz is you n me, that left to be:
whoosh and me she does ahs unity /energie
sha stick jus' sunny: best of scene past uppen see
as future see miss judy d'oew-be what! we from
Hopping_dance on: I whammies a wonder/ done it
fair star runner.. over dat... deep thuzz ax..
'n all! women on the left say heej hannie
microfone combustion say heej pappie
bring a lot of summinn: boss alone, I jacques
wazz catchin-no mind just! steps: she 'dimes it bettah'_
fine as hell together my! babe stiller: model lands. I holds controler
damn those legs there so much spend she walk herself
like rose again.. dont know the half

man! the theft: now coke in cans we do grand openings
they flashing cams, our lives this is, yo raising fame!
not asking shit da whole building! is onto hope! through scams.
im holding damn! thats padding! on the layers n nones!
a draw now ya buzzing mr. lonely: the fx go tang! let it enter da gates
and let my dillinger connect yes holezz get spunned: holy fuck
to dope tracks hers is set. she follow our steps like on electric ave
the life she lives and dressed to that yo where she pop rock,
I spin a workah motor up . fast as fuck, n that deliver on demand,
big bubbety the plot! that take a stand say ocean' fall for.
other ball for crazy! solve em. return a dirty look
then bash! his motarolla hook smash! him out originator books,
another phoney! shook, and da hat stay! crooked and low! n mo she!
does, she! come from clouds the rollin tighter: less air: bon fire-
nick her mia: best mines are in pacts... ever! kept on quiet tigers-
lions: that! all high! n-leave a city-hall is my! shit.
bullits fly quick (litted) way! them come combined: that girly
craze/ wild. derr heads sha freak uhm play on type. peaking!
to-the-max we steaming leave the place/ us hard beats harder:
pump! it UppAh/ donnie, hers yah center space

that that that sythem like therr cuts izz made!
happy tab: em spitted/ stay wit mae
the fine trans flat lands fire she.. dots em nl/
stay! like well like jeeej! she freak all well, well well

yah center space, der kuchi-fly positions/ my bekkem wings
make trips to days: say som' she say some far away. like all get here,
in anydays, airr waves 'till hers is set, real shaker babe gets baby-back:
now born to rep, marks on der fact..a minds in love/a crying mom
sees flying doves my oz aint minor kinda bucks. his paste! replie on!
house build! you bricking dicks, that weighz.'n cooler aid, yo pardon mea!
the crosses on the tatts, they force a baricade. the must relater
ex the grain. right here: come close to pain like I be gone/
bigger picture during may... tell! er the serenity plates.. maintaining
forever! on this earth_ through phenomenal! frames_ the fields been! guarded_
call a! squadron, stated! in the o two six.. we! semi, sending.. that music! to ya ears
is! what the deal is: mission s hurt. cause. you! cant! keep! running away:
why i wanna be a repper? thuz eazy! shine/ ya need my Klein both! darker-
post! a method. my Raves! n snow glow, good light/ sparks. a touch of us:
put you into motion! zz living; through the path. that ya wit it/
the drum bass.. luck derr faces non! mistaken sphere! outter,
Leaves-the one-two further: I so prince 'er- n about sha draw us singing;
never illin willy fealinz nights is falling bang those hips en get within
shit got all that: fuhr/ flowing party on the set. consistendly rep rep

sytems like therr cuts izz made!
happy tab: em spitted/ stay wit mae
the fine trans flat lands fire she.. dots em nl/
stay! like well like jeeej! she freak all well, well well

[ Bericht 0% gewijzigd door akroketje op 07-09-2010 21:10:12 ]

Guillaume Apollinaire: "La colombe poignardée et le jet d'eau"


Een gedicht in Caligramme-vorm

quote:

Op maandag 30 augustus 2010 15:11 schreef TheDruid het volgende:
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud - William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Prachtig. Nu je iets van Wordsworth hebt gepost (die 'the sublime' in grote dingen zag, wil ik iets van Blake posten.- The sublime valt ook in kleine dingen te zien!)

William Blake - Auguries of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.


Voor Blake lijkt alles een visioen te zijn geweest.

Metaphysical poetry van niemand minder dan John Donne

Batter my heart, three personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captivated and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy:
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Vriend

Je hebt iemand nodig
stil en oprecht
die als het er op aan komt
voor je bidt of voor je vecht
pas als je iemand hebt
die met je lacht en met je grient
dan pas kun je zeggen:
'k heb een vriend

Toon Hermans

En ik vind 'Howl' van Allen Ginsberg ook een erg intrigerend werk. Een beetje lang om te posten, maar hier te lezen in .txt format: http://sprayberry.tripod.com/poems/howl.txt

SONNET 72
O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.

William Shakespeare

Prachtig en erg subtiel

Laten wij zacht zijn voor elkander, kind -
want, o de maatloze verlatenheden,
die over onze moegezworven leden
onder de sterren waaie' in de oude wind.

O, laten wij maar zacht zijn, en maar niet
het trotse hoge woord van liefde spreken,
want hoeveel harten moesten daarom breken
onder de wind in hulpeloos verdriet.

Wij zijn maar als de blaren in de wind
ritselend langs de zoom van oude wouden,
en alles is onzeker, en hoe zouden
wij weten wat alleen de wind weet, kind -

En laten wij omdat wij eenzaam zijn
nu onze hoofden bij elkander neigen,
en wijl wij same' in 't oude waaien zwijgen
binnen een laatste droom gemeenzaam zijn.

Veel liefde ging verloren in de wind,
en wat de wind wil zullen wij nooit weten;
en daarom - voor we elkander weer vergeten -
laten wij zacht zijn voor elkander, kind.

A. Roland Holst

.
Het verlangen naar avontuur en naar verre kusten, wat men in Duitsland zo treffend Fernweh noemt, wordt duidelijk verwoord in het volgende gedicht van Mallarmé. Noch de oude tuinen die in de ogen weerspiegelen, noch de lege bladzijde die op de schrijver wacht, noch de jonge moeder die haar kindje voedt, kunnen hem tegenhouden.
Het doet me denken aan Slauerhoff.


Brise marine


La chair est triste, hélas! et j'ai lu tous les livres.
Fuir! là-bas fuir! Je sens que des oiseaux sont ivres
D'être parmi l'écume inconnue et les cieux !
Rien, ni les vieux jardins reflétés par les yeux
Ne retiendra ce coeur qui dans la mer se trempe
O nuits! ni la clarté déserte de ma lampe
Sur le vide papier que la blancheur défend
Et ni la jeune femme allaitant son enfant.
Je partirai! Steamer balançant ta mâture,
Lève l'ancre pour une exotique nature !
.
Un Ennui, désolé par les cruels espoirs,
Croit encore à l'adieu suprême des mouchoirs !
Et, peut-être, les mâts, invitant les orages
Sont-ils de ceux qu'un vent penche sur les naufrages
Perdus, sans mâts, sans mâts ni fertiles îlots...
Mais, ô mon coeur, entends le chant des matelots !


Stéphane Mallarmé.

Ik ben het niet eens met het imperalistisch gedachtengoed van Rudyard Kipling maar ik vind hem wel een fantastische dichter EN schrijver (lees zijn 'Kim').

The white man's burden

Take up the White Man's burden--
Send forth the best ye breed--
Go, bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait, in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild--
Your new-caught sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.

Take up the White Man's burden--
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain,
To seek another's profit
And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden--
The savage wars of peace--
Fill full the mouth of Famine,
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
(The end for others sought)
Watch sloth and heathen folly
Bring all your hope to nought.

Take up the White Man's burden--
No iron rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper--
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go, make them with your living
And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden,
And reap his old reward--
The blame of those ye better
The hate of those ye guard--
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:--
"Why brought ye us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden--
Ye dare not stoop to less--
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloak your weariness.
By all ye will or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent sullen peoples
Shall weigh your God and you.

Take up the White Man's burden!
Have done with childish days--
The lightly-proffered laurel,
The easy ungrudged praise:
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years,
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers.

Er zijn er maar zeer weinig die ik kan waarderen, maar deze vind ik erg leuk:

(in [code] gezet om hem goed tot recht te doen komen).