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Dream Variations
To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me—
That is my dream!
To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening...
A tall, slim tree...
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.
Anyway, I was reading, engrossing in Pablo Neruda and I thought I ought to share this particular one:
Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
__________________________________________________ __
En Español
Soneto XVII
No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.
Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sÃ, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.
This is the closing of his first version, which he later revised - badly weakening of the poem. The ellipses and spacing are as they are in the printed version, and not an indication that somethings been left out.
...Would you agree, then, we won't find truths, or any certainties... where monsters lift soft self-conscious voices, and feed us and feed in us, and coil and uncoil in our substance, so that in that they are there we cannot know them, and that, daylit, we are the monsters of our night and somewhere the monsters of our night are...
here...in daylight that our nightnothing feeds in and feeds, wandering out of the cavern, a low cry echoing -- Camacamacamac...
Most definitely Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost. From my youth, the poem has always reminded me of a time when my dad visited his future wife, my mom, by horse and wagon.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it *****
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of the easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I haven't every read poetry, it always seems to be too hard. I've enjoyed this thread tonight and started googling around looking for Good Night, part of which was posted here.
I found this that I like because I think it speaks to that desire that many have to go back to the land, the little cabin in the woods (or by the lake in the case) and be simple. Or at least I've always felt that pull very strongly and this makes me feel it.
The Lake of Isle of Innisfree by Yeats
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
As an Alaskan, I am going to go to Robert Service The Cremation of Sam McGee
There are strange things done
Under the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold
The arctic trails have seen such tales
to make your blood run cold
The Northern lights
have seen strange sights
but the strangest they ever did see
was the night on the marge
of Lake LaBarge
where I cremated Sam McGee
Or Kipling Gunga Din
You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
When you're sent to penny-fights and Aldershot it.
But when it comes to slaughter,
You'll do your work for water
An' lick the bloomin' boots o' 'im
that's got it.
now does our world descend
the path to nothingness
(cruel now cancels kind:
friends turn to enemies)
therefore lament,my dream
and don a doer's doom
create now is contrive;
imagined,merely know
(freedom:what makes a slave)
therefore,my life,lie down
and more by most endure
all that you never were
hide,poor dishonoured mind
who thought yourself so wise;
and much could understand
concerning no and yes:
if they've become the same
it's time you unbecame
where climbing was and bright
is darkness and to fall
(now wrong's the only right
since brave are cowards all)
therefore despair,my heart
and die into the dirt
but from this endless end
of briefer each our bliss -
where seeing eyes go blind
(where lips forget to kiss)
where everything's nothing
- arise,my soul;and sing
My heart is a-breaking, dear sister,
Some counsel unto me come lend,
To anger them all is a pity,
But what will I do with Tam Glen?
I am thinking, with such a fine fellow
In poverty I might make a shift.
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I must not marry Tam Glen?
There is Lowrie the laird of Dumeller:
'Good day to you,' brute! he comes in.
He brags and he boasts of his silver (money),
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
My mother does constantly deafen me,
And bids me beware of young men.
They flatter, she says, to deceive me -
But who can think so of Tam Glen?
My daddy says, if I will forsake him,
He would give me good hundred marks ten.
But if it is ordained I must take him,
O, who will I get but Tam Glen?
Last night at the valentines' dealing,
My heart to my mouth gave a spring,
For three times I drew one without failing,
And three times it was written 'Tam Glen'!
The last Halloween I was awaking
My wetted shirt-sleeve, as you know -
His likeness came up the house stalking,
And the very grey trousers of Tam Glen!
Come, counsel, dear sister, do not tarry!
I will give you my lovely black hen,
If you will advise me to marry
The lad I love dearly, Tam Glen.
love it since school
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