Poetry - A Source of Life

How To Teach Online - Essays about Online Teaching and Learning, making a living in Distance Education and Debunking the Myths of e-learning

2011-05-29T17:30:00.001+02:00

68 pages including practical tips to get started making a living by online teaching, essays about learning approaches, a list of different tools & resources and a bonus poster flowchart for "troubleshooting" your online teaching efforts.

get the ebook and start teaching online now

How to import Contacts from Facebook to Skype

2010-06-16T16:01:00.000+02:00

Okay, this is not really Poetry-related, but I am sure a lot of people will find this helpful!

With the new Skype version 4.2.169 you can very easily add people from your Facebook Friends to your Skype Contacts. Here's a quick run-down on how to do it:

1. Start Skype, sign in and click on > Contacts > Import Contacts

2. Select Facebook "Addres Book"

3. Enter your Facebook Username & Password

4. Be patient and wait until Skype has sorted through your Friends

5. Select and add those people to your Skype contact list who have a Skype account!

6. Talk to your friends for free or if they don't have Skype yet, send them an invite.

Forgiveness - a Poem by Lea Goldberg

2010-06-16T11:21:00.002+02:00

You have to me to open my eyes
And your body is a sight, a window and a mirror.
You have come like a night that comes to the owl
To show it in the darkness all things.

And I learned a name to every eyelash and a nail
And to every hair in the revealing flesh
And a smell of a childhood, a smell of a glue and a Pine tree
Is a scent of the the body's night.

If there were tortures they sailed to you
My white sail towards your darkness
Let me go, oh let me go
To bow at the shore of forgiveness.

Picnic in the Park with Leonard Cohen

2010-06-12T09:48:00.000+02:00

A Poetry Reading

2010-06-08T09:36:00.002+02:00

ResearchChannel — 12. Februar 2008 — In this University of Virginia video, Donald Hall, U.S. Poet Laureate, reads several poems in the most colorful way. With numerous awards such as two Guggenheim Fellowships, the Marshal/Nation Award, the National Book Critics Circle Award, the Los Angeles Times Book Award and the Lily Prize for Poetry, Hall is one of the greatest poets of our time. He has published 15 books of poetry and now shares his creative wisdom in this thoughtful exploration of his work.

Forgetfulness - Billy Collins Animated Poetry

2010-05-30T17:56:00.000+02:00

Leonard Cohen - Days Of Kindness

2010-05-25T22:11:00.000+02:00

"I started Early" by Emily Dickinson

2010-03-14T11:42:00.001+01:00

"Incision" by Jillian Weise

2010-03-14T11:40:00.001+01:00

A Little Atomic Bomb

2010-03-14T11:37:00.001+01:00

Notes from the Delivery Room, A Short History of Judaic Thought in the 20th Century, Something about the Trees by Linda Pastan

2010-02-06T10:30:00.001+01:00

video info text: "Notes from the Delivery Room", "A Short History of Judaic Thought in the 20th Century" and "Something About the Trees"

Gee, You're So Beautiful Its Starting To Rain

2010-02-06T10:28:00.001+01:00

Let Us Consider by Russell Edson

2010-02-06T10:26:00.001+01:00

video info text: Animated poem read by Russell Edson. Part of Poetry Everywhere, produced by the Poetry Foundation in association with docUWM at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. Animation by Chris Lightbody.

Ronald Koertge - Cinderella's Diary

2010-02-03T14:52:00.001+01:00

Robinson Jeffers - Wise Men In Their Bad Hours

2010-02-02T10:58:00.001+01:00

Story of Isaac by Leonard Cohen

2010-01-30T23:31:00.001+01:00

The door it opened slowly,
My father he came in,was nine years old.
And he stood so tall above me,
His blue eyes they were shining
And his voice was very cold.
He said, Ive had a vision
And you know Im strong and holy,
I must do what Ive been told.
So he started up the mountain,
I was running, he was walking,
And his axe was made of gold.

Well, the trees they got much smaller,
The lake a ladys mirror,
We stopped to drink some wine.
Then he threw the bottle over.
Broke a minute later
And he put his hand on mine.
Thought I saw an eagle
But it might have been a vulture,
I never could decide.
Then my father built an altar,
He looked once behind his shoulder,
He knew I would not hide.

You who build these altars now
To sacrifice these children,
You must not do it anymore.
A scheme is not a vision
And you never have been tempted
By a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
Your hatchets blunt and bloody,
You were not there before,
When I lay upon a mountain
And my fathers hand was trembling
With the beauty of the word.

And if you call me brother now,
Forgive me if I inquire,
Just according to whose plan?
When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust
I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can.
And mercy on our uniform,
Man of peace or man of war,
The peacock spreads his fan.

Earning Real Money for your Poetry published Online

2010-01-30T17:06:00.001+01:00

It's been a while since our last posts about online opportunities to make a living being a writer. Today we want to take the chance to talk again about Triond, which we already mentioned briefly in one of our earlier posts. The principle is very simple:

1. Write a Poem/Article (or maybe you already got something...)
2. Sign up at Triond for free
3. Submit your Poem/Article

- > earn money for every view & get paid via paypal.

please note: Poems will not pay as much as articles or tutorials on popular subjects. But there are a quite a few people making a very good living off of Triond by posting high quality articles and explanations about popular topics while also publishing their poems and increasing readership & awareness at the same time.

A new feature of Triond is that you can also connect it to your Adsense account, so that you can earn twice:
- you get 50 % of all the advertisement earning that Triond makes which is always the case, ... AND
- you get 100 % of the advertisement earnings from your own Adsense

cool, huh?

'This Room & Everything in It' by Li-Young Lee

2010-01-30T10:33:00.000+01:00

Li-Young Lee (李立揚, pinyin: Lǐ Lìyáng) (born August 19, 1957) is an American poet. He was born in Jakarta, Indonesia, to Chinese parents. His great-grandfather was Yuan Shikai, China's first Republican President, who attempted to make himself emperor. Lee's father, who was a personal physician to Mao Zedong while in China, relocated his family to Indonesia, where he helped found Gamaliel University. His father was exiled and spent a year in an Indonesian prison camp In 1959 the Lee family fled the country to escape anti-Chinese sentiment and after a five-year trek through Hong Kong, Macau, and Japan, they settled in the United States in 1964. Li-Young Lee attended the University of Pittsburgh and the University of Arizona, and the State University of New York at Brockport. [wikipedia]

Gwendolyn Brooks "We Real Cool"

2010-01-30T10:24:00.001+01:00

video info text: Real cool. Gwendolyn Brooks' poem is a staple, for sure. So we had to offer our rendition. This video is also a homage to Richard Wright's 12 Million Black Voices, for like Wright, we've utilized images from the Farm Security Administration archive to complement the words.

Rainer Maria Rilke - The First Elegy (part 1)

2010-01-29T10:14:00.001+01:00

Werner Herzog Reads Curious George

2010-01-27T22:42:00.001+01:00

video info text: German director of Bad Lieutenant, Grizzly Man, and Rescue Dawn reads and interprets the children's classic Curious George. EDIT: lots of people posting this video are claiming it's really Werner Herzog. It's not. I never thought anyone would think it was. Sorry for the mixup!

Joyce Kilmer "Trees" Poem Animation

2010-01-25T21:47:00.005+01:00

Lucille Clifton reading two poems at the 2008 Dodge Poetry Festival

2010-01-25T21:47:00.003+01:00

Wendell Berry Reading at Wisconsin Book Festival

2010-01-25T21:47:00.001+01:00

Good Poems - To Be of Use by Marge Piercy

2010-01-17T11:38:00.001+01:00

Robert Creeley reading "Please"

2010-01-17T11:37:00.001+01:00

Ghost Dog - The Way Of The Samurai (Flying Birds)

2010-01-17T11:35:00.001+01:00

Jim Carroll (and Charles Bukowski)

2010-01-15T12:14:00.003+01:00

from the film Poetry In Motion.

"The Hill" by Edgar Lee Masters (poetry reading)

2010-01-15T12:14:00.001+01:00

video info text: This is from the Spoon River Anthology of 1915 that once sold as well as a popular novel. It's a collection of poems, being epitaphs and life stories narrated by the residents of the small town of Spoon River. The individuals mentioned in this poem are the subjects of those stories, in the most part.

Ode to Obama: Gary Soto

2010-01-15T12:12:00.001+01:00

video info text: California poet Gary Soto is among the famous poets who have written poems inspired by the election of Barack Obama. (Jan. 15)

The World Is Too Much With Us - William Wordsworth

2010-01-14T20:47:00.001+01:00

James Whitcomb Riley."The raggedy man" Poem Animation Movie

2010-01-13T21:53:00.001+01:00

"The Emperor of Ice-Cream" by Wallace Stevens (poetry)

2010-01-13T21:52:00.001+01:00

info video text: One explanation is that this actually happened: an old lady died suddenly. The poem is about the state of shock that follows a catastophic event. So, from the clues, the poet is recalling the death of a poor, possibly black, woman.

"The Emperor of Ice-Cream" is a local character, who is muscular, rolls big cigars and caters for events such as wakes and funerals. Maybe he calls himself Emperor because he runs an Emporium. Maybe he got the title as a joke on happier occasions. Here and now he represents death, the only Emperor.

When a shocking event happens it is a while before the mind accepts it as real. Until then it seems surreal. like a painting or a tableau. Thoughts are disordered and emotions can be absent or inappropriate. He lists his observations, which confirm or deny the tragedy. For instance, it seems inappropriate to serve treats such as ice-cream - concupiscent curds - in the circumstances. He arranges the scene in his mind and examines it. "Let the lamp affix its beam", is the final touch in the laying out of the tableau.

"Let be be finale of seem" is the decision to make an effort to accept the scene as real. Only when he accepts that the death is real can he allow himself to feel and express grief.

Lunch Poems - Gary Snyder

2010-01-11T22:29:00.001+01:00

video info text: Born in San Francisco in 1930, world-renowned poet, essayist, and environmentalist Gary Snyder has published sixteen books of poetry and prose, and received the Pulitzer Prize in 1974 for Turtle Island. Snyder has traveled widely and lived for extended periods of time in Japan, where he studied and practiced Rinzai Zen. He is currently a professor at University of California, Davis.

Poetry Reading: Ted Kooser

2010-01-11T22:27:00.001+01:00

video info text: U.S. Poet Laureate (2004-2006) Ted Kooser is a major poetic voice for rural and small town America and the award-winning author of ten collections of poetry, most recently 2004's Pulitzer Prize-winning Delights and Shadows. Nebraskan Kooser often draws from his native Great Plains and his poems are acclaimed for their simple, straightforward style. Kooser reads from his poetry before a standing-room only audience in Campbell Hall at UC Santa Barbara. [8/2005] [Humanities] [Arts and Music] [Show ID: 9537]

Sylvia Plath Reads 'Daddy'

2010-01-09T10:38:00.001+01:00

The poem is read by Sylvia herself.

The Flower Fed Buffaloes by Vachel Lindsay- clau i.

2010-01-09T10:36:00.001+01:00

The laughing heart (Tom Waits reads a Charles Bukowski poem)

2010-01-09T10:34:00.001+01:00

video info: The laughing heart (Tom Waits reads a Charles Bukowski poem)

"Self Portrait, Rear View" Sharon Olds (Def Poetry)

2010-01-09T10:30:00.001+01:00

The Art of Disappearing - Naomi Shihab Nye

2010-01-09T10:29:00.002+01:00

Rudyard Kipling "if" Poem Animation

2010-01-09T10:26:00.002+01:00

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Poema 15 - Me gustas cuando callas (Neruda)

2010-01-03T20:00:00.001+01:00

video info text: En el desconectado del Grupo Musicalizando de Colombia, Lorena Mazuera nos canta los versos de Neruda, en una interpretación cautivante de la versión musicalizada por Victor Jara, con un aparte recitado por el poeta y coordinador de este trabajo poético-musical, Hugo Cuevas-Mohr. En los teclados, su Director Musical Guillermo Enrique Quiceno, Julio Andrés Quiceno en las guitarras, Jason Castro en el bajo y Juan Diego López en la percusión. Video grabado en la presentación del grupo en Febrero de 2006.
www.musicalizando.com -
GRUPO:http://grupomusicalizando.musicali zando.com/
Comentarios para el grupo: http://foro.cuevas-mohr.com
En http://catalogo.musicalizando.com encontrará más de 15 versiones cantadas de este poema, que hemos montado! Escuche versiones de Mercedes Sosa, Alejandro Sanz, Alberto Cortez, la original de Victor Jara, Atacama, Paco Ibañez, Luis Jara, Adriana Varela, Patricio Anabalón, Angel Parra, Brazilian Girls, etc...

From the unplugged presentation by Musicalizando, Colombian singer Lorena Mazuera sings Pablo Neruda's Poem 15 (I like you calm, as if you were absent...), music by Victor Jara. The poet and the inspiration of the group, Hugo Cuevas-Mohr reads a portion of the poem (in Spanish).
LETRA:
Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente, y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca. Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca. Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía. Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma, y te pareces a la palabra melancolía. Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante. Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo. Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza: Déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo. Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo. Eres como la noche, callada y constelada. Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo. Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente. Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto. Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan. Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.
LYRICS:
I like you calm, as if you were absent, and you hear me far-off, and my voice does not touch you. It seems that your eyelids have taken to flying: it seems that a kiss has sealed up your mouth. Since all these things are filled with my spirit, you come from things, filled with my spirit. You appear as my soul, as the butterfly's dreaming, and you appear as Sadness's word. I like you calm, as if you were distant, you are a moaning, a butterfly's cooing. You hear me far-off, my voice does not reach you. Let me be calmed, then, calmed by your silence. Let me commune, then, commune with your silence, clear as a light, and pure as a ring. You are like night, calmed, constellated. Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true. I like you calm, as if you were absent: distant and saddened, as if you were dead. One word at that moment, a smile, is sufficient. And I thrill, then, I thrill: that it cannot be so.
VIDEO EDITADO POR: Leonor (Cuca) Pacheco Medina

Poetry Everywhere: "won't you celebrate with me" by Lucille Clifton

2010-01-03T19:58:00.001+01:00

Tus Manos - Pablo Neruda

2010-01-03T19:56:00.001+01:00

info:
Un poema de Pablo Neruda hecho canción por Olga Manzano y Manuel Picón

Learn Out Live Online Language Learning & Tutoring

2010-01-02T11:40:00.012+01:00

"Always walk through life as if you have something new to learn and you will."

~Vernon Howard

Hello poetry-fans, today we bring you a friendly suggestion from our neighbours at learnoutlive.com, a brand new portal for elearning, etutoring, distance learning, or what have you... the difference though is that lol is all about the human being, so don't worry about getting lost in the technology :)

here's what they say:

Start learning online now and get all the benefits of top quality tutoring lessons for you or your child without having to walk through the rain, pay for train tickets or leave your pets & loved ones home alone.

We are a global group of experienced online teachers and offer help with homework, preparation for exams, language learning and much more, all according to your timezone.

All of our teachers are carefully selected, excellently qualified in their subjects and firmly grounded in modern teaching methods and technologies. But there’s no need to believe us… try it yourself! the first lesson is free!

Sins Of My Father - Tom Waits

2010-01-01T11:58:00.001+01:00

God said don't give me your
Tin horn prayers
Don't buy roses off the street down there
Took it all and took the dirt road home
Dreaming of Jenny with the light brown hair
Night is falling like a bloody axe
Lies and rumors and the wind at my back
Hand on the wheel gravel on the road
Will the pawn shop sell me back what I sold

I'm gonna take the sins of my father
I'm gonna take the sins of my mother
I"m gonna take the sins of my brother
Down to the pond

Birds cry warning from a hidden branch
Carving out a future with a gun and an axe
I'm way beyond the gavel and the laws of man
Still living in the palm of the grace of your hand
The worlds not easy the blind man said
Turns on nothing but money and dread
Dogs been scratching at the door all nite
Long neck birds flying out of the moon light

I'm gonna take the sins of my father
I'm gonna take the sins of my mother
I"m gonna take the sins of my brother
Down to the pond

Smack dab in the middle of a dirty lie
The star spangled glitter of his one good eye
Everybody knows that the game was rigged
Justice wears suspenders and a powdered wig
Dark town alleys been hiding you
Long bell tolling is your waterloo
Oh baby what can you do
Does the light of god blind you
Or lead the way home for you?

I'm gonna take the sins of my father
I'm gonna take the sins of my mother
I"m gonna take the sins of my brother
Down to the pond

God all mighty for righteousness sake
Humiliation of our fallen state
Written in the book of tubold Cain
A long black over coat will show no stain
Feel the heat and the burn on your back
The rip and the moan and the stretch of the rack
All my belongings in a flour sack
Will the place I come from
Take me back

I'm gonna take the sins of my father
I'm gonna take the sins of my mother
I"m gonna take the sins of my brother
Down to the pond

They'll hang me in the morning on a scaffold yea big
To dance upon nothing to the tyborn jig
Treats you like a puppet when your under its spell
Oh the heart is heaven
But the mind is hell
Jesus of Nazareth told Mike of the weeds
I's born at this time for a reason you see
When I'm dead I'll be dead a long time
But the wines so pleasing and so sublime

I'm gonna take the sins of my father
I'm gonna take the sins of my mother
I"m gonna take the sins of my brother
Down to the pond

Kissed my sweetheart by the chinaball tree
Everything I done is between God and me
Only he will judge how my time was spent
29 days of sinning and 40 to repent
The horse is steady but the horse is blind
Wicked are the branches on the tree of mankind
The roots grow upwared and the branches grow down
Its much too late to throw the dice again I've found

I'm gonna take the sins of my father
I'm gonna take the sins of my mother
I"m gonna take the sins of my brother
Down to the pond

I'm gonna wash them [2x]
I'm gonna wash the sins of my Father
I'm gonna wash the sins of my Mother
I'm gonna wash the sins of my Brother
Till the water runs clear [2x]

Georges Moustaki Ma liberte

2009-12-31T12:07:00.003+01:00

Ma liberté
Longtemps je t'ai gardée
Comme une perle rare
Ma liberté
C'est toi qui m'as aidé
A larguer les amarres
Pour aller n'importe où
Pour aller jusqu'au bout
Des chemins de fortune
Pour cueillir en rêvant
Une rose des vents
Sur un rayon de lune

Ma liberté
Devant tes volontés
Mon âme était soumise
Ma liberté
Je t'avais tout donné
Ma dernière chemise
Et combien j'ai souffert
Pour pouvoir satisfaire
Toutes tes exigences (ou: Tes moindres exigences)
J'ai changé de pays
J'ai perdu mes amis
Pour gagner ta confiance

Ma liberté
Tu as su désarmer
Toutes mes habitudes
Ma liberté
Toi qui m'a fait aimer
Même la solitude
Toi qui m'as fait sourire
Quand je voyais finir
Une belle aventure
Toi qui m'as protégé
Quand j'allais me cacher
Pour soigner mes blessures

Ma liberté
Pourtant je t'ai quittée
Une nuit de décembre
J'ai déserté
Les chemins écartés
Que nous suivions ensemble
Lorsque sans me méfier
Les pieds et poings liés
Je me suis laissé faire
Et je t'ai trahi pour
Une prison d'amour
Et sa belle geôlière

Leonard Cohen - bοοκ of longing

2009-12-31T11:58:00.002+01:00

Leonard Cohen & Philip Glass: poems and music

The Iron Horse - Philip Glass and Allen Ginsberg

2009-12-30T21:20:00.001+01:00

wikipedia: Iron Horse is a poem written by Allen Ginsberg. It is an important part of his The Fall of America: Poems of These States sequence of poems written in the mid to late sixties. Iron Horse was published as a booklet in 1974 by City Lights.

The first part of Iron Horse was composed July 22, 1966, as Ginsberg rode a train from the West Coast to Chicago. It was initially dictated to tape and later transcribed. The second part of the poem takes place on a Greyhound bus.

The poem is typified by its fluctuating observations, and uses many of the same devises and expressions found in other poems in The Fall of America.

Some of the topics Ginsberg touches upon in the poem include: a group of soldiers riding the train some of them probably on their way to Vietnam and their mentality; a nostalgic feeling for his past and youth, ruminations on his own public persona, entertaining the thought of retiring to some solitary life; current events, headlines, conversations (overheard or imaginary) taking place on the train, and sights; both on and off the train.

Master Song by Leonard Cohen

2009-12-30T11:03:00.005+01:00

I believe that you heard your master sing
when I was sick in bed.
I suppose that he told you everything
that I keep locked away in my head.

Your master took you travelling,
well at least that's what you said.
And now do you come back to bring
your prisoner wine and bread?

You met him at some temple, where
they take your clothes at the door.
He was just a numberless man in a chair
who'd just come back from the war.

And you wrap up his tired face in your hair
and he hands you the apple core.
Then he touches your lips now so suddenly bare
of all the kisses we put on some time before.

And he gave you a German Shepherd to walk
with a collar of leather and nails,
and he never once made you explain or talk
about all of the little details,

such as who had a word and who had a rock,
and who had you through the mails.
Now your love is a secret all over the block,
and it never stops not even when your master fails.

And he took you up in his aeroplane,
which he flew without any hands,
and you cruised above the ribbons of rain
that drove the crowd from the stands.

Then he killed the lights in a lonely Lane
and, an ape with angel glands,
erased the final wisps of pain
with the music of rubber bands.

And now I hear your master sing,
you kneel for him to come.
His body is a golden string
that your body is hanging from.

His body is a golden string,
my body has grown numb.
Oh now you hear your master sing,
your shirt is all undone.

And will you kneel beside this bed
that we polished so long ago,
before your master chose instead
to make my bed of snow?

Your eyes are wild and your knuckles are red
and you're speaking far too low.
No I can't make out what your master said
before he made you go.

Then I think you're playing far too rough
for a lady who's been to the moon;
I've lain by this window long enough
to get used to an empty room.

And your love is some dust in an old man's cough
who is tapping his foot to a tune,
and your thighs are a ruin, you want too much,
let's say you came back some time too soon.

I loved your master perfectly
I taught him all that he knew.
He was starving in some deep mystery
like a man who is sure what is true.

And I sent you to him with my guarantee
I could teach him something new,
and I taught him how you would long for me
no matter what he said no matter what you'd do.

I believe that you heard your master sing
while I was sick in bed,
I'm sure that he told you everything
I must keep locked away in my head.

Your master took you travelling,
well at least that's what you said,
And now do you come back to bring
your prisoner wine and bread?

listen to Master Song on BLIP.FM

Still I Rise Maya Angelou

2009-12-30T10:24:00.007+01:00

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Alice Walker reads Sojourner Truth

2009-12-30T09:52:00.003+01:00

"A Sick Child" by Randall Jarrell (poetry reading)

2009-12-29T14:13:00.006+01:00

A Sick Child

The postman comes when I am still in bed.
"Postman, what do you have for me today?"
I say to him. (But really I'm in bed.)
Then he says - what shall I have him say?

"This letter says that you are president
Of - this word here; it's a republic."
Tell them I can't answer right away.
"It's your duty." No, I'd rather just be sick.

Then he tells me there are letters saying everything
That I can think of that I want for them to say.
I say, "Well, thank you very much. Good-bye."
He is ashamed, and turns and walks away.

If I can think of it, it isn't what I want.
I want . . . I want a ship from some near star
To land in the yard, and beings to come out
And think to me: "So this is where you are!

Come." Except that they won't do,
I thought of them. . . . And yet somewhere there must be
Something that's different from everything.
All that I've never thought of - think of me!

"Museum Piece" by Richard Wilbur (poetry reading)

2009-12-27T15:59:00.002+01:00

video info: Richard Wilbur was Poet Laureate in 1986. He is famous as a translator of French classics, particularly Moliere and Racine. So it's pretty certain that he's got the facts right.

T S Eliot Reading The Love Song Of J Alfred Prufrock

2009-12-27T15:58:00.002+01:00

video info: I read this for the first time few weeks ago in our Modern Literature Classes.. I found these photos in Life Magazine photo Archive while googling..

Herman Melville

2009-12-26T10:28:00.004+01:00

"The Sunset Years of Samuel Shy" by Ogden Nash (poetry)

2009-12-26T10:20:00.004+01:00

video info: Parcae means fate. The reference to Jenny is an in-joke, a charming poem by Leigh Hunt: Jenny kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in. Time, you thief! who love to get Sweets..

robert lowell old flame

2009-12-26T10:12:00.004+01:00

My old flame, my wife!
Remember our lists of birds?
One morning last summer, I drove
by our house in Maine. It was still
on top of its hill -

Now a red ear of Indian maize
was splashed on the door.
Old Glory with thirteen stripes
hung on a pole. The clapboard
was old-red schoolhouse red.

Inside, a new landlord,
a new wife, a new broom!
Atlantic seaboard antique shop
pewter and plunder
shone in each room.

A new frontier!
No running next door
now to phone the sheriff
for his taxi to Bath
and the State Liquor Store!

No one saw your ghostly
imaginary lover
stare through the window
and tighten
the scarf at his throat.

Health to the new people,
health to their flag, to their old
restored house on the hill!
Everything had been swept bare,
furnished, garnished and aired.

Everything's changed for the best -
how quivering and fierce we were,
there snowbound together,
simmering like wasps
in our tent of books!

Poor ghost, old love, speak
with your old voice
of flaming insight
that kept us awake all night.
In one bed and apart,

we heard the plow
groaning up hill -
a red light, then a blue,
as it tossed off the snow
to the side of the road.

"To Brooklyn Bridge" by Hart Crane

2009-12-25T19:01:00.002+01:00

video info: A provincial boy who found his spiritual home in New York and wrote abstruse poems about its wonders. Wall means Wall Street. The bedlamite is a suicide leaper.

Christmas Poems: Christmas Gets Better Every Year

2009-12-25T10:06:00.002+01:00

Mipham - What About Me

2009-12-23T10:47:00.002+01:00

video info:" This is a video I directed for spoken word artist Mipham.

Mipham records albums, runs marathons and just happens to be a Tibetan Buddhist Lama.

Check out his website http://www.mipham.com

Song © Mipham "

A Black Man Talks of Reaping by Arna Bontemps

2009-12-21T15:00:00.002+01:00

Anne Bradstreet 'To My Dear and Loving Husband'

2009-12-21T14:59:00.001+01:00

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persevere
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Berryman: There Sat Down, Once, a Thing on Henry's Heart.

2009-12-21T14:57:00.001+01:00

info: John Berryman in Dublin, 1967, reading Dream Song 29. Berryman was interviewed by Al Alvarez for a BBC arts programme and was drunk during filming, as the attentive viewer may notice.

Poetry Everywhere: "What Kind of Times Are These" by Adrienne Rich

2009-12-17T09:58:00.002+01:00

There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.

The Paradox - Paul Laurence Dunbar

2009-12-17T09:55:00.002+01:00

I am the mother of sorrows,
I am the ender of grief;
I am the bud and the blossom,
I am the late-falling leaf.

I am thy priest and thy poet,
I am thy serf and thy king;
I cure the tears of the heartsick,
When I come near they shall sing.

White are my hands as the snowdrop;
Swart are my fingers as clay;
Dark is my frown as the midnight,
Fair is my brow as the day.

Battle and war are my minions,
Doing my will as divine;
I am the calmer of passions,
Peace is a nursling of mine.

Speak to me gently or curse me,
Seek me or fly from my sight;
I am thy fool in the morning,
Thou art my slave in the night.

Down to the grave I will take thee,
Out from the noise of the strife,
Then shalt thou see me and know me--
Death, then, no longer, but life.

Then shalt thou sing at my coming,
Kiss me with passionate breath,
Clasp me and smile to have thought me
Aught save the foeman of death.

Come to me, brother, when weary,
Come when thy lonely heart swells;
I'll guide thy footsteps and lead thee
Down where the Dream Woman dwells.

"I Carry Your Heart With Me" by ee cummings - Recital

2009-12-17T09:53:00.002+01:00

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)

Lunch Poems: Lawrence Ferlinghetti

2009-12-12T22:20:00.002+01:00

L Ferlinghetti starts reading after ca. 5 min of introduction

video infO: A prominent figure in the wide-open poetry movement of the 50s, Ferlinghetti gave voice to a generation that changed the face of poetry forever. Challenging the elite's definition of art and the artist's role, Ferlinghetti founded City Lights Bookstore, providing a meeting place for writers, artists, and intellectuals for over a half century. Ferlinghetti's A Coney Island of the Mind continues to be the most popular poetry book in the United States. His most recent work, Americus Book I was published by New Directions in 2004. Lunch Poems: Lawrence Ferlinghetti 2006 Lunch Poems is a monthly poetry reading held on the UC Berkeley campus. This reading features Lawrence Ferlinghetti. [events]...

Frank O´Hara reads "Having a coke with you"

2009-12-11T23:42:00.002+01:00

"Richard Cory" by Edwin Arlington Robinson (poetry reading)

2009-12-11T23:37:00.002+01:00

info: In the realisation that this poem may be set as coursework for students, I have decided to present a sensible and sober analysis.

I've read what analyses I can find by learned and intelligent critics on the web. In general, they are all such shameful and pretentious bumfodder that the writers should be strung up naked by their thumbs while orang-utans are rewarded with bananas for swinging on their testicles. Is that sensible and sober enough?

I don't believe that he's talking about a real person. Richard Cory is a projection, like Miniver Cheevy, one aspect of Edwin Arlington Robinson's own personality.

That doesn't mean that Edwin thought he was admirable, clean-favoured, and a glittering chick-magnet. It means that even if he were then he'd still have a death-wish and need to deal with the occasional impulse to blow his brains out.

Poems are usually about what it's like to be the poet. It's not always the case, but that is the strongest motivation for writing poetry.

To complicate matters a bit more, Edwin also identifies with the envious townspeople who wish they were more elegant and well-off like Richard Cory and didn't have to toil for their daily bread and suffer the deprivations of their lowly existence. It's a parable, if you like.

When you're feeling down in the dumps, it's no real help when people try to get you to snap out of it. It's no use them telling you that you look great, or that everybody loves you and wishes they were you. That doesn't stop you from wanting to bust a cap in your cerebrum. Or, if you're in a Shakespearean mood, to make yourself a quietus with a bare bodkin.

If you know somebody like Richard Cory don't let the poor bastard suffer on his own. You'll be more help if your try to alleviate his spiritual isolation, empathise with his feelings, split a joint with him and hide his pistol.

The commonest motivation for suicide is incompetence. Being admirable isn't the antidote.

Reasons for not leaving this vale of tears:
1) You have important stuff still to do.
2) Somebody loves you and needs you to be here.
3) You need to know what happens next.

This poem was first published in 1921.

The drawing is of a man-about-town in "morning dress", about 1910.

Emily Dickinson "Because I could not stop for death"

2009-12-09T21:55:00.005+01:00

info: Heres a virtual movie of the great American poet Emily Dickinson reading her much loved poem "Because I could not stop for death".

Because i could not stop for death...

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, be passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

Kind Regards

Jim Clark
All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2008

allen ginsberg: america

2009-12-09T21:54:00.002+01:00

ginsberg's live reading of his famous "america" poem on march 18th 1956.

Philip Freneau - The Wild Honeysuckle

2009-12-09T21:51:00.003+01:00

info: The Wild Honeysuckle
by Philip Freneau
read by Lorelei King

FAIR flower, that dost so comely grow,
Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched thy honied blossoms blow,
Unseen thy little branches greet: No roving foot shall crush thee here, No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature's self in white arrayed,
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by; Thus quietly thy summer goes, Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,
I grieve to see your future doom;
They died—nor were those flowers more gay, The flowers that did in Eden bloom; Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews
At first thy little being came;

If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same; The space between is but an hour, The frail duration of flower.

Audio created by Robert Nichol AudioProductions London all rights reserved

There Will Come Soft Rains by Sara Teasdale

2009-12-08T11:18:00.002+01:00

"A Psalm of Life" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (poetry reading)

2009-12-08T11:16:00.001+01:00

info: This poem was first published in 1838 in Knickerbocker Magazine. Knickerbockers were the short trousers than boys wore: hence "knickerbocker glory" for a confection of ice-cream, fruit, syrup etc.

Let me recount a story that Frank Muir told impromptu about 35 years ago in a radio show called "My Word" to explain a well known saying.

"There was once a young English lady who fell in love with a Chinese midget who was a legend in his own country as a professional darts player. They married and returned to England to take up married life together. Li-Fee, which was the husband's name, hoped to continue his illustrious career in his new homeland, knowing that darts was a popular game in England..

Unfortunately he discovered that English darts were not the same as Chinese darts. Chinese darts were short and puffed through a blowpipe, whereas English darts were much bigger and thrown like spear. Li-Fee was much dismayed, because his hopes of a lucrative career were dashed.

His wife returned home to finding walking about disconsolately under the table. "Darling, " she said, "whatever is wrong?".

He replied, "Li-Fee is short, and dart is long".

The aphorism comes from Hippocrates about 400BC. "Ars longa, Vita brevis" although it's usually expressed the other way around "Life is short and Art is long".

I wasn't very familiar with this poem and I felt when reading it like the old lady who was taken to see Hamlet "It was very nice but it was full of quotations".

"Art is long and Time is fleeting" is obviously a quotation from Hippocrates but I'm not so sure that the rest of the familiar sayings didn't originate in this poem.

I have a soft spot for Longfellow. He's come in for much intellectual sneering, yet his poems at still strong and lively. His love for humanity is so touching. His life was idyllic at first, then became suddenly tragic when his wife died in a fire in spite of his heroic attempt to save her which caused him permanent injury and disfigurement. That's why he grew that big flowing beard.

If you're looking for the right attitude to life - look no further. Here it is.

The picture is of "footprints in the sands of time" made by dinosaurs long before any humans walked on earth. Dinosaurs lasted 150 million years. (Humans lasted only 3 million before they all died of their erroneous beliefs, leaving behind only large carbon footprints. )

Happiness by Raymond Carver

2009-12-07T20:58:00.001+01:00

Carl Sandburg "The People, Yes" Poem Animation Movie

2009-12-07T20:52:00.001+01:00

info: Heres a virtual movie of Americas "Peoples" poet Carl Sandburg reading his beautiful social commentative poem "The People, Yes". I adore this reading which is filled full of the Pathos and tragedy of the struggles of the labouring classes in this particular case during the "Great Deppression" period of 1930's America,but is as relevan to day as it was all those years ago when he wrote it. Sandburg's gentle voice was tinged with an almost musical melancholic Swedish tone handed down by his Swedish born immigrant Mother and father. Sandburg demonstrates in this great reading how just simple non prosaic words delivered with the unique relaxed elequence and dexterity he possesssed can tug at the emotions of the listener. Listening to this takes me on a beautiful emotional journey as I hope it will you.
Carl Sandburg (1878 1967) was the "poet of the people." He found beauty in the ordinary language of the people -- the "American lingo," as he called it -- and turned it into poetry.

In the 1920s and '30s Sandburg wrote a six-volume biography of Abraham Lincoln, praising Lincoln for exemplifying the American spirit. Four of the six volumes won him the Pulitzer Prize. Late in his life, at age 70, Sandburg wrote his first novel, "Remembrance Rock" (1948), a panoramic epic of America.

When Sandburg died in 1967, President Lyndon Johnson stated, "There is no end to the legacy he leaves us."

Carl Sandburg reads his ode to the American people "The People, Yes" in this 1950s sound recording from his collection of poetry.

Kind Regards

Jim Clark
All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2008

The people yes
The people will live on.
The learning and blundering people will live on. They will be tricked and sold and again sold
And go back to the nourishing earth for rootholds, The people so peculiar in renewal and comeback, You can't laugh off their capacity to take it.
The mammoth rests between his cyclonic dramas.

The people so often sleepy, weary, enigmatic,
is a vast huddle with many units saying: "I earn my living. I make enough to get by and it takes all my time. If I had more time I could do more for myself and maybe for others. I could read and study and talk things over and find out about things. It takes time. I wish I had the time."

The people is a tragic and comic two-face: hero and hoodlum:
phantom and gorilla twisting to moan with a gargoyle mouth:
"They buy me and sell me...it's a game...sometime I'll
break loose..." Once having marched
Over the margins of animal necessity,
Over the grim line of sheer subsistence Then man came
To the deeper rituals of his bones,
To the lights lighter than any bones,
To the time for thinking things over,
To the dance, the song, the story,
Or the hours given over to dreaming, Once having so marched.

Between the finite limitations of the five senses
and the endless yearnings of man for the beyond
the people hold to the humdrum bidding of work and food
while reaching out when it comes their way
for lights beyond the prison of the five senses,
for keepsakes lasting beyond any hunger or death. This reaching is alive.
The panderers and liars have violated and smutted it. Yet this reaching is alive yet for lights and keepsakes. The people know the salt of the sea and the strength of the winds lashing the corners of the earth. The people take the earth as a tomb of rest and a cradle of hope. Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law. The people is a polychrome, a spectrum and a prism held in a moving monolith, a console organ of changing themes, a clavilux of color poems wherein the sea offers fog and the fog moves off in rain and the labrador sunset shortens to a nocturne of clear stars serene over the shot spray of northern lights. The steel mill sky is alive. The fire breaks white and zigzag shot on a gun-metal gloaming. Man is a long time coming. Man will yet win. Brother may yet line up with brother:

This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers. There are men who can't be bought. The fireborn are at home in fire. The stars make no noise, You can't hinder the wind from blowing. Time is a great teacher. Who can live without hope?

In the darkness with a great bundle of grief the people march.
In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people
march: "Where to? what next?"

"Think not I am Faithful" by Edna St. Vincent Millay (poetry reading)

2009-12-06T15:49:00.001+01:00

video info: Edna, who sometimes preferred to be called Vincent, was enamoured with the concept of "free love". Free Love is a misnomer because the term usually means the most costly kind of love: costly because it inflicts the most harm and provides the least valuable returns.

The idea of being in love with love where you can find it rather than entering into a mutually committed exclusive relationship is more attractive to the young, who can easily find a new relationship when they've ruined the old one by being selfish and unfaithful.

She is right that vows are worthless (unless they relate to a code of morality, such as wedding vows, but even then they are only as strong as that code.)

You can't trust a lover's promises because as soon as they get annoyed with you they will deliberately break them. The only person you can trust is one who has high standards of integrity. You can guess what their standards are from how they have behaved in the past. Whatever happened with their last lover will probably happen with you.

This sonnet expresses the idea that she won't need other lovers because she had found a lover who is so changeable and fickle thay they supply her need for variety. Of course, like most love poetry, it's not much more than spurious advertising for pretty falsehood. When poets promise undying fidelity or say that, "love is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is not shaken", they are more concerned about their lover straying - which motivates them to write a poem expressing lofty ideals in an attempt to prevent that eventuality. It probably won't work because, for one thing, by then it's too late. Three months later they'll be saying similar things to somebody else.

Or perhaps it's just me that's cynical about it.

Edna's critics would say that she did nothing new, nothing in the way of technical innovation, which is the hallmark of genius. However,they invented that standard of measurement. If the poet's job is " to tell you what it's like to be me" then Edna did that very well and most memorably. Why should it be a criterion of poetic genius that they break new ground?

Dorothy Parker and the Vicious Circle: Resume

2009-12-06T15:44:00.001+01:00

POEM In the desert Stephen Crane

2009-12-06T15:42:00.001+01:00

Anne Sexton reads "The Truth The Dead Know"

2009-12-06T15:40:00.001+01:00

Tipping Point by Carlos Andres Gomez

2009-12-06T15:34:00.002+01:00

Rik Mayall - Poetry

2009-12-06T12:54:00.001+01:00

something funny for the end of the weekend :)

remote control

2009-12-04T21:33:00.001+01:00

By Jace, originally uploaded by vitostreet.

Taped to the Wall

2009-12-04T21:31:00.003+01:00

By Parapluie, originally uploaded by vitostreet.

Halo of Impermanence

2009-12-04T21:31:00.001+01:00

, originally uploaded by vitostreet.

Nemo & Mesnager

2009-12-04T21:19:00.001+01:00

Nemo & Mesnager, originally uploaded by vitostreet.

Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1797-1861), SKM and the Giant Carp

2009-12-04T20:06:00.001+01:00

Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1797-1861), SKM and the Giant Carp, originally uploaded by A Journey Round My Skull.

Urban Warrior Meal

2009-12-04T11:48:00.001+01:00

By ESPF, originally uploaded by vitostreet.

To A Waterfowl - William Cullen Bryant

2009-12-04T11:36:00.001+01:00

Whither, 'midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,--
The desert and illimitable air,--
Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fann'd
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere:
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end,
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend
Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.

He, who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.

Still I Rise, by Maya Angelou

2009-12-04T11:32:00.002+01:00

"Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's miraculously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
"

The Cage

2009-12-02T21:21:00.001+01:00

GRAFFITI_ENMORE_0808_794, originally uploaded by baddogwhiskas.

Leonard Cohen - Avalanche

2009-12-02T10:22:00.003+01:00

Well I stepped into an avalanche,
it covered up my soul;
when I am not this hunchback that you see,
I sleep beneath the golden hill.
You who wish to conquer pain,
you must learn, learn to serve me well.
You strike my side by accident
as you go down for your gold.
The cripple here that you clothe and feed
is neither starved nor cold;
he does not ask for your company,
not at the centre, the centre of the world.

When I am on a pedestal,
you did not raise me there.
Your laws do not compel me
to kneel grotesque and bare.
I myself am the pedestal
for this ugly hump at which you stare.

[ Leonard Cohen Lyrics are found on www.songlyrics.com ]
You who wish to conquer pain,
you must learn what makes me kind;
the crumbs of love that you offer me,
they're the crumbs I've left behind.
Your pain is no credential here,
it's just the shadow, shadow of my wound.

I have begun to long for you,
I who have no greed;
I have begun to ask for you,
I who have no need.
You say you've gone away from me,
but I can feel you when you breathe.

Do not dress in those rags for me,
I know you are not poor;
you don't love me quite so fiercely now
when you know that you are not sure,
it is your turn, beloved,
it is your flesh that I wear.

A Pillar of Grease

2009-12-02T09:07:00.001+01:00

amsterdam streetart, originally uploaded by wojofoto.

Lea Goldberg Mechora Sheli לאה גולדברג מכורה שלי

2009-12-01T03:56:00.007+01:00

Mechora Sheli (My homeland)

my homeland
beautiful poor country
the queen has no home
the king has no crown
and seven days spring in the year
and mist and rain
all the rest

but seven days
the flowers bloom
and seven days
the dew is shining
and seven days
the windows
are open

and all your beggars
are standing in the street
carrying their paleness
to the light of goodness

and all your beggars
are happy

my homeland
beautiful poor country
the queen has no home
the king has no crown
only seven days
are holidays
In the year
and work and hunger
all the rest

and seven days
blessed are the candles
and seven days
the tables are set
and seven days
the hearts are open
and all your beggars
stand praying
and sons and daughters
grooms and brides
and all your beggars
are brothers

my humble
poor and bitter
the king has no home
the queen has no crown
only in the world
their grace
she said
and denunciation
the shame
all the rest

and therefore
I will go to every street
in every corner
every market and court
and alley and garden
and the ruins of your walls
every little stone
I will collect and keep
for memory
and from city to city
from country to country
I will wander
with a song
and a music box
to proclaim your
glamorous poverty

מכורה שלי, ארץ נוי אביונה -
למלכה אין בית, למלך אין כתר.
ושבעה ימים אביב בשנה
וסגריר וגשמים כל היתר.

אך שבעה ימים הורדים פורחים,
ושבעה ימים הטללים זורחים,
ושבעה ימים חלונות פתוחים,
וכל קבצנייך עומדים ברחוב
ונושאים חיוורונם אל האור הטוב,
וכל קבצנייך שמחים.

מכורה שלי, ארץ נוי אביונה,
למלכה אין בית למלך אין כתר.
רק שבעה ימים חגים בשנה
ועמל ורעב כל היתר.

אך שבעה ימים הנרות ברוכים
ושבעה ימים שולחנות ערוכים,
ושבעה ימים הלבבות פתוחים,
וכל קבצנייך עומדים בתפילה,
ובנייך בנותייך חתן כלה,
וכל קבצנייך אחים.

עלובה שלי, אביונה ומרה,
למלך אין בית, למלכה אין כתר -
רק אחת בעולם את שבחך אמרה
וגנותך חרפתך כל היתר.

ועל כן אלך לכל רחוב ופינה,
לכל שוק וחצר וסמטה וגינה,
מחורבן חומתייך כל אבן קטנה -
אלקט ואשמור למזכרת.

ומעיר לעיר, ממדינה למדינה
אנודה עם שיר ותיבת נגינה
לתנות דלותך הזוהרת.

Ezra Pound Velho

2009-11-30T21:14:00.001+01:00

Ezra Pound Velho, originally uploaded by lapalu.

wiki: Ezra Pound

Ezra Weston Loomis Pound (October 30, 1885 – November 1, 1972) was an American expatriate poet, critic and intellectual who was a major figure of the Modernist movement in the first half of the 20th century. He is generally considered the poet most responsible for defining and promoting a modernist aesthetic in poetry.[1] The critic Hugh Kenner said of Pound upon meeting him: "I suddenly knew that I was in the presence of the center of modernism."[2]

In the early teens of the twentieth century, he opened a fruitful exchange of work and ideas between British and American writers, and was famous for the generosity with which he advanced the work of such major contemporaries as Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, Marianne Moore, H. D., Ernest Hemingway, Wyndham Lewis, and especially T. S. Eliot. Pound also had a profound influence on the Irish writers W. B. Yeats and James Joyce.

His own significant contributions to poetry begin with his promotion of Imagism, a movement in poetry which derived its technique from classical Chinese and Japanese poetry—stressing clarity, precision, and economy of language, and forgoing traditional rhyme and meter in order to, in Pound's words, "compose in the sequence of the musical phrase, not in the sequence of the metronome."[3] His later work, spanning nearly fifty years, focused on his epic poem The Cantos.

Walt Whitman

2009-11-30T21:12:00.001+01:00

Walt Whitman, originally uploaded by cliff1066™.

info: Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman, c. 1867, Albumen silver print by Mathew B. Brady

By 1867, Whitman's major work as a poet was done. After the death of Abraham Lincoln, he completed his book of war poems, Drum Taps. Whitman's remaining years would be spent re-editing Leaves of Grass, writing prose, and cultivating his reputation throughout the world. He began giving an annual lecture on Lincoln's death, a lecture that drew on the eyewitness testimony of his companion Peter Doyle, who was in Ford's Theatre when Lincoln was assassinated.

npgportraits.si.edu/eMuseumNPG/code/emuseum.asp?rawsearch...

Uploaded by cliff1066™ on 5 Dec 08, 8.23PM PST.

Love, Thy Name Is Ezra Pound Stencil

2009-11-30T21:11:00.001+01:00

Love, Thy Name Is Ezra Pound Stencil, originally uploaded by jessrawk.

Walt Whitman - Song of Myself 1

2009-11-30T21:10:00.001+01:00

Walt Whitman - Song of Myself 1, originally uploaded by mistermajik2000.

JACK KEROUAC

2009-11-30T21:07:00.001+01:00

JACK KEROUAC, originally uploaded by popartdks.