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Thread: The Post Your Favorite Poem(s) Thread

  1. #46
    'If you existed, I'd divorce you.' spyk_'s Avatar
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    Death and the Moon by Carol Ann Duffy

    (for Catherine Marcangeli)

    The moon is nearer than where death took you
    at the end of the old year. Cold as cash
    in the sky's dark pocket, its hard old face
    is gold as a mask tonight. I break the ice
    over the fish in my frozen pond, look up
    as the ghosts of my wordless breath reach
    for the stars. If I stood on the tip of my toes
    and stretched, I could touch the edge of the moon.

    I stooped at the lip of your open grave
    to gather a fistful of earth, hard rain,
    tough confetti, and tossed it down. It stuttered
    like morse on the wood over your eyes, your tongue,
    your soundless ears. Then as I slept my living sleep
    the ground gulped you, swallowed you whole,
    and though I was there when you died,
    in the red cave of your widow's unbearable cry.

    and measured the space between last words
    and silence, I cannot say where you are. Unreachable
    by prayer, even if poems are prayers. Unseeable
    in the air, even if souls are stars. I turn
    to the house, its windows tender with light, the moon,
    surely, only as far again as the roof. The goldfish
    are tongues in the water's mouth. The black night
    is huge, mute, and you are further forever than that.

  2. #47
    Vilest of the vile Homogenik's Avatar
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    Devant deux portraits de ma mère

    Ma mère, que je l'aime en ce portrait ancien,
    Peint aux jours glorieux qu'elle était jeune fille,
    Le front couleur de lys et le regard qui brille
    Comme un éblouissant miroir vénitien !

    Ma mère que voici n'est plus du tout la même;
    Les rides ont creusé le beau marbre frontal;
    Elle a perdu l'éclat du temps sentimental
    Où son hymen chanta comme un rose poème.

    Aujourd'hui je compare, et j'en suis triste aussi,
    Ce front nimbé de joie et ce front de souci,
    Soleil d'or, brouillard dense au couchant des années.

    Mais, mystère de coeur qui ne peut s'éclairer !
    Comment puis-je sourire à ces lèvres fanées ?
    Au portrait qui sourit, comment puis-je pleurer ?

    — Émile Nelligan


    I don't like the english translation but here it is :


    Before Two Portraits of My Mother - Emile Nelligan

    I love my mother's portrait as she once
    Was painted in her girlhoods glorious prime:
    The forehead lily-white, the eyes that shine
    With a Venetian mirrors brilliance!

    Her other picture is a world away;
    Wrinkles have ploughed the marble of her brow:
    Lost is romance's rapture, distant now
    The rose-red poem of her wedding day.

    It saddens me today as I compare;
    This brow haloed with joy, and that with care;
    Gold sun, and thick mist at the years' eclipse.

    But, O unfathomed mystery of the heart!
    How can I smile at those poor faded lips?
    How for the smiling face can teardrops start?


    I'd suggest this instead (I don't care about rhymes):

    My mother, how I love her in this ancient portrait,
    Painted in her girlhood's glorious prime,
    Forehead lily-white and eyes that shine
    Like the sparkle of a Venetian mirror

    My mother here is no longer the same;
    Wrinkles have carved the marble of her brow;
    She has lost the sparkle of a romantic past
    When her hymen sang like a rose-red poem.

    Today I compare, with sadness in my heart,
    This brow surrounded with joy and this brow full of worry,
    Golden sun, thick mist at the years' eclipse

    But, one heart's mystery which cannot be solved!
    How can I smile to those faded lips?
    To the portrait which smiles, how can I cry?
    Last edited by Homogenik; 02-28-2013 at 03:40 AM.

  3. #48
    Senior Member uncanny hats's Avatar
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    Not a favorite poem, but Poetry Magazine is trying to get people to a "Record-a-Poem," on Soundcloud.

    I found this cute and heartwarming.


  4. #49
    That's so Shakespearean... Canoodlefish's Avatar
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    I've never picked up the art of reading poetry out loud, and now it's just awkward.
    "Never build a dungeon that you cannot get out of."

  5. #50
    balletic and glacial Jonathan's Avatar
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    break (me) by Suheir Hammad

    ana my language always broken all
    ways lost ana my language wa
    i miss my people

  6. #51
    condemned to wires and hammers ebby's Avatar
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    Just today I was introduced to the poetry of Matthew Dickman, and I'm rather enjoying what I've read and heard so far.

    Here he is reading one of his poems "Slow Dance".


  7. #52
    Senior Member
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    Disobedience

    BY A. A. MILNE

    James James
    Morrison Morrison
    Weatherby George Dupree
    Took great
    Care of his Mother,
    Though he was only three.
    James James
    Said to his Mother,
    “Mother,” he said, said he:
    “You must never go down to the end of the town,
    if you don’t go down with me.”


    James James
    Morrison’s Mother
    Put on a golden gown,
    James James
    Morrison’s Mother
    Drove to the end of the town.
    James James
    Morrison’s Mother
    Said to herself, said she:
    “I can get right down to the end of the town
    and be back in time for tea.”


    King John
    Put up a notice,
    “LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
    JAMES JAMES
    MORRISON’S MOTHER
    SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
    LAST SEEN
    WANDERING VAGUELY:
    QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
    SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN TO THE END
    OF THE TOWN—FORTY SHILLINGS
    REWARD!”


    James James
    Morrison Morrison
    (Commonly known as Jim)
    Told his
    Other relations
    Not to go blaming him.
    James James
    Said to his Mother,
    “Mother,” he said, said he:
    “You must never go down to the end of the town
    without consulting me.”


    James James
    Morrison’s mother
    Hasn’t been heard of since.
    King John
    Said he was sorry,
    So did the Queen and Prince.
    King John
    (Somebody told me)
    Said to a man he knew:
    “If people go down to the end of the town, well,
    what can anyone do?”

    (Now then, very softly)

    J. J.
    M. M.
    W. G. Du P.
    Took great
    C/o his M*****
    Though he was only 3.
    J. J.
    Said to his M*****
    “M*****,” he said, said he:
    “You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of-the-town-
    if-you-don’t-go-down-with ME!”

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