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Week of Love Poetry Day #7
Friday, September 10th, 2010 12:18 amThe last day of my poetry week, and since I haven't included any spoken poetry, here's a jam contribution by Gina Loring:
( Text )
The last day of my poetry week, and since I haven't included any spoken poetry, here's a jam contribution by Gina Loring:
( Text )
Week of Love Poetry Day #6
Thursday, September 9th, 2010 08:58 pmsomewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;
only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
ee cummings
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;
only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
ee cummings
Week of Love Poetry Day #5
Wednesday, September 8th, 2010 10:40 pmIst Lieb ein Feur / und kan das Eisen schmiegen /
bin ich voll Feur / und voller Liebes Pein /
wohrvohn mag doch der Liebsten Hertze seyn?
wans eisern wär / so würd eß mir erliegen /
wans gülden wär / so würd ichs können biegen
durch meine Gluht; solls aber fleischern seyn /
so schließ ich fort: Eß ist ein fleischern Stein:
doch kan mich nicht ein Stein / wie sie / betriegen.
Ists dan wie Frost / wie kalter Schnee und Eiß /
wie presst sie dann auß mir den Liebesschweiß?
Mich deucht: Ihr Herz ist wie die Loorberblätter /
die nicht berührt ein starcker Donnerkeil /
sie / sie verlacht / Cupido / deine Pfeil;
und ist befreyt für deinem Donnerwetter.
- Sibylle Schwarz (1621-1638)
bin ich voll Feur / und voller Liebes Pein /
wohrvohn mag doch der Liebsten Hertze seyn?
wans eisern wär / so würd eß mir erliegen /
wans gülden wär / so würd ichs können biegen
durch meine Gluht; solls aber fleischern seyn /
so schließ ich fort: Eß ist ein fleischern Stein:
doch kan mich nicht ein Stein / wie sie / betriegen.
Ists dan wie Frost / wie kalter Schnee und Eiß /
wie presst sie dann auß mir den Liebesschweiß?
Mich deucht: Ihr Herz ist wie die Loorberblätter /
die nicht berührt ein starcker Donnerkeil /
sie / sie verlacht / Cupido / deine Pfeil;
und ist befreyt für deinem Donnerwetter.
- Sibylle Schwarz (1621-1638)
Week of Love Poetry Day #4
Tuesday, September 7th, 2010 05:36 pmHow do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
( Translation by Rainer Maria Rilke )
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
( Translation by Rainer Maria Rilke )
Week of Love Poetry Day #3
Monday, September 6th, 2010 10:48 pmIn sô hôher swebender wunne
In sô hôher swebender wunne
sô gestuont mîn herze ane vröiden nie.
ich var, als ich vliegen kunne,
mit gedanken iemer umbe sie,
Sît daz mich ir trôst enpfie,
der mir durch die sêle mîn
mitten in daz herze gie.
Swaz ich wunneclîches schouwe,
daz spile gegen der wunne, die ich hân.
luft und erde, walt und ouwe
suln die zît der vröide mîn enpfân.
Mir ist komen ein hügender wân
und ein wunneclîcher trôst,
des mîn muot sol hôhe stân.
Wol dem wunneclîchen maere,
daz sô suoze durch mîn ôre erklanc,
und der sanfte tuonder swaere,
diu mit vröiden in mîn herze sanc,
Dâ von mir ein wunne entspranc,
diu vor liebe alsam ein tou
mir ûz von den ougen dranc.
Saelic sî diu süeze stunde,
saelic sî diu zît, der werde tac,
dô daz wort gie von ir munde,
daz dem herzen mîn sô nâhen lac,
Daz mîn lîp von vröide erschrac,
und enweiz von liebe joch,
waz ich von ir sprechen mac.
- Heinrich von Morungen
( Modern German Adaption )
In sô hôher swebender wunne
sô gestuont mîn herze ane vröiden nie.
ich var, als ich vliegen kunne,
mit gedanken iemer umbe sie,
Sît daz mich ir trôst enpfie,
der mir durch die sêle mîn
mitten in daz herze gie.
Swaz ich wunneclîches schouwe,
daz spile gegen der wunne, die ich hân.
luft und erde, walt und ouwe
suln die zît der vröide mîn enpfân.
Mir ist komen ein hügender wân
und ein wunneclîcher trôst,
des mîn muot sol hôhe stân.
Wol dem wunneclîchen maere,
daz sô suoze durch mîn ôre erklanc,
und der sanfte tuonder swaere,
diu mit vröiden in mîn herze sanc,
Dâ von mir ein wunne entspranc,
diu vor liebe alsam ein tou
mir ûz von den ougen dranc.
Saelic sî diu süeze stunde,
saelic sî diu zît, der werde tac,
dô daz wort gie von ir munde,
daz dem herzen mîn sô nâhen lac,
Daz mîn lîp von vröide erschrac,
und enweiz von liebe joch,
waz ich von ir sprechen mac.
- Heinrich von Morungen
( Modern German Adaption )
Week of Love Poetry Day #2
Sunday, September 5th, 2010 10:00 pmThe Sun Rising
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.
- John Donne
( Translation )
Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?Why dost thou thus,
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices ;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,Call country ants to harvest offices ;
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Why shouldst thou think ?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,Why shouldst thou think ?
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
Whether both th' Indias of spice and mineLook, and to-morrow late tell me,
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."
She's all states, and all princes I ;
Nothing else is ;
Princes do but play us ; compared to this,Nothing else is ;
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world's contracted thus ;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties beIn that the world's contracted thus ;
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.
- John Donne
( Translation )
To mark the occasion...
Saturday, September 4th, 2010 08:16 amTo mark the occasion of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
angie_21_237 's wedding today, I want to have a week of love poems:
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
- William Shakespeare.
( Übersetzung )