I've mentioned before that my favourite poem in English is Maya Angelou's "Still I Rise". This year, while teaching 19th & 20th Century American Poetry I got to spend some time with Angelou's work again. The poem that my students seemed to like the most (based on the amount of essays that focussed on it) is the poem "Africa." It is quite a striking poem in which the African continent is anthropomorphised as a beautiful woman who is metaphorically ravaged by colonialists, who also "took her young daughters / sold her strong sons / churched her with Jesus / [and] bled her with guns". The poem ends with the woman "rising", "although she has lain" and "now . . . striding", suggesting that she refuse to submit and give up hope, but instead rise above her oppression and adversary. Like "Still I Rise" the poem shows the victim rising above her situation. The poem that really stood out for me this time, however, was "Phenomenal Woman". It might be because many people have asked me in recent months about my ideal woman, and while ideally a good figure does score some points, it is more her confidence in herself--her at homeness in her body--that makes a woman sexy. The poem "Phenomenal Woman" really captures this.
I just now saw this interpretation of Oprah Winfrey of "Phenomenal Woman" and "Still I Rise". Phenomenal! In the YouTube video below, Oprah starts to speak at 2:45 and begins with the excellent performance of parts of the two poems at 3:30.
The Canadian actress/singer Amy Sky did a pretty good job of putting "Phenomenal Woman" to music.
It is difficult to speak about Maya Angelou and not mention her poem "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings". Do read it. It is beautiful.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Wenke vir die skryf van gedigte
 |
| Image Source |
- Maak abstrakte stellinge konkreet en konkrete stellinge interesant (deur die gebruik van beelde en simbole -- vergelykings en metafore).
- Kommunikeer gevoel, maar vermy sentiment en clichés.
- Vermy (eind-)rym, tensy die gedig dit vereis. (Betekenisvolle binnerym skep 'eenheid' in die gedig en is wenslik. Daarinteen laat gedwonge eindrym die gedig na 'n 'rympie' lyk -- definitief onwenslik!)
Lekker skryf!
Sien my gedigte-blog: Ingelegde Lywe.
Ek skrik nie vir Afrikaans se "nieë" nie
Vroeër vanaand skryf ek 'n gedig. In die eerste reël val dit weg met 'n dubbelnegatief: "Verewig is nie soos 'n leeftyd nie". Ek kyk toe bietjie terug na van my ander gedigte en kom op hierdie een af waar ek die nieë sommer so reël op reël ryg: "[wanneer jy sterf] gaan ek nie geboorte gee aan trane nie— / die Dood verdien nie geboortes nie / ek gaan nie eerbiedig knik nie / my huid formeel in swart omlyf nie / of lelies vir só okasie rangskik nie—".
Ek is nie bang vir Afrikaans se dubbel-nie nie. Baie digters vermy die dubbelnegatief omdat hulle dit 'n hindernis vind wat rym betref, maar ek glo 'n mens kan steeds effektief die dubbelnegatief gebruik in rym. Kyk bevoorbeeld na die eerste stanza in hierdie gedig van my:
Die geheim is nie om die nieë tot eindrym te beperk en sodoende 'n inherente (en oninteresante) rym te bewerkstellig nie. In plaas van eindrym speel 'n mens met die binnerym. Die onderstaande versie getiteld "Versoen" is 'n voorbeeld van wat ek bedoel.
Hier is nog een vol nieë.
'n Mens kan argumenteer dat hierdie gediggie sou baat deur van die dubbelnegatiewe te verwyder. Ek kon die gedig byvoorbeeld geskryf sonder 'n paar van daardie nieë en onmiddelik beter eindrym tot gevolg gehad het:
Die gedwange eindrym dra min by tot die natuurlike vloei van die gedig. Dit lees, selfs met die reëlafkappings, lomp. Die natuurlike ritme wat ons in Afrikaans verwag in 'n negatiewe sinsnede ontbreek. Dit kan natuurlik die bedoeling van die digter wees om die verwagte ritme teen te gaan, maar sodoende dwing 'n mens 'n fokus op die noodwendige manipulasie van die taal in poësie, wat mynsinsiens die intuïtiewe kommunikasie van die gedig onderbreek.
My punt is eenvoudig. Daar is geen rede om te skrik vir Afrikaans se nieë nie, selfs nie in die digkuns nie. Om die waarheid te sê, ek dink dit bring 'n aangename eiesoortige ritme aan Afrikaans. Dit funksioneer ook as 'n wonderlike benadrukking van die negatief. Wanneer jy onnodig met die nieë begin peuter, vestig jy aandag op iets wat nie noodwendig aandag vereis nie, en onttrek jy daardeur van dit wat jy hoofsaaklik wou kommunikeer.
Sommer maar net 'n paar middernagtelike gedagtes. Aai, ek moes al lankal bedtoe gegaan het!
Ek is nie bang vir Afrikaans se dubbel-nie nie. Baie digters vermy die dubbelnegatief omdat hulle dit 'n hindernis vind wat rym betref, maar ek glo 'n mens kan steeds effektief die dubbelnegatief gebruik in rym. Kyk bevoorbeeld na die eerste stanza in hierdie gedig van my:
My geliefde het die pad gevat,
opgerol en oor haar skouer gegooi.
Ek kan g’n spoor vind om te sny nie,
haar lyn is op g’n kaart te kry nie.
Die geheim is nie om die nieë tot eindrym te beperk en sodoende 'n inherente (en oninteresante) rym te bewerkstellig nie. In plaas van eindrym speel 'n mens met die binnerym. Die onderstaande versie getiteld "Versoen" is 'n voorbeeld van wat ek bedoel.
laat ons nie te haastig weesAlhoewel ons hier "nie" in die eindrymposisie in reëls twee en vier het, is die rym vroeër reeds gevestig as binnerym. Dit begin in reël een met die eerste van die twee dubbelnegatiewe, maar die binnerym herhaling vir daardie eerste "nie" vind ons in reël twee in die [ie]-vokaal in "liefde" en "totsiens". Die viertallige herhaling van "nie" word geballanseer deur ander binnerym, byvoorbeeld die herhaling van die [oe]-vokaal ("soen", "gesoen-", "bedoel", "versoen-", "groet-") en die [y]-diftong ("gesoenery", "versoenery", "groetery").
om die liefde totsiens te soen nie –
’n gesoenery is in elkgeval bedoel
vir versoenery en nie groetery nie.
Hier is nog een vol nieë.
As ek sterf, grawe nie 'n diep graf
vêr van die son af nie;
grawe vir my 'n vlak graf
sodat ek nie koud kry nie.
Tot dan, hou nie jou hart vêr
van my af nie; bly vlak neffens my.
'n Mens kan argumenteer dat hierdie gediggie sou baat deur van die dubbelnegatiewe te verwyder. Ek kon die gedig byvoorbeeld geskryf sonder 'n paar van daardie nieë en onmiddelik beter eindrym tot gevolg gehad het:
As ek sterf, grawe nie 'n diep graf
vêr van die son af;
grawe vir my 'n vlak graf
sodat ek nie koud kry.
Tot dan,
hou nie jou hart
vêr van my;
maar bly vlak
neffens my.
Die gedwange eindrym dra min by tot die natuurlike vloei van die gedig. Dit lees, selfs met die reëlafkappings, lomp. Die natuurlike ritme wat ons in Afrikaans verwag in 'n negatiewe sinsnede ontbreek. Dit kan natuurlik die bedoeling van die digter wees om die verwagte ritme teen te gaan, maar sodoende dwing 'n mens 'n fokus op die noodwendige manipulasie van die taal in poësie, wat mynsinsiens die intuïtiewe kommunikasie van die gedig onderbreek.
My punt is eenvoudig. Daar is geen rede om te skrik vir Afrikaans se nieë nie, selfs nie in die digkuns nie. Om die waarheid te sê, ek dink dit bring 'n aangename eiesoortige ritme aan Afrikaans. Dit funksioneer ook as 'n wonderlike benadrukking van die negatief. Wanneer jy onnodig met die nieë begin peuter, vestig jy aandag op iets wat nie noodwendig aandag vereis nie, en onttrek jy daardeur van dit wat jy hoofsaaklik wou kommunikeer.
Sommer maar net 'n paar middernagtelike gedagtes. Aai, ek moes al lankal bedtoe gegaan het!
Don't Smoke in Bed & A Poem About the Assassination of a Heart
One of my favourite songs is "Don't Smoke in Bed." I'm not sure why this song resonates with me, because I do not smoke and am unlikely to be romantically involved with someone that does smoke. Nevertheless, there is something wonderfully touching about the lyrics of this song. Even as the narrator is leaving her husband, she still cares for him, she still reminds him not to smoke in bed.
My favourite version is of course the one by Nina Simone, whom I've mentioned on this blog before (see here and here).
Apart from Nina Simone, the other person with whom the song is probably usually associated is Peggy Lee. I especially like the instrumentation in this version.
Patti Smith, the musician partly responsible for the punk rock genre, also does a riviting performance of this old jazz classic.
A more upbeat version in a lounge jazz style is performed by the Eddie Higgins Trio. You might be excused for getting up and dancing to this tune. The trio consists of piano, guitar and bass.
k.d. lang with her beautiful voice provides a beautiful full sounding version, but I do miss the rawness that one hear in Simone and Smith.
In around 2008 my then girlfriend and I broke up after somewhat of a tumultuous emotional period in our relationship. Shortly before we broke up I wrote her the poem below. In the poem the narrator speaks of his lover as an assassin of hearts that will soon come to murder (i.e. break) his heart and in so doing be the cause of his death. At the end of the poem I realised that I needed there to be a personal touch--a loving "don't smoke in bed". After sometime I added the line: "Don't forget to water the flowers"--the idea being that flowers are a symbol of romantic love and by caring for the flowers she will keep his remembrance and symbolically keep their love alive after his passing. In a strange way this poem I wrote was influenced by this song "Don't Smoke in Bed". Basically they have the same themes and tell the same story of broken hearts and separation. Soon afterwards I moved to Korea.
Throughout the night I battle sleep
(my fists broken my temples bleeding
my knees and elbows chafed from fighting)
lest, like a calamity, the morning breaks
open like an egg a skull a heart stuffed
to the brim with love (that undaunted
heartless threatening damned type of love).
And now, as the day comes crawling
(my heart’s assassination on the agenda;
it will, I’m sure, be done with a knife)
and I have little fighting spirit left, I beg you
my love, be swift. I have already
both my stubborn shirt and chest
ripped open (I trust you’ll appreciate it).
My love, both my heart and I am ready
on this day (please don’t torture me further!)
to die enthusiastically an enormous death.
The angels (my guardian angel and yours)
are standing on their marks for a farewell number
(a necro-duet) to call me to the Big Slumber.
Don’t forget to water the flowers.
bygestaande selfmoord / "assisted suicide"
'n Opinie omtrent bygestaande selfmoord
Ek nes my lewe in klam rooigrond:
'n pêreltjie—oënskynlyk leweloos—skiet
skielik 'n harige stertjie suidwaarts,
'n kordadige nekkie priem noorde toe;
die gevuisde lentegroen koppie
vou oop soos twee palmpies na gebed
of voor applous en glimlag vlinderlik.
Natuurlik, figuurlikgesproke het ek my lewe
so geplant en met die selfde aanmatigheid
wil ek, wanneer die tyd ryp is,
die pêreltjie weer oes—sagkuns ontwortel,
die lewensare se konneksie met die klam
rooigrond kortknip, die vlinder laat verwelk
en die korreltjie wat aan my geleen is teruggee.
Want, toe ek ontkiem het,
was dit 'n deftige—tog toweragtige—affêre
en daarom wil ek ook op 'n betaamlike
manier sterf—sans towerkuns natuurlik—.
My Talk . . . uhm sermon . . . no, talk on Romantic Poetry
This past Sabbath I gave a talk on Romantic Poetry at an international church (i.e. the congregation is English speaking) here in Seoul, Korea. The talk took around 40 minutes, and even though it started late, I didn't see anybody dosing off, which was a good sign. I got some very positive feedback including one lady who came to me afterwards, took my hand and responded with a "Bravo!" The pastor who invited me to give the talk seemed pleased. A couple of people requested the script. One theologian remarked that it was a very "useful" talk.
I can't really take credited for the success as I merely reiterated the arguments of such great scholars as Karen Armstrong (regarding "Mythos") and C. S. Lewis (regarding "Numinous"), both of whom I quoted in my talk. Also, since this was a talk on Romantic Poetry and Christianity, one ought not forget the possible impression of the Holy Spirit, regardless of the speaker's eloquence.
In any case, I've made the script available at my slightly more academic blog. You can read it here: Mythos & Numinous: Two “Profitable” Things for the Christian from Romantic Poetry
Wat is sexy?
 |
| Bono |
Ek is gefassineer deur “sexy”. Wat maak iemand sexy?
My vriendin vind byvoorbeeld Bono van U2 vreeslik sexy. Het jy onlangs ’n foto van Bono gesien? Hy het ’n reuse neus en ’n abnormale ken. Buiten vir sy interesante brille is daar niks wat ek as handsome sou klasifiseer nie. Tog vind derduisende mense hom sexy.
Seker so twee jaar gelede was ek en die vriendin by ’n Amanda Strydom konsert in Potch. Amanda, ’n vrou in haar vygtigs, wat lankal haar eens slanke lyf veruil het vir die mollige volumes van ’n middeljarige vrou, het ons verdronk. Sy was ongelooflik sexy. Haar sexyheid is nie in haar lyf nie, maar in haar selfvertroue.
 |
| Amanda Strydom (Source) |
John Waters (bekend vir sy film Hairspray) vertel in ’n onderhoud: “I see some women in really scary redneck bars that I go to, that truly look shocking. Like a three-hundred-pound woman with extreme cellulite in a tiny mini-skirt working a bar and strutting her stuff. Is she sexy? Yes, in a wierd way. People who have that confidence and that nerve are really sexy. And if you think you’re sexy, someone else will. You can look really sexy covered up. So I think the women who have knock-out bodies are the ones that should wear Japanese fashion, Commdes Garcons and so on. But they never do. That’s why they all look the same. What I am alarmed about is that all women feel they have to show full breasts all the time.”
Ek dink dis makliker vir mans om sexy te wees. Die “vrou” is al so misbruik deur media dat dit moeilik is vir die gewone vrou om haarself te laat kompeteer. As sy maar net besef dat sexyheid is in die unieke subtielhede. Soveel vrouens probeer die abnormale maerheid van catwalk modelle na-aap. Maar die kunsgeskiedenis is dit eens, die vrou is mooi in haar kurwes, nie in haar reguit lyne nie.
 |
| "Blue Nude" -- Henri Matisse |
Colin McDowell skryf: “...photography advanced too far and erotical gradually changed into pornography—its vulgar little sister—which is, sadly, all that is left for us today. Top-shelf magazines, DVDs and websites are not about eroticism. They deel instead in quick fixes. Whereas eroticism was predicated on the belief that sex was a pleasure increased in direct proportion to the time spent on it, today it is all too often seen as a form of instant gratification, to enjoy briefly and then forget about. Pole dancing, lap dancing, erotic cinemas and bars have devalued sexual pleasure by blurring the boundaries between eroticism and pornography.”
Ek moet saam stem met McDowell se beskywing en Waters se lament. Seks en sexyheid het goedkoop geword – dis verlaag tot kitskos. En blykbaar is kitskos goed genoeg vir die meerderheid mense om op te leef. Kyk byvoorbeeld na die sexy odes in die Bybelse boek Hooglied: “Jy is so mooi, so bekoorlik, liefste, met soveel wat geniet kan word. Jou slanke gestalte is soos ’n palmboom, jou borste soos druiwetrosse. Ek dink ek gaan teen die palmboom opklim en sy trosse gryp. Laat jou borste vir my soos trosse druiwe wees, die reuk van jou neus soos die van appels, jou mond soos goeie wyn wat glad na binne gly vir die man wat jy liefhet, wat tussen sy lippe en sy tande deur vloei” (Hooglied 7:6-9).Die erotiese, of ware sexyheid, is iets waarin God goedkeuring vind. Maar hoe tragies dat ons dit verniel het tot kitskos.
“Eroticism is about titillation – the slow awakening of sexual pleasure. It involves the gentle interplay of the mind, sense and emotions. It is to be treated as something special and valuable” verduidelik McDowell. “It’s a choice we all make. Intellectual involvement or animal gratification.”
Die essay eindig effe stomp; dit kort nog bietjie werk, maar aangesien dit nie nou juis 'n prioriteit vir my is nie, plaas ek dit maar hier, sommer so ongeredigeer. Die essay is ook op 'n manier 'n tipe manifes vir my liefdesgedigte. Ek hoop dat mense in my gedigte 'n sin van die erotiese sal kry eerder as pornografiese.
Chopin's Funeral March and the Numinous in Romantic Poetry
I've been asked to give a talk at a church on Romantic Poetry; i.e. the poetry of the Romantic period. The body of my talk will consist of three parts; for each I plan to have a short musical interlude. The last part of my talk will concern the Numinous, for which I want a section from Chopin's Funeral March to be played.
At present I'm still looking for someone who can play my three interludes -- each short pieces by Chopin. The talk is on May 14th, so I still have a few weeks to find someone. If I can't find anybody, I'll just have to play recordings of the music, but that will definitely be less than ideal.
At present I'm still looking for someone who can play my three interludes -- each short pieces by Chopin. The talk is on May 14th, so I still have a few weeks to find someone. If I can't find anybody, I'll just have to play recordings of the music, but that will definitely be less than ideal.
Gedig: Wie?
Wie, hier, kan vir my sêwaar die westewindhaar kop neelê;waar die oostewindhaar skuiling vind;waarom my mooi lieflingweggegaan het,waarom sy my hieragter gelaat het?Wie?
'n Gedig aan my X
Toe jy verwagtend was
Ek wens ek was daar
toe jou maag volmaan rond
en vol lewe -- nuwe bloedjonklewe -- was
en jou borsies sappige geswolle
melkvrugte -- vrugte van die Boom van die Lewe -- was
en jou heupe oorlopens toe vol lewe was
en jy soos 'n amoeba te veel lewe gehad het
en twee lewens -- jy en 'n splinternuwe jy -- geword het.
Ek wens ek was daar
en dat ek daar saam met jou -- albei van jou -- gelewe het.
my vrou is 'n boervrou
my boervrou spit in die tuinsy spit die aarde in klowe oopgroot vrugbare oopwondklowemet haar groot ysterspitsoos Agdistis is my vroumy boervrou bevrug Moeder Aardekloof haar oop en stort haar saad daarinmy vrou is 'n vrugbaarheidsgodin
Typhoons, Poetry and the Case of the Vanished Basil Continues
Typhoon Kompasu hit Seoul much earlier than expected – even before I went to work this morning. On my way to my office it was all too evident that a terrible storm had hit us, all unbeknownst to me. The campus is littered with leafs, broken branches and the odd uprooted tree.
This morning only five students showed up for the poetry class. Later the number of registered students dropped to six and I started to make my peace with the fact that I won’t be teaching it. Later the day the number changed back to seven students again. By 3pm it was still seven. I thought that would mean that everything is safe and that the class would not be cancelled. It turns out that the deadline was not 3pm today, but 3pm tomorrow. So the suspense continues.
As for the Case of the Vanished Basil, I sent the following little email to the other residence in my apartment building:
Dear Residence of Building 4,
This morning when I went to the department meeting all my herbal plants were still on the wall in front of our apartment building. When I returned an hour later, two of my little basil plants had disappeared and a new little orange pot plant stood on the wall.
If any of you had moved my basil plants could you please put them back, or if anybody you are acquainted with (i.e. movers, family, friends, etc.) took them, I'd appreciate it if you replace them. They may look a little shaggy but I am quite fond of them nonetheless.
Friendly regards,
It turns out that my email offended some of them, saying that I clearly accused two of them in particular. What can I say? If the shoe fits . . . In the meantime I’ve moved my remaining herbal plants inside to protect them from further storms or other mysterious raptures.
How does the accompanying image fit with this email? I'm not sure either.
Poetry (Class) Blues
So my poetry class is down to seven students. One student, when I asked her why she thinks this is, told me that the Korean students prefer to receive literature instruction from Korean lecturers because its easier for them to understand. Studying English poetry in a language other than English seems to beg the question, but then again, I'm the foreigner in this country. Since 19th & 20th Century American Poetry is not a required course, if the student number drops below seven it will automatically be canceled. The deadline is tomorrow at 3pm. Alternatively, I can decide to cancel the class now if I so choose. Or I can hope that the number will stay at seven students and if it does the class will continue with a handful of dedicated students that are truly interested in poetry and accepts my teaching style, which requires critical thinking -- a rare requirement in an education system that places its emphasis on memorization.
If the class is canceled it would mean three extra hours a week for me that I will have free, not to mention the time it would free up that I would have spent on class preparation and grading. The con is that I will get a cut in my pay check of around $300 a month for the next six months, which adds up to a loss of $1800 (nearly R13 000).
To be honest, I would like to teach the class as it is the only literature class I'll be teaching this semester. I love teaching poetry; I see myself as a teacher of poetry before a teacher of language skills and academic literacy. It is the only class on the list of classes that I'm teaching this semester that truly gets me excited. However, if I were not to teach the class, the extra off time could be greatly spend on research and academic writing -- something I've been grossly neglecting over the last two years. I would also have the time to start an extra-curricular class in poetry writing. My master's degree is in Creative Writing and I'd really enjoy teaching creative writing, particularly poetry writing. With extra time available I'd be able to start an "English Poetry Writing Club".
So the count down starts. There are about twenty six hours until tomorrow 3pm at which point I'll know if this class will continue or not and how the rest of my semester will be affected.
Poësie: Is my klasse te moeilik?
Van die kommentaar wat ek in die verlede gekry het, is dat my klasse vereis van die studente om te dink. O wee! Tog net nie dit nie! Inderdaad, ek verwag van hulle om te dink . . . Party studente het gekla hoedat hulle nie gewoond is om vir hulleself te dink nie; in die Koreaanse opvoedingstelsel word memorisering, nie kritiese denke nie, hoog geag. 'n Poësie klas wat gedurig van studente verwag om die teks te interpreteer en motiverings te verskaf vir hulle opinies is baie uitdagend -- en blykbaar vir party te oorweldigend. Maar daar was ook party studente wat hierdie selfde argument geneem het, en dit nie as 'n onoorkombare berg sien nie; maar 'n geleentheid vir groei. Een van hulle het op 'n keer vir my 'n wonderlike kompliment gegee. Hierdie is 'n handjie vol, maar waardevolle studente. En dit is vir hierdie groepie vir wie ek hierdie klas sal gee, al is daar net sewe van hulle.
Vandag het ons gesels oor wat poësie is en waarom dit van waarde is om poësie te leer. Beide is waardevolle vrae wat ek dalk in 'n essay wil omsit, miskien vir pypaanlyn of een of ander, ander publikasie.
"Still I Rise"
My favourite poem in English is Maya Angelou's "Still I Rise." I can still remember the first time I read it and the feeling of empowerment it gave me. Every time I read it again it has the same effect. Maya Angelou does an excellent recital of it in the video below.
I also love how Ben Harper put it to music:
I also love how Ben Harper put it to music:
Gedig
A Creative Commons image by RickHarris
Op persketakke lê soos watte die voorvrugte.
Só, op my hart blom my liefde – onverdun.
My beminde, hou nie jou rooi hart gegrendel nie:
die hart is ’n papie wat eens nog moet vlerke kry,
wat oop moet maak soos biddende hande na gebed,
soos ’n lotus voor die son, soos twee pare lippe
vir mekaar, soos bene vir bekende heupe,
soos vriende se kaalpersoonlikhede.
Want in die laat winter bot die perskes
en deur die koue groei die liefde soos tienerborste.
My beminde, hou nie jou soet mond toe nie:
laat my tong soos ’n vinger jou snare stram,
jou perkussie plekke kielie, jou diep liefdesgrotte
maak eggo soos roepende katedraalklokke,
wat luidkeels ween oor die hoog gestookte liefde
en jou brandstapel waarop ek hartstogtelik verteer.
Hoogsomer dra die perskebome swaar aan vrugte
en loop die harte oor van bloed en liefde.
My beminde, vergeet nie die ou verhale nie:
van Adam (óf Romeo) wat deel aan die giftige perskes
en deel aan die lot, want die liefde se drif vrees nie
die dood nie, dit loop doelgerig die duisternis in –
braaf soos Christus, wánt, my beminde,
die slot van die dood bind nie die liefde nie.
Gedig: Haas terug
"Hot Stuff" by Lilivanili
Haas haastig terug, my beminde,terug voordat jou rooirissie rusplekafkoel voordat jou blossende borste(spitsige rooiwangperskes) skaam wordvoordat jou gedoude lippe soos misvoor die dag kom gou-gou terug!Kom terug my beminde, vóór ek sterf!
One of my favourie John Keats (love) poems
Bright Star
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)