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I loved you /Ja vas ljubil – Aleksandr Pushkin Junho 6, 2009

Filed under: Aleksandr Pushkin,poetry — looking4good @ 12:54 am

I loved you: and perhaps this love
in my soul has not yet died out;
But I do not wish it to trouble you any more:
I do not want to grieve you with anything.

I loved you silently, hopelessly,
now timid, now jealous;
May God grant that another someday will love you
as sincerely, as tenderly as I did.

Translation by Emily Ezust

Ja vas ljubil: ljubov’ jeshchjo, byt’ mozhet,
V dushe mojej ugasla ne sovsem;
No pust’ ona vas bol’she ne trevozhit:
Ja ne khochu pechalit’ vas nichem.

Ja vas ljubil bezmolvno, beznadezhno,
[To robost’ju, to revnost’ju tomim:]
Ja vas ljubil tak iskrenno, tak nezhno,
Kak daj vam Bog ljubimoj byt’ drugim.

Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (Александр Сергеевич Пушкин), (n. em Moscovo 6 Jun 1799 [O.S. May 26] 1799–m. 10 Feb [O.S. January 29] 1837)


Pompeii – Charles Bernstein Abril 4, 2009

Filed under: poetry — looking4good @ 2:45 am

The rich men, they know about suffering
That comes from natural things, the fate that
Rich men say they can’t control, the swell of
The tides, the erosion of polar caps
And the eruption of a terrible
Greed among those who cease to be content
With what they lack when faced with wealth they are
Too ignorant to understand. Such wealth
Is the price of progress. The fishmonger
Sees the dread on the faces of the trout
And mackerel laid out at the market
Stall on quickly melting ice. In Pompeii
The lava flowed and buried the people
So poems such as this could be born.

From here

Charles Bernstein (born April 4, 1950 in New York City, NY, USA)


The Road Not Taken – Robert Frost Março 26, 2009

Filed under: poetry,Robert Frost — looking4good @ 2:45 am

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Lee Frost (b. San Francisco, California, USA, March 26, 1874 – d. Boston, Massachusetts, USA, Jan. 29, 1963)


If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda Março 21, 2009

Filed under: Pablo Neruda,poetry — looking4good @ 12:28 am

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Pablo Neruda, born Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto (b. Parral, Chile, 12 Jul 1904 — d. Santiago, 23 Sept. 1973)


Mar. 21: World Poetry Day – Dia Mundial da Poesia

Filed under: culture,Day,poesia,poetry — looking4good @ 12:13 am
image from here

World Poetry Day is commemorated on March 21. This day was declared by UNESCO (the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) in 1999. The purpose of the day is to promote the reading, writing, publishing and teaching of poetry throughout the world and, as the UNESCO session declaring the day says, to “give fresh recognition and impetus to national, regional and international poetry movements.”
To mark this year’s World Poetry Day, UNESCO will pay tribute to Chilean poet Pablo Neruda (1904-1973), who was also a Nobel Prize Laureate in Literature. Nothingandall associates to this homage and publishes more poems by this famous author.


The Jasmin – Giorgos Seferis Março 13, 2009

Filed under: Giorgos Seferis,poetry — looking4good @ 2:29 am
JasminJasminum polyanthum image from here

Whether it’s dusk
or dawn’s first light
the jasmin stays
always white.

Giorgos or George Seferis (Γιώργος Σεφέρης) was the pen name of Geōrgios Seferiádēs (Γεώργιος Σεφεριάδης, 13 March [O.S. 29 February] 1900 -Sep 20, 1971)


Refugee Blues – W. H. Auden Fevereiro 21, 2009

Filed under: poetry,W. H. Auden — looking4good @ 1:50 am

Say this city has ten million souls,
Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:
Yet there’s no place for us, my dear, yet there’s no place for us.

Once we had a country and we thought it fair,
Look in the atlas and you’ll find it there:
We cannot go there now, my dear, we cannot go there now.

In the village churchyard there grows an old yew,
Every spring it blossoms anew:
Old passports can’t do that, my dear, old passports can’t do that.

The consul banged the table and said,
“If you’ve got no passport you’re officially dead”:
But we are still alive, my dear, but we are still alive.

Went to a committee; they offered me a chair;
Asked me politely to return next year:
But where shall we go to-day, my dear, but where shall we go to-day?

Came to a public meeting; the speaker got up and said;
“If we let them in, they will steal our daily bread”:
He was talking of you and me, my dear, he was talking of you and me.

Thought I heard the thunder rumbling in the sky;
It was Hitler over Europe, saying, “They must die”:
O we were in his mind, my dear, O we were in his mind.

Saw a poodle in a jacket fastened with a pin,
Saw a door opened and a cat let in:
But they weren’t German Jews, my dear, but they weren’t German Jews.

Went down the harbour and stood upon the quay,
Saw the fish swimming as if they were free:
Only ten feet away, my dear, only ten feet away.

Walked through a wood, saw the birds in the trees;
They had no politicians and sang at their ease:
They weren’t the human race, my dear, they weren’t the human race.

Dreamed I saw a building with a thousand floors,
A thousand windows and a thousand doors:
Not one of them was ours, my dear, not one of them was ours.

Stood on a great plain in the falling snow;
Ten thousand soldiers marched to and fro:
Looking for you and me, my dear, looking for you and me.

Wystan Hugh Auden (b. 21 February 1907 in York, England – d. 29 September 1973 in Vienna, Austria)

Translated In Portuguese


A Song – Iossif Brodskij Janeiro 28, 2009

Filed under: Iossif Brodskij,poetry — looking4good @ 1:19 am
sofa image from here

I wish you were here, dear, I wish you were here.
I wish you sat on the sofa
and I sat near.
the handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin-bound.
Though it could be, of course,
the other way around.

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish we were in my car,
and you’d shift the gear.
we’d find ourselves elsewhere,
on an unknown shore.
Or else we’d repair
To where we’ve been before.

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish I knew no astronomy
when stars appear,
when the moon skims the water
that sighs and shifts in its slumber.
I wish it were still a quarter
to dial your number.

I wish you were here, dear,
in this hemisphere,
as I sit on the porch
sipping a beer.
It’s evening, the sun is setting;
boys shout and gulls are crying.
What’s the point of forgetting
If it’s followed by dying?

Joseph Brodsky (gebürtig Iossif Alexandrowitsch Brodskij, russisch Иосиф Александрович Бродский; b. 24. Mai 1940 in Leningrad; † 28. Jan, 1996 in New York)


Jean / Joaninha – Rober Burns on 250th birthday Janeiro 25, 2009

Filed under: poesia,poetry,Robert Burns — looking4good @ 6:41 pm
Flores – imagem daqui

OF a’ the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo’e best:
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And monie a hill between;
But day and night may fancy’s flight
Is ever wi’ my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu’ birds,
I hear her charm the air:
There’s not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There’s not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o’ my Jean.

Em Português

Anda alegria no vento
sempre que vem do sol-pôr:
lá donde vive a serrana
que me enfeitiçou d’amor…
Lá nos montes, pelas fontes,
pelos pinhais, vai sozinha…
A cada momento, o vento
me faz lembrar – Joaninha!

Vejo-as nas florinhas tenras,
que dá graça de as olhar;
ouça-a no trilo das aves
que põe bruxedo no ar:
a papoila que floresce
por entre a messe, ou na vinha,
o rouxinol que gorjeia,
só me dizem – Joaninha!

trad. Luís Cardim – in Rosa do Mundo 2001 Poemas para o Futuro, Assírio & Alvim

Robert Burns (b. Alloway, Ayrshire, Scotland, 25 Jan. 1759; d. Dumfries, Scotland 21 Jul 1796).


For Music / Estrofes para a Música – Lord Byron Janeiro 22, 2009

Filed under: Lord Byron,poesia,poetry — looking4good @ 2:15 am
Moon – image from here Uploaded by rene j

THERE be none of Beauty’s daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmèd ocean’s pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull’d winds seem dreaming:

And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o’er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant’s asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer’s ocean.

Em Português:

Não há filha da Beleza
Com mágica como a tua
E, tal música nas águas,
Tua voz em mim atua:
Quando, com seu som vem motivar
O encantado oceano a vacilar,
As ondas pairam calmas e brilhando
E os ventos em sossego divagando:

E a lua à meia-noite elaborando
Seu luzente colar sobre a descida;
O seio docemente palpitando
Como criança adormecida:
Assim o espírito inclinado a ti
A fim de ouvir e adorar a ti
Com plena mas suave comoção,
Como o inflar do oceano do Verão.

Tradução de José Lino Grünewald.

Lord Byron – George Gordon Byron (b. 22 Jan. 1788 in London, England, UK; d. 19 Apr. 1824, Missolonghi, Greece)

Read /Ler from the same author Stanzas for Music – Estâncias para Música