Author Topic: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery  (Read 5961 times)

Sajainta

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #30 on: April 18, 2011, 09:15:26 pm »
Nostalgia
Billy Collins

Remember the 1340s? We were doing a dance called the Catapult.
You always wore brown, the color craze of the decade,
and I was draped in one of those capes that were popular,
the ones with unicorns and pomegranates in needlework.
Everyone would pause for beer and onions in the afternoon,
and at night we would play a game called “Find the Cow.”
Everything was hand-lettered then, not like today.

Where has the summer of 1572 gone? Brocade and sonnet
marathons were the rage. We used to dress up in the flags
of rival baronies and conquer one another in cold rooms of stone.
Out on the dance floor we were all doing the Struggle
while your sister practiced the Daphne all alone in her room.
We borrowed the jargon of farriers for our slang.
These days language seems transparent, a badly broken code.

The 1790s will never come again. Childhood was big.
People would take walks to the very tops of hills
and write down what they saw in their journals without speaking.
Our collars were high and our hats were extremely soft.
We would surprise each other with alphabets made of twigs.
It was a wonderful time to be alive, or even dead.

I am very fond of the period between 1815 and 1821.
Europe trembled while we sat still for our portraits.
And I would love to return to 1901 if only for a moment,
time enough to wind up a music box and do a few dance steps,
or shoot me back to 1922 or 1941, or at least let me
recapture the serenity of last month when we picked
berries and glided through afternoons in a canoe.

Even this morning would be an improvement over the present.
I was in the garden then, surrounded by the hum of bees
and the Latin names of flowers, watching the early light
flash off the slanted windows of the greenhouse
and silver the limbs on the rows of dark hemlocks.

As usual, I was thinking about the moments of the past,
letting my memory rush over them like water
rushing over the stones on the bottom of a stream.
I was even thinking a little about the future, that place
where people are doing a dance we cannot imagine,
a dance whose name we can only guess.
« Last Edit: April 18, 2011, 09:18:00 pm by Sajainta »

Licawolf

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #31 on: May 23, 2011, 11:08:04 am »
I'm not into poetry actually, but from time to time I find a poem that I find beautiful and intriguing.

Enigmas
Pablo Neruda

You've asked me what the lobster is weaving there with
his golden feet?
I reply, the ocean knows this.
You say, what is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent
bell? What is it waiting for?
I tell you it is waiting for time, like you.
You ask me whom the Macrocystis alga hugs in its arms?
Study, study it, at a certain hour, in a certain sea I know.
You question me about the wicked tusk of the narwhal,
and I reply by describing
how the sea unicorn with the harpoon in it dies.
You enquire about the kingfisher's feathers,
which tremble in the pure springs of the southern tides?
Or you've found in the cards a new question touching on
the crystal architecture
of the sea anemone, and you'll deal that to me now?
You want to understand the electric nature of the ocean
spines?
The armored stalactite that breaks as it walks?
The hook of the angler fish, the music stretched out
in the deep places like a thread in the water?

I want to tell you the ocean knows this, that life in its jewel boxes
is endless as the sand, impossible to count, pure,
and among the blood-colored grapes time has made the petal
hard and shiny, made the jellyfish full of light
and untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall
from a horn of plenty made of infinite mother-of-pearl.

I am nothing but the empty net which has gone on ahead
of human eyes, dead in those darknesses,
of fingers accustomed to the triangle, longitudes
on the timid globe of an orange.

I walked around as you do, investigating
the endless star,
and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked,
the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.

---

I found the poem in english first, and I loved it, but now that I read it in the original spanish version I feel some of its meaning was lost  :(

Me habeis preguntado que hila el crustaceo
entre sus patas de oro
y os respondo: El mar lo sabe.
Me decis, que espera la ascidia en su campana trasparente? Que espera?
Yo os digo, espera como vosotros el tiempo.
Me preguntais: a quien alcanza el abrazo del alga Macrocustis?
Indagadlo, indagadlo a cierta hora, en cierto mar que conozco.
Sin duda me preguntareis por el marfil maldito del narwhal,
para que yo os conteste de que modo el unicornio marino agoniza arponeado.
Me preguntais tal vez por las plumas alcionarias que tiemblan
en los puros origenes de la marca austral?
Y sobre la construccion cristalina del polipo habeis barajado, sin duda,
una pregunta mas, desgranandola ahora?
Quereis saber la electrica materia de las puas del fondo?
La armada estalactita que camina
quebrandose?
El anzuelo del pez pescador, la musica extendida?
en la profundidad como un hilo de agua?

Yo os quiero decir que esto lo sabe el mar,
que la vida en sus arcas
es ancha como la arena, innumerable y pura
y entre las uvas sanguinarias el tiempo ha pulido la dureza de un petalo,
la luz de la medusa y ha desgranado el ramo de sus hebras de corales desde una cornucopia de nacar infinito.

Yo no soy sino la red vacia que adelanta
ojos humanos, muertos en aquellas tinieblas,
dedos acostumbrados al triangulo, medidas
de un timido hemisferio de naranja.

Anduve como vosotros escarbando
la estrella interminable,
y en mi red, en la noche, me desperte desnudo, unica presa, pez encerrado en el viento.

Mr Bekkler

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #32 on: May 23, 2011, 03:44:58 pm »
Another of my songs.
Quote from: Magic Hour
You say you're stuck between a rock and another rock
Well that place sounds pretty hard.
You say you're failing, well it's me who has already failed
But I'm trying to restart.

By the time you have a chance I might not be around
So take my hand, we'll dance while we still got our moves down

You say you're nothing, say you can't say, you've got nothing to say
Maybe you'd rather scream.
You say that your life is a day and that you're stuck in the dusk
And you just want to dream

They call it magic hour, where's your magic now?
Take my hand and dance til the lights go down.

And another
Quote from: Full of Fiction
Just when you think you got, then you're never gonna get it
Cause you think already got it, do you get it, yeah I got it, I know!
Don't use it then you lose it, can't cry when you cannot choose it
Yeah you thought it came in twos but now you're standing there all alone!

I'll find a way to get away
I'll find a way to get away
I'll find a way to get away
You're illigit, not it,
You're full of fiction

When you see it then believe it, if it's fake you can't conceive it
Take it home and you deceive but now you're giving it a vote, oh no!
You don't want to regret it, try and trying to forget it
Don't you want it? Come and get it! Or you gonna stand there and moan?!

I'll find a way to get away
I'll find a way to get away
I'll find a way to get away
You're illigit, not it,
So full of fiction


See if you can guess the relation between the two. They were written at very different times in my life.



SPOILS: The top one is a love song, or at least as close to one as I've ever written (as it happens, the girl it was written for cheated on me, so... good job I suppose). The bottom one is about my recent love life from an outside perspective (when I say you I mean me and when I say me I mean you) and how I've become a battered shell of a man when it comes to relationships.

tushantin

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #33 on: August 10, 2011, 05:28:58 pm »
Here's a blog full of amateur poetry from... no, I musn't spoil it for you.

But there's something very poetic about all this, allow me to explain:

Be a sinner and be forgotten,
Shunned away and become a monster;
But a sinner that is forgotten,
Embraces pen and art,
Retains his soul, his humanity.  


...What? Those are my good thoughts!

tushantin

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #34 on: September 29, 2011, 03:29:32 pm »
I don't normally like old Hindi songs, but when I opened my umbrella in the rain something lovely drew my attention:

Kisi ke muskurahato pe ho nissar,
Kisi ka dard mil sake to le udhar,
Kisi ke vaaste ho tere dil me pyar,
Jeena isee ka naam hai!


It was an old Hindi song played on the radio. If I remember correctly, it was from a scene in a movie where the actor sings in the rain.

Here's the translation:

If you can become martyr for someone's smile,
If you can get someone's pain that you can borrow,
If there is love in your heart for someone,
Then 'Living' would be its name.


Tried to be as accurate as possible, so hope it would suffice (sorry for the lack of rhyming in the translation; the feel of a poem gets lost in translations somehow). Sometimes I simply forget how beautiful the Hindi language can be in the right, poetic hands. It makes me yearn to seek more.


EDIT: Tried to rework the poetry in English. My poetic skills are dwindling...

If you've fallen a martyr for someone's smile,
If you've borrowed tears and pain unkind,
If you've poured your heart in love beguile,
You've truly 'lived' that love defined.
« Last Edit: September 29, 2011, 05:52:52 pm by tushantin »

tushantin

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #35 on: October 12, 2011, 09:32:05 am »
There was a recent phenomenon at Bollywood, and a beautiful one at that: Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (aka, "You won't get to live twice"), directed by Miss Zoya Akhtar who respects her audience as both intelligent and mature. The film itself wasn't the best, but it was certainly the most aesthetic in Bollywood standards, but what gave it "soul" was the famed poet Javed Akhtar's poetry.

It strikes a heart-sting at the best possible moment, and it goes to show the power in the Urdu language and how it makes even the most dyslexic bloke like me weep.

Urdu / Hindi poetry loses its appeal when translated, but since there's a chance you guys may not be able to see it. So here is one of those poems, and if you've loved it lemme know so I can translate the others too:


Pighlay neelam sa behta hua yeh samhaan
 Neeli neeli si khamoshiyaan
 Na kahin hai zameen
 Na kahin aasmaan
 Sarsaraati huyi tehniyaan, pattiyaan
 Keh rahi hain ki bas ek tum ho yahaan
 Sirf main hoon meri saansein hain aur meri dhadkanein
 Aisi gehraiyaan
 Aisi tanhaiyaan
 Aur main sirf main
 Apne honay pe mujhko yaqeen aa gaya



(Translation)

Like molten sapphire the moments flow
Silence deep as blue
There is neither earth below
Nor the sky above.
The rustling branches, the leaves
Say that only you are here.
Only me
My breath
My heartbeat
Such is the Depth
Such is that Loneliness
And me. Just me.
I now believe I exist.


(My attempt at translation)

Like molten blue float moments past,
That deep blue as silence cast,
No earth to land, no sky to glance,
In limbo I flow, lost perchance.
The rustle of leaves, the twigs and reeds
Have only to say that I'm here indeed.

Just me, my breath,
My beating heart.

And I'm lost in depth uncertain,
Lost in solitude, alone, unburdened,
As I sense that pulse in my wrist,
I have come to believe that I exist.



EDIT: Refined my translation to Javed Akhtar's poem. It's turned out quite different, though...
« Last Edit: October 12, 2011, 12:39:25 pm by tushantin »

tushantin

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #36 on: November 06, 2011, 07:57:20 am »
(Disclaimer: The following poetry is that of perspective art. If it's too morbid for your taste, please disregard it.)

Little Miss Burqa sat on the wall,
Her tears and reality had a great fall.
Eternity of Kings, their piers and men,
Turned to rubble and dust again.

tushantin

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #37 on: November 27, 2011, 04:36:47 pm »
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole,
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.

-- William Blake.

tushantin

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #38 on: November 28, 2011, 10:47:19 am »
Haha, loved this post! http://ghostlightning.wordpress.com/2010/09/15/kino-no-tabi-03-sometimes-travelers-turn-into-poets/

And now, for a poem:


The edge of my fading memories, the far off, frozen, unreachable life,
In a crack, in the mirror that no one can hold
Seven broken dolls sing silent tears of mud
Drain the maggots’ blood in the day that will never be returned,
And pierce the eyes with the briars of a clock
That crumbled to dust within seven days,

……..

The cruel judge records the faded letters of my life..
Only a bird with broken wings can sing the truth

………

With light only silence

………

Death is frozen all the way to the edge of its molecules
While the night loves eternity,
at the same time it chops down desire with a stone axe
Drink up the pain of a brain being split open!

………

The twelve winter messengers who were washed ashore
The mirage above the piece of paper
The spent country made of glass
The corpse sings with a necklace of many, many tears on its breast
The duck’s shadow on the cliff where light has ceased to exist
Will the blameless traveler ever tell of this story?

………

When nineteen cold moons have crossed the sky
After the day of pronouncement, and the night has passed
The world will end with the rising of the sun,
What else can we do other than smash the green plate

………

The blue lamplight roams about.
In the jewel of the night, the fake empire will sink into the water…

-- "Song of Sadness", Kino's Journey - Land of Prophecy
« Last Edit: November 28, 2011, 10:58:02 am by tushantin »

tushantin

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #39 on: January 28, 2012, 05:16:48 pm »
SHERLOCK FANS! Y U NO LIKE PROFESSOR CHALLENGER?!

*ahem*

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was known for Sherlock Holmes. What he's less known for is his other awesome character Professor Challenger (why did Crichton have to troll poor Doyle?) But what he's even less known for his...

... his poetry!

Quote from: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - CHRISTMAS IN WARTIME
Cheer oh, comrades, we can bide the blast
And face the gloom until it shall grow lighter.
What though one Christmas should be overcast,
If duty done makes all the others brighter.

Quote from: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - HAIG IS MOVING
Haig is moving!
Three plain words are all that matter,
Mid the gossip and the chatter,
Hopes in speeches, fears in papers,
Pessimistic froth and vapours—
Haig is moving!
Haig is moving!
We can turn from German scheming,
From humanitarian dreaming,
From assertions, contradictions,
Twisted facts and solemn fictions—
Haig is moving!
Haig is moving!
All the weary idle phrases,
Empty blamings, empty praises,
Here's an end to their recital,
There is only one thing vital—
Haig is moving!
Haig is moving!
He is moving, he is gaining,
And the whole hushed world is straining,
Straining, yearning, for the vision
Of the doom and the decision—
Haig is moving!

tushantin

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #40 on: January 30, 2012, 04:30:11 pm »
Quote from: William Butler Yeats
Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
but a brief, dreamy, kind of delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #41 on: January 30, 2012, 09:59:39 pm »
Super Bowl XLVI
by myself

On a brisk February eve
Fate shall be decided, and glory achieved.
Eli Manning shall hoist the Lombardi Trophy on high
And under those same illuminated night skies
Shall be heard the wailings and lamentations of Patriots fans
Who had their hopes and dreams denied
And crushed - for a second time.

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #42 on: January 30, 2012, 10:39:03 pm »
Quote from: Tact
roses are red, violet's aren't.
ron paul for president 2012 and
911 was an inside job.

oh man i could totally never do poetry. i'll stick to normal fiction for now. here's some bukowski:

Quote from: Charles Bukowski
   
About my very tortured friend, Peter.
he lives in a house with a swimming pool
and says the job is
killing him.
he is 27. I am 44. I can’t seem to
get rid of
him. his novels keep coming
back. “what do you expect me to do?” he screams
“go to New York and pump the hands of the
publishers?”
“no,” I tell him, “but quit your job, go into a
small room and do the
thing.”
“but I need ASSURANCE, I need something to
go by, some word, some sign!”
“some men did not think that way:
Van Gogh, Wagner—”
“oh hell, Van Gogh had a brother who gave him
paints whenever he
needed them!”


“look,” he said, “I’m over at this broad’s house today and
this guy walks in. a salesman. you know
how they talk. drove up in this new
car. talked about his vacation. said he went to
Frisco—saw Fidelio up there but forgot who
wrote it. now this guy is 54 years
old. so I told him: ‘Fidelio is Beethoven’s only
opera.’ and then I told
him: ‘you’re a jerk!’ ‘whatcha mean?’ he
asked. ‘I mean, you’re a jerk, you’re 54 years old and
you don’t know anything!’”


“what happened
then?”
“I walked out.”
“you mean you left him there with
her?”
“yes.”


“I can’t quit my job,” he said. “I always have trouble getting a
job. I walk in, they look at me, listen to me talk and
they think right away, ah ha! he’s too intelligent for
this job, he won’t stay
so there’s really no sense in hiring
him.
now, YOU walk into a place and you don’t have any trouble:
you look like an old wino, you look like a guy who needs a
job and they look at you and they think:
ah ha!: now here’s a guy who really needs work! if we hire
him he’ll stay a long time and work
HARD!”


“do any of those people,” he asks “know you are a
writer, that you write poetry?”
“no.”
“you never talk about
it. not even to
me! if I hadn’t seen you in that magazine I’d
have never known.”
“that’s right.”
“still, I’d like to tell these people that you are a
writer.”
“I’d still like to
tell them.”
“why?”
“well, they talk about you. they think you are just a
horseplayer and a drunk.”
“I am both of those.”
“well, they talk about you. you have odd ways. you travel alone.
I’m the only friend you
have.”
“yes.”
“they talk you down. I’d like to defend you. I’d like to tell
them you write
poetry.”
“leave it alone. I work here like they
do. we’re all the same.”
“well, I’d like to do it for myself then. I want them to know why
I travel with
you. I speak 7 languages, I know my music—”
“forget it.”
“all right, I’ll respect your
wishes. but there’s something else—”
“what?”
“I’ve been thinking about getting a
piano. but then I’ve been thinking about getting a
violin too but I can’t make up my
mind!”
“buy a piano.”
“you think
so?”
“yes.”


he walks away
thinking about
it.


I was thinking about it
too: I figure he can always come over with his
violin and more
sad music.

Sajainta

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #43 on: January 31, 2012, 05:38:38 am »
I love Bukowski.

Bluebird

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?

tushantin

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Re: The Chrono Compendium Poets Bakery
« Reply #44 on: January 31, 2012, 03:56:42 pm »
Damn, I'm going to look up Bukowski further!

Here's from mah buddy Tagore!

Quote
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up
into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason
has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action---
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Quote
The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.
I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my
voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet.
It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself,
and that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune.
The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own,
and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.
My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said `Here art thou!'
The question and the cry `Oh, where?' melt into tears of a thousand
streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance `I am!'

Quote
Art thou abroad on this stormy night
on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.
I have no sleep tonight.
Ever and again I open my door and look out on
the darkness, my friend!
I can see nothing before me.
I wonder where lies thy path!
By what dim shore of the ink-black river,
by what far edge of the frowning forest,
through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading
thy course to come to me, my friend?