Beroemde Poëzie

Rutger Kopland



Jonge sla



Alles kan ik verdragen,

het verdorren van bonen,

stervende bloemen, het hoekje

aardappelen, kan ik met droge ogen

zien rooien, daar ben ik

werkelijk hard in.



Maar jonge sla in september,

net geplant, slap nog,

in vochtige bedjes, nee.

Der Panther



Im Jardin des Plantes, Paris



Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe

so müd geworden, daß er nichts mehr hält.

Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe

und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.



Der weiche Gang geschmeidig starker Schritte,

der sich im allerkleinsten Kreise dreht,

ist wie ein Tanz von Kraft um eine Mitte,

in der betäubt ein großer Wille steht.



Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille

sich lautlos auf -. Dann geht ein Bild hinein,

geht durch der Glieder angespannter Stille -

und hört im Herzen auf zu sein.





Rainer Maria Rilke

Uit: Neue Gedichte (1902-03)

Ow barbara, wat een deja vu, moest vroeger Der Panther uit het hoofd leren (was ca 8 en ik ken m nog -- - heeft veel indruk gemaakt)!

Dit is een oudje. Op youtube wordt het mooi voorgedragen; (link onderaan)





TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN (TELL ME LIES ABOUT VIETNAM)

I was run over by the truth one day.

Ever since the accident I’ve walked this way

So stick my legs in plaster

Tell me lies about Vietnam.



Heard the alarm clock screaming with pain,

Couldn’t find myself so I went back to sleep again

So fill my ears with silver

Stick my legs in plaster

Tell me lies about Vietnam.



Every time I shut my eyes all I see is flames.

Made a marble phone book and I carved all the names

So coat my eyes with butter

Fill my ears with silver

Stick my legs in plaster

Tell me lies about Vietnam.



I smell something burning, hope it’s just my brains.

They’re only dropping peppermints and daisy-chains

So stuff my nose with garlic

Coat my eyes with butter

Fill my ears with silver

Stick my legs in plaster

Tell me lies about Vietnam.



Where were you at the time of the crime?

Down by the Cenotaph drinking slime

So chain my tongue with whisky

Stuff my nose with garlic

Coat my eyes with butter

Fill my ears with silver

Stick my legs in plaster

Tell me lies about Vietnam.



You put your bombers in, you put your conscience out,

You take the human being and you twist it all about

So scrub my skin with women

Chain my tongue with whisky

Stuff my nose with garlic

Coat my eyes with butter

Fill my ears with silver

Stick my legs in plaster

Tell me lies, tell me lies about Vietnam.



© 1968, the estate of Adrian Mitchell

From: Out Loud



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3bVJAe8xVY

quote:kers schreef op 18 juli 2016 @ 18:55:

Ow barbara, wat een deja vu, moest vroeger Der Panther uit het hoofd leren (was ca 8 en ik ken m nog -- - heeft veel indruk gemaakt)!Ik vind het nog steeds zo mooi als toen ik het voor het eerst las. Het zit ook zo slim in elkaar.

Hermann Hesse



Nun der Tag mich müd gemacht,

Soll mein sehnliches Verlangen

Freundlich die gestirnte Nacht

Wie ein müdes Kind empfangen.



Hände, lasst von allem Tun,

Stirn, vergiss du alles Denken,

Alle meine Sinne nun

Wollen sich in Schlummer senken.



Und die Seele, unbewacht,

Will in freien Flügen schweben,

Um im Zauberkreis der Nacht

Tief und tausendfach zu Leben.

Ik hou meer van rijm. Bij sommige nummers, ik ben C&W fan, kan ik echt tranen in mijn ogen krijgen.

Toch denk ik dan vaak; In wat voor staat moet je zijn om zoiets op papier te krijgen?

Meestal is het alcohol of drugs (bij de song writers die ik dan ken) Je diepste gevoelens op papier zetten. En, zo denk ik dan, de volgende ochtend terug lees, en denken; Ja, dat ga ik publiceren.

Ik zelf zou mij doodschamen



Ik hou dan ook van mooie regels. één daarvan;

"Woman, you got the man inside my body tremblin' (Waylon Jennings)

Bedankt voor de input

Wordsworth



I WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.



Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.



The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:



For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

Jeetje, ik dacht niets met gedichten te hebben, maar hier staan pareltjes tussen



Erg mooi

Vind dit ook een fijn topic, loop al dagen te denken aan mooie woorden ooit geschreven....en nog zo van toepassing/herkenbaar.........

De laatste tijd voel ik me eenzaam en heb ik veel verliezen (uit het oog verloren) geleden van veel mensen, en dan heb ik echt zo veel aan gedichten merk ik.



Zoals aan onderstaande 2. Het is zo troostrijk te weten dat iemand die leefde voor mij of ver weg, begrijpt hoe ik me voel. Om zinnen als "I have walked out in rain - and back in rain" kan ik echt huilen van machteloze ontroering en opluchting. Prachtig!



I knew it the same at the end,

That you and your love were plighted,

But couldn’t you be my friend?

Couldn’t we sit in the twilight,

Couldn’t we walk on the shore

With only a pleasant friendship

To bind us, and nothing more?



There was not a word of folly

Spoken between us two,

Though we lingered oft in the garden

Till the roses were wet with dew.

We touched on a thousand subjects –

The moon and the worlds above, -

And our talk was tinctured with science,

And everything else, save love.



A wholly Platonic friendship

You said I had proven to you

Could bind a man and a woman

The whole long season through,

With never a thought of flirting,

Though both were in their youth,

What would you have said, my lady,

If you had known the truth!



What would you have done, I wonder,

Had I gone on my knees to you

And told you my passionate story,

There in the dusk and the dew?

My burning, burdensome story,

Hidden and hushed so long –

My story of hopeless loving –

Say, would you have thought it wrong?



But I fought with my heart and conquered,

I hid my wound from sight;

You were going away in the morning,

And I said a calm goodnight.

But now when I sit in the twilight,

Or when I walk by the sea

That friendship, quite Platonic,

Comes surging over me.

And a passionate longing fills me

For the roses, the dusk, the dew;

For the beautiful summer vanished,

For the moonlight walks – and you.

=Ella Wheeler Wilcox





Acquainted With The Night



I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.



I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.



I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,



But not to call me back or say good-bye;

And further still at an unearthly height,

One luminary clock against the sky



Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

=Robert Frost

Waar ik niet van houd is bv Maya Angelou



We, unaccustomed to courage

exiles from delight

live coiled in shells of loneliness

until love leaves its high holy temple

and comes into our sight

to liberate us into life.



Love arrives

and in its train come ecstasies

old memories of pleasure

ancient histories of pain.

Yet if we are bold,

love strikes away the chains of fear

from our souls.



We are weaned from our timidity

In the flush of love's light

we dare be brave

And suddenly we see

that love costs all we are

and will ever be.

Yet it is only love

which sets us free.



Te bedacht, killig/koud. Weet niet: vanuit hoofd geschreven en voor de hand liggend in eerste alinea ("shells of loneliness") en bv

Love arrives

and in its train come ecstasies



(beetje standaard metafoor)



en

In the flush of love's light

we dare be brave



Doet me denken aan wc-reiniger reclame.



Laatste regels ook ongelofelijke anticlimax. Nope. Vast een hele sterke vrouw (dat denk ik wel) en voorbeeld voor velen. Ja; dus kraak haar niet af. En ik vind sommige gedichten best ok. Maar haar stijl overall: nope, not for me.

ook mooi gedicht



https://www.youtube.com/w ... x2SGnJBfh5f2tSDBQI0iRjfdu

Fijn topic!



Mijn lievelings



The Peace of Wild Things



Wendell Berry



When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wow wat mooi zandlopertje..."I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief"



OMG



Heel krachtig gedicht, en ik ken de dichter niet. Ga eens wat meer van hem opzoeken...

Net dit gedicht ontdekt

Mooi dat beeld van 'endless vaults in iedereen' - heel (op)luchtig

Romanesque arches

by Tomas Tranströmer, translated by Robert Bly



Tourists have crowded into the half-dark of the enormous Romanesque church.

Vault opening behind vault and no perspective.

A few candle flames flickered.



An angel whose face I couldn't see embraced me

and his whisper went all through my body:

Don't be ashamed to be a human being—be proud!

Inside you one vault after another opens endlessly.

You'll never be complete, and that's as it should be.



Tears blinded me

as we were herded out into the fiercely sunlit piazza,

together with Mr and Mrs Jones, Herr Tanaka and Signora Sabatini—

within each of them vault after vault opened endlessly.

Nog een mooie van zelfde dichter:

PRACHTIG!!





Reply to a Letter



XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



In the bottom drawer I find a letter which arrived for the first time twenty- six years ago. A letter written in panic, which continues to breathe when it arrives for the second time.



A house has five windows; through four of them daylight shines clear and still. The fifth window faces a dark sky, thunder and storm. I stand by the fifth window. The letter.



Sometimes a wide abyss separates Tuesday from Wednesday, but twenty-six years may pass in a moment. Time is no straight line. but rather a labyrinth. and if you press yourself against the wall, at the right spot, you can hear the hurrying steps and the voices, you can hear yourself walking past on the other side.



Was that letter ever answered? l don`t remember, it was a long time ago. The innumberable thresholds of the sea continued to wander. The heart continued to leap from second to second, like the toad in the wet grass of a night in August.



The unanswered letters gather up above, like cirrostratus clouds foreboding a storm. They dim the rays of the sun. One day l shall reply. One day when l am dead and at last free to collect my thoughts. Or at least so far away from here that l can rediscover myself. When recently arrived I walk in the great city. On 25th Street, on the windy streets of dancing garbage. I who love to stroll and merge with the crowd,



a capital letter T in the infinite body of text.

In Flanders fields. Ik ken hem uit m'n hoofd en neurie hem vaak op de fiets. Zo intens.