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2009-10-15 13:08:00 ????????? ?????? ???????????????????????? ?????????????? ?????????? ?????????????? ??????????????? ????????????? ??????????? ??????????????-?? ?????????? ??????????????? ?????????? ??????????? ??????????? ???????????? ????????????? ?????????? ?????????????????? ???????????????? ??????????????? ??????????? ???????????? ????????????? ????????????? ????????????? ?????????????????? ???????????????????????????? ???????????????? ??????????? ???????????? ???????????????? ??????? ?????????? ?????????????? ?????????????? ?????????????? ??????????????????????? ?????????????????????? ?????????????????? ?????????? ??????????? ?????????? ??????????? ???????????????????? ?????????????? ????????????? ????????????????? ????????????? ????????????? ??????????? ????????? ??????? ?????????? ??????????? ?????????? ?????? ???????? ??????????? ???????????????? ???????????????? ????????????????? ????????????????? ?????????? ???????????? ????????? 15 Oct, 2009 Every secret of a writer's ...
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2009-09-30 18:03:00 ?????????????? ?????????????? ??????????????????? ......... ......... ????????????? ????????????? ????????????????????????? ?????????????? ??????????????? ??????? ?????????? ?????????? ??????????????? ?????? ??????????????? ??????????????? ?????????????? ???????????? ?????????????? ?????????????? ????????? ????????????? ??????????????? ??????????? ?????????????????? ???????? ????????????? ???????????????? ????????????? ?????? ??????????????????????? ?????Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf) http://blog.nyilynnseck.com
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2009-09-03 22:54:00 ????????????????????????????? ???????????? ???????????????????????????????-??????????????????????????????- ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-????????????? ???????????????????????????????-????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????- ??? ????????? ??????? ????????????????????? ?????????????? ?????????? ????????? ?????????? ???????? ?????? ????? ????????????????? ??????????? ??????????? ??????????????? ?????? ??????????? ??????????? ?????????? ?????????? ?????????????????? ?????? ???????????????? ??????? ?????????? ???????????Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf) http://blog.nyilynnseck.com
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2009-09-03 22:54:00 ????????????????????????????? ???????????? ???????????????????????????????-??????????????????????????????- ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-????????????? ???????????????????????????????-????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????- ??? ????????? ??????? ????????????????????? ?????????????? ?????????? ????????? ?????????? ???????? ?????? ????? ????????????????? ??????????? ??????????? ??????????????? ?????? ??????????? ??????????? ?????????? ?????????? ?????????????????? ?????? ???????????????? ??????? ?????????? ???????????http://blog.nyilynns-eck.com Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf)
Civil War Poem: ?The Blue and the Gray,? by Francis Miles Finch
2009-08-31 20:29:00 Video of Francis Miles Finch reading “The Blue & the Gray” The Blue and the Gray by Francis Miles Finch By the flow of an inland river, When the fleets of iron have fled Where the blades of the grave grass quiver, Asleep are the ranks of the dead. Under the sod ...
Bad Poetry Day: can you write Chicago's worst poem?
2009-08-17 19:22:00 Photo/TorontoistBad Poetry Day is tomorrow! To celebrate, I'm asking you, readers dear, to write me the worst poem in Chicago. The worst! I mean a really, really crummy poem. It can be sappy, it can be cheesy, it can be funny, it can be all of the above just as long as it is a bad poem. I want the worst of the worst!...
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2009-08-05 14:33:00 ????????????? ??????????? ??????????? ?????????????? ??????????? ???????????????? ????????????????? ???????????? ????????? ??????????????? ??????????????? ??????????????? ?????????????????? ????????? ??????????? ????????????? ?????????????? ???????????????? ????????????????? ???????????? ??????????? ????????????????????? ????????????????? ?????????????? ???????????????? ??????? ??????????? ????????? ????????? ???????????? ???????? ?????????? ???????????????? ??????????????????? ??????? ???????????? (???????? ??????????????????? ??????????? ???????????????? ??????????????? ????????????? ???????????????????)???????????-???????????? ???????? ??????????????????????????????- ???????? ??????????????????????????????- ???????????????????????????? ????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-????????????????? ???????????????????????? ???????? ??????????????????????????????- ??????????? ????? ???????????????????????????????-?? ????????????????????????????? ?????? ???...
libingquan created a new blog: my poem
2009-08-04 02:03:00 libingquan created a new blog: my poem
By: BackBeat
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2009-08-02 12:57:00 ???????????????????????????????-? ???????????????????????????????-? ???????????????????????????????-?????? ??????????? ?????????????????Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf)
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2009-08-02 12:57:00 ???????????????????????????????-? ???????????????????????????????-? ???????????????????????????????-???????? ??????????? ?????????????????Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf) http://blog.nyilynnseck.com
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2009-08-02 12:46:00 ??????????? ????????? ???????????? ???????? ?????????????? ???????????? ?????????????? ??????? ?????? ????????????????? ?????? ????? ????? ??????????????? ??????????????? ????? ???????? ??????????????????????????(????-?)??????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?????????????? ????????????????????????.??????-??????????????????????????? ????????????????????????? ????????????Source: http://maungkhinlay.blogspot.co-m/2009/07/blog-post_31.html [link]Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf)
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2009-07-17 13:16:00 ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-????Tree, tree, why are you crooked?The heron perched on me.Heron, heron, why did you perch?To watch a fish.Fish, fish, why did you rise?Because the buffalo waded.Buffalo, buffalo, why did you wade?Because the herd beat me.Herd, heard, why did you beat?Because I was hungry for rice.Rice, rice, why weren't you boiling?Because the fire didn't blaze.Fire, fire, why didn't you blaze?Because the firewood was damp.Firewood, firewood, why were you damp?Because the rain rained.Rain, rain, why did you fall?Because the frog called.Frog, frog why did you call?Because I was thirsty.Little blackguard frog in the well under the ...
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2009-07-13 11:10:00 ??????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????? ??????????????? ???????????????? ???????????????? ??????????????????? ??????????????? ?????????????? ??????????? ??????????? ???????????????????????????????-??????????????? ??????????? ?????????? ??????????????????? ??????????? ???????????????? ????????????????? ??????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????? ???????????????? ???????? ??????????????? ???????????????? ???????????????? ????????????????? ????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????? ???????????????? ????????????????????? ???????????????????? ??????????????? ????????????????? ???????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????? ?????????????????? ??????????????? ?????????????????In the wet seasonPa-e-tha-ya-zaIn the wet season,When the rain falls,Wife and dear husband go happily holding hands.The clothes on their bodies,Both shirt and sarong,Are torned and tattered,But they had a head-cloth of bright red cotton,Their little so...
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2009-07-13 11:10:00 ??????? ???????????????????????????????-????????????????????????????? ??????????????? ???????????????? ???????????????? ??????????????????? ??????????????? ?????????????? ???????????? ??????????? ???????????????????????????????-??????????????? ??????????? ?????????? ??????????????????? ??????????? ???????????????? ????????????????? ??????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????? ???????????????? ???????? ??????????????? ???????????????? ???????????????? ????????????????? ????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????? ????????????????? ????????????????????? ???????????????????? ??????????????? ????????????????? ???????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????? ?????????????????? ??????????????? ?????????????????In the wet seasonPa-e-tha-ya-zaIn the wet season,When the rain falls,Wife and dear husband go happily holding hands.The clothes on their bodies,Both shirt and sarong,Are torned and tattered,But they had a head-cloth of bright red cotton,Their little...
A Present of Cheroots by Dr. Hla Pe
2009-07-06 15:57:00 ???????????????????????? ????????????????????? ????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-??????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-????????A PRESENT OF CHEROOTSAnonymousI did not buy them: with mine own hands I cut the fresh leaves.Without the aid of fire, unable to dry them in the sun,I had to keep them under my bed.They are for you to smoke.I nip them off near the pedicle with my front teeth.Sweet as none other are these tobacco-rolls.Without the aid of silk, but binding them with a single cotton thread,To my sweetheart since youth who is going to Golden AvaI send them as a present.Hla Pe???????????? ?????? ?????????? ?????????????? ??????? ??????????? ????????????????? ???????????? ????????????Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf)
Toddy-Climbing by Padethayaza
2009-07-05 16:06:00 TODDY-CLIMBINGBy Padethayaza (ob. A.D. 1754)????????? ??????????(????????????????????-)????????In the beginning of the hot weather, when haze rises,With his ladder and inseparable pot,His sharp knife stuck in his waist,To the tari buds and tari branches luxuriantly sprouting,With his seat slung from his shoulder he climbs.????????? ?????????? ???????????????? ??????????????????? ????????????? ??????????????? ?????????????????? ?????????????????? ???????????????? ???????????????Tari stalks and spreading tari leavesHe cuts and notches amain to win the first fresh tari juice.His loving wife collects the tari juice.He shouts and cries to his sons and grandsons and calls to the dogs and pigs.And, behold! a hare-net corded with tari-fibre.?????????????? ???????????????? ??????????????? ??????????????????? ?????????? ???????????????? ??????????????? ?????????????? ???????????????????????????????-??????The noise of calling resounds; men are clamorous;Dogs yelp, men yell; they strike and beat....
Poem in Pirene's Fountain
2009-06-23 02:23:00 This came out while I was traveling. I have a poem, "Late Night Jazz," in Pirene's Fountain, May 2009 (2:5).Check it out by clicking here.?Three Musicians, 1921? Pablo Picasso (reprinted in Pirene's ...
Kansas is just a concept (Sunday's Poem, 22)
2009-06-21 15:04:00 Reading Moby-Dick at 30,000 Feet by Tony HoaglandAt this height, Kansasis just a concept,a checkerboard design of wheat and cornno larger than the foldout sectionof my neighbor's travel magazine.At this stage of the journeyI would estimate the distancebetween myself and my own feelingsis roughly the same as the mileagefrom Seattle to New York,so I can lean back into the upholstered intervalbetween Muzak and lunch,a little bored, a little old and strange.I remember, as a dreamybackyard kind of kid,tilting up my head to watchthose planes engrave the skyin lines so steady and so straightthey implied the enormous concentrationof good men,but now my eyes flickerfrom the in-flight movieto the stewardess's pantyline,then back into my book,where men throw harpoons at somethingmuch bigger and probablybetter than themselves,wanting to kill it,wanting to see great clouds of blood eruptto prove that they exist.Imagine being born and growing up,rushing through the world for sixty yearsat ...
A Poem by Langston Hughes
2009-06-07 23:00:00 Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,I heard a Negro play.Down on Lenox Avenue the other nightBy the pale dull pallor of an old gas lightHe did a lazy sway ....He did a lazy sway ....To the tune o' those Weary Blues.With his ebony hands on each ivory keyHe made that poor piano moan with melody.O Blues!Swaying to and fro on his rickety stoolHe played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.Sweet Blues!Coming from a black man's soul.O Blues!In a deep song voice with a melancholy toneI heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan--"Ain't got nobody in all this world,Ain't got nobody but ma self.I's gwine to quit ma frownin'And put ma troubles on the shelf."Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.He played a few chords then he sang some more--"I got the Weary BluesAnd I can't be satisfied.Got the Weary BluesAnd can't be satisfied--I ain't happy no mo'And I wish that I had died."And far into the night he crooned that tune.The stars wen...
By: SqueezeMyLemon
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2009-06-04 15:49:00 ???????????? ?????????????? ???????????????????????? ?????????????? ?????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????- ???????? ???????? ??????????????????????? ?????????? ???????????????????????????????-????????? ??????????????????????????????- ???????????????????????????? ?????????????????????? ??????????????????????????? ???????????????????????? ?????????????????? ????????????????????????????? ???????? ?????????????????????? ?????????????? ????????????????4 June, 2008Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf)
I had trouble making up my mind. (Sunday's poem, 18).
2009-05-24 14:38:00 Cows In Art Class by Charles Bukowskigood weatheris likegood women-it doesn't always happenand when it doesit doesn'talways last.man ismore stable:if he's badthere's more chancehe'll stay that way,or if he's goodhe might hangon,but a womanis changedbychildrenagedietconvers-ationsexthe moonthe absence orpresence of sunor good times.a woman must be nursedinto subsistenceby lovewhere a man can becomestrongerby being hated._________________________-_______________________________-_Here's the poems I considered for today: Recessional, by Kipling, a couple by Dylan Thomas including Fern Hill, and then Hymn by Poe, before settling on Cows In Art Class, which I picked simply by title. Before I read it, I felt like maybe Bukowski and I would have something in common because he was writing about cows and I once wrote a song about cows, but my song was a lot happier and more upbeat than his poem.I also disagree with his conclusions. But it's a great poem.Also: I'm working on my own po...
This is what I REALLY learned in school (Sunday's Poem, 17)
2009-05-17 13:52:00 Why Latin Should Still Be Taught in High School by Christopher BurskBecause one day I grew so boredwith Lucretius, I fell in lovewith the one object that seemed to be stationary,the sleeping kid two rows up,the appealing squalor of his drooping socks.While the author of De Rerum Natura was making funof those who fear the steep way and lose the truth,I was studying the unruly hairs on Peter Diamond?s right leg.Titus Lucretius Caro labored, dactyl by dactylto convince our Latin IV class of the atomiccomposition of smoke and dew,and I tried to make sense of a boy?s ankles,the calves? intriguingresiliency, the integrity to the shank,the solid geometry of my classmate?s body.Light falling through blinds,a bee flinging itself into a flower,a seemingly infinite set of textsto translate and now this particular configuration of atomswho was given a name at birth,Peter Diamond, and sat two rows in front of me,his long arms, his legs that like Lucretius?s hexametersseemed to go on forever...
BONO POEM TO ELVIS ? AMERICAN DAVID
2009-05-12 14:16:00 Recurso: U2 FANLIFE Mañana (13 de Mayo), en la BBC Radio 4 podremos escuchar, en su propia voz, el poema que Bono escribió sobre Elvis Presley en 1994, American David La grabación tuvo lugar hace dos años en Ten Alps (productora del amigo de Bono, Bob Geldof), y se incluyo en un reportaje radiofónico sobre ...
By: SAL U2 PODCAST
Mom, Thrice Over: (Sunday's Poem, 16)
2009-05-10 13:30:00 Poems About Moms!To My Mother by Christina RossettiTo-day's your natal day;Sweet flowers I bring:Mother, accept, I prayMy offering.And may you happy live,And long us bless;Receiving as you giveGreat happiness._____________________-_______________________________-_______________________Mother Doesn't Want a Dog by Judith ViorstMother doesn't want a dog.Mother says they smell,And never sit when you say sit,Or even when you yell.And when you come home late at nightAnd there is ice and snow,You have to go back out becauseThe dumb dog has to go.Mother doesn't want a dog.Mother says they shed,And always let the strangers inAnd bark at friends instead,And do disgraceful things on rugs,And track mud on the floor,And flop upon your bed at nightAnd snore their doggy snore.Mother doesn't want a dog.She's making a mistake.Because, more than a dog, I thinkShe will not want this snake._________________________-_______________________________-___________To My Mother by Robert Louis Ste...
BOOK: Intimate an Experience (2009)
2009-05-05 21:34:00 The new book and first edition of Intimate an Experience: An intimate experience that can change. Free distribution. Unexplained Patterns! Poetry. read more &raqu-o;
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2009-05-04 05:41:00 ???????????????????????????????-?????? ??????????????????????? ???????????? ???????????????????????????????-?? ???????????????????????????????-???????? ????????? ???????????????????????????????-??? ??????? ???????????????????????????????-??????? ???????????????? ???????????????????????????????-? ??????? ?????????????? ???????????????????????????????-??? ???????????????????????????????-????? ???????????????????????????????-???? ???????????????????????????????-????? ????????????? ????????????????????????? ???????????? ???????????????????????????????- ????????? ??????????????????????????????- ????????? ?????????????????? ?????????????? ????????????????? ??????????????????????? ???????????? ?????????? ??????????????????????????? ????????? ??????????????????? ??????????? ?????? ??????????????? ????? ????????? ?????????????????? ????????????????????? ?????????????????? ?????????????????? ??????????????????????? ????????????????? ?????? ??????????????????????? ???? ????????????? ?????????????????? ???...
The bumper cars would be by e e cummings. (Sunday's Poem 15)
2009-05-03 14:13:00 I felt a Funeral, in my Brain (280) by Emily DickinsonI felt a Funeral, in my Brain,And Mourners to and froKept treading ? treading ? till it seemedThat Sense was breaking through ?And when they all were seated,A Service, like a Drum ?Kept beating ? beating ? till I thoughtMy Mind was going numb ?And then I heard them lift a BoxAnd creak across my SoulWith those same Boots of Lead, again,Then Space ? began to toll,As all the Heavens were a Bell,And Being, but an Ear,And I, and Silence, some strange RaceWrecked, solitary, here ?And then a Plank in Reason, broke,And I dropped down, and down ?And hit a World, at every plunge,And Finished knowing ? then ?______________________________-______I was never a fan of Emily Dickinson's. I never got her, to be honest. But I'm still reading that August 4, 2008 edition of the New Yorker -- the New Yorker is the only magazine I actually read cover-to-cover -- and I got to an article that reviewed a book about Emily Dickinson, and that actu...
I'm feeling critical today: (Sunday's Poem 14)
2009-04-26 15:25:00 Playgrounds by Laurence Alma-TademaIn summer I am very gladWe children are so small,For we can see a thousand thingsThat men can't see at all.They don't know much about the mossAnd all the stones they pass:They never lie and play amongThe forests in the grass:They walk about a long way off;And, when we're at the sea,Let father stoop as best he canHe can't find things like me.But, when the snow is on the groundAnd all the puddles freeze,I wish that I were very tall,High up above the trees._________________________-___________I've been reading Shel Silverstein's "Where The Sidewalk Ends" to Mr F, three poems a night, usually, and I've come to a conclusion.Shel Silverstein is overrated.I had these memories of "Where The Sidewalk Ends" and knew that everyone loved it and remembered the good poems that everyone remembers, but when you read that whole book, beginning to end, you come up with this: A lot of the poems are junk. They don't have rhythm, they're not very clever,...
"Imaginary blogs with real poets in them." (Sunday's Poem 13)
2009-04-19 15:10:00 Poetry by Marianne Moore I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyondall this fiddle.Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, onediscovers init after all, a place for the genuine.Hands that can grasp, eyesthat can dilate, hair that can riseif it must, these things are important not because ahigh-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but becausethey areuseful. When they become so derivative as to becomeunintelligible,the same thing may be said for all of us, that wedo not admire whatwe cannot understand: the batholding on upside down or in quest of something toeat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tirelesswolf undera tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horsethat feels a flea, the base-ball fan, the statistician--nor is it validto discriminate against "business documents andschool-books"; all these phenomena are important. One must mak...
Wishing All This Week At Windows (Sunday's Poem 12)
2009-04-12 13:44:00 Do You Want Affidavits?by: Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)There's a hole in the bottom of the sea.Do you want affidavits?There's a man in the moon with money for you.Do you want affidavits?There are ten dancing girls in a sea-chamber off Nantucket waiting for you.There are tall candles in Timbuctoo burning penance for you.There are--anything else?Speak now--for now we stand amid the great wishing windows--and the law says we are free to be wishing all this week at the windows.Shall I raise my right hand and swear to you in the monotone of a notary public? this is "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."________________________-_______________________________-_____An "affidavit" is a sworn statement. This is the first, and only, poetic use of the word "affidavits" I've ever seen.True fact: Over 1/2 of the lawyers I talk to use the word "affi-david." As though you're swearing out a Dave.
A juice box, and incense sticks (Sunday's Poem, 11)
2009-03-29 19:41:00 Zozo-ji by Dana Levin Buddhist temple, Tokyo One cry from a lone bird over a misted riveris the expression of grief, in Japanese. Let womendo what they need. And afterwards knit a red cap, pray?In long rows, stone children in bibs and hats, the smell of pine and cooled earth?It was a temple for the babied dead. I found it via the Internet.Where they offered pinwheels and bags of sweetsfor the aborted ones, or ones who'd lived but not enough?Moss-smell, I can project there.Azaleas pinking the water.When her lord asked her again how it died, she said As an echo off the cliffs of Kegon. ?ukiyo: in Japanese it sounds like "Sorrowful World"winds trying to hold each other in silken robeswhat in English sounds like "Floating World"a joke on the six realms in which we tarrywhat they called the "Sorrowful World": wheel made of winds trying to cling to each other ? A ...
Adjustable Love At The Zoo Times Two: (Sunday's Poem #10)
2009-03-22 16:48:00 At the Zoo by William Makepeace ThackerayFirst I saw the white bear, then I saw the black;Then I saw the camel with a hump upon his back;Then I saw the grey wolf, with mutton in his maw;Then I saw the wombat waddle in the straw;Then I saw the elephant a-waving of his trunk;Then I saw the monkeys—mercy, how unpleasantly they smelt!_________________________-_______________________________-________It is a little-known fact about me that I know all the words to "At The Zoo" by Paul Simon. Here are the lyrics, and that song:Someone told meIts all happening at the zoo.I do believe it,I do believe its true.Its a light and tumble journeyFrom the east side to the park;Just a fine and fancy rambleTo the zoo.But you can take the crosstown busIf its raining or its cold,And the animals will love itIf you do.Somethin tells meIts all happening at the zoo.The monkeys stand for honesty,Giraffes are insincere,And the elephants are kindly butTheyre dumb.Orangutans are skepticalOf changes in their...
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2009-03-12 18:43:00 ???????????? ?????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?? ??????????? ?????????????????????? ?????????????????????? ????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-????????? ???????????????? ?????????????????????? ??????????? ???????????????? ???????????????????????????????- ????????????????? ????????????????? ?????????????? ?????????????? ??????????????????? ?????????????? ?????????????? ?????????????????? ???????????????????? ?????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?????? ???????? ???????????????? ???????????????????????????????- ??????????????? ???????????????????????? ??????????????? ?????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????? ?????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-??????????? ???????????????????????????? ???????????? ????????????????????????????? ?????????????????????? ????????????????????13.03.2009- (Friday)00:20 amPS: ???????? ??????????????????? ?????...
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2009-03-11 14:04:00 ?????????? ???????????????????????????????-????????????????????? ????????????????? ??????????? (????????)?????????????????????-????????? ???????????????????????? ??????? ?????????????????????????? ??????? ?????????????????..?????????? ????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?????????????? ??????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???? ?????????????????? ????????????? ???????????? ?? ???????????????????????????????-?????????????? ????????????????????? ???????????????????????? ?????????????????? ?????????????? ?????? ??????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?????? ?????????????????????????? ????????????????????? ???????????????????? ??????????........???????? (???????????????)?????...?????.-.. ?????...??....?????.... (???????????????????)PS: ???? ????????????????? ?????? ?????? ??????? ?????????? ???????? ?????????????????? ??????????????? ???????? ? ???????? ??????? ??????????????? ??????????????? ????????? ??????????????? ??????????????? ????????????...
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2009-03-11 13:50:00 ???????????+???????? ???????????????????????????????-??????????? ???????????????????????????????-??????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????? ???????????????????????????? ?????????? ???????? ???????????? (???????? ?????? ??????????????? ??????????????)?????????????PS:- ???????????? ????????????????? ?????????????????? ?????????????? ???????? ???????? :DEvery secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf)
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2009-03-11 13:25:00 ????????????? ?????????????...???????????????-??? ?????????????? ??????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-????????? ??????????????????????? ?????????????????????? ?????????????????????? ???????????????????? ??????????????????? (??? ???? ????. ??? ???? ???? )???????????? ???????????????????? ????????????????????? ???????????????????????????? .. ?????????????? ???????????????????? ???????? ?????????????????????? ?????????????? ????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????? ???????????????? ???????????????? ???????????????????????????????- ??????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?? ?????????????????? ???????????????????????? ???????????????????????? ??????????????????????? ?????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?? ???????????????????? ?????????? ????????????????????????????? ????? ???????? ??????????? ???????????????? ????????????????????????????? ????????????????????? ??????????????????????? ??????? ????????? ?????????????? ???????????????????????...
Well Those Passions Read: Sunday's Poem Number 8
2009-03-08 20:16:00 OzymandiasBy Percy Bysshe Shelley. I met a traveller from an antique landWho said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stoneStand in the desert. Near them on the sand,Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frownAnd wrinkled lip and sneer of cold commandTell that its sculptor well those passions readWhich yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.And on the pedestal these words appear:`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'Nothing beside remains. Round the decayOf that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,The lone and level sands stretch far away.**************************-****************Okay, so I have Watchmen on the brain. It's still a good poem. And, if you know the poem, that makes the character Ozymandias in the movie, and his actions, that much more poignant -- and demonstrates why he was named Ozymandias.
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2009-03-07 03:15:00 ???????????????? ????????????????? ??????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???? ?????????????????????????? ????????????????????????? ???????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?????????????? ?????????? ???????????????????????????????-??????????????? ?????? ?????????????????? ????????????-???????????????????????????????-????? ?????????????? ??????????????????? ??????????????????? ???????? ??????????????????????-???? ??????????????? ???????????????-???????????????????????????????-????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-? ???????????????????????????????-?????????????????????? ????????????????????????????? ???????????????? ????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???? ???????????? ????????? ????????? ???????????? ???? ??????? ????????????????? ?????????? ???????????? ????????? ??????????????? ??? ???????????? ???????????????? ???????? ????? ?????????????? ??????? ?????????????????? ???????????? ?????????? ??????? ?????????...
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2009-03-03 13:44:00 ?????????????? ??????????? ?????????? ???????????????????????? ??????????????????????????????- ??????????????????????????????- ??????????? ?????????? ??????????????????????? ??????????????? ??????????????- ??????????????????? ?????????????????????? ????????????????????? ????????????????????? ??????????? ???????????????????????????? ??????? ??????????????????????????? ??????????????? ???????????? ????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?? ???????? ???????????????????????????????- ???????????????????????????????- ???????? ???????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?????? ??????????????????????????????- ?????????? ?????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-?????????? ???????????????????????? ???????????????????? ?????? ????????????????????????? ????????????...???????????????- ????????????...???????????????- ????????????...???????????????- ??????????? ?????????? ?????????????N. ???????03 March, 2009Every secret of a writer's soul, every experi...
Who thinks most has the skinniest blood: Sunday's Poem Number 7
2009-03-01 16:46:00 We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths by Philip James BaileyWe live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;In feelings, not in figures on a dial.We should count time by heart-throbs. He most livesWho thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.And he whose heart beats quickest lives the longest:Lives in one hour more than in years do someWhose fat blood sleeps as it slips along their veins.Life's but a means unto an end; that end,Beginning, mean, and end to all things?God.The dead have all the glory of the world._________________________-________________________I'd like to say that I fully appreciated this poem for its message -- that we should live life by focusing on the meaning of the things we do, not by how long it lasts. I'd also like to say that I was able to enjoy the way the poet occasionally plays with grammar, like when he changes up the expected order of words and thoughts in the line "Lives in one hour more than in years do some."But the ...
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2009-02-26 18:06:00 ??????????????? ????????????????? ??????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????? ????????? ?????????? ??????????????? ???????????????????????????????-?????????? ????????????????? ??????????????? ???????????????????????????????-???? ????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????- ????????????????????? ???????????????????????? ????????????????????????? ???????????????? ??????????? ???????????? ??????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????? ?????????????? ????????????????????? ??????? ???????????? ???????????????????????? ????? ???????????????????????????????-?? ?????????????????? ???????????????????????? ??????????????????? ????????????????????????26 Feb, 200911:40 PM???????????? ??????????? ????????? ?????????-?? ???????????? ????????????? ??????? ???????? ??????????? ????????????? ????? ??????????? ????????????? ???????? ?????????????? ????????? ???????? ??????????? ??????????? ???????????? ?????? ??????????? ???????????? ???????????????????? ?????????? ????????????...
Dracul Van Helsing wrote a new blog post: Superman: A Poem
2009-02-26 01:46:00 Dracul Van Helsing wrote a new blog post: Superman: A Poem You can be strong, you can do no wrong you can outrun a train you can fly in the rain you can withstand the bullets of hate you can overcome your Kryptonian fate but if you're without love no nothing's the same even being Superman seems so lame. Is Clark Kent really a disguise? Who does Lois Lane see in her eyes? Who you are? Or what ...
By: BackBeat
The Triumph of Tenacity Over Nature. (Sunday's Poem Number 6)
2009-02-15 14:37:00 Spring is like a perhaps hand by E. E. CummingsSpring is like a perhaps hand(which comes carefullyout of Nowhere)arranginga window,into which people look(whilepeople starearranging and changing placingcarefully there a strangething and a known thing here)andchanging everything carefully**********************-*******************************-******************Yesterday's morning snowfall melted away in the afternoon and then refroze this morning on the steps, making me have to walk carefully when I went out to get the paper, and then walk carefully again when I left with my coffee to go to the office.But it didn't matter that there was ice on the stairs. When snow melts away in an afternoon, spring is on the way, no matter how hard winter clings.And it didn't matter that I was going to the office before I read the Sunday paper, because the comics in the Sunday paper are pretty awful.Sunday's Poem Number 5, here.
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2009-02-14 07:41:00 ???????????????????????????????-?????????? ???????????????? ??????????????????????? ???????????? ???????????????????????????????-??? ???????????????????? ????????????? ?????????????????-? ????????????????????? ????????????????????????????? ?-??????????????? ??????? ??????????????? ??????????????????????????????- ????????????? ???????????????????????? ?????????????? ??????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-?????????????????????????? ?????? ?????????? ???????????????????????? ??????-????? ?????????????????????????? ???????????? ??????????? ????????? ????????????????? ??????? ???????????????????????????????-???????? ?????????? ??????? ???????????????????????????????-????? ???????? ???????????????????December 03, 2008Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf)
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2009-02-14 07:41:00 ???????????????????????????????-?????????? ???????????????? ??????????????????????? ???????????? ???????????????????????????????-??? ???????????????????? ????????????? ?????????????????-? ????????????????????? ????????????????????????????? ?-??????????????? ??????? ??????????????? ??????????????????????????????- ????????????? ???????????????????????? ?????????????? ??????????? ???????????????????????????????-???????? ???????????????????????????????-???????????????????????????????-?????????????????????????? ?????? ?????????? ???????????????????????? ??????-????? ?????????????????????????? ???????????? ??????????? ????????? ????????????????? ??????? ???????????????????????????????-???????? ?????????? ??????? ???????????????????????????????-????? ???????? ???????????????????December 03, 2008Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. (Virginia Woolf)
Love is things that have been said many times (Sunday's Poem Number 5)
2009-02-08 13:31:00 It was raining in Delftby Peter GizziA cornerstone. Marble pilings. Curbstones and brick.I saw rooftops. The sun after a rain shower.Liz, there are children in clumsy jackets. Cobblestones and the sun now in a curbside pool.I will call in an hour where you are sleeping. I?ve been walking for 7 hrs on yr name day.Dead, I am calling you now.There are colonnades. Yellow wrappers in the square.Just what you?d suspect: a market with flowers and matrons, handbags.Beauty walks this world. It ages everything.I am far and I am an animal and I am just another I-am poem, a we-see poem, a they-love poem.The green. All the different windows.There is so much stone here. And grass. So beautiful each translucent electric blade.And the noise. Cheers folding into traffic. These things. Things that have been already said many times:leaf, zipper, sparrow, lintel, scarf, window shade._____________________...-
Is the alien a baby, or what? (Sunday's Poem: Number 3)
2009-01-25 16:48:00 The Alien by Greg DelantyI'm back again scrutinizing the Milky Wayof your ultrasound, scanning the darkmatter, the nothingness, that now the heads sayis chockablock with quarks & squarks,gravitons & gravitini, photons & photinos. Our sprout,who art there inside the spacecraftof your Ma, the time capsule of this printout,hurling & whirling towards us, it's all dafton this earth. Our alien who art in the heavens,our Martian, our little green man, we're anxiousto make contact, to ask divers questionsabout the heavendom you hail from, to discussthe whole shebang of the beginning&end,the pre?big bang untime before you forget the whyand lie of thy first place. And, our friend,to say Welcome, that we mean no harm, we'd diefor you even, that we pray you?re not hereto subdue us, that we?d put awayour ray guns, missiles, attitude and shareour world with you, little big head, if only you stay.**************************-**********************See what I mean by the hea...
praise song for the day | inauguration poem
2009-01-24 13:37:00 Each day we go about our business,walking past each other, catching each other?s eyes or not,about to speak or speaking.All about us is noise. All about us isnoise and bramble, thorn and din, eachone of our ancestors on our tongues.Someone is stitching up a hem, darninga hole in a uniform, patching a tire,repairing the things in need of repair.Someone is trying to make music somewhere,with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.A woman and her son wait for the bus.A farmer considers the changing sky.A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.We encounter each other in words, wordsspiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,words to consider, reconsider.We cross dirt roads and highways that markthe will of some one and then others, who saidI need to see what?s on the other side.I know there?s something better down the road.We need to find a place where we are safe.We walk into that which we cannot yet see.Say it plain: that many have died for this...
Antic commented on the blog post Hitomaro poem
2009-01-22 22:19:00 Antic commented on the blog post Hitomaro poem hello back
Antic wrote a new blog post: Hitomaro poem
2009-01-22 19:06:00 Antic wrote a new blog post: Hitomaro poem In the empty mountains The leaves of the bamboo grass Rustle in the wind. I think of a girl Who is not here. Hitomaro, trans. by Kenneth Rexroth
By: BackBeat
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