So much depends upon . . .
- Will O'B
- Posts: 1169
- Joined: Thu Apr 15, 2004 12:53 pm
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: The Other Side Of The Glen (i.e. A Long Way From Tipperary)
- Contact:
So much depends upon . . .
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
w.c.w.
Will O'
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
w.c.w.
Will O'
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!
- flynnieous
- Posts: 63
- Joined: Fri Dec 02, 2005 3:57 pm
- antispam: No
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 8
- Location: Chicago, IL, USA
wcw
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Ca ... s">William Carlos Williams</a>
Matt Flynn
Chicago, IL
Chicago, IL
- Dale
- The Landlord
- Posts: 10293
- Joined: Wed May 16, 2001 6:00 pm
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: Chiff & Fipple's LearJet: DaleForce One
- Contact:
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
-- e. e. cummings
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
-- e. e. cummings
- Dale
- The Landlord
- Posts: 10293
- Joined: Wed May 16, 2001 6:00 pm
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: Chiff & Fipple's LearJet: DaleForce One
- Contact:
..and another love poem...I thinks it must be hard to write a good love poem, free of cliche and strained sentiment.
Exile
by Hart Crane
My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, --
No, -- nor my lips freed laughter since 'farewell',
And with the day, distance again expands
Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.
Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.
A dove's wings clung about my heart each night
With surging gentleness, and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.
Exile
by Hart Crane
My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, --
No, -- nor my lips freed laughter since 'farewell',
And with the day, distance again expands
Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.
Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.
A dove's wings clung about my heart each night
With surging gentleness, and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.
Yeah, well poetry is the last legal high, it moves me too,
but, you see, we didn't write it.
I was reading Sartre's Nausea and there's the long passage
where he's sitting in a park looking at a tree, and it becomes
this shape, brown and textured, a thing, not a root, not
a branch, sinuous etc.
Mescaline, I figured. So I got hold of Hazel Barnes,
who translated Being and Nothingness. Mescaline,
she agreed. Sartre had a friend at the Sorbonne
who was doing experiments with mescaline.
People were tripping through fields of wild flowers,
they thought. So he invited Sartre to try it.
Sartre had the first bad trip, he thought he was being
chased by lobsters and other crustacea, and for years
after thought he was being followed by lobsters.
Well, at least he got some publishable literature out
of it.
The question remains: what is Dale using?
but, you see, we didn't write it.
I was reading Sartre's Nausea and there's the long passage
where he's sitting in a park looking at a tree, and it becomes
this shape, brown and textured, a thing, not a root, not
a branch, sinuous etc.
Mescaline, I figured. So I got hold of Hazel Barnes,
who translated Being and Nothingness. Mescaline,
she agreed. Sartre had a friend at the Sorbonne
who was doing experiments with mescaline.
People were tripping through fields of wild flowers,
they thought. So he invited Sartre to try it.
Sartre had the first bad trip, he thought he was being
chased by lobsters and other crustacea, and for years
after thought he was being followed by lobsters.
Well, at least he got some publishable literature out
of it.
The question remains: what is Dale using?
- Bloomfield
- Posts: 8225
- Joined: Mon Oct 15, 2001 6:00 pm
- antispam: No
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 8
- Location: Location: Location:
- Tyler
- Posts: 5816
- Joined: Fri Apr 29, 2005 9:51 am
- antispam: No
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 8
- Tell us something.: I've picked up the tinwhistle again after several years, and have recently purchased a Chieftain v5 from Kerry Whistles that I cannot wait to get (why can't we beam stuff yet, come on Captain Kirk, get me my Low D!)
- Location: SLC, UT and sometimes Delhi, India
- Contact:
Should we be relieved or frightened?DaleWisely wrote:I reject all recreational drugs and I do not drink. My own native brain chemicals are at work here.jim stone wrote: The question remains: what is Dale using?
“First lesson: money is not wealth; Second lesson: experiences are more valuable than possessions; Third lesson: by the time you arrive at your goal it’s never what you imagined it would be so learn to enjoy the process” - unknown
- Dale
- The Landlord
- Posts: 10293
- Joined: Wed May 16, 2001 6:00 pm
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: Chiff & Fipple's LearJet: DaleForce One
- Contact:
Now we need a flute poem. This is from Li Po, 8th century.
First, translated by Wai-Lim Yip
HEARING THE FLUTE IN THE CITY OF LOYANG IN A SPRING NIGHT Li Po
Whose jade-flute is this, notes flying invisibly
Scatter into spring winds, fulling City of Loyang?
Hearing the "Break-a-Willow-Twig" tonight,
Who can withhold the surge of thoughts of home?
and translated here by someone else--can't find the credit:
Spring Night in Lo-yang Hearing a Flute
In what house, the jade flute that sends these dark notes drifting,
scattering on the spring wind that fills Lo-yang?
Tonight if we should hear the willow-breaking song,
who could help but long for the gardens of home?
I'm interested in the translation problems these guys have to deal with. You've got the chinese characters and translating more or less literally, here's what you have:
Line 1:
whose house jade flute dark/invisible/subdued flying/fleeting sound
Line 2:
scatter enter spring wind/s fill Lo City
Line 3:
this night tune middle hear break (name of a tune) willow
Line 4
what man not arouse/move/stir old-(home) garden thought/feeling
That's it. That's what they have to work from.
Just looking at the transliteral, you could go:
From whose house, whose jade flute, fly these dark notes
scattering on the spring wind, filling Loyang?
When, on this night, hearing the willow-breaking song,
What man would not be moved of thoughts of his garden, his home?
First, translated by Wai-Lim Yip
HEARING THE FLUTE IN THE CITY OF LOYANG IN A SPRING NIGHT Li Po
Whose jade-flute is this, notes flying invisibly
Scatter into spring winds, fulling City of Loyang?
Hearing the "Break-a-Willow-Twig" tonight,
Who can withhold the surge of thoughts of home?
and translated here by someone else--can't find the credit:
Spring Night in Lo-yang Hearing a Flute
In what house, the jade flute that sends these dark notes drifting,
scattering on the spring wind that fills Lo-yang?
Tonight if we should hear the willow-breaking song,
who could help but long for the gardens of home?
I'm interested in the translation problems these guys have to deal with. You've got the chinese characters and translating more or less literally, here's what you have:
Line 1:
whose house jade flute dark/invisible/subdued flying/fleeting sound
Line 2:
scatter enter spring wind/s fill Lo City
Line 3:
this night tune middle hear break (name of a tune) willow
Line 4
what man not arouse/move/stir old-(home) garden thought/feeling
That's it. That's what they have to work from.
Just looking at the transliteral, you could go:
From whose house, whose jade flute, fly these dark notes
scattering on the spring wind, filling Loyang?
When, on this night, hearing the willow-breaking song,
What man would not be moved of thoughts of his garden, his home?