قصائد أجنبية

هي قصيدة بقلم الفنان كاتسوشيكا هوكوساي، وهي قصيدة مدروسة عن الكتابة، يستخدم الشاعر استعارة لتصوير كيفية عمل سيرته.

.THE POOL PLAYERS                    .SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL

These islands not picture postcards for unravelling tourist you know these islands real

Morning and island man wakes up to the sound of blue surf in his head the steady breaking and wombing

,For the green turtle with her pulsing burden .in search of the breeding ground .For her eggs laid in their nest of sickness

That spring was late. We watched the sky .and studied charts for shouldering isobars .Birds were late to pair. Crows drank from the lamb's eye

As far as I am concerned .We are driving into oblivion ,On either side there is nothing And beyond your driving .Shaft of light it is black

We once watched a crowd .pull a drowned child from the lake Blue lipped and dressed in water’s long green silk .she lay for dead

I am sitting in the wrong room listening For the wrong baby. I don’t love This baby. She is sleeping a snuffly ;Roseate, bubbling sleep; she is fair

,It takes much time to kill a tree Not a simple jab of the knife Will do it. It has grown ,Slowly consuming the earth

,My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun ;All felled, felled, are all felled Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared, not one

!Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies  !O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air  !The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there  !Down in dim woods the diamond delves! the elves’-eyes 

My own heart let me more have pity on; let ,Me live to my sad self hereafter kind Charitable; not live this tormented mind .With this tormented mind tormenting yet

;Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee  Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man  ;In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can  .Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be 

,Don't knock at my door, little child ,I cannot let you in You know not what a world this is .Of cruelty and sin

There’s an indescribable beauty in union In two beings forming one new being Entering each other’s world Surrendering each other’s selves

,There may be chaos still around the world ;This little world that in my thinking lies For mine own bosom is the paradise .Where all my life’s fair visions are unfurled

When their time comes they fall .without wind, without rain They seep through the trees’ muslin .in a slow fermentation

.It chanced his lips did meet her forehead cool .She had no blush, but slanted down her eye :Shamed nature, then, confesses love can die And most she punishes the tender fool !Who will believe what honours her the most

born 19.6.32—deported 24.9.42 Undesirable you may have been, untouchable you were not. Not forgotten .or passed over at the proper time

,I never saw a Purple Cow ,I never hope to see one

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعرة جسينا ملوبي، وهي صرخة حشد للنساء للوقوف في وجه مضطهديهن في جميع أنحاء القارة الأفريقية.

Lay down these words .Before your mind like rocks placed solid, by hands In choice of place, set

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر غالواي كينيل، وهي قصيدة جميلة عن الأبوة والحب، تقدم هذه القطعة مشهدًا مألوفًا غالبًا ما يحدث في حياة الزوجين.   ملخص قصيدة After Making Love We Hear Footsteps   ظهرت هذه القصيدة في مجموعة شعر (Galway Kinnell ،Mortal Acts ،Mortal Words)، التي نُشرت في عام 1980، وهي القصيدة الثانية المتعلقة بالقطعة […]

It is 12:20 in New York a Friday three days after Bastille day, yes it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton

.I am not a painter, I am a poet Why? I think I would rather be ,a painter, but I am not. Well

Lana Turner has collapsed! I was trotting along and suddenly it started raining and snowing and you said it was hailing

a man who had fallen among thieves lay by the roadside on his back dressed in fifteenthrate ideas wearing a round jeer for a hat

Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall ,She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens And she is dying piece-meal .of a sort of emotional anemia

.Don't be polite .Bite in Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that .may run down your chin