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Poetry


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8 replies to this topic

#1
Ben No.3

Ben No.3

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Let's see how long this one survives.

First entry by Spanish Antonio Machado

Antonio Machado

Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino, y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que
nunca se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino,
Dino estelas en la mar.

My beautiful translation:

Wanderer, your footprints are
the path, and nothing else;
Wanderer, there is no path,
the path is created through walking.
Through walking, the path is created,
and when you take a look back,
you see the path, that you
will never again walk.
Wanderer, there is no path,
only backwash in the ocean.



Now, the poet lived from 1875-1939, however, I find this poem very fitting for existentialist philosophy. Which is probably why I like it.

Edited by Ben No.3, 04 May 2017 - 09:13 AM.

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#2
redneckdevil

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Very beautiful

#3
Ben No.3

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Very beautiful

Agreed.

An attempt at interpretation, as brief as humanly possible:

"Wanderer, your footprints are
the path, and nothing else;"
=no predetermined life, only your own choices (doomed to be free and so on)
"Wanderer, there is no path,
the path is created through walking."
=it's the decisions you take that form who you are (existence before essence and so on)
"Through walking, the path is created,
and when you take a look back,
you see the path, that you
will never again walk."
=probably the absolute character of your choices? Not sure though
"Wanderer, there is no path,
only backwash in the ocean."
=the inevitability of death, the senselessness of our actions and our lives (but of course, we have to imagine Sisyphus as a happy man).

Edited by Ben No.3, 04 May 2017 - 09:20 AM.


#4
TrueNeutral

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My fav poem remains

Antigonish by William Hughes Mearns

As I was going up the stair
I met a man who wasn't there!
He wasn't there again today,
Oh how I wish he'd go away!

When I came home last night at three,
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall,
I couldn't see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door...

Last night I saw upon the stair,
A little man who wasn't there,
He wasn't there again today
Oh, how I wish he'd go away...
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#5
Hurlshot

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Can we post our own? :p

 

Interstitial Interlude

 

Yesterday we cut the grass together

And I cannot shake the cut of your jib.

If nothing in life can last forever

The thought of you will be the last to give.

 

But my fave is Robert Frost:

 

Some say the world will end in fire, 
Some say in ice. 
From what I’ve tasted of desire 
I hold with those who favor fire. 
But if it had to perish twice, 
I think I know enough of hate 
To say that for destruction ice 
Is also great 
And would suffice.
 
The pacing and simplicity is fantastic.


#6
algroth

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Let's see how long this one survives.

First entry by Spanish Antonio Machado

Antonio Machado

Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino, y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que
nunca se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino,
Dino estelas en la mar.

My beautiful translation:

Wanderer, your footprints are
the path, and nothing else;
Wanderer, there is no path,
the path is created through walking.
Through walking, the path is created,
and when you take a look back,
you see the path, that you
will never again walk.
Wanderer, there is no path,
only backwash in the ocean.



Now, the poet lived from 1875-1939, however, I find this poem very fitting for existentialist philosophy. Which is probably why I like it.

And, of course, used for this song by Joan Manuel Serrat:

 

 

The whole album, Dedicado a Antonio Machado, Poeta, is superb and well worth tracking down.


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#7
Ben No.3

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Let's see how long this one survives.

First entry by Spanish Antonio Machado

Antonio Machado

Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino, y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que
nunca se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino,
Dino estelas en la mar.

My beautiful translation:

Wanderer, your footprints are
the path, and nothing else;
Wanderer, there is no path,
the path is created through walking.
Through walking, the path is created,
and when you take a look back,
you see the path, that you
will never again walk.
Wanderer, there is no path,
only backwash in the ocean.



Now, the poet lived from 1875-1939, however, I find this poem very fitting for existentialist philosophy. Which is probably why I like it.

And, of course, used for this song by Joan Manuel Serrat:

https://www.youtube....h?v=QHcypSLIp_A

The whole album, Dedicado a Antonio Machado, Poeta, is superb and well worth tracking down.


damn. Thanks :)

#8
Guard Dog

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My favorite is from Alexander Pope:

 

How happy he, who free from care
The rage of courts, and noise of towns;
Contented breathes his native air,
In his own grounds.

 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

 

Blest! who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide swift away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

 

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.

 

Thus let me live, unheard, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.


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#9
algroth

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"The Dong with a Luminous Nose", by Edward Lear

 


When awful darkness and silence reign
Over the great Gromboolian plain,
Through the long, long wintry nights; —
When the angry breakers roar
As they beat on the rocky shore; —
When Storm-clouds brood on the towering heights
Of the Hills of the Chankly Bore: —
 
Then, through the vast and gloomy dark,
There moves what seems a fiery spark,
A lonely spark with silvery rays
Piercing the coal-black night, —
A Meteor strange and bright: —
Hither and thither the vision strays,
A single lurid light.
 
Slowly it wander, — pauses, — creeps, —
Anon it sparkles, — flashes and leaps;
And ever as onward it gleaming goes
A light on the Bong-tree stems it throws.
And those who watch at that midnight hour
From Hall or Terrace, or lofty Tower,
Cry, as the wild light passes along, —
"The Dong! — the Dong!
"The wandering Dong through the forest goes!
"The Dong! the Dong!
"The Dong with a luminous Nose!"
 
Long years ago
The Dong was happy and gay,
Till he fell in love with a Jumbly Girl
Who came to those shores one day.
For the Jumblies came in a sieve, they did, —
Landing at eve near the Zemmery Fidd
Where the Oblong Oysters grow,
And the rocks are smooth and gray.
And all the woods and the valleys rang
With the Chorus they daily and nightly sang, —
"Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and the hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.
 
Happily, happily passed those days!
While the cheerful Jumblies staid;
They danced in circlets all night long,
To the plaintive pipe of the lively Dong,
In moonlight, shine, or shade.
For day and night he was always there
By the side of the Jumbly Girl so fair,
With her sky-blue hands, and her sea-green hair.
Till the morning came of that hateful day
When the Jumblies sailed in their sieve away,
And the Dong was left on the cruel shore
Gazing — gazing for evermore, —
Ever keeping his weary eyes on
That pea-green sail on the far horizon, —
Singing the Jumbly Chorus still
As he sate all day on the grassy hill, —
"Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and the hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.
 
But when the sun was low in the West,
The Dong arose and said;
— "What little sense I once possessed
Has quite gone out of my head!" —
And since that day he wanders still
By lake and dorest, marsh and hills,
Singing — "O somewhere, in valley or plain
"Might I find my Jumbly Girl again!
"For ever I'll seek by lake and shore
"Till I find my Jumbly Girl once more!"
 
Playing a pipe with silvery squeaks,
Since then his Jumbly Girl he seeks,
And because by night he could not see,
He gathered the bark of the Twangum Tree
On the flowery plain that grows.
And he wove him a wondrous Nose, —
A Nose as strange as a Nose could be!
Of vast proportions and painted red,
And tied with cords to the back of his head.
— In a hollow rounded space it ended
With a luminous Lamp within suspended,
All fenced about
With a bandage stout
To prevent the wind from blowing it out; —
And with holes all round to send the light,
In gleaming rays on the dismal night.
 
And now each night, and all night long,
Over those plains still roams the Dong;
And above the wail of the Chimp and Snipe
You may hear the squeak of his plaintive pipe
While ever he seeks, but seeks in vain
To meet with his Jumbly Girl again;
Lonely and wild — all night he goes, —
The Dong with a luminous Nose!
And all who watch at the midnight hour,
From Hall or Terrace, or lofty Tower,
Cry, as they trace the Meteor bright,
Moving along through the dreary night, —
"This is the hour when forth he goes,
"The Dong with a luminous Nose!
"Yonder — over the plain he goes;
"He goes!
"He goes;

"The Dong with a luminous Nose!"

 

As musicalized by Neil Ardley and narrated by Ivor Cutler:

 






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