Troubled Water

U mračnom uglu, tamo gde zraci sunca nikada ne dopiru, upredena u tvrdu čauru, visi nepomična gusenica u dubokom zimskom snu. Da li tako hladna i zatvorena išta o sebi zna? Dokle će još da živi u tami sna? Kada će joj doći proleće, da je oslobodi, pretvori u leptira? Tako i ti spiš, narode moj, bezbrižno bez ikakve želje, ne znaš ni za težinu zime, ni za lepotu leta. Probudi se! Proleće je stiglo. Oživi, preni se iz dubokog samrtničkog sna, raširi krila, pokaži svoje boje sunca! Slika - Mina Vitkojc (1893-1975) Die Zeit nach dem ersten Weltkrieg war Witkojcs produktivste Schaffenphase. Sie traf tschechische und obersorbische Studenten und Schriftsteller, die ihre Liebe zur Sprache und Literatur beflügelten, so dass sie in der Zeit der Weimarer Republik etliche Gedichte schrieb. Der Schwerpunkt der Werke dieser Zeit lag auf dem Erwachen ihres Nationalbewusstseins und den Naturbeschreibungen ihrer Heimat. Aus den Gedichten spricht die Sehnsucht, dass die sorbische Kultur bzw. das sorbis...

"A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth — that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way — an honorable way — in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, "The angels are lost in perpetual contem...

[...] Je montai et pendant plus d’une heure, dans l’appartement glacial, je lis la fin du livre qui me sembla inachevé... Tous les romans finissent par la mort ou le bonheur. Pour toi, Wouter, cela finit dans le coche d’eau, où tu es monté avec le vicaire pour aller racheter à Haarlem ton veston que tu avais vendu trop bon marché à un Juif, et acheter pour cette dame une ombrelle à la place de celle que tu avais brisée dans une colère... Oui, tu l’avais cassée de rage, je le comprends: pourquoi tes patrons t’invitent-ils chez eux à la campagne si c’est pour te faire garder l’enfant dans la chambre à cylindrer le linge? Tu n’es pas un domestique, tu es un employé: tu as eu raison de briser cette ombrelle, j’en aurais fait autant; mais te voilà quitte de ton habit et certes aussi de ta place. Tu comprends, jamais ils ne pourront encore te supporter... Tu fais bien d’aller à Haarlem avec le vicaire, mais ces deux créatures que vous rencontrez et avec qui vous voyagez, ça, ça... allons, to...

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne? Chorus: For auld lang syne, my jo, for auld lang syne, we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne. And surely ye'll be[b] your pint-stoup! and surely I'll be mine! And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne. Chorus We twa hae run about the braes, and pou'd the gowans fine; But we've wander'd mony a weary fit, sin' auld lang syne. Chorus We twa hae paidl'd in the burn, frae morning sun till dine;[c] But seas between us braid hae roar'd sin' auld lang syne. Chorus And there's a hand, my trusty fiere! and gie's a hand o' thine! And we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught, for auld lang syne. Chorus Auld Lang Syne - Robert Burns (1788) Tu as laissé sur la table une bande dessinée ouverte sur une double page. Dans l’émotion, ta femme s’appuie sur la table, le livre bascule...

Na mão de Deus, na sua mão direita, Descansou afinal meu coração. Do palácio encantado da Ilusão Desci a passo e passo a escada estreita. Como as flores mortais, com que se enfeita A ignorãncia infantil, despojo vão, Depus do Ideal e da Paixão A forma transitória e imperfeita. Como criança, em lobrega jornada, Que a mãe leva no colo agasalhada, E atravessa, sorrindo vagamente, Selvas, mares, areias do deserto… Dorme o teu sono, coração liberto, Dorme na mão de Deus eternamente. Antero de Quental Enviando «Na mão de Deus», desde Vila do Conde, a um amigo, escrevia-lhe Antero: «O meu pessimismo tem-se desvanecido com esta vida contemplativa no meio da boa natureza». Com o presente poema convém confrontar as seguintes palavras, que são de outra carta: «a nossa vida… verdadeiramente é só a vida da nossa alma, do misterioso e sublime eu que somos no fundo: ora esse Eu ou essa alma tem a sua esfera na região do impessoal: o seu mundo é o da abnegação, da pureza, da paciência e do contentamen...

I. The world is full of orphans: firstly, those Who are so in the strict sense of the phrase; But many a lonely tree the loftier grows Than others crowded in the Forest's maze— The next are such as are not doomed to lose Their tender parents, in their budding days, But, merely, their parental tenderness, Which leaves them orphans of the heart no less. II. The next are " only Children," as they are styled, Who grow up Children only, since th' old saw Pronounces that an "only's" a spoilt child— But not to go too far, I hold it law, That where their education, harsh or mild, Transgresses the great bounds of love or awe, The sufferers—be 't in heart or intellect— Whate'er the cause , are orphans in effect . III. But to return unto the stricter rule— As far as words make rules—our common notion Of orphan paints at once a parish school, A half-starved babe, a wreck upon Life's ocean, A human (what the Italians nickname) "Mule!" A theme ...

The Acta of his martyrdom and of his two deacons and fellow-sufferers, Eulogius and Augurius, are the most ancient Spanish Acta , and marked by a realistic simplicity which contrasts very favourably with many of the Acta of Diocletian's persecution. Prudentius made use of them in his hymn to the martyrs ( Felix Tarraco Fructuose vestris , etc., Peristeph. vi.), and they are largely quoted by St. Augustine (Serm. 273, Migne, Patr. Lat. xxxviii.). Under Valerian and Gallienus in the consulate of Aemilianus and Bassus (a.d. 259), Aemilianus Praeses of Tarragona issued an edict against the Christians, compelling all to sacrifice to the gods. Hearing this, bishop Fructuosus and the whole church of Tarragona gave themselves to unceasing prayer. One night, after Fructuosus had retired, four apparitores appeared at his gate and summoned him and his deacons before the Praeses. This was Sunday, and they remained in prison till Friday, enjoying, however, some intercourse with the brethren...

Braintree, 31 March, 1776. I wish you would ever write me a letter half as long as I write you, and tell me, if you may, where your fleet are gone; what sort of defense Virginia can make against our common enemy; whether it is so situated as to make an able defense. Are not the gentry lords, and the common people vassals? Are they not like the uncivilized vassals Britain represents us to be? I hope their riflemen, who have shown themselves very savage and even blood-thirsty, are not a specimen of the generality of the people. I am willing to allow the colony great merit for having produced a Washington; but they have been shamefully duped by a Dunmore. I have sometimes been ready to think that the passion for liberty cannot be equally strong in the breasts of those who have been accustomed to deprive their fellow-creatures of theirs. Of this I am certain, that it is not founded upon that generous and Christian principle of doing to others as we would that others should do unto us. Do n...

Sophie Taeuber-Arp - Oval Composition with Abstract Motifs (1922) Por algunha razón, souben que as palabras acabarían borrando a experiencia cando o poema chegase. Pero eu atopei o camiño de regreso ata este encontro: despídome do pecado. Os meus pés pisan a terra, acollen o seu tacto como se tocasen o mundo e aquilo que é salvaxe dispón a súa orde ao tempo que a memoria esvaece na textura. O descoñecido di: —Hai un peche entre a vida e a vida dos demais que estoura nun encontro. Non se pode escribir ese suceso con palabras prestadas. Cando a experiencia se impón, claudica o seu sentido. Daquela tiven que escoller entre a palabra e a vida. Escollín a vida. Pedinlle ao mundo que me abrise o seu rostro salvaxe. A vida salvaxe Primeiro pracer Oín dicir que o desexo é unha imaxe da infancia. Daquela o meu desexo acontece ao pé dun río nunha paisaxe asolagada polas augas onde dous rapaces xogan a arrolarse pola herba. Recordo a humidade do lugar. O cheiro a resina que ma...

My left hand has grown shaky, so I continue to write all’ebraico , Leonardo – you, Vitruvian star-man with the furnace in your entrails. My body too, which was so strong trembling, now at the mid-point of autumn in this seedy cedar octagon (my Oblomovian gazebo). Driving home from the store this morning I glimpsed, peeking above its Mississippi ridge layered with maroon oak leaf-shawls, a quaint white water tower, with conical green top – the famous Witch’s Hat – highest point (is she?) in flat Minneapolis – still there, still endearing as a vertical twig from a children’s fairy tale over my mother’s primary school (Sidney Pratt – still standing too). Later, she would spin with arm-muscle and leg-muscle the heavy wheel, she would etch in copper plate & knotty woodcut, unbreakable emblems of that early round wonder – that stone spiral spring lifted to the imagined perihelion of her so horizontal nesting-ground. Slowly growing there, beside the riverside swinging on her father’s ras...

En vn lugar de la Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme, no ha mucho tiempo que viuia vn hidalgo de los de lança en astillero, adarga antigua, rozin flaco, y galgo corredor. Vna olla de algo mas vaca que carnero, salpicon las mas noches, duelos, y quebrantos los Sabados, lantejas los Viernes, algun palomino de añadidura los Domingos, consumian las tres partes de su hazienda. El resto della concluîan, sayo de velarte, calças de velludo para las fiestas, con sus pantuflos de lo mismo, y los dias de entre semana se honraua con su vellori de lo mas fino. Tenia en su casa vna ama que passaua de los quarenta: y vna sobrina que no llegaua a los veynte, y vn moço de campo, y plaça, que assi ensillaua el rozin, como tomaua la podadera. Frisaua la edad de nuestro hidalgo con los cincuenta años. Era de complexion rezia, seco de carnes, enjuto de rostro, gran madrugador, y amigo de la caça. Quieren dezir, que tenia el sobre nombre de Quixada, ò Quesada (que en esto ay alguna diferencia en los...

Nunca se sabe quando estamos num lugar pela última vez. Numa casa que vai ser demolida, numa sala provisória que vai encerrar, num velho café que mudará de ramo, como página virada jamais reaberta, como canção demasiado gasta, como abraço tornado irrepetível, numa porta a que não voltaremos. Sala provisória Os livros duram séculos e falam da melodia da chuva, dos rios e dos mares, das fontes, dos húmidos beijos dos amantes, mas também morrem despedaçados num qualquer temporal que parte as vidraças e lhes tolhe as páginas numa brutal invasão líquida. E falam do fogo das paixões, de estrelas a arder no infinito, mas o convívio das chamas é-lhes vedado, apesar da torpe ignorância a isso os ter condenado tantas vezes. Quantos naufrágios e incêndios os destruíram, para depois ressurgirem múltiplos, audazes amigos tão antigos e tão novos. Os livros in Coisas Que Nunca, & etc., Lisboa, 2010 Nenhum destes poemas fará parte de um livro adoptado nas escolas. Há muito tempo que não escrevo az...