Post by jeannerené on Oct 27, 2007 7:09:26 GMT -8
My favorites...............
I copied this poem down many years ago, while in High School I believe. I still love this poem as much as the first time I read it.
MORE STRONG THAN TIME
by: Victor Hugo (1802-1885)
Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;
Since it was given to me to hear one happy while,
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;
Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,
A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days;
I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,
Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.
Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget.
This English translation of "More Strong than Time" was composed by Andrew Lang (1844-1912).
**************
Rod McKuen ...I loved his poetry as a teen. I went to a concert of his once, and made my way backstage, lying and saying that I was from my high school news paper, reviewing the concert .... and could I please ..... please .... go in and get Mr. McKuen's autograph. I am sure that I didn't fool anyone......... BUT ..... I got into his dressing room back stage .... there were several others there ..... and I did get his autograph ... I still carry it in my wallet ..........lol...........
McKuen, not only a poet, is also a past president of The National Committee for the Prevention of Child Abuse. He came out publicly in 1977 with his best selling book FINDING MY FATHER which detailed his own abuse. He also is a former president of the American Guild of Variety Artists, a post he held longer than any other man or woman elected.
STANYAN STREET
You lie bent up in embryo sleep
below the painting of the blue fisherman
without a pillow.
The checkered cover kicked and tangled on the floor
the old house creaking now
a car going by
the wind
a fire engine up the hill.
I’ve disentangled myself from you
moved silently,
groping in the dark for cigarettes,
and now three cigarettes later
still elated
still afraid
I sit across the room watching you -
the light from the street lamp
coming through the shutters
hysterical patterns flash on the wall sometimes
when a car goes by
otherwise there is no change.
Not in the way you lie curled up.
Not in the sounds that never come from you.
Not in the discontent I feel.
You’ve filled completely
this first November day
with Sausalito and sign language
canoe and coffee
ice cream and your wide eyes.
And now unable to sleep
because the day is finally going home
because your sleep has locked me out
I watch you and wonder at you.
I know your face by touch when it’s dark
I know the profile of your sleeping face
the sound of you sleeping.
Sometimes I think you were all sound
kicking free of covers
and adjusting shutters
moving about in the bathroom
taking twenty minutes of our precious time.
I know the hills
and gullies of your body
the curves
the turns.
I have total recall of you
and Stanyan Street
because I know it will be important later.
It’s quiet now.
Only the clock,
moving toward rejection tomorrow
breaks the stillness.
- from "Stanyan Street & Other Sorrows", 1965, 1966
I copied this poem down many years ago, while in High School I believe. I still love this poem as much as the first time I read it.
MORE STRONG THAN TIME
by: Victor Hugo (1802-1885)
Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;
Since it was given to me to hear one happy while,
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;
Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,
A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days;
I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,
Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.
Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget.
This English translation of "More Strong than Time" was composed by Andrew Lang (1844-1912).
**************
Rod McKuen ...I loved his poetry as a teen. I went to a concert of his once, and made my way backstage, lying and saying that I was from my high school news paper, reviewing the concert .... and could I please ..... please .... go in and get Mr. McKuen's autograph. I am sure that I didn't fool anyone......... BUT ..... I got into his dressing room back stage .... there were several others there ..... and I did get his autograph ... I still carry it in my wallet ..........lol...........
McKuen, not only a poet, is also a past president of The National Committee for the Prevention of Child Abuse. He came out publicly in 1977 with his best selling book FINDING MY FATHER which detailed his own abuse. He also is a former president of the American Guild of Variety Artists, a post he held longer than any other man or woman elected.
STANYAN STREET
You lie bent up in embryo sleep
below the painting of the blue fisherman
without a pillow.
The checkered cover kicked and tangled on the floor
the old house creaking now
a car going by
the wind
a fire engine up the hill.
I’ve disentangled myself from you
moved silently,
groping in the dark for cigarettes,
and now three cigarettes later
still elated
still afraid
I sit across the room watching you -
the light from the street lamp
coming through the shutters
hysterical patterns flash on the wall sometimes
when a car goes by
otherwise there is no change.
Not in the way you lie curled up.
Not in the sounds that never come from you.
Not in the discontent I feel.
You’ve filled completely
this first November day
with Sausalito and sign language
canoe and coffee
ice cream and your wide eyes.
And now unable to sleep
because the day is finally going home
because your sleep has locked me out
I watch you and wonder at you.
I know your face by touch when it’s dark
I know the profile of your sleeping face
the sound of you sleeping.
Sometimes I think you were all sound
kicking free of covers
and adjusting shutters
moving about in the bathroom
taking twenty minutes of our precious time.
I know the hills
and gullies of your body
the curves
the turns.
I have total recall of you
and Stanyan Street
because I know it will be important later.
It’s quiet now.
Only the clock,
moving toward rejection tomorrow
breaks the stillness.
- from "Stanyan Street & Other Sorrows", 1965, 1966
