Come to the orchard in Spring

Month
Filter by post type
All posts

Text
Photo
Quote
Link
Chat
Audio
Video
Ask

September 2012

Sep 27, 2012 2 notes
#Oscar #wild #Wilde #poem #poetry #verse #Romantic #vision #dorian
Sep 27, 2012
#Oscar #Wilde #wild #dorian #lament #poetry #poem #verse #Romantic
Sep 27, 2012 1 note
#Oscar #Wilde #wild #poetry #dorian #poem #verse #fragment #beautiful #star #crimson #lips #Romantic
Sep 27, 2012 4 notes
#Blue Jay #gergis #capote #poem #poetry #verse #blue #bleu #jay #bird
Sep 27, 2012 9 notes
#dream #girl #capote #poem #poetry #verse #love #heart
Sep 26, 2012 9 notes
#the flea #john #donne #poem #poetry #erotic #verse
Sep 26, 2012 6 notes
#bed #covering #elegy #john donne #lover #man #mistress #poe #poetry #sensual #sex #verses #women #erotic
Sep 25, 2012 7 notes
#There is some kiss we want #kiss #window #love #moon #door #rumi #poetry #poem #verse
Sep 25, 2012 38 notes
Sep 25, 2012 147,743 notes
Sep 24, 2012 4,234 notes
#Sylvia Plath #poetry #mad #girls #love #song
Letanía egoista


por Clara Lair



¡Ay, sólo quisiera
vivir las mismas cosas de distinta manera!

¡Volver a florecer; saberme florecida;
y balancearme al ritmo más quieto de la vida!

En el jardín salvaje del amor ser altiva
planta, que no florece sino al que la cultiva.

Desterrar de mi torre de reposo y de pan,
la pirueta a lo absurdo de Pierrot y Don Juan.

Oponer al foetazo encendedor del trópico,
el músculo de piedra de mi maestro exótico.

Mi maestro sajón, que burló mi donaire,
y que trocó mi canto en bostezos al aire.

¡Ay, sólo quisiera
vivir las mismas cosas de distinta manera!

No dar nada de más; dar sólo lo pedido;
y retirarlo al punto si no es retribuido.

En fría selección de rosales y eras,
desparramar mi yo por las cosas certeras.

Lanzar mi vanidad en la ruta trazada
de lo que ya está hecho, de lo que cuesta nada.

¡Volver a revivir, fuerte, dura y fornida,
y caminar atlética y autómata la vida!

¡Ay, sólo quisiera vivir
las mismas cosas de distinta manera!

¡Mirar el mundo todo como brusca humorada,
y a cambio de su nada darle también mi nada!

Sep 24, 2012 5 notes
#poema #poem #espanol #Mercedes Negrón Muñoz #Clara Lair #puerto rico
Sep 24, 2012 23 notes
#brawne #bright star #fanny #john keats #poet #poetry #romantic #sonnet #verse #star
Sep 24, 2012 7 notes
#sylvia plath #crossing #water #poem #poetry #author #verse
Sep 24, 2012 13 notes
#winter #trees #leaves #sylvia #plath #poetry #poem #verse #words #beautiful
Sep 24, 2012 12 notes
#Edmund #spencer #poetry #sonnet #75
Sep 24, 2012 64 notes
#shakespeare #147 #sonnet #poetry #english
Sep 24, 2012 35 notes
#Baudelaire #enivrez vous #get drunk #translation #french #poet #poem #poetry
"Get Drunk" by Charles Baudelaire

Always be drunk.
That’s it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time’s horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
Get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or sings,
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock
will answer you:
“Time to get drunk!
Don’t be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!" 

Sep 24, 2012 4 notes
#Bauldelaire #Charles #Drunk #Get #always #answer #bird #clock #fardel #feel #horrid #imperative #order #poetry #speak #star #time #virtue #whatever #wine
Sep 17, 2012 104 notes
Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness, 
    Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, 
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express 
    A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: 
What leaf-fring’d legend haunt about thy shape 
    Of deities or mortals, or of both, 
        In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? 
    What men or gods are these?  What maidens loth? 
What mad pursuit?  What struggle to escape? 
        What pipes and timbrels?  What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
    Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; 
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d, 
    Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: 
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 
    Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; 
        Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, 
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; 
        She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, 
    For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed 
    Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu; 
And, happy melodist, unwearied, 
    For ever piping songs for ever new; 
More happy love! more happy, happy love! 
    For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d, 
        For ever panting, and for ever young; 
All breathing human passion far above, 
    That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d, 
        A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice? 
    To what green altar, O mysterious priest, 
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, 
    And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? 
What little town by river or sea shore, 
    Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, 
        Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? 
And, little town, thy streets for evermore 
    Will silent be; and not a soul to tell 
        Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape!  Fair attitude! with brede 
    Of marble men and maidens overwrought, 
With forest branches and the trodden weed; 
    Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought 
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! 
    When old age shall this generation waste, 
        Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 
    Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” - that is all 
        Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Sep 7, 2012 3 notes
#Ode #On #a #Grecian #Urn #John #Keats #Beauty #is #truth #Poetry #Poem #Romantic
Ode to the West Wind by Percy Bysshe Shelly

I.            

O, WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,     

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead    

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

-

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,        

Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O, thou,              

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

-

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,               

Each like a corpse within its grave, until 

Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow

-

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill        

(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)      

With living hues and odours plain and hill:

-

Wild Spirit, which art moving every where;         

Destroyer and preserver; hear, O, hear!

-

II.           

Thou on whose stream, ‘mid the steep sky’s commotion,            

Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed,         

Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

-

Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread    

On the blue surface of thine airy surge,

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

-

Of some fierce Mænad, even from the dim verge           

Of the horizon to the zenith’s height      

The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

-

Of the dying year, to which this closing night      

Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,    

Vaulted with all thy congregated might

-

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere         

Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O, hear!

-

III.          

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams             

The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,               

Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,

-

Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ’s bay,          

And saw in sleep old palaces and towers              

Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,

-

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers        

So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou              

For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers

-

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below              

The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear            

The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

-

Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,    

And tremble and despoil themselves: O, hear!

-

IV.         

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;             

If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;  

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

-

The impulse of thy strength, only less free          

Than thou, O, uncontroulable! If even  

I were as in my boyhood, and could be

-

The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,   

As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed          

Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven

-

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.     

O! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!        

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

-

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed             

One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

-

V.           

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:               

What if my leaves are falling like its own!             

The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

-

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,       

Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce,

My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

-

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe         

Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!     

And, by the incantation of this verse,

-

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth          

Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!  

Be through my lips to unawakened earth

-

The trumpet of a prophecy! O, wind,     

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? 

Sep 7, 2012 2 notes
#Bysshe #Ode #Percy #Poem #Poetry #Prophecy #Shelly #Spring #Winter #the #to #west #wind #Romantic
If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda naivetybutyouth.tumblr.com

If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

 -

I want you to know

one thing.

 -

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

 -

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

 -

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

 -

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

 -

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

Sep 5, 2012 3 notes
#Pablo #Neruda #Poem #Poetry #If You Forget Me #If #you #forget #lift roots #move #on #love #destiny #arms #still #don't
Tonight I Can Write by Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

-

Write, for example, ‘The night is starry

and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

 -

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

 -

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

 -

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

 -

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

 -

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

 -

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

 -

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

 -

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

 -

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

 -

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

 -

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

 -

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.

Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

 -

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

 -

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

 -

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

Sep 4, 2012 4 notes
#Pablo #Neruda #Tonight #I #can #write #the #saddest #lines
Next page →
20132014
  • January
  • February
  • March
  • April
  • May
  • June
  • July
  • August
  • September
  • October
  • November
  • December
201220132014
  • January
  • February
  • March
  • April
  • May
  • June
  • July
  • August
  • September
  • October
  • November
  • December
20122013
  • January
  • February
  • March
  • April
  • May
  • June
  • July
  • August
  • September
  • October
  • November
  • December