simply nice! well written, I think you are like my boyfriend who chooses his words very closely not? I just write what I think but he really looks up his words etc changes things when they don't seem to fit in anyway :) But I like that poem!!
I noticed a lot around here there are many people who write in the same style in the forum very odd
@Caelum
"Grown-ups are very very strange." :P
Everything you have said is absolutely true, teenagers are different, each one of them is special, feelings are great etc. But I was talking about POETRY. You must admit that although everybody has feelings, not everybody is a poet. I was talking about VALUE. And again you must admit that not all naive things wrote by teenagers (and not only teenagers) has value - except, maybe, for them.
Bottom line: if one wants to be a poet, he or she must read a lot, learn from the other poets, understand that poetry is more than just feelings written on a sheet of paper. Otherwise, he or she will never become a poet and will remain just a teenager bursting with emotion and stuff. Dixi. :P
I simply wonder how a teacher of literature could behave this way.
Real poetry is the poetry that can be felt by other people, though not by EVERYONE. It comes from our different ways of percievement. ;) Is the poetry real or not must be decided by the way you feel about it. It is stupid to be in the main stream, saying that Shakespeare is great if u don't understand him personally. Agree? ;)
Yes, poets can learn from each other. I don't know how it was in other countries, but in russian history of literature can be found moments when SCHOOLS of POETRY were organised by poets. To teach and learn poetry. Because there are a lot of different styles, emotions...even language's tools... It is a vast field of study. Like maths. But we all do maths in our life, don't we? Even if it is simply arithmetics. Let's agree that we use poetry the way we use maths - when we need it. And we use it accordingly to how much we need it.
And as to the lacrima_elix....
I simply wonder at your pedagogical skills, dear lady.
P.S. The feeling degree depends not on how old are you, but on how much you can feel, what have you come through and other things.... ;)
Real poetry is the poetry that can be felt by other people
And, btw, Rimabud wasn't a teacher in literature dude. He was a poet, that wrote for himself.
Apparently, there's no such thing as ideal gas. Apparently, there's no such thing as real poetry.
And praising someone's thoughts, giving them the real and true essense, just because they are like yours... Rather selfish, don't you think?QuoteReal poetry is the poetry that can be felt by other people
this cannot be. Expiriences are different, even if they resemble at some points.
Quote from: "pierre.francisco"And, btw, Rimabud wasn't a teacher in literature dude. He was a poet, that wrote for himself.
Don't be rude, please. ;)
:) Sure, I find Sabines as a visionary artist of the Spanish language... It's almost musical.
Can you now return to from where you came
Try to burn your changing name
Or with silver spoons and coloured light
Will you worship moons in winters night.
not really poetry but a text I like: Dire Straits - Why Worry
Well she's up against the register with an apron and a spatula,
Yesterday's deliveries, tickets for the bachelors
She's a moving violation from her conk down to her shoes,
Well, it's just an invitation to the blues
And you feel just like Cagney, she looks like Rita Hayworth
At the counter of the Schwab's drugstore
You wonder if she might be single, she's a loner and likes to mingle
Got to be patient, try and pick up a clue
She said How you gonna like 'em, over medium or scrambled?,
You say Anyway's the only way, be careful not to gamble
On a guy with a suitcase and a ticket getting out of here
It's a tired bus station and an old pair of shoes
This ain't nothing but an invitation to the blues
But you can't take your eyes off her, get another cup of java,
It's just the way she pours it for you, joking with the customers
Mercy mercy, Mr. Percy, there ain't nothing back in Jersey
But a broken-down jalopy of a man I left behind
And the dream that I was chasing, and a battle with booze
And an open invitation to the blues
But she used to have a sugar daddy and a candy-apple Caddy,
And a bank account and everything, accustomed to the finer things
He probably left her for a socialite, and he didn't 'cept at night,
And then he's drunk and never even told her that her cared
So they took the registration, and the car-keys and her shoes
And left her with an invitation to the blues
'Cause there's a Continental Trailways leaving local bus tonight, good evening
You can have my seat, I'm sticking round here for a while
Get me a room at the Squire, the filling station's hiring,
And I can eat here every night, what the hell have I got to lose?
Got a crazy sensation, go or stay? now I gotta choose,
And I'll accept your invitation to the blues
The bats are in the belfry
the dew is on the moor
where are the arms that held me
and pledged her love before
and pledged her love before
It's such a sad old feeling
the fields are soft and green
it's memories that I'm stealing
but you're innocent when you dream
when you dream
you're innocent when you dream
running through the graveyard
we laughed my friends and I
we swore we'd be together
until the day we died
until the day we died
I made a golden promise
that we would never part
I gave my love a locket
and then I broke her heart
and then I broke her heart
Ob ich dich liebe, weiß ich nicht.
Seh' ich nur einmal dein Gesicht,
Seh' dir in Auge nur einmal,
Frei wird mein Herz von aller Qual.
Gott weiß, wie mir so wohl geschicht!
Ob ich dich liebe, weiß ich nicht
Goethe :)
In awe and on my knees before this song....
Je suis malade by Lara Fabian
Je ne rêve plus je ne fume plus
Je n'ai même plus d'histoire
Je suis sale sans toi
Je suis laide sans toi
Je suis comme un orphelin dans un dortoir
Je n'ai plus envie de vivre dans ma vie
Ma vie cesse quand tu pars
Je n'ais plus de vie et même mon lit
Ce transforme en quai de gare
Quand tu t'en vas
Je suis malade
Complètement malade
Comme quand ma mère sortait le soir
Et qu'elle me laissait seul avec mon désespoir
Je suis malade parfaitement malade
T'arrive on ne sait jamais quand
Tu repars on ne sait jamais où
Et ça va faire bientôt deux ans
Que tu t'en fous
Comme à un rocher
Comme à un péché
Je suis accroché à toi
Je suis fatigué je suis épuisé
De faire semblant d'être heureuse quand ils sont là
Je bois toutes les nuits
Mais tous les whiskies
Pour moi on le même goût
Et tous les bateaux portent ton drapeau
Je ne sais plus où aller tu es partout
Je suis malade
Complètement malade
Je verse mon sang dans ton corps
Et je suis comme un oiseau mort quand toi tu dors
Je suis malade
Parfaitement malade
Tu m'as privé de tous mes chants
Tu m'as vidé de tous mes mots
Pourtant moi j'avais du talent avant ta peau
Cet amour me tue
Si ça continue je crèverai seul avec moi
Près de ma radio comme un gosse idiot
Écoutant ma propre voix qui chantera
Je suis malade
Complètement malade
Comme quand ma mère sortait le soir
Et qu'elle me laissait seul avec mon désespoir
Je suis malade
C’est ça je suis malade
Tu m'as privé de tous mes chants
Tu m'as vidé de tous mes mots
Et j'ai le coeur complètement malade
Cerné de barricades
T'entends je suis malade
Oh, I like "Labyrinth" very much! The movie of my childhood) And all the song in this film are also great.
Recently got most taken by this one:
Though I go to you
ceaselessly along dream paths,
the sum of those trysts
is less than a single glimpse
granted in the waking world.
by Ono no Komachi, Japanese Classic of the 9th century. Indeed she was a great poet...
"So I finally beg you
For one last kiss
I will love you once more
And then I'll bring you to the river
I know there's still love inside of you
Tell me that you're just sleeping
Tell me that you're just sleeping"
Well, wanted to share with someone, no better place than here, I think ;)
Russian Original
Приходи на меня посмотреть.
Приходи. Я живая. Мне больно.
Этих рук никому не согреть,
Эти губы сказали: "Довольно!"
Klo: :) ;)