Sunday, 3 July 2011

Poem


I saw a peacock with a fiery tail..

by Anonymous

I saw a peacock with a fiery tail
I saw a blazing comet drop down hail
I saw a cloud wrapped with ivy round
I saw an oak creep upon the ground
I saw a pismire swallow up a whale
I saw the sea brimful of ale
I saw a Venice glass full fifteen feet deep
I saw a well full of men's tears that weep
I saw red eyes all of a flaming fire
I saw a house bigger than the moon and higher
I saw the sun at twelve o'clock at night
I saw the man that saw this wondrous sight.

French Poetry

Jours de lenteur, jours de pluie,
Jours de miroirs brisés et d’aiguilles perdues,
Jours de paupières closes à l’horizon des mers,
D’heures toutes semblables, jours de captivité,

Mon esprit qui brillait encore sur les feuilles
Et les fleurs, mon esprit est nu comme l’amour,
L’aurore qu’il oublie lui fait baisser la tête
Et contempler son corps obéissant et vain.

Pourtant j’ai vu les plus beaux yeux du monde,
Dieux d’argent qui tenaient des saphirs dans leurs mains,
De véritables dieux, des oiseaux dans la terre
Et dans l’eau, je les ai vus.

Leurs ailes sont les miennes, rien n’existe
Que leur vol qui secoue ma misère,
Leur vol d’étoile et de lumière
Leur vol de terre, leur vol de pierre
Sur les flots de leurs ailes,

Ma pensée soutenue par la vie et la mort


Translation
Days of slow, rainy days,
Days of broken mirrors and needles lost,
Days of closed eyes on the horizon of the sea,
In all similar hours, days in captivity,

My mind was still shining on the leaves
And flowers, my mind is as naked as love,
Dawn forgets him head down
And watch her ​​body obedient and vain.

Yet I saw the most beautiful eyes of the world
Gods of silver, which kept the sapphires in their hands,
Real gods, birds in the ground
And water, I saw them.

Their wings are mine, nothing exists
That their flight shaking my misery,
Their flight from star light and
Their land theft, theft of stone
On the water with their wings,

My thoughts supported by the life and death

Saturday, 7 May 2011

Nothing is so beautiful as spring—
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. — Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

"Spring" by Gerard Manley Hopkins.