A poem by Adrienne Cecile Rich (1929 – 2012)
Something spreading underground won’t speak to us
under skin won’t declare itself
not all life-forms want dialogue with the
machine-gods in their drama hogging down
the deep bush clear-cutting refugees
from ancient or transient villages into
our opportunistic fervor to search
crazily for a host a lifeboat
Suddenly instead of art we’re eyeing
organisms traced and stained on cathedral transparencies
cruel blues embroidered purples succinct yellows
a beautiful tumor
•
I guess you’re not alone I fear you’re alone
There’s, of course, poetry:
awful bridge rising over naked air: I first
took it as just a continuation of the road:
“a masterpiece of engineering
praised, etc.” then on the radio:
“incline too steep for ease of, etc.”
Drove it nonetheless because I had to
this being how— So this is how
I find you: alive and more
•
As if (how many conditionals must we suffer?)
I’m driving to your side
—an intimate collusion—
packed in the trunk my bag of foils for fencing with pain
glasses of varying spectrum for sun or fog or sun-struck
rain or bitterest night my sack of hidden
poetries, old glue shredding from their spines
my time exposure of the Leonids
over Joshua Tree
As if we’re going to win this O because
•
If you have a sister I am not she
nor your mother nor you my daughter
nor are we lovers or any kind of couple
except in the intensive care
of poetry and
death’s master plan architecture-in-progress
draft elevations of a black-and-white mosaic dome
the master left on your doorstep
with a white card in black calligraphy:
Make what you will of this
As if leaving purple roses
•
If (how many conditionals must we suffer?)
I tell you a letter from the master
is lying on my own doorstep
glued there with leaves and rain
and I haven’t bent to it yet
if I tell you I surmise
he writes differently to me:
Do as you will, you have had your life
many have not
signing it in his olden script:
Meister aus Deutschland
•
In coldest Europe end of that war
frozen domes iron railings frozen stoves lit in the
streets
memory banks of cold
the Nike of Samothrace
on a staircase wings in blazing
backdraft said to me
: : to everyone she met
Displaced, amputated never discount me
Victory
indented in disaster striding
at the head of stairs
for Tory Dent
A few random poems:
- Николай Языков – А. М. Языкову (Теперь, когда пророчественный дар)
- Lover’s Gifts LVIII: Things Throng and Laugh by Rabindranath Tagore
- Teacher
- Edge by Sylvia Plath
- Альфред де Мюссе – Все мною предано забвенью
- Георгий Иванов – Танцуй, монах, танцуй, поэт
- Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms by Thomas Moore
- Низами Гянджеви – Искендер-наме – Страница 7 из 15
- Николай Гербель – Бокал
- Epic by Patrick Kavanagh
- Ecstasy by Sarojini Naidu
- Earth’s Answer by William Blake
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Желания
- Омар Хайям – Когда ветер у розы подол разорвет
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Бегун морей дорогою безбрежной
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803 by William Wordsworth
- Matthew by William Wordsworth
- Maternal Grief by William Wordsworth
- Mark The Concentrated Hazels That Enclose by William Wordsworth
- Lucy by William Wordsworth
- Lucy Gray [or Solitude] by William Wordsworth
- Louisa: After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion by William Wordsworth
- Look Now On That Adventurer Who Hath Paid by William Wordsworth
- London, 1802 by William Wordsworth
- Lines Written On A Blank Leaf In A Copy Of The Author’s Poem “The Excursion,” by William Wordsworth
- Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth
- Lines Written As A School Exercise At Hawkshead, Anno Aetatis 14 by William Wordsworth
- Lines On The Expected Invasion, 1803 by William Wordsworth
- Lines Left Upon The Seat Of A Yew-Tree, by William Wordsworth
- Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey by William Wordsworth
- Laodamia by William Wordsworth
- Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots by William Wordsworth
- It was an April morning: fresh and clear by William Wordsworth
- It Is No Spirit Who From Heaven Hath Flown by William Wordsworth
- It Is a Beauteous Evening by William Wordsworth
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Adrienne Cecile Rich (1929 – 2012) was an American poet, essayist, and feminist.