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Showing posts from July, 2008

Annabel Lee

Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me- Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser

Anne Sexton - Wanting To Die

Anne Sexton - Wanting To Die Since you ask, most days I cannot remember. I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage. Then the most unnameable lust returns. Even then I have nothing against life. I know well the grass blades you mention the furniture you have placed under the sun. But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic. In this way, heavy and thoughtful, warmer than oil or water, I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole. I did not think of my body at needle point. Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone. Suicides have already betrayed the body. Still-born, they don't always die, but dazzled, they can't forget a drug so sweet that even children would look on and smile. To thrust all that life under your tongue! -- that, all by itself, becomes a passion. Death's a sad bone; bru

Nature

As a fond mother, when the day is o’er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor, Still gazing at them through the open door, Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead, Which, though more splendid, may not please him more; So nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know. _______________________________________ H

The Domestic Stones (fragment)

HANS ARP 1887-1966 The Domestic Stones (fragment) The feet of morning the feet of noon and the feet of evening walk ceaselessly round pickled buttocks on the other hand the feet of midnight remain motionless in their echo-woven baskets consequently the lion is a diamond on the sofas made of bread are seated the dressed and the undressed the undressed hold leaden swallows between their toes the dressed hold leaden nests between their fingers at all hours the undressed get dressed again and the dressed get undressed and exchange the leaden swallows .for the leaden nests consequently the tail is an umbrella a mouth opens within another mouth and within this mouth another mouth and within this mouth another mouth and so on without end it is a sad perspective which adds an I-don't-know-what to another I-don't-know-what

Vande Mātaram

Mother, I bow to thee! Rich with thy hurrying streams, bright with orchard gleams, Cool with thy winds of delight, Dark fields waving Mother of might, Mother free. Glory of moonlight dreams, Over thy branches and lordly streams, Clad in thy blossoming trees, Mother, giver of ease Laughing low and sweet! Mother I kiss thy feet, Speaker sweet and low! Mother, to thee I bow. Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands When the sword flesh out in the seventy million hands And seventy million voices roar Thy dreadful name from shore to shore? With many strengths who art mighty and stored, To thee I call Mother and Lord! Though who savest, arise and save! To her I cry who ever her foeman drove Back from plain and Sea And shook herself free. Thou art

Passage to India. by Walt Whitman

Passage to India. by Walt Whitman 1 SINGING my days, Singing the great achievements of the present, Singing the strong, light works of engineers, Our modern wonders, (the antique ponderous Seven outvied,) In the Old World, the east, the Suez canal, The New by its mighty railroad spann’d, The seas inlaid with eloquent, gentle wires, I sound, to commence, the cry, with thee, O soul, The Past! the Past! the Past! The Past! the dark, unfathom’d retrospect! The teeming gulf! the sleepers and the shadows! The past! the infinite greatness of the past! For what is the present, after all, but a growth out of the past? (As a projectile, form’d, impell’d, passing a certain line, still keeps on, So the present, utterly form’d, impell’d by the past.) 2 Passage, O soul, to India! Eclaircise the myths Asiatic—the primitive fables. Not you alone, proud truths of the world! Nor you alone, ye facts of modern science! But myths and fables of eld—Asia’s, Africa’s fables! The far-darting beam

A Primer of the Daily Round

A peels an apple, while B kneels to God, C telephones to D, who has a hand On E's knee, F coughs, G turns up the sod For H's grave, I do not understand But J is bringing one clay pigeon down While K brings down a nightstick on L's head, And M takes mustard, N drives into town, O goes to bed with P, and Q drops dead, R lies to S, but happens to be heard By T, who tells U not to fire V For having to give W the word That X is now deceiving Y with Z, Who happens just now to remember A Peeling an apple somewhere far away --written by Howard Nemerov

A Question (Solved by) Inference

A Question (Solved by) Inference Translated from the Pali by I.B. Horner ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ T hen King Milinda approached the Venerable Nagasena, greeted him and sat down at a respectful distance. King Milinda, anxious to know, anxious to hear, anxious to remember, anxious to see the light of knowledge, anxious to break down the lack of knowledge, anxious to find the light of knowledge, anxious to expel the darkness of ignorance, aroused extreme steadfastness and zeal and mindfulness and clear consciousness, and spoke thus to the Venerable Nagasena: "Revered Nagasena, have you ever seen the Buddha?" "No, sire." "But have your teachers ever seen the Buddha?" "No, sire." "Revered Nagasena, if you have never seen the Buddha, and if your teachers have never seen the Buddha, well then, revered Nagasena, there is no Buddha; the Buddha is not manifested here." "