Old 11-13-2014, 01:52 AM   #1
Senna Jawa
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Moonglasses

This is (going to be, perhaps) a collection of poems which I like, which I need. I hope that in this thread I will manage to include poems from different times and places.

I had created Moonglasses selections in the past, more than once (also Księżycowe Okulary). All of them got lost.

Moonglasses is--within poetry--my neologism. It stands for Poetry. Today I would say--for Tangia.
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Old 11-13-2014, 02:04 AM   #2
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Jon Harley, rec.arts.poems, innocent love poem

--

Love, so surprise?


When in the wind is the where?
With the you-eyes, the blue-eyes,
And with the so wind in your hair
So golden, so random surprise?

Whither your lips so red
Which meet mine in when and in where?
What words your lips so said
So lost in the random wind there?

When the you and the wind in the heather
With me, lips, words of us love?
Is nature random so together
The us and the so clouds above?

Is love in your eyes You so fair?
Above us the random cloud wise?
Whither the random when and the where?
My nature - love you - so surprise?



Jonathan Harley
r.a.p. 1990-01-22
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Old 11-13-2014, 02:20 AM   #3
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Jonathan Harley, "Song from the Grey Zones (Night Bird)", 1989

--


Song from the Grey Zones (Night Bird)


Mockingly rotating
my bedsit's a satellite around my eyes
thoughtlessly gyrating
the colonnade of beer cans displaying no surprise.
The night bird flies, at 2 a.m.
The scuffed silence strives to condemn
my specious soul for being this,
being this
me.

Cosily hissing
the gas fire's legato lectures my morale.
Someone's missing -
A reconvened conference on the banal.
At the far end of the sofa, the empty space
relentlessly unfurls the visions of your face
grinning and speaking my secret,
my secret
name.

Relief-evading
my psyche swabs at its harlequin's mask.
As you are fading
I cannot muzzle my unforseen task.
The grey zones are corroding the lonely, free bird.
I need you to beam me a message, some word
to ensure the dreams we make
we make
real.




Jon Harley
1989
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Old 11-13-2014, 02:39 AM   #4
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Tom Wachtel, [I was running out of ...], California

--


I was running out of gas in Berkeley
kinda greeny
kinda hilly
kinda kind
I was running out of time in Berkeley
San Mateo Santa Clara
santa cruise





Tom Wachtel
1991-04-16

Last edited by Senna Jawa : 11-13-2014 at 02:41 AM. Reason: title
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Old 11-13-2014, 02:47 AM   #5
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Tom Wachtel, [on the sand at...], California

--


on the sand at Santa Cruz
I prayed the clouds would go away
cos Id come there
all that distance
all that way
but they stayed and greyed the ocean
so I went to Monterey
though Id come up right around by San Jose




Tom Wachtel
1991-04-24

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Old 11-13-2014, 01:58 PM   #6
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I will follow all these poems later, but in the mean time I want to know/ask you what is your concept of tangia/poetry. Is it a new thought of yours or old? You have used this term in another thread from what I remember but you decided not to go ahead with that.
A tangia here in the Med is a utensil, a kitchen pot for doing simple or sophisticated but always good tasting food.
Is it a metaphor for poetry's countless ingredients, methods, and processes that need the correct time element to bear fruitful results?
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Old 11-13-2014, 03:17 PM   #7
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Quote:
Originally Posted by pelegrino View Post
I will follow all these poems later
And I hope to add a lot more.
Quote:
[...] what is your concept of tangia/poetry. Is it a new thought of yours or old?
It's relatively new, I was developing it over the past fifty years and a change. It truly goes back to the ancient Chinese artistic/poetic development, which peaked centuries later in century VIII of the new calendar (i.e. after Christ). "It" is more than just a thought, it is total.

Quote:
You have used this term in another thread [...] A tangia here in the Med is a utensil, a kitchen pot for doing simple or sophisticated but always good tasting food.
Is it a metaphor for poetry's countless ingredients, methods, and processes that need the correct time element to bear fruitful results?
This is interesting and to the point, it fits, it reminds one the Japanese tea ceremony.

However, I've introduced the Tangia notion to honor the great VIII-th golden century Chinese poets of the Chinese Tang dynasty, especially Du Fu.
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Old 11-15-2014, 04:35 AM   #8
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Marina Tsvetaeva, * * *, 1915

--


I'm glad that you long not for me,
I'm glad that I long not for you,
That the heavy sphere of Earth
Does not flow under our feet.
I am glad that it's allowed to be funny--
Spoiled--and waste no words for games,
And not to be choked by a wave of blushing,
When our sleeves touch ever so slightly.

I also like that in my presence undisturbed
Your arms surround another woman,
That you don't ask me to burn in poisoned
Flames when I am kissing not you.
That, sweetheart, you don't call my sweet name
Any day nor night, at any time,
That in the calm of an Eastern Church
They'll never sing for us: hallelujah!

I thank you with my heart and hand
For your--unknown to you!--love of me,
For my peace at night, for the seldomness
Of our meetings at the sunset hour;
For our non-walks under the moon,
For the sun not over our heads,
For your longing--alas!--not for me,
For my longing--alas!--not for you.




Марина Цветаева, 1915
(trans. wh)

Last edited by Senna Jawa : 11-15-2014 at 04:35 AM. Reason: typo
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Old 11-15-2014, 05:37 AM   #9
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Joseph Brodsky, Song

--
A Song


I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish you sat on the sofa
and I sat near.

The handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin bound.
Though it could be, of course,
the other way around.

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish we were in my car,
and you'd shift the gear.

We'd find ourselves elsewhere,
on an unknown shore.
Or else we'd repair
to where we've been before.

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish I knew no astronomy
when stars appear,

when the moon skims the water
that sighs and shifts in its slumber.
I wish it were still a quarter
to dial your number.

I wish you were here, dear,
in this hemisphere,
as I sit on the porch
sipping a beer.

It's evening; the sun is setting,
boys shout and gulls are crying.
What's the point of forgetting
if it's followed by dying?


-- Joseph Brodsky
__
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Old 11-17-2014, 02:23 AM   #10
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Karl P. Henning, (... crisper), 1991-05-27

--

don't move
in cold sheets
in your dream
you travel ...
wh,
1991-may



the tingle
isn't your sheets
thawing
they're dissolving
and floating
up into the grey
ceiling
like backwards
snow
don't move
you still
can't see the road
your bed
is a backstreet
where the snowploughs
seldom clear
your nonmainstream
nonmainstreet
way
your place
isn't so small
why keep
your linen
in the fridge?
I used
to think

I used
to think you
did this
to cool
the smithy
of your passions

so cold
my right
shoulderblade
chipped off
in your hand
and you
skimmed it
along the smooth
bathwater

in other beds
I never

I never
wanted
to be rapt

to be wrapped
in furs

in your bed
my ankles
don't hang over
the foot
of the bed

don't move
the separate
points
at which my body
maintains a
delicate
balance
like a bandful
of broccoli
in the crisper
these several
tentative points
have just warmed
a little
to my bodyheat
if you move
all those
kilocalories
have been
wasted

in your bed
I feel like
a raspberry seed
suspended
in a carton of yoghurt

I'm unsure
yet
whether you
may be a raspberry
seed
too

you move too
much

raspberry seeds
keep still
husband
-ing the life with
-in

so cold
when we kiss
our noses
broke off
and plunked
into a glass
of sherry

sledding
on your bed
is exhausting
my chest
toasty
with the multiple
sweaters
my cheeks
raw with
the cold

what
I really want
is a hot
bath
maybe love
should be sweaty
and friction
should be
luxurious
instead
of a matter
of life
and death
and saving
extremities

sweaty
extremities
slipping
all over one
another

lolling
in bed
the next morning
instead of
losing
the occasion
-al finger
if I
oversleep

why
do we sleep
in the kitchen?

must we
eat ice
cream three
times a day?

no coffee?
even
instant
would be fine

cold
-cuts again
in a room
where lettuce
never wilts
and mayonnaise
never goes
bad


(... crisper)
kph; 27 May 91

Last edited by Senna Jawa : 12-05-2014 at 10:02 PM.
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Old 11-17-2014, 07:39 AM   #11
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Karl conquer Henning

--

stage directions



right
if you lack a stage
- - - - - - and many fine people do
use a friend's apartment
give him
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or her
coupons for a bingo-game
far away
up
explain
that he
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or she
may not want to be around
it's nothing
nothing
nothing to cause concern
but
and
don't overexplain
impart at once
assurance and an
earnest
need
for privacy
center
also
depending on where
he
- - - - - - or s.
lives
- - - - - - as many fine people do
wholesomeness
don't hire the or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - orchestra
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or d.j.
yet
go to the wall
down
- - - - - - as many fine p. do
you know
which
go softly
but with presence
which can be
felt
in the last row
- - - - - - of many f. p.
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
if you lack a stage
felt
behind even
the brown sugar
- - - - - - or tarragon
on the darkest shelf
off
look at him
- - - - - - or h.
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or it
gaze
at the wall
don't sigh
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or weep
yet
tell it
say to her
- - - - - - or h.
you're sorry
pause
- - - - - - as many f. p. d.
really sorry
pause
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or wait
ready?
sigh
- - - - - - NOW
- - - - - - as m. f. p. would
if your boyfriend
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or g.
is there
treat it like a wall
exeunt
left
- - - - - - (don't forget the w.)



kph;
25 Apr 91

(Karl P. Henning)
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Old 11-29-2014, 06:18 AM   #12
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LeeAnn Heringer, "our signatures..."

--



our signatures lie quietly
side by side



I took back your keys today
and all the
till-death-do-we-part promises
and the pain unfolded
like reverse origami,

no more creases
for my crayons
to stay inside of.

the white swans dissolving
back into ordinary paper
so I took your pen. signed it.
and went home.









LeeAnn Heringer
"Picture Postcards", ASGP
ISBN 1-888431-03-2



--

Last edited by Senna Jawa : 11-29-2014 at 07:02 AM.
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Old 11-29-2014, 06:54 AM   #13
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LeeAnn Heringer, "where God..."

--



where God sits
at the end of the day




hitching a ride from the river
in the back of a pickup
filled with Mexican fieldhands
and a rusted spare tire,
our heads bowed in the wind
as if in prayer. as if
the dirt on our skin,
on the lip of a communal jug,
is the crust of his bread is his body.

they gossip in Spanish
so broken
no Spaniard would claim it
of knives drawn over corner girls
and losses at cockfights.
tired men far
from the hands of their Mexican wives
thick with tortilla flour,
white as priest collars
against the cast iron grill.
gambling with each roll
of their broken teeth
that I can't repeat
their confessions.

maybe God is here. sitting
shoulder to sweaty shoulder
with the never-gonna-haves.
just happy to be done
with another day's labor
in the back of the pickup,
speeding towards town.






LeeAnn Heringer
"Picture Postcards", ASGP
ISBN 1-888431-03-2



--

Last edited by Senna Jawa : 11-29-2014 at 06:58 AM.
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Old 12-02-2014, 02:12 AM   #14
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Primo Levi, "Epitaph"

--


Epitaph


Oh you, passing by this hill -- one
Among many -- who mark this no longer solitary snow,
Hear my story. Stop for a few moments
Here where, dry-eyed, my comrads buried me,
Where, every summer, the gentle field-grass fed by me
Grows thicker and greener than elsewhere.
Killed by my companions for no small crime,
I, Micca the partisan, haven't lain here many years,
Hadn't live many more when darkness struck.

Passer-by, I ask no pardon of you or any other,
No prayer or lament, no special remembrance.
Only one thing I beg: that this peace of mine endure,
That heat and cold succeed each other endlessly above me,
Without fresh blood filtering through clods
To reach me with its deadly warmth,
Waking to new pain these bones long turned to stone.






Primo Levi,

1952-10-06

(tr. Ruth Feldman & Brian Swann)
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Old 12-02-2014, 05:32 AM   #15
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Halina Poświatowska, [my neighbor...]

--

*_ *_ *



my neighbor, angel,
protects mortals' dreams,
comes home late,
i hear
his soft steps on the staircase
and the shshhh... when he rolls his wings.
he stands in the wide open door in the morning:
your window was alight
long into the night
he says.








Halina Poświatowska
(tr. from Polish wh)



Acknowledgment: Marek Ługowski posted his own translation on 1990-10-31 on rec.arts.poems. I read the original, and Marek's translation, and only then posted mine the same day.
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Old 12-04-2014, 11:13 PM   #16
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Yehuda Amichai, "Inside the Apple"

--


Inside the Apple


You visit me inside the apple.
Together we can hear the knife
paring around and around us, carefully
so the peel wont tear.

You speak to me. I trust your voice
because it has lumps of hard pain in it
the way real honey
has lumps of wax from the honeycomb.

I touch your lips with my fingers:
that too is a prophetic gesture.
And your lips are red, the way a burnt field
is black.
Its all true.

You visit me inside the apple
and youll stay with me inside the apple
until the knife finishes its work.






THE SELECTED POETRY OF YEHUDA AMICHAI,
Univ. of Calif. Press, 1996
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Old 12-16-2014, 03:59 AM   #17
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MEETING IN THE ROAD -- ~100BC (tr. by A.Waley)

--

MEETING IN THE ROAD


In a narrow road where there was no room to pass
My carriage met the carriage of a young man.
And while his axle was touching my axle
In the narrow road I asked him where he lived.
"The place where I live is easy enough to find,
Easy to find and difficult to forget.
The gates of my house are built of yellow gold,
The hall of my house is paved with white jade,
on the hall table flagons of wine are set,
I had summoned to serve me dancers of Han-tan,
In the midst of a courtyard a Cassia-tree,--
And candles on its branches flaring away in the night.




About 100 BC
translated by Artur Waley




Arthur Waley's Comment: Han-ten was the capitol of the kingdom of Chao, where people were famous for their beauty. (The text of the poem is not closed by a matching quotation mark. And it's much better this way, it's perfect.)
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Old 12-16-2014, 04:09 AM   #18
MikeD93
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All beautiful poems
__________________
Its not that Im horny all the time, its just you ladies are always fucking sexy

Kik me @ ImGokuJustSaiyan
Skype me @ miked934
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Old Yesterday, 11:15 PM   #19
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Quote:
Originally Posted by MikeD93 View Post
All beautiful poems
MikeD93, thank you.

The juxtaposition of the above poems and of an f-word in your sig field nearly caused me to ignore your response. But I am glad that you like this thread.
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Old Yesterday, 11:22 PM   #20
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Su Wu -- (TO HIS WIFE)

--




(TO HIS WIFE)



Since our hair was plaited and we became man and wife
The love between us was never broken by doubt.
So let us be merry this night together,
Feasting and playing while the good time lasts.
----------
I suddenly remember the distance that I must travel;
I spring from bed and look out to see the time.
The stars and planets are all grown dim in the sky;
Long, long is the road; I cannot stay.
I am going on service, away to the battle-ground,
and I do not know when I shall come back.
I hold your hand with only a deep sigh;
Afterwards, tears -- in the days when we are parted.
With all your might enjoy the spring flowers,
But do not forget the time of our love and pride.
Know that if I live, I will come back again,
and if I die, we will go on thinking of each other.






General Su Wu [circa 100BC]
(trans. by A.Waley)


Last edited by Senna Jawa : Yesterday at 11:57 PM. Reason: typo
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