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Favourite poem - any language | ||
Tags: Poetry | Multilingual | ||
 Language Learning Forum : Books, Literature & Reading |  | |
| Luso Hexaglot Senior Member Portugal Joined 5872 days ago 819 posts - 1812 votes  Speaks: Portuguese*, French, EnglishC2, GermanB1, Italian, Spanish Studies: Sanskrit, Arabic (classical) | Message 57 of 60 07 January 2012 at 12:52am | IP Logged |
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"Amor é fogo que arde sem se ver" already having been quoted, I leave here a couple of others.
By Camões: Alma minha gentil, que te partiste Tão cedo desta vida, descontente, Repousa lá no Céu eternamente E viva eu cá na terra sempre triste. Se lá no assento etéreo, onde subiste, Memória desta vida se consente, Não te esqueças daquele amor ardente Que já nos olhos meus tão puro viste. E se vires que pode merecer-te Alguma cousa a dor que me ficou Da mágoa, sem remédio, de perder-te, Roga a Deus, que teus anos encurtou, Que tão cedo de cá me leve a ver-te, Quão cedo de meus olhos te levou. By Fernando Pessoa: Ó mar salgado, quanto do teu sal São lágrimas de Portugal! Por te cruzarmos, quantas mães choraram, Quantos filhos em vão rezaram! Quantas noivas ficaram por casar Para que fosses nosso, ó mar! Valeu a pena? Tudo vale a pena Se a alma não é pequena. Quem quer passar além do Bojador Tem que passar além da dor. Deus ao mar o perigo e o abismo deu, Mas nele é que espelhou o céu. 1 person has voted this message useful | |
| zenmonkey Bilingual Tetraglot Senior Member Germany Joined 6363 days ago 803 posts - 1119 votes 1 sounds Speaks: EnglishC2*, Spanish*, French, German Studies: Italian, Modern Hebrew | Message 58 of 60 21 February 2012 at 6:44pm | IP Logged |
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Antes de volar palabras,
para aprender idiomas, dejado por muerto este hilo de ritmos, No, lo demás, les dejo otras, ni mías, ni de un muerto, mientras lo escucho. ---- Men at Forty Donald Justice (b. 1925) Men at forty Learn to close softly The doors to rooms they will not be Coming back to. At rest on a stair landing, They feel it Moving beneath them now like the deck of a ship, Though the swell is gentle. And deep in mirrors The rediscover The face of the boy as he practices trying His father’s tie there in secret And the face of that father, Still warm with the mystery of lather. They are more fathers than sons themselves now. Something is filling them, something That is like the twilight sound Of the crickets, immense, Filling the woods at the foot of the slope Behind their mortgaged houses. 1967 ---- Edited by zenmonkey on 21 February 2012 at 6:47pm 2 persons have voted this message useful | |
| Dagane Triglot Senior Member SpainRegistered users can see my Skype Name Joined 4322 days ago 259 posts - 324 votes Speaks: Spanish*, EnglishB2, Galician Studies: German Studies: Czech | Message 59 of 60 13 September 2012 at 7:33pm | IP Logged |
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En las horas oscuras, by Vicente Gallego. Excellent ending.
En las horas oscuras que van creciendo en nuestras vidas al igual que la noche se alarga en el invierno, en esas horas, a menudo, una imagen tenaz y hermosa me consuela. Regreso hasta una playa de otro tiempo, todavía cercano. Es un día precioso de final de septiembre, brilla el mar con su estructura lenta, sugestivo y exacto como un cuchillo. Quedan unos cuantos bañistas a esa hora dudosa de la tarde, y no estoy solo, un grupo de muchachas me acompaña, el sol dora sus cuerpos de diecisiete años, y es ya fresca la brisa, y en sus nucas la humedad reaviva el aroma a colonia. Y la tarde transcurre dulcemente, mas sin gloria especial, y las muchachas ríen, y me dan su alegría, aunque no amo a ninguna, y hay un aire de adiós en cada cosa: en el mes avanzado, en los bañistas, en el estío lento, en aquellas muchachas que desconozco hoy, y en la luz de la playa. Apuré aquel momento agradecido, al igual que se goza un hermoso regalo, en su dicha sereno, destinado a perderse tras la felicidad frecuente de esos años. Y ahora comprendo que en aquella tarde algo más que belleza se ocultaba, porque su luz me salva, muchas veces, en las horas oscuras, y se empeña, con una obstinación absurda que me asombra, en volver a mis ojos y a mis días. En las horas oscuras una imagen tenaz y hermosa me consuela, y me lleva al verano ya una tarde. y yo aún me pregunto por qué vuelve, y qué es lo que perdí en aquella playa. 1 person has voted this message useful | |
| Bakunin Diglot Senior Member Switzerland outerkhmer.blogspot. Joined 4941 days ago 531 posts - 1126 votes Speaks: German*, Thai Studies: Khmer | Message 60 of 60 13 September 2012 at 8:57pm | IP Logged |
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This is one of my favorite German poems, by Ernst Jandl:
ottos mops ottos mops trotzt otto: fort mops fort ottos mops hopst fort otto: soso otto holt koks otto holt obst otto horcht otto: mops mops otto hofft otto mops klopft otto: komm mops komm ottos mops kommt ottos mops kotzt otto: ogottogott 2 persons have voted this message useful |
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