Poezi te preferuara

Re: Poezi te preferuara

Malwine

Ich habe mich deinetwegen
gewaschen und rasiert.
Ich wollte mich zu dir legen
mit einem Viertelchen,
mit einem Achtelchen -
Malwine!

Doch du hast dich geziert.
Der Kuckuck hat geschrien
auf deiner Schwarzwalduhr.
Ich lag vor deinen Knien:
"Gib mir ein Viertelchen!
Gib mir ein Achtelchen!
Malwine!
Ein kleines Stückchen nur!"

Dein Bräutigam war prosaisch.
Demselben hat gefehlt,
dieweilen er mosaisch,
ein kleines Viertelchen,
ein kleines Achtelchen...
das hätt dich sehr gequält!

Du hast mir nichts gegeben
und sahst mich prüfend an.
Das, was du brauchst im Leben,
sei nicht ein Viertelchen,
und nicht ein Achtelchen...
das sei ein ganzer Mann -!

Mich hat das tief betroffen.
Dein Blick hat mich gefragt...
Ich ließ die Frage offen
und habe nichts gesagt.
Daß wir uns nicht besaßen!
So aalglatt war mein Kinn.
Nun irr ich durch die Straßen...
Malwine-!
und weine vor mich hin.

Kurt Tucholsky

Re: Poezi te preferuara

Drunk as Drunk

Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

Pablo Neruda

Re: Poezi te preferuara

If You Forget Me


I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Pablo Neruda

Re: Poezi te preferuara

Malvina

Për hatrin tënd kësaj here
U lava dhe u ndrita.
Që të shtrihesha krah teje
me një katërtat,
me një të tetat
Malvina!

Por ti s'di pse ngurrove.
Dhe qyqja bëri zhurmë
kur këndoi lart në orë.
Unë ty të rashë në gjunjë:
„Më jep veç një të katërtat!
Më jep veç një të tetat!
Malvina!
Më jep vetëm një copë!“

Burri jot ish prozaik.
Atij vetë i mungonte,
diçka në mozaik,
pakëz nga një e katërta,
pakëz nga një e teta...
sa shumë kjo të mundonte!

Asgjë s'më dhe ti, jo,
Më hodhe sytë këmb'e kokë.
Nga jeta ti ç'kërkon,
s'është një e katërta,
s'është një e teta...
por është një burrë i plotë - !

Zemrën thellë ma godite.
Më pyeti ai shikim ngadalë...
E lashë unë pa përgjigje,
nuk nxorra asnjë fjalë.
Njëri-tjetrin s'patëm kurrë!
Lotët rrjedhin përposh mjekrrës.
Ngatrrohem nëpër rrugë...
Malvina - !
vajtoj unë brenda vetes.

Kurt Tuholski

Re: Poezi te preferuara

Mourir d'aimer

Les parois de ma vie sont lisses
Je m'y accroche mais je glisse
Lentement vers ma destinée
Mourir d'aimer

Tandis que le monde me juge
Je ne vois pour moi qu'un refuge
Toute issue m'étant condamnée
Mourir d'aimer

Mourir d'aimer
De plein gré s'enfoncer dans la nuit
Payer l'amour au prix de sa vie
Pécher contre le corps mais non contre l'esprit

Laissons le monde à ses problèmes
Les gens haineux face à eux-memes
Avec leurs petites idées
Mourir d'aimer

Puisque notre amour ne peut vivre
Mieux vaut en refermer le livre
Et plutot que de le brûler
Mourir d'aimer

Partir en redressant la tete
Sortir vainqueur d'une défaite
Renverser toutes les données
Mourir d'aimer

Mourir d'aimer
Comme on le peut de n'importe quoi
Abandonner tout derrière soi
Pour n'emporter que ce qui fut nous, qui fut toi

Tu es le printemps, moi l'automne
Ton coeur se prend, le mien se donne
Et ma route est déjà tracée
Mourir d'aimer
Mourir d'aimer
Mourir d'aimer

Te vdesesh nga dashuria

muret e jetes time jane te lemuara
mundohem te mbahem ne to, por rreshqas
ngadale drejt fatit tim
te vdes nga dashuria

nderkohe qe tere bota me gjykon
gjej per veten vec nje strehim
cdo zgjidhje tjeter me eshte e ndaluar
vec te vdes nga dashuria

te vdes nga dashuria
me deshire te zhytem ne nate
te paguaj dashurine me cmimin e jetes
te bej mekat ndaj trupit, por jo ndaj shpirtit

t’a le boten dhe problemet e saj
njerezit me urrejtjen e tyre ndaj vetes
me idete e tyre te pavlera
dhe te vdes nga dashuria

meqe dashuria jone nuk jeton dot
do ish me mire t’a mbyllja librin
dhe me mire se t’a djeg
le te vdes nga dashuria

te nisem duke mbajtur koken lart
de iki fitues mbi nje disfate
ti permbys te gjitha
e te vdes nga dashuria

te vdes nga dashuria
ashtu si mund te vdesesh nga cdo gje tjeter
te braktis gjithcka pas vetes
per te marre me vete ate qe ishim "ne", qe ishe "ti"

ti je pranvera dhe une vjeshta
zemra jote merret, imja jepet
dhe rruga ime eshte e shkruar
te vdes nga dashuria

Re: Poezi te preferuara

<u>Ode to a Nightingale</u> - Keats

1.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk :
‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness, -
That thou, light winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

2.
O for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

3.
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few. sad, last grey hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

4.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

5.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

6.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -
To thy high requiem become a sod.

7.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

8.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music: – Do I wake or sleep?



/ubb/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/smile.gif

Re: Poezi te preferuara

MASSIMO VOLUME

<u>IL PRIMO DIO</u>

C'è forza nella pioggia che bagna il bordo del lavandino
e le mie braccia tese, oggi.
Non nelle colline, nè nel cielo che tiene bassi gli uccelli
e ha i colori sbiaditi di una polaroid.
Emanuel Carnevali, morto di fame nelle cucine d'America
sfinito dalla stanchezza nelle sale da pranzo d'America
scrivevi
E c'è forza nelle tue parole
Sopra le portate lasciate a metà, i tovaglioli usati
Sopra le cicche macchiate di rossetto
Sopra i posacenere colmi
Sapevi di trovare l'uragano
Dire qualcosa mentre si e' rapiti dall'uragano
Ecco l'unico fatto che possa compensarmi
di non essere io l'uragano
Emanuel
Primo dio
Rimbaud
Preghiera a cose più belle di me
Rimbaud
Avvento della giovinezza
Immagine perfetta
Senzazione perfetta
E' nella pioggia, oggi, il vostro grido

Re: Poezi te preferuara

Mario Scalesi :

<u>L'ACCIDENT</u>

L'instant où j'ai cessé de vivre,
Je le verrai longtemps encor.
(Quand l'espoir a fermé son livre
On peut bien dire qu'on est mort).

Muse, je veux que tu célèbres
Ce vieil et banal escalier
Qui, m'ayant brisé les vertèbres,
Me force à ne point l'oublier.

Tu connais l'histoire, je pense,
Puisque étaient par toi visités
Ces fantasques rêves d'enfance
Où riaient mes naïvetés.

C'était Noël. L'hiver d'Afrique,
Cet hiver aux avrils pareil,
Fleurissait dans l'air balsamique;
Sous les dorures du soleil.

J'allais là-haut chercher des cartes.
Une coutume d'autrefois
Voulait que l'on jouât les tartes,
Les fèves cuites et les noix.

L'escalier était un peu sombre.
Heureux, je rapportais le jeu,
Lorsque mon pied glissa dans l'ombre
Comme je songeais au ciel bleu.

On dit que, fuyant le suaire,
Parfois, la nuit, un trépassé
Hante sa chambre mortuaire
Pour y revivre le passé.

Et ces macabres escapades,
Voyez comme on les nie à tort:
Je sens fuir mes pensées malades
Vers l'escalier où je suis mort.

Re: Poezi te preferuara

Nje proverb I vjeter thot o miq
“Me mire vetem se me shoke te liq”
Por un di nje me kuptimplot
“Vetem me shoke shkon para ne bote”

Thote nje proverb qe s’harrohet kurre
“Kush eshte inisiator eshte edhe burre”
Por un di nje tjeter qe me fort te bind
“Kush ka njeqind shoke vlen sa per njeqind”

Nje proverb prape thote pa I rene gjate
“Ai qe rri vetem nuk ben dot shamate”
Po ky mendim nuk ma mbush fare koken
“Gezimin njeriu e ndjen nder shoke e nder shoqe “



Xhani Rodari

Re: Poezi te preferuara

Augen in der Großstadt

Wenn du zur Arbeit gehst
am frühen Morgen,
wenn du am Bahnhof stehst
mit deinen Sorgen:
da zeigt die Stadt
dir asphaltglatt
im Menschentrichter
Millionen Gesichter:
Zwei fremde Augen, ein kurzer Blick,
die Braue, Pupillen, die Lider -
Was war das? vielleicht dein Lebensglück ...
vorbei, verweht, nie wieder.

Du gehst dein Leben lang
auf tausend Straßen;
du siehst auf deinem Gang,
die dich vergaßen.
Ein Auge winkt,
die Seele klingt;
du hasts gefunden,
nur für Sekunden ...
Zwei fremde Augen, ein kurzer Blick,
die Braue, Pupillen, die Lider;
Was war das? kein Mensch dreht die Zeit zurück ...
Vorbei, verweht, nie wieder.

Du musst auf deinem Gang
durch Städte wandern;
siehst einen Pulsschlag lang
den fremden Andern.
Es kann ein Feind sein,
es kann ein Freund sein,
es kann im Kampfe dein
Genosse sein.
Es sieht hinüber
und zieht vorüber ...
Zwei fremde Augen, ein kurzer Blick,
die Braue, Pupillen, die Lider.
Was war das?
Von der großen Menschheit ein Stück!
Vorbei, verweht, nie wieder.

Re: Poezi te preferuara

Emily Dickinson


A door just opened on a street--
I, lost, was passing by--
An instant's width of warmth disclosed
And wealth, and company.

The door as sudden shut, and I,
I, lost, was passing by,--
Lost doubly, but by contrast most,
Enlightening misery.

Re: Poezi te preferuara

An Almost Made Up Poem
Bukowski


I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
because we’ never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.

Re: Poezi te preferuara

Sad...

Re: Poezi te preferuara

Sehnsucht nach der Sehnsucht

Erst wollte ich mich dir in Keuschheit nahn.
Die Kette schmolz.
Ich bin doch schließlich, schließlich auch ein Mann,
und nicht von Holz.

Der Mai ist da. Der Vogel Pirol pfeift.
Es geht was um.
Und wer sich dies und wer sich das verkneift,
der ist schön dumm.

Denn mit der Seelenfreundschaft - liebste Frau,
hier dies Gedicht
zeigt mir und Ihnen treffend und genau:
es geht ja nicht.

Es geht nicht, wenn die linde Luft weht und
die Amsel singt -
wir brauchen alle einen roten Mund,
der uns beschwingt.

Wir brauchen alle etwas, das das Blut
rasch vorwärtstreibt -
es dichtet sich doch noch einmal so gut,
wenn man beweibt.

Doch heller noch tönt meiner Leier Klang,
wenn du versagst,
was ich entbehrte öde Jahre lang -
wenn du nicht magst.

So süß ist keine Liebesmelodie,
so frisch kein Bad,
so freundlich keine kleine Brust wie die,
die man nicht hat.

Die Wirklichkeit hat es noch nie gekonnt,
weil sie nichts hält.
Und strahlend überschleiert mir dein Blond
die ganze Welt.

Kurt Tucholsky

Re: Poezi te preferuara

McCik sa duhet te presim per ti lexuar kto dy poezite e fundit te perkthyera ? /ubb/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/eusa_angel.gif

Re: Poezi te preferuara

...sa me pelqen synori "Sehnsucht" ne gjermanisht.
MCcik,kujdesu! /ubb/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/smile.gif

Re: Poezi te preferuara

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

"The Raven"- E.A.Poe