Poezitë që parapëlqej.
- Thread starter Ema
- Data e fillimit
Diavolessa
Valoris scriptorum
Re: Poezi te preferuara
Le stelle, che con il loro luccicare su nel cielo
illuminano la notte e fungono da stimolo
ai sogni di tutti noi.
Il sole, che con il suo radiare ha permesso
lo sviluppo della vita su questa povera terra.
Il mare, che con la luna accompagna i cuori degli amanti
nei momenti di tenerezza.
Il canto degli uccelli,
che rallegrano gli animi dei poeti.
L'acqua che ci purifica dalle impurità.
L'amore, che ci fa stare tanto bene
quando lo si ha fin dentro al cuore.
Le stelle, che con il loro luccicare su nel cielo
illuminano la notte e fungono da stimolo
ai sogni di tutti noi.
Il sole, che con il suo radiare ha permesso
lo sviluppo della vita su questa povera terra.
Il mare, che con la luna accompagna i cuori degli amanti
nei momenti di tenerezza.
Il canto degli uccelli,
che rallegrano gli animi dei poeti.
L'acqua che ci purifica dalle impurità.
L'amore, che ci fa stare tanto bene
quando lo si ha fin dentro al cuore.
Re: Poezi te preferuara
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
Fire and Ice
1Some say the world will end in fire,
2Some say in ice.
3From what I've tasted of desire
4I hold with those who favor fire.
5But if it had to perish twice,
6I think I know enough of hate
7To know that for destruction ice
8Is also great
9And would suffice.
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
Fire and Ice
1Some say the world will end in fire,
2Some say in ice.
3From what I've tasted of desire
4I hold with those who favor fire.
5But if it had to perish twice,
6I think I know enough of hate
7To know that for destruction ice
8Is also great
9And would suffice.
jona20
big bum bam...
Re: Poezi te preferuara
Do të më kujtosh
Unë do shkruaj një libër me vjersha
Dhe ti do ta lexosh si relikë
Dhe duke qëruar patate të ardhura nga vjeshta
Gishtin do presësh me thikë.
Duke vënë gishtin në gojë,
Mua do më kujtosh në kuzhinë
Dhe do të thuash para dollapit të lyer me boje
Për pak e harrova ditëzinë'!
---------------
Letër
I dashur mik,
Kur vjershat e mia lexon varg për varg,
Ti thua se unë në vatër kam lumturi?
Vërtet, vëlla, ashtu të duket nga larg,
Ndërsa aspak nuk e di!
I dashur mik,
Çdo natë të shtrihesh në të njëjtin krevat,
Të ngrihesh nga i njëjti shtrat çdo mëngjes,
Dyzet vjet të njëjtin varr e të njëjtin fat
Dhe i lumtur të jesh?
---------------
Retë
Filluan retë e rënda si anije
Lundrimin në një det pa anë e fund
Të humbën në tallaze kaltërsie
Sikur piratët djaj t'i bënin shkrumb.
Këto anije si përbindësha shtrirë
Të duket se asgjë s'i tund e tret,
Por vjen një çast dhe shpejt në hapsirë
Prej tyre s'mbetet qoftë e një skelet
Dritero Agolli.
Do të më kujtosh
Unë do shkruaj një libër me vjersha
Dhe ti do ta lexosh si relikë
Dhe duke qëruar patate të ardhura nga vjeshta
Gishtin do presësh me thikë.
Duke vënë gishtin në gojë,
Mua do më kujtosh në kuzhinë
Dhe do të thuash para dollapit të lyer me boje
Për pak e harrova ditëzinë'!
---------------
Letër
I dashur mik,
Kur vjershat e mia lexon varg për varg,
Ti thua se unë në vatër kam lumturi?
Vërtet, vëlla, ashtu të duket nga larg,
Ndërsa aspak nuk e di!
I dashur mik,
Çdo natë të shtrihesh në të njëjtin krevat,
Të ngrihesh nga i njëjti shtrat çdo mëngjes,
Dyzet vjet të njëjtin varr e të njëjtin fat
Dhe i lumtur të jesh?
---------------
Retë
Filluan retë e rënda si anije
Lundrimin në një det pa anë e fund
Të humbën në tallaze kaltërsie
Sikur piratët djaj t'i bënin shkrumb.
Këto anije si përbindësha shtrirë
Të duket se asgjë s'i tund e tret,
Por vjen një çast dhe shpejt në hapsirë
Prej tyre s'mbetet qoftë e një skelet
Dritero Agolli.
Re: Poezi te preferuara
Do te mbeshtjell me dashuri
kur te shihemi heres tjeter,
do te mbeshtjell me perkedhelje, me ekstazi,
Do te mekoj me te gjitha kenaqesite epshore
derisa ti te humbasesh ndjenjat...
Dua te te habis,
te te bej ti rrefesh vetes qe te tilla
momente as i kishe enderruar...
Kur te plakesh dua
qe ti kujtosh keto pak ore
dhe dua qe kockat e tua te thata
te dridhen nga kenaqesia.
Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880)
P.S. Nje nga poezite e mia me te preferuara te dashurise! Shume e thjeshte por teper e bukur! LOL Ju pelqeu?!
ADRIA
Do te mbeshtjell me dashuri
kur te shihemi heres tjeter,
do te mbeshtjell me perkedhelje, me ekstazi,
Do te mekoj me te gjitha kenaqesite epshore
derisa ti te humbasesh ndjenjat...
Dua te te habis,
te te bej ti rrefesh vetes qe te tilla
momente as i kishe enderruar...
Kur te plakesh dua
qe ti kujtosh keto pak ore
dhe dua qe kockat e tua te thata
te dridhen nga kenaqesia.
Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880)
P.S. Nje nga poezite e mia me te preferuara te dashurise! Shume e thjeshte por teper e bukur! LOL Ju pelqeu?!
ADRIA
Re: Poezi te preferuara
Puthja -Nje Poezi shuuuuuuuuuuume e vjeter nga Rufino!
Nje puthje prej saj!
Goja e saj
qe i afrohet gjithnje e me shume tendes
ç'embelsi!
ç'embelsi
kur te prek lehtas buzen.
Duke t'i afruar buzet me prane,
me prane
ajo pi nga shpirti jot,
ben qe te rrjedhin
lumenj ndjenjash nga ekstremitet
e trupit tend.
Rufino (345 -410) (Pak si melankolike /pf/images/graemlins/frown.gif hmmm?!)
ADRIA
Puthja -Nje Poezi shuuuuuuuuuuume e vjeter nga Rufino!
Nje puthje prej saj!
Goja e saj
qe i afrohet gjithnje e me shume tendes
ç'embelsi!
ç'embelsi
kur te prek lehtas buzen.
Duke t'i afruar buzet me prane,
me prane
ajo pi nga shpirti jot,
ben qe te rrjedhin
lumenj ndjenjash nga ekstremitet
e trupit tend.
Rufino (345 -410) (Pak si melankolike /pf/images/graemlins/frown.gif hmmm?!)
ADRIA
nyctophilia
Primus registratum
Re: Poezi te preferuara
...Perversitet -
("peralle" nga jeta aktuale e nje vjershetoreje)
Ajo-
...zgjohej cdo mengjez,
ashtu si nje lavire e pafajshme, apo...
si nje putanelke e kenaqur,
prej trajtimit te marre gjate nates.
Ajo -
..."magjike" deri ne peshtiresim.
Ajo -
...veshtronte me adhurim
pullat e spermatozoideve te thare,
gjithkund mbi trupin e saj;
... mbi buze, thelle ne uterus,
mbi floke, mureve te esophagut.
Ajo -
..."e mrekullueshme" deri ne ekstrem.
Ajo -
... ulerinte sa here emrin e saj,
te felliqurin emrin e saj,
teksa gishterinjte "e palare",
porsi gjymtyre delikate merimgash,
depertonin gropave mistike te trupit te saj
Ajo -
..."e virgjer" deri ne pavdekshmeri.
Ajo -
... Enderronte figura mashkullore,
perbri saj, ne shtratin e vjeter.
Ajo -
... S'gjente vecse lekurat e vjetra
te trupit te saj te konsumuar.
Ajo -
...pertypte "birth control pills"
cdo nate, per tu mbrojtur, prej vetvetes
Ajo -
... E peshtire deri ne peshtiresim
P.S.: data e skadimit te qenies tende: 04 Maj 1980.
...Perversitet -
("peralle" nga jeta aktuale e nje vjershetoreje)
Ajo-
...zgjohej cdo mengjez,
ashtu si nje lavire e pafajshme, apo...
si nje putanelke e kenaqur,
prej trajtimit te marre gjate nates.
Ajo -
..."magjike" deri ne peshtiresim.
Ajo -
...veshtronte me adhurim
pullat e spermatozoideve te thare,
gjithkund mbi trupin e saj;
... mbi buze, thelle ne uterus,
mbi floke, mureve te esophagut.
Ajo -
..."e mrekullueshme" deri ne ekstrem.
Ajo -
... ulerinte sa here emrin e saj,
te felliqurin emrin e saj,
teksa gishterinjte "e palare",
porsi gjymtyre delikate merimgash,
depertonin gropave mistike te trupit te saj
Ajo -
..."e virgjer" deri ne pavdekshmeri.
Ajo -
... Enderronte figura mashkullore,
perbri saj, ne shtratin e vjeter.
Ajo -
... S'gjente vecse lekurat e vjetra
te trupit te saj te konsumuar.
Ajo -
...pertypte "birth control pills"
cdo nate, per tu mbrojtur, prej vetvetes
Ajo -
... E peshtire deri ne peshtiresim
P.S.: data e skadimit te qenies tende: 04 Maj 1980.
i'll_wait_4_U_in_Heaven
Forumium praecox
Re: Poezi te preferuara
TO MY FAVORITE DROOLING SERPENT WHO'S DYING OF HEARTSICKENESS
GO ON...and on and on and on .bla bla bla...when you'll reach the bottom, tell me what you have found/reached/accomplished...SO FAR
/pf/images/graemlins/laugh.gif
TO MY FAVORITE DROOLING SERPENT WHO'S DYING OF HEARTSICKENESS
GO ON...and on and on and on .bla bla bla...when you'll reach the bottom, tell me what you have found/reached/accomplished...SO FAR
/pf/images/graemlins/laugh.gif
Re: Poezi te preferuara
nyctophylia, u r the ugliest human being I have ever heard of. What you call "piece of art" with what you create and write, is nothing but a piece of agonic soul who is lonely, bare, uneven, desperate, tired, unloved and so much in need of a woman. You wish you had a girl like ADRIA by your side. She is a male magnet cause she has so much to offer. Her beauty comes from within and she is very beautiful on the outside as well. And no I am not a boyfriend, not even a friend of hers for that matter, just someone who konws a bit about her. She is a published author both in USA and Albania, and someone who pretends that knows so much abaout literature as you, would have already heard of a book or poems or novels that she ADRIA has published. But you know very little, perhaps nothing. That is why I know her, because I read and because I am an author myself just like her.
What I get from all the terrible stuff you write about ADRIA is that you want attention. No one has any more nerve or time, especially patience to read what you got to say. You only say what you want to hear. Keep bullshitting all you want. No one cares. Everyone is entitled to their opinions. And my opinion about you is made up: "you are a low human being" who barely has a soul. What you write does not come from the soul but filthy trash novels you read every day by what you consider "modern writers". What you write comes from unpredictable and unstoppable hormones and unwanted desires, nightmare fantasies and unfulfilled wishes. You wish you had one tenth of the resect people like ADRIA and most of the other girls and guys in this forum have.
To make yourself feel better, you have to write horrible untruthful stuff about someone else I get it. Like I have said it, people that put themselves on top and who think they are GOd make me sick to throw up. Edhe ti piikerisht na bere per te vjelle me idiotizmat qe shkruan neper metafora te zymta dhe krahasime pa buke qe vijne nga nje mashkull i gjymtuar, qe e ka pushtuar vetmia e qenies se tij te piste. Ti je egoist, hipokrit, mendjemadh dhe aspak POETIK pasi nje poet i mirefillte qe vertet e njeh letersine s'do shkruante kurre dicka aq te felliqur sa ato qe ke shkruar ti per nje krijese tjeter njerezore. Apo ti qenke super human keshtu. Ti ma shpif vetem e vetem per faktin per ato qe sajon e shkruan per dike qe as e njeh fare. Nejse varja, se s'ka me nerva te merret njeri me ty. Por meqe jam vete gutsy thashe te te mbaja nje si fjalim se mbase "merr vesh" ndonese e di qe do bjere ne vesh te shurrdhet, pasi qenie te peshtirosura si ty as qe degjojne ndonjehere. Ai qe ve te tjeret para veste zakonisht eshte shume me prapa se ta. Kete e ka thene nje filozof i matur edhe ne rastin tend te shon tamam. nyctophylia, qepe gojen se vertet ia ke futur kot, nuk mund te merremi me idiotizmat e tua qe i poston ne te gjitha temat e leterisise sikur njehere te mos mjaftonte, na duhej ti shifnim per te 5-ten a te 6-ten here. Plssssssss shut up, you make me sick, you sick person! You need help and yes admit it YOU ARE OBSSESSED WITH ADRIA, POOR GIRL!
I pranoj te gjitha ato qe thashe me siper. Me vjen keq nse kam perdorur pak fjalor te ashper, jo me te ashper se tendin nyctophylia. Me pershtiresimet qe ka shkruar dikush si ty u lutem moderatoreve qe ky postim te mos fshihet a te editohet, ashtu sic nuk eshte fshire apo edituar ndonje postim i nyctophylia.
Faleminderit edhe Paqja qofte mbi ju te gjithe. Miqesisht magic!
po ta them ne Anglisht pasi vetem keshtu mund te shprehem me mire sec dua te te them edhe se s'dua te te ofendoj ne gjuhen tone Shqipe burre i poshter.
nyctophylia, u r the ugliest human being I have ever heard of. What you call "piece of art" with what you create and write, is nothing but a piece of agonic soul who is lonely, bare, uneven, desperate, tired, unloved and so much in need of a woman. You wish you had a girl like ADRIA by your side. She is a male magnet cause she has so much to offer. Her beauty comes from within and she is very beautiful on the outside as well. And no I am not a boyfriend, not even a friend of hers for that matter, just someone who konws a bit about her. She is a published author both in USA and Albania, and someone who pretends that knows so much abaout literature as you, would have already heard of a book or poems or novels that she ADRIA has published. But you know very little, perhaps nothing. That is why I know her, because I read and because I am an author myself just like her.
What I get from all the terrible stuff you write about ADRIA is that you want attention. No one has any more nerve or time, especially patience to read what you got to say. You only say what you want to hear. Keep bullshitting all you want. No one cares. Everyone is entitled to their opinions. And my opinion about you is made up: "you are a low human being" who barely has a soul. What you write does not come from the soul but filthy trash novels you read every day by what you consider "modern writers". What you write comes from unpredictable and unstoppable hormones and unwanted desires, nightmare fantasies and unfulfilled wishes. You wish you had one tenth of the resect people like ADRIA and most of the other girls and guys in this forum have.
To make yourself feel better, you have to write horrible untruthful stuff about someone else I get it. Like I have said it, people that put themselves on top and who think they are GOd make me sick to throw up. Edhe ti piikerisht na bere per te vjelle me idiotizmat qe shkruan neper metafora te zymta dhe krahasime pa buke qe vijne nga nje mashkull i gjymtuar, qe e ka pushtuar vetmia e qenies se tij te piste. Ti je egoist, hipokrit, mendjemadh dhe aspak POETIK pasi nje poet i mirefillte qe vertet e njeh letersine s'do shkruante kurre dicka aq te felliqur sa ato qe ke shkruar ti per nje krijese tjeter njerezore. Apo ti qenke super human keshtu. Ti ma shpif vetem e vetem per faktin per ato qe sajon e shkruan per dike qe as e njeh fare. Nejse varja, se s'ka me nerva te merret njeri me ty. Por meqe jam vete gutsy thashe te te mbaja nje si fjalim se mbase "merr vesh" ndonese e di qe do bjere ne vesh te shurrdhet, pasi qenie te peshtirosura si ty as qe degjojne ndonjehere. Ai qe ve te tjeret para veste zakonisht eshte shume me prapa se ta. Kete e ka thene nje filozof i matur edhe ne rastin tend te shon tamam. nyctophylia, qepe gojen se vertet ia ke futur kot, nuk mund te merremi me idiotizmat e tua qe i poston ne te gjitha temat e leterisise sikur njehere te mos mjaftonte, na duhej ti shifnim per te 5-ten a te 6-ten here. Plssssssss shut up, you make me sick, you sick person! You need help and yes admit it YOU ARE OBSSESSED WITH ADRIA, POOR GIRL!
I pranoj te gjitha ato qe thashe me siper. Me vjen keq nse kam perdorur pak fjalor te ashper, jo me te ashper se tendin nyctophylia. Me pershtiresimet qe ka shkruar dikush si ty u lutem moderatoreve qe ky postim te mos fshihet a te editohet, ashtu sic nuk eshte fshire apo edituar ndonje postim i nyctophylia.
Faleminderit edhe Paqja qofte mbi ju te gjithe. Miqesisht magic!
nyctophilia
Primus registratum
Re: Poezi te preferuara
Tmerresisht e respektoj "kritiken" tende, sa per xhelozitetin tend dije fort puth cdo fjale tenden, e plas mbi shtratin e mendimeve te mija dhe... me dashje e cvirgjeroj krimbin gerryen tumor "molles" ku prodhohen mendimet e tua, dhe ... padashje u rrezua mbi koken e Newtonit, duke i hapur rruge evolucionit te ligjit te "gravitacionalitetit (rrendeses) se fjales."
M.gj.a. po te zhgenjej ... ne fillim:
"Life, my psychoanalist, proved i do not suffer of any kind of mental illness!!!"
***
"burre i poshter"
Sa per dijenine tende, une s'besoj se do ti kaloj ndonjehere te 18-tat. (C'zhgennjim!!!)
***
"u r the ugliest human being I have ever heard of"
E dashura ime s'mendon keshtu, m.gj.a. per mua pak rendesi ka mendimi yt. Epitet ... me ke veshur, aq mire do te ngjanin me vargun e pamase se tipareve te Pjetrit te "Lufta e Paqja" e Tolstoit, fatkeqesisht s'me bejne te ndjehem ai ... ti deshiron te jem.
***
Ti besoj se e kupton, te me kritikosh mua, duke qene vete personi, ... une kritikoj, duke nderruar thjesht nickname- in, s'para i shkon nje poeteje, gazetareje, apo nje mendjeje kaq te ndritur sa e jotja. C'perversitete te ndyra rruan karakterit tend magnetik karshi meshkujsh?!
O autore e ndritur publikimesh me te cilat gjyshja jote fshin jashteqitjet e macokut te vogel, ... i pavetedijshem ndot perbrenda enderrimeve te tua, per te mos thene diku tjeter.
***
"...I obssessuar me ty, d.m.th. me adrian?!" Bah, c'gallate!!!
Fjalorin tend une e ha cdo dite perdreke. Sigurisht, s'mund te shkruaj dicka te bukur kur lexoj funderimat e tua d.m.th. te Adrias , ne kete forum, e kane zaptuar ca botues ... perdornin germa "18" per te mbushur faqet me buqallalleqete tyre, apo ... nxirrnin baballaret e tyre per te terhequr ndonje poetuc, nga ata ... ka me thase ne Korce, apo Shqiperi, ne ndonje klub shoferesh, per ti bere nje lavderim vjeshurkave te vajzes se tij. Ju ... o vershetore te talentuara ... u jepnit nga nje perqindje te cmimit cdo profesori letersise ... te detyronte nxenesit e klasave te tyre, te blinin librat tuaj per tu bere nga nje referat, vargjeve pa pike vlere letrare.
M.gj.a. per tu lene te qete une po inaktivizoj ekzistencen time ne ket forum, dhe do tu dergoj nje P.M. moderatoreve te fshijne gjithcka timen, sepse kritika ime ju peshtiroset, dhe ju dobeson ndricimin vargjeve tuaja, te pavlera.
***
Heren tjeter s'ka nevoje te ndryshosh nick-un per te me derguar nje kritike. Po fakti ... asnje prej atyre kam shkruar s'eshte fshire, ka erdhur sepse ti, apo Adria jini per ne plehrat. Ti s'e ke idene sa mesazhe me kane erdhur ne P.M. pas mesazhit tim te pare, "koves sime pavrima", ne te kujtohet, ... me pergezonin dhe ... njekohesisht me luteshin te mos merresha me ty se ishe teper naive, po aq sa edhe kopile. Disa prej tyre kane qene nga ata ... te thone "Bravo, vazhdo keshtu!!!", se njerezia gallate duan."
***
O pjese e "karnavaleve te Korces", ti je e semure, prej Unit tend kanceroz.
***
M.gj.a. s'ma the emrine atij filozofit te madha, te paemert.
Filozof?! Filozofike?! Filozof1?! Filozofe?!
***
Sinqerisht, une do ta beja shokun tim me te ngushte ate person, sado i varfer apo i keqtrajtuar nga jeta ... do te ishte, por ... vertet di te shkruaje, jo baltra pe keto ... shkruaj une ne kete forum, (sepse ju per te tilla "baltra" e kini katandisur kete forum), por perla te verteta nga ato ... askush s'ka shkruar ketu.
***
Sa per botime, nje shoku im, po pergatit nje suprize per botim ne Shqiperi, ju vetem prisni. I urroj suksese atij njeriu te thjeshte por te madh, ... s'e ka marre ndonjere mundimin te trokase dyerve te ketij forumi.
Me gjithe respektin e nevojshem,
Hasta la vista
nyctophylia
P.S.: Shpresoj se do takohemi ne FERR!!!
R.I.P. - (Rest In Pain)
Tmerresisht e respektoj "kritiken" tende, sa per xhelozitetin tend dije fort puth cdo fjale tenden, e plas mbi shtratin e mendimeve te mija dhe... me dashje e cvirgjeroj krimbin gerryen tumor "molles" ku prodhohen mendimet e tua, dhe ... padashje u rrezua mbi koken e Newtonit, duke i hapur rruge evolucionit te ligjit te "gravitacionalitetit (rrendeses) se fjales."
M.gj.a. po te zhgenjej ... ne fillim:
"Life, my psychoanalist, proved i do not suffer of any kind of mental illness!!!"
***
"burre i poshter"
Sa per dijenine tende, une s'besoj se do ti kaloj ndonjehere te 18-tat. (C'zhgennjim!!!)
***
"u r the ugliest human being I have ever heard of"
E dashura ime s'mendon keshtu, m.gj.a. per mua pak rendesi ka mendimi yt. Epitet ... me ke veshur, aq mire do te ngjanin me vargun e pamase se tipareve te Pjetrit te "Lufta e Paqja" e Tolstoit, fatkeqesisht s'me bejne te ndjehem ai ... ti deshiron te jem.
***
Ti besoj se e kupton, te me kritikosh mua, duke qene vete personi, ... une kritikoj, duke nderruar thjesht nickname- in, s'para i shkon nje poeteje, gazetareje, apo nje mendjeje kaq te ndritur sa e jotja. C'perversitete te ndyra rruan karakterit tend magnetik karshi meshkujsh?!
O autore e ndritur publikimesh me te cilat gjyshja jote fshin jashteqitjet e macokut te vogel, ... i pavetedijshem ndot perbrenda enderrimeve te tua, per te mos thene diku tjeter.
***
"...I obssessuar me ty, d.m.th. me adrian?!" Bah, c'gallate!!!
Fjalorin tend une e ha cdo dite perdreke. Sigurisht, s'mund te shkruaj dicka te bukur kur lexoj funderimat e tua d.m.th. te Adrias , ne kete forum, e kane zaptuar ca botues ... perdornin germa "18" per te mbushur faqet me buqallalleqete tyre, apo ... nxirrnin baballaret e tyre per te terhequr ndonje poetuc, nga ata ... ka me thase ne Korce, apo Shqiperi, ne ndonje klub shoferesh, per ti bere nje lavderim vjeshurkave te vajzes se tij. Ju ... o vershetore te talentuara ... u jepnit nga nje perqindje te cmimit cdo profesori letersise ... te detyronte nxenesit e klasave te tyre, te blinin librat tuaj per tu bere nga nje referat, vargjeve pa pike vlere letrare.
M.gj.a. per tu lene te qete une po inaktivizoj ekzistencen time ne ket forum, dhe do tu dergoj nje P.M. moderatoreve te fshijne gjithcka timen, sepse kritika ime ju peshtiroset, dhe ju dobeson ndricimin vargjeve tuaja, te pavlera.
***
Heren tjeter s'ka nevoje te ndryshosh nick-un per te me derguar nje kritike. Po fakti ... asnje prej atyre kam shkruar s'eshte fshire, ka erdhur sepse ti, apo Adria jini per ne plehrat. Ti s'e ke idene sa mesazhe me kane erdhur ne P.M. pas mesazhit tim te pare, "koves sime pavrima", ne te kujtohet, ... me pergezonin dhe ... njekohesisht me luteshin te mos merresha me ty se ishe teper naive, po aq sa edhe kopile. Disa prej tyre kane qene nga ata ... te thone "Bravo, vazhdo keshtu!!!", se njerezia gallate duan."
***
O pjese e "karnavaleve te Korces", ti je e semure, prej Unit tend kanceroz.
***
M.gj.a. s'ma the emrine atij filozofit te madha, te paemert.
Filozof?! Filozofike?! Filozof1?! Filozofe?!
***
Sinqerisht, une do ta beja shokun tim me te ngushte ate person, sado i varfer apo i keqtrajtuar nga jeta ... do te ishte, por ... vertet di te shkruaje, jo baltra pe keto ... shkruaj une ne kete forum, (sepse ju per te tilla "baltra" e kini katandisur kete forum), por perla te verteta nga ato ... askush s'ka shkruar ketu.
***
Sa per botime, nje shoku im, po pergatit nje suprize per botim ne Shqiperi, ju vetem prisni. I urroj suksese atij njeriu te thjeshte por te madh, ... s'e ka marre ndonjere mundimin te trokase dyerve te ketij forumi.
Me gjithe respektin e nevojshem,
Hasta la vista
nyctophylia
P.S.: Shpresoj se do takohemi ne FERR!!!
R.I.P. - (Rest In Pain)
Rrapatushja
Nelk@
Re: Poezi te preferuara
TI DO TË MË DASHUROSH PATJETËR
Ky qiell i prillit pa ty është i vjetër.
shkon një trishtim e ja ku vjen një tjetër.
Në mallin tënd ky karafil i egër,-
Ti do të më dashurosh patjetër!
Në sytë e tu diej të vegjël
e ndezën natën dhe ditën e ndezën.
Mirë sot,po si durohet pa ty nesër?-
Ti do t'ë dashurosh patjetër.
Kapërcej ty e kapërceva veten,
dhe përtej vetes kapërceva jetën,
dhe përtej jetës kapërceva vdekjen,-
I hapa krahët të pushtoj ty vetëm:
Ti do t'më dashurosh patjetër!
TI DO TË MË DASHUROSH PATJETËR
Ky qiell i prillit pa ty është i vjetër.
shkon një trishtim e ja ku vjen një tjetër.
Në mallin tënd ky karafil i egër,-
Ti do të më dashurosh patjetër!
Në sytë e tu diej të vegjël
e ndezën natën dhe ditën e ndezën.
Mirë sot,po si durohet pa ty nesër?-
Ti do t'ë dashurosh patjetër.
Kapërcej ty e kapërceva veten,
dhe përtej vetes kapërceva jetën,
dhe përtej jetës kapërceva vdekjen,-
I hapa krahët të pushtoj ty vetëm:
Ti do t'më dashurosh patjetër!
Re: Poezi te preferuara
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
RUDYARD KIPLING
1865-1936
------------------------------------------------------------
If .
Si tu peux rester calme alors que, sur ta route,
Un chacun perd la tête, et met le blâme en toi;
Si tu gardes confiance alors que chacun doute,
Mais sans leur en vouloir de leur manque de foi;
Si l'attente, pour toi, ne cause trop grand-peine:
Si, entendant mentir, toi-même tu ne mens,
Ou si, étant haï, tu ignores la haine,
Sans avoir l'air trop bon, ni parler trop sagement;
Si tu rêves, - sans faire des rêves ton pilastre;
Si tu penses, - sans faire de penser toute leçon;
Si tu sais rencontrer Triomphe ou bien Désastre,
Et traiter ces trompeurs de la même façon;
Si tu peux supporter tes vérités bien nettes
Tordues par les coquins pour mieux duper les sots,
Ou voir tout ce qui fut ton but brisé en miettes,
Et te baisser, pour prendre et trier les morceaux;
Si tu peux faire un tas de tous tes gains suprêmes
Et le risquer à pile ou face, - en un seul coup -
Et perdre - et repartir comme à tes débuts mêmes,
Sans murmurer un mot de ta perte au va-tout;
Si tu forces ton coeur, tes nerfs, et ton jarret
A servir à tes fins malgré leur abandon,
Et que tu tiennes bon quand tout vient à l'arrêt,
Hormis la Volonté qui ordonne :"Tiens bon !"
Si tu vas dans la foule sans orgueil à tout rompre,
Ou frayes avec les rois sans te croire un héros;
Si l'ami ni l'ennemi ne peuvent te corrompre;
Si tout homme, pour toi, compte, mais nul par trop;
Si tu sais bien remplir chaque minute implacable
De soixante secondes de chemins accomplis,
A toi sera la Terre et son bien délectable,
Et, - bien mieux - tu seras un Homme, mon fils.
Traduction : Jules Castier – 1949
-------
Si tu peux voir détruit l’ouvrage de ta vie
Et sans dire un seul mot te mettre à rebâtir,
Ou perdre d’un seul coup le gain de cent parties
Sans un geste et sans un soupir ;
Si tu peux être amant sans être fou d’amour,
Si tu peux être fort sans cesser d’être tendre
Et, te sentant haï, sans haïr à ton tour,
Pourtant lutter et te défendre ;
Si tu peux supporter d’entendre tes paroles
Travesties par des gueux pour exciter des sots,
Et d’entendre mentir sur toi leurs bouches folles
Sans mentir toi-même d’un seul mot ;
Si tu peux rester digne en étant populaire,
Si tu peux rester peuple en conseillant les rois
Et si tu peux aimer tous tes amis en frère
Sans qu’aucun d’eux soit tout pour toi ;
Si tu sais méditer, observer et connaître
Sans jamais devenir sceptique ou destructeur,
Rêver, mais sans laisser le rêve être ton maître,
Penser sans n’être qu’un penseur ;
Si tu peux être dur sans jamais être en rage,
Si tu peux être brave et jamais imprudent,
Si tu sais être bon, si tu sais être sage
Sans être moral ni pédant ;
Si tu peux rencontrer Triomphe après Défaite
Et recevoir ces deux menteurs d’un même front,
Si tu peux conserver ton courage et ta tête
Quand tous les autres les perdront,
Alors les Rois, les Dieux, la Chance et la Victoire
Seront à tout jamais tes esclaves soumis
Et, ce qui vaut bien mieux que les Rois et la Gloire,
Tu seras un homme, mon fils.
Traduction : Paul Eluard
-----SHQIP-------
NË MUNDSH
Në mundsh ta ruash arsyen kur bota humb fillin
E fajin ty ta hedh – dhe vetes ti besosh,
Sa herë të dyshojnë e s’të përfillin,
Por edhe dyshimet drejtë t’i gjykosh.
Në munsh të rrish në pritje, në pritje pa u lodhur,
A, kur të urrejnë, urrejtje mos të ushqesh
Madje ndaj shpifjeve të rrish pa folur
Me thjeshtësi, me to pa rënë ndesh.
Në mundsh të mendosh, por jo në shkatërrim
Të ëndërrosh por jo rob ëndërrimesh,
Dhe t’i trajtosh njëlloj e padallim
Ngadhnjim e shpartallim – burim mashtrimesh.
Në durofsh dot thënjet e tua të drejta
Në kurthe për tradhtarët, kopukët të t’i kthejnë
T’i shohësh të thyera gjërat më te shtrenjta
E prap t’i ndërtosh me vegla që nuk vlejnë.
Në mundsh fitoret që ke korrur t’i flijosh
Si në kumor, në një të vetme lojë,
Të rrezikosh, të humbësh, e prap t’ia fillosh
Dhe humbjen kurrë t’mos e zëshë në gojë
Në durofsh dot muskul, nerv, puls e zemër
Të të shërbejnë edhe kur gjithçka të duket e kotë,
E të qëndrosh kur s’ke më asgjë veç vullnetit
Që veç një fjalë “ QËNDRO” gjithnjë të thotë.
Në mundsh të flasësh me maskarenj, por nderin ta ruash
A të ecësh përkrah mbretit pa krenari që t'vërbon
Nëse armiku ose miku s’të bëjnë dot të vuash
Dhe gjithçka e çmon, por veç sa meriton.
Në mundsh të mbushësh dy minuta aq të rënda
Me vepra që peshojnë–Dije dhe mos ke asnjë dyshim
Se jotja do jetë bota me cka ka brenda
Dhe burrë të do jesh, o biri im!
( Çmimi Nobel për poezi, 1907 )
RUDYARD KIPLING
1865-1936
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
RUDYARD KIPLING
1865-1936
------------------------------------------------------------
If .
Si tu peux rester calme alors que, sur ta route,
Un chacun perd la tête, et met le blâme en toi;
Si tu gardes confiance alors que chacun doute,
Mais sans leur en vouloir de leur manque de foi;
Si l'attente, pour toi, ne cause trop grand-peine:
Si, entendant mentir, toi-même tu ne mens,
Ou si, étant haï, tu ignores la haine,
Sans avoir l'air trop bon, ni parler trop sagement;
Si tu rêves, - sans faire des rêves ton pilastre;
Si tu penses, - sans faire de penser toute leçon;
Si tu sais rencontrer Triomphe ou bien Désastre,
Et traiter ces trompeurs de la même façon;
Si tu peux supporter tes vérités bien nettes
Tordues par les coquins pour mieux duper les sots,
Ou voir tout ce qui fut ton but brisé en miettes,
Et te baisser, pour prendre et trier les morceaux;
Si tu peux faire un tas de tous tes gains suprêmes
Et le risquer à pile ou face, - en un seul coup -
Et perdre - et repartir comme à tes débuts mêmes,
Sans murmurer un mot de ta perte au va-tout;
Si tu forces ton coeur, tes nerfs, et ton jarret
A servir à tes fins malgré leur abandon,
Et que tu tiennes bon quand tout vient à l'arrêt,
Hormis la Volonté qui ordonne :"Tiens bon !"
Si tu vas dans la foule sans orgueil à tout rompre,
Ou frayes avec les rois sans te croire un héros;
Si l'ami ni l'ennemi ne peuvent te corrompre;
Si tout homme, pour toi, compte, mais nul par trop;
Si tu sais bien remplir chaque minute implacable
De soixante secondes de chemins accomplis,
A toi sera la Terre et son bien délectable,
Et, - bien mieux - tu seras un Homme, mon fils.
Traduction : Jules Castier – 1949
-------
Si tu peux voir détruit l’ouvrage de ta vie
Et sans dire un seul mot te mettre à rebâtir,
Ou perdre d’un seul coup le gain de cent parties
Sans un geste et sans un soupir ;
Si tu peux être amant sans être fou d’amour,
Si tu peux être fort sans cesser d’être tendre
Et, te sentant haï, sans haïr à ton tour,
Pourtant lutter et te défendre ;
Si tu peux supporter d’entendre tes paroles
Travesties par des gueux pour exciter des sots,
Et d’entendre mentir sur toi leurs bouches folles
Sans mentir toi-même d’un seul mot ;
Si tu peux rester digne en étant populaire,
Si tu peux rester peuple en conseillant les rois
Et si tu peux aimer tous tes amis en frère
Sans qu’aucun d’eux soit tout pour toi ;
Si tu sais méditer, observer et connaître
Sans jamais devenir sceptique ou destructeur,
Rêver, mais sans laisser le rêve être ton maître,
Penser sans n’être qu’un penseur ;
Si tu peux être dur sans jamais être en rage,
Si tu peux être brave et jamais imprudent,
Si tu sais être bon, si tu sais être sage
Sans être moral ni pédant ;
Si tu peux rencontrer Triomphe après Défaite
Et recevoir ces deux menteurs d’un même front,
Si tu peux conserver ton courage et ta tête
Quand tous les autres les perdront,
Alors les Rois, les Dieux, la Chance et la Victoire
Seront à tout jamais tes esclaves soumis
Et, ce qui vaut bien mieux que les Rois et la Gloire,
Tu seras un homme, mon fils.
Traduction : Paul Eluard
-----SHQIP-------
NË MUNDSH
Në mundsh ta ruash arsyen kur bota humb fillin
E fajin ty ta hedh – dhe vetes ti besosh,
Sa herë të dyshojnë e s’të përfillin,
Por edhe dyshimet drejtë t’i gjykosh.
Në munsh të rrish në pritje, në pritje pa u lodhur,
A, kur të urrejnë, urrejtje mos të ushqesh
Madje ndaj shpifjeve të rrish pa folur
Me thjeshtësi, me to pa rënë ndesh.
Në mundsh të mendosh, por jo në shkatërrim
Të ëndërrosh por jo rob ëndërrimesh,
Dhe t’i trajtosh njëlloj e padallim
Ngadhnjim e shpartallim – burim mashtrimesh.
Në durofsh dot thënjet e tua të drejta
Në kurthe për tradhtarët, kopukët të t’i kthejnë
T’i shohësh të thyera gjërat më te shtrenjta
E prap t’i ndërtosh me vegla që nuk vlejnë.
Në mundsh fitoret që ke korrur t’i flijosh
Si në kumor, në një të vetme lojë,
Të rrezikosh, të humbësh, e prap t’ia fillosh
Dhe humbjen kurrë t’mos e zëshë në gojë
Në durofsh dot muskul, nerv, puls e zemër
Të të shërbejnë edhe kur gjithçka të duket e kotë,
E të qëndrosh kur s’ke më asgjë veç vullnetit
Që veç një fjalë “ QËNDRO” gjithnjë të thotë.
Në mundsh të flasësh me maskarenj, por nderin ta ruash
A të ecësh përkrah mbretit pa krenari që t'vërbon
Nëse armiku ose miku s’të bëjnë dot të vuash
Dhe gjithçka e çmon, por veç sa meriton.
Në mundsh të mbushësh dy minuta aq të rënda
Me vepra që peshojnë–Dije dhe mos ke asnjë dyshim
Se jotja do jetë bota me cka ka brenda
Dhe burrë të do jesh, o biri im!
( Çmimi Nobel për poezi, 1907 )
RUDYARD KIPLING
1865-1936
Re: Poezi te preferuara
LA BEAUTE
Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre, Et mon sein, où chacun s'est meurtri tour à tour, Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour Eternel et muet ainsi que la matière.
Je trône dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris; J'unis un coeur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes; Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes, Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.
Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes. Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments, Consumeront leurs jours en d'austères études;
Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants, De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles: Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles!
o zot tani jam ne orgazem mendore..Bodelaire je fantastik...
LA BEAUTE
Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre, Et mon sein, où chacun s'est meurtri tour à tour, Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour Eternel et muet ainsi que la matière.
Je trône dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris; J'unis un coeur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes; Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes, Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.
Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes. Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments, Consumeront leurs jours en d'austères études;
Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants, De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles: Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles!
o zot tani jam ne orgazem mendore..Bodelaire je fantastik...
Diavolessa
Valoris scriptorum
Re: Poezi te preferuara
Pertej reve, pertej qiellit!
Pertej.... pertej..... pertej......
Pertej ajrit, pertej boshllekut!
Pertej.......pertej.......pertej.....
Pertej shpirtit, pertej njerezores!
pertej....pertej.......pertej......
Eh!............. asgjeja!!!
(Tonin Nikolli)
Pertej reve, pertej qiellit!
Pertej.... pertej..... pertej......
Pertej ajrit, pertej boshllekut!
Pertej.......pertej.......pertej.....
Pertej shpirtit, pertej njerezores!
pertej....pertej.......pertej......
Eh!............. asgjeja!!!
(Tonin Nikolli)
Re: Poezi te preferuara
Ti je ...s'e di
As yll nuk je, as hënë, as hyri,
As rreze dielli terrin për të ndritur,
S'ke rënë nga qielli të tregosh çudi,
As dorë mjeshtri nuk të ka skalitur...
Shum' net' i kam kaluar unë pa gjumë,
dhe ditët si në gjumë unë i kam kaluar,
Dhe sa më shum mendoj ç'je, aq më shumë
e ndjej se je zjarr që s'ka të shuar.
Muzafer Xhaxhiu
Ti je ...s'e di
As yll nuk je, as hënë, as hyri,
As rreze dielli terrin për të ndritur,
S'ke rënë nga qielli të tregosh çudi,
As dorë mjeshtri nuk të ka skalitur...
Shum' net' i kam kaluar unë pa gjumë,
dhe ditët si në gjumë unë i kam kaluar,
Dhe sa më shum mendoj ç'je, aq më shumë
e ndjej se je zjarr që s'ka të shuar.
Muzafer Xhaxhiu
Re: Poezi te preferuara
kam kohe qe s;tepar
kam kohe qe per ty qaj
kam kohe qe emrin tend
se kam thirrur,
vetem pershperit,
rruges sate udhetoi
gjer tek shtepia te afrohem
por aty ka nje kufi
qe tek ti smund te vi....
per ty
sikur te isha hije e pa dukshme
do ecja me ty ,
sikur te isha fantazem
ty do te friksoja
sikur te isha engjell
me bukurin time do te pushtoja
por ja qe jam njeri
dhe as njeren se arrij .
ne syte e ty heshtje kozmike
ne buzet e tua
buzeqeshje ironike
ne fytyren tende as po as jo
ku dreqin ta di un
me do o s;me doo
:smash:
kam kohe qe s;tepar
kam kohe qe per ty qaj
kam kohe qe emrin tend
se kam thirrur,
vetem pershperit,
rruges sate udhetoi
gjer tek shtepia te afrohem
por aty ka nje kufi
qe tek ti smund te vi....
per ty
sikur te isha hije e pa dukshme
do ecja me ty ,
sikur te isha fantazem
ty do te friksoja
sikur te isha engjell
me bukurin time do te pushtoja
por ja qe jam njeri
dhe as njeren se arrij .
ne syte e ty heshtje kozmike
ne buzet e tua
buzeqeshje ironike
ne fytyren tende as po as jo
ku dreqin ta di un
me do o s;me doo
:smash:
alinos
Forumium maestatis
Re: Poezi te preferuara
The Raven
ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore --
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore --
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door --
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; --
This it is, and nothing more,"
Presently my heart grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" -- here I opened wide the door; --
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore --
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; --
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door --
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door --
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore --
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door --
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered -- not a feather then he fluttered --
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before --
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore --
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never-nevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from the memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil! --
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted --
On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --
Is there -- is there balm in Gilead? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!' said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us -- by that God we both adore --
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore --
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting --
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
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.
Edgar Allan Poe
The Raven
ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore --
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore --
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door --
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; --
This it is, and nothing more,"
Presently my heart grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" -- here I opened wide the door; --
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore --
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; --
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door --
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door --
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore --
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door --
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered -- not a feather then he fluttered --
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before --
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore --
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never-nevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from the memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil! --
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted --
On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --
Is there -- is there balm in Gilead? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!' said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us -- by that God we both adore --
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore --
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting --
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
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.
Edgar Allan Poe
Re: Poezi te preferuara
These are the days when Birds come back
THESE are the days when Birds come back--
A very few--a Bird or two--
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The old--old sophistries of June--
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee--
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear--
And softly thro' the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze--
Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake--
Thy consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!
Emily Dickinson (1864)
These are the days when Birds come back
THESE are the days when Birds come back--
A very few--a Bird or two--
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The old--old sophistries of June--
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee--
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear--
And softly thro' the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze--
Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake--
Thy consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!
Emily Dickinson (1864)
Re: Poezi te preferuara
Theme for English B
Langston Hughes
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me--who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records--Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older--and white--
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
Theme for English B
Langston Hughes
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me--who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records--Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older--and white--
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
Re: Poezi te preferuara
Choices
by Nikki Giovanni
if i can't do
what i want to do
then my job is to not
do what i don't want
to do
it's not the same thing
but it's the best i can
do
if i can't have
what i want . . . then
my job is to want
what i've got
and be satisfied
that at least there
is something more to want
since i can't go
where i need
to go . . . then i must . . . go
where the signs point
through always understanding
parallel movement
isn't lateral
when i can't express
what i really feel
i practice feeling
what i can express
and none of it is equal
i know
but that's why mankind
alone among the animals
learns to cry
Choices
by Nikki Giovanni
if i can't do
what i want to do
then my job is to not
do what i don't want
to do
it's not the same thing
but it's the best i can
do
if i can't have
what i want . . . then
my job is to want
what i've got
and be satisfied
that at least there
is something more to want
since i can't go
where i need
to go . . . then i must . . . go
where the signs point
through always understanding
parallel movement
isn't lateral
when i can't express
what i really feel
i practice feeling
what i can express
and none of it is equal
i know
but that's why mankind
alone among the animals
learns to cry