Poetry and quotable quotes

[Karl Henning]

"I did not conquer London — I merely incensed it."
— Geo. Antheil

[North Star]

"What you suggest may be all very well in practice, but it will never work in theory."  - an apocryphal French philosopher

"The writer is someone who arranges quotes and removes the quotation marks." - Roland Barthes

"The most stimulating source for a solution to a problem comes from the problem itself. This is the real source—the problem defines the solution. It is when you look at what other people are doing that you are liable to come up with a stereotyped answer to your problem. Each problem contains unique elements. No problem is exactly like any other. The only way you can find a good answer is to clearly understand the question. You can't find the answer by using somebody else's answer to another question. I am not even saying this is bad. It is merely untrue. It is not so much a moral issue. It just doesn't work!" Saul Bass

"I can recognize any one by the teeth, with whom I have talked. I always watch the lips and mouth: they tell what the tongue and eyes try to conceal." Byron at the funeral of PB Shelley, according to E.J. Trelawny

"Classics are books which, the more we think we know them through hearsay, the more original, unexpected and innovative we find them when we actually read them."  - Italo Calvino

"Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things." Degas

"If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or objects." Einstein

"It is harder to fight against pleasure than against anger." Heraclitus

[North Star]

The Salutation

These little limbs,
These eyes and hands which here I find,
These rosy cheeks wherewith my life begins,
Where have ye been? behind
What curtain were ye from me hid so long?
Where was, in what abyss, my speaking tongue?

When silent I
So many thousand, thousand years
Beneath the dust did in a chaos lie,
How could I smiles or tears,
Or lips or hands or eyes or ears perceive?
Welcome ye treasures which I now receive.

I that so long
Was nothing from eternity,
Did little think such joys as ear or tongue
To celebrate or see:
Such sounds to hear, such hands to feel, such feet,
Beneath the skies on such a ground to meet.

New burnished joys,
Which yellow gold and pearls excel!
Such sacred treasures are the limbs in boys,
In which a soul doth dwell;
Their organizèd joints and azure veins
More wealth include than all the world contains.

From dust I rise,
And out of nothing now awake;
These brighter regions which salute mine eyes,
A gift from God I take.
The earth, the seas, the light, the day, the skies,
The sun and stars are mine if those I prize.

Long time before
I in my mother’s womb was born,
A God, preparing, did this glorious store,
The world, for me adorn.
Into this Eden so divine and fair,
So wide and bright, I come His son and heir.

A stranger here
Strange things doth meet, strange glories see;
Strange treasures lodged in this fair world appear,
Strange all and new to me;
But that they mine should be, who nothing was,
That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.

-Thomas Traherne (1636/7–1674)

[Jaakko Keskinen]

"I would like to take this opportunity to say that the practice of calling Lord Voldemort 'Voldie' must stop, as must the insistence that with a bit of therapy 'Voldie' would be a real sweetheart." J.K.Rowling

[Karl Henning]

Let us know how that works out for you.

[Florestan]

The Salutation

Excellent. A poet new to me, which I must explore further. Thanks for sharing.

[Marc]

I wrote this very deep (Dutch) poem for my secondary school exam's poetry list:

In het donker, ongezien,
kneep ik in een bil van Mien.

Ik kreeg een klap, ze zei:
zo werkt dat niet voor mij!

Toen gaf ik haar een zoen;
zo moest ik het dus doen.

Het duurde ruim een week
voor ze naar een ander keek.

More or less translated:

In the darkness, quite unseen,
I squeezed the buttocks of Mien.

I recieved a blow, whilst she said:
boy, you are behaving very bad!

Then I gave her a sweet kiss,
she seemed very pleased with this.

It took her about a week or so
Before she said: I have to go.

My teacher refused to dig deep into this masterpiece during my Viva Voce.
In fact, he did not ask any question about it at all, the blatant fool.

[Florestan]

I wrote this very deep (Dutch) poem for my secondary school exam's poetry list:

In het donker, ongezien,
kneep ik in een bil van Mien.

Ik kreeg een klap, ze zei:
zo werkt dat niet voor mij!

Toen gaf ik haar een zoen;
zo moest ik het dus doen.

Het duurde ruim een week
voor ze naar een ander keek.

More or less translated:

In the darkness, quite unseen,
I squeezed the buttocks of Mien.

I recieved a blow, whilst she said:
boy, you are behaving very bad!

Then I gave her a sweet kiss,
she seemed very pleased with this.

It took her about a week or so
Before she said: I have to go.

My teacher refused to dig deep into this masterpiece during my Viva Voce.
In fact, he did not ask any question about it at all, the blatant fool.

Had I been your teacher, I´d have given you an A-Okay and I´d have liked to meet that Mien muse. 

[Marc]

Had I been your teacher, I´d have given you an A-Okay and I´d have liked to meet that Mien muse. 

Who knows, maybe she would have stayed with you a month or so.



Here's a short (quotable?) poem by my favourite Dutch poet Rutger Kopland (1934-2012):

Ga nu maar liggen liefste in de tuin,
de lege plekken in het hoge gras, ik heb
altijd gewild dat ik dat was, een lege
plek voor iemand, om te blijven.

(More or less) translated:

Now lay yourself down, love, in the yard,
the empty spots in the high-grown grass, I have
always wished to be just that, an empty
spot for someone, to stay.

[Florestan]

Who knows, maybe she would have stayed with you a month or so.



Here's a short (quotable?) poem by my favourite Dutch poet Rutger Kopland (1934-2012):

Ga nu maar liggen liefste in de tuin,
de lege plekken in het hoge gras, ik heb
altijd gewild dat ik dat was, een lege
plek voor iemand, om te blijven.

(More or less) translated:

Now lay yourself down, love, in the yard,
the empty spots in the high-grown grass, I have
always wished to be just that, an empty
spot for someone, to stay.

That´s very good, too. Fortunately, I can read Dutch and feel the rythm that is lost in translation. Another one I should explore deeper. Any website featuring his poems?

[Marc]

That´s very good, too. Fortunately, I can read Dutch and feel the rythm that is lost in translation. Another one I should explore deeper. Any website featuring his poems?

http://www.poezie-leestafel.info/rutger-kopland

http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poet/item/4035

His main translator:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Brockway

A collection (in Dutch and English):

http://www.amazon.com/Memories-The-Unknown-Rutger-Kopland/dp/1860468950

Here's my own favourite, translated by Brockway, who was a personal friend of Kopland.
I've posted this one before on GMG, I think. Probably in the 'what are you currently reading' thread.

Zoals de pagina's van een krant
in het gras langzaam om
slaan in de wind, en het is de wind
niet, die dit doet,

zoals wanneer een deken in de avond,
buiten, ligt alsof hij ligt
te slapen, en het is de deken
niet, zo

niets is het, niets dan de verdrietige
beweging van een hand, de weerloze
houding van een lichaam,

en er is geen hand, er is
geen lichaam, terwijl ik toch
zo dichtbij ben.

...

Like the pages of a newspaper
flapping slowly to and fro in the grass
and it is not the wind
that is doing this,

as when of an evening, a blanket,
left outdoors, lies as though it lay
asleep, and it is not the blanket,
so near it is

to being nothing, nothing but the grieving
gesture of a hand, the vulnerable
attitude of a body,

and there is no hand, there is
no body, while I, after all,
am so close.

Taken from the above mentioned collection: Rutger Kopland, Memories of the Unknown. London, Harvill Press, 2001.

[Florestan]

Dank je wel!

[North Star]

Excellent. A poet new to me, which I must explore further. Thanks for sharing.

Yes, Traherne is quite obscure compared to Donne, George Herbert, or Marvell, the other greats of metaphysical poetry.

Another from him:

Eden

A learned and a happy ignorance
          Divided me
      From all the vanity,
From all the sloth, care, pain, and sorrow that advance
      The madness and the misery
Of men. No error, no distraction I
Saw soil the earth, or overcloud the sky.

   I knew not that there was a serpent's sting,
          Whose poison shed
      On men, did overspread
The world; nor did I dream of such a thing
      As sin, in which mankind lay dead.
They all were brisk and living wights to me,
Yea, pure and full of immortality.

   Joy, pleasure, beauty, kindness, glory, love,
          Sleep, day, life, light,
      Peace, melody, my sight,
My ears and heart did fill and freely move.
      All that I saw did me delight.
The Universe was then a world of treasure,
To me an universal world of pleasure.

   Unwelcome penitence was then unknown,
          Vain costly toys,
      Swearing and roaring boys,
Shops, markets, taverns, coaches, were unshown;
      So all things were that drown'd my joys:
No thorns chok'd up my path, nor hid the face
Of bliss and beauty, nor eclips'd the place.

   Only what Adam in his first estate,
          Did I behold;
      Hard silver and dry gold
As yet lay under ground; my blessed fate
      Was more acquainted with the old
And innocent delights which he did see
In his original simplicity.

   Those things which first his Eden did adorn,
          My infancy
      Did crown. Simplicity
Was my protection when I first was born.
      Mine eyes those treasures first did see
Which God first made. The first effects of love
My first enjoyments upon earth did prove;

   And were so great, and so divine, so pure;
          So fair and sweet,
      So true; when I did meet
Them here at first, they did my soul allure,
      And drew away my infant feet
Quite from the works of men; that I might see
The glorious wonders of the Deity.

[Wakefield]

Edades
by José Emilio Pacheco

Llega un triste momento de la edad
en que somos tan viejos como los padres.
Y entonces se descubre en un cajón olvidado
la foto de la abuela a los catorce años.

¿En dónde queda el tiempo, en dónde estamos?
Esa niña
que habita en el recuerdo como una anciana,
muerta hace medio siglo,
es en la foto nieta de su nieto,
la vida no vivida, el futuro total,
la juventud que siempre se renueva en los otros.
La historia no ha pasado por este instante.
Aún no existen las guerras ni las catástrofes
y la palabra muerte es impensable.

Nada se vive antes ni después.
No hay conjugación en la existencia
más que el tiempo presente.
En él yo soy el viejo
y mi abuela es la niña.

Source:
Los días que no se nombran, 1a ed., México, D. F. Asociación Nacional del Libro, A. C., 2011

I love this poem, but I'm unable to translate it in a poetic form, so here is the original. 

[Ken B]

A poem, animated and read by the author.

http://youtu.be/HhGuXCuDb1U

[Florestan]

Edades
by José Emilio Pacheco

Llega un triste momento de la edad
en que somos tan viejos como los padres.
Y entonces se descubre en un cajón olvidado
la foto de la abuela a los catorce años.

¿En dónde queda el tiempo, en dónde estamos?
Esa niña
que habita en el recuerdo como una anciana,
muerta hace medio siglo,
es en la foto nieta de su nieto,
la vida no vivida, el futuro total,
la juventud que siempre se renueva en los otros.
La historia no ha pasado por este instante.
Aún no existen las guerras ni las catástrofes
y la palabra muerte es impensable.

Nada se vive antes ni después.
No hay conjugación en la existencia
más que el tiempo presente.
En él yo soy el viejo
y mi abuela es la niña.

Source:
Los días que no se nombran, 1a ed., México, D. F. Asociación Nacional del Libro, A. C., 2011

I love this poem, but I'm unable to translate it in a poetic form, so here is the original. 

Great poem --- and great photo too.

[Ten thumbs]

As ugly as Caifacaratadaddera.

Edgeworth uses this expression and subsequently a pedigree racehorse was so named, which horse hogs internet entries, but who was she that was so ugly?

Anyone know anything of this?

[North Star]

Meditation on Terza Rima, written in a dozen minutes last night.

Remember old Dante?
His work in poetry
really upped the ante.

No matter how hard you try,
you will not do it as well
in English, barely a far cry.

As anyone to you will tell -
if they studied Italian by
a candlelight - there are, well,

More rhymes in it than
there are flies in a bar
or cinemas in Cannes,

Allowing you to go far
further and more naturally
into the depths of lunar

Exploration, searching each valley
Of the mind in the darkened alley.

[Florestan]

Meditation on Terza Rima, written in a dozen minutes last night.

Very nice.

[Karl Henning]

serious work was begun
at about the times
my voice straggled back
I learned the Estonian
flag flew upside-down
in Barcelona
my girlfriend chucked me
I found Kingisepp
on strange-lettered maps
and night grew shorter
serious work will die
when her eyes rise on
six-week-long daylight
                     (... agenda)