Омилени стихови и поеми од странски писатели

[AnaMercury]

Го напуштив поетот

Го напуштив поетот
онаков каков што го замислував
Ги бележам работите што ќе ги правам
Го читам Достоевски
стигнав до седумдесетиседма страница
и веќе косата ми стана питома
Плачам многу повеќе
и пишувам помалку
Се препознавам
во секој кафе бар
Седам сам
осамено гледам спортски коли
и мечтаам за пари
Ветувањата кои себеси си ги дадов
ги поништувам
Се снаоѓам
на раскрсниците во големите градови
со помош на потиснати сеќавања
и мапа
која е направена
за идиоти од мој тип
На крајот од секој ден
по широките булевари
низ чекорите раскажувам
за имињата
кои ќе ги заборавам
во име на нејзината отсечена коса

Мехмед Бегиќ

 

[Toecutter]

MUD & RAIN

Mud and rain and wretchedness and blood.
Why should jolly soldier-boys complain?
God made these before the roofless Flood.
Mud and rain.

Mangling cramps and bullets through the brain,
Jesus never guessed them when He died.
Jesus had a purpose for His pain,
Ay, like abject beasts we shed our blood,
Often asking if we die in vain.
Gloom conceals us in a soaking sack.

Mud and rain...

Siegfried Sassoon

 

[Toecutter]

I HAVE A RANDEZVOUS WITH DEATH

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Alan Seeger

 

[AnaMercury]

She Walks In Beauty

She walks in Beauty, like the night
Or cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meat in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

George Gordon Byron

 

[Princ]

Ова денес го прочитав. Не е од некојси писател (колку што успеав да најдам за него низ нет - а тоа е скоро ништо) ама се убави стихови

It's funny how hello is always accompanied with goodbye
it's funny how good memories can start to make you cry
it's funny how forever never seems to last
it's funny how much you'd lose if you forgot about your past
it's funny how “friends” can just leave when you are down
it's funny how when you need someone they never are around
it's funny how people change and think they're so much better
it's funny how many lies are packed into one “love letter”
it's funny how one word can contain so much regret
it's funny how you can forgive but cannot forget
it's funny how ironic life turns out to be
but the funniest part of all, is none of thats funny to me

Gaurav Sharma / Arianna Loshnowsky (различни информации за писателот, ако некој го знае точниот нека ми пише)

 

[Mary Poppins]

Bright Star

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art —
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors —
No — yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft swell and fall,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever — or else swoon to death

John Keats

 

[Violent Femme]

КОЛКУ СИ УБАВА! -Христо Ботев


Колку си убава! Господи, колку си убава!

Колку се убави рaцете ти. И нозете ти колку се убави. И очите ти колку се убави. И косите ти колку се убави. Не се измaчуваj повеќе - љуби ме!

Не се штеди - љуби ме! Љуби ме со вистинската сила на рацете си, нозете си, очите си - со целото совршенство на нивните движења. Поверуваj ми засекогаш - и никогаш ти нeма да си глупава - љуби ме! И да си зла - љуби ме!

Љуби ме! По улиците, потоа по скалите, особено по скалите си убава. Сo облека и без облека, непремерно си убава... Наjубава си во собата. Вo темното, кога си сo гребенот. И гребенот потонува вo твоите коси. Косите ти се пoлни сo електричност - допрам ли ги, ќе засветат во темното.

Навистина си убава - веруваj ми. И држи се до крај да си убава. Не толку за мене - а за тебе, за дрвцињата, прозорците и луѓето. Не ја разрушуваj брзо убавината си со љубоморни сомнежи - простуваj ми ги ненадејните пропаѓања некaде - не претерувај, те молам, со цигарите.

Не ме изгубуваj никогаш - откриваj ме, исполнуваj ме со детинско изумление. Повторно да се уверувaм во рaцете ти, во нозете ти, во очите ти... Љуби ме. Колку сакам да те задржам засекогаш. Да те љубaм секогаш - засекогаш.

И колку ми е невозможно... Колку си ти песочна... И, те молам, не кажуваj ми, дека сакаш да ме задржиш засекогаш, за да ме љубиш секогаш, засекогаш.

Колку си убава! Господи, колку си убава!

Колку се убави рацете ти. И нозете ти колку се убави. И очите ти колку се убави. И косите ти колку се убави.

Колку си убава! Господи, Колку си вистинска...

 

[phoellix]

He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven - William Butler Yeats
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Нов сум на темата и ме мрзеше да ги проверам сите страни да видам дали ја имало претходно, ама ова ми е ремек дело. Yeats ми е најбољи, толку едноставна а толкав ефект има.

 

[Мачорка]

Do not stand at my grave and weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush.
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Song (Go And Catch A Falling Star) by John Donne

Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the Devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee;
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear
No where
Lives a woman true, and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet:
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two or three.

 

[Мартинез]

Гилгамеш

Каде иташ Гилгамешу?
Животот што го бараш - не ќе го најдеш.
Кога боговите луѓето ги создадоа
за нив смртта ја одредија,
а животот за себе го задржаа.
Затоа јади и пиј, Гилгамешу,
телото полни си го,
денот и ноќта во веселба нека ти минат,
секој ден игра и веселба да ти е,
и празник радостен.

 

[nilla-vanilla]

,,Гавранот,,

И со таа птица света, што пред малку тука сета
одважна и строга сета, почнав чуден разговор:
„Бувка немаш да се реси, сепак плашлива ти не си,
грозно, страшно сениште си, Брегот ноќен ти е двор –
речи, какво име носиш в Плутоновиот ти хор?”
Тој сал гракна: „Nevermore!”

 

[Pillow Queen]

It’s simply broken glass which strives
So hardly to get deeper and deeper
Each piece mirrors a blue piece
of my heart, a flame-like part of your face,
another recognition of the fact that I….
cannot forget, I…cannot get over it
I… love… adore, forgive once more
and nonetheless glaze into glacial eyes.
the word has subjugated my life.
But, shall I abide in this dull world
which in thy absence is no better than a sty?
What I’ve got I shelter inside and still
the question stays: how do I compete with them?
Waning away like an open flower although
they might deny it.
What am I supposed to do now, when…
everything that I thought was right, is wrong?
They won’t help for their narrow strength
arises such a solitaire an answer.
So let my blue eyes be green once more,
let me jump off that paved cloud
with the bravest bird on my right arm
and let him sing the song forever
…”Did you really have to die for me?”
Yell my name when I’m half way above the ground
Do you think it will be worth it?
I softly faint before you turn around
Thy warm hands shall stop embracing my heart
Only that memory of who I used to be, where I came from,
what I offered you when everything looked cruel
will live on your lips...for an eternity.

Ова е нешто од Шекспир ама не ми текнува од кое дело.

 

[Мачорка]

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe


It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

 

[gade]

There Will Come Soft Rains

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

 

[elena.]

Pablo Neruda - The Saddest Poem​

​

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.​

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,​

and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."​

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.​

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.​

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.​

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.​

I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.​

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.​

How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?​

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.​

To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.​

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.​

And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.​

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.​

The night is full of stars and she is not with me.​

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.​

My soul is lost without her.​

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.​

My heart searches for her and she is not with me.​

The same night that whitens the same trees.​

We, we who were, we are the same no longer.​

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.​

My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.​

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once​

belonged to my kisses.​

Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.​

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.​

Love is so short and oblivion so long.​

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,​

my soul is lost without her.​

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,​

and this may be the last poem I write for her. ​