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Записи с темой: 19 (список заголовков)
08:39 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Richard Watson Dixon
The Silent Heavens

Here I wander about, and here I mournfully ponder:
Weary to me is the sun, weary the coming of night:
Here is captivity still, there would be captivity yonder:
Like to myself are the rest, smitten is all with a blight.

Much I complain of my state to my own heart heavily beating:
Much to the stars I complain: much to the universe cold;
The stars that of old were fixed, in spheres their courses repeating;
Solidly once were they fixed, and with them their spheres were rolled.

Then through the space of the spheres to the steadfast empyrean
Echo on echo to Earth answered her manifold cries:
Earth was the centre of things, and the threne of all, or the paean,
Bearing hell in her heart, on her bosom all life that dies.

If they were fixed, as of old, in their firmament solid and vaulted,
Then might the echo of woe or of laughter reverberate thence:
Nor my voice alone, but to them all voices exalted,
Should with due answer be met, murmuring sweet to the sense.

But they roll on their way through the void, the inane unretentive:
Past them all voices stream into the echoless space.
Where is the pitying grace, that once was prayer’s incentive,
Where is the ear that heard, and the face that once answered to face?

@темы: english-british, d, 19

07:24 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Herman Melville
The Rusty Man

(By a timid one)
In La Mancha he mopeth
With beard thin and dusty;
He doteth and mopeth
In library fusty —

'Mong his old folios gropeth:
Cites obsolete saws
Of chivalry's laws —
Be the wronged one's knight:
Die, but do right.

So he rusts and musts,
While each grocer green
Thriveth apace with the fulsome face
Of a fool serene.

@темы: m, english-american, 19

09:52 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Herman Melville
The Maldive Shark

About the Shark, phlegmatical one,
Pale sot of the Maldive sea,
The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,
How alert in attendance be.
From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw
They have nothing of harm to dread,
But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank
Or before his Gorgonian head;
Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth
In white triple tiers of glittering gates,
And there find a haven when peril’s abroad,
An asylum in jaws of the Fates!
They are friends; and friendly they guide him to prey,
Yet never partake of the treat—
Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull,
Pale ravener of horrible meat.

@темы: 19, m, english-american

10:24 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Fragment: Questions

Is it that in some brighter sphere
We part from friends we meet with here?
Or do we see the Future pass
Over the Present’s dusky glass?
Or what is that that makes us seem
To patch up fragments of a dream,
Part of which comes true, and part
Beats and trembles in the heart?

@темы: s, english-british, 19

08:45 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Emily Brontë
Fall Leaves Fall

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.

@темы: 19, b, english-british

06:24 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Robert Browning
Epilogue

At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time,
When you set your fancies free,
Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned—
Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so,
—Pity me?

Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!
What had I on earth to do
With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?
Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel
—Being—who?

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake.

No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-time
Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
“Strive and thrive!” cry “Speed,—fight on, fare ever
There as here!”

@темы: english-british, b, 19, victorian

07:08 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
W. B. Yeats
The Falling of the Leaves

Autumn is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.

The hour of the waning of love has beset us,
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, 19

09:14 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
76. Salvage

Guns on the battle lines have pounded now a year between Brussels and Paris.
And, William Morris, when I read your old chapter on the great arches and naves and little whimsical corners of the Churches of Northern France—Brr-rr!
I’m glad you’re a dead man, William Morris, I’m glad you’re down in the damp and mouldy, only a memory instead of a living man—I’m glad you’re gone.
You never lied to us, William Morris, you loved the shape of those stones piled and carved for you to dream over and wonder because workmen got joy of life into them,
Workmen in aprons singing while they hammered, and praying, and putting their songs and prayers into the walls and roofs, the bastions and cornerstones and gargoyles—all their children and kisses of women and wheat and roses growing.
I say, William Morris, I’m glad you’re gone, I’m glad you’re a dead man.
Guns on the battle lines have pounded a year now between Brussels and Paris.

@темы: sandburg, carl, s, pre-raphaelite brotherhood, m, english-british, english-american, 20, 19

06:29 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
П.А. Вяземский
На память

В края далекие, под небеса чужие
Хотите вы с собой на память перенесть
О ближних, о стране родной живую весть,
Чтоб стих мой сердцу мог, в минуты неземные,
Как верный часовой, откликнуться: Россия!
Когда беда придет, иль просто как-нибудь
Тоской по родине заноет ваша грудь,
Не ждите от меня вы радостного слова;
Под свежим трауром печального покрова,
Сложив с главы своей венок блестящих роз,
От речи радостной, от песни вдохновенной
Отвыкла муза: ей над урной драгоценной
Отныне суждено быть музой вечных слез.
Одною думою, одним событьем полный,
Когда на чуждый брег вас переносят волны
И звуки родины должны в последний раз
Печально врезаться и отозваться в вас,
На память и в завет о прошлом в мире новом
Я вас напутствую единым скорбным словом,
Затем, что скорбь моя превыше сил моих;
И, верный памятник сердечных слез и стона,
Вам затвердит одно рыдающий мой стих:
Что яркая звезда с родного небосклона
Внезапно сорвана средь бури роковой,
Что песни лучшие поэзии родной
Внезапно замерли на лире онемелой,
Что пал во всей поре красы и славы зрелой
Наш лавр, наш вещий лавр, услада наших дней,
Который трепетом и сладкозвучным шумом
От сна воспрянувших пророческих ветвей
Вещал глагол богов на севере угрюмом,
Что навсегда умолк любимый наш поэт,
Что скорбь постигла нас, что Пушкина уж нет.
1837

@темы: 19, russian, в

00:02 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Paul Verlaine
Clair de Lune

Votre âme est un paysage choisi
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.

Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune
Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,

Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau,
Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres.

1869

Поль Верлен
Лунный свет

У вас душа ночное травести
В изящном парке, где гуляют маски,
Бренчат на лютнях и поют, почти
Печальные в их маскарадной пляске.
Поют успех любовный, но, ему
Усердствуя своим минором струнным,
Как бы не верят счастью своему,
И песня их слилась со светом лунным.
С тем дивным светом, коим мир залит,
С которым замолкает хор пернатый
И, в забытьи, фонтаны бьют навзрыд,
Упругие фонтаны между статуй.

пер. С. Шервинский

@темы: в, v, symbolism, francaise, 19

06:30 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Thomas Hardy
Wessex Poems and Other Verses. 1898.
ХХХIII. A Meeting with Despair

As evening shaped I found me on a moor
Which sight could scarce sustain:
The black lean land, of featureless contour,
Was like a tract in pain.

“This scene, like my own life,” I said, “is one
Where many glooms abide;
Toned by its fortune to a deadly dun—
Lightless on every side.

I glanced aloft and halted, pleasure-caught
To see the contrast there:
The ray-lit clouds gleamed glory; and I thought,
“There’s solace everywhere!”

Then bitter self-reproaches as I stood
I dealt me silently
As one perverse—misrepresenting Good
In graceless mutiny.

Against the horizon’s dim-descernèd wheel
A form rose, strange of mould:
That he was hideous, hopeless, I could feel
Rather than could behold.

“’Tis a dead spot, where even the light lies spent
To darkness!” croaked the Thing.
“Not if you look aloft!” said I, intent
On my new reasoning.

“Yea—but await awhile!” he cried. “Ho-ho!—
Look now aloft and see!”
I looked. There, too, sat night: Heaven’s radiant show
Had gone. Then chuckled he.

@темы: victorian, hardy, thomas, h, english-british, 19

08:04 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Thomas Hardy
Wessex Poems and Other Verses. 1898.
VI. Postponement

Snow-bound in woodland, a mournful word,
Dropt now and then from the bill of a bird,
Reached me on wind-wafts; and thus I heard,
Wearily waiting:—

“I planned her a nest in a leafless tree,
But the passers eyed and twitted me,
And said: ‘How reckless a bird is he,
Cheerily mating!’

“Fear-filled, I stayed me till summer-tide,
In lewth of leaves to throne her bride;
But alas! her love for me waned and died,
Wearily waiting.

“Ah, had I been like some I see,
Born to an evergreen nesting-tree,
None had eyed and twitted me,
Cheerily mating!”

@темы: 19, english-british, h, hardy, thomas, victorian

07:43 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Christina Rossetti
Lady Montrevor

I do not look for love that is a dream—
I only seek for courage to be still;
To bear my grief with an unbending will,
And when I am a-weary not to seem.
Let the round world roll on; let the sun beam;
Let the wind blow, and let the rivers fill
The everlasting sea, and on the hill
The palms almost touch heaven, as children deem.
And, though young spring and summer pass away,
And autumn and cold winter come again,
And though my soul, being tired of its pain,
Pass from the ancient earth, and though my clay
Return to dust, my tongue shall not complain;—
No mean shall mock me after this my day.

@темы: 19, english-british, pre-raphaelite brotherhood, r, victorian

06:33 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Helen Hunt Jackson
Dreams

Mysterious shapes, with wands of joy and pain,
Which seize us unaware in helpless sleep,
And lead us to the houses where we keep
Our secrets hid, well barred by every chain
That we can forge and bind: the crime whose stain
Is slowly fading ’neath the tears we weep;
Dead bliss which, dead, can make our pulses leap—
Oh, cruelty! To make these live again!
They say that death is sleep, and heaven’s rest
Ends earth’s short day, as, on the last faint gleam
Of sun, our nights shut down, and we are blest.
Let this, then, be of heaven’s joy the test,
The proof if heaven be, or only seem,
That we forever choose what we will dream!

@темы: 19, english-american, h, j

06:40 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Eugene Field
Lady Button-Eyes

When the busy day is done,
And my weary little one
Rocketh gently to and fro;
When the night winds softly blow,
And the crickets in the glen
Chirp and chirp and chirp again;
When upon the haunted green
Fairies dance around their queen -
Then from yonder misty skies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.

Through the murk and mist and gloam
To our quiet, cozy home,
Where to singing, sweet and low,
Rocks a cradle to and fro;
Where the clock's dull monotone
Telleth of the day that's done;
Where the moonbeams hover o'er
Playthings sleeping on the floor -
Where my weary wee one lies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.

читать дальше

@темы: 19, english-american, f

00:27 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Christina Rossetti under her pseudonym Ellen Alleyn
An End

Love, strong as Death, is dead.
Come, let us make his bed
Among the dying flowers:
A green turf at his head;
And a stone at his feet,
Whereon we may sit
In the quiet evening hours.

He was born in the Spring,
And died before the harvesting:
On the last warm summer day
He left us; he would not stay
For Autumn twilight cold and grey.
Sit we by his grave, and sing
He is gone away.

To few chords and sad and low
Sing we so:
Be our eyes fixed on the grass
Shadow-veiled as the years pass
While we think of all that was
In the long ago.

@темы: victorian, r, pre-raphaelite brotherhood, english-british, a, 19

14:23 

C.P. Cavafy - April 29, 1863-April 29, 1933

Poesia
Gieb ihr ein Schweigen (c)
23.10.2015 в 12:55
Пишет Lika_k:

Я просто не могла удержаться и не сохранить это и отдельно.
Даниэл Мендельсон читает "Since Nine" Кавафиса в оригинале. На самом деле я давно уже слышала его чтение того же самого вот здесь в самом конце (здесь отдельно отрывок с чтением стихотворения). Там он еще много интересного говорит - об отношении к искусству и в частности к литературе. И мое любимое: "I need a commentary to read Callimachus. That does not make Callimachus a worse poet. Makes me a worse reader maybe". И это не снобизм, потому что читатель "обязывается" не знать и понимать все, а иметь желание и/или мотивацию понимать больше, чем он может в этот самый момент. Вместо того, чтобы предъявлять претензии автору. Вот он ответ заявлениям типа "Фолкнер - отстой". И еще прекрасно про культурный снобизм и про то, что Classical Studies делают человека не зацикленным на античность и высокую культуру, а дают подходящие инструменты для восприятия и анализа вообще культуры.



C.P. Cavafy
Since Nine

читать дальше

URL записи

@темы: youtube, repost, helenike, compleanno, cavafy, c, 20, 19

09:08 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnet VI

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore—
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

@темы: victorian, english-british, b, 19

00:06 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Шарль Бодлер
Голубка моя,
Умчимся в края,
Где всё, как и ты, совершенство,
И будем мы там
Делить пополам
И жизнь, и любовь, и блаженство.
Из влажных завес
Туманных небес
Там солнце задумчиво блещет,
Как эти глаза,
Где жемчуг-слеза,
Слеза упоенья трепещет.

Это мир таинственной мечты,
Неги, ласк, любви и красоты.

Вся мебель кругом
В покое твоем
От времени ярко лоснится.
Дыханье цветов
Заморских садов
И веянье амбры струится.
Богат и высок
Лепной потолок,
И там зеркала так глубоки;
И сказочный вид
Душе говорит
О дальнем, о чудном Востоке.

Это мир таинственной мечты,
Неги, ласк, любви и красоты.

Взгляни на канал,
Где флот задремал:
Туда, как залетная стая,
Свой груз корабли
От края земли
Несут для тебя, дорогая.
Дома и залив
Вечерний отлив
Одел гиацинтами пышно,
И теплой волной,
Как дождь золотой,
Лучи он роняет неслышно.

Это мир таинственной мечты,
Неги, ласк, любви и красоты.

1885

пер. Дм. Мережковский

@темы: б, francaise, 19

00:12 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Christina Rossetti
A Triad

Three sang of love together: one with lips
Crimson, with cheeks and bosom in a glow,
Flushed to the yellow hair and finger tips;
And one there sang who soft and smooth as snow
Bloomed like a tinted hyacinth at a show;
And one was blue with famine after love,
Who like a harpstring snapped rang harsh and low
The burden of what those were singing of.
One shamed herself in love; one temperately
Grew gross in soulless love, a sluggish wife;
One famished died for love. Thus two of three
Took death for love and won him after strife;
One droned in sweetness like a fattened bee:
All on the threshold, yet all short of life.

@темы: victorian, r, pre-raphaelite brotherhood, english-british, 19

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