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Записи с темой: english-american (список заголовков)
09:43 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Hazel Hall
The Circle

Dreams—and an old, old waking,
An unspent vision gone;
Night, clean with silence, breaking
Into loud dawn.

A wonder that is blurring
The new day’s strange demands,
The indomitable stirring
Of folded hands.

Then only the hours’ pageant
And the drowsing sound of their creep,
Brining at last the vagrant
Dreams of new sleep.

@темы: h, english-american, 20

07:21 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Hart Crane
October-November

Indian-summer-sun
With crimson feathers whips away the mists,—
Dives through the filter of trellises
And gilds the silver on the blotched arbor-seats.

Now gold and purple scintillate
On trees that seem dancing
In delirium;
Then the moon
In a mad orange flare
Floods the grape-hung night.

@темы: english-american, c, 20

07:30 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Yone Noguchi
Upon the Heights

And victor of life and silence,
I stood upon the Heights; triumphant,
With upturned eyes, I stood,
And smiled unto the sun, and sang
A beautifully sad farewell unto the dying day.
And my thoughts and the eve gathered
Their serpentine mysteries around me,
My thoughts like alien breezes,
The eve like a fragrant legend.
My feeling was that I stood as one
Serenely poised for flight, as a muse
Of golden melody and lofty grace.
Yea, I stood as one scorning the swords
And wanton menace of the cities.
The sun had heavily sunk into the seas beyond,
And left me a tempting sweet and twilight.
The eve with trailing shadows westward
Swept on, and the lengthened shadows of trees
Disappeared: how silently the songs of silence
Steal into my soul! And still I stood
Among the crickets, in the beauteous profundity
Sung by stars; and I saw me
Softly melted into the eve. The moon
Slowly rose: my shadow on the ground
Dreamily began a dreamy roam,
And I upward smiled silent welcome.

@темы: n, japanese, english-other, english-american, english, eastern, 20

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

07:19 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Carlos Williams
Portent

Red cradle of the night,
In you
The dusky child
Sleeps fast till his might
Shall be piled
Sinew on sinew.

Red cradle of the night,
The dusky child
Sleeping sits upright.
Lo how
The winds blow now!
He pillows back;
The winds are again mild.

When he stretches his arms out,
Red cradle of the night,
The alarms shout
From bare tree to tree,
Wild
In afright!
Mighty shall he be,
Red cradle of the night,
The dusky child!!

@темы: w, english-american, 20

08:30 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Georgia Douglas Johnson
Quest

The phantom happiness I sought
O’er every crag and moor;
I paused at every postern gate,
And knocked at every door;

In vain I searched the land and sea,
E’en to the inmost core,
The curtains of eternal night
Descend—my search is o’er.

@темы: j, harlem renaissance, english-american, d, 20

08:23 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Edna St. Vincent Millay
To Kathleen

Still must the poet as of old,
In barren attic bleak and cold,
Starve, freeze, and fashion verses to
Such things as flowers and song and you;

Still as of old his being give
In Beauty’s name, while she may live,
Beauty that may not die as long
As there are flowers and you and song.

@темы: millay, edna st. vincent, m, english-american, 20

06:27 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
144. The Junk Man

I am glad God saw Death
And gave Death a job taking care of all who are tired of living:

When all the wheels in a clock are worn and slow and the connections loose
And the clock goes on ticking and telling the wrong time from hour to hour
And people around the house joke about what a bum clock it is,
How glad the clock is when the big Junk Man drives his wagon
Up to the house and puts his arms around the clock and says:
“You don’t belong here,
You gotta come
Along with me,”
How glad the clock is then, when it feels the arms of the Junk Man close around it and carry it away.

@темы: sandburg, carl, s, english-american, 20

07:09 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
140. Letters to Dead Imagists

EMILY DICKINSON:
YOU gave us the bumble bee who has a soul,
The everlasting traveler among the hollyhocks,
And how God plays around a back yard garden.

STEVIE CRANE:
War is kind and we never knew the kindness of war till you came;
Nor the black riders and clashes of spear and shield out of the sea,
Nor the mumblings and shots that rise from dreams on call.

@темы: 20, c, d, english-american, english-british, s, sandburg, carl

07:50 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
134. The Noon Hour

She sits in the dust at the walls
And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
Changing her sweat for the day’s pay.

Now the noon hour has come,
And she leans with her bare arms
On the window-sill over the river,
Leans and feels at her throat
Cool-moving things out of the free open ways:

At her throat and eyes and nostrils
The touch and the blowing cool
Of great free ways beyond the walls.

@темы: sandburg, carl, s, english-american, 20

00:07 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
125. Docks

Strolling along
By the teeming docks,
I watch the ships put out.
Black ships that heave and lunge
And move like mastodons
Arising from lethargic sleep.

The fathomed harbor
Calls them not nor dares
Them to a strain of action,
But outward, on and outward,
Sounding low-reverberating calls,
Shaggy in the half-lit distance,
They pass the pointed headland,
View the wide, far-lifting wilderness
And leap with cumulative speed
To test the challenge of the sea.

Plunging,
Doggedly onward plunging,
Into salt and mist and foam and sun.

@темы: 20, english-american, s, sandburg, carl

07:53 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
108. Last Answers

I wrote a poem on the mist
And a woman asked me what I meant by it.
I had thought till then only of the beauty of the mist, how pearl and gray of it mix and reel,
And change the drab shanties with lighted lamps at evening into points of mystery quivering with color.

I answered:
The whole world was mist once long ago and some day it will all go back to mist,
Our skulls and lungs are more water than bone and tissue
And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers
Go running back to dust and mist.

@темы: 20, english-american, s, sandburg, carl

00:10 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
107. Between Two Hills

Between two hills
The old town stands.
The houses loom
And the roofs and trees
And the dusk and the dark,
The damp and the dew
Are there.

The prayers are said
And the people rest
For sleep is there
And the touch of dreams
Is over all.

@темы: 20, english-american, s, sandburg, carl

08:29 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
106. Theme in Yellow

I spot the hills
With yellow balls in autumn.
I light the prairie cornfields
Orange and tawny gold clusters
And I am called pumpkins.
On the last of October
When dusk is fallen
Children join hands
And circle round me
Singing ghost songs
And love to the harvest moon;
I am a jack-o’-lantern
With terrible teeth
And the children know
I am fooling.

@темы: 20, english-american, s, sandburg, carl

07:55 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
102. Follies

Shaken,
The blossoms of lilac,
And shattered,
The atoms of purple.
Green dip the leaves,
Darker the bark,
Longer the shadows.

Sheer lines of poplar
Shimmer with masses of silver
And down in a garden old with years
And broken walls of ruin and story,
Roses rise with red rain-memories.
May!
In the open world
The sun comes and finds your face,
Remembering all.

@темы: 20, english-american, s, sandburg, carl

06:18 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
100. Pearl Fog

Open the door now.
Go roll up the collar of your coat
To walk in the changing scarf of mist.

Tell your sins here to the pearl fog
And know for once a deepening night
Strange as the half-meanings
Alurk in a wise woman’s mousey eyes.

Yes, tell your sins
And know how careless a pearl fog is
Of the laws you have broken.

@темы: 20, english-american, s, sandburg, carl

10:40 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
97. Back Yard

Shine on, O moon of summer.
Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa and oak,
All silver under your rain to-night.

An Italian boy is sending songs to you to-night from an accordion.
A Polish boy is out with his best girl; they marry next month; to-night they are throwing you kisses.

An old man next door is dreaming over a sheen that sits in a cherry tree in his back yard.

The clocks say I must go—I stay here sitting on the back porch drinking white thoughts you rain down.

Shine on, O moon,
Shake out more and more silver changes.

@темы: sandburg, carl, s, english-american, 20

07:33 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
91. The Great Hunt

I cannot tell you now;
When the wind’s drive and whirl
Blow me along no longer,
And the wind’s a whisper at last—
Maybe I’ll tell you then—
some other time.

When the rose’s flash to the sunset
Reels to the rack and the twist,
And the rose is a red bygone,
When the face I love is going
And the gate to the end shall clang,
And it’s no use to beckon or say, “So long”—
Maybe I’ll tell you then—
some other time.

I never knew any more beautiful than you:
I have hunted you under my thoughts,
I have broken down under the wind
And into the roses looking for you.
I shall never find any
greater than you.

@темы: english-american, 20, s, sandburg, carl

06:15 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Carl Sandburg
Chicago Poems. 1916
90. Under the Harvest Moon

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

@темы: sandburg, carl, s, english-american, 20

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