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Записи с темой: english-british (список заголовков)

Британский диктатор
D. H. Lawrence
Birds, Beasts and Flowers (1923)
The Red Wolf

Over the heart of the west, the Taos desert
Circles an eagle,
And it's dark between me and him.

The sun, as he waits a moment, huge and liquid
Standing without feet on the rim of the far-off mesa
Says: Look for a last long time then! Look! Look well! I
am going
So he pauses and is beholden, and straightway is gone.

And the Indian, in a white sheet
Wrapped to the eyes, the sheet bound close on his brows,
Stands saying: See, I'm invisible!
Behold how you can't behold me!
The invisible in its shroud!

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@темы: 20, english-british, l, lawrence, d. h.


Британский диктатор
D. H. Lawrence
Birds, Beasts and Flowers (1923)
Mountain Lion

Climbing through the January snow, into the Lobo Canyon
Dark grow the spruce-trees, blue is the balsam, water sounds still unfrozen, and the trail is still evident

Two men!
Men! The only animal in the world to fear!

They hesitate.
We hesitate.
They have a gun.
We have no gun.

Then we all advance, to meet.

Two Mexicans, strangers, emerging our of the dark and
snow and inwardness of the Lobo valley.
What are they doing here on this vanishing trail?

What is he carrying?
Something yellow.
A deer?

Que' tiene amigo?

He smiles foolishly as if he were caught doing wrong.
And we smile, foolishly, as if we didn't know.
He is quite gentle and dark-faced.

It is a mountain lion,
A long, long, slim cat, yellow like a lioness.

He trapped her this morning, he says, smiling foolishly.

Life up her face,
Her round, bright face, bright as frost.
Her round, fine-fashioned head, with two dead ears;
And stripes in the brilliant frost of her face, sharp, fine dark rays,
Dark, keen, fine rays in the brilliant frost of her face.
Beautiful dead eyes.

Hermoso es!

They go out towards the open;
We go out into the gloom of Lobo.
And above the trees I found her lair,
A hole in the blood-orange brilliant rocks that stick up, a little cave.
And bones, and twigs, and a perilous ascent.

So, she will never leap up that way again, with the yellow flash of a mountain lion's long shoot!
And her bright striped frost-face will never watch any more, out of the shadow of the cave in the blood- orange rock,
Above the trees of the Lobo dark valley-mouth!

Instead, I look out.
And out to the dim of the desert, like a dream, never real;
To the snow of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, the ice of the mountains of Picoris,
And near across at the opposite steep of snow, green trees motionless standing in snow, like a Christmas toy.

And I think in this empty world there was room for me and a mountain lion.
And I think in the world beyond, how easily we might spare a million or two humans
And never miss them.
Yet what a gap in the world, the missing white frost-face of that slim yellow mountain lion!

@темы: l, lawrence, d. h., english-british, 20


Британский диктатор
D. H. Lawrence
Birds, Beasts and Flowers (1923)

I can imagine, in some otherworld
Primeval-dumb, far back
In that most awful stillness, that only gasped and hummed,
Humming-birds raced down the avenues.

Before anything had a soul,
While life was a heave of Matter, half inanimate,
This little bit chipped off in brilliance
And went whizzing through the slow, vast, succulent stems.

I believe there were no flowers, then
In the world where the humming-bird flashed ahead of creation.
I believe he pierced the slow vegetable veins with his long beak.

Probably he was big
As mosses, and little lizards, they say were once big.
Probably he was a jabbing, terrifying monster.

We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time,
Luckily for us.


@темы: 20, english-british, l, lawrence, d. h.


Британский диктатор
D. H. Lawrence
Birds, Beasts and Flowers (1923)
Tortoise Family Connections

On he goes, the little one,
Bud of the universe,
Pediment of life.

Setting off somewhere, apparently.
Whither away, brisk egg?

His mother deposited him on the soil as if he were no more than droppings,
And now he scuffles tinily past her as if she were an old rusty tin.

A mere obstacle,
He veers round the slow great mound of her--
Tortoises always foresee obstacles.

It is no use my saying to him in an emotional voice:
"This is your Mother, she laid you when you were an egg."

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@темы: lawrence, d. h., l, english-british, 20


Британский диктатор
D. H. Lawrence
Birds, Beasts and Flowers (1923)
Tortoise Shell

The Cross, the Cross
Goes deeper in than we know,
Deeper into life;
Right into the marrow
And through the bone.

Along the back of the baby tortoise
The scales are locked in an arch like a bridge,
Scale-lapping, like a lobster's sections
Or a bee's.

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@темы: 20, english-british, l, lawrence, d. h.


Британский диктатор
Robert Louis Stevenson
To the Hesitating Purchaser

Dedication to Treasure Island
If sailor tales to sailor tunes,
Storm and adventure, heat and cold,
If schooners, islands, and maroons,
And buccaneers, and buried gold,

And all the old romance, retold
Exactly in the ancient way,
Can please, as me they pleased of old,
The wiser youngsters of today:

- So be it, and fall on! If not,
If studious youth no longer crave,
His ancient appetites forgot,
Kingston, or Ballantyne the brave,

Or Cooper of the wood and wave:
So be it, also! And may I
And all my pirates share the grave
Where these and their creations lie!

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


Британский диктатор
D. H. Lawrence
Birds, Beasts and Flowers (1923)
Purple Anemones

Who gave us flowers?
Heaven? The white God?

Up out of hell,
From Hades;
Infernal Dis!

Jesus the god of flowers------?
Not he.
Or sun-bright Apollo, him so musical?
Him neither.

Who then?
Say who.

Say it--and it is Pluto,
The dark one,
Proserpine's master.

Who contradicts------?

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@темы: mythology, lawrence, d. h., l, english-british, antiquity, 20


Британский диктатор
D. H. Lawrence
Birds, Beasts and Flowers (1923)

Tuscan cypresses,
What is it?

Folded in like a dark thought
For which the language is lost,
Tuscan cypresses,
Is there a great secret?
Are our words no good?

The undeliverable secret,
Dead with a dead race and a dead speech, and yet
Darkly monumental in you,
Etruscan cypresses.

Ah, how I admire your fidelity,
Dark cypresses!

Is it the secret of the long-nosed Etruscans?
The long-nosed, sensitive-footed, subtly-smiling Etruscans,
Who made so little noise outside the cypress groves?

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@темы: lawrence, d. h., l, english-british, 20


Британский диктатор
D. H. Lawrence
Birds, Beasts and Flowers (1923)
The Revolutionary

Look at them standing there in authority
The pale-faces,
As if it could have any effect any more.

Pale-face authority,
Pillars of white bronze standing rigid, lest the skies fall.

What a job they've got to keep it up.
Their poor, idealist foreheads naked capitals
To the entablature of clouded heaven.

When the skies are going to fall, fall they will
In a great chute and rush of débâcle downwards.

Oh and I wish the high and super-gothic heavens would come down now,
The heavens above, that we yearn to and aspire to.

I do not yearn, nor aspire, for I am a blind Samson.
And what is daylight to me that I should look skyward?
Only I grope among you, pale-faces, caryatids, as among a forest of pillars that hold up the dome of high ideal heaven
Which is my prison,
And all these human pillars of loftiness, going stiff, metallic-stunned with the weight of their responsibility
I stumble against them.
Stumbling-blocks, painful ones.

To keep on holding up this ideal civilisation
Must be excruciating: unless you stiffen into metal, when it is easier to stand stock rigid than to move.

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@темы: english-british, 20, l, lawrence, d. h.


Британский диктатор
Rupert Brooke
The Great Lover

I have been so great a lover: filled my days
So proudly with the splendour of Love’s praise,
The pain, the calm, and the astonishment,
Desire illimitable, and still content,
And all dear names men use, to cheat despair,
For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear
Our hearts at random down the dark of life.
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@темы: english-british, b, 20


Британский диктатор
James Joyce
Strings in the earth and air
Make music sweet;
Strings by the river where
The willows meet.

There's music along the river
For Love wanders there,
Pale flowers on his mantle,
Dark leaves on his hair.

All softly playing,
With head to the music bent,
And fingers straying
Upon an instrument.

@темы: 20, e'ireann, english-british, j


Британский диктатор
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,
In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare
Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy dead in silence like to death—
Most like a monumental statue set
In everlasting watch and moveless woe
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:
If it could weep, it could arise and go.

Giovanni Strazza - The Veiled Virgin

@темы: english-british, b, art, 19, victorian, sonnet, s, pittura


Британский диктатор
Arthur O'Shaughnessy

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;—
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

Edward Elgar - The Music Makers, Op.69

@темы: youtube, s, o, music, english-british, e, 20, 19


Британский диктатор
Seamus Heaney

In memory of Ted Hughes

"And what was it like," I asked him,
"Meeting Elliot?"
"When he looked at you",
He said, "it was like standing on a quay
Watching the prow of the Queen Mary
Come towards you, very slowly."

Now it seems
I'm standing on a pierhead watching him
All the while watching me as he rows out
And a wooden end-stopped stern
Labours and shimmers and dips,
Making no real headway.

Seamus Heaney - Stern by poetictouch

@темы: english-british, e'ireann, 20, youtube, heaney, seamus, h, 21


Британский диктатор
Gerard Manley Hopkins

@темы: h, english-british, 19


Британский диктатор
Ciaran Carson


@темы: 20, c, e'ireann, english-british


Британский диктатор
Thomas Lovell Beddoes
Hard Dying

By heaven and hell, and all the fools between them,
I will not die, nor sleep, nor wink my eyes,
But think myself into a God; old Death
Shall dream he has slain me, and I’ll creep behind him,
Thrust off the bony tyrant from his throne
And beat him into dust. Or I will burst
Damnation’s iron egg, my tomb, and come
Half damned, ere they make lightning of my soul,
And creep into thy carcase as thou sleepest
Between two crimson fevers. I’ll dethrone
The empty skeleton, and be thy death,
A death of grinding madness. - Fear me now;
I am a devil, not a human soul.

(from the fragments of "The Last Man", 1823-5)

@темы: english-british, b, 19


Британский диктатор

W. H. Auden
September 1, 1939

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.

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пер. Шломо Кроль (SENTJAO)

@темы: youtube, thomas, dylan, links, english: anglo-american, english-british, auden, w.h., 20


Британский диктатор
Rudyard Kipling
The Lovers' Litany

Eyes of grey -- a sodden quay,
Driving rain and falling tears,
As the steamer wears to sea
In a parting storm of cheers.
Sing, for Faith and Hope are high --
None so true as you and I --
Sing the Lovers' Litany:
"Love like ours can never die!"

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Редьярд Киплинг
Серые глаза - рассвет,
Пароходная сирена,
Дождь, разлука, серый след
За винтом бегущей пены.

Черные глаза - жара,
В море сонных звезд скольженье,
И у борта до утра
Поцелуев отраженье.

Синие глаза - луна,
Вальса белое молчанье,
Ежедневная стена
Неизбежного прощанья.

Карие глаза - песок,
Осень, волчья степь, охота,
Скачка, вся на волосок
От паденья и полета.

Нет, я не судья для них,
Просто без суждений вздорных
Я четырежды должник
Синих, серых, карих, черных.

Как четыре стороны
Одного того же света,
Я люблю - в том нет вины -
Все четыре этих цвета.

Пер. К. Симонов

@темы: к (rus), k, english-british, 20, 19


Британский диктатор
Rudyard Kipling

The Garden called Gethsemane
In Picardy it was,
And there the people came to see
The English soldiers pass.
We used to pass—we used to pass
Or halt, as it might be,
And ship our masks in case of gas
Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane,
It held a pretty lass,
But all the time she talked to me
I prayed my cup might pass.
The officer sat on the chair,
The men lay on the grass,
And all the time we halted there
I prayed my cup might pass.

It didn’t pass—it didn’t pass-
It didn’t pass from me.
I drank it when we met the gas
Beyond Gethsemane!

Редьярд Киплинг
Гефсиманский сад

Была как Гефсиманский сад
Пикардия для нас.
И провожал нас каждый взгляд
На гибель каждый час.
На гибель нас, на гибель нас -
Хоть каждый выжить рад.
И заползал под маски газ
Там, где кончался сад.

Светился Гефсиманский сад
Сияньем женских глаз.
Но чаша близилась для нас -
И меркнул женский взгляд.
Да минет нас, да минет нас
Она на этот раз.
Помилуй, Боже, упаси -
И мимо пронеси.

Он не пронес, он не упас,
Не спас любимых чад!
Был в чаще смертоносный газ
Там, где кончался сад.

Пер. В. Топоров

@темы: к (rus), k, english-british, 20

Pure Poetry