King Arthur Movie Tristan

THE SUN just touched the morning;

The morning, happy thing,

Supposed that he had come to dwell,

And life would be all spring.



She felt herself supremer,—

A raised, ethereal thing;

Henceforth for her what holiday!

Meanwhile, her wheeling king



Trailed slow along the orchards

His haughty, spangled hems,

Leaving a new necessity,—

The want of diadems!



The morning fluttered, staggered,

Felt feebly for her crown,—

Her unanointed forehead

Henceforth her only one.



-Emily Dickinson













This concludes my Lake George Wordless Wednesday posts. I do miss this place!

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --

because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.



Don't leave me, even for an hour, because

then the little drops of anguish will all run together,

the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift

into me, choking my lost heart.



Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;

may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.

Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,



because in that moment you'll have gone so far

I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,

Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?



-pablo neruda




---------------






I wonder where Neruda came up with lines like:

then the little drops of anguish will all run together,

the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift

into me, choking my lost heart.

When I read that, I kind of did a double take and read it again, just to savor it.

There is no frigate like a book

To take us lands away,

Nor any coursers like a page

Of prancing poetry.

This traverse may the poorest take

Without oppress of toll;

How frugal is the chariot

That bears a human soul!

-Emily Dickinson




art by j.wall




Enjoy your weekend everyone ;)

You will remember that leaping stream

where sweet aromas rose and trembled,

and sometimes a bird, wearing water

and slowness, its winter feathers.

You will remember those gifts from the earth:

indelible scents, gold clay,

weeds in the thicket and crazy roots,

magical thorns like swords.

You'll remember the bouquet you picked,

shadows and silent water,

bouquet like a foam-covered stone.

That time was like never, and like always.

So we go there, where nothing is waiting;

we find everything waiting there.



-pablo neruda





----

Every once in a while I'll read a poem by Neruda and I feel like it's my first time reading him. I never tire of his work. He creates these beautiful images and has the ability to stir emotions.



These lines instantly made me *sigh*.

You'll remember the bouquet you picked,

shadows and silent water,

bouquet like a foam-covered stone.

That time was like never, and like always.



Neruda always has this effect on me. Every time I discover another of his poems I'm happy I did.

IT dropped so low in my regard


I heard it hit the ground,


And go to pieces on the stones


At bottom of my mind;





Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less


Than I reviled myself


For entertaining plated wares


Upon my silver shelf.





-Emily Dickinson






art by j.w. waterhouse


-------------------




Happy Friday everyone.

I figued I'd start the weekend off with a favorite poet.
I think the entire poem is lovely in such a simple way. Emily Dickinson had a way of creating beautiful imagery with her work.




On another note, it seems Blogger was having issues today. It does look like things are back to normal now. I did notice some of the comments on my last post have disappeared.

I'll be blog hopping this weekend as well as catching up on my reading and reviewing.
This past week I read When No One is Watching and thoroughly enjoyed it. My review will be up this coming week. My goal for this weekend is to finish at least one other book. I don't know which one yet, but wish me luck.





What are you up to this weekend? Whatever it is, enjoy it :)

He touched me, so I live to know

That such a day, permitted so,

I groped upon his breast.

It was a boundless place to me,

And silenced, as the awful sea

Puts minor streams to rest.



And now, I ’m different from before,

As if I breathed superior air,

Or brushed a royal gown;

My feet, too, that had wandered so,

My gypsy face transfigured now

To tenderer renown.

-Emily Dickinson


art by j. w. waterhouse


--------------------------

April is the cruellest month, breeding


Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing


Memory and desire, stirring


Dull roots with spring rain.


Winter kept us warm, covering


Earth in forgetful snow, feeding


A little life with dried tubers.


Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee


With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,


And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,


And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.






-
quoted from T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land.











If you're a regular at my blog, you'll know that I love poetry. I enjoy posting poems here and sharing them with my readers as well as reading poems on other blogs. I've gotten some great feedback on my posts and I am happy you are all enjoying discovering new poets.



April (even though it's almost over) is actually National Poetry Month.

Inaugurated by the Academy of American Poets in 1996, National Poetry Month is now held every April, when publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, schools and poets around the country band together to celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture.

Read more at Poets.org and while you're there, browse the site and maybe check out a poem or two.



Among my many favorites are Neruda, Frost, Angelou, Dickinson, Shakespeare, Lowell and Hughes. Who are your favorite poets?



Check out the Savvy Verse & Wit blog where Serena is promoting poetry and poets.

I do not care to talk to you although

Your speech evokes a thousand sympathies,

And all my being's silent harmonies

Wake trembling into music. When you go

It is as if some sudden, dreadful blow

Had severed all the strings with savage ease.

No, do not talk; but let us rather seize

This intimate gift of silence which we know.

Others may guess your thoughts from what you say,

As storms are guessed from clouds where darkness broods.

To me the very essence of the day

Reveals its inner purpose and its moods;

As poplars feel the rain and then straightway

Reverse their leaves and shimmer through the woods.



-Amy Lowell






I've become a fan of Amy Lowell's. I think this poem is beautiful and sad all at once.


How wonderful is this line?

Your speech evokes a thousand sympathies


I googled the poet and apparently she was a socialite who liked to keep her hair in a bun and smoke cigars.






artwork by godward

And now you're mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.

Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.

The night turns on its invisible wheels,

and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber.



No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go,

we will go together, over the waters of time.

No one else will travel through the shadows with me,

only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.



Your hands have already opened their delicate fists

and let their soft drifting signs drop away;
your eyes closed like two gray
wings, and I move



after, following the folding water you carry, that carries

me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny.

Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all.



-Pablo Neruda


---------------------------------




Another beautiful poem from Neruda. This one reminds me of my husband.

I can't pick a favorite line, but I really like:

No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go,

we will go together, over the waters of time.

Neruda's work never fails to break my heart, but in a good way.

I own a solace shut within my heart,

A garden full of many a quaint delight

And warm with drowsy, poppied sunshine; bright,

Flaming with lilies out of whose cups dart

Shining things

With powdered wings.



Here terrace sinks to terrace, arbors close

The ends of dreaming paths; a wanton wind

Jostles the half-ripe pears, and then, unkind,

Tumbles a-slumber in a pillar rose,

With content

Grown indolent.



By night my garden is o'erhung with gems

Fixed in an onyx setting. Fireflies

Flicker their lanterns in my dazzled eyes.

In serried rows I guess the straight, stiff stems

Of hollyhocks

Against the rocks.



So far and still it is that, listening,

I hear the flowers talking in the dawn;

And where a sunken basin cuts the lawn,

Cinctured with iris, pale and glistening,

The sudden swish

Of a waking fish.




-Amy Lowell

Remind me not, remind me not,

Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,

When all my soul was given to thee;

Hours that may never be forgot,

Till Time unnerves our vital powers,

And thou and I shall cease to be.



Can I forget---canst thou forget,

When playing with thy golden hair,

How quick thy fluttering heart did move?

Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet,

With eyes so languid, breast so fair,

And lips, though silent, breathing love.



When thus reclining on my breast,

Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,

As half reproach'd yet rais'd desire,

And still we near and nearer prest,

And still our glowing lips would meet,

As if in kisses to expire.



And then those pensive eyes would close,

And bid their lids each other seek,

Veiling the azure orbs below;

While their long lashes' darken'd gloss

Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,

Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.



I dreamt last night our love return'd,

And, sooth to say, that very dream

Was sweeter in its phantasy,

Than if for other hearts I burn'd,

For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam

In Rapture's wild reality.



Then tell me not, remind me not,

Of hours which, though for ever gone,

Can still a pleasing dream restore,

Till Thou and I shall be forgot,

And senseless, as the mouldering stone

Which tells that we shall be no more.



-Lord Byron


-------------------------


I enjoyed this poem by Lord Byron. I feel like he is telling a story here. He talks about her hair, her eyes, kissing her and dreaming about her. All done beautifully.

Do you see these hands?

They have measured the Earth,

They have separated minerals and cereals

They have made peace and war,

They have demolished the distances

Of all the seas and rivers



And yet,

When they roam

Over you, little one,

grain of wheat, swallow,

They cannot encompass you,



They embrace until exhaustion

The twin doves

That rest or fly upon your breast,

They travel the distances of your legs,

They coil in the light of your waist.



For me you are a treasure, greater

And more costly than the sea and its branches

And you are white and blue and vast

As Earth at Harvest Time.



In that territory,

From your feet to your brow,

I want to spend life,

Wandering, always wandering.


-Pablo Neruda



-----------------


Another perfect poem from Neruda. I think this one shows how he truly loves her, calling her a 'treasure', always wanting to hold onto her.

I think these are my favorite lines:

For me you are a treasure, greater

And more costly than the sea and its branches

I also like how he starts the poem off with a question.

What do you think of this one?

Throughout the echoing chambers of my brain

I hear your words in mournful cadence toll

Like some slow passing-bell which warns the soul

Of sundering darkness. Unrelenting, fain

To batter down resistance, fall again

Stroke after stroke, insistent diastole,

The bitter blows of truth, until the whole

Is hammered into fact made strangely plain.

Where shall I look for comfort? Not to you.

Our worlds are drawn apart, our spirit's suns

Divided, and the light of mine burnt dim.

Now in the haunted twilight I must do

Your will. I grasp the cup which over-runs,

And with my trembling lips I touch the rim.


-Amy Lowell

My cup is empty to-night,


Cold and dry are its sides,


Chilled by the wind from the open window.


Empty and void, it sparkles white in the moonlight.


The room is filled with the strange scent


Of wistaria blossoms.


They sway in the moon's radiance


And tap against the wall.


But the cup of my heart is still,


And cold, and empty.




When you come, it brims


Red and trembling with blood,


Heart's blood for your drinking;


To fill your mouth with love


And the bitter-sweet taste of a soul.





-Amy Lowell

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you



here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart



i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)




E. E. Cummings




This is one of my favorite poems.


What a lovely thought to carry someone's heart with you always, to keep them close to you.

What do you think about this one?



Enjoy your weekend :)

When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted,

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.



The dew of the morning

Sank chill on my brow -

It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame:

I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.



They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me -

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well: -

Long, long shall I rue thee

Too deeply to tell.



In secret we met -

In silence I grieve

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee? -

With silence and tears.



-Lord Byron






I like this poem so much. Whe I first read it, I immediately thought it was about a forbidden love affair.

In secret we met -

In silence I grieve

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.



Another love poem that makes me 'sigh'. What do you think of it?





*Quick note: I'll be posting extra love poems this week and I'm using Valentine's Day being just around the corner as an excuse to do so ;)

We have lost even this twilight.

No one saw us this evening hand in hand

while the blue night dropped on the world.



I have seen from my window

the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.



Sometimes a piece of sun

burned like a coin in my hand.



I remembered you with my soul clenched

in that sadness of mine that you know.



Where were you then?

Who else was there?

Saying what?

Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly

when I am sad and feel you are far away?



The book fell that always closed at twilight

and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.



Always, always you recede through the evenings

toward the twilight erasing statues.



-Pablo Neruda






As usual with Neruda I try to pick a favorite line and I can't chose just one.

I love the image he creates with:
The book fell that always closed at twilight

and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet....

His work is always painfully beautiful.
What do you think of this one?




(I took the photo above in the wee hours of the morning along the beach in Puerto Rico last summer. Just looking at that shot I can remember the soft sound of the waves.)

I know I am but summer to your heart,

And not the full four seasons of the year;

And you must welcome from another part

Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear.

No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell

Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing;

And I have loved you all too long and well

To carry still the high sweet breast of Spring.

Wherefore I say: O love, as summer goes,

I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums,

That you may hail anew the bird and rose

When I come back to you, as summer comes.

Else will you seek, at some not distant time,

Even your summer in another clime.


-Edna St. Vincent Millay



art is by j.w. waterhouse



-----------------------------------



I stumbled across this poem online and it instantly grabbed my attention.

I think this one is about being cast aside by the person you're in love with.

The first lines set the mood for the rest of the poem.

I know I am but summer to your heart,

And not the full four seasons of the year...



She was a temporary thing in his life, and he let her go.
You get the sense that she feels she is not good enough for him in some way, so she is going to move on as well.

No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell

Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing...


I think it's both a beautiful and sad poem. What do you think?

I have named you queen.

There are taller ones than you, taller.

There are purer ones than you, purer.

There are lovelier than you, lovelier.



But you are the queen.



When you go through the streets

no one recognizes you.

No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks

at the carpet of red gold

that you tread as you pass,

the nonexistent carpet.



And when you appear

all the rivers sound

in my body, bells

shake the sky,

and a hymn fills the world.



Only you and I,

only you and I, my love,

listen to it.


-pablo neruda



---------------------------------

Sorry if I'm boring you guys with more Neruda but I just wanted to post this one today, I really like it. It's another painfully romantic poem.


I like that he refers to his love as his 'queen', and how she moves him when she appears. What a lovely thought.

'And when you appear

all the rivers sound

in my body'


Isn't that what we all want? To mean everything to that special person in our lives.



art by godward

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud

and your form and colour are the way I love them.

You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips

and in your life my infinite dreams live.



The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,

the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,

oh reaper of my evening song,

how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!



You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's

wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.

Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder

stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.



You are taken in the net of my music, my love,

and my nets of music are wide as the sky.

My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.

In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.

-Pablo Neruda




This is another favorite Neruda poem. I do prefer this one in Spanish, something is definitely lost in translation.

These are my favorite lines:

My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.

In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.

Neruda never fails to take my breath away.

What do you think?