fledermousi

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. Sometimes the Sky’s Too Bright. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-sometimes-the-skys-too-bright-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)* * *Sometimes the sky’s too bright, Or has too many clouds or birds, And far away’s too sharp a sun To nourish thinking of him. Why is my hand too blunt To cut in front of me My horrid images for me, Of over-fruitful smiles, The weightless touching of the lip I wish to know I cannot lift, but can, The creature with the angel’s face Who tells me hurt, And sees my body go Down into misery? No stopping. Put the smile Where tears have come to dry. The angel’s hurt is left; His telling burns. Sometimes a woman’s heart has salt, Or too much blood; I tear her breast, And see the blood is mine, Flowing from her, but mine, And then I think Perhaps the sky’s too bright; And watch my hand, But do not follow it, And feel the pain it gives, But do not ache. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveWhen, Like a Running Grave To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. Lament. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-lament-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)Lament When I was a windy boy and a bit And the black spit of the chapel fold, (Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women), I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood, The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit, I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled Nine-pin down on donkey’s common, And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed Whoever I would with my wicked eyes, The whole of the moon I could love and leave All the green leaved little weddings’ wives In the coal black bush and let them grieve. When I was a gusty man and a half And the black beast of the beetles’ pews (Sighed the old ram rod, dying of bitches), Not a boy and a bit in the wick- Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf, I whistled all night in the twisted flues, Midwives grew in the midnight ditches, And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!- Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal, Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts, Whatsoever I did in the coal- Black night, I left my quivering prints. When I was a man you could call a man And the black cross of the holy house, (Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome), Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime, No springtailed tom in the red hot town With every simmering woman his mouse But a hillocky bull in the swelter Of summer come in his great good time To the sultry, biding herds, I said, Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold, And I lie down but to sleep in bed, For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul! When I was half the man I was And serve me right as the preachers warn, (Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall), No flailing calf or cat in a flame Or hickory bull in milky grass But a black sheep with a crumpled horn, At last the soul from its foul mousehole Slunk pouting out when the limp time came; And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye, Gristle and rind, and a roarers’ life, And I shoved it into the coal black sky To find a woman’s soul for a wife. Now I am a man no more no more And a black reward for a roaring life, (Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers), Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw-- For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife In the coal black sky and she bore angels! Harpies around me out of her womb! Chastity prays for me, piety sings, Innocence sweetens my last black breath, Modesty hides my thighs in her wings, And all the deadly virtues plague my death! Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveWhen, Like a Running GravePoems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Lament ("How she would have loved") Robert Binyon (Роберт Биньон) Lament ("Fall now, my cold thoughts, frozen fall") Edna Millay (Эдна Миллей) Lament ("Listen, children:") To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. A Process in the Weather of the Heart. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-a-process-in-the-weather-of-the-heart-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)* * *A process in the weather of the heart Turns damp to dry; the golden shot Storms in the freezing tomb. A weather in the quarter of the veins Turns night to day; blood in their suns Lights up the living worm. A process in the eye forwarns The bones of blindness; and the womb Drives in a death as life leaks out. A darkness in the weather of the eye Is half its light; the fathomed sea Breaks on unangled land. The seed that makes a forest of the loin Forks half its fruit; and half drops down, Slow in a sleeping wind. A weather in the flesh and bone Is damp and dry; the quick and dead Move like two ghosts before the eye. A process in the weather of the world Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child Sits in their double shade. A process blows the moon into the sun, Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin; And the heart gives up its dead. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveI Fellowed Sleep To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. Love in the Asylum. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-love-in-the-asylum-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)Love in the AsylumA stranger has come To share my room in the house not right in the head, A girl mad as birds Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume. Strait in the mazed bed She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room, At large as the dead, Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards. She has come possessed Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall, Possessed by the skies She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust Yet raves at her will On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears. And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last I may without fail Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveWhen, Like a Running Grave To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Thomas Hardy. In the Moonlight. Томас Гарди (Харди). В лунном свете - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-thomas-hardy-in-the-moonlight-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-%d0%b3%d0%b0%d1%80%d0%b4%d0%b8-%d1%85%d0%b0%d1%80%d0%b4%d0%b8-%d0%b2-%d0%bb%d1%83%d0%bd%d0%bd%d0%be%d0%bc-%d1%81-4/ Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))In the Moonlight"O lonely workman, standing there In a dream, why do you stare and stare At her grave, as no other grave where there?" "If your great gaunt eyes so importune Her soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon, Maybe you'll raise her phantom soon!" "Why, fool, it is what I would rather see Than all the living folk there be; But alas, there is no such joy for me!" "Ah - she was one you loved, no doubt, Through good and evil, through rain and drought, And when she passed, all your sun went out?" "Nay: she was the woman I did not love, Whom all the other were ranked above, Whom during her life I thought nothing of." Перевод на русский языкВ лунном свете“О, одинокий труженик, стоящий там В задумчивости, отчего ты неотрывно смотришь На ее могилу, как будто нет вокруг других могил? Если мрачным взглядом ты будешь тревожить Ее душу при свете трупно-холодной луны, Ты можешь вскоре вызвать ее призрак!” “ Что ж, глупец! Я с большей радостью его увижу, Чем всех живых людей на свете; Но нет, увы, такого счастья мне!” “Ну да, конечно, ты ее любил, В радости и в горе, в дожди и в сушь, И когда ее не стало, для тебя погасло солнце?” “Нет. Я не любил эту женщину, И всех других я ценил выше, И когда она жила, я ни во что ее не ставил”. Перевод с английского Александра Сумеркина под редакцией Виктора ГолышеваThomas Hardy's other poems:I Thought, My HeartThe Two HousesThe NettlesThe InscriptionThe Weary Walker To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. I Have Longed to Move Away. Дилан Томас. Я рвался уйти прочь - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-i-have-longed-to-move-away-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-%d1%8f-%d1%80%d0%b2%d0%b0%d0%bb%d1%81%d1%8f-%d1%83%d0%b9%d1%82%d0%b8-%d0%bf-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)* * *I have longed to move away From the hissing of the spent lie And the old terrors’ continual cry Growing more terrible as the day Goes over the hill into the deep sea; I have longed to move away From the repetition of salutes, For there are ghosts in the air And ghostly echoes on paper, And the thunder of calls and notes. I have longed to move away but am afraid; Some life, yet unspent, might explode Out of the old lie burning on the ground, And, crackling into the air, leave me half-blind. Neither by night’s ancient fear, The parting of hat from hair, Pursed lips at the receiver, Shall I fall to death’s feather. By these I would not care to die, Half convention and half lie. Перевод на русский язык* * *Я рвался уйти прочь От шипенья избитой лжи, Когда древних ужасов плач Затянувшийся стократ страшней, Если день падет с гор на дно морей. Я рвался уйти прочь От приветственных долгих речей, От кишащего духами воздуха И на бумаге тех призраков отзвука, И от грома призывов и примечаний. Я рвался уйти прочь, но боюсь, Что вспыхнет от горящей на земле лжи И громыхнет взрывом недожитая еще жизнь, И, расколов воздух, зренья меня лишит. Ни от древнего ужаса ночи надо мною, Ни от того, что шляпа расстанется с головою, Ни от сурово сжатых уст того, кто встретит, Не страшусь упасть на крыло смерти. Полуулыбка и полу-ложь Не всколыхнут во мне смерти дрожь. Перевод Яна Про��штейнаDylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveI Fellowed Sleep To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. Poem on His Birthday. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-poem-on-his-birthday-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)Poem on His BirthdayIn the mustardseed sun, By full tilt river and switchback sea Where the cormorants scud, In his house on stilts high among beaks And palavers of birds This sandgrain day in the bent bay’s grave He celebrates and spurns His driftwood thirty-fifth wind turned age; Herons spire and spear. Under and round him go Flounders, gulls, on their cold, dying trails, Doing what they are told, Curlews aloud in the congered waves Work at their ways to death, And the rhymer in the long tongued room, Who tolls his birthday bell, Toils towards the ambush of his wounds; Herons, steeple stemmed, bless. In the thistledown fall, He sings towards anguish; finches fly In the claw tracks of hawks On a seizing sky; small fishes glide Through wynds and shells of drowned Ship towns to pastures of otters. He In his slant, racking house And the hewn coils of his trade perceives Herons walk in their shroud, The livelong river’s robe Of minnows wreathing around their prayer; And far at sea he knows, Who slaves to his crouched, eternal end Under a serpent cloud, Dolphins dive in their turnturtle dust, The rippled seals streak down To kill and their own tide daubing blood Slides good in the sleek mouth. In a cavernous, swung Wave’s silence, wept white angelus knells. Thirty-five bells sing struck On skull and scar where his loves lie wrecked, Steered by the falling stars. And to-morrow weeps in a blind cage Terror will rage apart Before chains break to a hammer flame And love unbolts the dark And freely he goes lost In the unknown, famous light of great And fabulous, dear God. Dark is a way and light is a place, Heaven that never was Nor will be ever is always true, And, in that brambled void, Plenty as blackberries in the woods The dead grow for His joy. There he might wander bare With the spirits of the horseshoe bay Or the stars’ seashore dead, Marrow of eagles, the roots of whales And wishbones of wild geese, With blessed, unborn God and His Ghost, And every soul His priest, Gulled and chanter in young Heaven’s fold Be at cloud quaking peace, But dark is a long way. He, on the earth of the night, alone With all the living, prays, Who knows the rocketing wind will blow The bones out of the hills, And the scythed boulders bleed, and the last Rage shattered waters kick Masts and fishes to the still quick starts, Faithlessly unto Him Who is the light of old And air shaped Heaven where souls grow wild As horses in the foam: Oh, let me midlife mourn by the shrined And druid herons’ vows The voyage to ruin I must run, Dawn ships clouted aground, Yet, though I cry with tumbledown tongue, Count my blessings aloud: Four elements and five Senses, and man a spirit in love Tangling through this spun slime To his nimbus bell cool kingdom come And the lost, moonshine domes, And the sea that hides his secret selves Deep in its black, base bones, Lulling of spheres in the seashell flesh, And this last blessing most, That the closer I move To death, one man through his sundered hulks, The louder the sun blooms And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults; And every wave of the way And gale I tackle, the whole world then, With more triumphant faith That ever was since the world was said, Spins its morning of praise, I hear the bouncing hills Grow larked and greener at berry brown Fall and the dew larks sing Taller this thunderclap spring, and how More spanned with angles ride The mansouled fiery islands! Oh, Holier then their eyes, And my shining men no more alone As I sail out to die. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveWhen, Like a Running Grave To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. If I Were Tickled by the Rub of Love. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-if-i-were-tickled-by-the-rub-of-love-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)* * *If I were tickled by the rub of love, A rooking girl who stole me for her side, Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string, If the red tickle as the cattle calve Still set to scratch a laughter from my lung, I would not fear the apple nor the flood Nor the bad blood of spring. Shall it be male or female? say the cells, And drop the plum like fire from the flesh. If I were tickled by the hatching hair, The winging bone that sprouted in the heels, The itch of man upon the baby’s thigh, I would not fear the gallows nor the axe Nor the crossed sticks of war. Shall it be male or female? say the fingers That chalk the walls with greet girls and their men. I would not fear the muscling-in of love If I were tickled by the urchin hungers Rehearsing heat upon a raw-edged nerve. I would not fear the devil in the loin Nor the outspoken grave. If I were tickled by the lovers’ rub That wipes away not crow’s-foot nor the lock Of sick old manhood on the fallen jaws, Time and the crabs and the sweethearting crib Would leave me cold as butter for the flies The sea of scums could drown me as it broke Dead on the sweethearts’ toes. This world is half the devil’s and my own, Daft with the drug that’s smoking in a girl And curling round the bud that forks her eye. An old man’s shank one-marrowed with my bone, And all the herrings smelling in the sea, I sit and watch the worm beneath my nail Wearing the quick away. And that’s the rub, the only rub that tickles. The knobbly ape that swings along his sex From damp love-darkness and the nurse’s twist Can never raise the midnight of a chuckle, Nor when he finds a beauty in the breast Of lover, mother, lovers, or his six Feet in the rubbing dust. And what’s the rub? Death’s feather on the nerve? Your mouth, my love, the thistle in the kiss? My Jack of Christ born thorny on the tree? The words of death are dryer than his stiff, My wordy wounds are printed with your hair. I would be tickled by the rub that is: Man be my metaphor. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveWhen, Like a Running Grave To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. Before I Knocked. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-before-i-knocked-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)Before I Knocked Before I knocked and flesh let enter, With liquid hands tapped on the womb, I who was as shapeless as the water That shaped the Jordan near my home Was brother to Mnetha’s daughter And sister to the fathering worm. I who was deaf to spring and summer, Who knew not sun nor moon by name, Felt thud beneath my flesh’s armour, As yet was in a molten form The leaden stars, the rainy hammer Swung by my father from his dome. I knew the message of the winter, The darted hail, the childish snow, And the wind was my sister suitor; Wind in me leaped, the hellborn dew; My veins flowed with the Eastern weather; Ungotten I knew night and day. As yet ungotten, I did suffer; The rack of dreams my lily bones Did twist into a living cipher, And flesh was snipped to cross the lines Of gallow crosses on the liver And brambles in the wringing brains. My throat knew thirst before the structure Of skin and vein around the well Where words and water make a mixture Unfailing till the blood runs foul; My heart knew love, my belly hunger; I smelt the maggot in my stool. And time cast forth my mortal creature To drift or drown upon the seas Acquainted with the salt adventure Of tides that never touch the shores. I who was rich was made the richer By sipping at the vine of days. I, born of flesh and ghost, was neither A ghost nor man, but mortal ghost. And I was struck down by death’s feather. I was a mortal to the last Long breath that carried to my father The message of his dying christ. You who bow down at cross and altar, Remember me and pity Him Who took my flesh and bone for armour And doublecrossed my mother’s womb. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearI Fellowed SleepFoster the Light To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-light-breaks-where-no-sun-shines-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)* * * Light breaks where no sun shines; Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart Push in their tides; And, broken ghosts with glowworms in their heads, The things of light File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones. A candle in the thighs Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age; Where no seed stirs, The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars, Bright as a fig; Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs. Dawn breaks behind the eyes; From poles of skull and toe the windy blood Slides like a sea; Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky Spout to the rod Divining in a smile the oil of tears. Night in the sockets rounds, Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes; Day lights the bone; Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin The winter’s robes; The film of spring is hanging from the lids. Light breaks on secret lots, On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain; When logics die, The secret of the soil grows through the eye, And blood jumps in the sun; Above the waste allotments the dawn halts. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveWhen, Like a Running Grave To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. O Make Me a Mask. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-o-make-me-a-mask-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)O Make Me a MaskO make me a mask and a wall to shut from your spies Of the sharp, enamelled eyes and the spectacled claws Rape and rebellion in the nurseries of my face, Gag of dumbstruck tree to block from bare enemies The bayonet tongue in this undefended prayerpiece, The present mouth, and the sweetly blown trumpet of lies, Shaped in old armour and oak the countenance of a dunce To shield the glistening brain and blunt the examiners, And a tear-stained widower grief drooped from the lashes To veil belladonna and let the dry eyes perceive Others betray the lamenting lies of their losses By the curve of the nude mouth or the laugh up the sleeve. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveWhen, Like a Running Grave To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. The Hand That Signed the Paper. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-the-hand-that-signed-the-paper-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)The Hand That Signed the PaperThe hand that signed the paper felled a city; Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath, Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country; These five kings did a king to death. The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder, The finger joints are cramped with chalk; A goose’s quill has put an end to murder That put an end to talk. The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever, And famine grew, and locusts came; Great is the hand the holds dominion over Man by a scribbled name. The five kings count the dead but do not soften The crusted wound nor pat the brow; A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven; Hands have no tears to flow. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveWhen, Like a Running Grave To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. On a Wedding Anniversary. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-on-a-wedding-anniversary-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)On a Wedding AnniversaryThe sky is torn across This ragged anniversary of two Who moved for three years in tune Down the long walks of their vows. Now their love lies a loss And Love and his patients roar on a chain; From every tune or crater Carrying cloud, Death strikes their house. Too late in the wrong rain They come together whom their love parted: The windows pour into their heart And the doors burn in their brain. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveWhen, Like a Running Grave To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. Clown in the Moon. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-clown-in-the-moon-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)Clown in the MoonMy tears are like the quiet drift Of petals from some magic rose; And all my grief flows from the rift Of unremembered skies and snows. I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearI Fellowed SleepFoster the Light To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. A Letter to My Aunt. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-a-letter-to-my-aunt-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)A Letter to My AuntA Letter To My Aunt Discussing The Correct Approach To Modern Poetry To you, my aunt, who would explore The literary Chankley Bore, The paths are hard, for you are not A literary Hottentot But just a kind and cultured dame Who knows not Eliot (to her shame). Fie on you, aunt, that you should see No genius in David G., No elemental form and sound In T.S.E. and Ezra Pound. Fie on you, aunt! I’ll show you how To elevate your middle brow, And how to scale and see the sights From modernist Parnassian heights. First buy a hat, no Paris model But one the Swiss wear when they yodel, A bowler thing with one or two Feathers to conceal the view; And then in sandals walk the street (All modern painters use their feet For painting, on their canvas strips, Their wives or mothers, minus hips). Perhaps it would be best if you Created something very new, A dirty novel done in Erse Or written backwards in Welsh verse, Or paintings on the backs of vests, Or Sanskrit psalms on lepers’ chests. But if this proved imposs-i-ble Perhaps it would be just as well, For you could then write what you please, And modern verse is done with ease. Do not forget that ’limpet’ rhymes With ’strumpet’ in these troubled times, And commas are the worst of crimes; Few understand the works of Cummings, And few James Joyce’s mental slummings, And few young Auden’s coded chatter; But then it is the few that matter. Never be lucid, never state, If you would be regarded great, The simplest thought or sentiment, (For thought, we know, is decadent); Never omit such vital words As belly, genitals and -----, For these are things that play a part (And what a part) in all good art. Remember this: each rose is wormy, And every lovely woman’s germy; Remember this: that love depends On how the Gallic letter bends; Remember, too, that life is hell And even heaven has a smell Of putrefying angels who Make deadly whoopee in the blue. These things remembered, what can stop A poet going to the top? A final word: before you start The convulsions of your art, Remove your brains, take out your heart; Minus these curses, you can be A genius like David G. Take courage, aunt, and send your stuff To Geoffrey Grigson with my luff, And may I yet live to admire How well your poems light the fire. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveI Fellowed Sleep To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Thomas Hardy. His Immortality. Томас Гарди (Харди). - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-thomas-hardy-his-immortality-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-%d0%b3%d0%b0%d1%80%d0%b4%d0%b8-%d1%85%d0%b0%d1%80%d0%b4%d0%b8-4/ Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))His ImmortalityI I saw a dead man's finer part Shining within each faithful heart Of those bereft. Then said I: "This must be His immortality." II I looked there as the seasons wore, And still his soul continuously upbore Its life in theirs. But less its shine excelled Than when I first beheld. III His fellow-yearsmen passed, and then In later hearts I looked for him again; And found him--shrunk, alas! into a thin And spectral mannikin. IV Lastly I ask--now old and chill - If aught of him remain unperished still; And find, in me alone, a feeble spark, Dying amid the dark. Thomas Hardy's other poems:I Thought, My HeartThe Two HousesThe NettlesThe InscriptionThe Weary Walker To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English

[fledermousi]

English Poetry. Dylan Thomas. A Refusal to Mourn the Death, By Fire, of a Child in London. Дилан Томас. - https://www.poetry.monster/english-poetry-dylan-thomas-a-refusal-to-mourn-the-death-by-fire-of-a-child-in-london-%d0%b4%d0%b8%d0%bb%d0%b0%d0%bd-%d1%82%d0%be%d0%bc%d0%b0%d1%81-4/ Dylan Thomas (Дилан Томас)A Refusal to Mourn the Death, By Fire, of a Child in LondonNever until the mankind making Bird beast and flower Fathering and all humbling darkness Tells with silence the last light breaking And the still hour Is come of the sea tumbling in harness And I must enter again the round Zion of the water bead And the synagogue of the ear of corn Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound Or sow my salt seed In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn The majesty and burning of the child’s death. I shall not murder The mankind of her going with a grave truth Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath With any further Elegy of innocence and youth. Deep with the first dead lies London’s daughter, Robed in the long friends, The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother, Secret by the unmourning water Of the riding Thames. After the first death, there is no other. Dylan Thomas's other poems:The Seed-At-ZeroOn No Work of WordsEars in the Turrets HearAll That I Owe the Fellows of the GraveI Fellowed Sleep To the dedicated English version of this website Poetry In English