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Discussione: Per gli anglofili e gli americanofili - Postiamo poesie in inglese?

  1. #1
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    Predefinito Per gli anglofili e gli americanofili - Postiamo poesie in inglese?

    He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?
    He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.
    I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder,
    And went with half my life about my ways.

    A. E. Housman

  2. #2
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    Predefinito

    Ok, bella idea!

    I'm Nobody! Who Are You?

    Emily Dickinson

    I'm nobody! Who are you?
    Are you nobody, too?
    Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
    They'd banish us, you know.

    How dreary to be somebody!
    How public, like a frog
    To tell your name the livelong day
    To an admiring bog!

  3. #3
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    Adoro quella poesia (come tutte quelle di Emily Dickinson XD)

    Mad Girl's Love Song - Sylvia Plath

    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
    I lift my lids and all is born again.
    (I think I made you up inside my head).

    The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
    And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

    I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
    And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
    (I think I made you up inside my head).

    God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
    Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

    I fancied you'd return the way you said,
    But I grow old and I forget your name.
    (I think I made you up inside my head).

    I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
    At least when spring comes they roar back again.
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
    (I think I made you up inside my head)
    .

  4. #4
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    IF.....

    IF you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;
    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
    Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
    And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

    If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
    If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
    If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;
    If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
    Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

    If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
    And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
    If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,
    And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

    If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
    ' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
    if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
    If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
    Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
    And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

    - Rudyard Kipling -

  5. #5
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    Predefinito

    In the Dark

    In the dark
    I called you
    There was silence,and breeze
    Bearing the curtain away
    In the fatigued sky
    A star was burning
    A star was dying

    I called you
    I called you
    My entire being
    Lay in my hands
    Like a glass of milk
    Moon's blue eyes
    Were fixed upon the glasses

    Plaintive songs
    Were rising like plumes of smoke
    From the city of crickets
    Gliding like smoke
    Upon the window panes

    All night long
    Someone was gasping there
    Between my breasts
    Out of despair
    Someone rose
    Someone desired you.



    Forough Farrokhzad ( poetessa persiana)

  6. #6
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    I have been astonished that men could
    die martyrs for their religion -
    I have shudder'd at it.
    I shudder no more.
    I could be martyr'd for my religion
    Love is my religion
    And I could die for that.
    I could die for you.

    - by John Keats -

  7. #7
    giovaneholden
    Guest

    Predefinito Jorie Graham fresca vincitrice del premio Nonino

    “This is freedom. This is the force of faith. Nobody gets what they want. Never again are you the same. The longing
    is to be pure. What you get is to be changed.”


    ― Jorie Graham

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    Predefinito Love Came so red

    Love came so red; though pity it is too late;
    How pleasing a red flower blooming in the snow ?

    Love ,o love, how far am I from the mountaintop?
    My steps are so unsteady, my hands are so frail !

    Also, my friend , I am scared that a breeze
    will shake
    The hesitant image of love resting on the pool.

    The young cactus's birthplace is the tropics,
    I am an artic desert, my heart a cold climate.

    My heart is larger than its cocoon, it seems to
    have swollen.
    This which is captive here wants to fly.

    I wants to fly, but its wings...its wings;
    In the cocoon it remained and rots...it is late.....too late.

    She who walked full of joy-her arms filled with faith-
    Must now endure the property of faithlessness.

    She who in agility resembled a deer,
    Is now an obedient sheep, tame and quiet ?

    She whose canopy of pride was the arch of a rainbow,
    Is now humbled and ashamed, her head hidden in a shell?

    Love ,o red flame
    The final glow on my ashen despair is a reflection of you.



    Simin Behbahani

  9. #9
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    Predefinito

    Eccomi qua mi piace il tedesco ma amo anche l'inglese

  10. #10
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    Predefinito

    leggo molto autori anglofoni, amo Shakespeare e la beat generation, letteratura americana, ma non leggo in lingua originale!

  11. #11
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    Predefinito

    No, non sono anglofilo o americanofilo,o meglio: lo sono, ma non più della media degli italiani. Detto ciò, una poesia che amo:
    I am, di John Clare
    I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;
    My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
    I am the self-consumer of my woes—
    They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
    Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes
    And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed

    Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
    Into the living sea of waking dreams,
    Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
    But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
    Even the dearest that I loved the best
    Are strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

    I long for scenes where man hath never trod
    A place where woman never smiled or wept
    There to abide with my Creator, God,
    And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
    Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
    The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

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