Annons
Annons

He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair.


 


Förra fredagen var det World Poetry Day och jag frågade er om ni hade någon favoritdikt att bidra med.
Det är så otroligt många fina rader i det kommentarsfältet nu, så jag tänkte portionera ut ett par stycken i några inlägg.
Men man får inte ha för många dikter i bara ett inlägg eftersom det känns som att poesi är tänkt att läsas med många pauser tänker jag.

Annons


He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him
and put it in her hair.

– A. Roy
.

My heart cannot die: I would like to kill it,
since that would please you,
but it cannot be pulled out of your breast,
where it has been dwelling for a long time;
and if I killed it, as I wish,
I know that you would die, and I would die too.

– originaltitel: Morir non può il mio cuore, men jag vet inte vem som har skrivit den. Det finns dock en tonsättning av den som en 1500-talskompositör som hette Madalena Casulana har gjort hälsar Alva.


I’ve been smoking alot
and starting to doubt
If I’m breathing you in
or smoking you out.

– Keaton Henson


To sum up life: We’re all just walking each other home.


– Ram Dass


Because, he said,
”I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you – especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land some broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, – you’d forget me.”

― ur Jane Eyre av Charlotte Brontë,


She wasn’t doing a thing I could see,

just standing there, leaning on the balcony railing,
holding the universe together

– J.D. Salinger


I gamla ryska romaner är brev något man bränner under vinterkvällar i den öppna spisen. Man bränner dem inte indränkta i matolja en sommardag i sin trädgård. Men i den osköna realistiska värld vi lever i händer det faktiskt att man genomsvettig bränner brev en sommarmorgon. Det finns ett och annat man inte kan välja här i världen. Det finns gånger då man inte kan vänta till vintern.

– ?


Fukaeri kisade med ögonen, knep ihop munnen till ett streck och tittade länge Tengo rakt i ansiktet. Som om hon försökte läsa ett meddelande som stod skrivet i det med mycket liten stil. Nästan omedvetet förde Tengo handen till sitt ansikte, men han kunde inte känna att något stod skrivet där.

– ur 1Q84 av Haruki Murakami


It’s 11 am and I’m sitting in a restaurant

3 beers in. Believe me, even I’m surprised
I’m still alive sometimes.
I have been drinking about you for 2 days.
Lately you remind me of a wild thing
chewing through its foot. But you
are already free and I don’t know what to do
except trace the rough line of your jaw
and try not to place blame.
Here is the truth: It is hard to be in love
with someone who is in love someone else.
I don’t know how to turn that into poetry.

– Clementine Von Radics

.
.

Translation. Last week it was World Poetry Day and I asked to hear your favorite poem. Here are some of them.

 

photo source.

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