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The Poem Blitz Thread
Started by: Bentley

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Gender: Unspecified
Location: France

The Poem Blitz Thread

(So we did have a poetry forum here? Cool)


The idea is to share published poems, not our own, from established poets or from more or less obscure ones. If you like poetry odds are, you've read some poems and among those there are some that are more enticing and meaningful to you. Just share those thumb up

So I wanted to start with a poem by Jorge Luis Borges, but I didn't have an English translation in hand, so instead I had to browse for a different one. Anyways, while not my first pick, I certainly remembered it and liked it enough to add it as a contribution. Let's get the ball rolling:


Of these streets that deepen the sunset,
There must be one (but which) that Iíve walked
Already one last time, indifferently
And without knowing it, submitting

To One who sets up omnipotent laws
And a secret and a rigid measure
For the shadows, the dreams, and forms
That work the warp and weft of this life.

If all things have a limit and a value
A last time nothing more and oblivion
Who can say to whom in this house
Unknowingly, we have said goodbye?

Already through the grey glass night ebbs
And among the stack of books that throws
A broken shadow on the unlit table,
There must be one I will never read.

In the South thereís more than one worn gate
With its masonry urns and prickly pear
Where my entrance is forbidden
As it were within a lithograph.

Forever thereís a door you have closed,
And a mirror that waits for you in vain;
The crossroad seems wide open to you
And there a four-faced Janus watches.

There is, amongst your memories, one
That has now been lost irreparably;
Youíll not be seen to visit that well
Under white sun or yellow moon.

Your voice cannot recapture what the Persian
Sang in his tongue of birds and roses,
When at sunset, as the light disperses,
You long to speak imperishable things.

And the incessant Rhone and the lake,
All that yesterday on which today I lean?
They will be as lost as that Carthage
The Romans erased with fire and salt.

At dawn I seem to hear a turbulent
Murmur of multitudes who slip away;
All who have loved me and forgotten;
Space, time and Borges now leaving me.


Old Post Oct 16th, 2015 05:13 AM
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Gender: Male
Location: Boston

The Weary Blues - Langston Hughes

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway . . .
He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune oí those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black manís soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moanó
ďAinít got nobody in all this world,
Ainít got nobody but ma self.
Iís gwine to quit ma frowniní
And put ma troubles on the shelf.Ē

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some moreó
ďI got the Weary Blues
And I canít be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And canít be satisfiedó
I ainít happy no moí
And I wish that I had died.Ē
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man thatís dead.

Old Post Nov 30th, 2016 05:05 AM
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