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 Selected English pOems

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chennOufmed
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Dim 22 Mar - 18:15



The Silence of Love

Silentium Amoris
(The Silence of Love)



As oftentimes the too resplendent sun
Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won
A single ballad from the nightingale,
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,
And all my sweetest singing out of tune.


And as at dawn across the level mead
On wings impetuous some wind will come,
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed
Which was its only instrument of song,
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.


But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.


-- Oscar Wilde
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Dim 22 Mar - 19:26

I am always looking for the French translation!
Thank you dear Med!!
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Lun 23 Mar - 17:39


Ah, how sweet it is to love!



AH, how sweet it is to love!
Ah, how gay is young Desire!
And what pleasing pains we prove
When we first approach Love's fire!
Pains of love be sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.

Sighs which are from lovers blown
Do but gently heave the heart:
Ev'n the tears they shed alone
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart:
Lovers, when they lose their breath,
Bleed away in easy death.

Love and Time with reverence use,
Treat them like a parting friend;
Nor the golden gifts refuse
Which in youth sincere they send:
For each year their price is more,
And they less simple than before.

Love, like spring-tides full and high,
Swells in every youthful vein;
But each tide does less supply,
Till they quite shrink in again:
If a flow in age appear,
'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.

John Dryden

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mer 1 Avr - 18:52

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Jeu 9 Avr - 6:54






SIDNEY LANIER

A SOng of LOve


Hey, rose, just born
Twin to a thorn;
Was't so with you, O Love and Scorn?

Sweet eyes that smiled,
Now wet and wild:
O Eye and Tear- mother and child.

Well: Love and Pain
Be kinfolks twain;
Yet would, Oh would I could Love again.

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Ven 10 Avr - 22:53

"I Am Not Yours"

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love -- put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

Sarah Teasdale
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Sam 11 Avr - 8:02

A nice choice.
Thank you so much dear Jayshree!!
And thank you Med for this interesting section.
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Sam 11 Avr - 9:08

yes it is a nice choice. i like sarah teasdale.thanks jayshree for this wonderful choice.


thanks driss too.i am happy it has won your approval & liking
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Dim 12 Avr - 9:23

Je suis heureuse, mes amis, que vous appréciiez mon choix.
Merci à vous deux, Driss et Chennoufmed!
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Lun 13 Avr - 19:54

Who Ever Loved That Loved Not at First Sight?

It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should love, the other win;

And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:
The reason no man knows; let it suffice
What we behold is censured by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

Christopher Marlowe
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mar 14 Avr - 6:11

The best poem of 2008
This poem was nominated by UN as the best poem of 2008, Written by an
African Kid


When I born, I black
When I grow up, I black
When I go in Sun, I black
When I scared, I black
When I sick, I black
And when I die, I still black

And you white fellow
When you born, you pink
When you grow up, you white
When you go in sun, you red
When you cold, you blue
When you scared, you yellow
When you sick, you green
And when you die, you gray

And you calling me colored? ???
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Lun 20 Avr - 19:53

Ode on Solitude


Alexander Pope
1688-1744

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest! who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me dye;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lye.



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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mer 29 Avr - 17:20

William Butler Yeats


Sailing to Byzantium



William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Nobel Prize winning Irish dramatist, author and poet wrote The Celtic Twilight (1893);


THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Dim 14 Juin - 10:39



T S EliOt

The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qwpo_x1b02g&feature=fvw
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair -
(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!")
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin -
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all -
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all -
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all -
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet - and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all" -
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all."
That is not it, at all.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor -
And this, and so much more? -
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mer 15 Juil - 17:58

The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner



by Samuel Coleridge



Part I

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
Mayst hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
Eftsoons his hand dropped he.

He holds him with his glittering eye—
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon—"
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"And now the storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And foward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white moonshine."

'God save thee, ancient Mariner,
From the fiends that plague thee thus!—
Why look'st thou so?'—"With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross."


for the rest of the poem :
http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/samuel_coleridge/poems/7097

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Dernière édition par chennOufmed le Mer 15 Juil - 18:08, édité 1 fois
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mer 15 Juil - 18:06

Samuel Coleridge Biography





COLERIDGE was born at Ottery, St. Mary, Devonshire, England, October 21, 1772 (given 1773 by some of his biographers), and on July 25, 1834, he passed away, and was buried in the vault of Highgate Church on August 2.

His father was a clergyman, and was known for his scholarship, simplicity of character, and interest in the pupils of the grammar school where he taught before devoting his full time to the ministry. The poet's mother was Anne Bowden, a woman noted for the interest which she took in the training of her children.

Upon the death of his father young Coleridge was taken to Christ's Hospital, where he studied for eight years. While here he gave strong evidence of a powerful imagination. He was industrious, and possessing a rare memory, he retained everything he read. The youth attracted the special attention of one of the teachers, who reported him to the head master as a boy who read Virgil for amusement. Some verses written by him at sixteen show strong marks of genius.

In February, 1791, he was entered at Jesus College, Cambridge. It was the custom of the students to lay aside their school books occasionally to discuss the pamphlets of the day. Ever and anon a pamphlet came from the pen of Burke, and one of Coleridge's fellow-students declared that there was no use of having the book before them, for Mr. C. had read it in the morning, and in the evening he could repeat it verbatim. But growing tired of university life, and being hard pressed by debts, he enlisted as a soldier.

His military record was thus described by the Rev. Mr. Bowles, who received the facts from Coleridge's own mouth:

"The regiment was the 15th, Elliot's light dragoons; the officer was Nathaniel Ogle, eldest son of Dr. Newton Ogle, and brother of the late Mrs. Sheridan; he was a scholar, and leaving Merton College, he entered this regiment a cornet. Some years afterward (I believe he was then captain of Coleridge's troop), going into the stable at Reading, he remarked, written on the white wall, under one of the saddles, in large pencil characters, the following sentence in Latin:

"'Eheu? quam infortunii miserrimum est fuisse felicem!'

"Being struck with the circumstance, and himself a scholar, Captain Ogle inquired of a soldier, whether he knew to whom the saddle belonged. 'Please your honor, to Comberback,' answered the dragoon. 'Comberback!' said the captain, 'send him to me.' Comberback presented himself, with the inside of his hand in front of his cap. His officer mildly said, 'Comberback, did you write that Latin sentence which I have just read under your saddle?' 'Please, your honor,' answered the solider, 'I wrote it,' 'Then, my lad, you are not what you appear to be. I shall speak to the commanding officer, and you may depend upon my speaking as a friend.' The commanding officer was, I think, General Churchill. Comberback (the name he gave when he enlisted) was examined, and it was found out, that having left Jesus College, Cambridge, and being in London without resources, he had enlisted in this regiment. He was soon discharged-not from his democratic feelings, for whatever those feelings might be, as a soldier he was remarkably orderly and obedient, though he could not rub down his own horse. He was discharged from respect to his friends and his station. His friends having been informed of his situation, a chaise was soon at the door of the Bear Inn, Reading, and the officers of the 15th cordially shaking his hands, particularly the officer who had been the means of his discharge, he drove off, not without a tear in his eye, whilst his old companions gave him three hearty cheers as the wheels rapidly rolled away along the Bath road to London and Cambridge."

While in the tap-room at Reading, he wrote one of his finest poems, "Religious Musings," which furnished a fine subject for a painting by Wilkie.

The youth returned to Cambridge for a short time, but left the university without a degree in 1794. In the same year he visited Oxford and formed the acquaintance of Southey. The two formed a friendship that continued through life. The two friends commenced to build up a plan for founding a brotherly community on the banks of the Susquehanna, where selfishness was to be extinguished, and the virtues were to reign supreme. Failing to get funds, the scheme was abandoned in 1795, much to Coleridge's chagrin. In the same year he married Sarah Frickes, and settled at Clevedon on the Bristol Channel. Within a few weeks Southey married a sister of Mrs. Coleridge and started for Portugal.

As a means of support the poet began to lecture. He selected politics and religion as subjects, but the Bristol public did not support him well, hence he published his lectures in book form. In the course of the summer excursions of this year Coleridge formed the acquaintance of Wordsworth and his gifted sister. As in the case of Southey, a life-long friendship followed. Wordsworth's sister describes Coleridge as "thin and pale, the lower part of his face not good, wide mouth, thick lips, not very good teeth, longish, loose, half-curling, rough, black hair," - but all was forgotten in the magic charm of his utterance. Wordsworth declared that Coleridge was the only wonderful man that he ever knew. Wordsworth soon settled near Coleridge, and Southey afterward joined them, thus making the trio known in literature as the Lake Poets. The Lake Poets was a term first used by critics in making light of the writings of the three friends, but it was soon made famous by the masterly spirits it included. Coleridge projected a periodical known as "The Watchman," but it lived only two months. In 1796 he published a volume of "Juvenile Poems," for which he received thirty guineas. The volume was successful, and at once made the author famous. In 1798 the Wedgwood brothers granted him an annuity, whereupon he, in company with Wordsworth and his sister, started for Hamburg with the intention of making a tour of the continent. In the same year the two friends published jointly the "Lyric Ballads."

The annuity granted him opened a new period in his life. Thus provided with means, he attended lectures at Gottingen, Germany, where he mastered the German language. Upon his return home he wrote some of the principal papers for the "Morning Post," and also translated some dramas of Schiller. Soon after, Coleridge accompanied Sir Alexander Ball to Malta, as his secretary. Returning from Malta, he wrote "Remorse," a tragedy in blank verse, equal in some respects to the masterly productions of Shakespeare. Its forcible thought and excellent expression greatly enhanced the author's reputation.

In 1801 Coleridge left London for the lakes, making his home for some time with Southey. As a result of what may be called his opium period, the next fifteen years of his life were far from pleasant. He accomplished but little. Occasionally, however, he appeared in London, and he was then always the delight of admiring circles. The "Ode to Dejection" and the poem of "Youth and Age," show the evidences of his sad prostration of spirit. In 1809 he published "The Friend," and for about three years lectured upon Shakespeare. In 1813 appeared the tragedy of "Remorse," which was very successful. "Three years after this the evil habit against which he had struggled bravely but ineffectually, determined him to enter the family of Mr. Gillem, who lived at Highgate. The letter in which he discloses his misery to this kind and thoughtful man gives a real insight into his character. Under kind and judicious treatment the hour of mastery at last arrived. The shore was reached, but the vessel had been miserably shattered in its passage through the rocks. He hardly, for the rest of his life, ever left his home at Highgate." It was there that "Christabel," written some time before, was first published. In 1816 appeared his "Lay Sermons" and the "Biographia Literaria," and a revised edition of "The Friend" soon followed.

Seven years later, his most mature and his best prose work, entitled "Aids to Reflection," was given to the world. In 1830 his last effort, being a work on "Church and State," appeared. He died in 1834. Four volumes of "Literary Remains" were published after his death. His prose works are the chief source of his fame, although the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" and "Christabel" are among the best poems in the English language.

"He lacked continuity of thought," and that, perhaps, is his principal fault. His conversational powers were scarcely less than those of Samuel Johnson. So great was his fame that the most remarkable young men of the period resorted to Highgate as to the shrine of an oracle. As a poet, Coleridge's own place is safe. His niche in the great gallery of English poets is secure. The exquisite perfection of his meter and the subtle alliance of his thought and expression must always secure for him the warmest admiration of true lovers of poetic art.

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mer 15 Juil - 18:12

Poetry analysis:

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, by Samuel Coleridge



by Paul Dice


http://www.helium.com/items/370780-poetry-analysis-the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner-by-samuel-coleridge?page=2

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner was the opening poem of the first edition of the Lyrical Ballads (1798), published anonymously with William Wordsworth, as a joint volume of poetry. The construction of the Ancient Mariner is that of a narrative-based medieval ballad, conforming to the genre's traditional rules of metre, of fairly regular quatrains, with a 8 syllable tetrameter structure, creating the impression that it is a product of oral tradition rather than a written culture.
The use of short sentence structure and internal rhyme, as in, 'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared', the use of simile, 'And listens like a three years child:' and repetition as in, below the Kirk, below the hill, below the lighthouse top', reported speech, "By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?, and punctuation to create emphasis, 'I shot the ALBATROSS.', 'And now the STORM BLAST came.' and contracted verbs, 'May'st', enjambment, alliteration and half rhyme. All these techniques assist Coleridge in setting the mood and the genre of this poem and the varying of it's pace.
The subject-matter is the encounter of a wedding guest with what appears to be an Ancient Mariner. 'It is an ancient Mariner.' In this opening line, Coleridge uses the impersonal, 'It,' to describe this entity which may or may not be of this world. The wedding guest is there to attend his next of kin's wedding. However, the Ancient Mariner alludes later in the poem, to the fact that they were drawn to this meeting, as in, 'I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; that moment his face I see, I know the man that must hear me; to him my tale I teach.' As if the wedding guest was pre-selected as the student.

Some of the recurrent themes he has used throughout include references to, nature, both in it's beauty and horror, 'the ice was here, the ice was there, the ice was all around: it cracked and growled, and roared and howled, like noises in a swound!' Others have been water and clouds, mist, sky and the Sun and Moon and the stars, and snow, his use of light and dark, good and bad, partially symbolised by the woman. He has used references to human activities, music, 'the merry din', 'for he heard the loud bassoon,' whistling and voices, flutes, angels song and birdsong, and also addresses the loss of faith, 'I looked to heaven and tried to pray: but or ever a prayer had gusht, a wicked whisper came, and made my heart as dry as dust.'
Coleridge description of the state of the ship and it's sorry crew, is in such a way to almost drain the reader into feeling weary, 'the weary time, a weary to find', like a load on my weary eye'. I fear thee ancient Mariner, and the look from the eyes of his dead ship mates, the wedding guest's fear of his skinny hand, and the penalties for the curse, build the feelings of dread and foreboding in the reader. Coleridge, however, despite the nature of the rhyme, subtly crafted humour into the beginning. The reported speech of the wedding guest, contains a sense of rhythm and timing which is almost comical. "By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? "The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din." Almost Dad's Army.
The Ancient Mariner commences with his tale, the mood of which starts optimistic, 'the ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, merrily did we drop below the kirk, below the hill, below the lighthouse top', 'The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea.' This quatrain is the poet's first use of personification, giving the sun masculine qualities, which help donate this work to the romantic genre. It also gives direction to the ship, rising from the left, from the east, helps orientate the reader, to the fact that the ship is heading south. The poet has given further references to the rising and setting of the Sun and its position over the ship's mast through out.
In the quatrain following, the wedding guest momentarily loses his patience, 'The wedding guests here beat his breast, for he heard the loud bassoon', and the humour of the poem returns, and also reinforces to the reader, that this is a tale being recounted, bringing us back to the space and time in which this tale is being told. It appears that the central role of this poem is the tale itself, which needs to be both told and heard. Coleridge then uses repetition and internal rhyme to bring the attention of the reader from the Wedding Guest and back to the Ancient Mariner, 'The wedding guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot chuse but hear; and thus spake on that ancient man, the bright eyed Mariner'. Here Coleridge is giving us a picture of a man torn between a call of his family to the celebration, and the spell cast by this strange old being.
Coleridge has also built into the poem a sense of tension and excitement with the description of the ships race with the storm. 'And now the STORM BLAST came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled', and he goes on to give us a vivid picture of the environment which the Mariners now encountered, 'And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald'.
In this quatrain Coleridge gives us a sense of scale and dimension, the mist and snow, cutting off the ship from the outside world, the ice as tall as the ship's mast.
'And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-The ice was all between,' the ship, at risk from being crushed by the ice, the terrifying noises as the ice moved upon the surface of the sea. 'The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound!', Coleridge adds further tension to the poem.
'At length did cross an Albatross:,' the first living creature they had encountered, 'Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name'. 'It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through!' Such was the joy of the Mariners at the sight of the albatross, a sign of life in this lifeless environment, a symbol of hope and renewal to the sailors, happy for it to take their food and responding to their calls without fear of man, they took it as a good omen for their journey, and blessed it in the Name of God. Here Coleridge provides a break from the early tension created in the poem. After the albatross is killed, the changes in the fortunes of the sailors, for good or ill, are laid at the feet of the Ancient Mariner, culminating in the act of replacing a religious icon, the cross, with the body of the bird. 'Ah! well a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung.' The predicament that Coleridge placed the Ancient Mariner in, by including into the poem, an unthinking act of indifference, places the Ancient Mariner's spirituality under threat, and the trials and struggles needed to be redeemed. Coleridge is again building the tension, like a wave upon the ocean.
Coleridge changes the sailors relationship with nature here, as the ship becomes becalmed, this is a dramatic and fundamental change. The meaning of the Sun changed from a symbol of optimism to a symbol of fear and dread. 'All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon.' It's heat, drying-out the ship and the bodies of men, who were too parched to speak. He continues these feelings of being becalmed in the third part of the poem too, 'There passed a weary time': keeping the sense of the urgent, but slow passing of time, and time weighing heavy upon the crew by his use of punctuation and repetition, 'A weary time! a weary time! How glazed each weary eye', of a thirst that robs them of the ability to laugh or wail, 'Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye.' The a-spying of the ship, which at first would have seemed a blessing, giving the reader it also seems, a symbol for the release of tension, 'When looking westward,' 'the west' is a symbol in many cultures as the land of the dead however, 'I beheld A something in the sky.' And the poem goes on to use another powerful symbol, the blood sacrifice, 'I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail!', but as the ghost ship draws alongside, all are thrown into despair, 'Are those her ribs through which the Sun Did peer, as through a grate? And is that Woman all her crew? Is that a DEATH? and are there two? Is DEATH that woman's mate?'. 'The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.' Then Coleridge brings about the awful fate of the crew, looking their last upon the Ancient Mariner, they fall dead, a fearful image is created by the poet in this series of quatrains. 'The souls did from their bodies fly,-They fled to bliss or woe! And every sole, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my CROSS-BOW!' In this quatrain, Coleridge gives an indication to a belief in the Judgment and reward of man after death, 'they fled to bliss or woe!' and again, this gives another reference to the poet's religious knowledge and to the themes common to the Romantic period.
After the crew had perished, the poet brings us back to the present and provides some relief from the tension created, by the use of reported speech by the wedding guest, "I fear thee, ancient Mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. "I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown."-and in this quatrain, he uses simile by comparing the physical aspects of the Ancient Mariner to the ribbed sea-sand. The poet repeats this technique several times throughout the poem.
In the following quatrain Coleridge again used repetition to convey how utterly alone and without faith the Ancient Mariner had now become, 'alone all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea!' and Coleridge gives further emphasis to how unworthy the Ancient Mariner felt about himself, wishing he could die, and looking upon nature with revulsion. 'The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.' This theme continues for the seven days and nights he spent looking into the eyes of his dead shipmates, 'Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die'. and neither could the things that the Ancient Mariner feared, 'Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire'. Yet out of this hell and purgatory which Coleridge has placed this poor fellow, to help resolve this tension, he throws his principle character a life line, an unconscious blessing comes from the Ancient Mariner, 'O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware.' on the things he had loathed lay the key to his salvation, and salvation is brought in an instant, 'The self same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.' The crew become animated once more, by good spirits, manning the ship and getting under way, and Coleridge concludes the fourth part of the poem with again a reference to the wedding guest.
After heavenly inspired sleep, the Mariner awakens to find his thirst is quenched, and there are heavenly voices and bird song in the air. These are devices typical to the Romantic poets, symbols of healing and forgiveness, and Coleridge's knowledge of their hidden meanings is apparent. The Mariner also discovers the crew are all gathered and are looking at him, so giving the impression of some tension remaining within the poem's tale. The Mariner turns and discovers that he is off the coast of his own country. The Mariner turns again to find the crew are guiding, with lights, the pilot to the vessel. The Ancient Mariner turns again and sees the hermit good. Coleridge again gives his principal character another medium of salvation. 'He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood.'
Coleridge then gives us back ground on the hermit, where he lives, and what he does, his devotions, and conversations with other Mariner's. Then the poem switches back to the Ancient Mariner, of the conversations between the pilot and the hermit, which the Ancient Mariner is able to a overhear, the reservations of the pilots and the cheerfulness of the hermit. Suddenly the ship goes down, and the Mariner finds himself in the pilot's boat, which is being pulled into a maelstrom. And with a combination of the hermits devoutness and the last of the ancient Mariners strength, the pilots ship is able to pull free of the whirlpool and they reach dry land.
Here the Mariner beseeches the hermit to save him from his curse. And the Mariner finds that to tell the hermit his tale, gave him relief and eased his troubled mind. However the Mariner has to recant his tail again, hence why he cannot remain in one place for any length of time, that he wanders from land to land to teach his tale.
And thus is Coleridge's rather lengthy tale reaches it's conclusion, the Ancient Mariner bids goodbye to the wedding guest, 'Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!' and gives him what advice he can, 'He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.' 'He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us He made and loveth all.'
and the effect of his tale is shown by the manner of the wedding guest,
'The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door.' 'He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn.'
The poem opens with the Wedding Guest and the Mariner, and resolves itself by showing the Mariner has been successful in his mission, the tale has been heard by the Wedding Guest, the build-up of tension is released by this and resolves the tale. Having progressed from ignorance to despair to knowledge and wisdom.
It is a tale within a tale, a moral story of fear, guilt, blame and salvation. Is this the process which Coleridge sees himself going through?
It is also a very lengthy composition, the references to nature and and spirituality and man's relationship to them, demonstrates the poem's romantic origins. The modern reader, of which I am, would find a poem of this length rather daunting, as I have, its use of language is somewhat archaic and many of the religious aspects could be missed. It was difficult to write an essay upon as there are so many techniques and examples which could be referenced and deeper meanings left to explore that I am afraid that I have not done the rime justice.

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Jeu 16 Juil - 9:52

Thank you very much Chennoufmed for those famous romantic poets such as Coleridge and Wordsworth








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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Jeu 16 Juil - 18:53

i am really pleased you appreciated it dear friend milOudy...thx very much indeed

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mar 21 Juil - 20:58



Go and catch a falling star


John Donne

GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Lun 3 Aoû - 19:00


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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Lun 3 Aoû - 19:02

The roots of metaphysical poetry are basically found in the seventeenth century, when a group of poets, co-incidentally shared some common features of metaphysical wit. The term Metaphysical poetry was used for the first time by Samuel Johnson in his book "Life of Cowley".
The reason for calling these poets as metaphysical poets is the use of wit and far fetched imagery. They yoke together two entirely opposite ideas together and that too with a lot of conviction and authority.
As far as John Donne is concerned, he is probably the most famous of all the metaphysical poets. John Dryden says about John Donne, "He affects the metaphysics, not only in his satires, but in his amorous verses, where nature only should reign; and perplexes the minds of the fair sex with nice speculations of philosophy, when he should engage their hearts, and entertain them with the softnesses of love."
The imagery used by John Donne is his various poems comprises of far-fetched images. For example, in his poem "Good Morrow", he compares himself and his beloved with seven sleepers. Apparently, both, the Seven Sleepers and the poet and his beloved do not have any resemblance with each other and one might not be able to comprehend the relationship at the first glance. But this is mastery of John Donne that he yokes together such an alien phenomenon with love.
Similarly, Love and Mathematics do not have any relationship at an apparent level. But he compares himself and his beloved with two legs of a compass in his poem "Valediction: Forbidding Mourning".

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Lun 3 Aoû - 19:27

chennOufmed a écrit:


Go and catch a falling star


John Donne

GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.


Explication of John Donne's The Flea

http://www.123helpme.com/view.asp?id=16300

John Donne's, "The Flea," is a persuasive poem in which the speaker is attempting to establish a sexual union with his significant other. However, based on the woman's rejection, the speaker twists his argument, making that which he requests seem insignificant. John Donne brings out and shapes this meaning through his collaborative use of conceit, rhythm, and rhyme scheme. In the beginning, Donne uses the flea as a conceit, to represent a sexual union with his significant other. For instance, in the first stanza a flea bites the speaker and woman. He responds to this incident by saying, "And in this flea our bloods mingled be."


He is suggesting that they are united in this flea and ,thus, would equally be united in intimacy. In addition, he states, "This flea is you and I, and this our marriage bed, and marriage temple is." The speaker is suggesting that through the flea the two are married. Again, the flea represents marriage, union, and consummation through intimacy. However, the woman crushes the flea, thus, refusing his request, and states that neither she nor he is weakened by its death.


Based on her reaction, the speaker states, "Tis true...Just so much honor, when they yield'st to me, Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee." In other words, he twists his argument to make the point that the woman will lose as much giving herself to him as she lost killing the flea - NOTHING! Secondly, Donne's use of rhythm aids in shaping the poem's meaning. The poem has alternating lines of iambic tetrameter and pentameter. However, Donne varies this rhythm to create emphasis on particular words or phrases. For instance, in the first stanza he states, "Mark but this flea, and mark in this." Instead of beginning with an unstressed word or syllable as in iambic, Donne stresses the word "Mark." This is important in accentuating his argument. In this same phrase, he uses a pyrrhic foot over "but" and "this" so stress can be placed over the word "flea." Again, the flea is an important part of the speaker's argument and emphasis is placed accordingly.


Finally, Donne's rhyme scheme plays an important part in the meaning. All twenty-seven lines of the poem follow the aabbccddd rhyme scheme. This consistency in pattern reflects the speaker's persistence as he proceeds with his request for intimacy throughout the poem.

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Lun 3 Aoû - 20:09

It's not easy to understand this great poem...but it's a good choice as always you did.
Thank you friend trying to show us the best of English Poetry!!!

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Sam 15 Aoû - 16:04

The raven



by edgar allan poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore -
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
«Tis some visitor», I muttered, «tapping at my chamber door:
Only this and nothing more».

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor,
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
«Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
This it is and nothing more».

Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,
«Sir», said I, «or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping.
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you». - Here I opened wide the door -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
Put the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only world there spoken was the whispered word, «Lenore!»
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, «Lenore!»
This, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, somewhat louder than before.
«Surely», said I, «surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore, -
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore,
«Tis the wind, and nothing more».

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then, this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stem decorum of the countenance it wore,
«Though the crest be shorn and shaven, thou», I said, «art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian shore!»
Quoth the Raven, «Nevermore».

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door -
With such name as «Nevermore».

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, «Other friends have flown before!
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before!»
Then the bird said, «Nevermore.»

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
«Doubtless» said I, «what it utters is its only stock and store;
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Following fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of «Never - nevermore !»

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door}
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird oi yore
Meant in croaking «Nevermore».

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'cr -
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
«Wretch,» I cried, «thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!»
Quoth the Raven, «Nevermore».

«Prophet!» said I, «thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore?
Is there - is there balm in Gilead ? - tell me - tell me, I implore I»
Qucth the Raven, «Nevermore».

«Prophet!» said I, «thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore,
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!»
Quoth the Raven, «Nevermore».

«Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!» I shrieked upstarting.
«Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!»
Quoth the Raven, «Nevermore».

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

___________________________________________________________________

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Sam 15 Aoû - 16:10

The Raven (1845)
Edgar Allan Poe
Traduit de l'américain par Stéphane Chabrières





LE CORBEAU


Par un minuit triste, tandis que je méditais, faible et fatigué,
Sur maint vieux et curieux volume de savoir oublié,
Tandis que je dodelinais de la tête, somnolant presque, il y eut soudain un tapotement,
Comme si quelqu’un frappait doucement, frappait à la porte de ma chambre,
C’est un visiteur, murmurai-je, qui frappe à la porte de ma chambre
Rien que cela, et rien de plus.

Ah, je me souviens précisément que c’était par un mois glacial de Décembre,
et chaque tison brodait en mourant son spectre sur le sol.
Je désirais vivement le matin; j’avais cherché à tirer
De mes livres un sursis à ma tristesse, ma tristesse pour ma Lénore perdue,
Pour la rare et lumineuse jeune fille que les anges appellent Lénore,
Qu’ici-bas l’on ne nommera jamais plus.

Et le bruissement soyeux, triste et incertain de chaque rideau de pourpre
Me faisait frisonner, me remplisssait de terreurs fantastiques et inédites;
Si bien qu’alors, pour calmer les battements de mon coeur, je restais là à répéter:
“C’est un visiteur qui souhaite entrer à la porte de ma chambre,
Un visiteur qui souhaite entrer à la porte de ma chambre,
C’est cela, et rien de plus.

A cet instant mon âme se fit plus forte et n’hésita plus:
“Monsieur, dis-je, ou Madame, j’implore vraiment votre pardon;
Mais le fait est que je sommeillais, et vous êtes venu frapper si doucement,
Si faiblement vous êtes venu frapper à la porte de ma chambre, frapper à la porte de ma chambre,
Que je vous ai à peine entendu.” J’ai alors ouvert grande la porte;
Les ténèbres, et rien de plus.

Scrutant ces ténèbres, je me tins longtemps à m’interroger,
A douter, à rêver des rêves que nul mortel n’osa jamais rêver ;
Mais le silence perdura, et le calme ne donna aucun signe,
Et le seul mot qui fut prononcé fut un nom chuchoté: “Lénore!”
C’était moi qui le chuchotai, et l’écho en retour me murmura ce mot: “Lénore!”
Simplement cela, et rien de plus.


De retour dans ma chambre, toute mon âme brûlant en moi,
J’entendis de nouveau frapper mais plus fort qu’auparavant.
“Sûrement, dis-je, c’est sûrement quelque chose à la persienne de ma fenêtre:
Voyons donc ce que c’est, et élucidons ce mystère,
Laissons mon coeur se calmer un instant et élucidons ce mystère;
C’est le vent et rien de plus.”


Je poussai alors le volet, quand, avec un tumultueux battement d’ailes,
Entra un noble corbeau des jours saints de jadis;
Il ne fit nulle révérence; il ne s’arrêta pas ni n’hésita un instant;
Mais avec la mine d’un lord ou d’une lady, il se percha sur la porte de ma chambre,
Se percha, s’installa, et rien de plus.


Alors cet oiseau d’ébène induisant ma triste imagination à sourire,
Par le grave et sévère décorum de son maintien:
“Bien que ta tête, lui dis-je, soit tondue et rase, tu n’es sûrement pas un poltron,
Morbide, sinistre et ancien corbeau, voyageant depuis les rivages plutoniens de la nuit,
Dis-moi quel est ton nom seigneurial sur les rivages plutoniens de la nuit!”
Le corbeau dit: “Jamais plus!”


Je m’émerveillai que ce disgracieux volatile comprenne aussi bien ce langage,
Bien que sa réponse ne fût ni très sensée ni très pertiente;
Car on doit convenir qu’aucun homme vivant
N’eut l’occasion de voir un oiseau au-dessus de la porte de sa chambre,
Un oiseau ou une bête sur le buste sculpté au-dessus de la porte de sa chambre,
Et affublé du nom; “Jamais plus.”


Mais ce corbeau, perché solitairement sur ce buste placide, ne prononçait
Que ce seul mot, comme si son âme se répandait en ce seul mot.
Il ne prononça rien de plus, il ne bougea pas une plume,
Jusqu’à ce que je murmure faiblement: “d’autres amis se sont déjà envolés,
Au matin il s’envolera à son tour, comme mes espérances déjà envolées.”
L’oiseau dit alors: “Jamais plus.”


Surpris par cette réplique brisant le silence et dite avec autant d’aplomb,
“Sans doute, dis-je, cette parole est son seul acquis,
Qu’il a apprise chez un malheureux maître que le Malheur impitoyable
A poursuivi de plus en plus près, jusqu’à ces chansons n’aient plus qu’un seul refrain,
Jusqu’à ce que les chants funèbres de son Espérance ne résonnent plus
Qu’au seul refrain mélancolique de: ”Jamais plus.


”Mais le corbeau induisant encore toute mon âme à sourire,
Je roulai soudain un siège à coussins en face de l’oiseau, du buste et de la porte;
Puis, m’enfonçant dans le velours, j’en vins à enchaîner les idées aux idées,
A penser à ce que cet augural oiseau de jadis,
Ce que ce sinistre, disgracieux, morbide, maigre, augural oiseau de jadis
Voulait dire en croassant ce: “Jamais plus.”


Je restai assis, à conjecturer, mais ne soufflant nulle syllabe
Au volatile dont les yeux ardents me brûlaient maintenant jusqu’au fond du coeur;
Je cherchai à en savoir toujours plus, ma tête reposant à l’aise
Sur le velours du coussin que nimbait la lumière de la lampe,
Ce velours violet que nimbait la lumière de la lampe,
Qu’Elle ne pressera, ah! jamais plus!

Alors, il me sembla que l’air devenait plus dense, parfumé par un encensoir invisible,
Que balaçaient des Séraphins dont les pas frôlaient le tapis de ma chambre.
“Misérable,” m’écriai-je, ton Dieu t’a envoyé, par ses anges il t’a envoyé
Du répit, du répit et du népenthès dans tes souvenirs de Lénore!
Bois, oh bois ce bon nepenthès et oublie cette Lénore perdue!”
Le corbeau dit: “Jamais plus.”


“Prophète!” dis-je, “Etre de malheur, oiseau ou démon!
Que le Tentateur t’ait envoyé, ou que la tempête t’ait fait échouer ici,
Désolé mais encore intrépide sur cette terre déserte et enchantée,
Dans cette maison hantée par l’horreur, dis-moi sincèrement, je t’en supplie,
Existe-t’il du baume de Judée? Dis-le moi, dis-le moi, je t”en supplie!”
Le corbeau dit: “Jamais plus.”


“Prophète!” dis-je, être de malheur, oiseau ou démon!
Par ce ciel tendu au-dessus de nos têtes, par ce Cieu que nous adorons,
Dis à cette âme chargée de chagrin si, dans le distant Eden,
Elle étreindra une sainte jeune fille que les anges appellent Lénore!”
Le corbeau dit: “Jamais plus.”


“Que cette parole soit le signal de notre séparation, oiseau ou démon!” hurlai-je, en me redressant.
“Retourne à la tempête et aux rivages plutoniens de la nuit!
Ne laisse aucune plume comme symbole du mensonge que ton âme a proféré!
Laisse ma solitude intacte! Quitte le buste au-dessus de ma porte!
Ote ton bec de mon coeur, et éloigne ta présence de ma porte!”
Le corbeau dit: “Jamais plus.


Et le corveau, ne volant jamais, trône toujours, trône toujours
Sur le buste pâle de Pallas, juste au-dessus de la porte de ma chambre;
Et ses yeux ressemblent en tout point à ceux d’un démon qui rêve,
Et la lumière de la lampe ruisselant sur lui projette son ombre sur le sol;
Et mon âme, de cette ombre flottante qui gît sur le sol,
Ne s’élevera - jamais plus!

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mar 25 Aoû - 13:45

A Red, Red Rose





O, my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my Luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair as thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will love thess till, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run:

And fare thee well, my only luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.



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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mar 25 Aoû - 13:49



The Poem, “A Red, Red Rose”
One of the most famous songs that Robert Burns wrote for this project and first published in 1794 was “A Red, Red Rose.” Burns wrote it as a traditional ballad, four verses of four lines each.
“A Red, Red Rose” begins with a quatrain containing two similes. Burns compares his love with a springtime blooming rose and then with a sweet melody. These are popular poetic images and this is the stanza most commonly quoted from the poem.
The second and third stanzas become increasingly complex, ending with the metaphor of the “sands of life,” or hourglass. One the one hand we are given the image of his love lasting until the seas run dry and the rocks melt with the sun, wonderfully poetic images. On the other hand Burns reminds us of the passage of time and the changes that result. That recalls the first stanza and its image of a red rose, newly sprung in June, which we know from experience will change and decay with time. These are complex and competing images, typical of the more mature Robert Burns.
The final stanza wraps up the poem’s complexity with a farewell and a promise of return.
“A Red, Red Rose” is written as a ballad with four stanzas of four lines each. Each stanza has alternating lines of four beats, or iambs, and three beats. The first and third lines have four iambs, consisting of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable, as in da-dah, da-dah, da-dah, da-dah. The second and fourth lines consist of three iambs. This form of verse is well adapted for singing or recitation and originated in the days when poetry existed in verbal rather than written form.

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mar 25 Aoû - 13:55



A Red, Red Rose


Robert Burns

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mar 8 Sep - 20:29




Wilfred Owen

"Anthem for Doomed Youth"

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, --
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk, a drawing-down of blinds.

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Mer 9 Sep - 13:46






Thanks Chennoufmed.
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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Dim 1 Nov - 12:20

youa are welcome dear friend milOudy

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Dim 1 Nov - 12:25



I Would Live in Your Love



I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,

Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes;
I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me,
I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul
as it leads.


Sarah Teasdale

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MessageSujet: Re: Selected English pOems   Dim 1 Nov - 12:39

chennOufmed a écrit:


I Would Live in Your Love



I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,

Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes;
I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me,
I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul
as it leads.


Sarah Teasdale

Sara Teasdale was undoubtedly one of the most popular writers associated with the Chicago Renaissance; her many volumes of poetry often went into several printings and her work has remained in print for decades. Teasdale was known for her skillful use of traditional poetic forms at a time when many of her contemporaries were experimenting with free verse poetry and unconventional language use. A St. Louis, Missouri, native, Teasdale traveled as a young woman, developing an extended community of literary friends, especially in Chicago’s vibrant literary scene. Chief among these were the poets Vachel Lindsay and Eunice Tietjens and editors John Hall Wheelock and Harriet Monroe. Of meeting Teasdale early in her career, Monroe wrote, “She was as delicate as a lily, but under the white-petaled perfume one felt in her presence an impassioned intensity of feeling which her brief lyrics were then beginning to express.”1 Of her 1926 volume Dark of the Moon Monroe wrote: “when a powerful and engaging personality finds a truly lyric expression with the completeness recorded in successive groups of Sara Teasdale’s best poems, we have a seemingly indestructible combination, a prophecy of what we short-sighted and short-lived mortals call immortality.”2

http://beinecke.library.yale.edu/awia/gallery/teasdale.html

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