«Mitt i livet
händer det att döden kommer
och tar mått på människan.
Det besöket glöms
och livet fortsätter.
Men kostymen sys i det tysta.»
~Tomas Tranströmer, "Svarta Vykort"
«In the middle of life it
happens that death comes
and measures man.
The visit is forgotten
and life continues.
But the suit is made,
quietly. »
~Tomas Tranströmer, “Black Postcards”
Labels: Poetry
«Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. »
~Robert Frost
«Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,
—behind, lurk Fear And Hope,
twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o’er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it—he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.»
~Percy Bysshe Shelley
Labels: Poetry
john, tom, and james
john was a bad boy, and beat a poor cat;
tom put a stone in a blind man's hat;
james was the boy who neglected his prayers;
they've all grown up ugly, and nobody cares.
an old woman
there was an old woman as ugly as sin,
who lived upon lucifer-matches and gin;
but she was so greedy, and ate such a many,
you could not have kept her a week on a penny.
jack
that's jack;
lay a stick on his back!
what's he done? i cannot say.
we'll find out tomorrow,
and beat him today.
Labels: Poetry
what is love?
love is the passion which endureth,
which neither time nor absence cureth;
which nought of earthly change can sever:
love is the light which shines for ever.
what cold and selfish breasts deem madness
lives in its depths of joy and sadness;
in hearts, on lips, of flame it burneth —
one is its world, to one it turneth.
its chain of gold — what hand can break it?
its deathless hold — what force can shake it?
mere passion aught of earth may sever,
but souls that love, love on for ever.
~mary anne lamb
funeral blues
stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
silence the pianos and with muffled drum
bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
scribbling on the sky the message he is dead,
put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
he was my north, my south, my east and west,
my working week and my sunday rest,
my noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
i thought that love would last for ever; i was wrong.
the stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
for nothing now can ever come to any good.
~w h auden
Labels: Poetry
Labels: Poetry
