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MOONLIGHT INSIDE - POETS Requiem for My Harlequin
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“The prose writer has thunder-legs.
The poet has lightning-feet.
Arriving at the destination,
the prose writer declares,
"I have become."
Arriving at the same destination,
the poet whispers,
"I eternally am."
**
- Sri Chinmoy
This is the invite code for a group in progress:
The texture is by: Deviant art! Thanks for using it!
Narcissus poeticus was one of the first daffodils to be cultivated, and is frequently identified as the narcissus of ancient times. It is also often associated with the Greek legend of Narcissus. It is widely naturalized in North America. Historic John Wright Stanley House garden, New Bern, NC
Plaques illustrating Japanese waka poets and some of their work. Shinnyodo temple, Kyoto. Hasselblad X1D.
El poeta Gerardo Diego también se enamoró de Soria, donde su breve pero entusiasmada estancia le inspiró versos tan hermosos como estos del Romance del Duero.
Río Duero, río Duero,
nadie a acompañarte baja;
nadie se detiene a oír
tu eterna estrofa de agua.
Indiferente o cobarde,
la ciudad vuelve la espalda.
No quiere ver en tu espejo
su muralla desdentada.
Tú, viejo Duero, sonríes
entre tus barbas de plata,
moliendo con tus romances
las cosechas mal logradas.
Y entre los santos de piedra
y los álamos de magia
pasas llevando en tus ondas
palabras de amor, palabras.
Quién pudiera como tú,
a la vez quieto y en marcha,
cantar siempre el mismo verso
pero con distinta agua.
Río Duero, río Duero,
nadie a estar contigo baja,
ya nadie quiere atender
tu eterna estrofa olvidada,
sino los enamorados
que preguntan por sus almas
y siembran en tus espumas
palabras de amor, palabras.
Poeta, detalhe | Poet, detail
Túmulo do poeta Gomes Leal | Tomb of the poet Gomes Leal
Cemitério do Alto de São João | Alto de São João Cemetery
Escultor | Sculptor: Francisco dos Santos
CARTA AO MAR
Deixa escrever-te, verde mar antigo,
Largo Oceano, velho deus limoso,
Coração sempre lírico, choroso,
E terno visionário, meu amigo!
Das bandas do poente lamentoso
Quando o vermelho sol vai ter contigo,
– Nada é mais grande, nobre e doloroso,
Do que tu, – vasto e húmido jazigo!
Nada é mais triste, trágico e profundo!
Ninguém te vence ou te venceu no mundo!...
Mas também, quem te pôde consolar?!
Tu és Força, Arte, Amor, por excelência! –
E, contudo, ouve-o aqui, em confidência;
– A Música é mais triste inda que o Mar!
GOMES LEAL
[1848 – 1921]
‘in' CLARIDADES DO SUL
#abfav_MAY
Spring had sprung, everything bursting and unfurling; fresh green everywhere.
A beautiful long tree lined lane leading to a mansion would make a perfect shot… if I was conventional.
I decided I wanted something different, and walked around the majestic trunks, in the field, and photographed the ‘outside’, where the branches grew un-thinned and more wild.
I love the patterns and think the delicate green looks very romantic, poetic.
Have a wonderful day and thank you for viewing and commenting, Magda, (*_*)
For more of my other work visit here: www.indigo2photography.com
IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY image or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
" Nous voulons être les poètes de nos propres vies ...et d'abord dans les plus petites choses."
Un grand merci pour vos favoris, commentaires et encouragements toujours très appréciés.
Many thanks for your much appreciated favorites and comments.
Poet tables are a bit gloomy
A piece of emotion, a line of poetry
You can take whatever your soul hungers for;
Whether it's love, or sorrow,
Whether it's coincidence, or fate...
They say you have to accept an invitation,
You don't eat what you expect, you eat what you find.
Ieri un infarto fulminante ha colpito, uccidendolo, Paolo Brera, giornalista, scrittore, poeta e traduttore, nonchè figlio del famoso Gianni Brera. L'ho conosciuto anni fa in quanto frequentavamo lo studio sul Naviglio Grande della nostra comune amica Mitti. La sua morte prematura mi ha colpito molto.
Le village fortifié du Poët-Laval, dominé par son château médiéval, se détache sur un paysage de collines boisées, à quelques kilomètres à l'ouest de Dieulefit, en Drôme provençale. La commune est membre de l'association des Plus Beaux Villages de France, qui vise à promouvoir les atouts touristiques de petites communes françaises riches d'un patrimoine de qualité.
Au cours des guerres de religion, Le Poët-Laval connut plusieurs sièges : le château, très endommagé par les combats, fut délaissé par les commandeurs qui se fixèrent définitivement à Montélimar à la fin du xvie siècle. Les fortifications furent démantelées et le corps de logis tomba en ruines. La chapelle castrale Saint-Jean redevint église paroissiale sous le vocable de Saint-André.
À partir du début du xxe siècle, le développement du village de Gougne, en fond de vallée, entraîna l’abandon progressif du vieux village, qui n’était plus occupé que par quelques personnes âgées au début des années 1950. Dès 1925, quelques passionnés créèrent l’association des Amis du vieux Poët-Laval, qui freina le pillage systématique dont le site faisait l’objet en acquérant et en consolidant les constructions les plus menacées. À partir de 1959, les travaux réalisés par des particuliers sur toute la partie haute du village, sur les rues et quelques maisons anciennes ont permis de redonner vie à ce lieu remarquable, qui semblait voué à la disparition comme nombre de villages perchés et auquel l’accueil touristique et le retour d’habitants permanents rendent aujourd’hui une nouvelle jeunesse.
fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Poët-Laval
__________________________________________
The fortified village of Poet-Laval, dominated by its medieval castle, is set against a landscape of wooded hills, a few kilometers west of Dieulefit, in Drôme Provençale. The town is a member of the Association of the Most Beautiful Villages of France, which aims to promote the tourism assets of small French towns of a rich heritage of quality.
During the wars of religion, Le Poet-Laval knew several seats: the castle, badly damaged by the fighting, was abandoned by the commanders who permanently settled in Montelimar in the late sixteenth century. The fortifications were dismantled and the main building fell into disrepair. The chapel Saint-Jean became parish church under the patronage of St. Andrew.
From the early twentieth century, the development of the village of Gougne, in the valley, led to the gradual abandonment of the old village, which was not occupied by a few elderly people in the early 1950. In 1925, some enthusiasts created the Association of Friends of Old Poet-Laval, which braked the systematic looting whose site was the subject by acquiring and consolidating the most endangered buildings. From 1959 the work of individuals across the top of the village, on the streets and old houses have made it possible to revive this remarkable place, which seemed destined to disappear as a number of perched villages and to which the tourist reception and the return of permanent inhabitants make a new youth today.
Translated from:
Pierre de Ronsard, est un des poètes français les plus importants du XVIᵉ siècle. « Prince des poètes et poète des princes », Pierre de Ronsard est une figure majeure de la littérature poétique de la Renaissance.
Vous pouvez tous rejoindre mon groupe "Juste du talent" pour publier vos plus belles photos !!!
Merci et à bientôt.
The legendary King Arthur has a direct association with the Castle Rocks of St John, courtesy of Sir Walter Scott’s epic poem of 1813, Bridal of Triermain. The poem tells the story of a young knight named Roland de Vaux who falls in love with a mysterious woman named Gyneth, who is revealed to be a fairy queen. The story takes place in the scenic Vale of St. John, near the town of Triermain. Gwyneth resides in the castle there (Castle Rock).
Synopsis of the poem:
The Bridal of Triermain interweaves three stories, all with a Lake District setting: the eighteenth-century courtship of Arthur and Lucy, the Arthurian Legend of 'Lyulph's Tale', and the twelfth-century romance of Sir Roland de Vaux.
In order to warn his aristocratic lover Lucy against excessive maidenly pride, the low-born poet Arthur recites 'Lyulph's Tale' in cantos I-II. He tells how how King Arthur is seduced by the enchantress Guendolen. When he abandons the pregnant Guendolen to resume his kingly duties, she swears revenge. Sixteen years later, the fruit of their union, Gyneth appears at Camelot to remind Arthur of his promise that should he and Guendolen produce a daughter, she would wed the bravest of the Knights of the Round Table. Arthur declares a tournament with Gyneth's hand as the prize but instructs her to halt the combat before lives are lost. As the instrument of her mother's wrath, however, she does nothing to end the ferocious fighting, until Merlin arises from a chasm in the ground to punish her. She is sentenced to slumber in Guendolen's enchanted castle until awakened by a knight as brave as any of the Round Table.
The poet Arthur's courtship of Lucy proves successful and, following their marriage, Lucy begs him to tell of Gyneth's fate. In the third and final canto, then, he recounts the quest of the twelfth-century knight Sir Roland de Vaux of Triermain. He has heard Gyneth's legend and sets out to find the enchanted castle. Having located it in the Valley of Saint John, he successfully passes through a series of allegorical dangers and temptations (Fear, Avarice, Sensuality, Ambition) to awaken Gyneth from her five hundred-year sleep and win her hand.
Courtesy of www.walterscott.lib.ed.ac.uk/works/poetry/triermain.html
This sculpture depicts the Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa seated at a table outside the historic Café A Brasileira, in Lisbon’s Chiado district, a place he frequented during his lifetime. Cast in bronze by Portuguese sculptor Lagoa Henriques, the monument was inaugurated in 1988 to mark the centenary of Pessoa’s birth. One of the most distinctive features of the sculpture is the empty chair beside the poet. Conceived as an integral part of the work, it invites visitors to sit next to Pessoa, share an imaginary conversation, enjoy a coffee, or simply spend a moment in his company. In this photograph, the absence of people reinforces that silent invitation, making the empty chair almost as important as the poet himself. (chatGPT)
Conversación pendiente
La escultura representa al poeta portugués Fernando Pessoa, sentado ante una mesa del histórico Café A Brasileira, en el barrio lisboeta de Chiado, lugar que frecuentaba habitualmente. La obra, realizada en bronce por el escultor portugués Lagoa Henriques, fue inaugurada en 1988 con motivo del centenario del nacimiento de Pessoa. Uno de los elementos más interesantes de la composición es la silla vacía que acompaña al poeta. Concebida como parte integral de la obra, invita al visitante a sentarse junto a Pessoa para compartir una conversación imaginaria, tomar un café o simplemente disfrutar de su compañía. En esta imagen, la ausencia de personas refuerza esa invitación silenciosa y convierte la silla vacía en un protagonista tan importante como el propio poeta. (chatGPT)
(Photo edited with the assistance of ChatGPT to remove people from the scene.)
38.710626, -9.142113 - 6346 - Canon EOS R8
"Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese."
G.K. Chesterton, Alarms and Discursions
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A new creation from Poet's Heart amazing & innovating creator, who goes a step further in men's Jake's body mesh with the name "PH - Garbage Couture"
Soon it will be available at Salvage Station on 20th November & the event will be till 20th December
Stay Tuned
My outfit (jean, corset, poet shirt) are from RKKN : Stefania outfit gacha .
And this will be available tomorrow at The Epiphany .
Since I can never see your face,
And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
To greet you. You will understand.
JAMES ELROY FLECKER
To a Poet a thousand years hence
“And I write poetry on anything that comes to hand .., pink paper with yellow lines all creased and crumpled and slightly torn; brown paper bags that once contained Shiitake mushrooms for a soup; my favourite dark chocolate with sea salt cardboard wrappers and empty envelopes with stamps from far-off places where I will never go or never go again. Poets write on anything that comes to hand.
And I know the anxiety of being a wallflower
and I know all the perks.
And I know all the jerks that passed me by
or those that tried to prise me from the wall.
And I know what the cold is like
when I'm on the outside looking in.
And I know who will be there to catch me when I fall.
And I know what it's like to be a lost soul
wandering alone in the Universe.
And I know what it's like to find a friendship
that fills up all the gaps in me;
completes me like nothing else could ever do.
And I know what it's like to lose myself when I lost you
and the Universe imploded in on me.
And I know what it's like to miss you every day to Infinity and Beyond … simply é …
And I know more much more ...” - AP
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=vK7vrLY1dto
Lights & Motion ~ "We Are Infinite"
CIPRIAN …
Eyes so brown with flecks of yellow
nutbrown struck by sunlight
walk through fields of Springtime meadows
wildflowers swaying in delight
arm in arm and minds on nothing
living dreams that lift our souls
stop to eat when we get hungry
sip mushroom soup from chipped and yellowed melamine bowls
exchanging glances shyly hesitant
small smiles turned up at the corners
I did not know this was goodbye
that I would be an absentee among the mourners
how many years has it been now
it feels like only yesterday
still I think I'll one day see you
when the rain storms come and slant my way
I left the crucifix to dangle
to keep me safe on the less-travelled road
I think of that small clip from that film I did not show here
that one entwined within our code
we talked in shorthand when we spoke
or with a smile or with our eyes
the friendship rose and fell again
then rose again just like the sunrise
some things may always be left unspoken
sometimes words are not enough
but we knew that friendship lasts
beyond infinity although it's tough
I still read your poetry
still read between those beautiful lines
and browse through your photography
so much deleted those words of mine
but not your fault but deep within me
was something broken and you could see
and though I did not realise it back then
you protected me from knowing your destiny
I can thank you for many reasons
for being there throughout my trials
a rock a guiding hand held out through all four seasons
remembering your beautiful smiles
to feel the love you had for life
still tangible though you are gone
I can feel you close beside me
whenever I need to be more strong
I rarely met anyone else like you
whose aura was so bright
you saw behind my eyes of blue
to the sorrow that denied my light
you never gave up on me I know
you wanted me to know what life is for
I try to remember all you taught me
I miss you always and simply more …
- AP - Copyright © remains with and is the intellectual property of the author
Copyright © protected image please do not reproduce without permission
Dedicated to my beloved friend, Ciprian
A poet and the most beautiful human being you could ever wish to meet. To know him was to love him and when he passed he left the biggest hole in the Universe. I don't think I shall ever see his like again in this incarnation anyway …
Two long years and I still miss you though you are everywhere
In the rain and in the yellow
To Infinity and beyond … simply é …
Iubirea mea pentru tine nu va muri niciodata
We spoke mostly in French, but I did try to speak Romanian sometimes and he would smile indulgently. He recognised the child-like innocence in me that wants everyone and everything to be alright. He encouraged me in my writing and indulged my childish tantrums because he knew that like all things they would pass and he knew the reasons for them and accepted my brokeness because it is part of who I am. That was Ciprian … all-accepting; never just loving one small part of me, but embracing all of me with all the frailties and complexities within my nature. Oh, and one more thing, he loved cats and I would have loved him just for that ; 0) There are many different kinds of love. Our love was pure. The love borne of friendship and shared love of poetry and our minds always questioning everything.
I send my love and respect to dear Ciprian's wife who made his life so very happy. She was the love of his life and he of hers. If I feel the loss of my friend so deeply I can only imagine how hard it is for her to bear. My heart goes out to her on this day, the second anniversary of his passing.