In whom can they confide but me ?
I walk past the silent musical instruments ;
past the dead, the decaying , the grave ,
the slanders ; an opressed day without sun,
past the moonless nights , through the woods,
Towards a new dawn , towards the sunny days
and a new awakening.
- 19 July, 2009 2:35 am
I know it doesn't rhyme and hence probably doesn't qualify to be a poem , but rhyme and meaning in a poem to me is like Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, I cannot get 'em both simultaneously :|
Here's another :
I have a pen and a paper
to record the tremors of my heart;
the pains of love and the darkness of fate,
the guilt of abet and the heart's elation.
- 24 September , 2009 4:15 am
7 comments:
woah! that's pretty deep!
If that translates to 'good' , thanks :D
I wanted to read your post on Inception why did u delete it ?..
As for poems..Whoa they are deep...
but am too dumb too understand them
u gotta explain me. offline :P.
Same pinch 'bout the first couple of lines, did the same meself, can't get time from the job anymore though, but then again, never was in the habit of keeping my poems in a record (inherited that habit from me mum I guess), so doesn't matter all that much.
If you think rhyming schemes and technical parameters inhibit your thoughts, wtheck, u can always stick to free verse right :) (as u seem to be doing already!)
Here's one of mine I dug up from an online archive -
The Recollection
Its about a quarter and two at night
Am lonely no one can share my plight
There's no soul left just pale gloss
Each man must carry his own cross
The fading Dunhill on my lips gives a dim light
The thoughts in my mind give me a fright
Maybe things are not that bad
Maybe I am just being mad
Perhaps it was all me fault
Or maybe destiny's brought life to a halt
All Karma has given me is pathos
Each man must carry his own cross
It simply goes over my head
When they say for there is always hope
With an old notepad am sitting in bed
No faith in anything, just a downhill slope
I pretend to happily lie low
In reality am slowly letting go
No desire I have to face another dawn
There really is no reason for me to go on
And these memories still come back to haunt me
It seems as if fate itself is trying to taunt me
I wish someone could share my loss
Each man must carry his own cross
There is a big difference between then and now
I know I should distract myself
I just cant find out how
There are people I could talk to
No, I realise I dont really want to
There is just so much confusion
I really cant come to any conclusion
Oh now it hits me,the fatal perception
I am not trying to draw results
I am just practising deception
The rette is over, its light stops to glow
Maybe this is as far as I can go
I didnt realise the truth is so gross
But Each man must carry his own cross
Former Eng Litt. student here btw, all time fave poet remains Robert Frost, being too "common" be damned :)
And here's the Ingles translation of a poem I love by Pablo Neruda, a gal introduced it to me long ago, was a dedication I think, but can't really recall, heh!
Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
And how can I forget the proud Baltic literature :D:D
Poetry by Jürgen Rooste
by Jürgen Rooste
* * *
what’s the use of poetry
I ask you – what
does poetry reconcile
our divorced parents
pit-a-pat holding hands
bring them together again
as it’s often seen
as has always been
birdsong and sunshine
why do we need poetry
does it somehow help
to give up alcohol
by god’s arse
I said “give up alcohol”
why give it up
it’s our national idiosyncrasy
a trademark more powerful than ”welcome to estonia”
I will motherfuckin’ phone ya
then we’ll go to a bar
already hemingway knew
that in each port in the world
there’s an estonian
completely plastered
pissed and broke
why do we need poetry
when our mothers start off
as alconauts of outer space
or vanish into working race
a crack appears between us
leaving no common place
and antidepressants rule
in a castrated universe
what’s the use of poetry
whether anybody gives a damn
when an arseful of idiots
writes pretty and vague words
that war is bad
don’t wage wars
is any lives spared then
that money is bad
I will not go to the surreal superhypermegamarket today
what’s the use of poetry
does it pay my rent
and goes to work for me
and has a clever idea
how I could even
fall in love with my wife again
does it keep away hunger
and watch over me one drunken night
in town
and when I’m down
and beat
and passers-by won’t stop
does it help me to my feet
on the other hand
who needs the republic of estonia
the republic of estonia is like the poetry of a compulsive scribbler
the land of wind yes thanks-please farewell
blow me away from here into hell
and the banks are like classic
poetry worth gold and
scientists are messing with their rhymes
a sociologist is searching
for alliterative words to
get some life into
foggy research files
yes and sex is like poetry
a proper fuck contains quite a few
four-foot trochees
professional sport is written
in elegiac distichs
I ask why
why
do we need poetry
I ask myself and the guy
who washes cars for living
and that pretty
babe at the foreign cultural institute
who imports poets
and the gaytvnewsreader in the pretty nightclub
neon lit
I phone the sex line and
the 24-hour locksmith
and ask them who needs
poooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooetry
listen what they tell me
listen yourself
this is almost poetry
this is almost
worthy of our greatest poet’s strophes
yes indeed
why
Crap, I got too much time on my hands, Sunday evening and all n m messin up ur blog lol so Id better shut up before I end up taking up all the space.
And yeah errr best of luck with your writing and things. (btw don't freak out if you see Alex Zviad in ur visitors list on another site, thats the profile I use to click on the link to yer blog, now then - signing off in a very non-stalkerish way :p , Ciao!)
@ Jigar : You're not dumb :)
@ Micheal : awesome poems, just that I couldn't get some, maybe you can explain :P
'I didnt realise the truth is so gross
But Each man must carry his own cross' Can I steal these lines? I'm sotta stuck on these lines :)
Nikita,
Poetic explanations are open to interpretation, nothing like "getting it" then innit :P
As for the lines, be my guest :)
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