Which film is that Endymion?
Four Weddings and a Funeral. (Hugh Grant).
Thank you Endymion. I saw the film, but, was not crazy about it. So, I did not pay that much attention to it, and I do not remember the poem.
Well, the film is forgettable.
Its about the problems that the British upper class face in deciding who to go to bed with next,
poor things. Hugh Grant is his usual twerp-ish self.
Auden's poem was lost in the quagmire.
Don't say that Endymion, I'm sure plenty of people liked the film.
Endymion, I'm trying to answer your last post in the Scherzo thread, but I'm getting a missing page error. This happens here sometimes, as soon as I can access the page I will answer your post.
Take care
The Apparitions
Quietly sitting before a small fire,
A lone Indian begins a ceremonial respect.
Reaching into a pouch,
He brings out a matter of medicine.
Which he offers to the four winds,
To Mother Earth and all his relations.
And from his heart, soul and mind,
He speaks to the medicine,
Using a language taught to him,
A language carried through time,
By the apparitions before him,
His ancestors.
With words flowing from his heart,
Of the fire he speaks.
He ask the medicine for guidance,
To protect his people,
So that they will live a good life
And that their hearts, souls and minds,
Will be filled with the
Wisdom, knowledge and understanding
Of life and truth,
The traditional ways given to them,
As told through the medicine
By the apparitions before him,
His ancestors.
Gently he sprinkles the medicine upon the fire.
He has spoken words to the medicine
Using the old language of his people,
Words that the medicine knows.
For such words are of a language
That have been used for centuries
In such a sacred manner.
Words that the medicine recognizes,
Words of life that come from no book,
Words that in fact allow the medicine to work.
This the lone Indian knows,
For he is given a nod of approval
By the apparitions before him,
His ancestors.
And as the smoke heads upward,
Carrying the medicine and words,
An Eagle hover's above accepting the message,
Which will be delivered in a sacred manner.
And the apparitions of time gone by know
The Indian world will live on.
Such are the ways of a people,
Guided by apparitions of time gone by.
For here, there is no circus, no money,
No English words, no books, no mockery,
Just the reality of something very sacred,
Passed on to a people
By the apparitions who guide us,
The ancestors of yesterday...
Who guide only their people...
by Larry Kibby
Elko Indian Colony, Elko, Nevada"
Program Director, WSHPS
Elko, Nevada
wow i created a "featured" thread !!!
think i'll add some -
this isn't a death "poem" but a death song, and one of
my favourites.
"Release" /Pearl Jam
------------------------
Father...ooh...oh...oh...
I see the world, feel the chill
Which way to go, windowsill
I see the world's on a rocking horse of time
I see the verse in the rain
Ohh...ohh...ohh...ohh...
Oh, dear dad, can you see me now
I am myself, like you somehow
I'll ride the wave where it takes me
I'll hold the pain...
Release me...
Ohh...ohh...ohh...ohh...
Oh, dear dad, can you see me now
I am myself, like you somehow
I'll wait up in the dark for you to speak to me
I'll open up...
Release me...
Release me (3x)
Ohh...ohh...ohh...ohh...
AngeliqueEast wrote:Don't say that Endymion, I'm sure plenty of people liked the film.
Blimey, you may be right, AngeliqueEast.
Okay...fess up...who liked Four weddings and a Funeral?
John Donne 1572-1631
Holy Sonnets X
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
death, thou shalt die
Those last four words are unforgettable.
Endy, John Donne was one of the poets who wrote some of his poems in musical form to be sung.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2-1604129,00.html
Now you post a death poem or death song.
Anthem for Doomed Youth
by Wilfred Owen
What passing-bells for those who die like 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 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.
Algo más
Nunca he sabido si acaso la muerte
era algo más que tocar una rosa
y sentir que sus pétalos rojos
se ocultaban, de pronto, en la sombra.
Me he perdido de noche en un bosque
y vino a encontrarme la luz de la aurora,
y he comprendido que el sol encendido
dora de nuevo las lívidas lomas.
Porque la muerte no toca a los hombres
cuando en lo oscuro sus cuerpos se borran.
Sabe la tierra que late su entraña,
sabe la noche que todo retorna.
Sólo los hombres no saben. Pensamos
que el corazón es igual que la rosa.
Qué bella poesía, gracia Francis. Hasta con la muerte eres romántico.
Who wrote it please?
Algo más is the name of the poem?
Un regalo di fiori
al lettore
Sotto il monte, al margine del prato,
sotto il torrente di Planaval,
non lo dico per vezzo,
ho raccolto dei fiori:
per ogni tipo tre.
Per una persona, li ho presi, che da tanti anni è morta eppure ancora forse abita qui e
non ci fa compagnia e dei fiori forse non le importa, né del paese che è cambiato.
Nell'incertezza forse li ho raccolti,
a tre a tre,
con esattezza ripetendo un brivido.
Nell'incertezza di farlo per me.
Nell'incertezza di volere che tu,
che non conosci questo posto
che non ci sei mai stato
e che ora leggi il mio diario,
vedendo i fiori ti commuova
e mi venga vicino e capisca
chi al margine del prato abita ancora
e con il monte respira
e mescola con l'acqua la sua voce,
e ci sovrasta.
© 2001: Stefano Dal Bianco
From: Ritorno a Planaval
Publisher: Mondadori, Milano, 2001
ISBN: 88-04-49986-9
A gift of flowers
to the reader
Under the mountain, on the edge of the meadow,
close to the mountain stream of Planaval,
I don't say it coyly,
I picked some flowers:
three of each kind.
For a person I picked them, who for many years has been dead and yet perhaps still
lives here and does not keep us company and maybe doesn't care about the flowers,
nor about the place that has changed.
Maybe I picked them out of uncertainty,
three by three,
precisely repeating a shiver.
Uncertainty of doing it for myself,
Uncertainty of wanting that you,
who do not know this place
who have never been there
and who now read my diary,
seeing the flowers will be moved
and come near me and understand
what it is that still lives on the edge of the meadow
and with the mountain breathes
and blends its voice with the water,
and towers above us.
© 2004 Translated by Gabriele Poole
Reggae fi Bernard1 (Linton Kwesi Johnson)
wi nevah come fram di same blood-line
but wi pawt kriss-krass an jine
an alldow wid wananada
wi wozn dat familiah
all di same
wi woz family
dats why mi a beg pawdn an tek dis libahty
an pudung a couple rime to yu memari
it come een like
a jus di adah day yu lef school
an jine di railway
wid nuff ambishan an a fewcha plan
yu wozn drawin big pay
but yu woz well an yu way
an jus wen yu ready fi staat
fi goh choo-choo choo-boogie
train cut yu journey
shaat
di day yu get yu laas send-awf
fram yu bawn-groun
before dem fly yu bady
doun to jamdoun
di sun stay away fram work dat day
an di slate grey january day
a sing a slient dirge
az daak clouds daat
inna diffrant direckshan
callide an canverge
merge an re-emerge
inna blustah a emoeshan
inna di church grey sky
an di rain it a fall inna squal
like tear-tip arrows
piercin di awt a di mounah dem
di baptis church
it full-up to di brim
owevah-flow
pan di steps to di street
langtime-noh-si family an fren
meet an greet
taakin bout yu hayst retreat
inside mounful vices a sing
dem familiah bittah-sweet hym
an it is well
it is well
wid yu soul
rude boyz bruk doun in tears
mini skirted girls weep an wail
dere's a passi a black an white workaz
fram british rail
yu caleeg dem fram yu shaat workin years
an dere woz testimony awftah testimony
fram yu age mate dem
punctuated by spantaneous aplauz
bout how yu did tall an slim an good lookin
wid yu lang chin an yu captivatin grin
bout yu kinenes
bout yu carin
bout yu tautfulnes
bout how big an ow broad in love yu woz
up to now wi still noh get noh prapah explanaeshan
no witnis at di stayshun no police investigaeshan
as to how yu get fi en up pan di wrang side a di track
how yu face get fi tun fram front to back
an a who yu did a taak to pan yu mobile
dem jus call it hacksident an close yu file
jamdoun woz yu tru dream i-lan
noh deh soh yu did a plan
fi mek yu final destinaeshan
now yu dream come tru an yu touch doun
hashis to hashis
dus to dus
inna Sent Elizebet sile
1. Bernard Burnett, LKJ's nephew by marriage, who died in January 1995,
mysteriously hit by a train whilst standing on a platform at a railway station in Clapham, London, talking on his celluar phone.
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Hardest bit of typing I ever did.
Peace,
Endy
