Solitude

Solitude
George Gordon Byron
Lord Byron
 

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude, 'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled.

But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel and to possess,
And roam alone, the world's tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
None that, with kindred consciousness endued,
If we were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued;
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

Samuel Taylor Coleridge
WRITTEN IN APRIL 1798
DURING THE ALARM OF AN INVASION

Fears in Solitude


A green and silent spot, amid the hills,
A small and silent dell ! O'er stiller place
No singing sky-lark ever poised himself.
The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope,
Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on,
All golden with the never-bloomless furze,
Which now blooms most profusely : but the dell,
Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate
As vernal corn-field, or the unripe flax,
When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve,
The level sunshine glimmers with green light.
Oh ! 'tis a quiet spirit-healing nook !
Which all, methinks, would love ; but chiefly he,
The humble man, who, in his youthful years,
Knew just so much of folly, as had made
His early manhood more securely wise !
Here he might lie on fern or withered heath,
While from the singing lark (that sings unseen
The minstrelsy that solitude loves best),
And from the sun, and from the breezy air,
Sweet influences trembled o'er his frame ;
And he, with many feelings, many thoughts,
Made up a meditative joy, and found
Religious meanings in the forms of Nature !
And so, his senses gradually wrapt
In a half sleep, he dreams of better worlds,
And dreaming hears thee still, O singing lark,
That singest like an angel in the clouds !

My God ! it is a melancholy thing


For such a man, who would full fain preserve
His soul in calmness, yet perforce must feel
For all his human brethren--O my God !
It weighs upon the heart, that he must think
What uproar and what strife may now be stirring
This way or that way o'er these silent hills--
Invasion, and the thunder and the shout,
And all the crash of onset ; fear and rage,
And undetermined conflict--even now,
Even now, perchance, and in his native isle :
Carnage and groans beneath this blessed sun !
We have offended, Oh ! my countrymen !
We have offended very grievously,
And been most tyrannous. From east to west
A groan of accusation pierces Heaven !
The wretched plead against us ; multitudes
Countless and vehement, the sons of God,
Our brethren ! Like a cloud that travels on,
Steamed up from Cairo's swamps of pestilence,
Even so, my countrymen ! have we gone forth
And borne to distant tribes slavery and pangs,
And, deadlier far, our vices, whose deep taint
With slow perdition murders the whole man,
His body and his soul ! Meanwhile, at home,
All individual dignity and power
Engulfed in Courts, Committees, Institutions,
Associations and Societies,
A vain, speach-mouthing, speech-reporting Guild,
One Benefit-Club for mutual flattery,
We have drunk up, demure as at a grace,
Pollutions from the brimming cup of wealth ;
Contemptuous of all honourable rule,
Yet bartering freedom and the poor man's life
For gold, as at a market ! The sweet words
Of Christian promise, words that even yet
Might stem destruction, were they wisely preached,
Are muttered o'er by men, whose tones proclaim
How flat and wearisome they feel their trade :
Rank scoffers some, but most too indolent
To deem them falsehoods or to know their truth.
Oh ! blasphemous ! the Book of Life is made
A superstitious instrument, on which
We gabble o'er the oaths we mean to break ;
For all must swear--all and in every place,
College and wharf, council and justice-court ;
All, all must swear, the briber and the bribed,
Merchant and lawyer, senator and priest,
The rich, the poor, the old man and the young ;
All, all make up one scheme of perjury,
That faith doth reel ; the very name of God
Sounds like a juggler's charm ; and, bold with joy,
Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place,
(Portentious sight !) the owlet Atheism,
Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon,
Drops his blue-fringéd lids, and holds them close,
And hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven,
Cries out, `Where is it ?'

Thankless too for peace,


(Peace long preserved by fleets and perilous seas)
Secure from actual warfare, we have loved
To swell the war-whoop, passionate for war !
Alas ! for ages ignorant of all
Its ghastlier workings, (famine or blue plague,
Battle, or siege, or flight through wintry snows,)
We, this whole people, have been clamorous
For war and bloodshed ; animating sports,
The which we pay for as a thing to talk of,
Spectators and not combatants ! No guess
Anticipative of a wrong unfelt,
No speculation on contingency,
However dim and vague, too vague and dim
To yield a justifying cause ; and forth,
(Stuffed out with big preamble, holy names,
And adjurations of the God in Heaven,)
We send our mandates for the certain death
Of thousands and ten thousands ! Boys and girls,
And women, that would groan to see a child
Pull off an insect's wing, all read of war,
The best amusement for our morning meal !
The poor wretch, who has learnt his only prayers
From curses, and who knows scarcely words enough
To ask a blessing from his Heavenly Father,
Becomes a fluent phraseman, absolute
And technical in victories and defeats,
And all our dainty terms for fratricide ;
Terms which we trundle smoothly o'er our tongues
Like mere abstractions, empty sounds to which
We join no feeling and attach no form !
As if the soldier died without a wound ;
As if the fibres of this godlike frame
Were gored without a pang ; as if the wretch,
Who fell in battle, doing bloody deeds,
Passed off to Heaven, translated and not killed ;
As though he had no wife to pine for him,
No God to judge him ! Therefore, evil days
Are coming on us, O my countrymen !
And what if all-avenging Providence,
Strong and retributive, should make us know
The meaning of our words, force us to feel
The desolation and the agony
Of our fierce doings ?

Spare us yet awhile,


Father and God ! O ! spare us yet awhile !
Oh ! let not English women drag their flight
Fainting beneath the burthen of their babes,
Of the sweet infants, that but yesterday
Laughed at the breast ! Sons, brothers, husbands, all
Who ever gazed with fondness on the forms
Which grew up with you round the same fire-side,
And all who ever heard the sabbath-bells
Without the infidel's scorn, make yourselves pure !
Stand forth ! be men ! repel an impious foe,
Impious and false, a light yet cruel race,
Who laugh away all virtue, mingling mirth
With deeds of murder ; and still promising
Freedom, themselves too sensual to be free,
Poison life's amities, and cheat the heart
Of faith and quiet hope, and all that soothes,
And all that lifts the spirit ! Stand we forth ;
Render them back upon the insulted ocean,
And let them toss as idly on its waves
As the vile sea-weed, which some mountain-blast
Swept from our shores ! And oh ! may we return
Not with a drunken triumph, but with fear,
Repenting of the wrongs with which we stung
So fierce a foe to frenzy !

I have told,


O Britons ! O my brethren ! I have told
Most bitter truth, but without bitterness.
Nor deem my zeal or factious or mistimed ;
For never can true courage dwell with them,
Who, playing tricks with conscience, dare not look
At their own vices. We have been too long
Dupes of a deep delusion ! Some, belike,
Groaning with restless enmity, expect
All change from change of constituted power ;
As if a Government had been a robe,
On which our vice and wretchedness were tagged
Like fancy-points and fringes, with the robe
Pulled off at pleasure. Fondly these attach
A radical causation to a few
Poor drudges of chastising Providence,
Who borrow all their hues and qualities
From our own folly and rank wickedness,
Which gave them birth and nursed them. Others, meanwhile,
Dote with a mad idolatry ; and all
Who will not fall before their images,
And yield them worship, they are enemies
Even of their country !

Such have I been deemed--


But, O dear Britain ! O my Mother Isle !
Needs must thou prove a name most dear and holy
To me, a son, a brother, and a friend,
A husband, and a father ! who revere
All bonds of natural love, and find them all
Within the limits of thy rocky shores.
O native Britain ! O my Mother Isle !
How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy
To me, who from thy lakes and mountain-hills,
Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas,
Have drunk in all my intellectual life,
All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts,
All adoration of God in nature,
All lovely and all honourable things,
Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel
The joy and greatness of its future being ?
There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul
Unborrowed from my country ! O divine
And beauteous island ! thou hast been my sole
And most magnificent temple, in the which
I walk with awe, and sing my stately songs,
Loving the God that made me !--

May my fears,


My filial fears, be vain ! and may the vaunts
And menace of the vengeful enemy
Pass like the gust, that roared and died away
In the distant tree : which heard, and only heard
In this low dell, bowed not the delicate grass.

But now the gentle dew-fall sends abroad


The fruit-like perfume of the golden furze :
The light has left the summit of the hill,
Though still a sunny gleam lies beautiful,
Aslant the ivied beacon. Now farewell,
Farewell, awhile, O soft and silent spot !
On the green sheep-track, up the heathy hill,
Homeward I wind my way ; and lo ! recalled
From bodings that have well-nigh wearied me,
I find myself upon the brow, and pause
Startled ! And after lonely sojourning
In such a quiet and surrounded nook,
This burst of prospect, here the shadowy main,
Dim tinted, there the mighty majesty
Of that huge amphitheatre of rich
And elmy fields, seems like society--
Conversing with the mind, and giving it
A livelier impulse and a dance of thought !
And now, belovéd Stowey ! I behold
Thy church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elms
Clustering, which mark the mansion of my friend ;
And close behind them, hidden from my view,
Is my own lowly cottage, where my babe
And my babe's mother dwell in peace ! With light
And quickened footsteps thitherward I tend,
Remembering thee, O green and silent dell !
And grateful, that by nature's quietness
And solitary musings, all my heart
Is softened, and made worthy to indulge
Love, and the thoughts that yearn for human kind.

Katherine Philips
La Solitude de St. Amant


O! Solitude, my sweetest choice
Places devoted to the night,
Remote from tumult, and from noise,
How you my restless thoughts delight!
O Heavens! what content is mine,
To see those trees which have appear'd
From the nativity of Time,
And which hall ages have rever'd,
To look to-day as fresh and green,
As when their beauties first were seen!

A cheerful wind does court them so,
And with such amorous breath enfold,
That we by nothing else can know,
But by their hieght that they are old.
Hither the demi-gods did fly
To seek the sanctuary, when
Displeased Jove once pierc'd the sky,
To pour a deluge upon men,
And on these boughs themselves did save,
When they could hardly see a wave.

Sad Philomel upon this thorn,
So curiously by Flora dress'd,
In melting notes, her case forlorn,
To entertain me, hath confess'd.
O! how agreeable a sight
These hanging mountains do appear,
Which the unhappy would invite
To finish all their sorrows here,
When their hard fate makes them endure
Such woes, as only death can cure.

What pretty desolations make
These torrents vagabond and fierce,
Who in vast leaps their springs forsake,
This solitary Vale to pierce.
Then sliding just as serpents do
Under the foot of every tree,
Themselves are changed to rivers too,
Wherein some stately Nayade,
As in her native bed, is grown
A queen upon a crystal throne.

This fen beset with river-plants,
O! how it does my sense charm!
Nor elders, reeds, nor willows want,
Which the sharp steel did never harm.
Here Nymphs which come to take the air,
May with such distaffs furnish'd be,
As flags and rushes can prepare,
Where we the nimble frogs may see,
Who frighted to retreat do fly
If an approaching man they spy.

Here water-flowl repose enjoy,
Without the interrupting care,
Lest Fortune should their bliss destroy
By the malicious fowler's snare.
Some ravish'd with so bright a day,
Their feathers finely prune and deck;
Others their amorous heats allay,
Which yet the waters could not check:
All take their innocent content
In this their lovely element.

Summer's, nor Winter's bold approach,
This stream did never entertain;
Nor ever felt a boat or coach,
Whilst either season did remain.
No thirsty traveller came near,
And rudely made his hand his cup;
Nor any hunted hind hath here
Her hopeless life resigned up;
Nor ever did the treacherous hook
Intrude to empty any brook.

What beauty is there in the sight
Of these old ruin'd castle-walls
Of which the utmost rage and spight
Of Time's worst insurrection falls?
The witches keep their Sabbath here,
And wanton devils make retreat.
Who in malicious sport appear,
Our sense both to afflict and cheat;
And here within a thousand holes
Are nest of adders and of owls.

The raven with his dismal cries,
That mortal augury of Fate,
Those ghastly goblins ratifies,
Which in these gloomy places wait.
On a curs'd tree the wind does move
A carcase which did once belong
To one that hang'd himself for love
Of a fair Nymph that did him wrong,
Who thought she saw his love and truth,
With one look would not save the youth.

But Heaven which judges equally,
And its own laws will still maintain,
Rewarded soon her cruelty
With a deserv'd and mighty pain:
About this squalid heap of bones,
Her wand'ring and condemned shade,
Laments in long and piercing groans
The destiny her rigour made,
And the more to augment her right,
Her crime is ever in her sight.

There upon antique marbles trac'd,
Devices of past times we see,
Here age ath almost quite defac'd,
What lovers carv'd on every tree.
The cellar, here, the highest room
Receives when its old rafters fail,
Soil'd with the venom and the foam
Of the spider and the snail:
And th'ivy in the chimney we
Find shaded by a walnut tree.

Below there does a cave extend,
Wherein there is so dark a grot,
That should the Sun himself descend,
I think he could not see a jot.
Here sleep within a heavy lid
In quiet sadness locks up sense,
And every care he does forbid,
Whilst in arms of negligence,
Lazily on his back he's spread,
And sheaves of poppy are his bed.

Within this cool and hollow cave,
Where Love itself might turn to ice,
Poor Echo ceases not to rave
On her Narcissus wild and nice:
Hither I softly steal a thought,
And by the softer music made
With a sweet lute in charms well taught,
Sometimes I flatter her sad shade,
Whilst of my chords I make such choice,
They serve as body to her voice.

When from these ruins I retire,
This horrid rock I do invade,
Whose lofty brow seems to inquire
Of what materials mists are made:
From thence descending leisurely
Under the brow of this steep hill
It with great pleasure I descry
By waters undermin'd, until
They to Palaemon's seat did climb,
Compos'd of sponges and of slime.

How highly is the fancy pleas'd
To be upon the Ocean's shore,
When she begins to be appeas'd
And her fierce billows cease to roar!
And when the hairy Tritons are
Riding upon the shaken wave,
With what strange sounds they strike the air
Of their trumpets hoarse and brave,
Whose shrill reports does every wind
Unto his due submission bind!

Sometimes the sea dispels the sand,
Trembling and murmuring in the bay,
And rolls itself upon the shells
Which it both brings and takes away.
Sometimes exposed on the strand,
Th'effect of Neptune's rage and scorn,
Drown'd men, dead monsters cast on land,
And ships that were in tempests torn,
With diamonds and ambergreece,
And many more such things as these.

Sometimes so sweetly she does smile,
A floating mirror she might be,
And you would fancy all that while
New Heavens in her face to see:
The Sun himself is drawn so well,
When there he would his picture view,
That our eye can hardly tell
Which is the false Sun, which the true;
And lest we give our sense the lie,
We think he's fallen from the sky.

Bernieres! for whose beloved sake
My thoughts are at a noble strife,
This my fantastic landskip take,
Which I have copied from the life.
I only seek the deserts rough,
Where all alone I love to walk,
And with discourse refin'd enough,
My Genius and the Muses talk;
But the converse most truly mine,
Is the dear memory of thine.

Thou mayst in this Poem find,
So full of liberty and heat,
What illustrious rays have shin'd
To enlighten my conceit:
Sometimes pensive, sometimes gay,
Just as that fury does control,
And as the object I survey
The notions grow up in my soul,
And are as unconcern'd and free
As the flame which transported me.

O! how I Solitude adore,
That element of noblest wit,
Where I have learnt Apollo's lore,
Without the pains to study it:
For thy sake I in love am grown
With what thy fancy does pursue;
But when I think upon my own,
I hate it for that reason too.
Because it needs must hinder me
From seeing, and from serving thee.

Solitude
by Nancy Ness

I dwell amidst my Solitude,
No longer clamor 'bout my ears.
These walls with clangor once imbued
All resonance pealed back some years.

No stentor left about my ears
Now hear what's left, I venture on.
I'll hearken here ensuing years
And cherish sounds from those bygone.

My wistful journey ventures on.
As solitude peers back at me.
No clamor from those years bygone
And through the silence now I see.

My solitude enlightens me
With sounds unheard those years along.
A muted silence helps me see
How beautiful the warbler's song,

Those sweet tunes unheard years along.
The breath of wind upon the panes,
I revel in the warbler's song
And pattering of roof-top rains.

The wind breathes gently on the panes
These walls indeed remain imbued.
The roof-top patters with the rains
My hearkening fills solitude.

O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell
by John Keats

O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep, -
Nature's observatory -whence the dell,
In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

Creativity and Solitude
Quotes

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone."
Lord Byron


"In order to be open to creativity,
one must have the capcity
for contructive use of solitude.

One must overcome the fear of being alone."
Rollo May


"When I am, as it were, completely myself,
entirely alone, and of good cheer -

say, traveling in a carriage,
or walking after a good meal,
or during the night when I cannot sleep;

it is on such occasions
that my ideas flow best and most abundantly."
Wolfgang Mozart



"I feel more and more detached
from the outside world,
from crowds, from the public
and from anything mechanized.

I prefer mainly to be alone."
Leonore Fini


"The artist must actively cultivate
that state which most people avoid:
the state of being alone."
James Baldwin


"I try more and more to be myself,
caring relatively little
whether people approve or dissaprove."
Vincent Van Gogh


"I am aware of connectiveness,
it is impossible to be isolated completely,
but my interest is in solely finding my own way.

I don't mind being miles away
from everybody else."
Eva Hesse

POETRY OF SOLITUDE
CHINESE POETS



Yuan Chi
Inscribe on your heart
Every measure of the time at sunset
Adjust your sleeves, unsheathe a slender sword,
Look up at the passing clouds.
Among them a dark stork
Raises its head and rattles its beak
Darting aloft it vanishes into the sky.
Never again will it be heard.
It is no company for the cuckoos and the crows
That circle round the dusty court.


Lu Yun
Living in retirement beyond the world,
Silently enjoying isolation.
I pull the rope of my door tighter
And stuff the window with roots and ferns.
My spirit is tuned to the spring-time.
At the end of the year there is autumn in my heart.
Thus imitating cosmic changes
My cottage becomes a Universe.


Li Po
You ask me why I live on this green mountain.
I smile, no reply.
My serene heart is peach-blow on a quiet stream,
flowing, far, far away.
On this mountain is another earth, another sky.


Wang Wei
In solitude
sitting in the hidden forest of bamboos.
To the sound of the lute
whistling suspended notes.
In the secrecy of the wood
I see no one.
The bright moon watches me with its light.
The dark void reverberates a profound song.
I sit in peaceful meditation
subduing poison dragons.

 
Tu Fu
I am sleepless in the glow and shadow of the lamplight.
The heart at peace breathes the incense of dedication.
Between the temple walls the night is an abyss.
The bronze wind bells quiver in the breeze.
The courtyard shuts in the deep darkness of the spring night.
In the darkness, the scintillating pool exhales the scent of flowers.
The Northern Cross traverses the sky, cut by the temple eave.
On the roof an iron phoenix soars and twists the air.
The chanting of prayers floats from the hall.
Fading bell notes eddy about my bed.
Tomorrow, in the sunlight, I shall walk in the manured fields,
And weep for the yellow dust of the dead.  

 
Han-shan
I climb the path to Cold Mountain,
the path that never ends.
The valleys are long and strewn with stones.
The moss is slippery though no rain has fallen.
The pines sigh but there is no wind.
Who can break from the dusty snares of the world
and sit with me among the white clouds?  

 
Shi-te
Far, far away, steep mountain paths,
treacherous and narrow, ten thousand li up.
Over boulders and bridges and lichens of green,
White clouds are ever seen soaring;
A waterfall suspends in mid-air like a bolt of silk.
The reflection of the moon falls glittering on a deep pool.
I shall climb up the magnificent mountain peak,
To await the arrival of a solitary crane.  

 
Te Ch'ing
The mountains stand unmoving,
All day they let the clouds roll out and in.
Even though red dust is countless layers deep,
Not a single speck reaches my thatched hut.


Ching An
A pine or two,
three or four bamboo,
cliffside cottage,
long, solitary silence,
only floating clouds come to visit.

Solitude
Anna Akhmatova


So many stones have been thrown at me,
That I'm not frightened of them anymore,
And the pit has become a solid tower,
Tall among tall towers.
I thank the builders,
May care and sadness pass them by.
From here I'll see the sunrise earlier,
Here the sun's last ray rejoices.
And into the windows of my room
The northern breezes often fly.
And from my hand a dove eats grains of wheat...
As for my unfinished page,
The Muse's tawny hand, divinely calm
And delicate, will finish it.

A Solitude of Tears
by Kristi


How do I describe
What it is that I can't see,
Something so incredibly intense
This pain that washes over me.

It takes away my very breath
And steals my will to live,
No more life within my soul
It took all that I could give.

A pain so heartrending
That it will never die,
Stunningly robbed of every tear
No longer can I cry.

Where every brilliant sunset
Is as black as night,
And every morning filled
With a gray shrouded light.

No longer do the birds sing
I'm in an arid desert dry,
Ever since you walked away
My soul left bleeding alone to die.

I want to rage and beg
And plead with you to stay,
Instead I sit in muted death
As my pain carries me away.

Down a turbulant rapid I wash
Breaking over unspeakable boulders,
This pain of losing you
In aching silence I shoulder.

This burning pain a fire of hell
I lay me down to die,
Alone in a broken empty shell
In eternal solitude I cry.

100 Years Of Solitude
Song

All around you slow decay
Wanna feel the sun of the new day
Forget the chances that you lost
Shedding innocence like falling dust
All the things you learned too young
The songs you knew but you never sung
you Waited a life time, you wasted more
Forgotten what you waited for

Excuse me ma'am for being so rude
Feels like 100 years of solitude
But my mind is numb and my mouth's okay
And you can listen or just walk away

No solutions built to last
Just your petty scores to settle fast
The N.M.E meant nothing to you
And the maker, well the maker of who
Your walkman generation
In search of sweet sedation
While forests choke under a 'lever sky
And the Exxon birds that will never fly

Excuse me ma'am for being so rude
Feels like 100 years of solitude
But my mind is numb and my mouth's okay
and you can listen or just walk away

We tried, we cried, we fell, we lied
This life's like one white knuckle ride
Crack babies born too young
And L.A. kids who will dance to the gun
so forget this so called dirt of mine
It's just the dust and diesel of the passing time
It's all around you it's a tragedy,look
So forget the cover just read the book

Excuse me ma'am for being so rude
Feels like 100 years of solitude
But my mind is numb and my mouth's okay
and you can listen or just walk away

Artist : EVANESCENCE
Song : SOLITUDE


How many times have you told me you love her
As many times as I've wanted to tell you the truth
How long have I stood here beside you
I live through you
You looked through me

Ooh, Solitude,
Still with me is only you
Ooh, Solitude,
I can't stay away from you

How many times have I done this to myself
How long will it take before I see
When will this hole in my heart be mended
Who now is left alone but me

Ooh, Solitude,
Forever me and forever you
Ooh, Solitude,
Only you, only true

Everyone leave me stranded
Forgotten, abandoned, left behind
I can't stay here another night

Your secret in my heart
Who could it be

Ooh, Can't you see
All along it was me
How can you be so blind
As to see right through me

And Ooh, Solitude,
Still with me is only you
Ooh, Solitude,
I can't stay away from you

Ooh, Solitude,
Forever me and forever you
Ooh, Solitude,
Only you, only true

Silencio...


Silencio que me escuchas,
ayúdame a aclarar,
esto que siente mi mente,
que no me deja meditar.


La soledad me esta cegando.
Pienso cosas que no debería pensar.
Siento que mi vida no tiene sentido ya.
Me estoy desesperando, déjame vivir ya.


Silencio de mis noches,
aclárame la vida ya.
¿Por qué es que siento
que no tengo en quien confiar?


Muchos me han hecho sufrir,
lágrimas me han hecho derramar.
Por eso la sola palabra amistad
Silencio, me hace temblar.


Algunos me miran con pena,
otros no saben como mirar.
Yo que vivo dentro de mí,
no entiendo como actuar.


No se que pensar,
¿Quienes serán mis amigos de verdad?
No tengo con quien hablar.
Tengo terror de continuar.


Silencio tu que aclaras todo
aclara mi corazón,
que esta sufriendo
por causa del rencor.


Olvidé el perdonar,
no recuerdo el valor de la amistad.
Ahora tengo miedo de hablar
No se en quien confiar.


Si ella que me conocía de años,
Amargamente me hizo llorar
Silencio ¿Que me harán las personas
Que conozco hace un tiempo atrás?



 Colaboración de Veronica Montes
Puerto Rico

Soledad




Bendita soledad,


que me hace recordarte,


bendita soledad,


que me hace añorarte,


y en la creciente ansiedad


por tenerte entre mis brazos,


se conjugan los suspiros de mi alma,


de mi ser,


y lo inundan todo en un excitante amanecer.


Soledad que me cobijas,


ilustre compañera,


complice de mis erotismos,


compañera de aventuras


en sueños de pasión.


Bendita soledad,


que me hace recordarte.


HMTV


 

LA SOLEDAD


 
Habla mi soledad y  dice que haga algo,


que mi corazón llora por estar siempre desierto


y que mi alma se reseca sin gotitas de afecto. 


Habla mi corazón y  dice que está cansado


de estar como siempre sólo aunque parezca acompañado


 mientras duelen en el alma


el desengaño y el desamparo,


y mis ilusiones se dispersan por esperar


en vano... 


…Y de pronto miro dentro de mi ser y en un huequito


te encuentro y resplandece una lucecita en mi corazón desierto...

Solitude
Alexander Pope




How happy he, who free from care
The rage of courts, and noise of towns;
Contented breaths his native air,
In his own grounds.


Whose herds 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 swift 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, unheard, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me dye;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lye.

Pensando, enredando sombras
(Poema XVII)


Pensando, enredando sombras en la profunda soledad.
Tú también estás lejos, ah más lejos que nadie.
Pensando, soltando pájaros, desvaneciendo imágenes, enterrando lámparas.
¡Campanario de brumas, qué lejos, allá arriba!
Ahogando lamentos, moliendo esperanzas sombrías, molinero taciturno,
se te viene de bruces la noche, lejos de la ciudad.

Tu presencia es ajena, extraña a mí como una cosa.
Pienso, camino largamente, mi vida antes de ti.
Mi vida antes de nadie, mi áspera vida.
El grito frente al mar, entre las piedras,
corriendo libre, loco, en el vaho del mar.
La furia triste, el grito, la soledad del mar.
Desbocado, violento, estirado hacia el cielo.

Tú, mujer, qué eras allí, qué raya, qué varilla
de ese abanico inmenso? Estabas lejos como ahora.
Incendio en el bosque! Arde en cruces azules.
Arde, arde, llamea, chispea en árboles de luz.
Se derrumba, crepita. Incendio. Incendio.

Y mi alma baila herida de virutas de fuego.
¿Quién llama? ¿Qué silencio poblado de ecos?
Hora de la nostalgia, hora de la alegría, hora de la soledad.
¡Hora mía entre todas!
Bocina en que el viento pasa cantando.
Tanta pasión de llanto anudada a mi cuerpo.

¡Sacudida de todas las raíces,
asalto de todas las olas!
Rodaba, alegre, triste, interminable, mi alma.

Pensando, enterrando lámparas en la profunda soledad.
¿Quién eres tú, quién eres?


PABLO NERUDA

Katherine Philips
La Solitude A Alcidon


O que j'ayme la solitude!
Que ces lieux sacrez à la nuit, Esloignez du monde e du bruit,
Plaisent à mon inquietude!
Mon Dieu! que mes yeux sont contens
De voir ces bois, qui se trouverent
A la nativité du temps,
Et que tous les siècles everent,
Estre encore aussi beaux et vers,
Qu'aux premiers jours de l'univers!


Un gay zephire les caresse
D'un mouvement doux et flatteur.
Rien que leur extresme hauteur
Ne fait remarquer leur vieillesse.
Jadis Pan et ses demi-dieux
Y vinrent chercher du refuge,
Quand Jupiter ouvrit les cieux
Pour nous enoyer le deluge,
Et, se sauvans sur leurs rameaux,
A peine virent-ils les eaux.


Que sur cette espine fleurie
Dont le printemps est amoureux,
Philomele, au chant langoureux,
Entretient bein ma resverie!
Que je prens de plaisir à voir
Ces monts pendans en precipices,
Qui, puor les coups du desespoir,
Sont aux malheureux si propices,
Quand la cruauté de leur sort,
Les froce a rechercher la mort!


Que je trouve doux le ravage
De ces fiers torrens vagabonds,
Que se precipitent par bonds
Dans ce valon vert et sauvage!
Puis, glissant sour les arbrisseaux,
Ainsi que des serpens sur l'herbe,
Se changent en plaisans ruisseaux,
Où quelque Naïade superbe
Regne comme en son lict natal,
Dessus un throsne de christal!


Que j'ayme ce marets paisible!
Il est tout bordé d'aliziers,
D'aulnes, de saules et d'oziers,
Q qui le fer n'est point nuisible.
Les nymphes, y cherchans le frais,
S'y viennet fournir de quenouilles,
De pipeaux, de joncs et de glais;
Où l'on voit sauter les grenouilles,
Qui de frayeur s'y vont cacher
Si tost qu'on veut s'en approcher.


Là, cent mille oyseaux aquatiques
 Vivent, sand craindre, en leur repos,
Le giboyeur fin et dispos,
Avec ses mortelles pratiques.
L'un tout joyeux d'un si beau jour,
S'amuse à becqueter sa plume;
L'autre allentit le feu d'amour
Qui dans l'eau mesme se consume,
Et prennent tous innocemment
Leur plaisir en cet élement.


Jamais l'esté ny la froidure
N'ont veu passer dessus cette eau
Nulle charrette ny batteau,
Depuis que l'un et l'autre dure;
Jamais voyageur alteré
N'y fit servir sa main de tasse;
Jamais chevreuil desesperé
N'y finit sa vie à la chasse;
Et jamais le traistre hameçon
N'en fit sortir aucun poisson.


Que j'ayme à voir la décadence
De ces vieux chasteaux ruinez,
Contre qui les ans mutinez
Ont deployé leur insolence!
Les sorciers y font leur savat;
Les demons follets y retirent,
Qui d'un malicieux ébat
Trompent nos sens et nous martirent;
Là se nichent en mille troux
Les couleuvres et les hyboux.


L'orfraye, avec ses cris funebres,
Mortels augures des testins,
Fait rire et dancer les lutins
Dans ces lieux remplis de tenebres.
Sous un chevron de bois maudit
Y branle le squelette horrible
D'un pauvre amant qui se pendit
Pour une bergère insensible,
Qui d'un seul regard de pitié
Ne daigna voir son amitié.


Aussi le Ciel, juge équitable,
Qui maintient les loix en vigueur,
Prononça contre sa rigueur
Une sentence epouvantable:
Autour de ces vieux ossemens
Son ombre, aux peines condamnée,
Lamente en logs gemissemens
Sa malheureuse destinée,
Ayant, pour croistre son effroy,
Tousjours son crime devant soy.


Là se trouvent sur quelques marbres
Des devises du temps passé;
Icy l'âge a presque effacé
Des chiffres taillex sur les arbres;
Le plancher du lieu le plus haut
Est tombé jusques dans la cave,
Que la limace et le crapaud
Souillent de venin et de bave;
Le lierre y croist au foyer,
A l'ombrage d'un grand noyer.


Là dessous s'estend une voûte
Si sombre en un certain endroit,
Que, quand Phebus y descendroit,
Je pense qu'il n'y verrroit goutte;
Le Sommeil aux pesans sourcis,
Enchanté d'un morne silence,
Y dort, bien loing de tous soucis,
Dans les bras de la Nonchalence,
Laschement couché sur le dos
Dessus des gerbes de pavots.


Au creux de cette grotte fresche,
Où l'Amour se pourroit geler,
Echo ne cesse de brusler
Pour son amant froid et revesche,
Je m'y coule sans aire bruit,
Et par la celeste harmonie
D'un doux lut, aux charmes instruit,
Je flatte sa triste manie
Faisant, repeter mes accords
A la voix qui luy sert de corps.


Tantost, sortant de ces ruines,
Je monte au haut de ce rocher,
Dont le sommet semble chercher
En quel lieu se font les bruïnes;
Puis je descends tout à loisir,
Sous une falaise escarpée,
D'où je regarde avec plaisir
L'onde qui l'a presque sappée
Jusqu'au siege de Palemon,
Fait d'esponges et de limon.


Que c'est une chose agreable
D'estre sur le borde de la mer,
Quand elle vient à se calmer
Après quelque orage effroyable!
Et que les chevelus Tritons,
Hauts, sur les vagues secouées,
Frapent les airs d'estranges tons
Avec leurs trompes enrouées,
Dont l'eclat rend respectueux
Les ventes les plus impetueux.


Tantost l'onde brouillant l'arène,
Murmure et fremit de courroux
Se roullant dessus les cailloux
Qu'elle apporte et qu'elle r'entraine.
Tantost, elle estale en ses bords,
Que l'ire de neptune outrage,
Des gens noyex, des monstres morts,
Des vaisseaux brisez du naufrage,
Des diamans, de l'ambre gris,
Et mille autres choses de pris.


Tantost, la lus claire du monde,
Elle semble un miroir flottant,
Et nous represente à l'instant
Encore d'autres cieux sous l'onde.
Le soleil s'y fait si bien voir,
Y contemplant son beau visage,
Qu'on est quelque temps à savoir
Si c'est loy-mesme, ou son image,
Et d'abord il semble à nos yeux
Qu'il s'est laissé tomber des cieux.


Bernières, pour qui je me vante
De ne rien faire que de beau,
Reçoy ce fantasque tableau
Fait d'une peinture vivante,
Je ne cherche che les deserts,
Où, resvant tout seul, je m'amuse
A des discours assez diserts
De mon genie avec la muse;
Mais mon plus aymable entretien
C'est le ressouvenir du tien.


Tu vois dans cette poesie
Pleine de licence et d'ardeur
Les beaux rayons de la splendeur
Qui m'esclaire la fantaisie:
Tantost chagrin, tantost joyeux
Selon que la futeur m'enflame,
Et que l'objet s'offre à mes yeux,
Les propose me naissent en l'ame,
Sans contraindre la liberté
Du demon qui m'a transporté.


O que j'ayme la solitude!
C'est l'element des cons esprits,
C'est par elle que j'ay compris
L'art d'Apollon sans nulle estude.
Je l'ayme pour l'amour de toy,
Connaissant que ton humeur l'ayme
Mais quand je pense bien à moy,
Je la hay pour la rasion mesme
Car elle pourroit me ravir
L'heur de te voir et te servir.

SOLITUDE
 
O solitude
Be my hangman,
Wrack me twist me
Trample my coiled span
O solitude
Be my saviour

TariniKinkar Das