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POETRY

WHO I AM? – Poetry, by Jiri Orten

WHO I AM? Of who I am? I am of the squalls and hedges, and herbs bowed by rain, and the clear song that warbles, the desire that is closed in her. Of who I am? I have every little thing blunt edges that never has known, the small animals that recline your head, I am of the cloud when …

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YOUR HELLO: Poetry, by Natalia Bondarenko

YOUR HELLO Your hello threw me on the ground, such as an empty bottle, made me lose consciousness, all together, for a while. The cold, with little slaps, she perked up. I watched the stars at noon, with eyes wide open, and I was counting. I knew that getting up, I would have to rush anywhere. (Natalia Bondarenko) http://www.amazon.it/Profanerie-private-Natalia-Bondarenko/dp/8890496606

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ROMANTIC MOON: Poetry, by Konstantin Balmont

ROMANTIC MOON When the moon shines in the night mist, with his scythe tender and shiny, my soul aspires to another world, enchanted by infinite distances. The woods, the mountains, the snow-white peaks, I hasten in dreams as a spirit sick, I watch the world peaceful, and softly cry and breath the moon. I absorb this pale splendor, as an …

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LITHUANIA: Poetry, by Janina Degutyté

LITHUANIA You are small, you easily holds the palm of Ciurlionis, you are our slice of bread and butter on the table of the world, apparecchiata festively. Microscopic point on the globe, steel plate on the armor of Grünwald, residual Pirciupiai in the heat of the blood, crystal drop of a lake blue, green dawn of a fallow field, rain …

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THE SKY: Poetry, by Wislawa Szymborska

THE SKY Window without railing, without frames, without glass. An opening and nothing beyond, only amplitude. I do not have to wait for a clear night, nor raise his head to look at the sky. The sky I behind, arm and on the eyelids. The sky around me tightly, and lifts me from below. Even the highest mountains, is not …

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SHADOWS: Poetry, by Henrik Nordbrandt

SHADOWS So I thought of you, and I have written so much about you, not to know who you were. In so many rooms I slept, without you by my side, and many are the houses in which I lived, without you. Many are the cities where I met you. There are many things that I need, or lost on …

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CERTAIN THAT HURTS: Poetry, by Karin Boye

CERTAIN THAT HURTS Of course it hurts when buds open. Why otherwise should hesitate spring? Why should our whole burning nostalgia, be it related to pale and bitter frost? Yet the bud was casing all winter. What’s new, now, that affects and press? Of course it hurts when buds open, hurt that grows, and what it contains. Of course it …

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I AM NOT A WOMAN: Poetry, by Edith Södergran

I AM NOT A WOMAN   I’m not a woman. I’m a neutral thing. I am a child, a pageboy and a bold decision, am a ray of sunshine laughing scarlet. I am a fishing net for all the voracious fish, I am a glass in honor of all women, I am a step towards the case and ruin, am …

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TRACKS: Poetry, by Henrik Ibsen

TRACKS Death does not put me more afraid. They get so many comrades continually. I will find the way following quietly their fresh tracks. (Henrik Ibsen) http://www.amazon.com/Ibsens-Poems-Henrik-Ibsen/dp/8200074552  

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BLACK AND WITHE PICTURES: Poetry, by Gyrdir Eliasson

BLACK AND WITHE PICTURES     Star outfitted in a row gray fence in front of the house gray in the fog they start up flight from the fog on black wings into the light. (Gyrdir Eliasson) http://www.amazon.co.uk/Stone-Tree-Gyrdir-Eliasson/dp/1905583087

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