POETRY

I THINK OF YOU: Poetry by Johann Wolfgang Goethe

I THINK OF YOU I think of you, from the bosom of the sea when the sun rises and its rays darts. I think of you, when the moonlight wave serene whitens. I think of you, when it goes away the dust along the path, and in the dark night, when the passenger on the bridge, the heart leaps with …

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I CALL YOU RISE OR FALL: Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke

I CALL YOU RISE OR FALL What your name: rise or decline? Because sometimes I fear I am, and the red of her roses tend cautious, and I sense a fear in his flute, for those days without singing and without end. But myths and mine, I feel the evenings, the dim light of my gaze. The forests, between my …

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MUSA: Poetry by Germain Droogenbroodt

MUSA   Sailing immaculate, slipping on slate Mirror Lake, it only follows the bowsprit, the call of the seagull, sometimes he gets up, almost borders on the sky. An eagle with wings of Icarus. (Germain Droogenbroodt) http://www.amazon.com/Sruth-Ama-Irish-language-Rosenstock-Droogenbroodt-ebook/dp/B006PF8N4Y

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MY LIFE: Poetry of Henri Michaux

MY LIFE   Without me you go, my life. Rolls, and I have not done one more step. Elsewhere lead the battle. I leave me so. I I’ve never followed. I do not see clear about your proposals. The little that I want, I do not bring it to me ever. And for this failure, I aspire to much. A …

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WORD AGAINST THE WORD: Poetry, by Charles Ducal

WORD AGAINST THE WORD     Of all the words, ours are the most vulnerable, even if they are unquestionably in the mouth. No one asks, no one violent. They kiss the stars, they do not touch the ground. Other words, waving his arms and legs, skulls filled, inflamed throat. A knife in the back, translates as caress, a kick …

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DAYS IN WHITE: Poetry, by Ingeborg Bachmann

DAYS IN WHITE These days, I get up with birches, and forehead restart interlock the strands of wheat, in front of a mirror of ice. Amalgamated to my breath, sfiocca milk: so early, has easy foam. And where the glass I fogged with breath, seems painted by a child finger, yet your name: innocence! After a long time. These days, …

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WHAT I WANT FOR THE ADVENT GIVE YOU: Poetry, by Christine Busta

WHAT I WANT FOR THE ADVENT GIVE YOU An organ sound antidote to the gloomy morning, my breath against the cold wind of the day, snowflakes as a promise of stars at night and a light to the path of those who had given up for lost, Angel, who in the middle of the night announces the rebirth of love. …

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AGAINST TIME: Poetry, by Louis Untermeyer

AGAINTS TIME The event stands clear of history. Originality is not in ranks of trees, but in this tree; and every fruit is the first fruit, shapely and absolute. Events afe individuaI as pain. This dar, this trouble, fingering rain, has never been. Beauty comes clean, in the cock’s rusty vowels or in sky-searching towers, that lift themselves light as …

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WITH ALTERNATE KEY: Poetry, by Paul Celan

WITH ALTERNATE KEY With alternate key, you schiudi the house where the snow whirls of things left unsaid. Depending on the blood that oozes from eye, mouth and ear, varying your key. Vary your key, you change the word which is granted twirl slap. Depending on the wind that pushes you away, it coagulates around the word, the snow. (Paul …

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THE DISAPPEARED: Poetry, by Hans Magnus Enzensberger

THE DISAPPEARED The disappeared as the earth swallowed them up, was the air? As the shores of the sea innumerable; however, lay not in the arena, but in anything, ranks forgotten. And often hand to hand, as the minutes of us closer together, but no memory, not registered, not decipherable in the dust but disappeared, their names, the spoons, the …

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