SUMMER – Poetry by Abai Kunanbaev

SUMMER Summer climbs the mountains. Flowers overcolour and blanch. Men leave the sun and sit, tree-tented, by the cold creek. Horses bray, each apart in the warm air, and the long grass whiffles in a lime plain. Hushed and still, the horseherd stand in whiter-high; and wave the flies away with silk-swish tails; and colts clatter the air, rippling the …

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BETWEEN GOING AND STAYING – Poetry by Octavio Paz

ENTRE IRSE Y QUEDARSE > Entre irse y quedarse duda el día, enamorado de su transparencia. La tarde circular es ya bahía. En su quieto vaivén se mece el mundo. Todo es visible y todo es elusivo, todo está cerca y todo es intocable. Los papeles, el libro, el vaso, el lápiz reposan a la sombra de sus nombres. Latir …

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NIGHT ON THE ISLAND – Poetry by Pablo Neruda

LA NOCHE EN LA ISLA > Toda la noche he dormido contigo junto al mar en la isla. Salvaje y dulce eras entre el placer y el sueño, entre el fuego y el agua. Tal vez muy tarde nuestros sueños se unieron en lo alto o en el fondo, arriba como ramas que un mismo viento mueve, abajo como rojas …

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REMOTE, WILD AND SILENT – Travel along the north coast of Scotland

Yes, the bay is really wide. Just from that bay ferries leave for Orkney and Shetland. Thurso is really a small town, but this scenic part of Scotland’s northern coast, offers a starting point for many, very many small and valuable discoveries. Dounreay, gives the opportunity to visit the Atomic Energy Exhibition, but crossing the estuary of Stath Naver and …

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SAYING SOMETHING – Poetry, by Carol Ann Duffy

SAYING SOMETHING  Things assume your shape. Discarded clothes, a damp shroud in the bathroom, vacant hands. This is not fiction. This is the plain and warm material of love. My heart assumes it. We wake. Our private language starts the day. We make familiar movements through the house. The dreams we have no phrases for slip through our fingers into …

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WHEN THE CHARM HAS NO WORDS – Investigation of a myth. Piero della Francesca

Until June 26, 2016, you will not need to go to St. Sepulchre, to stay a little beside Piero, but you’ll have to go to Forli – to the Museums San Domenico – to admire the art exhibition “Piero della Francesca – on a Survey myth”. An absolutely wonderful opportunity, a real appointment with the “king” of Renaissance painting. Walking …

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3000 METERS OF SOLITUDE, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE OCEAN – The archipelago of Cape Verde and the island of Fogo

Surely you’ve discovered that the downtown area has many old Portuguese houses. You know? Those noble houses of Sao Felipe are called “sobrados”, and all have a common characteristic among them are designed and built to create different spaces, for all the inhabitants of that island slave. Any color (blue or pink, yellow or green), but all the houses have …

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MELANCHOLY – Poetry, by Rubén Darío

MELANCOLIA > Hermano, tú que tienes la luz, dime la mía. Soy como un ciego. Voy sin rumbo y ando a tientas. Voy bajo tempestades y tormentas, ciego de sueño y loco de armonía. Ése es mi mal. Soñar. La poesía es la camisa férrea de mil puntas cruentas que llevo sobre el alma. Las espinas sangrientas dejan caer las …

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SHADOWS – Poetry, by Henrik Nordbrandt

SHADOWS So I thought of you, and I’ve 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 houses in which I lived, without you. Many are the cities where I met you. There are many things I have run out, or lost due to …

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HERBERT MARSHALL – Poetry, by Edgar Lee Masters

HERBERT MARSHALL All your sorrow, Louise, and hatred of me, sprang from your delusion that it was wantonness of spirit and contempt of your soul’s rights, which made me turn to Annabelle and forsake you. You really grew to hate me for love of me, because I was your soul’s happiness, formed and tempered to solve your life for you, …

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DEDICATION – Poetry, by Anna Akhmatova

DEDICATION Ahead of this punishment bend the mountains, not flows the great river, but balances the prison locks, behind them “the dens of life imprisonment”, and with anguish. For someone breathes fresh wind, for someone yearns sunset, we do not know, we are the same everywhere, we hear hateful screeching of keys, and heavy steps of soldiers. It rose like …

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