bending_sickle (
bending_sickle) wrote2007-01-29 11:07 am
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Entry tags:
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.*
Got the following in spam. Maybe it's the headcold, but it actually has some nice bits. Almost like a poem, but making less sense than Cummings. In fact, think it might just be a poem.
II. List of Franklin Search Parties
And beyond, the same sound of bees
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed
That desire has ever built, have approached
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye
Event, the end of the painted road ends up
Blurring the terrain,
Glimmering of light:
I seek, above all, in the wandering
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
I know,
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
Comes up with as a means to its own end.
Yes. The obvious
Of meaning like these—the world created by
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
But what I am looking at is hardened snow.
I just love "your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye event".
A similar one, though (much) less poem-ish, is:
Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,
In a single floral stroke,
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
II. List of Franklin Search Parties
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Escapees from the cold work of living,
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.
Place of absorbing snow, itself to be
In Florida, it's strawberry season—
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
Dismal, endless plain—
for a few weeks, statistics won't seem
Preface to the 1970 Edition
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
*googles* *scans* Well, alright. It's got bits of real poems. I've found the last line ("...hardened snow") and a few others (e.g. "the same sound of bees") in Yves Bonnefoy's "The Only Rose". The rest of the winter-themed poems on that page are pretty too.
Me needs a thoughtful!Mort icon too...
Edit: Talk to me, people! The internet is a big, lonely place... *pout*
Edit2: Just sent incredible long email of praise to NeonDaisies. Such a fangirl. *hangs head in shame* But omg such good reads.
Links of the Day:
Communities linked through thanks to
yuna_firerose:
deppicons,
johnny_icons and the most-fabulous and entertaining
minimovie_icons.
evadne_noel posts her reading list of 2006 with reviews and color-coding.
* Yves Bonnefoy, "The Only Rose"
II. List of Franklin Search Parties
And beyond, the same sound of bees
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed
That desire has ever built, have approached
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye
Event, the end of the painted road ends up
Blurring the terrain,
Glimmering of light:
I seek, above all, in the wandering
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
I know,
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
Comes up with as a means to its own end.
Yes. The obvious
Of meaning like these—the world created by
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
But what I am looking at is hardened snow.
I just love "your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye event".
A similar one, though (much) less poem-ish, is:
Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,
In a single floral stroke,
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
II. List of Franklin Search Parties
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Escapees from the cold work of living,
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.
Place of absorbing snow, itself to be
In Florida, it's strawberry season—
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
Dismal, endless plain—
for a few weeks, statistics won't seem
Preface to the 1970 Edition
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
*googles* *scans* Well, alright. It's got bits of real poems. I've found the last line ("...hardened snow") and a few others (e.g. "the same sound of bees") in Yves Bonnefoy's "The Only Rose". The rest of the winter-themed poems on that page are pretty too.
Me needs a thoughtful!Mort icon too...
Edit: Talk to me, people! The internet is a big, lonely place... *pout*
Edit2: Just sent incredible long email of praise to NeonDaisies. Such a fangirl. *hangs head in shame* But omg such good reads.
Links of the Day:
Communities linked through thanks to
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* Yves Bonnefoy, "The Only Rose"