Poezija na stranim jezicima - Strana 11
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Prikaz rezultata 151 do 165 od ukupno 209
  1. #151

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    RANA

    ta rana we środku jeszcze bardziej boli
    ona już zostanie ona się ukryje
    ta twoja rana przeze mnie zadana
    rozkwita we mnie
    rośnie dzikim mięsem
    o rano błagam stań się tylko moją raną
    rośnij w głąb jeszcze nie stępionym ostrzem

    Rana, Czeslaw Milosz

  2. #152

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    Una gaviota de plata se descuelga del ocaso.
    A veces una vela. Altas, altas estrellas.

    O la cruz negra de un barco.
    Solo.
    A veces amanezco, y hasta mi alma est hmeda.
    Suena, resuena el mar lejano.
    Este es un puerto.
    Aqu te amo.

    Pablo Neruda
    Život nije, i nikada nije bio, pobeda sa 2:0 kod kuce protiv lidera lige, posle rucka u restoranu brze hrane.

  3. #153

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    Lady Lazarus


    I have done it again.
    One year in every ten
    I manage it

    A sort of walking miracle, my skin
    Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
    My right foot

    A paperweight,
    My face a featureless, fine
    Jew linen.

    Peel off the napkin
    0 my enemy.
    Do I terrify?

    The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
    The sour breath
    Will vanish in a day.

    Soon, soon the flesh
    The grave cave ate will be
    At home on me

    And I a smiling woman.
    I am only thirty.
    And like the cat I have nine times to die.

    This is Number Three.
    What a trash
    To annihilate each decade.

    What a million filaments.
    The peanut-crunching crowd
    Shoves in to see

    Them unwrap me hand and foot
    The big strip tease.
    Gentlemen, ladies

    These are my hands
    My knees.
    I may be skin and bone,

    Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
    The first time it happened I was ten.
    It was an accident.

    The second time I meant
    To last it out and not come back at all.
    I rocked shut

    As a seashell.
    They had to call and call
    And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

    Dying
    Is an art, like everything else,
    I do it exceptionally well.

    I do it so it feels like hell.
    I do it so it feels real.
    I guess you could say I've a call.

    It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
    It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
    It's the theatrical

    Comeback in broad day
    To the same place, the same face, the same brute
    Amused shout:

    'A miracle!'
    That knocks me out.
    There is a charge

    For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
    For the hearing of my heart
    It really goes.

    And there is a charge, a very large charge
    For a word or a touch
    Or a bit of blood

    Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
    So, so, Herr Doktor.
    So, Herr Enemy.

    I am your opus,
    I am your valuable,
    The pure gold baby

    That melts to a shriek.
    I turn and burn.
    Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

    Ash, ash
    You poke and stir.
    Flesh, bone, there is nothing there
    A cake of soap,
    A wedding ring,
    A gold filling.

    Herr God, Herr Lucifer
    Beware
    Beware.

    Out of the ash
    I rise with my red hair
    And I eat men like air.


    Sylvia Plath

  4. #154

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven


    Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
    Enwrought with golden and silver light,
    The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
    Of night and light and the half-light,
    I would spread the cloths under your feet:
    But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
    I have spread my dreams under your feet;
    Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.


    William Butler Yeats

  5. #155

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    Invictus


    Out of the night that covers me,
    Black as the pit from pole to pole,
    I thank whatever gods may be
    For my unconquerable soul.


    In the fell clutch of circumstance
    I have not winced nor cried aloud.
    Under the bludgeonings of chance
    My head is bloody, but unbowed.


    Beyond this place of wrath and tears
    Looms but the Horror of the shade,
    And yet the menace of the years
    Finds and shall find me unafraid.


    It matters not how strait the gate,
    How charged with punishments the scroll,
    I am the master of my fate:
    I am the captain of my soul.




    William Ernest Henley
    I may not be perfect but I'm always me

  6. #156

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    Помрачување на Сонцето


    Ми застануваш на патот
    љубоморна отсекогаш
    што не те греам само тебе
    ненаситна, во осветољубив гнев
    кружиш околу Земјата
    за да останеш во моја близина
    да ме замениш на едната
    кога јас сум на другата
    страна, ноќе

    се проектираш во мене
    заситена и фрустрирана
    од постојано полнење и празнење
    од непогрешливиот ритам
    на светата свадба
    с до целосно исчезнување
    Погибел, Изед

    оти кај тебе с е привремено
    а јас стојам во центарот, за век-и-веков
    жариште кое не се поместува и не згаснува
    облевам с наоколу и озрачувам
    со својата царска грива
    лавовско срце
    - харемот е мој
    и системот е мој!

    Кога ти успева да се испречиш
    меѓу мене и неа
    (не можејќи ни без мене, ни без неа!)
    Неа ја засенуваш - сив сур самрак среде бел ден
    Мене ме помрачуваш - тотална еклипса!

    Не ме предизвикувај премногу, Луно
    зашто долго трае
    твојата лукава ентропична игра:
    можам да станам сосема рамнодушен
    без презир, исконска стихија

    и тогаш што ќе ти направам
    тебе, нејзе
    па дури и себеси
    кој може да предвиди?

    Катица Ќулавкова
    Osmeh je kriva linija koja ispravi sve..skoro sve..


  7. #157

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    To a Stranger



    Passing stranger! you do not know
    How longingly I look upon you,
    You must be he I was seeking,
    Or she I was seeking
    (It comes to me as a dream)

    I have somewhere surely
    Lived a life of joy with you,
    All is recall'd as we flit by each other,
    Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

    You grew up with me,
    Were a boy with me or a girl with me,
    I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become
    not yours only nor left my body mine only,

    You give me the pleasure of your eyes,
    face, flesh as we pass,
    You take of my beard, breast, hands,
    in return,

    I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you
    when I sit alone or wake at night, alone
    I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again
    I am to see to it that I do not lose you.


    Walt Whitman
    I may not be perfect but I'm always me

  8. #158

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    drunk on the dark streets of some city,
    it's night, you're lost, where's your
    room?
    you enter a bar to find yourself,
    order scotch and water.
    damned bar's sloppy wet, it soaks
    part of one of your shirt
    sleeves.
    It's a clip joint-the scotch is weak.
    you order a bottle of beer.
    Madame Death walks up to you
    wearing a dress.
    she sits down, you buy her a
    beer, she stinks of swamps, presses
    a leg against you.
    the bar tender sneers.
    you've got him worried, he doesn't
    know if you're a cop, a killer, a
    madman or an
    Idiot.
    you ask for a vodka.
    you pour the vodka into the top of
    the beer bottle.
    It's one a.m. In a dead cow world.
    you ask her how much for head,
    drink everything down, it tastes
    like machine oil.

    you leave Madame Death there,
    you leave the sneering bartender
    there.

    you have remembered where
    your room is.
    the room with the full bottle of
    wine on the dresser.
    the room with the dance of the
    roaches.
    Perfection in the Star Turd
    where love died
    laughing.

    Charles Bukowski, Big Night On The Town
    nije dotakla ništa što bi moglo da boli
    njene ruke su bele kao led
    njene misli su čiste, ona misli da voli,ona veruje, veruje

  9. #159

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    I think that I shall never see
    A poem lovely as a tree.

    A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
    Against the earth's sweet flowing breast

    A tree that looks at God all day
    And lifts her leafy arms to pray

    A tree that may in Summer wear
    A nest of robins in her hair

    Upon whose bosom snow has lain
    Who intimately lives with rain

    Poems are made by fools like me
    But only God can make a tree.


    Trees
    Joyce Kilmer

    THE PAST IS HISTORY, THE FUTURE IS MISTERY,TODAY IS A GIFT... THATs WHY ITs CALLED " PRESENT "


  10. #160

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    Early morning, I’m still licking my wounds
    Of a heart
    Oh, that stupid doubt of it

    Day is going around dying to the night
    I’m so tired of it

    Did you know?
    I’m just ordinary, ordinary human
    But I want.. Did you know that I want?
    To be a destined, a destined human for you

    It’s a high noon, and I’m already done
    With myself
    Oh, those heavy thoughts of mine

    Day is going around dying to the night
    But I’m so blind

    Did you know?
    I’m just ordinary, ordinary human
    But I want.. Did you know that I want?
    To be a destined, a destined human for you

    Evening will kiss my eyes; I’ll be dead by then
    At full tear
    Oh, did you hear I’m gone

    Day is going around dying to the night
    Till I’m fading with down..

    Did you know?
    I’m just ordinary, ordinary human
    But I want.. Did you know that I want?
    To be a destined, a destined human for you

    nepoznat autor
    Poruku je izmenio Cecara, 18.02.2010 u 17:53 Razlog: autor
    Mnoge mrzimo bez ikakvih razloga, a da ih zavolimo, tražimo čvrste razloge!

  11. #161

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    Γιάννης Ρίτσος

    Ο ξένος

    Η αποστολή μου τελειώσε
    κι ακόμα αργοπορώ.
    Αμφίρροπος ακόμη στέκω
    στη γέφυρα που μου χτίζει το βλέμμα σου.
    Ζητάς ν΄ακολουθήσεις τη σκιά μου
    που χάνεται μέσα στο φως
    σαν σπαθί μέσα στη θήκη του.


    Ο δρόμος είναι απέραντος
    ο δρόμος είναι δύσκολος κ΄ειναι γυμνός
    σαν ένα ΄χέρι που ποτέ δε χάιδεψε
    και που ποτέ δεω σύγχωρει.


    Ο δρόμος που οδηγεί κοντά μου βρίσκεται έντος σου.
    Σκύψε βαθιά πολύ βαθιά σου
    τόσο που ωα λυγίσεις όλος σ΄ένα τόξο
    να σφεντονήσεις το βέλος στη σιωπή.
    Εκεί ανατέλλει το φως μου που αγαπάς
    το δικό σου φως
    το φως όλου του κόσμου.

    (1978 )
    Poruku je izmenio kohili, 21.02.2010 u 20:29 Razlog: σμάιλι
    od sveg voća koje sam probala,najbolji ukus imala je dobrota

  12. #162

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    junk girl

    There once was a girl
    who was made up of junk.
    She looked really dirty,
    and she smelled like a skunk.

    She was always unhappy,
    or in one of her slumps-perhaps 'cause she spent
    so much time down in the dumps.

    The only bright moment
    was from a guy named Stan.
    He was from the neighborhood
    garbage man.

    He loved her a lot
    and made a marriage proposal,
    but she already thrown herself
    in the garbage disposal.

    tim burton
    & underpaid......

  13. #163

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    Maybe

    Maybe he believes me, maybe not.
    Maybe I can marry him, maybe not.
    Maybe the wind of the prairie,
    the wind of the sea, maybe
    somebody, somewhere, maybe can tell
    I will lay my head on his shoulder
    and when he asks me I will say
    Yes
    Maybe.


    Carl Sandburg


    Isn't it funny how day by day, nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different?
    C. S. Lewis

  14. #164

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima


    Владимир Агатов
    Темная ночь

    Темная ночь, только пули свистят по степи,
    Только ветер гудит в проводах, тускло звезды мерцают.
    В темную ночь ты, любимая, знаю, не спишь,
    И у детской кроватки тайком ты слезу утираешь.

    Как я люблю глубину твоих ласковых глаз,
    Как я хочу к ним прижаться сейчас губами,
    Темная ночь разделяет, любимая, нас,
    И тревожная, черная степь пролегла между нами.

    Верю в тебя, дорогую подругу мою,
    Эта вера от пули меня темной ночью хранила.
    Радостно мне, я спокоен в смертельном бою,
    Знаю, встретишь с любовью меня, что б со мной ни случилось.

    Смерть не страшна, с ней не раз мы встречались в степи,
    Вот и сейчас надо мною она кружится ...
    Ты меня ждешь и у детской кроватки не спишь,
    И поэтому, знаю, со мной ничего не случится.
    nista nema tako ostar vid kao ljubav

  15. #165

    Odgovor: Poezija na stranim jezicima

    A Dream Within A Dream

    Take this kiss upon the brow!
    And, in parting from you now,
    Thus much let me avow-
    You are not wrong, who deem
    That my days have been a dream;
    Yet if hope has flown away
    In a night, or in a day,
    In a vision, or in none,
    Is it therefore the less gone?
    All that we see or seem
    Is but a dream within a dream.

    I stand amid the roar
    Of a surf-tormented shore,
    And I hold within my hand
    Grains of the golden sand-
    How few! yet how they creep
    Through my fingers to the deep,
    While I weep- while I weep!
    O God! can I not grasp
    Them with a tighter clasp?
    O God! can I not save
    One from the pitiless wave?
    Is all that we see or seem
    But a dream within a dream?

    Edgar Allan Poe
    Isn't it funny how day by day, nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different?
    C. S. Lewis

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