NATIONAL DAY OF PORTUGAL, 10th June
Who throws the first stone?
BETWEEN TEETH
PARKER SOLAR PROBE
BLACK HOLE
Robert VANDERMOLEN, "The Michigan Poet"
Nothing but Knowledge
MY BEST BIRTHDAY'S GIFT
On dream's terrace
Wild Sheep from Poland (1550)
A SMALL KINGDOM
The fruit basket should not store clothe's springs
Mário Soares (1924-2017)
CIRQUE
INQUEST
Loneliness
BEACH
ASHES
LOCAL HISTORY
IVY DRIP AT WARRISTON CEMETERY
ENDEARMENT
LABYRINTH
APOCALYPSE
Forest Fires
Purple light
REVENGER ANGEL WANTED
AUTUMN
THE PRAYER
GENESIS AND DEVELOPMENT OF A POEM
ETERNAL LIFE
HAPPINESS
WAT PHO
MORNING
COLLISION
UNICORN
The ridiculous figure of the stars
Birds
IMMIGRANTS
See also...
Group of the Visual Poets (2 photos/day, no invite needed :)
Group of the Visual Poets (2 photos/day, no invite needed :)
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ELEGY
Too proud to die, broken and blind he died
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cold, kind man brave in his burning pride
On that darkest day. Oh, forever may
He live lighttly, at last, on the last, crossed
Hill, and there grow young, under the grass, in love,
Among the long flocks, and never lie lost
Or still all days of his death, though above
All he longed all dark for his mother's breast
Which was rest and dust, and in the kind ground
The darkest justice of death, blind and unblessed.
Let him find no rest but be fathered and found,
I prayed in the crouching room, by his blind bed,
In the muted house, one minute before
Noon, and night, and light. The rivers of the dead
Moved in his poor hand I held, and I saw
Through his faded eyes to the roots of the sea.
Go calm to your cricifixed hill, I told
The air that drew away from him.
///
ELEGIA
Orgulhoso por morrer, morreu desesperado e cego
Da maneira mais sombria, e não fugiu,
Homem frio, amável e corajoso no seu ardente orgulho
Naquele dia fatídico. Oh, possa para sempre
Viver despreocupado, finalmente, na última colina
Percorrida, e lá crescer jovem, sob a relva, apaixonado,
Entre grandes rebanhos, e nunca perder,
Nem sequer os dias da sua morte, acima de tudo
Desejar a escuridão no seio de sua mãe
Que é sossego e pó, e na terra leve
A mais sombria justiça da morte, cega e maldita.
Deixem-no não chegar ao descanso mas que se adapte e o encontre,
Chorei no quarto acanhado, em seu leito de morte,
Na casa silenciosa, um minuto antes
Do meio-dia, e noite, e luz. Vi os rios da morte
Correrem da sua pobre mão que apertei
Para o fundo do mar através do seu moribundo olhar.
Vai calmamente para a tua colina de crucificação, disse-lhe
A aragem que dele se afastou.
by Dylan THOMAS (1914-1953), in "SELECTED POEMS", Edited by The Folio Society Ltd, 2014
(Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2017)
(photograph copied from the book: Dylan Thomas in Brown's Hotel, Laugharne, 1938)
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cold, kind man brave in his burning pride
On that darkest day. Oh, forever may
He live lighttly, at last, on the last, crossed
Hill, and there grow young, under the grass, in love,
Among the long flocks, and never lie lost
Or still all days of his death, though above
All he longed all dark for his mother's breast
Which was rest and dust, and in the kind ground
The darkest justice of death, blind and unblessed.
Let him find no rest but be fathered and found,
I prayed in the crouching room, by his blind bed,
In the muted house, one minute before
Noon, and night, and light. The rivers of the dead
Moved in his poor hand I held, and I saw
Through his faded eyes to the roots of the sea.
Go calm to your cricifixed hill, I told
The air that drew away from him.
///
ELEGIA
Orgulhoso por morrer, morreu desesperado e cego
Da maneira mais sombria, e não fugiu,
Homem frio, amável e corajoso no seu ardente orgulho
Naquele dia fatídico. Oh, possa para sempre
Viver despreocupado, finalmente, na última colina
Percorrida, e lá crescer jovem, sob a relva, apaixonado,
Entre grandes rebanhos, e nunca perder,
Nem sequer os dias da sua morte, acima de tudo
Desejar a escuridão no seio de sua mãe
Que é sossego e pó, e na terra leve
A mais sombria justiça da morte, cega e maldita.
Deixem-no não chegar ao descanso mas que se adapte e o encontre,
Chorei no quarto acanhado, em seu leito de morte,
Na casa silenciosa, um minuto antes
Do meio-dia, e noite, e luz. Vi os rios da morte
Correrem da sua pobre mão que apertei
Para o fundo do mar através do seu moribundo olhar.
Vai calmamente para a tua colina de crucificação, disse-lhe
A aragem que dele se afastou.
by Dylan THOMAS (1914-1953), in "SELECTED POEMS", Edited by The Folio Society Ltd, 2014
(Portuguese translated by Armando TABORDA, 2017)
(photograph copied from the book: Dylan Thomas in Brown's Hotel, Laugharne, 1938)
Smiley Derleth, , Ulrich John have particularly liked this photo
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