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Monet Refuses The Operati...
Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler
Son Yorum: admin
14-07-2017, Saat: 14:08
» Yorumlar: 0
» Okunma: 19
Death
Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler
Son Yorum: admin
14-07-2017, Saat: 14:06
» Yorumlar: 0
» Okunma: 25
Lord Ullin's Daughter
Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler
Son Yorum: admin
14-07-2017, Saat: 14:04
» Yorumlar: 0
» Okunma: 17
Affliction
Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler
Son Yorum: admin
14-07-2017, Saat: 14:03
» Yorumlar: 0
» Okunma: 17
Vulture
Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler
Son Yorum: admin
14-07-2017, Saat: 14:01
» Yorumlar: 0
» Okunma: 16
A Letter Home
Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler
Son Yorum: admin
14-07-2017, Saat: 13:59
» Yorumlar: 0
» Okunma: 14
Self-Portrait In A Convex...
Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler
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14-07-2017, Saat: 13:58
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» Okunma: 17
In The Park
Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler
Son Yorum: admin
14-07-2017, Saat: 13:56
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» Okunma: 15
The Owl And The Pussy-Cat
Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler
Son Yorum: admin
14-07-2017, Saat: 13:53
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» Okunma: 11
Heart It Is, Not A Brick ...
Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler
Son Yorum: admin
14-07-2017, Saat: 13:51
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» Okunma: 13

 
  What Do Women Want?
Yazar: admin - 14-07-2017, Saat: 13:49 - Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler - Yorum Yok

What Do Women Want? - Poem by Kim Addonizio

 
I want a red dress. 
I want it flimsy and cheap, 
I want it too tight, I want to wear it 
until someone tears it off me. 
I want it sleeveless and backless, 
this dress, so no one has to guess 
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store 
with all those keys glittering in the window, 
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old 
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers 
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly, 
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders. 
I want to walk like I'm the only 
woman on earth and I can have my pick. 
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm 
your worst fears about me, 
to show you how little I care about you 
or anything except what 
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment 
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body 
to carry me into this world, through 
the birth-cries and the love-cries too, 
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin, 
it'll be the goddamned 
dress they bury me in. 

Kim Addonizio

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  The New Colossus
Yazar: admin - 14-07-2017, Saat: 13:47 - Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler - Yorum Yok

The New Colossus - Poem by Emma Lazarus


Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" 

Emma Lazarus

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  A Poem For Myself
Yazar: admin - 14-07-2017, Saat: 13:46 - Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler - Yorum Yok

A Poem For Myself - Poem by Etheridge Knight


I was born in Mississippi; 
I walked barefooted thru the mud.
Born black in Mississippi, 
Walked barefooted thru the mud.
But, when I reached the age of twelve
I left that place for good.
My daddy chopped cotton
And he drank his liquor straight.
Said my daddy chopped cotton
And he drank his liquor straight.
When I left that Sunday morning
He was leaning on the barnyard gate.
Left my mama standing
With the sun shining in her eyes.
Left her standing in the yard
With the sun shining in her eyes.
And I headed North
As straight as the Wild Goose Flies, 
I been to Detroit & Chicago
Been to New York city too.
I been to Detroit & Chicago
Been to New York city too.
Said I done strolled all those funky avenues
I'm still the same old black boy with the same old blues.
Going back to Mississippi
This time to stay for good
Going back to Mississippi
This time to stay for good-
Gonna be free in Mississippi
Or dead in the Mississippi mud. 

Etheridge Knight

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  For Anne
Yazar: admin - 14-07-2017, Saat: 13:44 - Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler - Yorum Yok

For Anne - Poem by Leonard Cohen


With Annie gone, 
whose eyes to compare
with the morning sun? 

Not that Idid compare, 
But I do compare
Now that she's gone. 

Leonard Cohe

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  Haiku (The Low Yellow...)
Yazar: admin - 14-07-2017, Saat: 13:43 - Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler - Yorum Yok

Haiku (The Low Yellow...) - Poem by Jack Kerouac


The low yellow
moon above the
Quiet lamplit house. 

Jack Kerouac

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  Every Time I Kiss You
Yazar: admin - 14-07-2017, Saat: 13:40 - Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler - Yorum Yok

Every Time I Kiss You - Poem by Nizar Qabbani


Every time I kiss you
After a long separation
I feel
I am putting a hurried love letter
In a red mailbox.


Translated by B. Frangieh And C. Brown


Submitted by Noele Aabye 

Nizar Qabbani

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  Stars Joyce Kilmer
Yazar: admin - 14-07-2017, Saat: 13:38 - Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler - Yorum Yok

Stars - Poem by Joyce Kilmer


(For the Rev. James J. Daly, S. J.) 

Bright stars, yellow stars, flashing through the air,
Are you errant strands of Lady Mary's hair?
As she slits the cloudy veil and bends down through,
Do you fall across her cheeks and over heaven too? 

Gay stars, little stars, you are little eyes,
Eyes of baby angels playing in the skies.
Now and then a winged child turns his merry face
Down toward the spinning world -- what a funny place! 

Jesus Christ came from the Cross (Christ receive my soul!)
In each perfect hand and foot there was a bloody hole.
Four great iron spikes there were, red and never dry,
Michael plucked them from the Cross and set them in the sky. 

Christ's Troop, Mary's Guard, God's own men,
Draw your swords and strike at Hell and strike again.
Every steel-born spark that flies where God's battles are,
Flashes past the face of God, and is a star. 

Joyce Kilmer

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  Tear Drops And Closed Caskets The Good Die Young.
Yazar: admin - 14-07-2017, Saat: 13:35 - Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler - Yorum Yok

T ear Drops And Closed Caskets The Good Die Young. - Poem by Tamara Moir


I went to a party, Mom, 
I remembered what you said. 
You told me not to drink and drive, Mom, 
So I drank sprite instead. 

I felt really proud inside, Mom, 
The way you said I would.
I didn't drink and drive, Mom, 
Even though the others said I should. 

I know I did the right thing, Mom, 
I know you're always right. 
Now the party is finally ending, Mom, 
As everyone drives out of sight. 

As I got into my car, Mom, 
I knew I'd get home in one piece, 
Because of the way you raised me, Mom, 
So responsible and sweet. 

I started to drive away, Mom, 
But as I pulled onto the road, 
The other car didn't see me, Mom, 
And it hit me like a load. 

As I lie here on the pavement, Mom, 
I hear the policeman say, 
The other guy is drunk, Mom, 
And now I'm the one who'll pay. 

I'm lying here dying, Mom, 
I wish you'd get here soon. 
How come this happened to me, Mom? 
My life burst like a balloon. 

There is blood all around me, Mom, 
Most of it is mine. 
I hear the paramedic say, Mom, 
i'll be dead in a short time. 

I just wanted to tell you, Mom, 
I swear I didn't drink. 
It was the others, Mom, 
The others didn't think. 

He didn't know where he was going, Mom, 
He was probably at the same party as I. 
The only difference is, Mom, 
He drank, and I will die. 

Why do people drink, Mom? 
It can ruin your whole life. 
I'm feeling sharp pains now, Mom, 
Pains just like a knife. 

The guy who hit me is walking, Mom, 
I don't think it's fair. 
I'm lying here dying, Mom, 
While all he can do is stare. 

Tell my brother not to cry, Mom, 
Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I get to heaven, Mom, 
Write 'Daddy's Girl' on my grave. 

Someone should have told him, Mom, 
Not to drink and drive. 
If only they'd have take the time, Mom, 
I would still be alive. 

My breath is getting shorter, Mom, 
I'm becoming very scared. 
Please don't cry for me, Mom, 
Because when I needed you, you were always there. 

I have one last question, Mom, 
Before I say good-bye. 
I didn't ever drink, Mom, 
So why am I to die? 

This is the end, Mom, 
I wish I could look you in the eye. 
To say these final words, Mom, 
I love you, and good-bye 

Tamara Moir

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  Fruit Of The Flower - Poem by Countee Cullen
Yazar: admin - 14-07-2017, Saat: 13:33 - Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler - Yorum Yok

Fruit Of The Flower - Poem by Countee Cullen


My father is a quiet man
With sober, steady ways;
For simile, a folded fan;
His nights are like his days. 
My mother's life is puritan,
No hint of cavalier,
A pool so calm you're sure it can
Have little depth to fear.

And yet my father's eyes can boast
How full his life has been;
There haunts them yet the languid ghost
Of some still sacred sin.

And though my mother chants of God,
And of the mystic river,
I've seen a bit of checkered sod
Set all her flesh aquiver.

Why should he deem it pure mischance
A son of his is fain
To do a naked tribal dance
Each time he hears the rain?

Why should she think it devil's art
That all my songs should be
Of love and lovers, broken heart,
And wild sweet agony?

Who plants a seed begets a bud,
Extract of that same root;
Why marvel at the hectic blood
That flushes this wild fruit? 

Countee Cullen

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  Freedom Of Love Andre Breton
Yazar: admin - 14-07-2017, Saat: 13:31 - Forum: Diğer Yabancı Şairler - Yorum Yok

Freedom Of Love - Poem by Andre Breton

(Translated from the French by Edouard Rodti)

My wife with the hair of a wood fire
With the thoughts of heat lightning
With the waist of an hourglass
With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger
My wife with the lips of a cockade and of a bunch of stars of the last magnitude
With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth
With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass
My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host
With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes
With the tongue of an unbelievable stone
My wife with the eyelashes of strokes of a child's writing
With brows of the edge of a swallow's nest
My wife with the brow of slates of a hothouse roof
And of steam on the panes
My wife with shoulders of champagne
And of a fountain with dolphin-heads beneath the ice
My wife with wrists of matches
My wife with fingers of luck and ace of hearts
With fingers of mown hay
My wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut
And of Midsummer Night
Of privet and of an angelfish nest
With arms of seafoam and of riverlocks
And of a mingling of the wheat and the mill
My wife with legs of flares
With the movements of clockwork and despair
My wife with calves of eldertree pith
My wife with feet of initials
With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking
My wife with a neck of unpearled barley
My wife with a throat of the valley of gold
Of a tryst in the very bed of the torrent
With breasts of night
My wife with breasts of a marine molehill
My wife with breasts of the ruby's crucible
With breasts of the rose's spectre beneath the dew
My wife with the belly of an unfolding of the fan of days
With the belly of a gigantic claw
My wife with the back of a bird fleeing vertically
With a back of quicksilver
With a back of light
With a nape of rolled stone and wet chalk
And of the drop of a glass where one has just been drinking
My wife with hips of a skiff
With hips of a chandelier and of arrow-feathers
And of shafts of white peacock plumes
Of an insensible pendulum
My wife with buttocks of sandstone and asbestos
My wife with buttocks of swans' backs
My wife with buttocks of spring
With the sex of an iris
My wife with the sex of a mining-placer and of a platypus
My wife with a sex of seaweed and ancient sweetmeat
My wife with a sex of mirror
My wife with eyes full of tears
With eyes of purple panoply and of a magnetic needle
My wife with savanna eyes
My wife with eyes of water to he drunk in prison
My wife with eyes of wood always under the axe
My wife with eyes of water-level of level of air earth and fire 

Andre Breton

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