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Japanese poetry

The cracks in the roof of reeds

the makeshift shelter built among rice paddies in autumn
fan so that the sleeves of my clothes
is constantly sprinkled with dew.

Tenji Emperor (626-671) *





It seems that spring is over and that which occurred both
summer
white robes as mulberry
are hung out to dry on the divine
Mount Kagu.

Empress Jito (645-702)





* E 'before the whiteness of the frost


pearls that the bridge of magpies
that I realize that the night is now based.

Yakamochi (718-785) *






For you I go to camps to collect tender shoots spring

while on my sleeve
incessant snow falls.

Koko Emperor (830-887) *






mountain villages in the winter is so sad to think that

most people will not
and the plants wither.

Minamoto no Muneyuki (d. 939) *






Compared to the feelings I feel

since I've known the heartbreak of the past
not seem to me more so.

Atsutada (906-943) *






I wonder if you know what the wait is interminable
since the evening in tears

alone I lie down until sunrise.

Mother of Michitsuma (second half of the tenth century).


*


If
against my wishes in this world of suffering long-lived


what would regret most is the moon in the dead of night.

Sanjo, Emperor abdicatario (976-1017) *






As I grieve that the loneliness and resentment
prevent my sleeve to wipe
even more I regret that my machine is to honor
love.

Sagar (first half of XI century).


*


As your promise of love for me was

how vital it is for the dew artemisia
the autumn of this year
has passed.

Fujiwara no Mototoshi (1060-1142)

Poems from the book "Personal Shiko Kataoka. The spirit of calligraphy young classical

Edition 2006 GoBook

Feeling Cold More Condition_symptoms

Constantine Cavafy

Candles

They're the days to come before us
like a row of lighted candles, golden
, hot and vivid.
left behind the days of old, painful
row of unlit candles:
the nearest smoke damage yet,
cold, defeat, and wrong.
I do not want to see: my heart the way they look,
my heart the memory of their ancient light. And I look forward
lighted candles.
I do not want to turn, I can not see, in a shiver,
as soon as the dark line lengthens,
grow as soon as my unlit candles.



windows


In these dark rooms where I live
heavy days, here and there around me to find
windows (
will escape if a window opens). But
windows are not, or do not know
find them. Better not find them maybe.
Maybe it will light another torture.
Who knows what new things will show.



Ithaca

When you set out to
Ithaka hope your road is long,
full of adventure and discovery. The
Lestrigoni
and the Cyclops, the angry Neptune do not fear, not
will be 'this kind of meetings
if your thoughts remain lofty, and a feeling
stirs your spirit and your body.
Cyclops, Lestrigoni, not sure, it
'wrath if Neptune hitting

not carry them within your soul if you do not set them up.
Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many
when in port - and now that joy -
you touch the ground for the first time at Phoenician trading
linger and buy
pearl and coral, amber and ebony
all fine merchandise, including perfumes
piercing of all kinds, more 'heady fragrance as you can, go
in many Egyptian cities
learn a thing from the quantities of products.
But do you think of Ithaca -
Arriving there is the constant thought.
But do not hurry the journey;
if it lasts long, for years, and that old
reach the island, you, full of treasures

gained on the way, not expecting Ithaca to riches.
Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage
without her you would have never put on the road
: what else do you expect?
And if you find her poor, Ithaca you will have `disappointed. Without
wise now, with so much experience on
you already have understood what Ithaca is that mean.

On the threshold of coffee

addition, they said something close
I turned on the threshold of coffee.
And I saw, then, the beautiful body,
where self-love was more evidence:
you joyful-fitted molded limbs,
rose, carved, person, emotion
with you to shape the face, leaving
of his tract as an arcane
sense on the forehead, eyes, mouth.

The origin

Now their forbidden lust
is consumed. Rise, dress
hurry and do not speak. Hull
stealthy way, separated.
to walk away with a vague uneasiness, almost
suspect in them do not know about that sort of cheating
bed lay a little while ago. But as an artist
is enriched my life!
Tomorrow, tomorrow another, or between years, are the verses written
hale here when they had originally.



He came to read

E 'come to light. Open
two, three books, historians and poets.
He read just for ten minutes. Then just
.
dozing on the couch. It 's all full of his books
- well, has twenty-three years, is very nice.
And this afternoon passed the love
beautiful in the flesh in his mouth.
In his flesh, that all beauty
race the fever of lust. Without hesitation
grotesque form of pleasure ...

Constantine Cavafy was born in Alexandria, Egypt, April 29, 1863 originating from Greek parents in Istanbul.
His family, part of the commercial middle class, suffered financial ruin in 1876 and moved abroad, first to Liverpool, then to Istanbul.
In 1892, Constantine, who already has a good reputation for its work as a publicist and poet, is recruited to the Ministry of Public Works in Alexandria, where he remained, making a quick and profitable career, until 1922.
travels to Paris in 1897 and 1901 in Athens, where he will return also in 1903 and 1905.
in her autobiographical notes speak of an early homosexuality, sometimes psychologically traumatic.
Since 1919, the poet is involved in various controversies, both because famous person and representative for both the Alexandrian and Athenian violent diatribe in which he is among the leaders.
died April 29, 1933 in Alexandria, after a throat suffered in Athens last year.

Where Can I Find Myamee Weave

Sergei Gandlevskij

1.

Cigola? And you
Fold the piece of paper in square
careful and make sure that this door does not open inappropriately.
Turn in stone well
The light snow squalid city -
's all but remains
One last little debt.


Remember the man remains to be everything that he does not,
On the Road to chemist, for example,
In the quiet button.

And standing in the cobra mercurial,
Look at the joy of evil
without malice, and not because we are good,
But because life has passed.


2.

There is, in the life of a poet,
A disastrous period, when he flees the heavenly light

It fears the human trial
And from the bottom of the well in the city, miles
Spreading the pigeons, a
Jura horrible oath
to settle the issue as soon as there is an opportunity, but

Thank God, on the veranda of the dacha, where the jasmine
touches his hands, the convulsive
With Vivaldi violin
Learn to fly - and that's the
Vacuum collects height,
E 'soul from the vacuum
falls to the ground and freezes,
But the flowers touch the elbow ...

We know nothing really. We
wink, drink from drunks, break the matches

anxiety and weakness to break dishes -
We are committed to tell the truth in the face
plainly, frankly.
But the verses are not an instrument of revenge,
But a source of honesty Argentina.

(Translated from Russian by Maria Cicognani Wolkonsky)

Pokemon Silver Switches

Bakhyt Kenzeev

1.

There is a star in heaven and earth wires.
From God - tears and sweat.
Run, my night, where no one knows about
rays of postal affairs.
And wanders through the square, crying in vain
like an angel in a gray cloak -
down to the dock, walk inside me
and wipes his throat with ice water.
Ah! Remote mostricciattolo the heavenly family, called
where and why?
to count the stars in the black stream,
where a dead fish float? In the long
still obeying him, in exchange for his art

vain attempt to move the crude knapsack
grown in the ground -
and still wakes up, poor and naked,
where God has laid his hands
where the city stands on the hills , waves
gritted and rocky mountains.

2. We go out

- midnight is with us. The lights almost furtively

disperse
circles in the small city center. Just
discuss with destiny,
drinking green wine,
top of many windows
it burns dim one.
It 's the who, happily intrigued
shadow of the moon on the wall, silent vigil
laborer
crumpled on the sheet?
huge drain of death, only to work

ocean of stars, which flow from the horizon and everywhere
.
rustle of leaves in the alley,
smell of bread and earth.
is heard echoing long and only a whisper away
of the Lord. A voice
clouded for no reason,
the penultimate chapter,
only the words are indecipherable, illegible
words.

3. A height

so amazing,
you want to breathe a sigh: stop,
moment, beloved, rebel ... But
cools the throat the sweet terror, and a strange
hawk with a dove between claws
hurtling down the abyss of air,
and swell the clouds in the sky,
like bread in a bowl of milk,
and the mountains, frozen, if not
reach the stars, that deadly layer that
divides the world into empty and full.
silent earth, and under him the dead. And the light
squints incredulously
the unknown wanderer, knowing that no place in the steppes
nor the Jewish miracle worker, nor
Hellenism in the mouth with a coin.
And the mountains are revealed naked,
howling, crying, uncontrollably, as if the spirit
metal silver
their bets on the tracks of blood,
as if the mercury in the rocky cliff
was ready to flow, flow without end,
linen that his girlfriend from dark face
the street does not remove the blanket.
a bonfire was burning, I will warm us the finger, and behold the heavens deserts, and
whizzing within them, and sobbed
flying through the clouds, the irreversible drought, leafing through the book
sull'amaro taste of the wilderness
Russian in its binding stuttering.


(Translated from Russian by Maria Cicognani Wolkonsky)