Personal Poetry

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Emandir
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Personal Poetry

Postby Emandir » 2003-02-22, 1:51

I'm fond of poetry (a fact I can't put apart from my love of language) and even wrote some when I was younger (I stopped near 1990).
So, I wondered if any of you, Unilangers, ever wrote poems...
I think that it could be nice to share this, for I guess that, like me, you made it read to a few number, if you made it read to anyone...

If you're interested but too shy to do it, I'll begin with one of my own, just let me know...

Gianni Scandella
:wink:
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Postby Francy » 2003-02-22, 17:46

I have to admit I wrote something in Italian, but never shared it... only with my bestfriend once, but he never appreciated... I don't know... I feel a bit ashamed... and actually never wrote too much!!

Just a personal question Jean Luc... why did you sign with an Italian name?
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Postby NulNuk » 2003-02-22, 18:12

NulNuk write poems ,but they make ppl too depresive ,so I dont share
them any more ,here is one ,more than one would be too much for
ppl to handle ,I hope me no sending every one to cry now :0{ .



"Apesar de las mañanas";



Apesar de las mañanas ,falta el sol de tu mirada,
apesar de el arcoiris,lluevo a cantaros de lagrimas,
dia a dia vivo noches,en verano tempestades,
esque lla no vivo mas ,no hay tiempo en mi guarida,
no hay escape ,no hay salida,
solo nubes de agonia ,que recuerdan tu sonrrisa.

Te llevaste tu mirada,y la mia aca desamparada,
lla no hay leñas en la estufa,y la cama desarmada,
cuatro paredes y un techo,me torturan y me matan,
no hay sabor en mi comida,la agonia lo extermina,
lla no vale mas la prisa, si es que el tiempo no trae nada,
te vere desde mis sueños ,y despierto sere ciego.

A pesar de las mañanas ,falta el sol de tu mirada,
el farol de tu sonrisa,que a puerto a mi me guia,
el calor de tu alegria , que me trae la primavera,
la simplecidad de tu estadia , que lebantara mi alma,
y tus juegos de chiquilla ,que explotan mis murallas,
penetraste mis defensas ,me dejaste ver la vida.

Y ahora que te fuiste,sin deseos me dejaste,
te llevaste tu mis sueños,me arruinaste mi esperansa,
armare otras murallas, creseran nuebas defensas,
mandare a dormir mi alma, que se aleje de mujeres,
no abra puertos en que ancle ,lla no vendra mas la alegria,
sin el sol de tu mirada,lla no llegan mis mañanas.

Dedicado a un amor que nunca me dio su nombre,-Leontine-
por siempre te seguire amando,Nicolas.



" In spite of the mornings";

In spite of the mornings, I lack the sun of you`r eyes,
in spite of the rainbow ,I bucket down on rain of tears,
day after day I live on nights, in the summer , storms,
it is because I dont live any more, there is no time on my den,
there is no escape, there is no exite,
only clouds of agony, that remind of you`r smile.

You take away you`r eyes, and mine remind here unprotected,
there is no more wood on the heater, and the bed is not set,
four walls and a ceiling ,torching me and killing me,
there is no taste in my food ,the agony exterminate all,
the haste doesn`t worth any more, if the time wont bring any thing,
I will look at you in my dreams ,and awake I will be blind.

In spite of the mornings,I lack the sun of you`r eyes,
the lighthous of you`r smile, that to the port he guides me,
the WARM of you`r happiness ,that brings to me the spring ,
the simplisity of you`r being ,that cheerring up my soul ,
and you`r games of young girld, that exploud my walls,
you penetrate my defence, and let me see the life.

And now that you left, with out desires you left me,
you took away my dreams, you ruined my hope,
I shall build other walls, new defences will grow,
I `ll send my soul to sleep, she should stay away from womans,
there won`t be ports that I will anchor, the happiness won`t be coming here any more
with out the sun of you`r eyes, my mornings won`t come up any more.

Dedicated to a love who never give me her name, -Leontine-,
will still love you for ever,Nicolas.



I`m not a very good translator ,and there are words that have no exactly
translation in the way I used it ,but I hope is not too far from the original .


[/b]
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Release me from the duty of being polite and remind you, "I made use of my own brain".

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Postby Emandir » 2003-02-22, 21:45

Thanks a lot, NulNuk!
And don't be afraid to share your poems because they make people depressive : in my opinion, sad poems are the best one! :cry: :lol:
I really appreciated yours, though I'm not good enough in Spanish to catch it in its whole and, as you said yourself, your english translation doesn't do justice to it!

Francy, please, don't feel ashamed! I'm not here to judge or anything else, I just want us to share our secret writings! :wink:

The name I signed with was the nickname I intended to have when I still believed my poems could be published some day... :roll:
Gianni is, of course, the first part of my first name, Jean, and Scandella is my mom's maiden name...
Not more complicated!

Gianni

P.S. I have not enough time tonight to translate any of my poems but I promise I'll do it tomorrow!
(Hey! Who said 'lazy guy', there, in the dark corner of the room?)
Language is the best way men have found to misunderstand each other. Lycodoxos

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Postby darkina » 2003-02-23, 19:27

:cry: :cry: :cry: i lost my inspiration...
i used to write an awful lot a couple of yers ago, mostly depressive stuff...i think i wrote a lot in the most depressed periods of my life. now i do it rarely (even if last week in england i was feeling a bit of inspoiration but i had no time to write...maybe it will come back). i have to say that im rarely satisfied with the results...

sharing...i've always found it so difficult. i've always envied those people that write soemthing then say to everybosy: hey, come and read what i wrote. very few people have read soemthing of mine, and none of them is oen of my 'normal' friends- i mean, they were all penfriends or people i don't see everyday...but here i feel at home so maybe i can manage, cos i've decided it's time to share, at least when i feel 'accepted'.

i have already shown here at unilanng soemthing i wrote, it's in the depression topic that there was a few months ago in the general forum. I know you're too lazy to look for it Emandir ;) (je te comprends, je te comprends trés bien) so i'll look for the link when i'll have time, im in a hurry now (ah le mond moderne...on est toujours pressés ;))
век живи, век учись, а дураком помрешь

Pleasures remain, so does the pain

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Postby Francy » 2003-02-23, 20:55

NulNuk your poem is absolutely fantastic!! Not jocking, I loved it!! Really!! If you were in Italy I would fall in love with you after reading such a poem!! Why are you so faaar!!!!???

Ok, Gianni... you won... here's a poem of mine... I wrote it some years ago...

Logica del sentimento

S'io mi riempissi
di un liquido caldo
il mio involucro
si creperebbe.

Il liquido caldo
quando si sparge
disgela il mondo
e lo riscalda.

Se il mio involucro
si crepasse
inonderei il mondo
di tutta la gioia.


----------------------------

The logic of feeling

If I full
with a hot liquid
my cover
would crack.

The hot liquid
when spreads out
defrosts the world
and warms it.

If my cover
cracked
I would flood the world
with all the joy.


When I wrote this poem I tried to follow more the musciality and sounds of the words (repeating of vowels or consonants) , so in English is sounds probably a bit stupid... :oops: probably also in Italian... :oops: :oops:
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Postby Emandir » 2003-02-23, 22:05

Darky a écrit :
i have to say that im rarely satisfied with the results...

sharing...i've always found it so difficult. i've always envied those people that write soemthing then say to everybosy: hey, come and read what i wrote.

Hey, that's exactly the same for me: I'm never satisfied of what I write and it's a nightmare to propose someone to read it!
:cry:

Francy:
Finally you did it, and you did well!
I really enjoyed what you wrote (more! more!), and this for 3 reasons:
First, it's in Italian, the language of my ancestors! :wink:
Second, I like the meaning of what you wrote! Though you were maybe not conscious of it, this poem carries a lot things! And I must say it happened to me to find in what I wrote things I wasn't aware to have put in it! :lol:
Third, that's poetry!
You say :
I tried to follow more the musciality and sounds of the words
and, well, that's (in my opinion) the main feature of poetry, and that's why it's so difficult to translate (you often can translate the content, but not the form...)

And this brings me to say I'm stupid to have said I was going to translate one of my poems! I tried this afternoon, and didn't really succeeded!
Nevertheless, here's one, though not my favourite, the one I could translate, let say the less badly :oops:
I wrote it in 1987 (yes, I know, a long long time ago!)


Pareil à Orphée plongé dans la vie
Et la mort j’entends sans savoir la source
Des phrases qui tombent fermant leur course
Au fond de ma tête j’entends des cris
De rage d’horreur des hurlements d’ours
Que je tente de mettre par écrit

Ces sentences sourdes sans sens précis
Ont comme un parfum de fable vécue
Et meurent ayant à peine fendu
L’armure de mon cerveau alangui
Citations vives extraites du
Livre inachevé d’un auteur péri

L’une ce matin d’entre elles m’a dit
Le temps court vite il faut te dépêcher
Dans trois jours le nombre de tes années
Vaudra le quart d’un siècle une vie
Entière y tiendrait qu’as-tu fait de ces
Jours qui t’ont été un jour impartis

Je lui ai répondu vilain oiseau
Écoute ces mots sortis de mes veines

Ma naissance est ma mort ma tombe mon berceau
Le chapelet des jours de métal ou d’ébène
De ma conception à rien d’autre ne mène
Qu’au long séjour vacance oisive du cerveau



Same as Orpheus plunged into life
And death I hear knowing not the source
Sentences falling closing down their pass
Deep into my head I hear their shoutings
Of rage of horror bear's howlings
That I'm tempting to write down

These muted sentences without precise meaning
Have the whiff of a real-life tale
And die having merely split
My languid mind's armour
Bright quotes extracted from the
Unfinished book of a dead writer

One of them told me this morning
Time's running fast you must hurry up
In three days the count of your years
Will be equal to a quarter of century one full
Life would fit in it what have you done with those
Days that have one day allowed to you

I answered it bird of ill omen
Listen to these words came out from my veins

My birth is my grave my tomb my cradle
The days rosary in metal or ebony
From my conception leads towards nothing but
The long stay idle vacancy of the brain

And like a phoenix dying and living again
The entity came out from my mad ardour
To write flew away towards the core
Of heavens where hell is a paradise
Leaving in my soul the bitter murmur
Of an essential poetry unsaid


Sorry for those who don't speak French, I think the taste is not the same ...

Gianni

P.S. Here is the link to Darky's poem in the "I'm depressed" topic (just to show her I'm not that lasy! :lol: )
http://anaproy.homeip.net/unilang/forum ... c&start=15
Language is the best way men have found to misunderstand each other. Lycodoxos

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Postby darkina » 2003-02-24, 20:02

Well Emandir, it's you who said that... ;)

Hey congratulations guys... i find Francy's poem very poetic...so simple and...well, poetic is the right word i think...
And Emandir's too...much more complex, but nice too...poetic yes...(and some lines remind of Baudelaire, don't they?)

The poem i posted here before wasn't a translation- i wrote it originally in English. I write in the language that comes to my mind first, and more and more often, that language is English (internet fault, no doubt).
When i was 15 i wrote only in English, cos i wanted my things to become 'lyrics' one day...even if i dont know anything about how to make music! But sometimes it was unnatural, i was forcing myself to translate my thoughts (you cant imagine how much my English improved!)...So i threw them away, even if i can still remember some little bits! :shock: Then when i started again in 1999 (age 17), i started in italian- i guess it was more of an urgency to express my bad feelings...then i sometimes wrote in English when it 'tasted' better, and now i just write in the language the inspiration comes...sometimes it comes in double langauge, so i try to make 2 things from the same beginning ;)

I never got to write anything even slightly complex too...i was too naive. Lately i havent written much and most of the things were...bleah ;) It's months now since i wrote soemthing.

Since i'm becoming a show-off, i'll show you something else soon. Maybe i'll try to translate some italian stuff, but the times i've tried i didn't like it...we'll see. I dont want to cause too many suicides ;)
век живи, век учись, а дураком помрешь

Pleasures remain, so does the pain

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Postby Emandir » 2003-02-24, 23:09

Darkroom a écrit :
The poem i posted here before wasn't a translation- i wrote it originally in English. I write in the language that comes to my mind first, and more and more often, that language is English (internet fault, no doubt)

Hehe! I did that too! I don't know why, but sometimes words come in a language, and sometimes in another (when I spoke it better, I used to write in Italian too)...
And what I like most is to put foreign words in what I write (I'll try to find a text where I did that)...
I used to think that I wrote in English because French had become to common for me, but now I think it's because you don't express the same things with different langages...

I dont want to cause too many suicides

Hey, I didn't intend to make this Topic the Desperate Ones Rendez-vous! :lol:

Gianni
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Postby Francy » 2003-02-25, 18:00

well, first of all thank you all for your compliments, you're too kind...

Emandir, I lkedyour poem it's incredibly deep and suffered!! I like these kind of peotic experiences!! They help you and give you a channel to express your internal fights!! Unfortunately I can't speack French, but I tried to read it in original language anyway cose I wanted to hear the sound I don't know if I succeded...

You know Emandir, you did a great thing!! not kidding!! I had my inspiration blocked for almost two years long I don't know why.... yesterday I was thinking about this discussion... and all of a sudden, like a vulcano eruption, out of my mind came a new poem!! That's incredible!! I thank you so much that I write it here now!!

Zampillare di luce nel buio
scintillìo di aghi lucenti
è come elettricità
di fremito d'ali
è sabbia calda
su pelle d'ebano
è profumo pungente
di menta essiccata
è miele vellutato
sul palato,
ti aggraccia
come acqua di mare
sotto il sole della tua sete.

Sgorgare selvaggio di note
ritmo di spine acute
è come terremoto
di nuvole all'alba
è solitudine beata
di stella palpitante
è catto leggero
sui fianchi,
ti squarcia
come sereno fulmine
per una carezza che ti sazia.

---------------------------

Spurting of light in the dark
twinkling of shining needles
it's like electricity
of quivering of wings
it's hot sand
on ebony skin
it's stinging perfume
of dry mint
it's velvety honey
on the palate,
it hugs you
like sea water
under the sun of your thirst.

Wild flowing of notes
rithm of sharp thores
it's like earthquake
of clouds at dawn
it's blessed loneliness
of palpitating star
it's light cat
on the sides,
it breaks through you
like serene thunder
for a caress that fills you.


I hope you liked it (again I translated only the content, not the sound and the original rythm... I'm not able to...)
There are more things in Heaven and Hearth than are dreamt of in your Philosophy...



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Postby Emandir » 2003-02-25, 21:56

When I posted this topic, I didn't knew, or maybe I knew it, unconsciously, we get real great poets at Unilang. Maybe I was hoping it, subconsciously! :wink:

Francy, I'm really glad you're back to work cause I really love what you write: it's both simple and deep, a pure quality of poetry (of what I call poetry, at least...)
________

Here is one of mine, a bit long, but I like it much. :)

***

Qui que ce soit n’y aurait-il
À l’intérieur de ce corps
Un ange fin démon gracile
Génie du soir fée de l’aurore
Pour n’expliquer jamais ailleurs
La folle équipée de mon cœur

Fendant l’espace de mon âme
Il serait farfadet de ma
Propension à créer drame
Du plus minuscule aléa
Ondine insane de mes heurts
Ne cherchant qu’à meubler les heures

Il n’aurait de forme précise
Ou elle que pour un instant
Comme les nuages qui frisent
Tantôt nains tantôt éléphants
Suivant l’onde de mes humeurs
Tantôt serve tantôt seigneur

Parfois même elle serait muse
Comme ce passant indiscret
A la blonde présence intruse
Parfois encore baphomet
Interrompant des mots l’ardeur
D’un torrent de rires railleurs

Mais surtout il serait l’image
Incomparable de défauts
En même temps loufoque et sage
De mon tumultueux cerveau
Qui se croit artiste joueur
De mots et de textes sculpteur

Sombre ou lumineuse entité
Floue et mouvante comme un songe
Magique et réelle nommée
Guillevic Cocteau Gide ou Ponge
Patrick Bruno Véga ma sœur
Orphée Narcisse Œdipe acteur

Pliant de mon corps la droiture
Assoupissant mes insomnies
Il exalterait la figure
Des plus invisibles pays
De rochers pleurants et de fleurs
Fanées de porter une odeur

Au bout du rêve il ne ferait
Qu’exprimer ce qu’au fond de moi
De nature un lointain décret
Promulgua et dont par ma voix
Seule je ne peux la teneur
Expliquer dire la couleur

Il plongerait dans l’existence
La pointe insigne du stylo-
Graphe pour signifier l’errance
Et la douce furie des flots
Submergeant plaisir et douleur
Dans une explosion de sueur

Il serait l’ami de mes nuits
Actif sous mes paupières lourdes
Accaparant le moindre bruit
Perçu par mes oreilles sourdes
Pour en extirper la saveur
Insoupçonnée par le rêveur

Bref il serait pour le poète
Une source où calmer sa faim
Et sa soif un esclave honnête
Une aide efficace à la main
Courant après les mots menteurs
Valet bonne ou baby-sitter

Mais de rêver à quoi sert-il
Quand même l’on est sur le bord
Du chemin qui mène à la ville
Utopique de la pléthore
D’amitié d’amour et d’honneur
A quoi sert-il que l’on se leurre

Tout ceci n’a pas d’importance
Mieux vaut placer ici la fin
De l’onirique transhumance
Des mots de ma tête au vélin
Dédiée au premier lecteur
Avec affection et douleur

___

Whoever wouldn't there be
Inside this body
A fine angel slender devil
Evening spirit fairy of dawn
That would explain never elsewhere
My heart's wild escapade

Slicing through my mind's space
He would be elf of my
Propensity to create tragedy
From the most tiny vagary
Insane undine of my clashes
Trying only to fill the hours

He wouldn't have a distinct shape
Or she but for a while
Like the curling clouds
Sometimes dwarfs sometimes elephants
Following the wave of my moods
Sometimes a serf sometimes a lord

Sometimes she would even be muse
Like this inquisitive passer-by
With his blondish intrusion
Sometimes again a baphomet
Breaking off the ardour of words
With a torrent of mocking laughs

But above all he would be the picture
Incomparable of defects
At the same time crazy and wise
Of my tempestuous brain
Who thinks it is artist player
Of words and of texts sculptor

Dark or bright entity
Woolly and changing like a dream
Magic and real being called
Guillevic Cocteau Gide or Ponge
Patrick Bruno Vega my sister
Orpheus Narcissus Oedipus actor

Bending of my body the straightness
Making drowsy my insomnia
He would heighten the figure
Of the most invisible lands
With weeping rocks and flowers
Wilted for having a scent

At the end of the dream he would
But express what deep inside me
A distant decree of nature
Enacted and of which by my voice
Alone I can't sing the content
Explain tell the light

He would plunged in the existence
The signal point of the fountain
Pen to mean the wandering
And the sweet rage of the tide
Flooding pleasure and pain
In an explosion of sweat

He would be the friend of my nights
Active under my heavy lids
Taking every noise up
Perceived by my deaf ears
To drag out of it the flavour
Unsuspected by the dreamer

In short he would for the poet be
A source where to calm his hunger
And his thirst an honest slave
An effective help to the hand
Running after the lying words
Servant maid or baby-sitter

But of dreaming what is the use
When even you are on the side
Of the path leading to the town
Utopian of the plethora
Of friendship love and honour
What's the use of deluding oneself

None of this is important
It is better to put here the end
Of the oneiric transhumance
Of words from my head to vellum
Dedicated to the first reader
With my affection and my pain

_____

When I read this poem again, I can feel the way I was writting it, I see back the place where I was then, things I would have certainly forgotten if I didn't wrote it...

If you like that, don't worry, I've got tons!
Unfortunately, most are quite long...

Gianni
Language is the best way men have found to misunderstand each other. Lycodoxos

@Emandir

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Postby NulNuk » 2003-02-25, 22:33

:shock: hmmm......NulNuk have fanss :shock: woooooooooooooooow!!!! :0}

here another one for NulNuk fans club :0}

"Feeling out";

Feeling out,
all the things I feel,
they can`t stay inside,
I don`t want you`r petty,
I just want to cry.

The other day I wroted you a letter,
I couldn`t send,
I don`t know you`r address,
nither you`r last name.

Its so hurt,
you never look behind,
when you left away,
couldn`t see me cry,
not that you would care.

the letter tells,
how I was in pain since you left away,
all the things I feel that I couldn`t say,
all the things I feel that you wouldn`t care,
how I cry at night since you left away.

feeling out,
all the things I feel,
they can`t stay inside,
I don`t want you`r petty,
I just want to cry,
I just want to cry.

Dedicated to a love who never give me her name, -Leontine-
will still love you for ever,Nicolas.
Every thing I write, wrote, or will write, its in my own opinion, for I have no other.
Release me from the duty of being polite and remind you, "I made use of my own brain".

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Postby Silvah » 2003-02-27, 1:28

Am just going to write one (very short) poem of mine, cause I'm too tired to translate longer and more poems now...


Een mooie bloem laat je niet verwelken
die schenk je alle aandacht
vervul haar wensen tot in de kelk en
geniet daarna van al haar pracht.


Translation:

You don't let a nice flower wilt
you give it all your attention
fulfill its wishes up to the calyx
and then enjoy of all its beauty


It's a shame such a literal translation loses much of a poem (eg the rhyme, in this case)...but I'm too tired to do a better translation right now. :oops:
Bring the noise!!!
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Postby Silvah » 2003-02-27, 1:30

Forgot to mention: I don't have to explain the metaphorical meaning of the flower, do I?
Bring the noise!!!

Public Enemy

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Emandir
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Postby Emandir » 2003-02-27, 2:16

Silvah a écrit :
I don't have to explain the metaphorical meaning of the flower, do I?
A metaphor, which metaphor, where? I really don't see... :?

More seriously:
Sylvah, if your longer poems are like this one, they must be great!
I tried (like Francy did with mine) to read it dans le texte, though I don't really know how to pronounce Flemmish (that's Flemmish, isn't it?) but I think that helps to get its original taste...

NulNuk, you were right: your poetry is very sad!
But, by my side, I never wrote anything "good" when I was happy! :cry:
You poem reminded me some similar events I've lived and, well, I guess that makes it better, doesn't it? :wink:

Fellow, I think we've just find the Poète Maudit of the beginning of this new century :!: :lol:

Gianni
Language is the best way men have found to misunderstand each other. Lycodoxos

@Emandir

Sarah

A work in progress

Postby Sarah » 2003-02-27, 4:08

Stories taller than the sky
Filtering like raindrops
Landing in our hair, on our clothes, our minds
Screams of confusion, pain, and dread
Cannot remove the echo of that crash
And those that led
The movement of freedom
Could not have guessed its impact
Now, the word is weary
From over usage
And the women grow teary-
Eyed over the loss of innocence
Even the children see
That America is not the only democracy
Is not the way, the light, the power
But another part of the tie
That binds Humanity

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NulNuk
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Postby NulNuk » 2003-02-27, 18:09

NulNuk is wat!????? :oops:

lucky for u NulNuk have no clue wat "Poète Maudit" means ,or me would
send Doggie to bait u >:0{ .
Every thing I write, wrote, or will write, its in my own opinion, for I have no other.
Release me from the duty of being polite and remind you, "I made use of my own brain".

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darkina
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Postby darkina » 2003-02-27, 19:35

Hey je suis maudite aussi! ;) (oh dear i'm really becoming a show-off!)

Well it's well known that the bets poetry is sad...i don't like happy songs, for example... One reason why my inspiration is gone might be that i'm too 'happy' to write...

Ok here for my fanclub (Axy ;)), an old one:

I AM THE MOON

I was the sun
I used to shine in the pale-blue sky
laughing happily
every day of my bright life
melting each sorrow
that came to my way
I slowly went out
and I didn't rise again.

I am the moon
I married the night
I've understood that nothing's bright
so i prefer
to stay here in the black sky
where I feel free
where I can hide
where when I need it I can silently cry.

Elisa, March 2000
век живи, век учись, а дураком помрешь

Pleasures remain, so does the pain

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Emandir
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Postby Emandir » 2003-02-27, 22:50

NulNuk, poète maudit means accursed poet...
And this was intended to be a compliment! :wink:

Well, girls and guys, you write great things (Sarah, I really appreciate your poem, and I'm quite ashamed to say it gave me the chills...).
But, without telling you my life-story, I'm not in the right mood to speak about that right now.
So, even if I don't post here for some days, be assured I actually read your works!

Gianni
Language is the best way men have found to misunderstand each other. Lycodoxos

@Emandir

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Silvah
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Postby Silvah » 2003-02-27, 23:43

Emandir wrote:Silvah a écrit :


More seriously:
Sylvah, if your longer poems are like this one, they must be great!
I tried (like Francy did with mine) to read it dans le texte, though I don't really know how to pronounce Flemmish (that's Flemmish, isn't it?) but I think that helps to get its original taste...



Yes, it's Flemish (Dutch, actually)...nice idea btw, cuz the ENglish translation loses the melody...
Bring the noise!!!

Public Enemy


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