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poetry - page 3

RAINER MARIA RILKE ~ EVENING

in Poetry of Art by

Evening

Slowly the evening puts on the garments
held for it by a rim of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands divide from you,
one going heavenward, one that falls;

and leave you, to neither quite belonging,
not quite so dark as the house sunk in silence,
not quite so surely pledging the eternal
as that which grows star each night and climbs-

and leave you (inexpressibly to untangle)
your life afraid and huge and ripening,
so that it, now bound in and now embracing,
grows alternately stone in you and star.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

Claude Monet – 1840-1926 – The sunken road in the cliff at Varangeville – 1882

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ANNA AKHMATOVA ~ IN THE EVENING

in Poetry of Art by

IN THE EVENING  BY ANNA AKHMATOVA

The garden rang with music
Of inexpressible despair.
A dish of oysters spread on ice
Smelled like the ocean, fresh and sharp.

He told me: “I’m a faithful friend!”-
And lightly touched my dress.
How different from embraces
The touch of those two hands.

That’s how one strokes a cat or bird
Or looks at slender lady riders…
Just laughter in his quiet eyes,
Beneath his light gold lashes.

And the despondent voices of the violins
Sing out beyond the hanging smoke:
“Give blessings to heaven above
At last you’re alone with your beloved.”

March 1913

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RECLINING FIGURE

in Poetry of Art by

RECLINING FIGURE

Then the knee of the wave

turned to stone

By the cliff of her flank

I anchored.

in the darkness of harbors

laid-by

Henry Moore

Poem by Donald Hall (1928- )

Statue is Reclining Figure (1951) by Henry Moore

Plaster and Figure (Tate Gallery London)

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MIRAGE ~ POEM BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

in Poetry of Art by

The hope I dreamed of was a dream,

Was but a dream; and now I wake

Exceeding  comfortless, and worn, and old,

For a dream’s sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,

A weeping willow in a lake;

I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt

For a dream’s sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;

My silent heart, lie still and break:

Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed

For a dream’s sake.

Mirage

Charles Conder (1889)

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AKOSAH KWADWO ~ THE HEART IS NOT YET SWEET

in Poetry of Art by

And then we added the colors in the rain

The hundred pins in the skeletons of dust

In the dawn and evening

Of the wedding of mourning

In the earth of the harsh country

But if the sun falls

Within you in the years

And the heart is not yet sweet

Let no one touch it

In the how many years of the sun…

Akosah Kwadwo
2012

Painting is A Summer Night, 1890 by Winslow Homer

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OCTAVIO PAZ ~ THE LOVE IN LOVE

in Poetical Visions/Poetry of Art by

At times poetry is the vertigo of bodies and the vertigo of speech and the vertigo of death;
the walk with eyes closed along the edge of the cliff, and the verbena in submarine gardens;
the laughter that sets on fire the rules and the holy commandments;
the descent of parachuting words onto the sands of the page;
the despair that boards a paper boat and crosses,
for forty nights and forty days, the night-sorrow sea and the day-sorrow desert;
the idolatry of the self and the desecration of the self and the dissipation of the self;
the beheading of epithets, the burial of mirrors;
the recollection of pronouns freshly cut in the
garden of Epicurus, and the garden of Netzahualcoyotl;
the flute solo on the terrace of memory and the dance of flames in the cave of thought;
the migrations of millions of verbs, wings and claws, seeds and hands;
the nouns, bony and full of roots, planted on the waves of language;
the love unseen and the love unheard and the love unsaid: the love in love.”
― Octavio Paz

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OSCAR WILDE ~ ON POETS

in Poetical Visions by


A poet can survive everything but a misprint.
~Oscar Wilde

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NEIL GAIMAN ~ FRAGILE THINGS

in Poetry of Art/The words that make sense... brilliant writings by writers... by

“She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon. You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.

She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here.”

Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things

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LOUISE ERDRICH ~ RISK YOUR HEART

in The words that make sense... brilliant writings by writers... by

“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”

Louise Erdrich – The Painted Drum

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I ~ POEM BY TOM SHELDON

in Poetry of Art by

Know that space dilates with your own breath;
sing out, as a bird in the desert
from the shadowy rafters of its own high perch-
Our senses cannot fathom this darkness, so
learn the transformations through and through
staving off the inevitable is futile, non-efficacious and fruitless
Be the meaning of this strange encounter;
at their crossing, be the glowing center.
Immerse yourself at the precipice
With the words: I am.

Tom Sheldon

I © Copyright Tom Sheldon

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