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" the leaves of sake "11442 rezultate

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Walt WhitmanWW

Walt Whitman

AutorClasic

Walter Whitman (n. 31 mai 1819 - d. 26 martie 1892) a fost un poet, eseist, jurnalist și umanist american. Considerat „cel mai mare poet american” de către mulți pe când trecuseră doar patru ani de la moartea sa, Whitman este văzut ca primul poet urban. El a fost unul dintre reprezentanții tranziției de la transcendentalism la realism, opera sa arătându-se influențată de ambele curente. Opera sa a fost tradusă în mai mult de douăzeci și cinci de limbi străine. Walt Whitman este unul din cei mai influenți și controversați poeți din canonul american. Scrierile sale au fost caracterizate drept un „rude shock” („șoc puternic”) și drept „the most audacious and debatable contribution yet made to American literature” (cea mai îndrăzneață și discutabilă contribuție adusă până acum literaturii americane). Așa cum scrie Walt Whitman în „Leaves of Grass (By Blue Ontario's Shore)”, „Rimele și versificatorii pier... America își va justifica existența, dați-i timp...” Walter Whitman s-a născut pe...

53 poezii, 0 proze

Desăvârșita Domniță FlorentinăDF

Desăvârșita Domniță Florentină

AutorClasic

Compiuta Donzella Fiorentina este pseudonimul unei poete din secolul XIII. Existența ei, îndelung contestată, este astăzi în general acceptată de către critică. Contemporană cu Nina Siciliana, iubita lui Dante da Maiano *** La) Compiuta Donzella, called either di Firenze or Fiorentina, was the earliest poetess of the Italian language. Three of her sonnets survive in a single manuscript, and one is half of a tenzone. Compiuta may be her given name, but more probably a senhal (code name). Her full name translates "the accomplished young lady from Florence". Her existence was once in doubt and she was considered a construct of the poets, but this view has been discarded. In A la stagion che 'l mondo foglia e fiora ("In the season when the world sends forth leaves and flowers"), Compiuta complains of her father's choice of a husband for her. She is miserable at sprintime, when other lovers are rejoicing. In Lasciar voria lo mondo e Dio servire ("I would like to leave the world to serve...

1 poezii, 0 proze

Edward LearEL

Edward Lear

AutorClasic

Edward Lear (12 May 1812 – 29 January 1888) was an English artist, illustrator, author, and poet, renowned today primarily for his literary nonsense, in poetry and prose, and especially his limericks, a form that he popularised. Lear was born into a middle-class family in the village of Holloway, the 21st child of Ann and Jeremiah Lear. He was raised by his eldest sister, also named Ann, 21 years his senior. Ann doted on Lear and continued to mother him until her death, when Lear was almost 50 years of age. Due to the family's failing financial fortune, at age four he and his sister had to leave the family home and set up house together. Largely educated by himself, Lear has been described as idiosyncratic yet brilliantly talented[citation needed]. Lear also suffered from health issues. From the age of six he suffered frequent grand mal epileptic seizures, and bronchitis, asthma, and in later life, partial blindness. Lear experienced his first seizure at a fair near Highgate with his...

2 poezii, 0 proze

dan mariusDM

dan marius

AutorAtelier

"Well, I've been a disclaimer for twenty-four years Poor mother drowned in a pillow of tears Im well known in story, famous in song The black sheep, the blemish, the one who went wrong The black sheep, the blemish, the one who went wrong My crime is discomfort, my mind ill at ease Old crow on my shoulder, my favorite disease My siblings, my rivals might tend to my wake Grieve me not brothers, I was mother's mistake Grieve me not brothers, I was mother's mistake And all the grand expectations of an epic of wealth Leave me long to crawl back to the womb Well, I've tasted your grace, placed it back on the shelf Drag your pedigree wives to your tomb Drag your pedigree wives to your tomb Well, I came from this city, a victim of peace But I've grown far too filthy to attend to the feast So I'll take to the hills to live savage and free I don't need nobody, nobody needs me I don't need nobody, nobody needs me" http://www.obliothedagger.blogspot.com/

289 poezii, 0 proze

IA

Isaac Asimov

AutorClasic

Biographical (non-literary) How do you pronounce \"Isaac Asimov\"? \"EYE\'zik AA\'zi-mov\". The name is spelled with an \"s\" and not a \"z\" because Asimov\'s father didn\'t understand the English alphabet clearly when the family moved to the U.S. in 1923. (In Russian, the spelling was the Cyrillic equivalent of Azimov, and in Yiddish, the Hebrew letters were aleph-zayin-yod-mem-aleph-vav-vav.) One way to remember this pronunciation is the pun from The Flying Sorcerers by Larry Niven and David Gerrold: \"As a color, shade of purple-grey\", or \"As a mauve\". Asimov wrote a poem (\"The Prime of Life\") in which he rhymes his surname with \"stars above\"; someone else suggested amending the poem to rhyme it with \"mazel tov\", which he thought an improvement. Asimov\'s own suggestion, however, as to how to remember his name was to say \"Has Him Off\" and leave out the H\'s. When did Asimov die? What was the cause of his death? Where is he buried? Asimov died on April 6, 1992 of heart...

0 poezii, 0 proze

CT

Cristina Toropu

AutorAtelier

I was born in Tg-Jiu ( the beatiful place where people might admire Brancusi's monumental masterpieces), Romania. After getting my Master's degree in Mathematics from University of Bucharest and working for four years as Junior Assistant Professor in Romanian-American University, Bucharest, I decided to leave my country in order to study some more Mathematics. After spending two years in Montreal, Canada, I moved to USA where I am currently doing my Ph.D in Mathematics. Writing poems helps me convey ideas and feelings to other people. It happend that two short poems of mine, translated in French, got published in " North Texas World Literatures Review" Vol. 2, ETC... , run by the Foreign Language Department of UNT, Denton, TX, USA.

11 poezii, 0 proze

Stanis³aw Jerzy LecSL

Stanis³aw Jerzy Lec

AutorClasic

Stanis³aw Jerzy Lec (6 March 1909 – 7 May 1966) (born Baron Stanis³aw Jerzy de Tusch-Letz) was a Polish poet and aphorist of Polish and Jewish noble origin. Often mentioned among the greatest writers of post-WW2 Poland, he was one of the most influential aphorists on the 20th century. Lyrical poetry, sceptical philosophical-moral aphorisms, often with a political subtext. He was born on March 6, 1909 in Lviv (then Lemberg, Austro-Hungarian Empire), the son of the Baron Benon de Tusch-Letz and Adela Safrin. The family moved to Vienna at the onset of First World War, and Lec' early education was received there. After the war the family returned to Lviv-Lemberg to continue his schooling at the Lemberg Evangelical School. In 1927 he matriculated at the Lviv's Jan Kazimir University in jurisprudence and Polish. As a result of his political activities — writing articles for socialist revolutionary periodicals, making speeches in the Technological Institute’s Yellow Hall — Lec had to leave...

1 poezii, 0 proze

JK

John Willy Kopperud

AutorClasic

It\'s All Over Now, Baby Blue Bob Dylan You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last. But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast. Yonder stands your orphan with his gun, Crying like a fire in the sun. Look out the saints are comin\' through And it\'s all over now, Baby Blue. The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense. Take what you have gathered from coincidence. The empty-handed painter from your streets Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets. This sky, too, is folding under you And it\'s all over now, Baby Blue. All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home. All your reindeer armies, are all going home. The lover who just walked out your door Has taken all his blankets from the floor. The carpet, too, is moving under you And it\'s all over now, Baby Blue. Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you. Forget the dead you\'ve left, they will not follow you. The vagabond who\'s rapping at your door Is standing in the clothes that you...

0 poezii, 0 proze

TC

the crow

AutorAtelier

un spectru bantuie Europa

4 poezii, 0 proze

The Rave parties going JesterTJ

The Rave parties going Jester

AutorAtelier

nu stiu cum naiba sa scap de contul asta infect

2 poezii, 0 proze

The Mountain

de Robert Frost

The mountain held the town as in a shadow. I saw so much before I slept there once: I noticed that I missed stars in the west, Where its black body cut into the sky. Near me it seemed: I felt it like...

PoezieClasic

October

de Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow\'s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed...

PoezieClasic

Haiku și tanka

de Marian Nicolae TOMI

* ceaiul dă în foc - the tea is boiling - cu ochii pierduți pe câmp the eyes lost on the field închizând geamul closing the window * privind un lemn uscat – looking at a dry log - înflorind fără...

PoezieAtelier

PARADISE LOST -- Book V

de John Milton

Book V Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl, When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep Was aery-light, from pure digestion bred, And temperate...

PoezieClasic

Reluctance

de Robert Frost

Out through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and descended; I have come by the highway home, And lo, it is ended....

PoezieClasic

The Rape of Lucrece

de William Shakespeare

To the Right Honourable Henry Wriothesly, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. THE love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a...

PoezieClasic

Proverbs of Hell

de William Blake

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid...

PoezieClasic

Sonnet XII

de William Shakespeare

When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silver\'d o\'er with white; When lofty trees I see...

PoezieClasic

My Butterfly

de Robert Frost

Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too, And the daft sun-assaulter, he That frighted thee so oft, is fled or dead: Save only me (Nor is it sad to thee!) Save only me There is none left to mourn...

PoezieClasic

IReverSYBIL

de dorinMOLDOVEANU

FADE IN: INT. EMPTY ROOM: Nothing happens for about 10 minutes. INT. SAME ROOM, BUT NOW IS DECORATED WITH OLD NAKED MALES ON BEDS: UGLY OLD MALE: I always thought of my mum as a good woman. VERY UGLY...

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