Căutare

Născută pe 22 iunie 1988, am terminat liceul Traian din Constanța, profil mate-fizică. Studentă la Facultatea de Comunicare și Relații Publice "David Ogilvy" din cadrul SNSPA. Texte publicate în Informația Cernavodei (ziar local cernavodean), Adolescentul (suplimentul cotidianului Cuget Liber), revistele literare Agora și Tomis. Premiul "Tinere Condeie" 2004, 2005. Participare la festivalul Primăvara poeților, 2006. Membră a cenaclurilor literare Săgetătorul și Atlantis. Membră agonia.ro din iulie 2004. "I take a bottle of wine and I go drink it among the flowers. We are allways three ... counting my shadow and my friend, the shimmering moon. Happily, the moon knows nothing of drinking, and my shadow is never thirsty. When I sing, the moon listens to me in silence. When I dance, my shadow dances too. After all festivities the guests must depart. This sadness I do not know. When I go home, the moon goes with me and my shadow follows me." (Vangelis, "The Little Fete")

31 poezii, 0 proze

Grama Miruna Aura

I long for what life has in mind for me...the tone of a voice...the line of a song...the sound of a colour...the black of an eye... To feel...that is the purpose of ME

2 poezii, 0 proze

dan marius

"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

T.S. Eliot

Thomas Stearns Eliot, OM (26 September 1888–4 January 1965), was a poet, playwright and literary critic. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1948. Among his most famous writings are the poems The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, The Waste Land, The Hollow Men, Ash Wednesday and Four Quartets; the plays Murder in the Cathedral and The Cocktail Party; and the essay "Tradition and the Individual Talent". Eliot was born in the United States, moved to the United Kingdom in 1914 (at age 25), and became a British subject in 1927 at the age of 39. Of his nationality and its role in his work, Eliot said: "[My poetry] wouldn't be what it is if I'd been born in England, and it wouldn't be what it is if I'd stayed in America. It's a combination of things. But in its sources, in its emotional springs, it comes from America."

25 poezii, 0 proze

Keiko Imaoka

Beginner\'s Mind (Keiko Imaoka - Tucson, Arizona) I cannot be sure when I first became aware of haiku and tanka in my childhood in Japan. They seemed to have existed for a long time in the perimeter of my awareness, undifferentiated from proverbs, mottoes, aphorisms, and song lyrics that were phrased in similar forms. Sometime during my grade school years, \"Ogura Hyakunin-Isshu\" (\"Ogura Collection of One Hundred Tanka\", edited by Teika Fujiwara around 1235) became known to me as a New Year\'s card game, in which players compete to capture shimonoku cards (100 cards on each of which the last half of a verse is printed, spread out on the floor in front of the players) that finish the verses being read aloud. At abacus school, where we played this game at every new year\'s party, my prowess in the game improved dramatically when I was in the sixth grade, after I had memorized all the poems with my tenth-grade sister who was required to do so in her archaic grammar course in school. I...

1 poezii, 0 proze

Florin Chilian

\"Florin Chilian este o figură destul de puțin mediatizată în peisajul, destul de stufos, ce-i drept, al muzicii românești cu toate că în cercurile de specialiști este considerat principalul reprezentant al noii direcții avangardiste, deci deloc conformiste, pe care a adoptat-o muzica folk din România ultimilor ani. Mișcarea a început cu Mircea Florian și a culminat cu regretatul Valeriu Sterian și al său „The Very Best Of...”, unde se observă cel mai bine noul gen de orchestrare al pieselor, într-o manieră mai rock și la un ridicat nivel de profesionalism, cu intervenții serioase de chitară electrică și instrumente neconvenționale, atît electronice cît și instrumente orientale (buzuki, sitare), apoi instrumente de percuție specific africane etc. Desigur, schimbarea nu se realizează numai la nivel muzical. Versurile capătă și ele o nouă formă, mult mai modernă, fără să-și piardă nici sensibilitatea, nici profunzimea. Noii folkiști nu mai sînt tributari marilor poeți. Își scriu singuri...

0 poezii, 0 proze

Hancu George

Inspiration Inspiration Sit down she said, pen me a few lines, tell me of life, love, hopes and dreams. write to me of much happier times When love ruled your heart, and life it seemed Was full of possibilities, plans and endless schemes. I took up the challenge, and began to write, Of life, of love and hopes and dreams, Words flowed like rivers, as I wrote them down, Thinking all the while of the lady I'd found To inspire my thoughts, and urge me on, To make something beautiful, maybe a song. Into the small hours, I toiled away, writing down lines, throwing them away. 'Twas then that I realised, that the happier times That she spoke of and wanted, were not of that time. For the happier times were not from long ago, But were here with me now, and now I know, That 'twas the love for this lady, that made my words flow, And to write something beautiful, for her, her alone. I wrote of life, and my living with her, Of love, her in my arms forever more, Of hopes, a future for us so bright,...

2 poezii, 0 proze

Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou born Marguerite Ann Johnson on April 4, 1928)is an American autobiographer and poet. Having been called "America's most visible black female autobiographer" by scholar Joanne M. Braxton, she is best known for her series of six autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adulthood experiences. The first, best-known, and most highly acclaimed, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), focuses on the first seventeen years of her life, brought her international recognition, and was nominated for a National Book Award. Angelou has had a long and varied career, holding jobs such as fry cook, dancer, actress, journalist, educator, television producer, and film director. She was a member of the Harlem Writers Guild in the late 1950s. She was active in the Civil Rights movement, and served as Northern Coordinator of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s Southern Christian Leadership Conference. Angelou has been highly honored for her body of work, including being awarded over 30...

8 poezii, 0 proze

Helena Schmetterling

Despre mine stiu sigur ca mi-ar fi placut sa fiu o printesa medievala. Sau sa ma plimb cu Stanescu mana in mana prin Union Square, sa-mi povesteasca despre cercuri si despre iertari. Despre ceilalti oameni stiu doar ca cel mai mult ma enerveaza momentele in care ma trateaza ca pe o femeie obisnuita. Sau acelea in care se pierd in jumatati de gesturi. In proiecte de vise netraite niciodata pana la capat. Cel mai des ma indragostesc iremediabil de aceia care valseaza in voie si dupa bunul plac pe portativ si-mi soptesc impletituri decente precum, iubito, while you’re traveling with me, desigur ca, you’ll never see the end of the road si baby, I think this is a song of hope. Mda. Si alte maruntisuri sentimentale de genul. Despre viata mea stiu doar ca imi scapa mereu printre degete momentul in care m-as putea aseza nestingherita pe un scaun, fie si numai pentru o clipa scurta de surpare in mine insami. Sau de adevar pe stomacul gol. Dar asta este alta poveste. Despre sufletul meu stiu...

17 poezii, 0 proze

Lars Gustafsson

Lars Gustafsson, född 17 maj 1936 i Västerås i Västmanlands län, är en svensk filosof, författare och poet. År 1982 bosatte han sig i Austin i Texas i USA, men återvände 2006 till Sverige. Han bor nu på Södermalm i Stockholm. Lars Gustafsson studerade litteraturhistoria, estetik, sociologi och filosofi vid Uppsala universitet samt blev filosofie licentiat. Med avhandlingen Språk och lögn blev han doktor i Uppsala 1978. Han var redaktör för BLM 1962-1972 samt är ledamot av Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur i Mainz och Akademie der Künste i Berlin. Vid University of Texas at Austin arbetade han som professor i germanska studier och filosofi fram till maj 2006. Gustafsson är känd som betydande romanförfattare och lyriker. Bland hans mer berömda verk kan räknas pentalogin "Sprickorna i muren", bestående av de fem böckerna "Herr Gustafsson själv", "Yllet", "Familjefesten", "Sigismund" och "En biodlares död", vilka alla kan sägas spegla alternativa liv för författaren själv....

1 poezii, 0 proze

Forever in pain

de Ghinea Mircea

I sing a song, The song of death... I sing a song, The devil\'s hymn... I sing it night and day, I sing it when i sleep, This song is in my mind Until the day I\'ll die! And now this song of death...

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Bowery Blues

de Jack Kerouac

The story of man Makes me sick Inside, outside, I don\'t know why Something so conditional And all talk Should hurt me so. I am hurt I am scared I want to live I want to die I don\'t know Where to...

Sur les Lagunes. Lamento.

de Théophile Gautier

My dear love is dead: I will cry forever; Into the grave she carries My soul and my love. To heaven, without waiting for me She\'s returned; The angel that carried her Did not want to take me. How...

Ghost

de Alin Niculae

\"...and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted Nevermore.\" on a sweet scented summer day with the ashes falling from the sky the ashes he once loved for they...

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PARADISE LOST -- Book VII

de John Milton

Book VII Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine Following, above the Olympian hill I soar, Above the flight of Pegasean wing! The meaning, not the...

The Witch of Coos

de Robert Frost

I staid the night for shelter at a farm Behind the mountains, with a mother and son, Two old-believers. They did all the talking. MOTHER Folks think a witch who has familiar spirits She could call up...

Paper thin hotel

de Leonard Cohen

The walls of this hotel are paper-thin Last night I heard you making love to him The struggle mouth to mouth and limb to limb The grunt of unity when he came in I stood there with my ear against the...