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Dylan Marlais Thomas was born on October 27, 1914 in Swansea, Glamorganshire (Wales). He was educated at Swansea Grammar School and became well-known for his obscure poetry and amusing plays and prose. Before the publishing of Thomas' first book in 1934, he worked as a reporter for The South Wales Daily Post, in Swansea, (1931-1932) and as a free-lance writer from 1933. "18 Poems", Thomas' first book, was published as the result of a prize. Thomas was only 19 when this volume of poetry was released. He wrote nearly 30 poems in late 1933 and early 1934, of which 13 were published in this volume. Between May and October 1934, he completed another five for inclusion in the book. The Thomas' poems first appeared in the Sunday Referee in 1933 in a feature column called the "Poets' Corner," edited by Victor Neuburg and Runia Sheila MacLeod. Neuburg began to award prizes to poets whose work was judged to be the finest printed in the column over a period of six months. The prize was that the...

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adrian jigăranu

25 iunie 1985 Are you a child of the free to be you and me generation And are you in tune with the world around you I am a child of the free to be you and me generation And I am with you in being in tune We shall bring change to this place Listen to the whistle of the planet twirlin through space Singin la la la la la la to the human race (she says) I believe I am the flower of life, the earth And the ocean oh oh I believe I feel the power of light, vibrate All around me oh oh I believe you are the children of the one great spirit, oh oh Are you a child of the free to be you and me generation And are you confused with the world around you I am a child of the free to be you and me generation And I am with you in being confused Children children can you hear it Listen to the riddle in the melody by great spirit Singin la la la la la la theres nothin to it (he says) I believe I am the flower of life, the air And the sunshine oh oh I believe I am the power of light, the motive For the...

117 poezii, 0 proze

Stefan Ciobanasu

Which way is the right path, as I stand upon This chaotic crossroads of hate... How many ways are there to roam On this dark and damned road of fate... "There are many ways, my son, to find where the souls of demons remain...But it takes only one second of despair and of doubt Until at last, your soul, they will gain... Inherit these lands, these things, these dreams That are yours, forever, to adore... For there is no life, in the depths of chaos, my son, For you to explore... C. Vincent Metzen - 'The Initiate' All I ever craved were the two dreams I shared with you. One I now have, will the other one ever dream remain. For yours I truly wish to be. Nightwish - Ever Dream

2 poezii, 0 proze

Igor Ursenco

CURRICULUM VITAE(Epekeina tes ousias: "beyond the being" Plato)) It's my thirst which concedes that there is water... Irrigated, my soul awakes forth: I'm surviving my nigts,for I taper this body worth... I exceed all my fates.I should figth her wasted battles, anxious to allot penitences of Eva & wagger fleengs of Loth... Who I am? Could she know? Yet I master her thougts - trespassing my bounds - remote... May I be her breath, confined by - rather - things she sais me not..?

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Radu Contes

The beginning of my childhood was profoundly marked by one of my grandfather’s passions – literature. For him reading, living, the writings of so many did not seem to be enough, so he began writing his own stories that still echo in my memory and in my heart. I remember that one day I went to him and asked “What are you writing about?”. Looking at me for only a second and returning his eyes at the ink stained notebook he answered: “My life”. Regretful, I confess that that was the last dialogue we had. After that I began reading, reading everything he was writing. Two years after his death, I had met someone who changed everything. I stopped reading and began writing myself. It was such a new feeling. It seemed to be never ending. It still feels. Since the first time, you may think I am exaggerating, but it really was the first time I saw her when I felt this sudden urge of writing. Words like “Thank you” seem meaningless compared to the things that you have done for me.

2 poezii, 0 proze

Bernard Werber

Bernard Werber (born September 18, 1961 in Toulouse) is a French science fiction writer active since the 1990s. Werber was born in Toulouse (Haute-Garonne) in a Jewish family on 18 September 1961. Beginning at the age of 14, he wrote stories for a fanzine, an experience which would later be useful in his novels, such as L'Empire des anges (The Empire of the Angels). After leaving school, he became a Scientific journalist in Le Nouvel Observateur and Eurêka, the magazine of the Cité des sciences et de l'industrie in Paris for about a decade. During this period, he developed an interest in science, which he mixes with his favourite themes, ants, death and the origins of the human race. Werber's works have been translated into 35 languages. With 15 million copies sold throughout the world, Bernard Werber is one of the most widely known modern French authors in the world.[citation needed] He even showed up in a TV program in South Korea once. Following on from his book L'Arbre des...

5 poezii, 0 proze

Duca Horia

So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers, all false. The truth is that I'm a bad person, but that's gonna change. I'm going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on. Going straight and choosing life. I'm looking forward to it already. I'm going to be just like you. The job, the family, the fucking big television, the washing machine, the car, the compact disc, and electrical tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisurewear, luggage, three-piece suite, D.I.Y., game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, 9:00 to 5:00, good at golf, washing the car,choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing gutters, getting by,looking ahead to the day you die.

1 poezii, 0 proze

Nathaniel Tarn

Nathaniel Tarn (born 1928) is an American poet of Anglo French origin. Nathaniel Tarn was born in 1928 in Paris of a British father and a French mother with many links to the U.S.: the American side of the family were the Shuberts of Broadway (though he never met them). Tarn was brought up in France and Belgium and reached England a week before World War Two. He survived the Blitz, went up to Cambridge University early aged 18, studying History and English literature. He returned to France in 1948 to be a French poet, working in journalism and radio. He discovered anthropology and was trained at the Musee de l\'Homme, the Sorbonne and the College de France. This was followed by a Smith-Mundt-Fulbright scholarship to the University of Chicago via \"orientation\" at Yale with a year\'s research in Guatemala under Robert Redfield and a postdoctorate life at the London School of Economics. In 1959, after eighteen months\' research in Burma, he joined the School of Oriental and African...

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Carmen Harra

Carmen Harra in her own words: Even as a little girl growing up in Romania, I knew I was different. After a near-death experience at age five, I was able to see things others couldn\'t. Everyone who has had a near-death experience describes the sensation of \"going toward the light.” In this parallel world, extraordinary light energy surrounds you and you see an inexpressibly beautiful light. There is no negativity and no anger or sadness, only love. It is a perfect, glowing world, filled with dazzling insights and pure truth, the way our Creator meant it to be. I\'ve never forgotten the lessons this experience taught me. Why, I wondered, wasn\'t life on Earth like this? This parallel world, which I call the Invisible World, is just as real as the physical world here on Earth. It is even more real because the people there are souls unencumbered by ego, emotions, and attachment to material things. Without these negative distractions, souls exist harmoniously in love, joy, and peace. On...

8 poezii, 0 proze

The Poems of Sappho, Part IV

de Sappho

The Poems of Sappho, Part IV 110 H?mitu\'bion stala\'sson. A napkin dripping. From the Scholiast on the Plutus of Aristophanes to show the meaning of h?mitu\'bion. This was a piece of soft linen for...

Laura’s not here

de Florin DeRoxas

english version on Nek’s song “Laura non c’e” Laura’s not here, Laura is gone, Laura’s my sweetheart for long time, and I don’t know what should be done, because...

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Gnomic Verses

de William Blake

i Great things are done when men and mountains meet; This is not done by jostling in the street. ii To God If you have form\'d a circle to go into, Go into it yourself, and see how you would do. iii...

The Fault of it

de Ezra Pound

Some may have blamed us that we cease to speak Of things we spoke of in our verses early, Saying: a lovely voice is such as such; Saying: that lady\'s eyes were sad last week, Wherein the world\'s...

The Matrix

de Andrei Dumitrescu

Classes, hours streets... The VETO right over sunrise, heads of concrete... As water takes the shape of the vase, So does man take the elaborate shape of the maze in its underscored power. Witness to...

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Sonnet XVII

de William Shakespeare

Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill\'d with your most high deserts? Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. If I...

Sonnet LXXI

de William Shakespeare

No longer mourn for me when I am dead Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line,...

Sonnet LXXXI

de William Shakespeare

Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal...

PARADISE LOST -- Book IX

de John Milton

Book IX No more of talk where God or Angel guest With Man, as with his friend, familiar us\'d, To sit indulgent, and with him partake Rural repast; permitting him the while Venial discourse...