"We have time " – 1209 rezultate
0.02 secundeMeilisearchFred Moramarco
Dr. Moramarco is a Professor of English at San Diego State and the Editor of Poetry International, an annual journal of new poetry published there. He is the co-author of Containing Multitudes: Poetry in the United States Since 1950 and Modern American Poetry, and co-editor of Men of Our Time: Male Poetry in Contemporary America. ,,I\'ve devoted a lot of my life to poetry. Reading it, writing it, writing about it. In her wonderful novel, \"Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant,\" Anne Tyler writes, \"There ought to be a whole separate language for truth.\" I think there is such a language--the language of poetry. Poems create the miracle of connecting our inner lives. We live in a world where the language of advertising, commerce, and politics are so filled with falseness, deception, and manipulation, that we have an absolute longing to hear words spoken from the heart, with clarity, precision, and authenticity.``
2 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
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
Robert Sheckley
Robert Sheckley, born in 1928, grew up in New Jersey and served in Korea before selling his first story in 1951. A master of satire and irony whose work has been called \"galactic humor,\" Sheckley was one of the first to portray gadgets that think for humans, such as intelligent refrigerators. Among his classic stories are \"Shape\", \"Specialist\", \"Seventh Victim\", and \"Warm\" (all 1953), \"The Prize of Peril\" (1958), \"The Store of the Worlds\" (1959), \"The People Trap\" (1968), and \"Can You Feel Anything When I Do This?\" (1969); \"Shall We Have a Little Talk?\" (1965) and \"What Is Life?\" (1976) were Nebula and World Fantasy award nominees respectively. Early story collections Untouched by Human Hands (1954), Citizen in Space (1955), and Pilgrimage to Earth (1957) were followed by others in the \'60s and \'70s, with retrospective The Collected Short Fiction of Robert Sheckley published in 5 volumes in 1991. Sheckley\'s first novel Immortality Inc. (1959) was an expanded...
0 poezii, 0 proze
Mircea Braslasu
Dedicate these lyrics memory my son Valentin Catalin Brăslașu, the writing about his life from birth (28-10-1981) until death (08-07-2000), but after his death. This describes both his life and my life, but more strongly to the shock of finding veștii that my son died in a tragic car accident at age 18 years 8 months and 10 days shock from which I left with sequelae , traumatized throughout their lives. I am Brăslașu Mircea, born com.Sângeru, jud.Prahova. In 1979, on December 31, I married, from this marriage two children resulted: Valentin-Catalin-Adrian and Gabriel. In 1993 after 14 years of marriage I broke the exclusive fault of the former spouses. In the divorce we have been entrusted to educate and increase a child so-Catalin Valentin (it was 12 years) was heard by the court expressing its desire to remain with me, the fact that the account, and Gabriel (he had 6 years) was given his mother. After he finished vocational school (1999), Catalin's exam at the evening high school,...
19 poezii, 0 proze
Hal Sirowitz
Pretending We went to Dan Lynch's, & listened to White musicians pretending that they were Black. And the people next to us jumped up & down, pretending that they were rock stars. And I put my hand on your knee, pretending that I was your lover. You remained aloof. Why did you have to be the only one who insisted on being yourself?
0 poezii, 0 proze
Bucseneanu Radu
We are how we choose to be! ..nimic nu e concret si totu-i relativ !¿!
6 poezii, 0 proze
Vereha Olivia Irina
all we are is dust in the wind...
13 poezii, 0 proze
Ohm
Life is entertaining when we do not take it too seriously...To be able to laugh at life is marvelous.
42 poezii, 0 proze
Iulia Diana Mihai
Biografia mea se scrie as we speak.
4 poezii, 0 proze
We have time
de Macovei Costel
eu mint, tu minți, el minte, ea minte. dar e mult mai ușor de suportat o minciună cu picioare scurte și crăcănate decât adevărul, așa cum este el în realitate: murdar, cocoșat, bătut, alungat,...
we have time for everything
de Ela Victoria Luca
dragostea noastră este ploaia asta banală sfârșim în camera de lumină ne ascundem obositor de aproape unul de celălalt fără a ne atinge greșind meridiane asimetrice umblăm desculți alunecăm în...
I dream
de Crăița Șerbănescu
I dream of things that can not be I dream and in my dreams I fly And that is me or that is I But matters not of dreams or real It is the way I truly feel And deep inside I know of love And in the sky...
Men and Trees
de Alice Genes
What do you feel while watching a tiny crippled tree? D’you feel compasion, or d’you ignore that that you see? A choped off tree is just a shattered life That for a moment peered the murderous knife....
TIME DIPTYCH
de Gabriel Daniel Dorobantu
We have all the time in the world. There is plenty of time. The time is just enough. We are right on time. Time is passing by. We get short of time. Time is running out. We are out of time.
(The ugly) Miracle
de Da
Every knife that stabs a back and makes you feel you`re not a wreck It's a miracle All our creations great and small Crappy streets and blocks that fall That's a miracle Half-drunk babies being born...
It was a time of triumph for the morons
de Alexandru Paleologu
Mr. Paleologu, to begin with, let us say that this talk is the result of certain hostile attitudes, especially in the Western media, concerning Mircea Eliade and what we call here “Generation ’27”. I...
Duplicity
de Adela Manea
We all live few lifes; we are one, two or more persons at the same time; we love somebody, miss someone else, kiss other lips and give hopes to another one; we are so divided that we no longer have...
A Pact
de Ezra Pound
I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman-- I have detested you long enough. I come to you as a grown child Who has had a pig-headed father; I am old enough now to make friends. It was you that broke the...
Dracula
de Bram Stoker
Chapter 5 - Letters, Etc. Letter from Miss Mina Murray to Miss Lucy Westenra. \"9 May. \"My dearest Lucy,- \"Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply overwhelmed with work. The life...
