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Born Frederick Ogden Nash on August 19, 1902 in Rye, New York. An ancestor, General Francis Nash, gave his name to Nashville, Tennesee. Raised in Rye, New York and Savannah, Georgia. Educated at St. George\'s School in Rhode Island and, briefly, Harvard University. Started work writing advertising copy for Doubleday, Page Publishing, New York, in 1925. Published first book for children, The Cricket of Caradon in 1925. First published poem Spring Comes to Murray Hill appears in New Yorker magazine in 1930. Joins staff at New Yorker in 1932. Married Frances Rider Leonard on June 6, 1933. Published 19 books of poetry. Collaborated, in 1943, in the musical comedy, \"One Touch of Venus.\" Elected to the National Institute of Arts and Letters in 1950. Lived in New York but his principal home was in Baltimore, Maryland, where he died on May 19, 1971. He was buried in North Hampton, New Hampshire.

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Ogden Nash

Born Frederick Ogden Nash on August 19, 1902 in Rye, New York. An ancestor, General Francis Nash, gave his name to Nashville, Tennesee. Raised in Rye, New York and Savannah, Georgia. Educated at St. George's School in Rhode Island and, briefly, Harvard University. Started work writing advertising copy for Doubleday, Page Publishing, New York, in 1925. Published first book for children, The Cricket of Caradon in 1925. First published poem Spring Comes to Murray Hill appears in New Yorker magazine in 1930. Joins staff at New Yorker in 1932. Married Frances Rider Leonard on June 6, 1933. Published 19 books of poetry. Collaborated, in 1943, in the musical comedy, "One Touch of Venus." Elected to the National Institute of Arts and Letters in 1950. Lived in New York but his principal home was in Baltimore, Maryland, where he died on May 19, 1971. He was buried in North Hampton, New Hampshire. Selected books: Hard Lines 1931 I'm a Stranger Here Myself 1938 The Face is Familiar 1940 Good...

6 poezii, 0 proze

Anatole France

Anatole France, pseudonym for Jacques Anatole Thibault (1844-1924), was the son of a Paris book dealer. He received a thorough classical education at the Collège Stanislas, a boys\' school in Paris, and for a while he studied at the École des Chartes. For about twenty years he held diverse positions, but he always had enough time for his own writings, especially during his period as assistant librarian at the Senate from 1876 to 1890. His literary output is vast, and though he is chiefly known as a novelist and storyteller, there is hardly a literary genre that he did not touch upon at one time or another. France is a writer in the mainstream of French classicism. His style, modelled on Voltaire and Fénélon, as well as his urbane scepticism and enlightened hedonism, continue the tradition of the French eighteenth century. This outlook on life, which appears in all his works, is explicitly expressed in collection of aphorisms, Le Jardin d\'Épicure (1895) [The Garden of...

6 poezii, 0 proze

Suzanne Nadine Vega

Suzanne Vega was born July 11, 1959, in Santa Monica, CA; her parents divorced shortly thereafter, and after her mother (a jazz guitarist) remarried to Puerto Rican novelist Ed Vega, the family moved to Manhattan. A shy and quiet child, Suzanne nonetheless learned to take care of herself growing up in the tough neighborhoods of Spanish Harlem. Her parents often sang folk songs around the house, and when she began playing the guitar at age 11, she found herself attracted to the poetry of singer/songwriter music (Dylan, Cohen), and found a refuge from New York\'s chaos in traditional folk (Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Judy Collins, Joan Baez). At age 14, she made her first attempts at writing songs; however, when she attended the High School for the Performing Arts as a teenager, it was to study dance, not music. She subsequently enrolled at Barnard College as a literature major, and during this time, she began playing at coffeehouses and folk festivals on the West Side and near Columbia...

1 poezii, 0 proze

the crow

un spectru bantuie Europa

4 poezii, 0 proze

The Rave parties going Jester

nu stiu cum naiba sa scap de contul asta infect

2 poezii, 0 proze

The Shadow

29 poezii, 0 proze

Ben Ber

16 poezii, 0 proze

Alex Dan

21 de ani,imi place singuratatea,observ si judec, imi place sa ma joc cu realitatea,scriu poezie si proza. Sper sa va placa...

13 poezii, 0 proze

the touch of your lips

de Macovei Costel

cuvintele. îmi lipsesc cuvintele. s-au lipit de cerul gurii. și fără ele sunt gol. dezbrăcat în fața ta. lipsit de orice apărare dar poate că nu de apărare am nevoie poate că ele știu mai bine prima...

so many things unsaid

de Ohm

it\'s amazing how the tone and texture of the morning can be so charged so enhanced so lightened by the sound of your voice on the phone you may never realize how you affect me like a deep, sweet...

Come to me

de bayar

Come to me to the darkest woods In the darkest place of the planet, Join me through the creeping trees That embrace me with their frozen branches. Search me in the reigning darkness While I watch...

PORTRAIT OF A LADY

de William Carlos Williams

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady\'s slipper. Your knees are a southern breeze -- or a gust of snow. Agh! what sort of man was...

PoezieClasic

Butterflies and Roses

de Coana Loenida

Revealing myself Like the petals on a rose, as they open slowly Exposing the inner softness Arousing the senses with a fragrant whisper Drawing you closer Sensing my vulnerable attraction Wanting to...

If you forget me

de Pablo Neruda

I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body...

PoezieClasic

a dream

de dana osiac

I dream. And you are here. We speak. I look you in the eyes. They’re so brown! You look back to me. I only hear some words. My mind is blind. I only listen with my heart. That’s how it has always...

Atelier

THOUGHTS

de petra carmela claudia mihai

THOUGHTS Paint the color of my feelings Feel the shape of my thoughts See the fine smell of my warm body Kiss my whispers Touch my sins with your fingers Cry my lips Taste my soul Share my dreams...

Salvation

de Hidden Starlight

my body lingers on the way to Heaven with tired wings, unable to walk my sould reaches desperate for the light or for a helping hand to save it from the dark my mind is dreaming about a better day a...