Eliot
T.S. Eliot 1888-1965
Fluisteringen van onsterfelijkheid
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Morning at the Window by T. S. Eliot
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THEY are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,
And along the trampled edges of the street
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
Sprouting despondently at area gates.
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The brown waves of fog toss up to me
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
An aimless smile that hovers in the air
And vanishes along the level of the roofs.
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T.S. Eliot Poems
Lord Byron
Lord Byron wikipedia
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Darkness by Lord Byron
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I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light;
And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gathered round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those which dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch;
A fearful hope was all the world contained;
Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguished with a crash—and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them: some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnashed their teeth and howled; the wild birds shrieked,
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawled
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food;
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again;—a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought—and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails—men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devoured,
Even dogs assailed their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famished men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the drooping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answered not with a caress—he died.
The crowd was famished by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heaped a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage: they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects—saw, and shrieked, and died—
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—
A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropped
They slept on the abyss without a surge—
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perished! Darkness had no need
Of aid from them—She was the Universe!
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Lord Byron Poems
Lord Byron
Engelstalige dichters
Arthur St. John Adcock
17 januari 1864 – 9 juni 1930.
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Wystan Hugh Auden
York, 21 februari 1907
– Wenen, 29 september 1973.
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Samuel Beckett
Foxrock, Dublin, 13 april 1906
— Parijs, 22 december 1989.
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Sir John Betjeman
Londen, 28 augustus 1906 - Trebetherick, 19 mei 1984.
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Rupert Chawner Brooke
Rugby, Engeland, 3 augustus 1887
- Skyros, Griekenland, 23 april 1915.
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Robert Burns
Alloway, 25 januari 1759
– Dumfries, 21 juli 1796.
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Lord Byron
Londen, 22 januari 1788
– Mesolongi, 19 april 1824.
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Geoffrey Chaucer
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Edward Estlin Cummings
Cambridge, Massachusetts, 14 oktober 1894
– North Conway (New Hampshire), 3 september 1962.
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John Donne (spreek uit: "Dun")
Londen, 1572 – Londen, 31 maart 1631.
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John Dryden
19 augustus 1631 – 12 mei 1700.
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Thomas Stearns Eliot
Saint Louis (Missouri), 6 september 1888
– Londen, 4 januari 1965.
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William Cuthbert Faulkner
25 september 1897 - 6 juli 1962
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Gedichtenbundels - William Faulkner
* Vision in Spring (1921)
* The Marble Faun (1924)
* This Earth, a Poem (1932)
* A Green Bough (1965)
* Mississippi Poems (1979)
* Helen, a Courtship and Mississippi Poems (1981)
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Lake Poets is de benaming voor een kleine groep dichters die langere of kortere tijd leefden en werkten in het noord-Engelse Lake District.
De groep bestond uit de met elkaar bevriende romantische dichters William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge en Robert Southey.
Wordsworth groeide op in dit gebied, en vestigde zich in 1799 in Grasmere. Zijn vriend en toeverlaat Coleridge zocht zijn toevlucht in 1800 in Keswick en Southey volgde hem in 1803. In veel van hun werk beschreven zij de schoonheid van het Merengebied. Wordsworth en Coleridge publiceerden gezamenlijk in 1798 het voor de romantische beweging invloedrijke en baanbrekende werk Lyrical Ballads.
Bron: Wikipedia.
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De romantiek was een stroming in de Westerse cultuur die zich aan het einde van de 18e eeuw en het begin van de 19e eeuw sterk deed gelden in de kunst en het intellectuele leven van met name Duitsland, Frankrijk en het Verenigd Koninkrijk.
Bron: Wikipedia.
W.H. Auden 1907 -1973
W.H. Auden 1907 -1973
Horend van oogsten ...
Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden
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Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
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Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
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He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
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The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
William Carlos Williams
William Carlos Williams
Rutherford (New Jersey), 17 september 1883
- aldaar, 4 maart 1963.
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In het Nederlands vertaalde bloemlezing
uit de poëzie van William Carlos Williams:
Even dit, vertaald en ingeleid door Huub Beurskens,
in een tweetalige uitgave bij Meulenhoff.
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The Dance by William Carlos Williams
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In Breughel's great picture, The Kermess,
the dancers go round, they go round and
around, the squeal and the blare and the
tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and fiddles
tipping their bellies, (round as the thick-
sided glasses whose wash they impound)
their hips and their bellies off balance
to turn them. Kicking and rolling about
the Fair Grounds, swinging their butts, those
shanks must be sound to bear up under such
rollicking measures, prance as they dance
in Breughel's great picture, The Kermess
IN THE FOREST by Oscar Wilde
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Out of the mid-wood's twilight
Into the meadow's dawn,
Ivory limbed and brown-eyed,
Flashes my Faun!
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He skips through the copses singing,
And his shadow dances along,
And I know not which I should follow,
Shadow or song!
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O Hunter, snare me his shadow!
O Nightingale, catch me his strain!
Else moonstruck with music and madness
I track him in vain!
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John Milton
John Milton
Het paradijs verloren,
Nederlandse vertaling van Paradise lost....
Paradise Lost is een episch gedicht,
geschreven door de Engelse 17e eeuwse dichter
John Milton.
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Hij geldt als één van de belangrijkste schrijvers
uit de Engelse literatuurgeschiedenis.
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Light by John Milton
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HAIL holy light, ofspring of Heav'n first-born,
Or of th' Eternal Coeternal beam
May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from Eternitie, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream,
Whose Fountain who shall tell? before the Sun,
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a Mantle didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing,
Escap't the Stygian Pool, though long detain'd
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne
With other notes then to th' Orphean Lyre
I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night,
Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to reascend,
Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sovran vital Lamp; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that rowle in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quencht thir Orbs,
Or dim suffusion veild. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt
Cleer Spring, or shadie Grove, or Sunnie Hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief
Thee Sion and the flowrie Brooks beneath
That wash thy hallowd feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit: nor somtimes forget
Those other two equal'd with me in Fate,
So were I equal'd with them in renown.
Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides,
And Tiresias and Phineus Prophets old.
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntarie move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful Bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest Covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal Note. Thus with the Year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of Ev'n or Morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summers Rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud in stead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the chearful waies of men
Cut off, and for the Book of knowledg fair
Presented with a Universal blanc
Of Natures works to mee expung'd and ras'd,
And wisdome at one entrance quite shut out.
So much the rather thou Celestial light
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers
Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.
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Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes 1930
De aarde sloot
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Wind by Ted Hughes
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This house has been far out at sea all night,
The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills,
Winds stampeding the fields under the window
Floundering black astride and blinding wet
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Till day rose; then under an orange sky
The hills had new places, and wind wielded
Blade-light, luminous black and emerald,
Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.
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At noon I scaled along the house-side as far as
The coal-house door. Once I looked up -
Through the brunt wind that dented the balls of my eyes
The tent of the hills drummed and strained its guyrope,
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The fields quivering, the skyline a grimace,
At any second to bang and vanish with a flap;
The wind flung a magpie away and a black-
Back gull bent like an iron bar slowly. The house
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Rang like some fine green goblet in the note
That any second would shatter it. Now deep
In chairs, in front of the great fire, we grip
Our hearts and cannot entertain book, thought,
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Or each other. We watch the fire blazing,
And feel the roots of the house move, but sit on,
Seeing the window tremble to come in,
Hearing the stones cry out under the horizons.
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