It is Poetry Day today:
October 8, 2015. In celebration of the Poetry Day, though we celebrate
October as Poetry Month, we present a selection of offerings on the
Poetry Day for the Poetry Month October. Poetry is not for a day the way
breathing is not for a particular moment. It is a necessity for the soul
that stays hungry unless it is given food in the forms of poetry, music and
that what is the outcomes of all human imagination: art or beauty ( that is
truth if you take John Keats' words for it; we do). '
And here, on Poetry Day, I
shall tell you about the most beautiful thing I have ever found on a walk:
on a summer's day this year, I found a white envelope on which was printed a
poem by Maya Angelou (Touched by an Angel). I print the photo here of the
envelope with the beautiful poem so that you may read and enjoy its
profound joys and celebration of life.
And here is Natalia
Carbajosa, on Poetry Day, sending us her craft, from Spain in the original
Spanish and in English translation. Happy Poetry Day.
And, it is for us, Poetry
Month, so, please, send in your works if you would like us to publish it
Touched by an
Angel : Maya Angelou
And here is another one
from the old age
'And I will arise and
go now, and go to Innisfree............
Portsmouth of Heaven On Poetry Day
''And I will arise and go
now, and go to Innisfree, ............. ''
And I will go now now now
And climb up the hill the hill the hill
To build a castle upon the green green green
Of stones of highest highs highs highs
I will go now now now
And call out the name the name the name
Of the Portsmouth of Heavens to open her doors
And pour pour pour
Only lights of soft and subtle photons dancing
And calling onto spectrum of colours mad mad mad
And I will go now now now
And call up and climb the hill the hill the hill
And call the name the name the name to rise reach and seize
Poetry Day 2015
Sonnet : Christina
AVISTAMIENTO DE CETÁCEOS :
on Poetry Day, Spain
son, me parecen,
las palabras: monstruos ágiles
que resbalan por el agua
Y como ya
van enseñando los años
y nada más que mirar
lo que no es nuestro y solo
entregados al oficio: mirar
y dejar ir,
que tiene su propia ley
que no es propio del tamaño de un poeta
--de su orgullo varado en la orilla--
As that is the way
words are: old and agile
slipping down the dark,
And as years
have taught us
and nothing else than stare
at what is not ours and simply
here we are,
devoted to our task: to stare
and let go,
for horizon has
its own rules,
which does not befit a poet’s size
--his shore-stranded pride—
( Translation by the poet herself.)
More Poetry of Natalia Carbajosa
The Captive Ladie
: Michael Madhusudan Dutta
The star of Eve is in the sky,
But pale it shines and tremblingly,
As if the solitude around,
So vast, so wild, without a bound.
Hath in its softly throbbing breast
Awak'd some maiden fear — unrest :
Tis eve — the
dew's on leaf and flower.
The soft breeze in the moon-lit bower,
And fire-flies with pale gleaming gems
Upon their fairy diadems,
Like winged stars now walk the deep
Of space soft-hushed in dewy ^leep.
And people every leaf and tree
With beauty and with radiancy.
There's light upon the heaving stream,
And music sweet as heard in dream,
And many a star upon its breast
Is calmly pillow'd unto rest.
While there, as on a silver throne,
All melancholy, veil'd, alone.
Beneath the pale Moon's colder ray,
The Bride of him — the Lord of Day,
In silence droops, as in lone bower
The love-lorn maid at twilight hour.
She looks not on the smiling sky.
The wide expanse blue, far and high.
She looks not on the stars above
Throbbing like bosoms breathing love ;
Nor lists she to the breeze so gay,
Which whispers round in wanton play,
And stirs soft waves of starry gleam
To wake her from that moody dream.
The moon-light's on yon frowning pile,
But oh I how faint and pale its smile I
Methinks yon high and gloomy tow'r
And battlement and faded bow'r,
With awful hush and solitude
Have chird its soft and joyous mood
This fortress is the prison of the captive princess whose
guards deplore the duty that keeps them from the more
active service of their time : —
You tell me that yon captive lone
Would grace the proudest monarch's throne,
And that from regal bowers she came,
And halls whose splendour has no name,
Because she lov'd some chief whose pride
Would stoop not, e'en to win his bride.
To her proud father ; for his hand
Could wield as well the warrior brand,
And his the race who ne'er hath shown
Submission to a stranger's throne ;
And ne'er hath lowly bent the knee
To Powers of this wide earth that be !
I grieve to hear her piteous tale ;
And must such cruel fate bewail ;
I grieve to hear that maiden fair
Should shed the tear of dark Despair,
Omar Khaiyyam :
Browning : Aurora Leigh
Edmund Spenser :
The Faerie Queene
Bonolota Shen : Jibonananda Das ( Jeebonaanondo
Thousands of years I have been walking on this earth’s paths
Edging deeper from the Ocean of Shinghal in the darkness I
Roamed over around circling away. From the grey worlds of
Vimbeesha and Aushok further in the depth-dark Veedhorbo
City a tired soul I was; everywhere life’s raging ocean foaming
Away. Natore’s Bonolota Shen had given me a moment’s peace
Her hair was the distant night of Vidhisha her face was the lost
Shrabostir’s artworks. I have seen her the way the shipwrecked
Lost sailor far out at sea sees the green-grass country- the
Mon Island in dark. Raising her bird-nest-eyes Natore’s Bonolota
Shen has spoken out: “Where have you been all these times?”
At day’s end the dusk dawns like the sounds of dew falling over
The falcon wipes over the fragrance of the sunlights off its
The fireflies arrange over the manuscript for story telling in
Colours in shimmering fire-blooms to compensate the loss of all
The colours of the earth that are wiped over out by the darkness
All all birds come home-all rivers close off all transactions of
Remains only the darkness, to sit face to face with Bonolota
Translation : Munayem Mayenin
Letter Magazine Archives Poetry Pearl : Katherine Michaud
Emma Lazarus : The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Love After Love: Derek
The Indian Serenade : P.
I arise from
dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Hath led me-who knows how?-
To thy chamber window, Sweet!
The wondering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream-
The Champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart;-
As I must on thine,
Beloved as thou art!
O lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale,
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;-
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last.
Sonnet : Pablo
Shakespeare : From Romeo and Juliet
W. B. Yeats : The
Lake Isle of Innisfree
Where the Mind is
Without Fear :
I Stood Tip-toe
Upon a Little Hill : John Keats
In Your Shadow :
Across the bluff you danced
While I tiptoed in your shadow
Wavering as a flame in March eagerness
Hastening toward a fertile spring
: Claire Askew
We came in the cold afternoon, having driven
miles; late - the fire lit for us since lunchtime -
and lost beneath the shuddering tent of sky.
We are strangers in the land that birthed us,
long ago; though our speech coats quickly
with the curve of its tongue, its Nordic towns
familiar - Broxa. Hackness. Helmsley. Thirsk
The Address : Sharon Harriott
Tree green, dotted with tiny white flowers,
The large roomed imitated a forest glade.
So different to outside, the grey, and the red.
The cars, the shops and the school run.
I AM ME : Katherine Michaud
Of everything, a little stayed.
The world, vast and unexplored by my eyes,
never called my name.
The office, seemingly always open.
The groceries, seemingly always gone.
I am here.
Paradox : Isobel Dixon
There’s no telling what
will make the heart leap, frog-
like, landing with a soggy plop.
The Goddess of Spring :
Sara L. Russell
When next the moon, in soft pearlescent mist,
Ascends over these Sussex hills of green,
In dreaming skies of smoky amethyst,
The goddess of the Spring will soon be seen.
The Candle Won't Blow Out Celebration of William
There is no better way to celebrate
William Shakespeare than reading his life's works
What a piece of work
is a ''man''! How noble in reason! how infinite in
faculties! in form and moving, how express and
admirable! in action, how like an angel! in
apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the
world! The paragon of animals!
Let me not to the marriage of
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
400 years since the passing of
William Shakespeare this year, yet he seems as young by
as many years...................
The Candle Won't Blow Out Celebration of William