Ποίηση: Ο Μικρός Ναυτίλος | Οδυσσέας Ελύτης

Είπα θα φύγω. Τώρα. Μ’ ό,τι να ‘ναι: τον σάκο μου τον ταξιδιωτικό στον ώμο· στην τσέπη μου έναν Οδηγό· τη φωτογραφική μου μηχανή στο χέρι. Βαθιά στο χώμα και βαθιά στο σώμα μου θα πάω να βρω ποιος είμαι. Τί δίνω, τί μου δίνουν και περισσεύει το άδικο.

♦ Οδυσσέας Ελύτης, Ο Μικρός Ναυτίλος (Είσοδος)

Ποίηση: No Coward Soul is Mine | Emily Brontë

No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere
I see Heaven’s glories shine
And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear
O God within my breast
Almighty ever-present Deity
Life, that in me hast rest,
As I Undying Life, have power in Thee
Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain,
Worthless as withered weeds
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main
To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thy infinity,
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of Immortality.
With wide-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears
Though earth and moon were gone
And suns and universes ceased to be
And Thou wert left alone
Every Existence would exist in thee
There is not room for Death
Nor atom that his might could render void
Since thou art Being and Breath
And what thou art may never be destroyed.

Ποίηση: The Beach at Kamini | Leonard Cohen

Illustration by Kanako | My Little Paris

The sailboats
the silver water
the crystals of salt
on her eyelashes
All the world
sudden and shining
the moment befor G-d
turned you inward.


– Leonard Cohen, {The Beach at Kamini}, Book of Longing

Ποίηση: Maud | Alfred Tennyson

Παγκόσμια ημέρα Ποίησης σήμερα, σύμφωνα με απόφαση της Unesco το 1999. Μια ημέρα για να θυμηθούμε και να αναγνωρίσουμε τη μοναδική ικανότητα της ποίησης να συλλάβει το δημιουργικό πνεύμα του ανθρώπινου νου. Ένας από τους κύριους στόχους της Ημέρας είναι η υποστήριξη της γλωσσικής πολυμορφίας μέσω της ποιητικής έκφρασης και η παροχή ευκαιριών ακρόασης στις κοινότητες τους. Κάτι πολύ όμορφο που σημειώνει η Unesco στο site της είναι ότι:
Η ποίηση επιβεβαιώνει την κοινή μας ανθρωπιά, αποκαλύπτοντας ότι τα άτομα, παντού στον κόσμο, μοιράζονται τα ίδια ερωτήματα και συναισθήματα. Η ποίηση είναι ο στυλοβάτης της προφορικής παράδοσης και, μέσα σε αιώνες, μπορεί να επικοινωνήσει τις εσωτερικές αξίες διαφορετικών πολιτισμών.
Σήμερα επέλεξα να μοιραστώ μαζί σας ένα βίντεο απ’ τη σειρά Penny Dreadful, όπου βλέπουμε την ηρωίδα να απαγγέλλει μερικούς στίχους του Alfred Tennyson την ημέρα που ανακοινώνεται ο θάνατος του. Στη συνέχεια, σας παραθέτω και μέρος του ποιήματος Maud, απ’ το οποίο προέρχονται οι στίχοι που απαγγέλλει η Vanessa Ives, aka. η ηθοποιός Eva Green.

Maud (Part XVIII): I have led her Home, my love, my only friend

I have led her home, my love, my only friend,
There is none like her, none.
And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly, on and on
Calming itself to the long-wished-for end,
Full to the banks, close on the promised good.
None like her, none.
Just now the dry-tongued laurels’ pattering talk
Seem’d her light foot along the garden walk,
And shook my heart to think she comes once more;
But even then I heard her close the door,
The gates of Heaven are closed, and she is gone.
 ♦
There is none like her, none.
Nor will be when our summers have deceased.
O, art thou sighing for Lebanon
In the long breeze that streams to thy delicious East,
Sighing for Lebanon,
Dark cedar, tho’ thy limbs have here increased,
Upon a pastoral slope as fair,
 ♦
And looking to the South, and fed
With honeyed rain and delicate air,
And haunted by the starry head
Of her whose gentle will has changed my fate,
And made my life a perfumed altar-frame;
And over whom thy darkness must have spread
With such delight as theirs of old, thy great
Forefathers of the thornless garden, there
Shadowing the snow-limbed Eve from whom she came.
 ♦
Here will I lie, while these long branches sway,
And you fair stars that crown a happy day
Go in and out as if at merry play,
Who am no more so all forlorn,
As when it seemed far better to be born
To labour and the mattock-hardened hand
Than nursed at ease and brought to understand
A sad astrology, the boundless plan
That makes you tyrants in your iron skies,
Innumerable, pitiless, passionless eyes,
Cold fires, yet with power to burn and brand
His nothingness into man.
 ♦
But now shine on, and what care I,
Who in this stormy gulf have found a pearl
The countercharm of space and hollow sky,
And do accept my madness, and would die
To save from some slight shame one simple girl.
 ♦
Would die; for sullen-seeming Death may give
More life to Love than is or ever was
In our low world, where yet ’tis sweet to live.
Let no one ask me how it came to pass;
It seems that I am happy, that to me
A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass,
A purer sapphire melts into the sea.
 ♦
Not die; but live a life of truest breath,
And teach true life to fight with mortal wrongs.
Oh, why should Love, like men in drinking-songs,
Spice his fair banquet with the dust of death?
 ♦
Make answer, Maud my bliss,
Maud made my Maud by that long loving kiss,
Life of my life, wilt thou not answer this?
“The dusky strand of Death inwoven here
With dear Love’s tie, makes love himself more dear.”
Is that enchanted moan only the swell
Of the long waves that roll in yonder bay?
And hark the clock within, the silver knell
Of twelve sweet hours that past in bridal white,
And die to live, long as my pulses play;
But now by this my love has closed her sight
And given false death her hand, and stol’n away
To dreamful wastes where footless fancies dwell
 ♦
Among the fragments of the golden day.
May nothing there her maiden grace affright!
Dear heart, I feel with thee the drowsy spell.
My bride to be, my evermore delight,
My own heart’s heart, my ownest own, farewell;
It is but for a little space I go:
And ye meanwhile far over moor and fell
Beat to the noiseless music of the night!
Has our whole earth gone nearer to the glow
Of your soft splendour that you look so bright?
I have climbed nearer out of lonely Hell.
Beat, happy stars, timing with things below, 
Beat with my heart more blest than heart can tell. 
Blest, but for some dark undercurrent woe 
That seems to draw—but it shall not be so: 
Let all be well, be well.

 

source: Poetry Foundation 

Ποίηση: The Satin Dress | Dorothy Parker

Grace Kelly @ the 27th Academy Awards (1955)

Κάποιο απόγευμα του Νοέμβρη αποφάσισα να διαβάσω αποσπασματικά απ’ το βιβλίο The Portable Dorothy Parker. Εκεί που ξεφύλλιζα ανέμελα τις σελίδες του βιβλίου έπεσα πάνω στην ποίηση της. Και διαβάζοντας το The Satin Dress το μυαλό μου γέμισε εικόνες απ’ τις υπέροχες τουαλέτες που σχεδίασε την Χρυσή εποχή του Hollywood η Edith Head.

The Satin Dress

Needle, needle, dip and dart,
Thrusting up and down,
Where’s the man could ease a heart
Like a satin gown?

See the stitches curve and crawl
Round the cunning seams-
Patterns thin and sweet and small
As a lady’s dreams.

Wantons go in bright brocade;
Brides in organdie;
Gingham’s for the plighted maid;
Satin’s for the free!

Wool’s to line a miser’s chest;
Crepe’s to calm the old;
Velvet hides an empty breast
Satin’s for the bold!

Lawn is for a bishop’s yoke;
Linen’s for a nun;
Satin is for wiser folk-
Would the dress were done!

Satin glows in candlelight-
Satin’s for the proud!
They will say who watch at night,
«What a fine shroud!»