Category Archives: Famous Poetry

Beautiful Translations

IMG_0108

(Via penamerican:)

、、、 、 stones single, or in handfuls

throwing them

to the sea

I foresee„,

no ‘good or bad’ fortune

but whether or not there is a song.

Sayuri Okamoto, winner of a 2014 PEN/Heim Translation Fund Grant, translates the aurally and visually stunning poetry of the ‘untranslatable’ Japanese poet Gozo Yoshimasu. You can also read Okamoto’s essay on her translation process here.

http://www.pen.org/poetry/dear-monster-naked-poetry-gozo-yoshimasu

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H. P. Lovecraft’s Silly Christmas Poem

I Make Stories

Did you know the granddaddy of cosmic horror wrote a super cheesy Christmas poem? Well, he did! Entitled Christmas, this little poem was first published in the The Tryout magazine in November 1920. It reminds me of something you’d read inside a card, or to quote my friend Kevin, “That poem sounds like where Thomas Kinkade got all his inspiration.” He’s not wrong:

The cottage hearth beams warm and bright,

The candles gaily glow;

The stars emit a kinder light

Above the drifted snow.

Down from the sky a magic steals

To glad the passing year,

And belfries sing with joyous peals,

For Christmastide is here!

So there you go, an H.P. Lovecraft’s Christmas poem. It’s kind of… er… upbeat for him don’t you think? Big thanks to The H.P. Lovecraft Archive for the publication history. They are a great resource and I highly recommend them. I have no idea where the…

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Rare Sappho Poem Discovered

Rare Sappho Poem Discovered

~ Mail Online journalist Victoria Woollaston gives us the skinny about this once in a lifetime literary discovery. The image is the Sappho poem, written on a 1,700 year old torn papyrus.

Link to the article:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2548083/Rare-Sappho-love-poems-discovered-tattered-1-700-year-old-papyrus.html

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‘The Fly’ by William Blake

A poem for every day

Little Fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.

I read The Fly today and it reminded me of a line from King Lear, when Gloucester says: “Like flies to wanton boys are we to the Gods,/ They kill us for their sport.” Like that line from Shakespeare, Blake’s poem (from his Songs of Experience) explores the idea that man lives constantly under the shadow of the “blind hand” of death, just as a fly is subject to the whims of the “thoughtless hand” of man.

The way Blake…

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