Poems
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02-11-2012, 05:27 PM
Poems
Limerick or Sonnet, Epic or Haiku or doggerel verse. Any and all poems, quoted or original, post your favorites here.



A book of verses underneath the bough
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou
Beside me singing in the wilderness--
Ah! Wilderness were paradise enow!

E 2 = (mc 2)2 + (pc )2
614C → 714N + e + ̅νe
2 K(s) + 2 H2O(l) → 2 KOH(aq) + H2 (g) + 196 kJ/mol
It works, bitches.
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04-11-2012, 02:32 AM
RE: Poems
Will do.

Also don't forget our own bards a whimsicians in the Poets' Corner thread....

http://www.thethinkingatheist.com/forum/...er?page=22

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04-11-2012, 02:57 AM
RE: Poems
(02-11-2012 05:27 PM)Phaedrus Wrote:  A book of verses underneath the bough







A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou







Beside me singing in the wilderness--







Ah! Wilderness were paradise enow!
I recently had to translate this Khayyam bit into my language as it was quoted in a book and the original has never been translated... took me a while but the result wasn't too bad.

"In the white mist – a dove coos.
Going nowhere."

"Quietly disappearing between the golden trees,
the path and I."
Because here it's autumn...

"E se non passa la tristezza con altri occhi la guarderò."
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06-11-2012, 08:12 AM
RE: Poems
"To Raja Rao"



Raja, I wish I knew
the cause of that malady.

For years I could not accept
the place I was in.
I felt I should be somewhere else.
A city, trees, human voices
lacked the quality of presence.
I would live by the hope of moving on.

Somewhere else there was a city of real presence,
of real trees and voices and friendship and love.
Link, if you wish, my peculiar case
(on the border of schizophrenia)
to the messianic hope
of my civilization.
Ill at ease in the tyranny, ill at ease in the republic,
in the one I longed for freedom, in the other for the end of
corruption.
Building in my mind a permanent polis
forever deprived of aimless bustle.

I learned at last to say: this is my home,
here, before the glowing coal of ocean sunsets,
on the shore which faces the shores of your Asia,
in a great republic, moderately corrupt.
Raja, this did not cure me
of my guilt and shame.
A shame of failing to be
what I should have been.
The image of myself
grows gigantic on the wall
and against it
my miserable shadow.
That's how I came to believe
in Original Sin
which is nothing but the first
victory of the ego.
Tormented by my ego, deluded by it
I give you, as you see, a ready argument.
I hear you saying that liberation is possible
and that Socratic wisdom
is identical with your guru's.
No, Raja, I must start from what I am.
I am those monsters which visit my dreams
and reveal to me my hidden essence.
If I am sick, there is no proof whatsoever
that man is a healthy creature.

Greece had to lose, her pure consciousness
had to make our agony only more acute.
We needed God loving us in our weakness
and not in the glory of beatitude.
No help, Raja, my part is agony,
struggle, abjection, self-love, and self-hate,
prayer for the Kingdom
and reading Pascal.

"E se non passa la tristezza con altri occhi la guarderò."
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