There is little premium in poetry in a world that thinks of Pound and Whitman as a weight and a sampler, not an Ezra, a Walt, a thing of beauty, a joy forever.
quote by Anna Quindlen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pact
I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman -
I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a grown child
Who has had a pig-headed father;
I am old enough now to make friends.
It was you that broke the new wood,
Now is a time for carving.
We have one sap and one root -
Let there be commerce between us.
poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Any pioneer of a revolution in poetry - and Mr. Pound is more responsible for the XXth Century revolution in poetry than is any other individual - is sure to attack some venerated names.
T.S. Eliot in Introduction to «Literary Essays of Ezra Pound» (1954)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, it provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?
quote by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Apple from Walt Whitman
There's never been a poet where I live,
but I grew up in the shade of Whitman's name:
born in West Hills—our hills—he would have walked
our paths along the crest. I walked Whitman Road,
crashed the Whitman Drive-In, stole a book
from the sci-fi rack at the Melville-Whitman Pharmacy,
even played lacrosse against Whitman High;
we lost three times, the guys from Halfway Hollow,
to young men with Whitman in white on their varsity jackets.
My mother tells a story about Thanksgiving,
back when kids went begging in rags and blackface:
how Carrie Wicks's sister said she got
an apple from Walt Whitman, right at his house,
an old man with a beard. The big kids laughed,
knowing the white-haired caretaker was no one.
I set no foot inside the Whitman House
or Leaves of Grass till after I went away,
but I'm better having grown up with the name,
the house and hills of a poet everyone knew,
a poet big enough in the mothers' stories
for a girl to believe he came to the door with a long
white beard and smiled and handed her an apple.
If a poet the size of Whitman named our few
square miles and a few in Jersey it's going to take
a lot more big ones to hand us all a welcome
sweet as a Thanksgiving apple from Walt Whitman,
white-haired care-taker, seed of mothers' stories,
Appleseed of our poetry: nourishment, shade.
poem by Eric Torgersen
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Haci Bektas Veli
Haci Bektas Veli..
I come to you to bend the neck
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
I always remember the way it deserves path
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
Familiar way to the path of
Yesevi have himmet
We dived into the universe with love
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
Addressed in the language of a waist
Whether the road came to profess
Yes, even if said
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
We had a treasure drops
Haq, Muhammad Ali chose
Shirt reaped more than
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
Such a İnce son, made the
Safety can flesh is dead
Suluca Höyük come
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
by sabit ince
poem by Sabit Ince from Anatolia poetry anthılogy (2001), translated by Sabit ince
Submitted by anonym
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Haci Bektas Veli..
I come to you to bend the neck
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
I always remember the way it deserves path
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
Familiar way to the path of
Yesevi have himmet
We dived into the universe with love
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
Addressed in the language of a waist
Whether the road came to profess
Yes, even if said
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
We had a treasure drops
Haq, Muhammad Ali chose
Shirt reaped more than
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
Such a İnce son, made the
Safety can flesh is dead
Suluca Höyük come
Haci Bektas Veli premium..
by sabit ince
Sabit Ince in Anatolia poetry Anthology (2001)
Submitted by Sabit Ince
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FROM- ezra-pound- and walt whitman -THE ARTS -BY WAEL MOREICHEH
MOREICHEH..... FROM ERZA POUND AND WALT WHITMAN - THE ARTS O`NO
HOW i can love world of girls HOW I CAN LOVE YOU LONELY
IT`S? ? ? ? ? CAN NOT KNOW
ANY DIFFERENT BETWEEN WAR AND peace in time second world war
AND THAT`S PART FROM CIA IN LONDON
WHEN LOVER RAIN DOWN VALLEY CAN RAINBOW
TOUCH MY LADY LOVE RUSH HOURS AND HOT.LOVE
poem by Wael Moreicheh
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Colloquial poetry is to the real art as the barber's wax dummy is to sculpture.
quote by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Far And So Far, And On Toward The End
SO far, and so far, and on toward the end,
Singing what is sung in this book, from the irresistible impulses of
me;
But whether I continue beyond this book, to maturity,
Whether I shall dart forth the true rays, the ones that wait unfired,
(Did you think the sun was shining its brightest?
No--it has not yet fully risen;)
Whether I shall complete what is here started,
Whether I shall attain my own height, to justify these, yet
unfinished,
Whether I shall make THE POEM OF THE NEW WORLD, transcending all
others--depends, rich persons, upon you,
Depends, whoever you are now filling the current Presidentiad, upon
you, 10
Upon you, Governor, Mayor, Congressman,
And you, contemporary America.
Whitman, Walt. 1900. Leaves of Grass.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Poetry Is All In One!
Passion for poetry is insatiable!
Poetry gives pleasure nothing can!
Poetry is many subjects under one roof!
Poetry never bores to write and read ever!
Poetry is a compression of many ideas in a nut shell!
Poetry displays power of pen to capture men ever!
Poetry captures as photo castles built in air!
Poetry is spontaneous over flow of ides!
Poetry flows free if extemporary!
Poetry is prolific words sure!
Poetry is a thing of joy!
Poetry is beauty!
Poetry is witty!
Poetry cheers!
poem by Ramesh T A
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The beauty of independence, departure, actions that rely on themselves.
quote by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
poem by Ezra Pound from Poetry: A Magazine of Verse (1913)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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And New York is the most beautiful city in the world? It is not far from it. No urban night is like the night there... Squares after squares of flame, set up and cut into the aether. Here is our poetry, for we have pulled down the stars to our will.
quote by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come, Said My Soul
Come, said my soul,
Such verses for my body let us write, (For we are One),
That should I after death invisibly return,
Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,
There to some group of mates the chants resuming,
(Tallying Earth's soil, trees, winds, tumultous waves,)
Ever with pleas'd smile I may keep on
Ever and ever to the verses owning - as, first, I here and now,
Signing for soul and body, set them to my name,
Walt Whitman.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Fame obviously has become a premium in everybody's life. Everybody thinks they deserve it, everybody thinks they want it and most people really don't enjoy it once they get it.
quote by Kelsey Grammer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Be A Bukowski Or An Emily? They Are All Dead
hey friend, dear poet
why be an emily dickenson or a charles bukowski
or a walt whitman or an ezra pound
look man, they are all dead
they're great, they have given themselves
extraordinary fames
commensurate to their extraordinary works
but they are all dead
and they have no more possibilities
they are all impotents
and faded and (forgive the word)
gone, gone, gone, gone.
let them be but part of our memories,
nothing but maps, guides, to the roads that we must now
take,
ghosts, famous ghosts, but ghosts just the same,
spirits, their poems are here with us
as a legacy
but we are alive, we are the possibilities
we are more than miserable with our
search for meaning
our quest to justify our insignificances
these little cravings for light
and scent and color
these little lives we have
if true to our miseries
as they were true to theirs
we can even be more
than what they had in their own time
in their own lives
have become......
sail on man, sail on, in the ocean of possibilities
in the vast space of our potentialities
we can be ourselves, truly ourselves,
that to me,
is greatness enough
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poet Who Thinks Only Of Poetry
THE POET WHO THINKS ONLY OF POETRY
The poet who thinks only of poetry
And for whom Poetry is all of life
May be a poet for poets,
But makes the world of Poetry
Smaller than it should be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Of Jacopo Del Sellaio
This man knew out the secret ways of love,
No man could paint such things who did not know.
And now she's gone, who was his Cyprian,
And you are here, who are ‘The Isles’ to me.
And here's the thing that lasts the whole thing out:
The eyes of this dead lady speak to me.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Weight Of The World
I used to carry the weight of the world
On my back
I never trusted my friends or my girl
Can you imagine that
I used to shuffle my feet
When I walked I hung my head down low
Kept to myself all my private thoughts
But when I met you girl.
I dropped the weight of the world
Weight of the world
I dropped the weight of the world
Weight of the world.
I knew some people used to dance all night
But not me
I never knew if it was wrong or right
To be so free
I used to close my eyes
And try to hide from the light of love
Spent all my time with the darkness inside
But when I met you girl.
I dropped the weight of the world
Weight of the world
I dropped the weight of the world
Weight of the world.
I was alone for all of my life
I was alone for all of my life
I was alone for all of my life
I was alone for all of my life
Until you came my way
I dropped the weight of the world
Weight of the world
I dropped the weight of the world
Weight of the world.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Carols
THESE Carols, sung to cheer my passage through the world I see,
For completion, I dedicate to the Invisible World.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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