Rome - the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar.
quote by George Eliot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Epitaph To Rome
If midst Rome you wish to see Rome, pilgrim,
Tho in Rome naught of Rome might you see,
Behold the walls' ring, the theatres, temples
And ruptured pillars, to rubble all turned,
Rome be these! Mark how the corpse of a city
So strong still past fortune's pomp exudes;
Subduing a world, herself the city subdued
Lest yet more to subdue might there be.
Today in broken Rome, Rome unbroken
(A substance in its shadow) lies entombed.
Within all's changed; alone past change
Tiber remains, that to sea runs mixed with sand.
See what Fortune plays: 'tis wasted away,
What was unmoving; what moved, yet remains.
poem by Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
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The History of Now
The recording of culture is history;
but our culture is more than that.
It's the world of human action,
and the myths we make of the fact.
The recording of history is culture,
but our history is more than that.
It informs a hidden agenda.
Unconscious of motive we act.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
It's only the present that exists as endowed.
It's the history of now. The moment - KAPOW!
That knocks you right over and muddies your brow.
Through the prism of language, we know what we know.
We carry our baggage and stories of woe.
Victor and vanquished pride cannot budge,
the dead weight of hatred and ancestral grudge.
We fight our good fights with our hand on our heart;
the music is swelling as loved ones depart.
As sheep to the slaughter, the script cannot chart,
a course more ignoble: the propagandist's art.
The recording of history is culture,
but our culture is more than that.
More than the great individuals,
the scholars so love in their tracts.
The recording of culture is history;
but our history is more than that.
Not simple dates or statistics,
the full horror and gore still attracts.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
A strange contradiction that makes sense somehow.
It's the history of now, a mystery and shroud.
The past and the future: best fiction allowed.
poem by David SmithWhite
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Homage To Sextus Propertius - VI
When, when, and whenever death closes our eyelids,
Moving naked over Acheron
Upon the one raft, victor and conquered together,
Marius and Jugurtha together,
one tangle of shadows.
Caesar plots against India,
Tigris and Euphrates shall, from now on, flow at his bidding,
Tibet shall be full of Roman policemen,
The Parthians shall get used to our statuary
and acquire a Roman religion;
One raft on the veiled flood of Acheron,
Marius and Jugurtha together.
Nor at my funeral either will there be any long trail,
bearing ancestral lares and images;
No trumpets filled with my emptiness,
Nor shall it be on an Atalic bed;
The perfumed cloths shall be absent.
A small plebeian procession.
Enough, enough and in plenty
There will be three books at my obsequies
Which I take, my not unworthy gift, to Persephone.
You will follow the bare scarified breast
Nor will you be weary of calling my name, nor too weary
To place the last kiss on my lips
When the Syrian onyx is broken.
‘He who is now vacant dust
'Was once the slave of one passion:'
Give that much inscription
‘Death why tardily come?'
You, sometimes, will lament a lost friend,
For it is a custom:
This care for past men,
Since Adonis was gored in Idalia, and the Cytharean
Ran crying with out-spread hair,
In vain, you call back the shade,
In vain, Cynthia. Vain call to unanswering shadow,
Small talk comes from small bones.
poem by Ezra Pound
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I look at Rome; She has nearly three thousand years of civilization, but she flows as if she were new, looking as young and carefree as water when she makes water. A city where art and culture predominate more than anything else.
Overall, Rome is a mysterious city. The ancient ruins on the one hand suggest the glory of the Roman Empire, on the other they strike the opulence and grandeur of the Baroque buildings. And last but not least, be captivated by the speed and crazy rhythms of today's civilization translated into the huge number of tourists in the city, flooded with people, cameras and souvenirs. Everyone chooses his Rome, be it imperial, baroque or modern. But for everyone the city, once the center of the world, is a real historical symbol.
Camelia Oprița in book Wall of thoughts (We look for the past to invent the future) (2000)
Submitted by Livius Ciocarlie
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By The Bivouac's Fitful Flame
BY the bivouac's fitful flame,
A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow;--but first
I note,
The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outline,
The darkness, lit by spots of kindled fire--the silence;
Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving;
The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily
watching me;)
While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous thoughts,
Of life and death--of home and the past and loved, and of those that
are far away;
A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground,
By the bivouac's fitful flame. 10
poem by Walt Whitman
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Officer Down
Good-bye to you Officer Rodney Holder...
Good-bye to one of our finest-most brave-
Good-bye to all of the protection you afforded us...
Your service shall not pass away with the grave;
Fifty years young you only were-
All of this town and other Texas cities came for your view...
City citizens lined the streets of your funeral procession...
Good-bye Rodney-our town-will surely miss you;
No more to see your smiling face...
No more to feel quite as secure...
No more will you Grace our city streets...
You were the very best-that is for sure;
May 3,2010
On the Loss and Funeral Of Rodney Holder-age 50
Aman of honor for 28 years.
Leaves behind a wife, a daughter and young son.
And this whole town.
poem by Theodora Onken
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Jaipur – The City Of Magnificence And Past Glory
Jaipur – the city of magnificence and past glory
Jaipur – the city of gorgeous palaces, each of which has an interesting story.
Jaipur – the city of royals, and an epitome of class and aristocracy
Jaipur – the city for History enthusiasts, and also for those who are Polo crazy.
Jaipur – the marvelous capital of India’s desert kingdom of Rajasthan
A perfectly modern city that retains its touch with the past with aplomb and élan.
Images of Time
The images in my mind is like my thoughts.
Expressing my thoughts is like expressing my feelings.
Words are spoken.All my images are broken.
Broken down into pieces, which can never be made into new dishes.
Those images of past.It takes time to last.
It will last forever for met to take over.
All those images wore my past life.
But it has nothing to do with my past life.
Those images can be forgotten.But not those people.
Those people who are in your images.Can be in a real image.
When you see those people in front of you.
You like to say 'How are you'?
If they say I am fine.Then you will think of those time.
poem by Yash Pradhan
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Now is the time for the U.S. and the nations of Western Europe who engaged in the slave trade throughout this hemisphere to come forward in a positive way to assist in undoing the harm that was caused by their past colonial policies in the hemisphere.
quote by Charles Rangel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unity Of The Elements
It was a pompous show,
For everyone should know,
The funeral procession
Of a rich man of the town.
Inch by Inch, the funeral cart moved.
Step by step, the mourners walked.
In black costumes, each one was dressed.
Front and back, march passed the crowd.
At the gate of the burning ghat,
The procession came to a halt.
Each one spoke, in praise of the dead
And tears flowed, for what they said.
On the sandalwood bed,
The body was laid,
And his son lit the fire,
That engulfed the funeral pyre.
The dead man's remains,
In the form of ash and bones,
To the sea, were consigned
As a finish, at the end.
At the bottom of the seabed
The bone of a poor man dead
Addressed his bone and said
'Welcome to this silent seabed.'
'The difference, when we were alive
Is no more with us, now let us live,
Not as poor or rich, but as one element,
No hatred feelings to foment.'
From the elements, man comes,
And back to the elements, he goes.
In between arises a low-high status,
That brings a world of differences.
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
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The Roman Gravemounds
By Rome's dim relics there walks a man,
Eyes bent; and he carries a basket and spade;
I guess what impels him to scrape and scan;
Yea, his dreams of that Empire long decayed.
'Vast was Rome,' he must muse, 'in the worlds regard,
Vast it looms there still, Vast it ever will be;'
And he stoops as to dig and unmine some shard
Left by those who are held in such memory.
But no; in his basket, see, he has brought
A little white furred thing, stiff of limb,
Whose life never won from the world a thought;
It is this, and not Rome, that is moving him.
And to make it a grave he has come to the spot,
And he delves in the ancient dead's long home;
Their fames, their achievements, the man knows not;
The furred thing is all to him - nothing Rome!
'Here say you that Caesar's warriors lie? -
But my little white cat was my only friend!
Could she but live, might the record die
Of Caesar, his legions, his aims, his end!'
Well, Rome's long rule here is oft and again
A theme for the sages of history,
And the small furred life was worth no one's pen;
Yet its mourner's mood has a charm for me.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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That Funeral Procession
That funeral procession
Was very long
And sad also
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Oman Country Liberal
Oman Country Liberal
Ancestral history of glory
Historian in the heart of time
Across the seas and oceans
Witness the East and West
Empire of the brave
Heeded the call
Honest and generous people
Generosity morals
And dream ornaments
The people of manners
Sultan Qaboos
Grandson of the Sultans
His march
Gold and biography
And achievements of the invisible visible
Oman rest of your glory
Not in history
But
In the hearts of your fans
Crown on the head
Not interested in destabilizing the weak people
And deny as long as the Sultan
Reminded him of the glory of time
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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London city you claims your right
London city you claims your right
The moving city, days and nights.
it seem no one can sit still
but some do settles
Shifting and moving one place to another
Amazingly there not many Londoner,
Living in London
Widely proclaims by foreign
from every corner earth
We not invading city,
cos this the only city in the world
You can claims your right
Whom you are
Living city of the United Nation
London
poem by See Fee Lee
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Family Photos
I love my family photos
Such a simple treasure to me
So many wonderful people
That are part of my history
I look upon their faces
My uncles, cousins and aunts
I see myself in some of them
The eyes... the smile... the stance
Decked out in Sunday fashion
They gathered for a quick snapshot
Some clothes were made at home
And some of them they bought
And look at how far back they go
To the horse and buggy days
Perhaps we were not born yet
Or were small with the past a haze
Oh, look at Grandpa’s trophies
He looks so very proud
He knew he was quite a hunter
Though he wouldn’t say out loud
Let's not forget the animals
That helped to work the farm
They too were part of our family
And had their special charm
Just look at the family autos
They had such class and style
Yes, I love my family photos
Come and look at them awhile!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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The Funeral Party
Two pale figures
Ache in silence
Timeless
In the quiet ground
Side by side
In age and sadness
I watched
And acted wordlessly
As piece by piece
You performed your story
Moving through an unknown past
Dancing at the funeral party
Memories of childrens dreams
Lie lifeless
Fading
Lifeless
Hand in hand with fear and shadows
Crying at the funeral party
I heard a song
And turned away
As piece by piece
You performed your story
Noiselessly across the floor
Dancing at the funeral party
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Funeral
So tonight I will toast at your funeral.
Because we knew this wouldn’t end well.
Lately I’ve began to look and see.
That we are lost in our own history.
Times will change and lives will spend
Harvests will come and wounds shall mend
Hearts will blaze with the past no more,
We’ll seek the future, but it wont come
I ask for peace yet receive none,
And now the present has come undone
Now time has shown itself to be a demon that’s cursed
And yet we know that we still haven’t seen the worst.
I walked along and couldn’t tell
That my sorrow dies with every word.
Truthfully is say no more, and with a smile I toast….at your funeral.
poem by Johann Weiss
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The United Conference of Hemispheres
How about...
The United States?
'No.
That's what we're called now! '
Oh...
You're right.
I forgot.
Well..
How about,
The United Federation of Americas?
'Hmmm...
Now that does have a ring.
With Canada, Mexico...
And the current United States.
I like the sound of it! '
Or...
How about,
The United Western Hemisphere?
'YES!
That's brilliant.
We'll have a meeting this weekend,
To discuss it!
But we must go slowly with this.
The people are already going nuts over the economy!
But I do love this idea.
We'll have the United Northern Hemisphere.
The United Eastern Hemisphere.
And the United Southern Hemisphere.
Whenever we come to meet...
We'll call ourselves,
The United Conference of Hemispheres!
Pass that by President Obama.
See if he approves before the announcement is made!
We must consolidate all nations as soon as possible.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Rome is the city of echoes, the city of illusions, and the city of yearning.
quote by Giotto di Bondone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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North Atlantic Drift
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Its a cultural shift its the North Atlantic Drift
Americana and a rule Britannia
And the moon yes we own that to
And where the Euphrates meets the other rivers
Is now the home of the devil and the liar
And the pyre we plan to make
Is just the drift leaving its wake, home
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
And the films you want to watch
And the films you want to make
And the kids like lost angels
Dressed in black sensations
And the shift won? shake
And the drift won? brake
With billions of Diamonds growing like olives
And the drift holds the coffers
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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