Awhatthef..kia
'What ho? There ain't no bears down here, '
Said Robert Falcon Scott,
'I'll call it Anobearia.'
Back in acadamia
They translated it to Greek,
Called the place Antarctica,
That's still the name we speak.
What a shame he didn't honour
The flightless polar bird
And call it Apenguinia.
That name might have stuck-
Unless the Greeks had seen the bird
And called it whatthef..k.
In Greek that's ti-oto,
The land Ati-otoa.
Arty-ottowa.
'Sound's good, ' said acadamia,
'But meaning's not so nice.
We'll use the Greek for 'penguin'
And call Apigwevosa,
The Underland of Ice.'
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Related quotes
oh yes, Mr. Shaun, the Bible was not written in English
The Gospel of Christ and, in general,
the Holy Bible are written with the inspiration of God.
The Prophets and the Apostles
have recorded in written form
a portion of the oral teaching of the Old Testament
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
These are the original languages of the Holy Bible from' which all the translations have been derived. God's inspiration is confined to the original languages and utterances, not the many translations. There are 1,300 languages and dialects into which the Holy Bible, in its entirety or in portions, has been
translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated.translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated.
This does not mean that the translations do not convey the meaning of the Bible for spiritual uprightness of the readers in their own language. On the contrary the Bible should be spread and preached to 'all nations'. The missionaries in foreign lands learn the language or the dialect of. the new area into which they bring the Bible and other religious teachings. For example, the missionaries from Constantinople, Saints Cyril and Methodios, sent to Christianize the Slavic peoples in the 9th century, first translated the Bible and the ritual books into the language of the people.
yes, Mr. Shaun, my friend the Bible was not written in English.IT was written in HEBREW, ARAMAIC, and GREEK....
But i like it written in English too, how i wish it were written in such a
language,
with a sense of class
and fashionable disguise,
for without it, how could i ever understand, God,
oh, my, God!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poseidonians
The Poseidonians forgot the Greek language
after so many centuries of mingling
with Tyrrhenians, Latins, and other foreigners.
The only thing surviving from their ancestors
was a Greek festival, with beautiful rites,
with lyres and flutes, contests and wreaths.
And it was their habit toward the festival's end
to tell each other about their ancient customs
and once again to speak Greek names
that only few of them still recognized.
And so their festival always had a melancholy ending
because they remebered that they too were Greeks,
they too once upon a time were citizens of Magna Graecia;
and how low they'd fallen now, what they'd become,
living and speaking like barbarians,
cut off so disastrously from the Greek way of life.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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A Prince from Western Libya
Aristomenis, son of Menelaos,
the Prince from Western Libya,
was generally liked in Alexandria
during the ten days he spent there.
As his name, his dress, modest, was also Greek.
He received honors gladly,
but he did not solicit them; he was unassuming.
He bought Greek books,
especially history and philosophy.
Above all he was a man of few words.
It got around that he must be a profound thinker,
and men like that naturally don't speak very much.
He was neither a profound thinker nor anything else—
just a piddling, laughable man.
He assumed a Greek name, dressed like the Greeks,
learned to behave more or less like a Greek;
and all the time he was terrified he would spoil
his reasonably good image
by coming out with barbaric howlers in Greek
and the Alexandrians, in their usual way,
would make fun of him, vile people that they are.
This was why he limited himself to a few words,
terribly careful of his syntax and pronunciation;
and he was driven almost out of his mind, having
so much talk bottled up inside him.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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The Sound Of Grecian Music
The sound of Grecian music where the Greek diners eat
From the Athenian restaurant it floats across the street
And a beautiful Greek songstress with the music sings along
One could listen to the music and the singer all night long.
Greek music and Greek poetry is in a class of it's own
And the legends of Greek history by history not outgrown
And there is life in Greek music it has a bubbling sound
It makes you want to shake your feet and to it dance around.
And when the diners have drunk and eaten the dining tables are put away
And the dancers will be dancing till the small hours of the new day
They sing as they dance in a Greek ring around the timbered floor
And enjoy themselves as the Greeks do for three hours or even more.
The marvellous sound of Grecian music from the Athenian restaurant nearby
Is food to the soul and senses and something to enjoy
To the quiet street on a friday night such happiness they bring
Till the small hours of the morning they laugh and dance and sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In business you need two Jews for one Greek, two Greeks for one Syrian and two Syrians for one Armenian.
The British system had requirements, including Latin. I'm not positive you ever had to know Greek, but there are certainly kinds of curricula where you had to know Greek too. I think in Britain there was the most mindless, repetitive sort of learning.
quote by William Scott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0017 The ironic, the sarcastic, the sardonic...
These weapons of literary abuse
so prevalent in the 17th and 18th century days
of literary gents in coffee-houses
have fallen into desuetude
these amicable days
but for the sake of Eng. Lit. studies
it might be useful
to run them through:
they have Greek roots
which we should know; it keeps them tidy
in the first-aid box of the literary mind:
there’s irony: that’s from the Greek
meaning ‘simulated innocence’;
in practice, saying the opposite
of what you mean; the Greeks
used it in tragedy – the man who says all’s fine and dandy
as the black cloud of disaster gathers;
we use it more for humour; as in
‘ you’re a right barrel of laughs, Mona..’
then there’s sarcasm: in Greek, wow,
to tear the flesh; gnash the teeth,
or simply to speak bitterly;
using irony (as above) , to express contempt:
‘that meant to be funny, then…? ’
and the sardonic: Homer used it
to describe bitter, mocking laughter,
which for undisclosed reasons
was associated with the people of Sardinia..
Imagine, perhaps, a tinful
of no-head-to-no-tail sardines
able to read their label..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Please do not break my little Christmas tree
I hung my loved ones photographs over there.
Oh! They are very far away, on the top
My beloved and myself of teary eyes tangled with jingle bells.
Oh! My Landlord gatecrashed, the Greek,
I nicknamed him as 'Socrates'
He called me on my pseudonym 'Don'.
'Merry Christmas' We both greeted simultaneously.
Secretly I winked to my wife tune the radio little louder
There the music of 'Zorba's dance' goes on.
And I offered him a Greek drink 'Ouzo'.
He had two gulps faster and we danced together to the tune of Zorba.
He left with a friendly smile and thank God he didn't grumble of the rent this time.
I murmured to myself 'Long live my Greek God'.
* To the President, I dreamed him last night he disguised as a Santa Claus and distributed some leaflets door to door regarding the health care reform it seems.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Lie
Some might call it a fabrication
While others might call it a fib
And some will call it down right dishonest
But happily with their soul they can live.
Some might call it an untruth
While others will call it a deception
Some will nod their heads and walk away
And they wont make any exception.
I have heard it called misinforming
And also heard it called a falsification
But then those words were so very kindly used
To protect someone else's reputation.
I have also heard it to be misleading
And also to be used in perjury
Sometimes they are used in a sophisticated way
But with that word they rush and hurry.
I know that is nothing but a falsehood
And the meaning and end effect you cant deny
The actions of the word can be called anything at all
But to me a lie, is nothing but a lie.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Philhellene
Make sure the engraving is done skillfully.
The expression serious, majestic.
The diadem preferably somewhat narrow:
I don't like that broad kind the Parthians wear.
The inscription, as usual, in Greek:
nothing excessive, nothing pompous—
we don't want the proconsul to take it the wrong way:
he's always nosing things out and reporting back to Rome—
but of course giving me due honor.
Something very special on the other side:
some discus-thrower, young, good-looking.
Above all I urge you to see to it
(Sithaspis, for God's sake don't let them forget)
that after "King" and "Savior,"
they engrave "Philhellene" in elegant characters.
Now don't try to be clever
with your "where are the Greeks?" and "what things Greek
here behind Zagros, out beyond Phraata?"
Since so many others more barbarian than ourselves
choose to inscribe it, we will inscribe it too.
And besides, don't forget that sometimes
sophists do come to us from Syria,
and versifiers, and other triflers of that kind.
So we are not, I think, un-Greek.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Names
That bird is called a dove.
It neither knows nor needs to.
That season is called spring.
That planet is called venus.
They neither know nor need to.
They manage better in fact
Without us or any names.
They do not call us anything,
Aware the name of each thing
Is its inward reality and that
Which we are in the end
Is our real name with God.
poem by Yoonoos Peerbocus
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And That's Why
I didn’t call and wish you a happy fathers day today
Cause everyone called and told me today.
Did you need for us to call you on this day?
Just like the kids wanted to play that day?
I didn’t call and wish you a happy fathers day today
Because you haven’t seen your kids in 21 days
I bet they wanted to play within those days
So that’s why I didn’t call and tell you happy fathers day
I called and told my daddy happy father’s day
Because he calls me each and every day
When you didn’t buy those diapers
He came through, just like always
When the kids wanted to play
Your brothers dad came around and stayed
So I wished him a happy father’s day today
I wished all my single mothers’ happy father’s day
Because they go through the same thing i do
And they wished me a happy father’s day too
So that’s why I didn’t call you
You called too,
But I was sleeping
Because I have to work two jobs
To take up for what you don’t do
So that’s why I didn’t call you
I put your son on the phone when I woke up
To call and wish his father a happy father’s day
And guess what?
You hung up!
Now do you see why I don’t call and wish you a happy father’s day?
poem by Tylatreece Colbert
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The Desert Is In Your Heart
producer for bonnie: ?
Recorded in 1992 for sophie arbaniti 's album 'parafora', lyrics taken from
Careful listening.
First half of this song is in greek...so your guess is as good as mine - here's
The english part...
You move the veil from your face
And escape from the world that is hurting
You feel oppressed when you know
That the words are killing the meaning
There is no reason to hide in the dark
When you're far from the fighting
How can you dream in a world that is getting greyer than grey?
You don't have to hide your face, there's no disgrace
There's no harm in knowing that we're all a part of the human race
You have got to lift your head, think of what he said
You were born to know the truth, nothing but the truth, and what the truth is
Worth
Oh, the desert is in your heart
In your heart
The desert is in your heart
In your heart
It's so hard to try to forget
So many thinks you regret
You try to look back, but there's little to see
Just nothing can't take this pain from me
Oh, the desert is in your heart
In your heart
You don't have to hide your face
There's no disgrace
There's no harm in knowing we're all a part of the human race
You have got to lift your head, think of what he said
You were born to know the truth, nothing but the truth, and what the truth is
Worth
Oh, the desert is in your heart
In your heart
The desert is in your heart
In your heart
(greek)
In your heart
(greek)
The desert is in your heart
(greek)
The desert is in your heart
(greek)
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Iota Subscript
Seek not in me the bit I capital,
Not yet the little dotted in me seek.
If I have in me any I at all,
'Tis the iota subscript of the Greek.
So small an I as an attention beggar.
The letter you will find me subscript to
Is neither alpha, eta, nor omega,
But upsilon which is the Greek for you.
poem by Robert Frost
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No Call U
Girl, I'm goin' crazy, I'm lonely and I need your kiss
My body wants 2 call U but my ego says I got 2 resist
Come and stop it if U want 2 but I ain't playin' second 2 none
U got 2 put your arms around me and tell me I'm the only 1
No call U, U call me (Ooh wee)
If love is true, I will see
Come on, mama
No call U, U call me
If love is true, I will see
No call U, U call me
If love is true, I will see
No call U, U call me
If love is true, I... I... I will see
Yeah! (No call U)
No call U, U call me
If love is true, I will see
No call U, U call me
If love is true, I...
Alright
Yeah
No call U, U call me
Mama, I know U want 2
But I won't call U, U will have 2 call me
Ooh wee, yeah
U... U call me
I called U in the summer
Whenever I'd call your ass up on the phone (No call U, U call me)
Yeah
Yeah, ooh
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Call On Me
Caught in the crossbow of ideas and journeys
sit here reliving the other self's mournings
Caught in the crossbow of ideas and dawnings
stand I
Oh oh oh oh
Reliving the past of the maddening impulse
violent upheaval, the pure driven instinct
The pure driven murder, the attraction of daring
stand I
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call on me
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call
[Rowena:]
A wild being from birth
my spirit spurns control
wondering the wide earth
searching for my soul
Dimly peering
I would surely find
what could there be more purely bright
in truth's day-star
Ooohhh
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call, call on me
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call on me
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Not Writing a Poem
and sometimes I’m sitting, quiet,
wondering whether a poem somewhere
would like to speak through me
and it doesn’t
but the stillness as I wait -
that’s good.
Then just occasionally, when
I’m not visited by a poem,
I visit – without planning - Poetry.
It’s a place without a name
where many things meet:
there’s space, and hope,
and possibility, and, out of the present,
a future growing..
and something that’s not less, or
not less bright, than gold;
where all the poems that have been written
mix on friendly terms with those
that are yet to come;
with a sense of company, humanity,
very undemanding, and what Pooh Bear
would call, Everybody Listening…
and there’s no claim, no need
to write about I Was There
and Experienced This, and do you wish
you had too, and here’s my name
so modestly after a line space
and it’s very refreshing, even
reassuring in its way. Maybe
if we were back in, oh, Greek times?
I would wash, put on a white robe,
take a sweet cake, some oil, some wine, an olive branch,
walk slowly up to the temple,
tap the road dust off my sandals,
then between the cool pillars,
place the offering at the feet
of the golden goddess; silent
somewhere between thanks
and praise and the place called prayer;
and then I’d return home, peaceful
as if blessed. A more poetic image? Perhaps
it’s the same place: the mind
was there, the body’s here.
It’s good. You were there too.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Blind Bartimeus
Blind Bartimeus at the gates
Of Jericho in darkness waits;
He hears the crowd;--he hears a breath
Say, "It is Christ of Nazareth!"
And calls, in tones of agony,
The thronging multitudes increase;
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace!
But still, above the noisy crowd,
The beggar's cry is shrill and loud;
Until they say, "He calleth thee!"
Then saith the Christ, as silent stands
The crowd, "What wilt thou at my hands?"
And he replies, "O give me light!
Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight.
And Jesus answers, '(GREEK)'
(GREEK)!
Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see,
In darkness and in misery,
Recall those mighty Voices Three,
(GREEK)!
(GREEK)!
(GREEK)!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Sleeping in Greece
Every detail of you I touched;
like a Greek god you are,
flesh carved in stones,
face calm as newest moon...
hair weaved in thread immortal.
While you were sleeping, I watched;
like a Greek god you are,
perfectly still,
vigorous as Samson...
delicate as a child.
Every detail of you and such,
through my fingers I've read.
Every bit I understood;
like a Greek scroll you are...
none I could read as perfectly, as you.
19Sep2012
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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