A poem for Kafka
My elder brother Lalith.P
Who taught me to read and write
And lot of things about fading life.
He's a humble Encyclopedia.
We drink together as friends
When our holey pocket bit sounds
And we had a common sickness
Allergy for money but not alcohol
Villagers amazed of our Brotherhood!
He who introduced me Kafka.
'You should read his The Trial, The Castle
Amerika, The Metamorphosis and the penal Colony.
Most of his unfinished novels published Posthumously.
And He's a German speaking-Jew.'
My brother was really mad of Kafka.
I read few lines of Isaac Bashevis Singer's short story recently
'A friend of Kafka.'
And I write this brief poem underneath for him;
'I am sorry Kafka and still I couldn't touch
One of your golden books
But my inner feeling speaks
You're great among others.'
As I always respect of my Corsican brother's word!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
With Kafka.
Kafka would have liked
the way you said that.
You kept his books on
the shelf next to those
of Burroughs and Joyce.
You like the painting on
the book’s paper cover.
Paperbacks are cheap
and soon worn out,
Thornton used to say.
He liked hard covered
books, first editions if
he could afford. He said
Kafka was too morbid
for you. You need a lighter
read, he said, something
that doesn’t mess with
your female head. You
take down the Kafka and
read again where you read
before, the whole drama
unfolding, the printed words
bringing a different world,
and ghostly by the window
with steady stare, Franz Kafka
in silence just sitting there.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am At Home With Kafka
.
I AM AT HOME WITH KAFKA
I am at home with Kafka -
I know his soul
I read it as mine own so many years ago-
His father as my father
And his face as my grandmother's,
Lean and white and long
With its own deep beautiful sadness-
Anxiety is mine-
And fear is mine-
And parable is mine-
And yet
His genius is his and not mine
He is Kafka
And I am only one of many readers-
I am at home with Kafka
I know his soul
But I am not Kafka-
Kafka is a genius of mankind
And I am a little man writing forgettable lines
Still alive
Many long years after the age
The holy genius went to his grave unrecognized.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Kafkaesque
After a lifetime
of describing
things as Kafkaesque
I finally read Kafka
and discovered
he's not Kafkaesque a bit!
he's a lot more like Kafka
in fact
to my untrained eye
than his Esque
would suggest
or seem to imply.
poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If the book we are reading does not wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skulls, then why do we read it Good God, we also would be happy if we had no books and such books that make us happy we could, if need be, write ourselves. What we must have are those books that come on us like ill fortune, like the death of one we love better than ourselves, like suicide. A book must be an ice axe to break the sea frozen inside us.
quote by Franz Kafka
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The unutterable Brotherhood
My elder brother and best friend 'Lalith' who taught me to read & write
And lot of things about the fading life.
He is a good chess player, photographer and sailor as same as a rare good human being.
I am worried of him being a bachelor.
He too writes poetry and I received a letter today including this sad poem;
All the trees,
All the singing birds,
And the little fish in the pond,
Even the gentle wind
That blows through the garden,
Yes...., all of them
All, except the flowers in the garden
Understand my heart very well.........
When I interpret my dreams
They become desires
And when I interpret my desires
They become dreams again........
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bellow Can Only Be Bellow
BELLOW CAN BE ONLY BELLOW
Bellow can only be Bellow
Kierkegaard-Kierkegaard
Kafka- Kafka
Joyce- Joyce
Borges- Borges
Pessoa-Pessoa
There is only one of each of us-
And no matter how many pages we write
And how many names we give ourselves and our own characters
No matter how many styles we invent
Each one is only one-
And so this small poem too
Will not be for anyone else
Any more or other
Than so much else
Which has already failed to give me the kind of name
Only the truly great have-.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I do not read advertisements. I would spend all of my time wanting things.
quote by Franz Kafka
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
THE Metamorphosis of F. Kafka
one day
he finds himself converted into
a giant cockroach
he does not know about it at first
until he wakes up
and looks at himself in the mirror
he changes his taste for food
now attracted to left overs
dislikes water and
light
dislikes people and
events
and cannot relate to the morning
news on TV
his door has now remained closed
and no one is allowed to enter
except his dear sister
who feeds him
morsels
in time he begins to understand
how is it to be a cockroach
how humans have been too cruel
to their state
and then
he writes about Kafka and
The Metamorphosis
that is the real story
until the cockroach dies
until Kafka recovers again
away from
Ward 10.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Emily Dickinson Is Not Borges
EMILY DICKINSON IS NOT BORGES
Emily Dickinson is not Borges
And Borges is not Kafka
And Kafka is not Dickens
And no one is Shakespeare-
Each one is only one self
Except for those who are many selves
And those who are many selves
Do not know
Who they themselves are-
Lear is not Falstaff
And Falstaff is not Hamlet
And Hamlet is not Shakespeare
And Shakespeare is not Donne-
No one is anyone but themselves
And even those who are really ‘someone'
Are not all the others who also are-
And we who are nothing at all?
What are we?
We are not nothing at all.
We are not great
And no one will remember our names
But we are still here now
Reading Borges and Dickenson and Kafka and Shakespeare
And wondering how and why
There are those in a world of their own
With names of their own
They themselves will never completely know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My tiny alert alarm clock
I spent few pennies to buy her from the nearest garage sale.
Anyway she wake me up in time and send me to struggle to get few oxygen for my patchy lungs.
I am so sorry my dear that I have promised you to buy a can of rust remover (WD-40) for your birth day from my next salary,
That I'll do definitely.
The auspicious day will come one day and you cannot wake me up again anymore,
Then you can have the utmost rest forever!
To my loving brother and best friend 'Lalith' who taught me to read and write and lot of things about the fading life...........et cetera.,
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Kafka
Short of ending up like Kafka
Who toiled in obscurity
And died peniless
I work myself up
Not to allow myself down
Becoming one voice
For the community of
Published writers
Storming through the
Clutter of red tape
And desks covered in
Layers of dust
I dig my fingers into
Manuscripts
Of old
And allow my eyes
To file away alphbetically
The words
Words of virtue
Of nature
Of life
Of love
Written in free form
Or rhyme
Oh to wax poetic
With some unique prose
Nothing compares to
The poetic Rose
Got to raise myself up
From the words of before
Recapture their essence
In a more elegant form
Brainstorming creative
Issues is not all what it seems
Musn't end up like kafka
Lost in obscurity's
Almost famous dreams
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To My Brother...
More than the blood of my blood. He is my friend,
my rock...my brother.
Brother, in times of need, never judging, always there.
My Brother, could, would, always make things right.
Brother, never made much ado, about the task at
hand...he just did it.
Brother, who lifted me, when I was down.
Brother, who brought the laughter, amid the pain.
Brother, the word he never spoke...was 'no'.
Brother, who had the answers, to my questions.
Brother, who by example, did walk the path of right.
Brother, in all my years...in all my life, never have
I met another...like my loving brother.
Brother...
More than the blood of my blood. He is my friend,
my rock...my brother.
Brother, in times of need, never judging, always there.
My Brother, could, would, always make things right.
Brother, never made much ado, about the task at
hand...he just did it.
Brother, who lifted me, when I was down.
Brother, who brought the laughter, amid the pain.
Brother, the word he never spoke...was 'no'.
Brother, who had the answers, to my questions.
Brother, who by example, did walk the path of right.
Brother, in all my years...in all my life, never have
I met another...like my loving brother.
He Is My Blood...
More than the blood of my blood. He is my friend,
my rock...my brother.
Brother, in times of need, never judging, always there.
My Brother, could, would, always make things right.
Brother, never made much ado, about the task at
hand...he just did it.
Brother, who lifted me, when I was down.
Brother, who brought the laughter, amid the pain.
Brother, the word he never spoke...was 'no'.
Brother, who had the answers, to my questions.
Brother, who by example, did walk the path of right.
Brother, in all my years...in all my life, never have
I met another...like my loving brother.
Lifelong Bonds...
More than the blood of my blood. He is my friend,
my rock...my brother.
Brother, in times of need, never judging, always there.
My Brother, could, would, always make things right.
Brother, never made much ado, about the task at
hand...he just did it.
Brother, who lifted me, when I was down.
Brother, who brought the laughter, amid the pain.
Brother, the word he never spoke...was 'no'.
Brother, who had the answers, to my questions.
Brother, who by example, did walk the path of right.
Brother, in all my years...in all my life, never have
I met another...like my loving brother.
The Blood That Binds...
More than the blood of my blood. He is my friend,
my rock...my brother.
Brother, in times of need, never judging, always there.
My Brother, could, would, always make things right.
Brother, never made much ado, about the task at
hand...he just did it.
Brother, who lifted me, when I was down.
Brother, who brought the laughter, amid the pain.
Brother, the word he never spoke...was 'no'.
Brother, who had the answers, to my questions.
Brother, who by example, did walk the path of right.
Brother, in all my years...in all my life, never have
I met another...like my loving brother.
Heil Heissscheisser!
I'd flicked through 'The Naked and the Dead'
But hadn't ever read it.
I saw a Mailer under ROMANCE
That I couldn't credit.
I rely on serendipity
To find a book to read.
I picked it up and had a flick...
...the big post-winter bee pee need.
'The Castle in the Forest'
Is what the book is named:
About the origins of Adolf.
'Read me, ' it proclaimed.
Little Adi Shitler
Is what his brother called him,
For his habit with his poo.
Little Adi Scheisser
Is another name would do.
When he'd reached up to his heights
His brother just couldn't be nicer.
He upgraded Adi's moniker
And heiled his Fuhrer 'Heissscheisser! '
poem by Douglas Scotney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It is not Kafka's fault that his wonderful writings have lately turned into a fad, and are read by people who have neither the ability nor the desire to absorb literature.
quote by Herman Hesse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Letter from the Sand 'Be Proud
Today I received a letter from the sand. It read Dear Sir, we regret to inform you that your brother Sgt. Andre Smith was killed two days ago in Iraq, but be proud he died a hero. Now I must read that letters a hundred times but pride never came over me but anger did. Anger that got me asking questions like is proud of what, that my big brother is no longer here? Or should I be proud that they turned my caring brother into murder all under the false flag of freedom? Be proud, I am proud and I was always proud not because Andre died as hero but I am proud because he was my brother.
Note:
This poem is not a true story. Now although my brother Andre did past away he did not die that way, but I wanted to honor him so I used his name in a poem the relates to current affairs
An Essay or A Simple Biography of Yukio Mishima to Please My Brother Lalith!
First of all I must so grateful to my brother
Who introduced me the greatest Japanese Novelist!
Remeber you yelled at me ' Read his The sea of fertility, a cycle of four novels and his tetralogy, 'Spring Snow, Runaway Horses, The temple of dawn and The decay of Angel.'
Sorry brother I have a small volume of second hand books
And I couldn't find those?
I work as a Graveyard shift Cashier for a convenient store
From 1155PM to 700 AM!
And my beloved leaves in the morning for a Montessori
And struggles there with kids!
We're two slow trains of the opposite tracks in the life shuttle?
I do scribbling in my whole life.
I bought his short novel recently from a junk book shop
'The sound of Waves' set in a remote village in Japan
It tells of Shinji, a young fisherman
And Hatsue the beautiful daughter of the wealthiest man in the village.
I promise you to finish this book and I remember you told
'Mishima committed seppuku(ritual suicide)
At the age of 45!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!