Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

“A Vow” (Wendy Cope)

22 August 2019

twitter: @eugenio_fouz

“The reader” (Wallace Stevens)

22 August 2019

twitter: @eugenio_fouz

The reader

 

by Wallace Stevens

 

All night I sat reading a book,

Sat reading as if in a book

Of sombre pages.

 

It was autumn and falling stars

Covered the shriveled forms

Crouched in the moonlight.

 

No lamp was burning as I read,

A voice was mumbling, Everything

Falls back to coldness,

 

Even the musky muscadines,

The melons, the vermilion pears

Of the leafless garden.

 

The sombre pages bore no print

Except the trace of burning stars

In the frosty heaven.

Literature Studies: Capote (personal routines & schedules)+ (EXTRA) Refl.

27 July 2019

twitter: @eugenio_fouz

[Truman Capote, writer]

NOTA BENE: personal routines

1/ get into the habit of watching the news (euronews, BBC)

2/ get used to listening to one or two podcasts every day

3/ use dictionaries (OED) & literature dictionaries (Oxford, Routledge)

4/ read poetry (bilingual and monolingual editions)

5/ read 2 pieces of New Journalism every month

6/ read at least 1 handbook either on literature or journalism

7/ read an extra piece of criticism or any diverse, tangential text

 

tentative schedule 

January 2019

read a minimum of 20 / 30 pages a day

read handbooks everyday

read articles on New Journalism and Literary Journalism daily

_ 2 or 3 pieces a week (e.g: Sinatra has a cold, Gay Talese)

_revise mails weekly

-read 2/3 documents a week

___

specific objectives:

read NYC by Mike Berger

read The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, Tom Wolfe

study WALKER, M. The History of American Literature

study BOYNTON, R. The New New Journalism

**

research online

GOOGLE, GOOGLE SCHOLAR, REFERENCES,

Univ Neb., Internet Archive – weekly

have a look at handbooks – daily

read extras: McLuhan, N. Frye, Sims, etc –weekly

___

list of readings:

Mike Berger, NYC

Norman Mailer, The Armies Of The Night

Norman Mailer, Superman Comes To The Supermarket

Tom Wolfe, The Right Stuff

Tom Wolfe, The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Stremline Baby

Michael Herr, Dispatches

Gay Talese, The Gay Talese Reader. Portraits and Encounters

Gay Talese, A Serendipiter´s Journey (Harper, 1961)

**

example from Word Reference Online Dictionary

Mark always notes down all his appointments on his planner (agenda)

___

E.F.-16.12.18 (Sunday)

 

***

#PDF G-Drive

https://tinyurl.com/yyt5gnzt

**

#PDF G-Drive

Reflections on being a student

https://tinyurl.com/y4gzu4o5

*

“The day of his death was a dark cold day” (W. H. Auden)

23 June 2019

twitter: @eugenio_fouz

W. H. Auden, poet

In Memory of W.B. Yeats

“He disappeared in the dead of winter:

The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,

And snow disfigured the public statues;

The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.

What instruments we have agree

The day of his death was a dark cold day.

 

 

Far from his illness

The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,

The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;

By mourning tongues

The death of the poet was kept from his poems.”

(…)

#PDF G-Drive

https://tinyurl.com/y27pqx6n

*

“The Island Within” by Richard Blanco

16 June 2019

twitter: @eugenio_fouz

[Richard Blanco, poet]

__

The Island Within

RICHARD BLANCO

for Ruth Behar

“I’m still thinking about your porch light

like a full moon casting a foggy halo

in the frigid air last night, the bare oaks

branching into the sky like nerve endings

inches away from the frozen stars,

the pink gables of your Victorian home

protesting yet another winter for you

captive in Ann Arbor as you practice

mambo by the fireplace. I’m following

your red-velvet shoes to conga beats

and bongo taps taking your body, but

not your life, from the snow mantling

your windows outside, 1,600 miles

away from Cuba. I’m tasting the cafecito

you made, the slice of homemade flan

floating in burnt sugar like the stories

you told me you can’t finish writing,

no matter how many times you travel

through time back to Havana to steal

every memory ever stolen from you.”

(…)

Continue reading here:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56063/the-island-within

*

#PDF G-Drive

https://tinyurl.com/yxzryxl6

**

H. D (Poem 13) from THE WALLS DO NOT FALL

3 March 2019

twitter: @eugenio_fouz

*

Doolittle, Hilda Trilogía (bilingual edition).

THE WALLS DO NOT FALL (Lumen) Trad. Natalia Carbajosa

Poem 13

 

The Presence was spectrum-blue,

ultimate blue ray

 

rare as radium, as healing;

my own self, wrapped round me,

 

was shroud (I speak of myself individually

but I was surrounded by companions

 

in this mystery);

do you wonder we are proud,

 

aloof,

indifferent to your good and evil?

 

peril, strangely encountered, strangely endured,

marks us;

 

we know each other

by secret symbols,

 

though, remote, speechless,

we pass each other on the pavement,

 

at the turn of the stair;

though no word pass between us,

 

there is subtle appraisement;

even if we snarl a brief greeting

 

or do not speak at all,

we know our Name,

 

we nameless initiates,

born of one mother,

 

companions

of the flame

 

***

Criticism on H. D:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/h-d

*

Literature studies (planner)

19 February 2019

twitter: @eugenio_fouz

[Beckett]

-canva.com-

*

“O never give the heart outright” (W. B. Yeats)

26 November 2018

twitter: @eugenio_fouz

Never give all the heart -William Butler Yeats-

Never give all the heart, for love

Will hardly seem worth thinking of

To passionate women if it seem

Certain, and they never dream

That it fades out from kiss to kiss;

For everything that´s lovely is

But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.

 

O never give the heart outright,

For they, for all smooth lips can say,

Have given their hearts up to the play.

And who could play it well enough

If deaf and dumb and blind with love?

He that made this knows all the cost,

For he gave all his heart and lost.

*

 

Download, print and read the poem here, if you like:

#PDF, or visit a Public Library and borrow it as I did

at Avda. Juan Carlos I, 17.-Murcia (@brmu)

https://tinyurl.com/y8ucmuf6

***

“The Waitress”, William Carlos Williams

24 November 2018

twitter: @eugenio_fouz

I am not very keen on anthology books, however on this occasion I ´ve got this bilingual anthology with a selection of William Carlos Williams´s poetry. I was hit by the one under the title “The Waitress“.

*

Poems (1922-1928)

William Carlos Williams

The Waitress

 

No wit (and none needed) but

the silence if her ways, grey eyes in

a depth of black lashes-

                        The eyes look and the look falls

 

     There is no way, no way. So close

one may feel the warmth of the cheek and yet there is

no way.

 

      The benefits of poverty are a roughened skin

of the hands, the broken

knuckles, the stained wrist

 

                             Serious. Not as the others.

 All the rest are liars, all but you.

                                                                      Wait on us.

             Wait on us, the hair held back practically

       by a net, close behind the ears, at the sides of

             the head. But the eyes-

             but the mouth, lightly

                                                 (quickly)

                                              touched with rouge.

 

The black dress makes the hair dark, strangely

enough, and the white dress makes it light.

 

There is a mole under the jaw, low under

the right ear-

 

And what arms!

 

The glassruby ring

on the fourth finger of the left hand.

 

-and the movements

under the scant dress as the weight of the tray

makes the hips shift forward slightly in lifting

and beginning to walk-

 

The Nominating Committee presents the

resolutions, etc. etc. etc. All those

in favor signify by saying, Aye. Contrariminded,

No.

Carried.

                      And aye, and aye, and aye!

                                   And the way the bell-hop runs downstairs:

                                    ta tuck a

                                        ta tuck a

                                             ta tuck a

                                                  ta tuck a

                                                       ta tuck a

 

and the gulls in the open window screaming over

              the slow break of the cold waves-

 

O unlit candle with the soft white

plume, Sunbeam Finest Safety Matches all

together on a little box-

 

And the reflections of both in

the mirror and the reflection of the hand, writing

                                  writing-

                                  Speak to me of her!

 

              -and nobody else and nothing else

in the whole city, not an electric sign of shifting

colors, fourfoot daisies and acanthus fronds going

from red to orange, green to blue-forty feet

                                                              across-

 

                                                         Wait on us, wait

                              on us with your momentary beauty to be enjoyed

                              by none of us. Neither by you, certainly,

                                                                                nor by me.”

***

See, download and print the poem here:

https://tinyurl.com/yblfxokw

or try to borrow the book from the library as I did a week ago

[Public Library, Av Rey Juan Carlos I, 17.- Murcia; @brmu]

*

Tweet a pocket poem for @eNotes (26th of April of 2018)

5 May 2018

twitter: @eugenio_fouz

Samuel Beckett (photographer: Richard Avedon)

*

Who wrote “April is the cruelest month“? You and I know it was him, yes. Thomas Stearns Eliot. Well, it is not a cruel one-the month- if you read bits of poetry. The @eNotes hashtag #pocketpoem comes from the other side of the Atlantic, there in Seattle (USA). I could not help taking part in it.

Some twitter users got involved in this poetical trip as @observalibro, for example:

 

I tweeted some verses written by e. e. cummings after copied them on post-it

notes


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