That's Hot ~ Poeti & Poezii - Vizualizare subiect 113 pe lipstick.myforum.ro

Ai vreo poezie preferata, un poet preferat?

Favoritele mele sunt creatii ale lui Poe si Bacovia, poate nu degeaba ei sunt preferatii mei... Annabel Lee, Liceu.. Plumb.. aww. :innocent:

Embrion Data inscrierii: 29/Mai/2007 Mesaje: 52

^ ooo...simbolista :-P

imi plac si mie poetii simboilisti, si ii inteleg, cu toata durerea lor :lol:

dar prefer ceva mai...nu stiu, gen Cosbuc, Toparceanu, Alexandrescu..de la Cosbuc, cel putin, toate imi plac.

righty, Katz... l-am descoperit acum si pe T.S. Eliot, am citit The Waste Land si... totally loved it.

nichita stanescu de departe.
poezia preferata...:-?
emotie de toamna cred...dar si poezie...viata mea se ilumineaza...de drgoste..pierderea ochiului...semn 3..autoportret...f multe. il inteleg stiu ce spune ma regasesc ma adoarme ma face sa visez ma intregeste ma inveseleste ;))

si-mi mai place m cartarescu :-D

later edit: imi mai place un poet...anonim:d care scrie doar pt mine...8-> ...poeziile lui sunt de departe cele mai reusite..

cartarescu :x are niste poezii geniale. mult mai bune ca proza. parerea mea. desi nu ar trebui facuta comparatie :-D

exemplu de versuri.. 8->

" într-un târziu am încercat sã-þi dau telefon, dar telefonul murise
receptorul duhnea a formol, am deºurubat capacul microfonului
ºi am gãsit fierul ruginit, plin de viermi;
am cãutat ºurubelniþa
ºi-am desfãcut carcasa: de liþa bobinelor
îºi prinseserã pãianjenii pânza.

pe ºnurul împletit, acum putred, cu cauciucul mâncat ºi sârma zdrelitã
îºi lãsau mirosul furnicile; l-am apucat, l-am smucit pân-a ieºit din pioneze cu tencuialã cu tot,
am tras de el pânã am început sã apropii
metru cu metru cartierul tãu de al meu
turtind farmaciile, cofetãriile, pleznind þevile de canalizare
încãlecând asfalturile, presând atât de mult stelele pe cerul violaceu, de amurg, dintre case
încât deasupra a rãmas doar o muchie de luminã scânteietoare
pulsând în aerul ars, ca de fulger.

trãgeam de fir, ºi ca un sfânt indian fãcând trapezul pe ape
statuia lui c.a. rosetti aluneca spre miliþie
consiliul popular al sectorului doi
se ciocni de foiºorul de foc ºi se duse la fund cu tot cu o nunta
iar strada latinã zâmbi; trãgeam de fir, încolãcindu-l pe braþ, ºi deodatã
casa ta cu brauri albe ºi roz ca o prajitura de var
apãru cu fereastra ta în dreptul ferestrei mele
geamurile pleznirã cu zgomot
iar noi ne-am trezit faþã-n faþã
ºi ne-am apropiat din ce în ce mai mult
pânã ne-am îmbrãþiºat strivindu-ne buzele
pulverizându-ne hainele, pieile, amestecându-ne inima
mâncându-ne genele, smalþul ochilor, coastele, sângele,
ciobindu-ne ºira spinãrii, arzând.

arzând cu troznete, cã daþi cu benzinã
arzând cu gheþuri albastre, cu stalactite de fum
cu cearã sfârâitoare, cu seu orbitor
pânã cenuºa a umplut lada de studio ºi chiuveta din baie
ºi pãianjenii ºi-au fãcut plase în coºul pieptului nostru. "

aww.. sa va arat si eu cateva poezii care-mi plac tare mult:

Charles Bukowski, Three Oranges
irst time my father overheard me listening to
this bit of music he asked me,
"what is it?"
"it's called Love For Three Oranges,"
I informed him.
"boy," he said, "that's getting it
cheap."
he meant sex.
listening to it
I always imagined three oranges
sitting there,
you know how orange they can
get,
so mightily orange.
maybe Prokofiev had meant
what my father
thought.
if so, I preferred it the
other way
the most horrible thing
I could think of
was part of me being
what ejaculated out of the
end of his
stupid penis.
I will never forgive him
for that,
his trick that I am stuck
with,
I find no nobility in
parenthood.
I say kill the Father
before he makes more
such as
I.

Plumb, George Bacovia
Dormeau adanc sicriele de plumb,
Si flori de plumb si funerar vestmint --
Stam solitar in cavou... si era vint...
Si scirtiiau coroanele de plumb.
Dormea intors amorul meu de plumb
Pe flori de plumb, si-am inceput sa-l strig --
Stam singur langa mort... si era frig...
Si-i atirnau aripile de plumb.

Annabel Lee, E.A. Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

si DEATH BY WATER, de TS Eliot. apare in The Waste Land

PHLEBAS the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell
And the profit and loss.
A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.