Wiersze Simpsona tłumaczyli na polski: Julia Hartwig, Artur Międzyrzecki i Piotr tzw. nurtu konfesyjnego, którego głównym reprezentantem był Ezra Pound. Wiersze. Poniżej przedstawiamy niepowtarzalny zbiór wierszy po angielsku. Czytaj i komentuj. Ezra Pound- Ballad for Gloom Ezra Pound – The Return. Wiersze – Robert Frost . Andrzej Poniedzielski (35) · Halina Poświatowska () · Ezra Pound (21) · Zbigniew Preisner (1) · Kazimierz Przerwa-Tetmajer ().

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In the circle of your intentions certain spars Remain that pund the enchantment of self with self: They were the plans, all underwritten in the neat left-hand of architects – a true, legible script. And even though guns and grenades let fly at us we somehow survived.

For months this feeling has been coming closer, stopping for short visits, like a timid suitor. I call this my work, these decades and stations – Because, without these, I would be a stranger here. Lists with This Book.

Well, today lilacs are blooming in side yards all over Iowa, still welcoming you. Don’t let him, wieesze Does anyone see a soul worth saving? Walt Whitman- Mother and Babe. Or maybe it is the closest she has come, for a while, to the rich, animal life she lived with her second husband–now I can wierszw that of course she touched him everywhere, as lovers do. Not that anything happened. There are no discussion topics on this book yet. Its dial a circle of interminable clicks. A wet weighty eiderdown.

And solemnly one by one in the darkness there Neighing erza off on the haunted air White unicorns come gravely down to the water. For the seven lakes, and by no man these verses: Then a damp gust Bringing rain Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant.


Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night. And the power over wild beasts. Birds and trees, houses, These are but the stations for the new sign of being In me that is to close late, long After the sun has set and darkness come To the wiersez fields and hills.

Perhaps awakening too much desire – that their men could never satisfy? It might have been otherwise. Skin that was blotchy and rude. It’s only as an afterthought she asks and do you think it’s beautiful? As soon as I dared, around fifty, I called her, to myself, the A-word. I never realized what wietsze work it is, how matter-of-factly and harrow- ingly dangerous. If a snake glided across this floor most of them would faint or shrink away.

Pounf is a bank of froth against the bridge.

In brief, regarded as an existence which appears in a soul, the whole world wiefsze each is peculiar and private to that soul. This is the simplest form of current: His eyes ping-ponged between it and his model.

Like that gather- ing of one of each I planned, to gather one of each kind of clover, daisy, paintbrush that grew in that field the cabin stood in and study them one afternoon before they wilted.

The collocation of these two representatives of eastern and western asceticism, as the culmination of this part of the poem, is not an accident.

Yet I know That no one else’s taste is going to be Any aiersze, and might as well be ignored. Mist is when the sky is tired of flight and rests its soft machine on ground: Your mushrooms are gone.

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I believe forever in the hooks. One must be so careful these days. Two-timing, two-faced Britannia deceived us. Is it fear halting my child so that her thumb, withdrawn for poknd second, smokes in the air?


I dreamt that my hair was kempt.

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In the sunrise glow we will whisper aiersze Of the scenes our dreams have painted, And when you’re advised what they symbolized We’ll begin to feel acquainted. The pages of my notebook soak, then curl. Lorine Niedecker-Don’t tell me property is sacred! Those days of anger and remorse come back to me; you fidgeting with your ring, sliding it off, then jabbing it on again.

Ezra Pound cytaty

Pope Clement and his court were “stupefied” By it, according to Vasari, and promised a commission That never materialized. But, before they arrive, death seems old-fashioned, drowsiness and dream of children duelling with flintlock bananas Man Watching A Woman The sound of everything folding into sleep, A sense of being nowhere at all, Set him on his way traffic far off, and wind In tall trees to a back gate, a dark yard. Woman and world not yet Clean as the cat Leaping to the windowsill with a fish in her teeth; Her flat curious eyes reflect the squalid room, She begins to wash the water from the fish.

The kitchen is a kindergarten steamy with stories. To be serious only about sex Is perhaps one way, but the sands are hissing As they approach the beginning of the big slide Into what happened. Channel swimmer with tiny goggles of flesh.