I WANT TO DIE WHILE YOU LOVE ME, a poem by Georgia Johnson (1886-1966)

 I want to die while you love me,

While yet you hold  me fair,    

While laughter lies upon my lips

And lights are in my hair.

I want to die while you love me,

And bear to that still bed,

Your kisses turbulent, unspent,

To warm me when I´m dead.

I want to die while you love me,

Oh, who would care to live

Till love has nothing more to ask

And nothing more to give!

I want to die while you love me

And never, never see

The glory of this perfect day

Grow dim or cease to be.

DON´T DRIVE ME AWAY, a poem by Louise May Alcott

   Don´t drive me away,
but hear what I say:
bad men want the gold;
they will steal it to-night,
and you must take flight;
so be quiet and busy and bold.

Slip away with me,
and you will see
what a wise little thing am I;
for the road I show
no man can know,
since it´s up in the pathless sky.

 

WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND?, a poem by Christina Rossetti

PHOTO: The garden. By Blanca Langa

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you:

But when the leaves hang trembling,

The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.

Christina Rossetti
http://kelleyward.hubpages.com/hub/Short-Classic-Poems-for-Boys

Christina Georgina Rossetti (5 December 1830 – 29 December 1894) was an English poet who wrote a variety of romantic, devotional, and children's poems. She is perhaps best known for her long poem Goblin Market, her love poem Remember, and for the words of the Christmas carol In the Bleak Midwinter.
To learn more about the poet:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christina_Rossetti

HEART, WE WILL FORGET HIM, a poema by Emily Dickinson

PHOTO: La casa del Marqués. By Blanca Langa

 













  Heart, we will forget him,
you and I, tonight!
You must forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.

When you have done pray tell me,
then I, my thoughts, will dim.
Haste! ´lest while you´re lagging
I may remember him.

  Emily Dickinson

SUMMER GRASSES, a poem by Basho

PHOTO: Grasses. By Blanca Langa

Ah, summer grasses!

All that remains

Of the warriors dreams.

     Basho

(Translated by R.H Blyth)
http://www.haikupoetshut.com/basho1.html

THE ANGEL, a poem by William Blake

PHOTO: Bridge over the river Jalón. By Blanca Langa

I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen:
Guarded by an Angel mild;
Witless woe, was neer beguil'd!


And I wept both night and day
And he wip'd my tears away
And I wept both day and night
And hid from him my hearts delight


So he took his wings and fled:
Then the morn blush'd rosy red:
I dried my tears & armd my fears,
With ten thousand shields and spears.


Soon my Angel came again;
I was arm'd, he came in vain:
For the time of youth was fled 
And grey hairs were on my head

IF, a poem by Rudyard Kipling

PHOTO: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudyard_Kipling

It is a very inspirational poem. I read it for the first time when I was fifteen years old. And it changed my life.

Follow the first link and you will listen to Harvey Keitel reading the original poem (with the Spanish version). This is a commercial on CNN. It belongs to the Series of poems 1997, Thoughts that transcend, Union Bank of Switzerland. Copyright of UBS:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=url4mfAAYdE&feature=related

Or if you like Federer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFcJPecO568&feature=related

Do you prefer Dennis Hooper?:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EZhc_YZ2fs&feature=related

A song by Joni Mitchell based on the poem?:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m78cSts3tJw&feature=related

Or in French:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebCEtIviBDI&feature=related

Joseph Rudyard Kipling (30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936) was an English poet, short-story writer, and novelist chiefly remembered for his celebration of British imperialism, tales and poems of British soldiers in India, and his tales for children. Kipling received the 1907 Nobel Prize for Literature. He was born in Bombay, in the Bombay Presidency of British India, and was taken by his family to England when he was five years old. Kipling is best known for his works of fiction, including The Jungle Book (a collection of stories which includes "Rikki-Tikki-Tavi"),Just So Stories (1902) (1894), Kim (1901) (a tale of adventure), many short stories, including "The Man Who Would Be King" (1888); and his poems, including Mandalay (1890), Gung Din (1890), The White Man's Burden (1899) and If— (1910). He is regarded as a major "innovator in the art of the short story"; his children's books are enduring classics of children's literature; and his best works are said to exhibit "a versatile and luminous narrative gift".

Kipling was one of the most popular writers in England, in both prose and verse, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

FOR MORE INFORMATION ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudyard_Kipling

I WANT TO DIE WHILE YOU LOVE ME, a poem by Georgia Johnson

FOTOGRAFÍA: Monasterio de Piedra, 233

Blanca Langa

  I want to die while you love me,

While yet you hold  me fair,    

While laughter lies upon my lips

And lights are in my hair.

I want to die while you love me,

And bear to that still bed,

Your kisses turbulent, unspent,

To warm me when I´m dead.

I want to die while you love me,

Oh, who would care to live

Till love has nothing more to ask

And nothing more to give!

I want to die while you love me

And never, never see

The glory of this perfect day

Grow dim or cease to be.

http://allpoetry.com/poem/8552241-I_Want_To_Die_While_You_Love_Me-by-Georgia_Douglas_Johnson

GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON was born in Atlanta, Georgia in 1880. With her publication of 'The Heart of a Woman' in 1918, she became one of the most widely known African-American female poets since Frances E. W. Harper. 

For more information about the author you can go to:
http://allpoetry.com/poem/8552241-I_Want_To_Die_While_You_Love_Me-by-Georgia_Douglas_Johnson

CENTENARY OF ILDEFONSO MANUEL GIL, AN ARAGONESE WRITER

 
PHOTO: http://www.aragondigital.es/noticia.asp?notid=9371

WITH MICHAEL
The sun ascends to its fullness revealing
of the stone and the bird,
while you and me are playing in the garden without shadows,
with the naked souls dedicated
to the pure demand of the moment.

Your tender age and my weary years
get equal and pleasant
together in this enjoyement that denies their distances
that melts us in the cheerful cry, in the smiling
of the shared innocence.

I know without sadness the decline of the sun into the dark
rule of the blinding night,
I accept the illusion of the stopped time
in this top happiness of playing together,
now, in the garden, matched
my yesterday and your tomorrow,
you and me in endless hapiness.

                                              The tiny birds
the quiet flight of leaves,
the habbit of the intimate garden
come back,
as the unique luxury of an only rose
under the air, pierced by November.


 ILDEFONSO MANUEL GIL was born in the village of Paniza (Zaragoza) on the 22nd January, 1912, and he was buried in Daroca in 2003 at the age of 91. He defined himself as a "man of The Generation of 36". Law Degree from the University of Madrid abd PhD in Literature.
  He suffered the repression of Franco´s dictatorship and was imprioned in Teruel during the Civil Was, as a prominent Republican. Later, he was harassed for refusing to swear the principles of the national movement of Francisco Franco. He and his friend Ricardo Guillón founded a Literature magazine. He taught at Santo Tomás College in Zaragoza.
  In the 60s, he went to America to teach Literature at a university in New York, where he worked until his retirement. In 1983, during the transition from the dictatorship to democracy, he returned to Spain. He moved to Zaragoza. In this city, he led the Institution "Fernando el Católico" and was designed honorary counselor. He was a member of the American Academy of the Spanish Language, and as such, corresponding member of the Royal Spanish Academy. During these years he received several awards: in 1982, he was awarded the Gold Medal of Zaragoza; in 1993, he got the Medal of Santa Isabel de Portugal. Aragonese of Honor in 1996 and received the Medal of Honor from the Institution "Fernando el Católico" in 2000.  His death would come three years later, possibly due to a broken hip a few years ago.

POEM II, almost unknown poem by Alejandra Pizarnik

PHOTO: http://luzrosarioaraujo.wordpress.com/

No matter if when love calls me
I am dead.
I will come.
I will always come
if love
sometimes calls.

http://alejandrapizarnik.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html

  POEMA II
   No importa si cuando llama el amor
yo estoy muerta.
Vendré.
Siempre vendré
si alguna vez
llama el amor.

This poem was published for the first and only time in Buenos Aires, in the "Poesía=Poesía" magazine, in 1959. In this publication, there were two poems that were later included in the book "Árbol de Diana" (Diana´s tree). Specifically in the "1959". We will never know why Pizarnik put aside this small text.

ALEJANDRA PIZARNIK (Buenos Aires, 1936-1972). She was a great Argentinian poet, representative of the poetic surrealism. She committed suicide at the age of 36, but wrote an important literary work.

A TEAR AND A SMILE, a poem by Khalil Gibran

PHOTO taken from the site:
 http://viivirlavidaapleno.blogspot.com/2011/01/que-es-una-lagrima.html

I would not exchange the sorrows of my heart
For the joys of the multitude.
And I would not have the tears that sadness makes
To flow from my every part turn into laughter.

I would that my life remain a tear and a smile.

A tear to purify my heart and give me understanding
Of life's secrets and hidden things.
A smile to draw me nigh to the sons of my kind and
To be a symbol of my glorification of the gods.

A tear to unite me with those of broken heart;
A smile to be a sign of my joy in existence.

I would rather that I died in yearning and longing than that I live Weary and despairing.

I want the hunger for love and beauty to be in the
Depths of my spirit,for I have seen those who are
Satisfied the most wretched of people.
I have heard the sigh of those in yearning and Longing, and it is sweeter than the sweetest melody.

With evening's coming the flower folds her petals
And sleeps, embracingher longing.
At morning's approach she opens her lips to meet
The sun's kiss.

The life of a flower is longing and fulfilment.
A tear and a smile.

The waters of the sea become vapor and rise and come
Together and area cloud.

And the cloud floats above the hills and valleys
Until it meets the gentle breeze, then falls weeping
To the fields and joins with brooks and rivers to Return to the sea, its home.

The life of clouds is a parting and a meeting.
A tear and a smile.

And so does the spirit become separated from
The greater spirit to move in the world of matter
And pass as a cloud over the mountain of sorrow
And the plains of joy to meet the breeze of death
And return whence it came.

To the ocean of Love and Beauty----to God.

KHALIL GIBRAN (born Jan. 6, 1883, Bsharri, Leb. — died April 10, 1931, New York, N.Y., U.S.) Lebanese-born U.S. philosophical essayist, novelist, poet, and artist. He immigrated with his parents to Boston in 1895 and later settled in New York City. His works, written in both Arabic and English, are full of lyrical outpourings and express his deeply religious and mystical nature. The Prophet (1923), a book of poetic essays, achieved cult status among American youth for several generations.

Read more: http://www.answers.com/topic/khalil-gibran#ixzz1iCDf5JRS

For more information on Khalil Gibran, visit Britannica.com.
Read more: http://www.answers.com/topic/khalil-gibran#ixzz1iCE4eVf8

LOVE CONSTANT BEYOND DEATH, a poem by Francisco de Quevedo

(FOTOGRAFÍA: Miguel Ángel Escós Andrés)


   Perhaps whatever final shadow that
the shining day may bring could close my eyes,
and this my soul may well be set aflight
by time responding to its longing sighs;

but it will not, there on the farther shore
its memory leave behind, where once it burned:
my flame the icy current yet can swim,
and so severe a law can surely spurn.
 
Soul by no less than a god confined,
veins that such a blazing fire have fueled,
marrow to its glorious flames consigned:
 
the body will abandon, not its woes;
will soon be ash, but ash that is aware;
dust will be, but dust whose love still grows.

(©Alix Ingber, 1995)

Correction contributed by Javier Santamaría in Barcelona.

FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO
Francisco Gómez de Quevedo Villegas y Santibáñez Cevallos,  (Madrid, 14th September 1580 – Villanueva de los Infantes, 8th  September 1645). He was one of the most brilliant Spanish writers. His poems are well known all over the world.

THE SECRET, a poem by Catherine Mansfield

In the profoundest ocean
There is a rainbow shell,
It is always there, shining most stilly
Under the greatest storm waves
That the old Greek called "ripples of laughter."
As you listen, the rainbow shell
Sings--in the profoundest ocean.
It is always there, singing most silently!

Biography
Her real name was Kathleen Beauchamp (October 14, 1888–January 9, 1923). She was born in New Zealand and moved to Europe when she was a young woman. She was buried in the town of Avon (Fontenebleau district, Paris).

THE FLAME AND THE SHADOW (a poem by José Verón Gormaz)

   I hear the wind passing
 in the cold steppes of the night.

   Nobody knocks on my door.

 Without words,
 the hours have come to say goodbye.

   (From "The wind and the word")

INDIAN SONG (a poem by JOSÉ VERÓN GORMAZ)

Distant it is this peace that  lights the evening

among the still waters of the sleepy lake.

The light of the auguries

              floods the plains.

Birth of a vague desire

             to be like the grass in the meadows,

humble and deep-rooted

                to the dream of the land.

What a slow flow of time away!

On the banks of the pond the road stops

 To hear how they sing the wind and a goldfinch.

(From "The wind and the word")

José Verón Gormaz is an Aragonese poet and photographer, born in Calatayud, Zaragoza. "The wind and the word" is one of his best books of poetry.

I WOULD LIKE TO TELL YOU (a poem by Luis Andrés)

   I would like to tell you sweetly now

that my hand is a friend and the desire is aslept,

that the thread of my voice just touches you.

I would like to tell you that I love you slwoly

with a small love, made of light of rain,

blue smiles, kisses on the forehead,

of strokes without touching, of sincere fondness.

I would like to tell you that my hearts hurts

as a poem written in the water,

taken as a fallen leaf in the stream.

And you know it is true, sincere, what I say.

-Oh, heart of rose, my heart of rose-

and I love you always, even death.

   (From "Poems for Clara" by Luis Andrés)

A poem by Ramiro Gairín

  Ramiro Gairín is a young Aragonese poet. I am reading his last book these days, "Que caiga el favorito" ("May the favourite fall down"). A book full of wonderful love poems that I recommend reading at any time. They are short as a wink, soft as a sigh, and sweet, very sweet. I love this poem:

 May the favourite fall down,
and that who spends the most money
loses the big games
and the world won´t move an inch
I turn off the news and look at you

and you are like finding survivors
several days after the earthquake.

(Zaragoza, March 2010)

Ramiro Gairín has a blog:
http://haciaotrasaventurasmashermosas.blogspot.com/