Some Of My Favorite Poems

Emily Dickinson ( December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886 )
Обожавам тази дама. Една от най-великите американски поетеси, която така силно усещам.
Толкова много стихове - богатство, от което е трудно да избереш едно или две произведения...

They say that "Time assuages"

They say that "Time assuages" --
Time never did assuage --
An actual suffering strengthens
As Sinews do, with age --

Time is a Test of Trouble --
But not a Remedy --
If such it prove, it prove too
There was no Malady --


Heart, we will forget him

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!


From - Part One: Life

* When night is almost done,
And sunrise grows so near
 That we can touch the spaces,
It ’s time to smooth the hair

And get the dimples ready,       
 And wonder we could care
For that old faded midnight
 That frightened but an hour.

From - Part Four: Time and Eternity

* We never know we go,— when we are going
  We jest and shut the door;
Fate following behind us bolts it,
  And we accost no more.



Elizabeth Bishop ( February 8, 1911 – October 6, 1979)

Още една сложна личност, отново американска поетеса и писателка, която претворява себе си - мислите и чувствата си в думите. А ние се откриваме някъде дълбоко в тях.

One Art

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

— Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.


E. E. Cummings (October 14, 1894 – September 3, 1962)
Един невероятен таланат - американски поет, художник, драматург. Докоснал не едно или две сърца с творбите си.


I carry your heart ( I carry it in my heart )


I carry your heart with me ( I carry it in my heart )
I am never without it
( anywhere I go - you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear no fate ( for you are my fate, my sweet )
I want no world ( for beautiful you are my world, my true )
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
( here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart ( I carry it in my heart )

Има още толкова много хора, на чието творчество се възхищавам, но нека спра за сега до тук.
Трудно ми е да мина от към светлата страна...