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Posts Tagged ‘Annabel Lee’

 

Today…15th October 2008…I’ve received this msg from Wayne Visser…(see his poem and site in this entry too….(poem about Africa)…and if you’re interested in his request…then please contact him…he’s looking for people writing poems..but about Africa!

Hello again I thought I’d let you (and your lekker vriende) know that I’ve launched a “Poets of Africa” blog – http://poetsofafrica.blogspot.com/.Just email me on wayne@waynevisser.com and I will give permission for you to post. www.waynevisser.com

 Afrikaanse digters welkom!    
Kwa heri Wayne”
Links will open in a new window.

Today…21st March 2008… is World Poetry Day! I do love poems, I love to read poems and I like to write my own too. On my blog at the top you will now find a page saying…”My poems…gedigte”…a few of my own poems…also you will find a couple of English poems which I’ve translated from Afrikaans…beautiful poems…one from a famous writer/poet/scientist/naturalist…Eugene Marais…”The Dance of the Rain..” take a look and enjoy! also one by Totius…his little daughter died after being struck by lightning..in his arms and he wrote a poem about her…very sad poem….or you can read it  HERE …the link will open in a new window.
You can also read “The Dance of the Rain” on  THIS LINK it’s a very powerful/beautiful poem…full of metaphors…and read about Eugene Marais and the Rain Queen…on that link. The link will open in a new window.

enjoy…the Dance of the Rain!..originally in Afrikaans…”Die Dans van die Reën” by Eugene Marais. If you click on the page saying…”My Poems/gedigte”…you will find more of Wayne Visser’s poems also one which he has asked me to translate…and some of my own poems too, also the poem of the girl that was struck by lightning is to be found on that page. – see the top of my blog for the page-link and I’ve translated Wordsworth’s poem (from English to Afrikaans)…I wandered like a lonely cloud…


Image:tploy.com

The Dance of the Rain
Song of the violinist: Jan Konterdans
translated by:Nikita

The Dance of the Rain
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
First, over the hilltop she peeps stealthily
and her eyes are shy
and she laughs softly
From afar she begs with her one hand
her wrist-bands shimmering and her bead-work sparkling
softly she calls
She tells the wind about the dance
and she invites it, because the yard is spacious and the wedding large
The big game rush about the plains
they gather on the hilltop
their nostrils flared-up
and they swallow the wind
and they crouch to see her tracks in the sand
The small game, deep down under the floor, hear the rhythm of her feet
and they creep, come closer and sing softly
“Our Sister! Our Sister! You’ve come! You’ve come!”
and her bead-work shake,
and her copper wrist-bands shine in the disappearance of the sun
On her forehead, rests the eagle’s plume
She decends down from the hilltop
She spreads her ashened cloak with both arms
the breath of the wind disappears
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
©~~ Nikita

This next poem was written in Afrikaans by Ingrid Jonker and adapted by e.e. cummings…many of her wonderful poems were translated in English and other languages. I love her poems!

 

 

Image:johnfenzel.typepad.com
Somewhere I have never travelled – Iewers het ek nooit gereis nie
Ingrid Jonker
…..adapted by e.e. cummings
+
somewhere I have never travelled,
gladly beyond any experience,
your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near
~~~~~
iewers het ek nooit gereis nie daardie groen verte
verby alle herinneringe jou oë dra hul stilte
in jou geringste gebaar is daar iets wat my omsluit
of wat ek nie durf aanraak nie iets te ná
~~~~
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself
as Spring opens(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
~~~~
jou oë van landskappe sal my maklik blootlê
al het ek my hart gesluit soos twee hande
jy ontvou my keer op keer soos die lente
bedrewe en heimlik haar eerste roos
~~~~
or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
~~~~
en as jy my sou verlaat geslote dan
sou my voorhoof sluit mooi en onmiddelik
soos die hart van ‘n blom sou droom
van ‘n wit sneeu wat alles oral bedek
~~~~
nothing which we are to perceive in this world
equals the power of intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
~~~~
niks wat ons in hierdie wêreld kan versin
ewenaar die krag van jou broosheid die tekstuur
van jou oë tref my die groen van sy veld
een bevestig die ewige en die vir altyd met elke sug
~~~~
(I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;
only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
~~~~
ek weet nie wat dit is wat jou laat vou
en ontvou nie ek verstaan net êrens op my reise
die stem van jou oë is dieper as alle rose
nee nie eens die reën nie het sulke hande
On THIS LINK you can read more about Ingrid…a link to Wikipedia…there’s a Youtube-song to watch…Afrikaans song…one of Ingrid’s poems…and there’s another song to listen to! The link will open in a new window.
and….on
THIS LINK you can read more about e e cummings…the link will open in a new window.
If you’re a teacher THIS SITE is really a great site to use for poetry/literacy…try it- the link will open in a new window.

image:worldgolf.com/images/destinations/africa/southafrica.jpg
This next poem is written by Wayne Visser…you can read about him on THIS LINK …the link will open in a new window.

I know a place in Africa…
Inspiring poetry written by Wayne Visser,
a South African currently based in Nottingham, UK.
I know a place in Africa
Where I can feel the sun on my back
And the sand between my barefoot toes
Where I can hear the gulls on the breeze
And the waves crash on the endless shore

I know a place in Africa
Where the mountains touch the skies of blue
And the valleys shelter vines of green
Where the trees spread out a cloth of mauve
And the bushveld wears a coat of beige

I know a place in Africa
Where I can hear the voice of thunder gods
And watch their lightening spears thrown to earth
Where I can breathe the scent of rain clouds
And taste the sweet dew of dusty drops

This is the place of wildness
Of evolution and dinosaurs
Where life began and mankind first stood
Of living fossils and elephants
Where lions roar and springbok herds leap

This is the place of struggle
Of desert plains and thorn trees
Where pathways end and hunters track game
Of horizons and frontiers
Where journeys start and sunsets bleed red

This is the place of freedom
Of exploration and pioneers
Where darkness loomed and light saw us through
Of living legends and miracles
Where daybreak came and hope now shines bright

My heart is at home in Africa
Where the sound of drums beat in my chest
And the songs of time ring in my ears
Where the rainbow mist glows in my eyes
And the smiles of friends make me welcome

My mind is at ease in Africa
Where the people still live close to the soil
And the seasons mark my changing moods
Where the markets hustle with trading
And Creation keeps its own slow time

My soul is at peace in Africa
For her streams bring lifeblood to my veins
And her winds bring healing to my dreams
For when the tale of this land is told
Her destiny and mine are as one

© 2006 Wayne Visser

Enjoy this next poem by Edgar..Poe!

Annabel Lee

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.

Edgar Allan Poe


Image…http://project1.caryacademy.org
 

The next poem…by Ingrid Jonker…
The Child
The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Africa ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart
~~~
The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Africa ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride
~~~
The child is not dead not at Langa
nor at Nyanga not at Orlando
nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain
~~~
The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a pass

 

Ingrid Jonker March 1960
(Translation of: “Die Kind” ) Poems now owned by Simone Jonker…daughter of Ingrid

On THIS LINK you can see podcast-videos of her poems in both Afrikaans/English…worth visiting! The link will open in a new window.


Image: http://farm1.static.flickr.com

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Love Poems



All links in this post will open in a new window.
I will always like the music of Queen..this song is called..Las Palabras de Amor. Enjoy!

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightfowardingly, without complexeties or pride. So I love you because i know no other way than this…” Pablo Neruda

“A kiss is something you cannot give without taking and cannot take without giving.”

“Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man’s son doth know”. William Shakespeare in Twelfth Night (II, iii, 44-45)
“Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.” Alexander Smith

Enjoy this song by South African singer…Steve Hofmeyr…”You got me”…


And this South African Golden Oldie! Ge Korsten with “Liefling” and liefling means..”darling”…


Enjoy this song…”Fields of Gold” by Eva Cassidy

Enjoy this song by Ilse de Lange: “What does your heart say now?”


Slide down for the article…”Romance in Chess”…


Listen to the poem on this audio file too…by Robert Burns….source: http://www.chivalry.com/cantaria/lyrics/redredrose.html
Notes: According to “Scottish Songs Illustrated,” this song is a Robert Burns rewrite of an older street ballad, which is said to have been written by a Lieutenant Henches, as a farewell to his betrothed.

0, my love is like a red, red rose,
that’s newly sprung in June.
0, my love is like a melody,
that’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
so deep in love am I,
And I will love thee still, my dear,
till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
and the rocks melt wi’ the sun!
And I will love thee still, my dear,
while the sands of life shall run.

And fare the weel, my only love!
And fare the well awhile!
And I will come again, my love.
Tho it were ten thousand mile!


Read on THIS LINK too the poem by Elizabeth Barret Browning…”How do I love thee”…enjoy! One of my favourites!

”How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…”
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Today I’m in a mood to blog about love… What is love? What is your view, we discussed this at work….and we all agreed to the following conclusions…..Is it a sensation..a shared feeling between two people… ..based on physical and emotional attraction..  spontaneously generates when the right person appears. And of course also, it can spontaneously degenerate when the magic “just isn’t there” anymore. You fall in love, and you can fall out of it.
Love is the attachment that results from deeply appreciating another’s goodness. What we value most in ourselves, we must value most in others. God created us to see ourselves as good ….hence our need to either rationalize or regret our wrongdoings….In the Bible He said…after creating us humans… “and that was good”… So, too, we seek goodness in others. Nice looks, an engaging personality, intelligence, and talent may attract you, but goodness is what moves you to love.LOVE IS A CHOICE. Love is active. You can create it. Just focus on the good in another person …..and everyone has some!! If you can do this easily, you’ll love easily.
Love is care, demontrating active concern for the recipient’s life. Love is responsibility. Love is respect, the ability to see a person as he/she is, to be aware of his/her unique individuality. A big part of love is putting another person’s happiness ahead of your own. If you have to “prove” your love to someone, I don’t believe that he/she loves you the way you might think he/she does.When you love another person you don’t ask them to sacrifice a part of themselves in the name of that love. Love is not about jealousy. It is not about conflict. It is not about testing. Love is not about spitefulness. How do you show love to other people? Nobody expect you to “love” all people the way you love your husband/wife, but it is expected from us to “love your neighbour as you love yourself”.
Enjoy the poem: Love Song by T S Eliot
Communication, Communication, and Communication……..on THIS LINK you can read how important communication in a relationship between a married couple is.The link will open in a new window.

 

T S Eliot

On THIS LINK you can read his extract “The Game of Chess”.
Click HEREto read more love poems on my blog.

And…on THIS LINK on my blog….you can read the poem of E A Poe…Annabel Lee…a beautiful love poem.
Ben Jonson

T H E F O R E S T .
IX. — SONG. — TO CELIA.

Drink to me, only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine ;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine.
The thirst, that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine :
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not wither’d be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent’st it back to me :
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

Love Song

I lie here thinking of you:
the stain of love
is upon the world!
Yellow, yellow, yellow
it eats into the leaves,
smears with saffron
horned branched the lean
heavily
against a smooth purple sky!
There is no light
only a honey-thick stain
that drips from leaf to leaf
and limb to limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world-
you far off there under
the wine-red selvage of the west!

~~~William Carlos Williams

 

 

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Song to Celia
by Ben Jonson

Drinke to me, onely, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
And Ile not looke for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
Doth aske a drinke divine:
But might I of Jove’s Nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered bee.
But thou thereon did’st onely breath,
And sent’st it back to mee:
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare,
Not of it selfe, but thee.

Read about Ben Jonson HERE

Robert Browning
A Woman’s Last Word
Let’s contend no more, Love,
Strive nor weep:
All be as before, Love,
—Only sleep!
What so wild as words are?
I and thou
In debate, as birds are,
Hawk on bough!

See the creature stalking
While we speak!
Hush and hide the talking,
Cheek on cheek!

What so false as truth is,
False to thee?
Where the serpent’s tooth is
Shun the tree—

Where the apple reddens
Never pry—
Lest we lose our Edens,
Eve and I.

Be a god and hold me
With a charm!
Be a man and fold me
With thine arm!

Teach me, only teach, Love
As I ought
I will speak thy speech, Love,
Think thy thought—

Meet, if thou require it,
Both demands,
Laying flesh and spirit
In thy hands.

That shall be to-morrow
Not to-night:
I must bury sorrow
Out of sight:

Must a little weep, Love,
(Foolish me!)
And so fall asleep, Love,
Loved by thee.

–Robert Browning

Next I have a National Poet of South Africa…A G Visser. He’s written some beautiful love poems in Afrikaans!
A.G. Visser en Lettie Conradie.
Hy trou in 1913 met Lettie, oorlede in 1920,
en in 1927 met Marie de Villiers.
Read more about
A G Visser here on this link.

Liefdes gedigte: A G Visser
Misère
(Triolet)
The light that lies
In women’s eyes
Just… lies and lies!

In die eerste instansie,
wie sou nou kon dink,
Dat die liefde iets is
so beroerd ongestadig?
Dat die hand wat uit gulde
bokale laat drink,
In die eerste instansie,
wie sou nou kon dink
Dat dit eendag nog edik
en gal weer sal skink,
Ongevoelig meedoënloos,
wreed, ongenadig?
In die eerste instansie,
wie sou nou kon dink
Dat die liefde iets is
So beroerd ongestandig!

http://www.gedichtenbundel.be/testliefdefoto1Eheu fugaces…

Si jeunesse savait.
Si vitesse avait.
Onthou jy nog, Anita lief,
Die aand daar by die strand,
My hart vir jou ’n ope brief,
Jou handjie in my hand?
Die maanlig het die see gesoen,
Die see … die strand, nog heet –
En ons … wat kon ons anders doen?
Kan ons dit ooit vergeet?
Cherie Yvonne, het jy vergeet
Die les in Afrikaans?
Die beste taal het ons geweet,
Die tyd in ou la France.
En aan my hemel onbewolk
Was jy die goue son;
“Toujours l’Amour” was onse tolk;
Onthou jy nog, Yvonne?
Mooi Gretchen, kan jy nog onthou
Ons tyd van soete min?
Die Neckar met sy waters blou,
Jou ogies blou daarin?
Die donkergroene dennewoud
Was liefdes-heiligdom –
Alt Heidelberg, die jeug van goud,
En jy – sal nooit weer kom!
En, bonnie Jean, onthou jy nog
Die eiland van die Swaan?
Ben Lomond en die donker loch
By heldere somermaan?
Aan rosebanke trek ons twee
(Was dit ’n droom – wie weet?)
Wit swane oor die lewensee –
Kan ek dit ooit vergeet?
Maar eenmaal in die lewe kom
Die liefde weergaloos;
En eenmaal in die gaarde blom
Volmaak ’n wonderroos.
Verwelk, helaas, my tuin se prag –
Weg met die donker stroom –
Die wind deurwaai my hof by nag
En vind my met my droom.
O lippe wat nog lag en lonk!
O harte wat nog klop!
Steeds doem gestaltes ewig-jonk
Uit die verlede op.
“Eheu fugaces anni …” sing
Gedagtes wat nou skroei;
Op velde van herinnering
Pers amarante bloei!

Ballade van die roos

’n Ou Spaanse gesegde noem die volgende
drie stadieë in die lewe van ‘n roos:
In die more: rosa pallida.
In die middag: rosa perfecta.
In die aand: rosa incarnada

Waarheen ook my oë mag staar
En waar ook my voete mag gaan,
Geduriglik droom ek van haar;
Haar beeltenis lief lag my aan,
Ek sien – as die sterrelig taan –
’n Roosknop wat stadig ontvou: –
– My noointjie van ver-hier-vandaan –
O „Pallida Rosa”, vir jou!

O blomkelk, met skoonheid belaan,
Ek smag op die middag-uur lou
My noointjie van ver-hier-vandaan
O „Rosa Perfecta”, na jou!

Ek ken jou nog nie – dit is waar –
Maar êrens moet jy tog bestaan;
Die aandson gloei rooi op die blaar
En ’k voel jy’s g’n ydele waan,
Want rooi sprei die liefde haar vaan!
En donker die oë getrou
– My noointjie van ver-hier-vandaan –
O Roos „Incarnada” – van jou!

red_roses1

Andries Gerhardus Visser (1878 – 1929)

visser_lettie

Image:  http://users.telenet.be/

This first video is the song “Words” by F R David

Princesse Lointaine

Was jy ’n rosebloesem
En ek die roos se geur,
Hoe heerlik deur die lewe
Steeds rondom jou te swewe.
Beswymend aan jou boesem,
Betower deur jou kleur.
Was jy ’n rosebloesem
En ek die roos se geur.

Was jy ’n lied se woorde
En ek die melodie.
Hoe sou die dag verheerlik
Jou skoonheid so begeerlik;
Die nag tril van akkoorde
En soetste harmonie.
Was jy ’n lied se woorde,
En ek die melodie.

Was jy die hoogste kranse,
En ek die sonnegloed.
Jou wange sou dan verwe
En op jou lippe sterwe
My eerste moreglanse
En laaste awend-groet;
Was jy die hoogste kranse
En ek die sonnegloed

Maar jy ’s Prinses van Verre
En ek… ’n troebadoer;
Al gloei ook my gesange
Van liefde en verlange,
– Die vuurvlieg vir die sterre –
Wat my ten hemel voer;
Jy bly Prinses van Verre
En ek… ’n troebadoer.

prinses.jpg

Stille Rivierstroom….Nick Taylor

Die middagson helder en klaar
Sien neer van sy blou hemelbaan;
Die roos sal haar hart openbaar
Aan wie haar geheime verstaan.
Jou huis is waar jou hart is
My hart is leeg geween
Vandat sy verdwyn het
wandel ek oral alleen

Sing oor somer briese
Jou weemoed sleep weer oor
Saammet die lowerstruike
sing my ‘n hemelse koor

Chorus:
Liefde, Liefde’s ‘n stille rivierstroom
wat vloei deur ons woestynland
Droog die rivier weg
dan sal al die klein vissies sterf

Ek stap deur lee strate
Die echo’s maak my seer
My hart is soos my hande
soekend maar bly altyd leeg

Woestyne kan my nie keer nie
Ek baan deur storms my weg
Ek sal die rivier weer terugvind
voor hierdie klein vissie sterf

Chorus

ROMANCE IN CHESS?
Romance in chess? ‘What could possibly be less romantic than chess?’ you might be asking. After all, chess is a game of war based on logic, isn’t it? There is nothing romantic about war or logic.

Many players are familiar with the famous quote by Dr. Siegbert Tarrasch from the preface to his classic manual The Game of Chess : ‘Chess, like love, like music, has the power to make men happy’ (which politically correct writers of more recent times change to ‘the power to make people happy’). Less familiar is Tarrasch’s preceding sentence, ‘I have always a slight feeling of pity for the man who has no knowledge of chess, just as I would pity the man who has remained ignorant of love.’

Chess once served a social function of allowing young men and women to meet above the board. Echecs et Féodalité : Raoul de Cambrai (Chess and feudalism; from Culture et curiosités, see the link box in the upper right corner of this article) tells of a poem by Bertolai, a 10th century poet from Laon, France. The poem, about a war of succession in Northern France, references chess twice. In the second reference chess is used as an excuse by the daughter of the new overlord Guerri to woo the hero Bernier to her chambers. Her chamberlain, assigned the task of arranging the meeting, says to Bernier, ‘My young lord, you can be proud of yourself, since the daughter of Guerri, the most noble woman from here to the south of France, asks that you join her in her apartments, to play chess. You should comply, but don’t play chess.’

The significance of this might be lost in our age of instant gratification, but as recently as 100 years ago, chess still occasionally served as a means to a more romantic end.


This popular illustration by Clarence Frederick Underwood (American, 1871-1929), is often listed under various titles. Our favorite is Knight takes Queen. This theme is not as unique as you might think. One web site has a collection of more than 50 drawings and photos, all with the theme ‘Couples playing chess’ (see the link box again). The images invariably have titles like ‘The right move’, ‘The greatest game in the world’, or variations on the word mate : ‘Impending Mate’, ‘Check and mate’, etc. The word ‘checkmate’ even figured in at least one early valentine.

‘My little love do you remember,
Ere we grew so sadly wise,
When you and I played chess together,
Checkmated by each others eyes?’
Source: http://chess.about.com/library/weekly/aa05b12.htm

love all night

Wow, one chess player on the chess site tells me he’s busy reading this book! E..er…

love rose

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I would like to blog about Edgar Poe…I came across poems and just loved his poetry, in particular, this one about Annabelle Lee….and in the same time, thought to find bits about love, as this poem is about the love for Annabelle Lee…I couldn’t link the site here from where I found these bits about Love I agree with, as there are links to adult sites and it wasn’t appropriate for all to read. It’s been quite a time that I gathered information about Love, as people have different “views”, but I do think most people agree about more or less the same when it comes to love. Feel free to list what you think “love” is! I will make my list with about 10 here…this list could be much longer, as we all know there are so much to say about this topic!
Love is…..
…..a cup of tea in bed when you’re still sleepy!
…..a flower from your own garden…
…..the chirping of birds in trees
…..a smile saying….”I love you!”
…..carrying those heavy bags of whatever!
…..massaging tired shoulders!
…..getting the bathtub ready!
…..showing polite manners….
…..the sunbeam on your face….
…..raindrops splashing about….

 

 Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American poet, short story writer, editor, literary critic, and one of the leaders of the American Romantic Movement. Best known for his tales of mystery and the macabre, Poe was one of the early American practitioners of the short story and a progenitor of detective fiction and crime fiction. He is also credited with contributing to the emergent science fiction genre.[1]Born in Boston, Edgar Poe’s parents died when he was still young and he was taken in by John and Frances Allan of Richmond, Virginia. Raised there and for a few years in England, Poe grew up in relative wealth, though he was never formally adopted by the Allans. After a short period at the University of Virginia and a brief attempt at a military career, Poe and the Allans parted ways. Poe’s publishing career began humbly with an anonymous collection of poems called Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827), credited only “by a Bostonian.” Poe moved to Baltimore to live with blood-relatives and switched his focus from poetry to prose. In July 1835, he became assistant editor of the Southern Literary Messenger in Richmond, where he helped increase subscriptions and began developing his own style of literary criticism. That year he also married Virginia Clemm, his 13-year old cousin.Read more about Edgar Poe here…
And on THIS LINK you will find all his poems and works.

How do you define love?
Some say it’s mysterious, magical, complex, difficult, imaginary, thought-provoking, inspirational, intuitional, joyous, immeasurable, ecstasy, and undefinable. Perhaps.
It is important to stand in Love, not fall into it.
Love is waking up to find the object of your affection in the dream you were having asleep on your shoulder.
Could it be that Love is a story that can never be fully expressed?
Love is a bond or connection between two people.
Love is the ability and willingness to allow those you care for to be what they choose for themselves, without any insistence that they satisfy you. – Leo Buscaglia
   

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. – 1 Corinthians 13:5-7
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I do like this poem!! by Poe…..

 

Annabel Lee
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.

-The End-


On this link
HERE you will find ALL of Edgar Allan Poe’s poems, prose and stories! Also a Biography and even a Resources-link!

 

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