Arhive pe etichete: poezie

Ma simt mediocra

L-am descoperit pe tipu asta, Jim Carroll, cu o viata incredibila si talente cat cuprinde. Super inzestrat pentru baschet, devine dependent de heroina la 13 ani, se prostitueaza sa-si intretina obiceiul si-n tot timpul asta scrie. La 17 ani i se publica prima carte si impresioneaza. Lucreaza cu Andy Warhol, devine un apropiat al lui Patti Smith, este considerat un icon in toate zonele culturale americane si nu numai. Poetul punk isi face trupa iar una dintre melodii e inclusa pe coloana sonora a filmului E.T. Continua sa scrie si sa participe la tot felul de evenimente literare. In 95 se face un film despre viata lui, bazat pe best sellerul lui The Basketball Diaries. Profund afectat de moartea lui Kurt Cobain.
Moare in 2009, la 60 de ani, in Manhattan.

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Din categoria Jinx says

Pe genu romantic

Poezia mea preferata de la Pablo Neruda:

I can write the saddest lines tonight.

Write for example: ‘The night is fractured
and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’

The night wind turns in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
I loved her, sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like these I held her in my arms.
I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes.

I can write the saddest lines tonight.
To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her.

Hear the vast night, vaster without her.
Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass.

What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her.
The night is fractured and she is not with me.

That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off,
my soul is not content to have lost her.

As though to reach her, my sight looks for her.
My heart looks for her: she is not with me

The same night whitens, in the same branches.
We, from that time, we are not the same.

I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.

Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes.

I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her.
Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.

Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms,
my soul is not content to have lost her.

Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer,
and these are the last lines I will write for her.

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