English & American Love Poems  ( 11491 marta o'qilgan) Chop etish

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shoir  08 Oktyabr 2007, 17:19:59

William Shakespeare (English, 1564 - 1616)

Sonnet no. 29

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee,-- and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate,;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

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shoir  08 Oktyabr 2007, 17:20:49

Emily thingyinson (American, 1830 - 1886)

I cannot live with You --
It would be Life --
And Life is over there --
Behind the Shelf

The Sexton keeps the Key to --
Putting up
Our Life -- His Porcelain --
Like a Cup --

Discarded of the Housewife --
Quaint -- or Broke --
A newer Sevres pleases --
Old Ones crack --

I could not die -- with You --
For One must wait
To shut the Other's Gaze down --
You -- could not --

And I -- Could I stand by
And see You -- freeze --
Without my Right of Frost --
Death's privilege?

Nor could I rise -- with You --
Because Your Face
Would put out Jesus' --
That New Grace

Glow plain -- and foreign
On my homesick Eye --
Except that You than He
Shone closer by --

They'd judge Us -- How --
For You -- served Heaven -- You know,
Or sought to --
I could not --

Because You saturated Sight --
And I had no more Eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise

And were You lost, I would be --
Though My Name
Rang loudest
On the Heavenly fame --

And were You -- saved --
And I -- condemned to be
Where You were not --
That self -- were Hell to Me --

So We must meet apart --
You there -- I -- here --
With just the Door ajar
That Oceans are -- and Prayer --
And that White Sustenance --

- - - -
Emily thingyinson was born in Amherst, Massachusetts, in 1830. She attended Mount Holyoke Female Seminary in South Hadley but severe homesickness led her to return home after one year. In the years that followed, she seldom left her house and visitors were few. The people with whom she did come in contact, however, had an intense impact on her thoughts and poetry. She was particularly stirred by the Reverend Charles Wadsworth, whom she met on a trip to Philadelphia. He left for the West Coast shortly after a visit to her home in 1860, and his departure gave rise to a heartsick flow of verse from thingyinson, who deeply admired him. By the 1860s, she lived in almost total physical isolation from the outside world, but actively maintained many correspondences and read widely.
Her poetry reflects her loneliness and the speakers of her poems generally live in a state of want; but her poems are also marked by the intimate recollection of inspirational moments which are decidedly life-giving and suggest the possibility of future happiness. Her work was heavily influenced by the Metaphysical poets of seventeenth-century England, as well as by her Puritan upbringing and the Book of Revelation. thingyinson was extremely prolific as a poet and regularly enclosed poems in letters to friends, but she was not publicly recognized during her lifetime. The first volume of her work was published posthumously in 1890 and the last in 1955. She died in Amherst in 1886.

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shoir  08 Oktyabr 2007, 17:21:38

Theodore Roethke (American, 1908 - 1963)

"The Dream"


I met her as a blossom on a stem
Before she ever breathed, and in that dream
The mind remembers from a deeper sleep:
Eye learned from eye, cold lip from sensual lip.
My dream divided on a point of fire;
Light hardened on the water where we were;
A bird sang low; the moonlight sifted in;
The water rippled, and she rippled on.

She came toward me in the flowing air,
A shape of change, encircled by its fire.
I watched her there, between me and the moon;
The bushes and stones danced on and on;
I touched her shadow when the light delayed;
I turned my face away, and yet she stayed.
A bird sang from the center of a tree;
She loved the wind because the wind loved me.

Love is not love until love's vulnerable.
She slowed to sigh, in that long interval.
A small bird flew in circles where she stood;
The deer came down out of the dappled wood.
All who remember, doubt. Who calls that strange?
I tossed a stone and listened to its plunge.
She knew the grammar of least motion,
She taught me one virtue, and I live thereby.


She held her body steady in the wind;
Our shadows met, and slowly swung around;
She turned the field into a glittering sea;
I played in flame and water like a boy
And I swayed out beyond the white seafoam;
Like a wet log, I sang within a flame.
In that last while, eternity's confine,
I came to love, I came into my own.

- - - -
Theodore Roethke was born in Saginaw, Michigan, in 1908. As a child, he spent much time in the greenhouse owned by his father and uncle. His impressions of the natural world contained there would later profoundly influence the subjects and imagery of his verse. Roethke attended the University of Michigan and took a few classes at Harvard, but was unhappy in school. His first book, Open House (1941), took ten years to write and was critically acclaimed upon its publication. He went on to publish sparingly but his reputation grew with each new collection, including The Waking which was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1954. He admired the writing of such poets as Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman, Blake, Wordsworth, Yeats, and Dylan Thomas. Stylistically his work ranged from witty poems in strict meter and regular stanzas to free verse poems full of mystical and surrealistic imagery. At all times, however, the natural world in all its mystery, beauty, fierceness, and sensuality is close by, and the poems are possessed of an intense lyricism. He died in 1963.

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shoir  08 Oktyabr 2007, 17:22:26

Louise Gluck (American, 1943 - )

"Dedication to Hunger" (From Descending Figure, 1980)

1. From the Suburbs

They cross the yard
and at the back door
the mother sees with pleasure
how alike they are, father and daughter -
I know something of that time.
The little girl purposefully
swinging her arms, laughing
her stark laugh:

It should be kept secret, that sound.
It means she's realized
that he never touches her.
She is a child; he could touch her
if he wanted to.

2. Grandmother

"Often I would stand at the window --
your grandfather
was a young man then -
waiting, in the early evening."

That is what marriage is.
I watch the tiny figure
changing to a man
as he moves toward her,
the last light rings in his hair.
I do not question
their happiness. And he rushes in
with his young man's hunger,
so proud to have taught her that:
his kiss would have been
clearly tender --

Of course, of course. Except
it might as well have been
his hand over her mouth.

3. Eros

To be male, always
to go to women
and be taken back
into the pierced flesh:

I suppose
memory is stirred.
And the girl child
who wills herself
into her father's arms
likewise loved him
second. Nor is she told
what need to express.
There is a look one sees,
the mouth somehow desperate --

Because the bond
cannot be proven.

- - - -
Louise Glück, poet, essayist, and winner of numerous literary awards, was born in New York City in 1943 and grew up on Long Island. She teaches at Williams College and lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

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shoir  08 Oktyabr 2007, 17:22:51

Nikki Giovanni (American, 1943 - )

"A Poem of Friendship" (from Love Poems, 1997)

We are not lovers
because of the love
we make
but the love
we have

We are not friends
because of the laughs
we spend
but the tears
we save

I don't want to be near you
for the thoughts we share
but the words we never have
to speak

I will never miss you
because of what we do
but what we are

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shoir  08 Oktyabr 2007, 17:23:24

Resignation" (also from Love Poems, 1997)

I love you
because the Earth turns round the sun
because the North wind blows north
because the Pope is Catholic
and most Rabbis Jewish
because winters flow into spring
and the air clears after a storm
because only my love for you
despite the charms of gravity
keeps me from falling off the Earth
into another dimension
I love you
because it is the natural order of things

I love you
like the habit I picked up in college
of sleeping through lectures
or saying I'm sorry
when I get stopped for speeding
because I drink a glass of water
in the morning
and chain-smoke cigarettes
all through the day
because I take my coffee Black
and my milk with chocolate
because you keep my feet warm
through my life a mess
I love you
because I don't want it
any other way

I am helpless
in my love for you
It makes me so happy
to hear you call my name
I am amazed you can resist
locking me in an echo chamber
where your voice reverberates
through the four walls
sending me into spasmatic ecstasy
I love you
because it's been so good
for so long
that if I didn't love you
I'd have to be born again
and that is not a theological statement
I am pitiful in my love for you

The Dells tell me Love
is so simple
the thought though of you
sends indescribably delicious multitudinous
thrills throughout and through-in my body
I love you
because no two snowflakes are alike
and it is possible if you stand tippy-toe
to walk between the raindrops
I love you
because I am afraid of the dark
and can't sleep in the light
because I rub my eyes
when I wake up in the morning
and find you there
because you with all your magic powers were
determined that
I should love you
because there was nothing for you but that
I would love you
I love you
because you made me
want to love you
more than I love my privacy
my freedom my commitments
and responsibilities
I love you 'cause I changed my life
to love you
because you saw me one friday
afternoon and decided that I would
love you
I love you I love you I love you

- - - -
Yolanda Cornelia "Nikki" Giovanni was born in Knoxville, Tennessee, and raised in Ohio. In 1960, she entered Fisk University, where she worked with the school's Writer's Workshop and edited the literary magazine. After receiving her bachelor of arts degree, she organized the Black Arts Festival in Cincinnati and then entered graduate school at the University of Pennsylvania. In her first two collections, Black Feeling, Black Talk (1968) and Black Judgement (1969), Giovanni reflects on the African-American identity. Recently, she has published Blues For All the Changes: New Poems (1999), Love Poems (1997) and Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni (1996). Her honors include the NAACP Image Award for Literature in 1998, and the Langston Hughes award for Distinguished Contributions to Arts and Letters in 1996. Several magazines have named Giovanni Woman of the Year, including Essence, Mademoiselle, and Ladies' Home Journal. She is currently Professor of English and Gloria D. Smith Professor of Black Studies at Virginia Tech

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shoir  08 Oktyabr 2007, 17:24:07

Robert Wrigley (American, 1951 - )

"Do You Love Me?"

She's twelve and she's asking the dog,
who does, but who speaks
in tongues, whose feints and gyrations
are themselves parts of speech.

There on the back porch
and I don't really mean to be taking this in
but once I've heard I can't stop listening. Again
and again she asks, and the good dog

sits and wiggles, leaps and licks.
Imagine never asking. Imagine why:
so sure you wouldn't dare, or couldn't care
less. I wonder if the dog's guileless brown eyes

can lie, if the perfect canine lack of abstractions
might not be a bit like the picture books
she "read" as a child, before her parents' lips
shaped the daily miracle of speech

and kisses, and the words were not lead
and weighed only air, and did not mean
so meanly. "Do you love me?" she says
and says, until the dog, sensing perhaps

its own awful speechlessness, tries to bolt,
but she holds it by the collar and will not
let go, until, having come closer,
I hear the rest of it. I hear it all.

She's got the dog's furry jowls in her hands,
she's speaking precisely
into its laid back quivering ears:
"Say it," she hisses, "Say it to me."

Robert Wrigley was born in 1951, in East St. Louis, Illinois, into a coal mining family. In 1971 he was inducted into the U.S. Army; after four months he filed for discharge on the grounds of conscientious objection. Half a year later he was honorably discharged. He attended Southern Illinois University and the University of Montana, where he developed a profound and abiding love for the western wilderness. Since 1977 he has lived in Idaho; he currently heads the MFA program in creative writing at the University of Idaho.
Wrigley has published five books of poetry and received numerous awards. He typically takes the themes and subjects for his poetry from ordinary human experience and the natural world.

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shoir  08 Oktyabr 2007, 17:24:45

Jorie Graham (American, 1950 - )

"The Age of Reason"
(from Erosion, 1983)

The anxious bird in the wild
spring green
is anting, which means,
in my orchard
he has opened his wings
over a furious

anthill and will take up
into the delicate
ridges of quince-yellow
a number of tiny, angry

that will inhabit him, bewildered
no doubt,
traveling deep
into the air
on this feathery planet,
new life

We don't know why
they do it.
At times they'll take on
almost anything
that burns, spreading
their wings

over coals, over cigarette
even, mistakenly, on bits
of broken glass.
Meanwhile the light keeps
stroking them

as if it were love. The garden
continues its work
all round them, the gradual
openings that stand
for death. Under the plastic
groundcover the human

garden grows: help-sticks
and knots, row
after row. Who wouldn't want
to take
into the self
something that burns

or cuts, or wanders
over the body?

At the end of Werner Herzog's
after the hero whom
we love
who is mad has

the world, the young
who is his wife,
and loved her,
and covered himself
with blood,

he grows frightened
by how quickly
she softens and takes on the shape
of the soil.
In the moonlight he throws
his knife

into the wide river
flowing beside them
but doesnt think it has
reached deep
enough so goes in
after it

himself. White as a knife,
he goes in after it
completely. The trees are green.
The earth
is green. The light
is sick

with green. Now that
he's gone
the woman is a tiny
in green. Next day,
in slow

motion, the undertakers and
(it is the Age of
wander through the tall
and glossy

ferns and grasses
looking for
the instrument. It's spring.
The air is
gold. Every now and then
they lift

the white sheet they have
laid to see
what death is. They are
the day is everything
they have.

How far is true
How far into the
can vision go and
still be

love? Isn't the
of things where they
where only the wind
can bend them

back, the real weather,
not our
desire hissing Tell me
your parts
that I may understand
your body,

your story. Which is why
we have
characters and the knife
of a plot
to wade through this
current. Now

it's blossoms
back to back
through the orchard.
A surf
of tenderness. There is
no deep

enough. For what we want
to take
inside of us, whole orchard,
name, scent, symbol, raw

blossoms, wet black
arms there is
no deep enough.

- - - -
Jorie Graham was born in New York City in 1950. She attended New York University as an undergraduate and received an MFA from the University of Iowa. She is the author of numerous collections of poetry and recipient of numerous awards, including the 1996 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for The Dream of the Unified Field: Selected Poems 1974-1994.

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Zulfiyabonu  09 Oktyabr 2007, 03:55:21

 By Bobby G. Blackley Jr.

I wonder if you think of me
When night is drawing near.
And in the shadows of your room
The walls around you disappear.
I wonder if in your quiet thoughts
Your dreams of me are anymore.
When in the silent, velvet blue
The moon is tapping at your door.
I wonder if the shining stars
That dangle from the clouds above
Reminds you of my whispered words
In promise of eternal love.
I wonder of the lonely light
That breaks upon the early dawn
Still holds a tender memory for now
So long I have been gone.
I wonder if you dream of me
When the cloudless skies are blue
Because across each day and night
My thoughts are constantly of you.
 :2 :2






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