Maison d'édition: Sanzani
The epics of Homer, the Iliad and the Odyssey, in Samuel Butler’s famous prose translation. An immortal poetry poem from greece that from ancient past teach us about philosophy, loves and war.
To celebrate May Day, LibriVox volunteers bring you six different recordings of May Day, by Sara Teasdale. This was the weekly poetry project for the week of April 30th, 2006.(Summary by Annie Coleman)Voir livre
An aged, decrepit old woman wanders the quiet hallways of her home. She remembers a day when they were brighter…more kinetic with anticipation of life within their walls. Family was a regular occurrence and the tinkling laughter of grandchildren used to echo through the house. Oh how she missed those times as she now hobbles oh-so-slowly with her cane through the archaic old home. And as the old woman wanders reminiscing through the halls, she comes upon a door; rusty hinges amplify groan of age as the door swings slowly open and she balances herself in the doorway. The old woman discovers a chest…an antique old cedar chest that is very large, and her breath catches briefly as her heart thumps in her own body. The chest has sparked a memory and she releases the door jam and using her cane for support, the woman shambles over to the massive trunk with anticipation in her eyes. It had been near eighty-five years after all, since she’d seen what was in the trunk and she could barely remember, though it called out to her in the otherwise empty room. Now, it took her what seemed like a very long time to reach it, and when she did, her weakened old body fell against it for support. She fumbled with the latch as her gnarled and arthritic hands fought against what it was she desired, but finally…she was able to snap the hasp upward, releasing the lock on the trunk. What she discovered inside was not just a memory; what she discovered was a living, breathing catalyst that grasped her firmly in its grips and propelled her back in time. The old woman discovered herself in the midst of her childhood friends; a child again herself, she caught the jump rope chant on the wind… Short Story Press publishes short stories written by everyday writers.Voir livre
P. T. Barnum exposes some of the chief humbugs of the world with his usual entertaining style. He looks at medicine and quacks, ghosts, witchcraft, religious humbugs, money manias, adventurers, personal reminiscences, and much more. (Summary by Barry Eads)Voir livre
Tears. Sometimes our greatest comfort. Often our darkest fear that we are about to be overwhelmed by sudden and uncontrollable feelings. From misting of the eyes, through soft drizzles on cheek to cascades that would put Niagara falls to shame the event of tears comes in all shapes and sizes. There is something primordial in their arrival. We may be the only animal to actually cry and scientists in their wish to explain everything cite the simultaneous release of endorphins to help relieve the emotional stress, the physical pain, as vital to restore the sense of calm and well-being. But not everything can be explained and pigeon-holed with certainty. Our quoted authority is not the people in white coats but those with a quill, a heart and a soul that can take these feelings of love and loss and with the ink of words put to verse feelings and emotions that can be re-lived and shared by all. As they venture through depression, war, slavery to heartache and the loss of loved ones our eyes may mist and tears gently fall at what collectively we have done, have experienced, have witnessed and lost. From Owen and Dickenson to Wheatly and Hopkins our surrender to tears may not be far away. 1 - Poems to Make You Cry - An Introduction 2 - Because I Liked You by A E Housman 3 - Sonnet 147 by William Shakespeare 4 - A Broken Appointment by Thomas Hardy 5 - So We'll Go No More a Roving by Lord Byron 6 - When You Are Old by W B Yeats 7 - Sonnet 90 - Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt; If Ever, Now by William Shakespeare 8 - I Shall Not Care by Sara Teasdale 9 - Goodbye by Alun Lewis 10 - The Wind's Lament by John Morris-Jones 11 - Sad-Eyed and Soft and Grey by William Morris 12 - The Sad Shepherd's Passion of Love by George Peele 13 - How Sweet I Roam'd From Field to Field by William Blake 14 - When I Have Fears by John Keats 15 - The Buried Life by Matthew Arnold 16 - We Wear the Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar 17 - I Am by John Clare 18 - Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox 19 - Ode XIV - To Solitude by Joseph Warton 20 - Solitude by Harold Munro 21 - Disappointment by Mary E Tucker 22 - A Thought For a Lonely Death Bed by Elizabeth Barrett Browning 23 - Alone by Edgar Allan Poe 24 - Piano by D H Lawrence 25 - Infelix by Adah Isaacs Menken 26 - Sonnet 66. Tired With All These, For Restful Death by William Shakespeare 27 - Life's Tragedy by Paul Laurence Dunbar 28 - No Worse There is None. Pitched Past, Pitch of Grief by Gerard Manley Hopkins 29 - Ardelia To Melancholy by Anne Kingsmill-Finch 30 - Melancholia by Robert Seymour Bridges 31 - The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde 32 - The Song of the Shirt by Thomas Hood 33 - Enslaved Poem by Claude McKay 34 - The Hunters of Men by John Greenleaf Whittier 35 - The Lynching by Claude McKay 36 - Poems on the Slave Trade. Sonnet VI by Robert Southey 37 - The Slave's Complaint by George Moses Horton 38 - The Slave Mother by Frances E W Harper 39 - The Slave's Singing at Midnight by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 40 - For the Fallen by Laurence Binyon 41 - Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen 42 - On Somme by Ivor Gurney 43 - In Flanders Fields by John McCrae 44 - I Have a Rendezvous with Death by Alan Seeger 45 - Fallen by Alice Corbin 46 - In Memoriam (Easter 1915) by Edward Thomas 47 - Anthem For Doomed Youth by Wildred Owen 48 - My Boy Jack by Rudyard Kipling 49 - Tears Ere Thy Death by Khansa 50 - Bereavement In Their Death To Feel by Emily Dickinson 51 - If Grief For Grief Can Touch These by Emily Bronte 52 - Goodbye by Richard Aldington<pVoir livre
I'm ill-equipped   for this. I sit     by a fake fireplace that frames a real flame.   I've been crossed     by two crows today. 'Multi-vectored, Rogers's poems hum with life and tension, their speaker poised as mother, seer, reporter and daughter. They speak of loss and cold realities (misplaced charms of luck, a tour of an assisted-living facility, coins thrown into Niagara Falls). They also interweave dreams and visions: “O Lion, I am / an old handmaiden; I will not lay the pretty baby in the lap / of the imposter.�* Simple but evocative, at once strange and plain, Rogers's poems of address ricochet off the familiar “Dear Reader�* or Dickinson's “Dear Master�* ... Rogers's poems provide instructions for what to leave, what to take and what to fight. They act as selvage between the vast mother-ocean — the mem of memory — and the fabric we make of the uncertain in-between.’ — Hoa Nguyen, The Boston Review ‘How can we live with the kind of pain that worsens each day? Dear Leader explains through bold endurance, enumerated blessings and the artistic imagination. By pasting stark truths over, or under, images of strange, compelling beauty, Rogers creates a collage, a simulation of the human heart underassault, bleeding but unbroken. Part Orpheus, part pop-heroine who can “paint the daytime black,�* all, an original act of aesthetic violence and pure, dauntless, love.’ — Lynn Crosbie ’In Dear Leader, Damian Rogers re-invents the same-old poetic lyric to offers us one-of-a-kind insights on childbirth and party bars, rolling blackouts and old rock standards. Here, what looks at first like familiar language always reveals itself to be a rare mineral. And that’s the magic: this is a poetry that refuses to be staged or to succumb to cliché or mannerism, insisting on celebration and condemnation, caution and cosmic vibrations. “Say you’re a poet,�* Rogers advises us, tongue-in-cheek, “Maybe you mean / Hi, I have a lot of feelings.�* Striking that balance between one-liners and mourning is no small feat.‘ —Trillium Award Jury Citation Praise for Paper Radio: ‘Paper Radio jumped out at me and I can’t say why, but that’s what you want poetry to do, and I never want to say why. Because it’s real and talking to me. Because it’s bloody and horrifying beauty. It’s the Clash and Buckminster Fuller, Auden and Bowie.’ — Bob HolmanVoir livre
LibriVox volunteers bring you 15 different recordings of What think you I take my pen in hand? by Walt Whitman. This was the weekly poetry project for the week of April 29th, 2007.Voir livre
