BAHNHOFSTRASSE

.....
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce (2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941) was an Irish expatriate author of the 20th century. He is known for his landmark novel Ulisses (1922) and its controversial successor Finnegans Wake(1939), as well as the shor storycollection Dubliners (1914) and the semi-autobiographical novel A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916).
Although he spent most of his adult life outside Ireland, Joyce's psychological and fictional universe is firmly rooted in his native Dublin, the city which provides the settings and much of the subject matter for all his fiction. In particular, his tempestuous early relationship with the Irish Roman Catholic Churchis reflected through a similar inner conflict in his recurrent alter ego Stephen Dedalus . As the result of his minute attentiveness to a personal locale and his self-imposed exile and influence throughout Europe notably i n Paris, Joyce paradoxically became one of the most comospolitan yet one of the most regionally focused of all the English Language writers of his time

Alone

The noon's greygolden meshes make

All night a veil,

The shorelamps in the sleeping lake

Laburnum tendrils trail.

The sly reeds whisper to the night

A name-- her name

And all my soul is a delight,

A swoon of shame.

Bahnhofstrasse

The eyes that mock me sign the way

Whereto I pass at eve of day.

Grey way whose violet signals are

The trysting and the twining star.

Ah star of evil! star of pain!

Highhearted youth comes not again

Nor old heart's wisdom yet to know

The signs that mock me as I go.

Be Not Sad

Be not sad because all men

Prefer a lying clamour before you:

Sweetheart, be at peace again -- -

Can they dishonour you?

They are sadder than all tears;

Their lives ascend as a continual sigh.

Proudly answer to their tears:

As they deny, deny.

POINT LOBOS

Edward Weston

One of the true regenerative artist: an awakener of the eye and the evolving mind it serves. Regeneration was a quality that Weston brought to photography for more than three decades, defining both the limits and the generosities of his medium. Point Lobos was only one of his subjects, though he returned to it again and again, and took his last photograph there. His career spanned crucial years in American photography, and a restless pursuit of his art created a body of work that ranged over nudes, still lifes, industrial scenes, portraiture, landscape
In 1937 Weston became the first photographer to receive the prestigious Guggenheim Fellowship. For a year, he traveled around the western United States with Charis Wilson, creating large-scale landscapes, a subject he had not pursued in depth since his time in Mexico.

The grant was renewed in 1938, part of which Weston spent at his new residence in Carmel, developing and printing negatives made in the preceding months.Weston created some 1,400 negatives during this remarkably productive time, and his visual approach became increasingly expansive. His deliberate, methodical technique of the late 1920s and early 1930s, when he spent hours creating single still life arrangements in his studio, gave way to greater spontaneity and an embrace of diverse views. His frame now encompassed hills, valleys, and coastlines, not just the rocks and tree stumps found there. He directed his attention to less static subjects, incorporating moving elements such as breaking waves or drifting clouds. , and any other subject that touched his visual imagination

HAROLD NORSE

Queer Beat Poet

Political activist and writer Born 1916, New York City. B.A., Brooklyn College 1938; M.A., New York University 1951. At age 22 in 1939 he became a member of W. H. Auden's inner circle, cited by scholar/critic Nicholas Jenkins in The New Yorker, April 1, 1996. William Carlos Williams called him "the best poet of your generation." The 10-year correspondence between Norse and Williams (1951-1961) was published by Bright Tyger, San Francisco 1990. [...]
That year City Lights published Norse's Hotel Nirvana: Selected Poems, establishing him among the leading Beat poets. He was nominated for the 1974 National Book Award.Norse lived in the "Beat Hotel" in Paris, 1960-63, with William Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg and Gregory Corso. There he wrote his experimental cut-up novel, Beat Hotel, published in German by Maro Verlag, Augsburg 1973, now in its 30th printing. [...]
With Carnivorous Saint: Gay Poems 1941-1976, Gay Sunshine Press 1977, Norse became the leading gay liberation poet. His Memoirs of a Bastard Angel (William Morrow), 1989, preface by James Baldwin, further established his reputation. [...]Norse has produced 12 books of poetry and 3 of prose. He has received 2 NEA poetry grants and a Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Poetry Association.

Classic Frieze in a Garage

I was walking thru the city past umberembassies

& pine-lined palaces

fat palms beside balconies

the heat something

you could really touch

the kids with cunning

delinquent faces

after american sailors

-thinking of nerval tends-moi le pausilippe

et la mer d'Italie & living

on the hill posillipo under

a gangster's dancefloor

among goldfinches

on the bay of naples

in a stone cottage

over tufa caves in which the sea

crashed in winter sweet gerad

one hundred years

have made the desolation greater

the tower is really down & the sun blackened

beyond despair the loudspeaker drowns

finches cliffs caves

all in the hands of racketeers

yet i have passed my time dreaming thru this

fantastic wreck

walking thru incendiary alleys of crowded laundry

with yellow gourds in windows &

crumbling masonry of wars

human corruption

so thick and hopeless that i laugh

when suddenly i saw among the oil & greasy rags

& wheels & axles of a garage

the carved nude figures of

a classic frieze

there above the dismantled

parts of cars!

perfect! & how strange! garage

swallows sarcophagus!

mechanic calmly spraying

paint on a

fender

observed in turn by lapith and centaury

flow

of unthinking flesh!

frank thighs!eyes

of aphrodite!

the myth of the mediterranean

was in that garage

where the brown wiry

youths saw nothing unusual

at their work

among dead heroes & gods

but i saw hermes in the rainbow

of the dark oil on the floor

reflected there

& the wild hair of the sybil

as her words bubbled

mad and drowned

beneath the motor's roar

ELETRIC VERSES

.....................street light & night time cities

Photo Gallery by arn at pbase.com

Electric Verses---------- bothFinnish and Swedish speaking. The site contains their

poetry in the original and translations into other languages.

EIRA STENBERG

Born in Tampere. Five collections of poetry, novels, radio plays, children's books and plays. Studied at the Sibelius Academy.

To talk of love…

the thing you can't talk about
the cul-de-sac of a looking-glass
with someone hanging upside down
from an invisible tree,
legs wrapped round a branch,
apparently grappling with gravity
and opening a mouthno cry comes out of…

Or to talk as if
love were a door
with a key called longing
and behind the door a tree flamed
into visibility,
a foetus straightened its legs and dived
up to the surface
and spoke to you the juggler,
who toss your head from hand to hand like dice,
and brought you a fresh leaf
after the deluge.

JUHANI AHVENJÄRVI

He living in Tampere. He has worked as teacher of creative writing in the University of Tampere and other places. He made his debut in 1992 in the anthology Ryhmä 92 -Group 92, edited by Jyrki Kiiskinen and Kari Levola-. Since that he has published three collections of poems, the latest of which, Yhä kiihtyvä tauko, came out in 2005.

There is no hope.
The image we
have of the eye
stays open

HELENA SINERVO

-1961 published her first collection of poems, Lukemattomiin (Untold), in 1994. Since that she has published six more. Sinervo has translated poems by Elizabeth Bishop and Yves Bonnefoy and written the lyrics for Liisa Lux’ debut song album (2002).

If the wind cannot recall, can you?

The one I thought of a thousand times
at the first hour, a thousand times at the second ,
could not recall me at all,
although the wind recalled its windward
a thousand times at the first hour, a thousand times at the second ,
and still at the third hour,
when the rooster had crowed thrice,
did the wind recall its windward
searching for early traces, covered in reminiscence.

JYRKI KIISKINEN

worked as editor in chief in the Nuori Voima literary magazine in 1991-1994 and Books from Finland in 1995-2000. He is one of the most important literary figures of his generation. He has published five collections of poems, three novels and three children’s books. He was awarded the Eino Leino Prize in 1992, Kalevi Jäntti Prize in 1994 and Yleisradio’s (the equivalent of the BBC) Tanssiva Karhu (Dancing Bear) Prize in 2000.

No one

So green that no one,
no one can say it
so green that the grass, the stand of pine trees
the clump of alders
cannot hide it
cannot describe
no one can describe it
so yellow that the dandelion, the
sun, so bright
that the water
that the light cannot break it
so deep, so warm, so quiet
is it
that no one can understand it
so icy, so dumb, so deep
is it

LEEVI LEHTO

- 1951- has published five collections of poems, Muuttunut tuuli -Changed Wind, 1967-, Rakkauden puheesta (Of Speech of Love, 1969-Ihan toinen iankaikkisuus -Quite Another Eternity, 1991- Kielletyt leikit -Forbidden Games, 1994- and Ääninen -1997- He also has published the novel Janajevin unet -Yanayev’s Dreams, 1992- and worked as translator, translating John Ashbery’s Flow Chart -Vuokaavio, 1994- among others.

You (I)
But I will couple you with the spring sky.
I have eaten angel flesh, drunk the moon from the sky,
visited China in a dream and returned to the kitchen at night:
to be my own son and close the cupboard door.

SEAMUS HEANEY

Seamus Heaney born 13 April 1939 is an Irish poet, writer and lecture and who was awarded theNobel Prize in Literature in 1995. He currently lives in Dublin



small bird

chirp-chirruped:

yellow neb,

a note-spurt.



Blackbird over

Lagan water.

Clumps of yellow

whin-burst!

LAJOS PARTI NAGY

Lajos Parti Nagy

He was born (1953) in Szekszárd, Hungary. teacher of literature and history from Pécs University before going on to edit the Pécs-based journal of contemporary, Hungarian literature, Jelenkor (The Present). He began his literary career as a poet and has been writing prose and drama since the early 1990s. He written and adapted a number of works for the stage as well as his own original pieces, (adaptations of works by Caragiale, Hauptmann, Kroetz, McDonagh and Moliere). He lived in Berlin in 2001-2002 on a DAAD scholarship Lajos Parti Nagy , contributed to the reinvention of the Hungarian, literary language and his works always present something new and memorable. His recent works ,Hősöm tere (My Hero's Square - published in German in 2000 as Meines Heldenplatz), Grafitnesz (Graffitness - poems, 2003) and A fagyott kutya lába (The Frozen Dog's Leg - short stories, 2006). Kossuth Prize and the Hungarian Literary Prize.

Speaking in terms

Speaking in terms

of perspective,

infinity

finally turns

the parallel

of our lines

into a point,

but in terms of

railway sleepers,

endlessly linked

and kept apart

we are both

running on

our own.

INDIAN CONTEMPORARY POETRY

THE POET


by P. Lal


For all his wild hair like an aureole, Stammer at parties, slipping from a tram,
Putting off the mending of a sole,
And putting on a mock-heroic Damn!,
He notices the spider’s intestines
Claim harlot, smuggler and blackmarketeer,
And in the clicking grin his eye divines
A moody world of artifice and fear.

Above all, this: When a woman turns
Black clouds of hair, with a rhythmic hand
Weaving their silk in the possessive sun,
He sees her common eyes stretch to a land
O lost, lost; as when repentance yearns
For hope,and love, and finds that there is none.

Purusottama Lal born 1929, in Punjab - India. Poet, essayist, translator, professor and publisher. Founder and publisher of Writer's Workshop in Calcutta where he lives presently.
Under the name of P. Lal, he has written eight books of poetry, over a dozen volumes of literary criticism, a memoir, several books of stories for children, and dozens of translations from other languages, chiefly Sanskrit, into English. He has also edited a number of literary anthologies.

Wild Geese Descending to Sandbar, Chosôn dynasty (1392–1910)Unidentified artist (late 15th–16th century)KoreaThe title identifies the work as one of the Eight Views of the Xiao and Xiang Rivers, a poetic theme traditionally associated with the Northern Song painter Song Di

This painting takes as its inspiration a poem, inscribed in Chinese characters in the upper right corner after the four-character title:

On the frozen frontier is a hail of arrows,

Along the Golden River [Jinhe] there are no rice fields.

Brothers one and all, flying down in skeins,

After ten thousand li, they arrive at Xiao and Xiang.

The distant waters shine like reels of silk

The level sands are white as glinting frost

.At the ferry quay, no one is about,

Close to the setting sun, the geese descend ever more gracefully.

(Translation by Roderick Whitfield)–ca.

THE ODE TO ANACTORIA

Sappho -fragment 2

The Ode to Anactoria


That man seems to me peer of gods, who sits in thy presence,
and hears close to him thy sweet speech and lovely laughter;
that indeed makes my heart flutter in my bosom. For when I
see thee but a little, I have no utterance left, my tongue is
broken down, and straightway a subtle fire has run under my
skin, with my eyes I have no sight, my ears ring, sweat pours
down, and a trembling seizes all my body; I am paler than
grass, and seem in my madness little better than one dead. But
I must dare all, since one so poor ...

H. T. Wharton

STOP ALL THE CLOCKS, CUT ......

E

STOP ALL THE CLOCKS,

CUT OFF THE TELEPHONE


W. H. Auden


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.



Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public

doves

,Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves



He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.



The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood

For nothing now can come any good

English poet and critic.To the young intellectuals of the left he was the great voice of the 30s: political,radical and uncomfortable.,his homosexuality was behind several personal refrences, appearing repeatedly in his poetry. As T.S.Eliot published the firsth collection of auden,poems 1930 he was immediately recognized as the spokesman of his generation


Erika Mann,arranged a marriage of convenience with W. H. Auden, in order to stay in England