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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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What is poetry?


Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


There are poets whose work, without exaggeration, belongs to the treasures of human thought and rightly is a world heritage. In our electronic library you will find a wide variety of poetry.
Opening a new collection of poems, the reader thus discovers a new world, a new thought, a new form. Rereading the classics, a person receives a magnificent aesthetic pleasure, which doesn’t disappear with the slamming of the book, but accompanies him for a very long time like a Muse. And it isn’t at all necessary to be a poet in order for the Muse to visit you. It is enough to pick up a volume, inside of which is Poetry. Be with us on our website.

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Primeiro: O DOS CASTELOS

 

A Europa jaz, posta nos cotovelos:

De Oriente a Ocidente jaz, fitando,

E toldam-lhe românticos cabelos

Olhos gregos, lembrando.

O cotovelo esquerdo é recuado;

O direito é em ângulo disposto.

Aquele diz Itália onde é pousado;

Este diz Inglaterra onde, afastado,

A mão sustenta, em que se apoia o rosto.

Fita, com olhar esfíngico e fatal,

O Ocidente, futuro do passado.

O rosto com que fita é Portugal.





Fernando Pessoa, 1928 in Mensagem.

Oda a Espanya

 

Escolta, Espanya, — la veu d’un fill

que et parla en llengua — no castellana:

parlo en la llengua — que m’ha donat

la terra aspra;

en ‘questa llengua — pocs t’han parlat;

en l’altra, massa.



T’han parlat massa — dels saguntins

i dels qui per la pàtria moren;

les teves glòries — i els teus records,

records i glòries — només de morts:

has viscut trista.



Jo vull parlar-te — molt altrament.

Per què vessar la sang inútil?

Dins de les venes — vida és la sang,

vida pels d’ara — i pels que vindran;

vessada, és morta.



Massa pensaves — en ton honor

i massa poc en el teu viure:

tràgica duies — a mort els fills,

te satisfeies — d’honres mortals

i eren tes festes — els funerals,

oh trista Espanya!





Jo he vist els barcos — marxar replens

dels fills que duies — a que morissin:

somrients marxaven — cap a l’atzar;

i tu cantaves — vora del mar

com una folla.



On són els barcos? — On són els fills?

Pregunta-ho al Ponent i a l’ona brava:

tot ho perderes, — no tens ningú.

Espanya, Espanya, — retorna en tu,

arrenca el plor de mare!



Salva’t, oh!, salva’t — de tant de mal;

que el plor et torni feconda, alegre i viva;

pensa en la vida que tens entorn:

aixeca el front,

somriu als set colors que hi ha en els núvols.



On ets, Espanya? — No et veig enlloc.

No sents la meva veu atronadora?

No entens aquesta llengua — que et parla entre perills?

Has desaprès d’entendre an els teus fills?

Adéu, Espanya!


Joan Maragall, 1898.

Juste un peu de poésie

 

J'aurais pu écrire un poème,

Qui mette en branle le système

J'aurais pu dénoncer en vers

Le rouge du sang que la guerre

Fait couler sur nos joues, enfants,

Mais je n'en ai pas eu le temps !



J'aurais pu m'engager en rime

Pour la Bosnie-Herzégovine

Ou bien composer un quatrain

Pour tous ceux qui meurent de faim,

Chaque jour dans tous les pays

Mais je n'en ai pas eu envie !



J'aurais pu donner un sonnet,

Pour le massacre rouandais

J'aurais pu dédier une balade,

À des individus malades

Du sida, pour leur rendre hommage

Je n'en ai pas eu le courage !



J'aurais pu produire un tercet

Pour la pollution que l'on fait

Ou créer trois ou quatre strophes

Pour une très grande catastrophe

Un séisme ou même un typhon

Mais je n'ai pas d'inspiration !



J'aurais pu écrire un pantoum

Sur la culture au Cameroun

J'aurais bien pu faire une chanson

Pour déboucher les siphons

Ou bien pondre quelques refrains

Sur le sort de petits poussins

J'aurais bien pu mettre en pieds

La triste forme de mon nez !



Je veux seulement un sujet

Des plus futiles et discrets

Pour faire un peu de poésie

Et qu'elle embellisse ma vie.

 

Suzon Laesser, 1994, Poèmes d'Enfance.

Song of Myself, 4

 

Trippers and askers surround me,

People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward

and city I live in, or the nation,

The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,

My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,

The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,

The sickness of one of my folks or of myself or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,

Battles, the horrors of fatricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events;

These come to me days and nights and go from me again,

But they are not the Me myself.



Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,

Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,

Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,

Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,

Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.



Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders,

I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.








Walt Whitman, 1855, in Leaves of Grass

Ma belle et grande Catalogne

 

À Jesús Badià Serra

 

Ils ont frappé sans vergogne

Gardiens du Royaume et des Civilités

Un jour la Grande Catalogne,

De Perpignan à l'Alguer,

Toute paisible et sans rogne

Saura se relever.



 



Suzon Laesser, Andorra, 2019

X-Mas Letter

 

 

Dear Santa,



As every year for Christmas I would like to have:

Peace on Earth

Frieden - мир - سلام - PAIX - paz - PAU - Hɛrɛ - Pace



P.S.: + 1 Loudspeaker!



Osvflyd Green, 2009 ©ж3

Crèdits

 

Dotze Poemes, Vol. 9, MMXIX

 


Publica: Grosella i Grandalla Edicions, Ж³, The GG02 Echo Network

NRT F-296559-A Arinsal (La Massana), Principat d'Andorra

contacte: grosellaigrandalla@andorra.ad


Crèdits foto portada Jean-Léon Gérôme _La Vérité sortant du puits_ 1896 Domini públic // Pàgina 11 Ambrogio Lorenzetti, Allegory of Good Government, Detail of Peace, Fortitude and Prudence, 1338, Detall Pau/ Peace, Domini públic

 

 

©2019 Tots drets reservats als autors del segell © ж3

Imprint

Text: Grosella i Grandalla Edicions Ж³
Cover: Jean-Léon Gérôme _La Vérité sortant du puits_ 1896 Public Domain
Editing: Geri G. Nevers / Jordi Pascual
Publication Date: 05-07-2019

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
Amb la temàtica "Polis" referint-se a la poesia política, talls de mots, com testimonis de les nostres societats llegats en versos, dediquem aquest novè volum de 12 Poemes a A Jesús Babià i Serra (1934 - 2018). Inserim un poema escrit especialment "Ma belle et grande Catalogne", que l'autora Suzon Laesser va escriure recordant una de les converses que vam tenir ell i ella a la bibiloteca privada de Jesús Babià a la Vila d'Organyà (Catalunyà, Alt Urgell). Hem provat de fer una selecció de "poèmes engagés"- com es diu en francès- tot i guardant una mica d'ironia i lleugeresa (per exemple amb els poemes de Catullus 84 i el de Sílvia Melgajero "Identitat" així com el poema "Un peu de Poésie" de Suzon Laesser. Denunciem amb poemes més greus l'horror de les guerres (Calligrammes Apollinaire), el pes de les discriminacions "històriques" (Oda a Espanya) .

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