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Archive O-P

· Wilfred Owen: Anthem for Doomed Youth (Poem) · Laure (Colette Peignot): Ils craignent · Wilfred Owen: Arms and the Boy (Poem) · Wilfred Owen: A Terre (Poem) · Wilfred Owen poetry: The End · The Unknown Poe. An Anthology of Fugitive Writings by Edgar Allan Poe · Armistice of 11 November 1918/2018 – Wilfred Owen: Dulce et Decorum Est (Poem) · Hervé Prudon: Devant la mort. Poésie · Diane di Prima: The Poetry Deal. San Francisco Poet Laureate Series No. 5 · Jérôme Peignot: Typoèmes. Poésie visuelle · Bobby Parker: Working Class Voodoo · Laure (Colette Peignot): Écrits

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Wilfred Owen: Anthem for Doomed Youth (Poem)

      

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
— Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Wilfred Owen
(1893 – 1918)
Anthem for Doomed Youth (Poem)

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Laure (Colette Peignot): Ils craignent

 

Ils craignent

Peu savent qu’à se détourner
ils retrouveraient le sel de la vie

A se détourner ils craindraient
de se voir transformer en statue de sel.

Peu savent qu’à se détourner de droit chemin
ils retrouveraient le goût.

 

Laure
(Colette Peignot 1903 – 1938)
Ils craignent

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More in: Archive K-L, Archive O-P, Laure (Colette Peignot)


Wilfred Owen: Arms and the Boy (Poem)

      

Arms and the Boy

Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade
How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;
Blue with all malice, like a madman’s flash;
And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.

Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-leads,
Which long to nuzzle in the hearts of lads,
Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth
Sharp with the sharpness of grief and death.

For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.
There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;
And God will grow no talons at his heels,
Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.

Wilfred Owen
(1893 – 1918)
Arms and the Boy (Poem)

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Wilfred Owen: A Terre (Poem)

      

A Terre

(Being the philosophy of many Soldiers.)

Sit on the bed; I’m blind, and three parts shell.
Be careful; can’t shake hands now; never shall.
Both arms have mutinied against me,—brutes.
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.

I tried to peg out soldierly,—no use!
One dies of war like any old disease.
This bandage feels like pennies on my eyes.
I have my medals?—Discs to make eyes close.
My glorious ribbons?—Ripped from my own back
In scarlet shreds. (That’s for your poetry book.)

A short life and a merry one, my buck!
We used to say we’d hate to live dead-old,—
Yet now … I’d willingly be puffy, bald,
And patriotic. Buffers catch from boys
At least the jokes hurled at them. I suppose
Little I’d ever teach a son, but hitting,
Shooting, war, hunting, all the arts of hurting.
Well, that’s what I learnt,—that, and making money.

Your fifty years ahead seem none too many?
Tell me how long I’ve got? God! For one year
To help myself to nothing more than air!
One Spring! Is one too good to spare, too long?
Spring wind would work its own way to my lung,
And grow me legs as quick as lilac-shoots.

My servant’s lamed, but listen how he shouts!
When I’m lugged out, he’ll still be good for that.
Here in this mummy-case, you know, I’ve thought
How well I might have swept his floors for ever.
I’d ask no night off when the bustle’s over,
Enjoying so the dirt. Who’s prejudiced
Against a grimed hand when his own’s quite dust,
Less live than specks that in the sun-shafts turn,
Less warm than dust that mixes with arms’ tan?
I’d love to be a sweep, now, black as Town,
Yes, or a muckman. Must I be his load?

O Life, Life, let me breathe,—a dug-out rat!
Not worse than ours the lives rats lead—
Nosing along at night down some safe rut,
They find a shell-proof home before they rot.
Dead men may envy living mites in cheese,
Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys,
And subdivide, and never come to death.
Certainly flowers have the easiest time on earth.
“I shall be one with nature, herb, and stone,”
Shelley would tell me. Shelley would be stunned:
The dullest Tommy hugs that fancy now.
“Pushing up daisies,” is their creed, you know.

To grain, then, go my fat, to buds my sap,
For all the usefulness there is in soap.
D’you think the Boche will ever stew man-soup?
Some day, no doubt, if …
Friend, be very sure
I shall be better off with plants that share
More peaceably the meadow and the shower.
Soft rains will touch me,— as they could touch once,
And nothing but the sun shall make me ware.
Your guns may crash around me. I’ll not hear;
Or, if I wince, I shall not know I wince.

Don’t take my soul’s poor comfort for your jest.
Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds,
But here the thing’s best left at home with friends.

My soul’s a little grief, grappling your chest,
To climb your throat on sobs; easily chased
On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds.

Carry my crying spirit till it’s weaned
To do without what blood remained these wounds.

Wilfred Owen
(1893 – 1918)
A Terre (Poem)

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Wilfred Owen poetry: The End

  

The End

After the blast of lightning from the east,
The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot Throne;
After the drums of time have rolled and ceased,
And by the bronze west long retreat is blown,

Shall Life renew these bodies? Of a truth
All death will he annul, all tears assuage?-
Or fill these void veins full again with youth,
And wash, with an immortal water, Age?

When I do ask white Age he saith not so:
‘My head hangs weighed with snow.’
And when I hearken to the Earth, she saith:

‘My fiery heart shrinks, aching. It is death.
Mine ancient scars shall not be glorified,
Nor my titanic tears, the seas, be dried.’

Wilfred Owen
(1893 – 1918)
The End

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The Unknown Poe. An Anthology of Fugitive Writings by Edgar Allan Poe

An indispensable anthology of brilliant hard-to-find writings by Poe on poetry, the imagination, humor, and the sublime which adds a new dimension to his stature as a speculative thinker and philosopher. Essays (in translation) by Charles Baudelaire, Stéphane Mallarmé, Paul Valéry, & André Breton shed light on Poe’s relevance within European literary tradition.

These are the arcana of Edgar Allan Poe: writings on wit, humor, dreams, drunkenness, genius, madness, and apocalypse. Here is the mind of Poe at its most colorful, its most incisive, and its most exceptional.

Edgar Allan Poe’s dark, melodic poems and tales of terror and detection are known to readers everywhere, but few are familiar with his cogent literary criticism, or his speculative thinking in science, psychology or philosophy. This book is an attempt to present his lesser known, out of print, or hard to find writings in a single volume, with emphasis on the theoretical and esoteric. The second part, “The Friend View,” includes seminal essays by Poe’s famous admirers in France, clarifying his international literary importance.

America has never seen such a personage as Edgar Allan Poe. He is a figure who appears once an epoch, before passing into myth. American critics from Henry James to T. S. Eliot have disparaged and attempted to explain away his influence to no end, save to perpetuate his fame. Even the disdainful Eliot once conceded, “and yet one cannot be sure that one’s own writing has not been influence by Poe.”

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), born in Boston, Massachusetts, was an American poet, writer, editor, and literary critic. He is well known for his haunting poetry and mysterious short stories. Regarded as being a central figure of Romanticism, he is also considered the inventor of detective fiction and the growing science fiction genre. Some of his most famous works include poems such as The Raven, Annabel Lee, and A Dream Within a Dream; tales such as The Cask of Amontillado, The Masque of Red Death, and The Tell-Tale Heart.

Title: The Unknown Poe
Subtitle: An Anthology of Fugitive Writings
Author: Edgar Allan Poe
Edited by Raymond Foye
Publisher: City Lights Publishers
Format: Paperback
124 pages
1980
ISBN-10 0872861104
ISBN-13 9780872861107
List Price $11.95

# American writers
Edgar Allan Poe
fleursdumal.nl magazine

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Armistice of 11 November 1918/2018 – Wilfred Owen: Dulce et Decorum Est (Poem)

      

Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Wilfred Owen
(1893 – 1918)
Dulce et Decorum Est (Poem)
# Armistice of 11 November 1918 – 2018

fleursdumal.nl magazine

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Hervé Prudon: Devant la mort. Poésie

Auteur de la Série Noire, Hervé Prudon est mort en 2017 d’un cancer annoncé. Les deux derniers mois de sa vie, il les a consacrés à écrire des poèmes qui témoignent avec lucidité de son dernier combat : revendication de la solitude, détachement, conscience de la mort qui vient, souci de celle qui reste seule. Ils dessinent au-delà de la mort la personnalité d’un homme radical, porteur d’une douleur existentielle qu’il cherchait à conjurer.

Écrits dans l’urgence, ces textes brefs et nerveux acquièrent un supplément de vigueur, de force et d’acuité. En dépit des circonstances, des traits d’humour viennent tempérer la sèche gravité du propos, loin de tout cynisme, de tout pathos. Ce court testament est à la fois une leçon de stoïcisme et un morceau de tendresse humaine à vif.

«Atteint d’un cancer diagnostiqué en août 2017, Hervé Prudon se savait condamné. Durant les deux derniers mois de sa vie, où il lui était devenu impossible d’écrire le roman qu’il avait ébauché, il remplira deux carnets de moleskine noirs d’une écriture tremblée. Une centaine de poèmes qui tous parlent de la mort à venir et frappent par leur lucidité et l’urgence dont ils sont un puissant témoignage. Ils dessinent en creux la personnalité d’un homme, porteur d’une douleur existentielle qu’il chercha toute sa vie à conjurer par la légèreté.» Sylvie Péju

Hervé Prudon, né le 27 décembre 1950 à Sannois (Seine-et-Oise) et mort le 15 octobre 2017 à Paris, est un écrivain, journaliste et scénariste français, spécialisé dans le roman policier et la littérature d’enfance et de jeunesse. Hervé Prudon laisse derrière lui une vingtaine de romans et des poèmes.

 

j’étais tremblé trempé de mon septembre
j’ânonnais dans ma tête en scaphandre
un dictionnaire de rimes à rien
mourir était mon programme court
écrire déjà était mort de fatigue et silence
c’était un premier pas vers ma longue absence

 

Hervé Prudon
Devant la mort
Littérature française – Poésie
ISBN-10 2072819849
Gencode : 9782072819841
Code distributeur : G02336
Collection Blanche, Gallimard
Parution : 11-10-2018
Langue : Français
128 pages
140 x 205 mm
Prix 14,50€

# new poetry
Hervé Prudon
fleursdumal.nl magazine

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Diane di Prima: The Poetry Deal. San Francisco Poet Laureate Series No. 5

The Poetry Deal is the first full-length collection of individual poems in decades from legendary feminist Beat poet, Diane di Prima.

Framed by two passionate, and critical, prose statements assessing her adopted home city, The Poetry Deal is a collection of poems that provide a personal and political look at 40 years of Bay Area culture. Often elegiac in tone, the book captures the poet’s sense of loss as she chronicles the deaths of friends from the AIDS epidemic as well as the passing of illustrious countercultural colleagues like Philip Whalen, Pigpen from the Grateful Dead, and Kirby Doyle.

She also recalls and mourns out-of-town inspirations like Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, Audre Lorde, and Ezra Pound. Yet even as she laments the state of her city today, she finds triumph and solace in her own relationships, the marriages of her friends, the endurance of City Lights, and other symbols of San Francisco’s heritage.

Born in Brooklyn in 1934, di Prima emerged as a member of the Beat Generation in New York in the late ’50s; in the early ’60s, she founded the important mimeo magazine, The Floating Bear, with her lover LeRoi Jones (Amiri Baraka). In the late ’60s, she moved to San Francisco, where she would publish her groundbreaking Revolutionary Letters (1971) with City Lights. Her other important books include Memoirs of a Beatnik, Pieces of a Dream, Recollections of My Life as a Woman, and Loba. She was named San Francisco Poet Laureate in 2009.

“The Poetry Deal is fresh flame from a revolutionary fire that continues to burn. Every woman of every age should carry it in a purse with their pepper spray. Diane is the ultimate weapon.”—Amber Tamblyn, author of Dark Sparkler

Title The Poetry Deal
Subtitle San Francisco Poet Laureate Series No. 5
Author Diane di Prima
Collection San Francisco Poet Laureates
Publisher City Lights Publishers
Publication 2014
Format Paperback
ISBN-10 1931404151
ISBN-13 9781931404150
pages 120
Price $11.95

# new books
Diane di Prima poet
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: #Beat Generation Archives, - Book Lovers, - Book News, Archive O-P, Archive O-P, Art & Literature News


Jérôme Peignot: Typoèmes. Poésie visuelle

Jérôme Peignot, romancier, essayiste, est aussi l’auteur d’une œuvre poétique consacrée à interroger l’écriture dans sa matérialité, proposant de celle-ci une lecture typographique ludique.

Dans ce recueil imaginatif et facétieux de typoèmes, chiffres, lettres, palindromes, anagrammes, esperluettes, virgules… sont autant d’images alphabétiques nouvelles pour “retrouver l’étymologie graphique des êtres et des choses”.

Une poésie visuelle concrète qui révèle ainsi, par l’invention, l’humour et l’impromptu, “les mécanismes graphiques jusque dans leurs intimes arcanes, et partant, témoigne qu’ils ne sont pas lettres mortes”.

Jérôme Peignot, poète et écrivain, a publié une trentaine d’ouvrages, régulièrement réédités, dont Typoésie (Éditions de l’imprimerie nationale, 1993 réée. 2005), Typoèmes (Seuil, 2003) et Les Jeux de l’amour et du langage (10/1, 1974 rééd. 2009). Ces dernières années, il creuse le sillon de la poésie et publie des sonnets dans la revue Conférence ou en recueils (Éditions des cendres, Éditions de l’amandier).

Jérôme Peignot
Typoèmes
Poésie visuelle
Hors collection
Actes Sud
Poésie
Novembre, 2017
11,5 x 17,0
156 pages
ISBN 978-2-330-08731-9
prix indicatif: 16,80€

new books
fleursdumal.nl magazine

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Bobby Parker: Working Class Voodoo

Bobby Parker’s Working Class Voodoo is an enterprise of dark metaphysics which exists in the same tradition as Thomas de Quincey and Elizabeth Bishop.

Punishing, plaintive, improper, vitally comic, Parker employs a vibrato narrative deeply concerned with the cost of both journey and arrival, with the irresistible darkness of both humour and tragedy in contrast and counter to one another. In poems which push at questions of contemporary masculinity, of the domestic and of the bonds of family, our unreliability, our desires, our addictions and our weaknesses are both indulged and confronted. Yet where such commitment to the uncovering of artifice might be expected to provoke disdain,

Parker’s singing faith in human love is what these poems reveal. What is lost will be recovered, and what was thought impossible will be achieved, no matter the darkness, no matter the weight. Working Class Voodoo is a confessional and a challenge, and a swampy, seductive ride into the night.

Bobby Parker
Working Class Voodoo
Publisher: Offord Road Books
Poetry
Publ. 3 May 2018
Paperback
64pp
ISBN 978–1–999–93041–7
£10

new poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: - Book News, Archive O-P, Art & Literature News, LIGHT VERSE, MODERN POETRY


Laure (Colette Peignot): Écrits

 

Écrits

La vie répond – ce n’est pas vain
on peut agir
contre – pour
La vie exige
le mouvement
La vie c’est le cours du sang
le sang ne s’arrête pas de courir dans les veines
je ne peux pas m’arrêter de vivre
d’aimer les êtres humains
comme j’aime les plantes
de voir dans les regards une réponse ou un appel
de sonder les regards comme un scaphandre
mais rester là
entre la vie et la mort
à disséquer des idées
épiloguer sur le désespoir
Non
ou tout de suite : le revolver
il y a des regards comme le fond de la mer
et je reste là
quelquefois je marche et les regards se croisent
tout en algues et détritus
d’autres fois chaque être est une réponse ou un appel

Laure
(Colette Peignot 1903 – 1938)
Écrits

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive K-L, Archive O-P, Laure (Colette Peignot)


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