Love is THE MASTER...Conversemos através da alma...ao Ti Jaquim Xapa e á Ti Mari Rapada!...revelemos o que é secreto aos olhos e ouvidos...Rumi !!!

LOVE IS THE MASTER

Love is the One who masters all things;
I am mastered totally by Love.
By my passion of love for Love
I have ground sweet as sugar.
O furious Wind, I am only a straw before you;
How could I know where I will be blown next?
Whoever claims to have made a pact with Destiny
Reveals himself a liar and a fool;
What is any of us but a straw in a storm?
How could anyone make a pact with a hurricane?
God is working everywhere his massive Resurrection;
How can we pretend to act on our own?
In the hand of Love I am like a cat in a sack;
Sometimes Love hoists me into the air,
Sometimes Love flings me into the air,
Love swings me round and round His head;
I have no peace, in this world or any other.
The lovers of God have fallen in a furious river;
They have surrendered themselves to Love's commands.
Like mill wheels they turn, day and night, day and night,
Constantly turning and turning, and crying out.



Başka Yarınlar

İmrûz cemâl-i tü sîmâ-yı diger dâred
İmrûz leb-î nûşet helvâ-yı diger dâred

Bugün yüzünde bir başka güzellik var senin,
bugün dudağında başka bir tad var,
boyunda başka bir yücelik
Bugün kırmızı gülün bir başka daldan

Ayın gökyüzüne bugün sığmamış
Göklere benzeyen göğsün bugün daha geniş
Hangi yanından kalktın bu sabah, söyle,
bir başka kavga var dünyada senin yüzünden,
dünyada bir başka gidiş

Biz senin gözlerinden gördük
arslanlara meydan okuyan o ceylanı,
Başka bir ovası var o ceylanın bugün
iki cihandan da dışarı

Seven insanın ayağı mı yok,
işte ona ölümsüzlük kapandı
Yukarlarda onunla uçar gider

Gözlerinin denizinde onu arama
Oinci bir başka denizde

Bakarsın bugün sever bu yürek,
yarın sevilir bakarsın

Yüreğimin özünde başka yarınlar var

Mevlana Celaleddin Rumi



Mavlana Rumi, 30.09.1207, Balkh, Persian.

"ROSE IS A ROSE IS A ROSE IS A ROSE" SAPPHÓ !!!

Song of the Rose
For Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.

Poem by Sappho, Lesbo, Ereso, 640 a.c.circ.

Un immense poéte de l'ámour...SAYAT-NOVA!!!...ao Ti Zé Caratana e á Xá Ana...il fut le rossignol énamouré qui chanta sa rose avec une soif inextinguib

ODE N° 47

Visions de Nazanie

(I753)



J'appelle Anna, mon rubis, (Lalanie)

Importé des mines de Badechkhan.

Peut-être mourrai-je de nostalgie,

Ma langue-rossignol couperont-ils.

Que pleurent les ennemis, restent à l'écart mes amis.



Tu portes la soie pourpre à merveille, Nazanie,

Orne ton front avec un ruban d'or,

Et tiens à la main des ciseaux plaqués or,

Coiffe, coupe, tes cheveux torsadés.



J'appelle Anna, mon Amie, (Yaranie)

Odes, ballades lyriques et vers.

Qui dit qu'en vain ils ouvrirent,

Une plaie dans ta blessure ?

Dans les Écrits l 'homme juste est béni.



Aux nuances dignes de noblesse,

Rosier touffu ; folie du rossignol,

Tes sourcils, arches de tes yeux,

Tes cils furent en or, merveilleux.



J'appelle Anna, ma si douce, (Zayanie)

Ils séparent le N du A,

C'est toi, qui dis : « Ils poignardent

Le cœur de l'amant, sans raison. »

Personne ne supporterait cette perte, même le roi.

Harutyun Sayatyan(Sayat-Nova), 14 juin 1712, Tiflis, - , 22 septembre 1795, Haghpat, Arménie.

IST LIEBEN KEUSCH?...SIBYLLA SCHWARZ!!!...ao Tio Domingos! ..."Quem di diligunt adulescens moritur"

[ISt Lieben keusch? wo kompt denn Ehbruch her?]

ISt Lieben keusch? wo kompt denn Ehbruch her?
Ist Lieben guht
nichts böses drinn zu finden
wie kann sein Feur dan so gahr viel entzünden?
Ist Lieben Lust
wer bringt dan das Beschwär?
Wer Lieben liebt
fährt auff der Wollust Meer
und lässet sich ins Todes Netze binden
das nicht zerreist
er lebet nuhr den Sünden
liebt Eitelkeit
und ist der Tugend leer.
Das ewig lebt
dem stirbt er gäntzlich ab
sieht seine Noht erst
wan er siht sein Grab.
Wer dan nuhn wird in Liebes Brunst gefunden
der fliehe bald
und hasse
die er liebt;
ist Lieb ihm süß? so werd er drümb betrübt;
ist sie sein Brodt? so geb er sie den Hunden.

SIBYLLA SCHWARZ, auch: SIBYLLE SCHWARTZ (* 14.Februar 1621 in Greifswald/Pommern; 31.Juli 1638)


"Is love a fire? Can love melt iron?
Am I like fire and full of the pain of love?
Out of what is the heart of my lover?
If it were made of iron then I could melt it with my fire.

If it were made of gold I could bend it
with my glow, should it made of flesh
so I see : it is a stone made of flesh.
However, a stone cannot betray me like she does.

But if her heart were like frost , as cold as snow and ice
Then how can she make me hot with love?
I think: her heart is like laurel leaves

Which are not touched by any thunderstorm
She laughs about you, Cupid, and your arrow
She is immune to your thunderstorm"

Qué es poesia?...y tú me lo preguntas?...poesia ...eres TÚ.

RIMA XXI

—¿Qué es poesía?, dices, mientras clavas
en mi pupila tu pupila azul,
¡Qué es poesía! ¿Y tú me lo preguntas?
Poesía... eres tú.


Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer,nació en Sevilla el 17 de febrero de 1836.

PHILLIS WHEATLEY ! POET POETESS ! ...SET THE CAPTIVES FREE...

ON BEING BROUGHT FROM AFRICA TO AMERICA

Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too:
Once I redemption neither sought not knew.
Some view our sable race with scornful eye,
"Their colour is a diabolic dye."
Remenber, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain,
May be refin'd and join th' angelic train.

Phillis Wheatley, born about 1753 in West Africa, she was kidnapped in 1761 and taken to America on a slave ship called "Phillis"...She was purchased in Boston...died from complications of childbirth at age of 31...(OS PREFERIDOS DOS DEUSES...MORREM NOVOS!)

CLETO TORRODELLAS ESPAÑOL, ferrero de profesión, yera conoixiu en a redolada como lo ferrero d'Estadilla...A MI PADRE!

El poeta del terruño a los poetas elaborados


No querria, poetas de alta talla,
de ningún modo molestatos
al dirigitos esta lletras
como hablán nusatros.
El motivo déscribí esto é,
sin que seiga martingala,
para que sepaz que tiengo una pena
que me va radén el alma.
Años fa qu'escribo como puedo,
onque desconozco el castellano,
unas cosas que los llàman versos
cuyo nombre está mal aplicado.(...)
Pero como é tan gran láfición que tiengo
no lo puedo remediá;
penso 'scribine mientras viva
y quizás n'escriba má allá(...)

Cleto Torrodellas Español, Estadilla, Huesca, Aragón, 1868...estió un poeta aragonés.