Woman in Black movie poem. Susan Hill, Justin Evett.

Woman in Black. Creepy sad longing poem.

During afternoon tea
There’s a shift in the air
A bone-trembling chill
That tells you she’s there
There are those who believe
The whole town is cursed
But the house on the marsh
Is by far the worst
[…]
Have you seen her?
The woman in black?
She once lost her boy and now shes come back
Our parents all worry
they make such a fuss
For if she cant find him
she’ll take one of us

.

Another The Woman in Black poem:

She walks down the stairs
dressed in all black,
to the thought of a memory
she hopes to bring back.

The band starts to play
and the floor starts to dance,
the song sounds familiar
as they slip into a trance.

The lights begin to dim
as the candle fire lights,
every one waits
for the slowly approaching night.
[…]
She spoke of one word
then the house became his tomb,
he fell to his death
along with the entire room.

Justin Evett

The streets of London, UK. Smash the Windows by Maura Dooley!

By Maura Dooley. This is how I remember London and the summers I spent in Tufnell Park Road with family friends. Curry the favourite dish, sambal on a sandwich, dog in the park, someone paid to clean the park, pale day light and shortcuts that sometimes ended up in a different place that only looked alike.

Smash the Windows.
OR, TEN SOUTH LONDON FIDDLE TUNES

1. The Misted Pane
2. Egg on a Bap
3. Knock at the Door
4. A Draught of Air
5. Turd on the Step
6. Fox in a Wheelie Bin
7. Toke on the Swings
8. Parakeet in the Oak
9. The Short Way Home
10. Glass on the Pavement

Tufnell_Park_-_geograph.org.uk_-_261505
.
.
Homesick for London. Especially Tufnell Park and Hyde Park, Kew Gardens, Nando’s Charing Cross Road, National Portrait Museum, Southwark Cathedral, Royal Festival Hall…The Docklands.
.
From: London a History in Verse, ed by Mark Ford.

NEW: http://www.localbookshops.co.uk
USED: http://www.abebooks.com/servlet/BookDetailsPL?bi=9186279941

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/foodanddrink/10564444/Curry-why-the-British-are-moving-on-from-Chicken-Tikka-Masala.html

Hello Miss Pretty Bitch by Emily Yoon thru Poets Respond!!

Emily Yoon

HELLO MISS PRETTY BITCH

the street drummer
calls out in Korean
no doubt thinking it
a compliment
a pleasant surprise
cinched with red ribbons
for Christmas the day
select theatres will gift us
with The Interview
a comedy in which
two American journalists
ignite Kim Jong-un’s face
freedom has prevailed
the film’s star Seth Rogen
says about the release
the same was thought
at the time of Korea’s release
from the Japanese Empire
though then the Korean War
began and compared to war
what’s so bad about a movie
anyway even war can be funny
and now a drummer
in New York says
you got a smile 
that could light up
the whole town 
though I’m not smiling
thinking about villages
and cities of what became
North Korea set on fire
sending puddles of twilight
into sunless skies
as if flames could stab
but his freedom
of speech prevails
freedom always prevails
which is why we get to see
two Americans
incinerate a Korean face
on Christmas
hold our popcorn
and chocolate bars
and laugh as the dictator
explodes in tune
to a pop song
laugh as American
soldiers would laugh
at Korean children
chanting hello hello 
gibu me choco-let
with wartime hunger
laugh as they choose
which face
to light up

Poets Respond
December 28, 2014

Emily Yoon: 

“I wrote this poem as a reaction to how friends and acquaintances responded to the news, and how Seth Rogen Tweeted, ‘The people have spoken! Freedom has prevailed! […]’ on the film’s release. 

As a Korean-born person, it was always curious to me how many people in the US feel entitled to dehumanize North Korea 

and condemn North Korea-South Korea relations under the name of humour and freedom of speech, 

without enough awareness on the role of the US in the Korean War and the subsequent demarcation.”

SUBMIT your own poem: https://rattle.submittable.com/submit/30232

This poem has been published exclusively online as part of a new project in which poets respond to current events. A poem written within the last week about an event that occurred within the last week will appear every Sunday at Rattle.com. “

http://www.rattle.com/poetry/hello-miss-pretty-bitch-by-emily-yoon/

R. P. Blackmur, Mirage

So painfully beautiful this sentence, I can’t read it without my heart hurting. Unbelievably beautiful.

The wind was in another country, and

the day had gathered to its heart of noon

the sum of silence, heat, and stricken time.

 

R. P. Blackmur Mirage

 

The wind was in another country, and

the day had gathered to its heart of noon

the sum of silence, heat, and stricken time.

Not a ripple spread. The sea mirrored

perfectly all the nothing in the sky.

We had to walk about to keep our eyes

from seeing nothing, and our hearts from stopping

at nothing. Then most suddenly we saw

horizon on horizon lifting up

out of the sea’s edge a shining mountain

sun-yellow and sea-green; against it surf

flung spray and spume into the miles of sky.

Somebody said mirage, and it was gone,

but there I have been living ever since.

Anna Akhmatova: memory, love, lust and loss.

Anna Akmatova: “Russian modernist poet, one of the most acclaimed writers in the Russin canon…Her style, characterised by its economy and emotional restraint, was strikingly original and distinctive to her contemporaries. The strong and clear leading female voice struck a new chord in Russian poetry.”

All three poems seem to show her at peace. I can’t believe that someone who decided not to emigrate from Russia but brave Stalin’s murderous reign is at peace. I think she was trying to convince herself that she is not on edge but balanced, not lost in pain of white death, nor off balanced by longing and lust. She says she is old, and it’s cold outside, and that something made her feel young and warm, the guest who wants to kiss her, who wants to own her, who wants to show her that the young men? women? know nothing of how to kiss. I think in the third poem she does wake up warm and happy, a saint’s day is a festivity -albeit one for the day the saint associated with your name, died. Not sure why communicants sleeplessly sleep. I read that waking up from sleep is seen as resurrection and that communicants partake in Jesus’ body’s resurrection. I found the line “may we not sleep in sins, but awake and rejoicing in his praises”. What that means together is not clear to me: maybe that she was rejoicing in his name-day while she was asleep, unconsciously celebrating already. That’s a nice thought about sleeping with happiness because of someone else’s joy.

Memory’s Voice

For O. A. Glebova-Sudeikina

‘What do you see, on the wall, dimly alive,
At that hour when the sunset eats the sky?

A seagull, on a blue cloth of waters,
Or perhaps it’s those Florentine gardens?

Or is it Tsarskoye Seloe’s vast view,
Where terror stepped out before you?

Or that one who left your captivity,
And walked into white death, freely?’

No, I see only the wall – that shows
Reflections of heaven’s dying glow.

The Guest

All’s as it was: the snowstorm’s
Fine flakes wet the window pane,
And I myself am not new-born,
But a man came to me today.

But, his dry hand touched
A petal with a light caress:
‘Tell me, how they kiss you,
Tell me, how you kiss.’

8th November 1913

Sunlight fills my room
With hot dust, lucent, grey.
I wake, and I remember:
Today is your saint’s day.
That’s why even the snow
Is warm beyond the window,
That’s why, sleeplessly,
Like a communicant, I slept.

Translated by A. S. Kline © 2005, 2012 All Rights Reserved.

“Her work was condemned and censored by Stalinist authorities and she is notable for choosing not to emigrate, and remaining in Russia, acting as witness to the atrocities around her. Her perennial themes include meditations on time and memory, and the difficulties of living and writing in the shadow of Stalinism.”

More easy to read information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anna_Akhmatova

Because snow and ice are pretty, cold. Haiku.

The snow is melting
and the village is flooded
with children.

Issa

Looking at the clouds
blue in the ice-wind
space flows.

Thomas Grieg

No sky
no earth- even so
snowflakes fall.

Hashin

A little bell in the window, T. Ismail. Indonesia!

A little bell in the window

A little bell hungdanglingswaying in the window
In the month of June
Lonely cling-e-ling

Tamarind leaf and tjilping of a sparrow
Clicketyclack of the andong horses in Jogja
Old city that stretches itself in dust
Throughout the alley the lonesome is scattered
A little bell hungdanglingswaying in the window
In the month of June
Lonely
Cling-
el-
ling

Dutch: Een belletje in het raam

Een belletje opgehangen in het raam
In de maand Juni
Eenzaam klingelend

Tamarindeblad en getjilp van een mus
Geklikklak van de andongpaarden in Jogja
Oude stad die zich uitstrekt in stof
Door de steeg heen wordt het eenzame verstrooid
Een belletje opgehangen in het raam
In de maand Juni
Eenzaam
Kling-
el-
lend

Taufiq Ismail
Dutch translated by Linde Voûte

Uit: Ik wil nog duizend jaar leven. Negen moderne Indonesische dichters. Meulenhoff, Amsterdam,1979. Poetry International Serie. Put together by Harry Aveling.

BUY:
http://www.bol.com/nl/p/ik-wil-nog-duizend-jaar-leven/1001004005110174/
ISBN13 9789029008778