Louis MacNeice brit

1907. szeptember 12. (Belfast, Nagy-Britannia) – 1963. szeptember 3. (London)

Tudástár · 25 kapcsolódó alkotó · 2 kapcsolódó könyv

Teljes névFrederick Louis MacNeice

Könyvei 3

Louis MacNeice: Collected Poems
W. H. Auden – Louis MacNeice: Letters from Iceland
Louis MacNeice: Selected Poems

Antológiák 3

Ferencz Győző (szerk.): Hang szólít
Gábor Viktor (szerk.): A sötét torony
Kappanyos András (szerk.): Angol költők antológiája

Népszerű idézetek

Juci P>!

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold,
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.

The Sunlight On The Garden

2 hozzászólás
Juci P>!

I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
on black racks rack me, in blood baths roll me.

worsi P>!

If we could get the hang of it entirely
It would take too long;
All we know is the splash of words in passing
and falling twigs of song,
And when we try to eavesdrop on the great
Presences it is rarely
That by a stroke of luck we can appropriate
Even a phrase entirely.

If we could find our happiness entirely
In somebody else's arms
We should not fear the spears of the spring nor the city's
Yammering fire alarms
But, as it is, the spears each year go through
Our flesh and almost hourly
Bell or siren banishes the blue
Eyes of Love entirely.

And if the world were black or white entirely
And all the charts were plain
Instead of a mad weir of tigerish waters,
A prism of delight and pain,
We might be surer where we wished to go
Or again we might be merely
Bored but in the brute reality there is no
Road that is right entirely.


worsi P>!

In the centre of Iceland there are only three kinds of scenery—Stones, More Stones and All Stones. The third type predominated to-day. The stones are at the wrong size, the wrong shape, the wrong colour, and too many of them. They are not big enough to impress and not small enough to negotiate. Absolutely unpicturesque and absolutely non-utilitarian.

175. oldal, Hetty to Nancy

2 hozzászólás