sexta-feira, 29 de abril de 2011

Thomas Traherne

Thomas Traherne was born within the walls of Hereford City in about 1637, close to All Saints Church, where he was probably baptised. He was about 5 when the Civil War came to the city. He may have been at Hereford Cathedral School in 1649 when King Charles 1 was beheaded. In later life he wrote of the King as martyr. In 1653, in the midst of the Commonwealth, he went to Brasenose College, Oxford, one of the most puritan colleges, gaining his BA in 1656. But he could find no one who would teach him felicity – happiness, which he wrote of as ‘the mistress of all other sciences’. And so he returned to Hereford. In 1657 he was appointed Rector of St Mary’s Church Credenhill, 5 miles NW, supported by Presbyterian clergy who were preachers at Hereford Cathedral. With the Restoration, and the return of King Charles 11 in 1660, he sought ordination. With no Bishop of Hereford, he journeyed to Launton near Bicester to be ordained by the exiled Bishop of Oxford, on 20th October 1660.
At this time he was finishing one of his first works, ‘Select Meditations’ containing thinking which had developed through England’s darkest days. In it he sought to ‘teach Immortal Souls the way to Heaven’. This underestimated manuscript did not come to light until it was found in Birmingham in 1964. It was finally published in 1997, and has remained in print. He continued writing poetry and prose throughout 17 years as parish priest, but it was not until 1673 that he had a book published – Roman Forgeries. In 1674 he finally left Credenhill for London to become domestic chaplain to Sir Orlando Bridgeman (former Lord Keeper of the Great Seal) at Teddington. There he prepared his last work for publication – ‘Christian Ethicks – the way to Blessedness’. In the Autumn he died, and was buried on 10th October 1674 in St Mary’s Church, Teddington. Christian Ethicks was published within months. , but neither of the two printed books attracted any attention, and he was forgotten for over 200 years.
Much of his hand written poetry was rediscovered in the nick of time: on a street bookstall in London in the winter of 1896-7, together with a work which many have thought his finest – his prose ‘Centuries of Meditations’ published in 1908 (poetry, 1903). The writer Edward Thomas wrote of Traherne, in his book ‘Wales’ (1905), as “that fine poet of the 17th Century”. He quoted his poem about childhood, ‘Eden’ :
‘A learned and a happy ignorance / Divided me / from all the vanity / …sloth, care, pain and sorrow that advance the madness and the misery of men.
Major discoveries of other unknown handwritten works have followed. ‘The Commentaries of Heaven’, an encyclopaedia of happiness, was rescued from a burning rubbish tip near Wigan in about 1967 by a man looking for spare parts for his car. And in 1997 five more works were found in Lambeth Palace Library, including his major work ‘The Kingdom of God’. These have all now been published. Traherne’s writings have now been recognised by some as urgently needed in the turmoil of modern life, but inaccurate information about him has bedevilled his rediscovery, and many significant capital letters in his writings have been wrongly turned to lower case. He has also been misinterpreted surprisingly frequently over the last 100 years. In particular his view of evil and sin has been seriously underestimated. Some writers, including C.S. Lewis in 1933, accused him of all but ignoring them. Traherne’s view of happiness has simply not been studied, let alone grasped, and he actually suggested in his ‘Centuries’ why it would happen :
One great Discouragement to Felicity, or rather to great Souls in the Persuit of Felicity, is the Solitariness of the Way that leadeth to her Temple. A man that studies Happiness must sit alone like a sparrow upon the Hous Top, and like a Pelican in the Wilderness. And the reason is because all men Prais Happiness and despise it. Very few shall a Man find in the Way of Wisdom: and very few indeed that having given their Names to Wisdom and felicity, that will persevere in seeking it. Either he must go on alone, or go back for company. People are tickled with the Name of it, and som are persuaded to Enterprise a little, but quickly draw back when they see the trouble yea cool them selves without any trouble. Those Mysteries which while men are ignorant of it, they would give all the Gold in the World for, I have seen when Known to be despised’.
Sheila Alves :)

terça-feira, 26 de abril de 2011

Roger Joseph McGough

Roger Joseph McGough - (born 9 November 1937) is a well-known English performance poet. He presents the BBC Radio 4 programme Poetry Please and records voice-overs for commercials, as well as performing his own poetry regularly. He is a Fellow of Liverpool John Moores University and is a Vice President of the Poetry Society.

A Striking Soliloquy
tu be
or not
tu be

Tube strike Haiku
trains that are side-lined
idling in rusty sidings
fear the knacker's yard
* * *
tunnels empty now
can see the light at both ends
birds risk a short cut
* * *
rails sleeping, dream of
a parallel universe
a new perspective
* * *
platforms yawn and stretch
enjoying the holiday
mice minding the gap

Cecília de Melo

segunda-feira, 25 de abril de 2011

O Captain! My Captain!

Page of the poem where Whitman made some changes and notes.
Source: Wikipedia

The poem O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman is emblematic in the movie Dead Poet's Society. It is the way the teacher John Keating asks his students to call him. It is a kind of metaphor to his approach, once he does not act as a "conventional" teacher... His work was a kind of guidance, seeking for what every teacher should: to make the student be passionate for the subject, to make them really understand and love it, to make a difference in the students life, to prepare them to life and to teach, besides the program, to keep trying to be happy because it is all what life is about. So, more than a teacher he is a Captain, who guides the students through the beautiful, deep but turbulent and stormy sea of life and of art, in this particular case.
In the end of the movie, the students show their gratitude and support for the teacher screaming the title of the poem when he is fired for "anarchy" , just because he showed life is more than social conventions, than models, than what someone else said it should be. Life is what you built and dream for it.

P.S. Instersting to notice that poetry is so strongly represented in the figure of the teacher that his name is a kind of verb... a clear reference to John Keats. The teacher is doing poetry all the time... he is John Keating!!!!!!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

And that's all, Folks!!!!
Bárbara Prado

domingo, 24 de abril de 2011

Wiliiam Blake (1757 - 1827)

Two beautiful poems by Blake

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sun rise.

The Lilly 
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn:
The humble Sheep. a threatning horn:
While the Lily white, shall in Love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright

Cecília de Melo

sexta-feira, 22 de abril de 2011

What is poetry?

Poetry is the art that teaches, is a work done with art.
Poetry is the character of that emotional, touch sensitivity.
Suggests emotions through language.
Poetry portrays something that anything can happen depending on the author's imagination as the reader.

Mariana Aldir

Europe: a Prophecy

  by: William Blake (1757-1827)


 Five windows light the cavern'd Man; thro' one he breathes the air;

Thro' one, hears music of the spheres; thro' one, the eternal vine
Flourishes, that he may recieve the grapes; thro' one can look.
And see small portions of the eternal world that ever groweth;
Thro' one, himself pass out what time he please, but he will not;
For stolen joys are sweet, & bread eaten in secret pleasant.


So sang a Fairy mocking as he sat on a streak'd Tulip,
Thinking none saw him: when he ceas'd I started from the trees!
And caught him in my hat as boys knock down a butterfly.
How know you this said I small Sir? where did you learn this song?
Seeing himself in my possession thus he answered me:
My master, I am yours. command me, for I must obey.

Then tell me, what is the material world, and is it dead?
He laughing answer'd: I will write a book on leaves of
If you will feed me on love-thoughts, & give me now and then
A cup of sparkling poetic fancies; so when I am tipsie,
I'll sing to you to this soft lute; and shew you all alive
The world, when every particle of dust breathes forth its joy.


I took him home in my warm bosom: as we went along
Wild flowers I gatherd; & he shew'd me each eternal flower:
He laugh'd aloud to see them whimper because they were pluck'd.
They hover'd round me like a cloud of incense: when I came
Into my parlour and sat down, and took my pen to write:
My Fairy sat upon the table, and dictated EUROPE.

Cecília de Melo

What is poetry?

Poetry is a "writing style" that allows you to demonstrate what you feel or situations that you are going through in a beautiful and touching way with rhymes.

Aline Queiroz

quinta-feira, 21 de abril de 2011

Poetry is...

…the smile of a child.
…a lover’s laugh.
…a sad melody on a rainy Sunday.
…the benefit of doubt.
...lemonade without sugar.
…the cycles of life.
…to be left because of another person.
…to leave someone for another person.
…the smell of a new book.
…to watch your life in a film.
…four ears, one headphone.
…a full moon illuminating the sea.
…a naked body.
…a dead body.
…to do everything wrong and get things right in the end.
…a nightmare that becomes true.
…the death of a pet when you’re a child.
…a philosophical discussion inside a full bus.
…sexual tension.
…medicine for an incurable disease.
…to feel alone in the middle of a crowd.
…to feel glad with your own company when you’re all alone.
…glow-worms at a dark garden.
…the end of a story.
…the thrill of all first times.
…a terrible date with a great companion.
un coup de foudre.
…to give up and let go.
…a gift from a stranger.
…the suicide of a friend.
…to be afraid of what you know.
…organization within a chaotic mess.
…your favorite song.
…a dew drop on a flower petal.
…to see birds in the window.
…to kill and bury someone in your heart.
…a dozen of red roses.
…to fall in love with a film/book character. fall in love with the right person.
…a promise that was broken.
…a painful truth.
…a sweet lie.
…to regret something you didn’t do.
…to look for yourself in other people.
…to find yourself in other people and disapprove it.
…to write a poem at 1:30 a.m..

That’s what poetry is to me.

Posted by Fernanda Pedrecal.

The Prophet, by Abraham Cowley

It was a real pleasure to watch Dead Poets Society again, since I really enjoy this film. But there is a scene which is my favorite: it is when the boys go to the cave for the first time, the moment when Charlie Dalton shows a picture of a naked woman. He recites a small excerpt of a poem that I like, which is called The Prophet, by Mr. Abraham Cowley (1618 - 1667), one of the most important English poets of the 17th century.

Here is the full version of The Prophet*:

Teach me to Love? Go teach thy self more wit;
I am chief Professor of it.
Teach craft to Scots, and thrift to Jews,
Teach boldness to the Stews;
In tyrants courts teach supple flattery,
Teach Jesuits, that have traveled far, to Lye.
Teach fire to burn and Winds to blow.
Teach restless Fountains how to flow,
Teach the dull earth, fixt, to abide,
Teach Woman-kind inconstancy and Pride.
See if your diligence here will useful prove;
But, pr'ithee, teach not me to love.

The God of Love, if such a thing there be,
May learn to love from me,
He who does boast that he has bin,
In every Heart since Adams sin,
I'll lay my Life, nay Mistress on't, that's more;
I'll teach him things he never knew before;
I'll teach him a receipt to make
Words that weep, and Tears that speak,
I'll teach him Sighs, like those in death,
At which the Souls go out too with the breath;
Still the Soul stays, yet still does from me run;
As Light and Heat does with the Sun.

'Tis I who Love's Columbus am; 'tis I, Who must new Worlds in it descry;
Rich Worlds, that yield of Treasure more,
than that has been known before,
And yet like his (I fear) my fate must be,
To find them out for others; not for Me.
Me Times to come, I know it, shall
Loves last and greatest prophet call.
But, ah, what's that, if she refuse,
To hear the whole doctrines of my Muse?
If to my share the Prophets fate must come;
Hereafter fame, here Martyrdome.

*All the poems that are recited at the film are available in full version at the site .

Posted by Fernanda Pedrecal.

Dead Poets Society(1989) versus Mona Lisa Smile (2003)

When I watched Dead poets society (1989) in the past I thought: this movie is fantastic! But now, I haven’t believed in this, because today I have other preferences. I prefer the movie called Mona Lisa Smile (2003) with a similar narrative, but the protagonist is a woman and the ideas about feminism are evident.


Naiana Freitas

What is Haiku?

Haiku poems are a traditional form of Japanese poetry, usually about nature. They contain a special pattern made up of seventeen syllables: line 1-five syllables, line 2-seven syllables and line 3-five syllables.

Matsuo Bashou (1644 – 1694) is recognized as a master of brief and clear haiku. His poetry is internationally renowned, and within Japan many of his poems are reproduced on monuments and traditional sites.
The best known Japanese haiku is Bashou “Old pond”:
fu-ru-i-ke ya (5)
ka-wa-zu to-bi-ko-mu (7)
mi-zu no o-to (5)
old pond . . .
a frog leaps in
water’s sound


  fallen leaves
      the abbot sweeps
      around them
      —John Brandi (USA)
      losing its name
      a river
      enters the sea
      —John Sandbach (USA)

Cecília de Melo

quarta-feira, 20 de abril de 2011

A friend of mine sent me a song that it is originally a poem by William Wordsworth published in 1800. This poem is part of Wordsworth work named “Lucy poems”. The song is a kind of rock and I think that is interesting to share with you all. The poem was turned to music with the group Draconian. For that reason will let to you here the poem and the movie clip. I hope you enjoy even if you don’t like rock like me! J

A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal

A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

Have a nice Easter!J

(Posted By Lis Machado)  

terça-feira, 19 de abril de 2011

Dead Poets Society

Dead Poets Society

I saw the movie Dead Poets Society to make the connections between "poetry" and the movie from 1989. And after describing the narrative of the movie I wrote my point of view. For me this movie shows how the poetry and the life must be “read/lived”. Any person has a different way to interpret things, and sometimes what is good for a person is not good for other. The problem here is this, they had to be molded by the school, and literature, poetry, poems, can’t be molded. Some aspects in literature can be learned by the theory, but the interpretation, the feeling, the “taste” can’t be felted by everyone. The student don’t need to find the poetry, the poetry must find the student, that’s the way that the poetry will make sense or touch the person, and this is what that professor was trying to do with that students.

(Posted By Lis Machado)

William, William, William!

Drama, here I’m. Yes, for me poetry is poetry when it is full of drama, because when the poem is dramatic I can feel/understand the poem easily. And in fact I really like love poems full of drama, after all who never had a heartbroken? So here is one poem of Shakespeare that I really like.

Sonnet 40 – Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all.

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.
                                                                          William Shakespeare

(Posted By Lis Machado)

domingo, 17 de abril de 2011

video poetry

video poetry is poetry in video form. It is also known as videopoetry, video-visual poetry, poetronica, poetry video, media poetry, or Cin(E)-Poetry depending on the length and content of the video work and the techniques employed (e.g. digital technology) in its creation.

Video poetry is a wide-ranging category where very differendigital poetryt typologies of works converge. Some video poetry works use digital elaboration to achieve  that is entirely generated bysoftware When absent of digital effects, video poetry is akin to performance works or a poetry reading recorded in video (digital or analogue) but goes beyond the straightforward act of recording to establish a link with video art. In this sense, video poetry is a particular form of video art comprising poetry texts elaborated at various acoustic and visual levels.
The Portuguese writer and poet Ernesto Melo e Castro is considered the father of this kind of experimentation. In the late 1960s he created his first videopoems. In the early 1980s Gianni Toti began mixing cinema, poetry text, and electronic images to create a new genre called “poetronica”. In general, his video poem operas are films produced with the support of cultural centers such as the Centre de Recherche Pierre Schaeffer (CICV) in Montbéliard (France) and various universities. Gianni Toti could be considered the intellectual father of the term and the most active researcher on the subject, developing several conceptual and artistic derivative artifacts such as "VideoPoemOpera", "VideoSyntheatronica", "VideoPoemetti", among others.
Mariluce Lemos

quinta-feira, 14 de abril de 2011

Beneath this mask there is an idea and ideas are bulletproof.

Hi people!
I've decided to post this discourse from V for Vendetta because more than very sagacious and genius it is the greatest example of alliteration I've ever seen in my life!
Take a look:

V for Vendetta
written by Andy Wachowski & Larry Wachowski, from characters created by Alan Moore & David Lloyd
V: Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villian by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengence; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.
Evey: Are you like a crazy person?
V: I'm quite sure they will say so.

To see the discourse in the movie click here.

And that's all folks,
Bárbara Prado


quarta-feira, 13 de abril de 2011

John Donne

John Donne was an English poet, artist, satirist, lawyer and priest. His works are notable for their realistic and sensual style and include sonnets, love poetry, religious poems and others. His poetry is noted for its vibrancy of language and inventiveness of metaphor, especially as compared to that of his contemporaries. His style is characterized by abrupt openings, various paradoxes, ironies, dislocations. These features in combination with his frequent dramatic or everyday speech rhythms, his tense syntax, and his tough eloquence were both a reaction against the smoothness of conventional Elizabethan poetry and an adaptation into English of European baroque and mannerist techniques. His early career was marked by poetry that bore immense knowledge of British society and he met that knowledge with sharp criticism. Another important theme in Donne’s poetry was the idea of true religion, which was something that he spent a lot of time considering and theorizing about. He wrote secular poems as well as erotic poems and love poems. Donne is particularly famous for his mastery of metaphysical conceits.

Despite his great education and poetic talents, he lived in poverty for several years, relying heavily on wealthy friends. He spent much of the money he inherited during and after his education on womanising, literature, pastimes and travel. In 1601 Donne secretly married Anne Moore with whom he had 12 children. In 1615 he became an Anglican priest although he did not want to take Anglican orders. He did so because King James I persistently ordered it. In 1621, he was appointed theDean of St Paul's Cathedral in London. He also served as a member of parliament in 1601 and again in 1614.


NO lover saith, I love, nor any other
            Can judge a perfect lover ;
He thinks that else none can or will agree,
            That any loves but he ;
I cannot say I loved, for who can say
            He was kill'd yesterday.
Love with excess of heat, more young than old,
            Death kills with too much cold ;
We die but once, and who loved last did die,
            He that saith, twice, doth lie ;
For though he seem to move, and stir a while,
            It doth the sense beguile.
Such life is like the light which bideth yet
            When the life's light is set,
Or like the heat which fire in solid matter
            Leaves behind, two hours after.
Once I loved and died ; and am now become
            Mine epitaph and tomb ;
Here dead men speak their last, and so do I ;
            Love-slain, lo ! here I die.


GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
            And find
            What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
            And swear,
            No where
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
            Yet she
            Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.

Posted by Adalton Silva

terça-feira, 12 de abril de 2011

My poem

This is actually a short song lyric I wrote some years ago.

Heaven and hell
A fairy tale we tell
Ourselves, to bear
The unbearable reality

But some of us dare
At the vastness to stare
And to see no deity at all

Don't stare, don't judge
Don't pretend to know, you won't
Believe it or not, I don't

Caio Nóbrega

Poem in music

Hey Guys, I'm here to show you some artist that have been inspired by English literature in their songs. I found a band, a Metal band (for those who like it), named Krusader that was part of a project called "Wiiliam Shakespeare's Hamlet", in which a lot of other metal bands contributed with their sound to talk about this great English poet. The song chosen is called "The King's Return", and of course, it has a lot of Hamlet references.

The lyric

Skies that art over my head
Heaven or hell is this emissary from?
Cheating my soul art my eyes!
How canst such a resemblance exist?

No! Among sun and moon
Resemblance there is
The most correct word for what I see
Is: Equality
This sensation that drowns my spirit
Makes me call thee Hamlet,
King of Denmark, my father!

I do not fear for my life, because
I'm so immortal as thee
And there's no way to lose something
That doth not has belonged to us
Go ahead, I'll follow thee and soon
I'll know the reasons...
Why hath the king returned…

Tell me, my beloved father
What make thee rip out of thy shroud
And walk once again in a world
That doth not belong to thee anymore

Tell me, lord of the lords,
Owner of my soul
Thou art so generous for giving me life
Tell me what I canst do
To bring thee peace
And I shall satisfy thy will

Thou hast broken the walls which
Separate the worlds. Why?
Thou hast broken the peace that awaits
For us since born we wert

Tell me father, I'm begging
In the name of the years
That I hast given thee
All my honest feelings

Another artist that has been inspired by literary elements is Bob Dylan, in his song "Desolation Row" he mentions Ezra Pound, T.S. Elliot, Opheliac and Romeo, Robin Hood, and some other contemporary and classical elements of the English literature. I hope you guys enjoy it. The video I brought is a Bob Dylan's cover, if you guys fnd the original one, please post it here. Thanks!

Desolation Row

They're selling postcards of the hanging
They're painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They've got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they're restless
They need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy
"It takes one to know one," she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he's moaning
"You Belong to Me I Believe"
And someone says," You're in the wrong place, my friend
You better leave"
And the only sound that's left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide
The fortunetelling lady
Has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel
And the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing
He's getting ready for the show
He's going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row

Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid

To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession's her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
Now you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They're trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She's in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
"Have Mercy on His Soul"
They all play on penny whistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row

Across the street they've nailed the curtains
They're getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest
They're spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they'll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words

And the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls
"Get Outa Here If You Don't Know
Casanova is just being punished for going
To Desolation Row"

Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero's Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody's shouting
"Which Side Are You On?"
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain's tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the door knob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

(Posted by Diogo Oliveira)

sábado, 9 de abril de 2011


I’d been lying if I said
That my mission is done
But I’d like to pack my bangs
And walk alone

A hot sun shriveled the flowers
Through this silence
I can’t make up for lost time
My feelings don’t keep the balance

One day I was set out to change the world
Face the evil; move in the cold
But now, my hopes are drawn
And my fears overflow

During my path I met
Wises telling the same things:
Figure out your soul!
Don’t believe in human wings!

But this road is danger
It’s difficult to control my anger
Many times I feel me thin
When I fight without win

By the weight of my emotions
I live in circular motions
This anger burns my heart
While my dreams tear apart

A. D. M. Leão - 2009

Posted by Antonio Deodato Leão