WHAT IS AN INDRISO?

The first was developed in January 2001 in Madrid by Isidro Iturat, Spanish, born in Villanueva de la Geltrú and in 1973. Besides writing he also is a professor of Spanish literature.Lives in São Paulo, Brazil, since 2005. this is a new standard, endowed with acharacteristic musicality. Indriso is a poem formed by two terzains and two one-line stanzas (3-3-1-1), with free use of the number of syllables in its verses. It turns it into a fixed and dynamic form at the same time: on the vertical axis, the non-changing structure of the stanzas, on the horizontal axis, the changes in quantity. It was born out of a rearranged sonnet through a process of stanza condensation. The quatrains in the sonnet become terzains in the indriso, and the two terzains of the sonnet become one-line stanzas.Moreover it admits all grades and types of rhyme. 

The centaur looks inside through the window

and the sleeping woman speaks while she dreams.
She is crying and laughing, because a centaur kidnaps her.

The sleeping woman rides in her dream,
rides in her dream, and is also ridden.
In the forest, nobody hears her when she screams.

She is crying and laughing like she’s never done in her vigil.

The centaur is staring her… through the window.

Translation of the original written by ISIDRO ITURAT 

Posted by Antonio Deodato Leão

Stainless

It could be dark outside

With earsplitting voices in my mind

Old dim memories appear

Making me laugh and tear

Scowling this old picture

Sadness things mixture

Bewildered and dazed

I can’t forget what I’ve made

Trying to handle with smug acts

Disapproving boring facts

Another fucking situation

One more temptation

Sometimes it can be grieved

Sometimes it can weep

I have been set out for my bliss

While I’ve felt the cold death kiss

It can be leafless

But my faith is stainless

Written by A. D. M. Leão 

Posted by Antonio Deodato Leão

Answer to a sonnet by Keats?...

Nobody can say what I feel
No God,no demon or someone else
Can I look for you,Keats?
Maybe you can  tell me about

I want to cry for help
I have to listen  someone
But I am Sad and alone
Please, is some voice here?

In my bedroom everything is nothing
My day is finished at night
When I am alone I can't laugh
When people go away it is boring

John keats,God or someone eslse
nobody can help me in my deep hell


By Évelim and Pollianna

Because I laughed

I laughed because I don't believe
Life is so nice and so sad
Although a day is bright indeed
Night comes in dakness so bad

No heart, no soul nothing exists
To help the dark of the end
When the brightest day wants to persist
But comes the dark as a friend

I laughed because I am sad
To find death on my way
Because laughter can be also mad
When we can't find something to say

Beauty and fame are so wonderful
Death and tears are so mournful

Cecilia and Naiana

A Possible Answer

The hidden things in my basket
fit with the causes of my laughter
such as the path I'm following
remains a mystery.

Since I'm here, sad and alone,
empty praises does not fulfill
my heart as hard as a stone
or the emptiness inside me.

Utmost blisses keep the blood flowing everywhere.
Nevertheless, on this very midnight,
the end of my existence
shall be.

Wisdom, power, beauty
are intense indeed.
I keep them safe and hidden
even though death is life's high meed.
(Posted by Juliana Bastos e Aline Barbosa)

Answer to a Sonnet by J. H. Reynalds

I’m going nowhere

I live among the whispers of the nature

Carried by the winds

Like a butterfly with no home

I have so many untold secrets in my basket

That only the trees know

Flowers are my listeners

And my conflicts only God knows

You say you wanna come to mah life

You say you wanna put mah basket of stories in a safe place

These stories can be told in mah bed of roses

Through whispers on mah grass-green pillow

And together we shall be a secret society

The flowers and us…

(Posted by Lis Machado, Adriano Neves, Leandro Nascimento)

"I was Lost" – William Butler Yeats

I Was Lost...

"I sing what was lost and dread what was won,
I walk in a battle fought over again,
My king a lost king, and lost soldiers my men;
Feet to the Rising and Setting may run,
They always beat on the same small stone."

This poem by William Butler Yeats is, in my point of view, about the lost, the loneliness, the fear of the most common things in life. Is like the personas life was a war that he couldn’t avoid, and that everything can rise again even after the sun set. That when you start your day he would end faster than you want and this happens to everybody, because the loneliness is irremediable. This poem doesn’t have rhymes, there is metaphor, and I think that also can be found some alliterations. I like it, and I chose it, because the poem is direct, is deep, and reveals the feelings inside someone’s heart.

(Posted By Lis Machado)

EUNICE DE SOUZA (1940 - )

Eunice de Souza is an Indian poet with a Portuguese surname. I found it intriguing and I wanted to share it with you. 

Eunice de Souza used to be Head of the Department of English in St Xavier's College, Mumbai. She is now retired.  Acknowledged as one of the best Indian poets writing in English, de Souza was born in Pune in 1940, to Roman Catholic parents of Goan origin. She grew up in Pune after she lost her father at the age of three. She published the book poems Fix (1979), Women in Dutch Painting (1988), Ways of Belonging (1990) and Selected and New Poems(1994).

de Souza studied English Literature in India and the U.S and has been teaching the same for over 25 years. She has also been involved in theater as an actress and director, has written for leading newspapers, usually as a fierce literary critic. She has also written some very popular books of children's fiction, apart from orchestrating "Ithaka" the highly-esteemed literary festival held annually on the Xavier's campus. She has also four published children's books.

De Souza Prabhu

No, I'm not going to
delve deep down and discover
I'm really de Souza Prabhu
even if Prabhu was no fool
and got the best of both worlds.
(Catholic Brahmin!
I can hear his fat chuckle still)

No matter that
my name is Greek
my surname Portugese
my language alien.

There are ways
of belonging

I belong with the lame ducks

I heard it said
my parents wanted a boy
I've done my best to qualify.
I hid the bloodstains
on my clothes
and let my breasts sag.
Words the weapon
to crucify.

Cecília de Melo

INDIAN POETRY: Rabindranath Tagore

He was born in Calcutta, India into a wealthy Brahmin family. After a brief stay in England (1878) to attempt to study law, he returned to India, and instead pursued a career as a writer, playwright, songwriter, poet, philosopher and educator. During the first 51 years of his life he achieved some success in the Calcutta area of India where he was born and raised with his many stories, songs and plays. His short stories were published monthly in a friend's magazine and he even played the lead role in a few of the public performances of his plays. Otherwise, he was little known outside of the Calcutta area, and not known at all outside of India.

Rabindranath Tagore's creative output tells you a lot about this renaissance man. The variety, quality and quantity are unbelievable. As a writer, Tagore primarily worked in Bengali, but after his success with Gitanjali, he translated many of his other works into English. He wrote over one thousand poems; eight volumes of short stories; almost two dozen plays and play-lets; eight novels; and many books and essays on philosophy, religion, education and social topics. Aside from words and drama, his other great love was music, Bengali style. He composed more than two thousand songs, both the music and lyrics. Two of them became the national anthems of India and Bangladesh. In 1929 he even began painting. Many of his paintings can be found in museums today, especially in India, where he is considered the greatest literary figure of India of all times.

Tagore was not only a creative genius, he was a great man and friend to many. For instance, he was also a good friend from childhood to the great Indian Physicist, Bose. He was educated and quite knowledgeable of Western culture, especially Western poetry and Science. This made him a remarkable person, one of the first of our planet to combine East and West, and ancient and modern knowledge. Tagore had a good grasp of modern - post-Newtonian - physics, and was well able to hold his own in a debate with Einstein in 1930 on the newly emerging principles of quantum mechanics and chaos. His meetings and tape recorded conversations with his contemporaries such Albert Einstein and H.G. Wells, stand as cultural landmarks, and show the brilliance of this great man. Although Tagore is a superb representative of his country - India - the man who wrote its national anthem - his life and works go far beyond his country. He is truly a man of the whole Earth, a product of the best of both traditional Indian, and modern Western cultures. The School of Wisdom is proud to have him as part of its heritage. He exemplifies the ideals important to us of Goodness, Meaningful Work, and World Culture.


  Work

Authorship Benediction My Dependence My Song Superior Sympathy The Banyan Tree                                               The Child Angel The End

The First Jasmines The Flower School The Gardener The Gift The Recall Twelve O'Clock Ungrateful Sorrow On The Seashore From Afar

The Child Angel

Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my child,
unflickering and pure, and delight them into silence.

They are cruel in their greed and their envy,
their words are like hidden knives thirsting for blood.

Go and stand amidst their scowling hearts, my child,
and let your gentle eyes fall upon them like the
forgiving peace of the evening over the strife of the day.

Let them see your face, my child, and thus know the
meaning of all things, let them love you and love each other.

Come and take your seat in the bosom of the limitless, my child.
At sunrise open and raise your heart like a blossoming flower,
and at sunset bend your head and in silence
complete the worship of the day.

by Amanda Soares Aleluia

If you want read more about him acess:  <http://www.schoolofwisdom.com/history/teachers/rabindranath-tagore/> or <http://www.poetseers.org/nobel_prize_for_literature/tagore/tagores_poems/>

Indian English Literature

Is an endeavour of showcasing the rare gems of Indian writing in English. From being a curious native explosion, Indian English has become a new form of Indian culture, and voice in which India speaks. While Indian authors - poets, novelists, essayists, dramatists - have been making significant contributions to world literature since the pre-Independence era, the past few years have seen a massive flourishing of Indian English writing in the international market. Not only are the works of Indian authors writing in English soaring on the best-seller list, they are also receiving a great deal of critical acclaim. Starting from Mulk Raj Anand, R. K. Narayan, Anita Desai, Toru Dutt to Salman Rushdie, Vikram Seth, Allan Sealy, Amitav Ghosh, Jhumpa Lahiri, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, Arundhati Roy,Vikram Chandra … the parade of fine Indian writers is long and lengthening. Here, you can explore the interesting history of Indian writing in English, and also experience its various facets, as expressed in Indian English literature, plays and movies, and other media.

Reference: http://www.indianenglishliterature.com/

(Posted by Rafaela Souza)

Thomas Moore

The poet Thomas Moore (1779-1852) was born in Dublin but lived in Sloperton, near Bowood House, where he was a frequent visitor at the social gatherings of his patron, the Marquis of Lansdowne. Together with the Marquis of Lansdowne and the Wiltshire poets Crabbe and Bowles, he was present at the grand opening of the Bath Royal Literary and Scientific Institution in January 1825. From his diaries we get a flavour of this evening:

The grand opening today of the Literary Institution in Bath. Attended the inaugural lecture by Sir G. Gibbs, at two. Walked about a little afterwards - and to dinner at six. Lord Lansdowne was in the chair [...] "Lord L. alluded to us in his first speech, as among the literary ornaments, if not of Bath itself of its precinct [...].

Thomas Moore then himself gave a speech, received by "a burst of enthusiasm" by his audience in which he talked of the "springs of health with which nature had gift the fair city of Bath".

Thomas Moore and his wife Bessie were frequent visitors to the city, as their beloved daughter Anastasia went to school here. His poetry was loved by his contemporaries, especially his Irish Melodies, Lalla Rookh and the Loves of the Angels. In Prose he wrote the Life of Sheridan and as a friend of Lord Byron, he published The Letters and Journals of Lord Byron and in 1830 edited Byron's collected works. He was a frequent guest in aristocratic circles at Lacock Abbey and Bowood, dining, dancing, singing, reciting poetry and talking about politics.This was witnessed by an astonished 6th Duke of Devonshire, visiting Bowood in April 1826, who wrote in his diary that Thomas Moore, "the little urchin" was shown straight into Lord Lansdowne's room without any ceremony.

The Bath Royal Literary and Scientific Institution is fortunate in having in its collection a bust of the poet Thomas Moore. 

Reference: http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/thomas_moore/biography

(Posted by Rafaela Souza)

Thomas Moore

Weep On, Weep On

Weep on, weep on, your hour is past,
Your dreams of pride are o'er;
The fatal chain is round you cast,
And you are men no more!
In vain the Hero's heart hath bled;
The Sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain;
Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled,
It never lights again!

Weep on -- Perhaps, in after-days,
They'll learn to love your name;
And many a deed may wake in praise,
That long hath slept in blame!
And when they tread the ruin'd isle,
Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, 
They'll wondering ask how hands so vile
Could conquer hearts so brave?

'Twas fate, they'll say,a wayward fate
Your web of discord wove;
And while your tyrants join'd in hate,
You never join'd in love;
But hearts fell off, that ought to twine,
And man profan'd what God hath given,
Till some were heard to curse the shrine
Where others knelt to heaven!


 (Posted by Rafaela Souza)

More about Edgar Allan Poe

On January 19, 1809, Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, Massachusetts. Poe's father and mother, both professional actors, died before the poet was three and John and Frances Allan raised him as a foster child in Richmond, Virginia. John Allan, a prosperous tobacco exporter, sent Poe to the best boarding schools and later to the University of Virginia, where Poe excelled academically. After less than one year of school, however, he was forced to leave the University when Allan refused to pay his gambling debts.

Poe returned briefly to Richmond, but his relationship with Allan deteriorated. In 1827, he moved to Boston and enlisted in the United States Army. His first collection of poems, Tamerlane, and Other Poems, was published that year. In 1829, he published a second collection entitled Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems. Neither volume received significant critical or public attention. Following his Army service, Poe was admitted to the United States Military Academy, but he was again forced to leave for lack of financial support. He then moved into the home of his aunt, Mrs. Maria Clemm and her daughter Virginia, in Baltimore, Maryland.

Poe began to sell short stories to magazines at around this time, and, in 1835, he became the editor of the Southern Literary Messenger in Richmond. He brought his aunt and twelve-year-old cousin, Virginia Clemm, with him to Richmond. He married Virginia in 1836. Over the next ten years, Poe would edit a number of literary journals including the Burton's Gentleman's Magazine and Graham's Magazine in Philadelphia and the Broadway Journal in New York City. It was during these years that he established himself as a poet, a short-story writer, and an editor. He published some of his best-known stories and poems including "The Fall of the House of Usher," "The Tell-Tale Heart," "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," and "The Raven." After Virginia's death from tuberculosis in 1847, Poe's life-long struggle with depression and alcoholism worsened. He returned briefly to Richmond in 1849 and then set out for an editing job in Philadelphia. For unknown reasons, he stopped in Baltimore. On October 3, 1849, he was found in a state of semi-consciousness. Poe died four days later of "acute congestion of the brain."

Poe's work as an editor, a poet, and a critic had a profound impact on American and international literature. His stories mark him as one of the originators of both horror and detective fiction. Many anthologies credit him as the "architect" of the modern short story. He was also one of the first critics to focus primarily on the effect of the style and of the structure in a literary work; as such, he has been seen as a forerunner to the "art for art's sake" movement. French Symbolists such as Mallarmé and Rimbaud claimed him as a literary precursor. Baudelaire spent nearly fourteen years translating Poe into French. Today, Poe is remembered as one of the first American writers to become a major figure in world literature.

---

Poetry

Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827)

Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems (1829)

Poems (1831)

The Raven and Other Poems (1845)

Eureka: A Prose Poem (1848)

Fiction

Berenice (1835)

Ligeia (1838)

The Fall of the House of Usher (1839)

Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque (1939)

Murders in the Rue Morgue (1841)

The Black Cat (1843)

The Tell-Tale Heart (1843)

The Purloined Letter (1845)

The Cask of Amontillado (1846)

The Oval Portrait (1850) The Narrative of Arthut Gordon Pym of Nantucket (1850)

Curiosities about Allan Poe

Best known for his poem "The Raven," writer Edgar ­Alla­n Poe wrote compelling horror and detective stories as well. He put great emphasis on form and structure in his taut short stories. His short story, "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," published in 1841, is often called the first modern detective story.

Despite his skill as a writer, it is well known that Poe had a ­drinking problem, and letters reveal that he struggled with suicidal thoughts. The causes and circumstances around his death at 40 years old are unknown, but perhaps have to do with heart failure or ­his drinking. Based on her interpretation of Poe's letters, Kay Redfield Jamison speculates that Poe was a manic-depressive, a condition known today as bipolar disorder. In her book, she argues that creativity like Poe's can spring from states of mania. From the mind-sickness emerges a "cosmic" perspective that lets creative juices flow, she writes.

Edgar Allan Poe may have seen a connection between creativity and mental illness, himself. He wrote:

"Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence -- whether much that is glorious -- whether all that is profound -- does not spring from disease of thought -- from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect" 

by Amanda Soares Aleluia

reference:  <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/130>

Thomas Moore

 Thomas Moore (28 May 1779 – 25 February 1852) was an Irish poet, singer, songwriter, and entertainer, now best remembered for the lyrics of The Minstrel Boy and The Last Rose of Summer. He was responsible, with John Murray, for burning Lord Byron's memoirs after his death. In his lifetime he was often referred to as Anacreon Moore.

Thomas Moore was born at 12 Aungier-street in Dublin, Ireland on 28 May 1779.^[1] over his father's grocery shop, his father being from an Irish speakingGaeltacht in Kerry and his mother, Anastasia Codd, from Wexford. He had two younger sisters, Kate and Ellen.

From a relatively early age Moore showed an interest in music and other performing arts. He sometimes appeared in plays with his friends, such as The Poor Soldier by John O'Keeffe, and at one stage had ambitions to become an actor.^[2] Moore attended several Dublin schools including Samuel Whyte's English Grammar School in Grafton Street where he learned the English accent with which he spoke with for the rest of his life.^[3] From 1795 He was educated at Trinity College, which had recently allowed entry to Catholic students, in an effort to fulfil his mother's dream of his becoming a lawyer. Moore was initially a good student, but he later worked less hard at his studies. His time at Trinity came amidst the ongoing turmoil following the French Revolution and a number of his fellow students such as Robert Emmett were supporters of the United Irishmen movement who sought support from the French government to launch a revolution in Ireland. In 1798 a rebellion broke out followed by a French invasion, both of which were defeated.

Works

§                     Odes of Anacreon (1800)

§                     Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Little, Esq. (1801)

§                     The Gypsy Prince (a light opera; w/ Michael Kelly, 1801)

§                     Epistles, Odes and Other Poems (1806)

§                     A Selection of Irish Melodies, 1 and 2 (April 1808)

§                     Corruption and Intolerance, Two Poems (1808)

§                     The Sceptic: A Philosophical Satire (1809)

§                     A Selection of Irish Melodies, 3 (January 1810)

§                     A Letter to the Roman Catholics of Dublin (1810)

§                     A Melologue upon National Music (1811)

§                     M.P. (play): or, The Blue-Stocking (a comic opera produced at the Lyceum, 9 September 1811)

§                     A Selection of Irish Melodies, 4 (November 1811)

§                     Parody of a Celebrated Letter (Privately printed and circulated, February 1812, Examiner, 8 March 1812)

§                     To a Plumassier (Morning Chronicle, 16 March 1812)

§                     Extracts from the Diary of a Fashionable Politician (Morning Chronicle, 30 March 1812)

§                     The Insurrection of the Papers (Morning Chronicle, 23 April 1812)

§                     Lines on the Death of Mr. P[e]rc[e]v[a]l (May 1812)

§                     The Sale of the Tools (Morning Chronicle, 21 December 1812)

§                     Correspondence Between a Lady and a Gentleman (Morning Chronicle, 6 January 1813)
Mariluce Lemos

Dead Poets society

Dead poets Society

The film was released in 1989 and portrays a society experienced in mid 50s in which education was the focal point of that society. Whit brilliance, the director Peter Weir and the great script by Tom Schulman, Dead poets society tell us about the conflict between tradition and innovation.]

The story is set in the school of Welton academy, conducted by four piers, tradition, discipline, honor and excellence. The school had a shock in the form of conservative education caused by the innovative spirit of the teacher John Keating, who seemed as a crazy revolutionary man. but, in the end he showed and proved to be a direction based on the interpretation and respect the particular point of view of the students, causing them flourish their talents and can learn by doing.

At first, the movie seems just another one which will argue, discuss, and in fact criticize the behavior of society and methods used in schools specially the called tradional. To me the movie also brings a background thread disturbing and wonderful, how to make and analyze a poem.

In the initial scenes, professor Keating asks students to open their books, in initial chapters some PHD starts explaining how to analyze a poem or understand poetry. The teachers goes to the table and play the type described in the book, which says that if we analyze a poem in the vertical we must note the importance and the horizontal the perfection, before this method the researcher asked  the students to tear the page and surprised they did not do until the teacher convinced them. From there we can say that the revolution began in the traditional school of Welton.

Each classroom teacher shows the students how to analyze a poem, how to understand the poetry, since it is made of emotions, as would be possible to analyze a poem , to understand a poem based on a formula? Poetry it is necessary be felt, after all it is made of feelings, each one will be a reaction, an interpretation of that poem, poetry does not have and absolute truth, it is a fact that will fit others.

The vision of professor Keating is not a romantic view of poetry as some may think. He actually seeks to simulate the thinking capacity of students, engaging them with art and poetry is a kind of art he uses as instrument for his activity. It makes you think about the choice, as citizens and critical thinkers.

And what is poetry but the act of thinking, the poetry is a form of expression since these students lived based in rules, poetry will be not their anarchy, but rather their way of expressing what they want to be. If we consider the discussion from the title of the movie “Dead poets society”, we can think about, why dead poets?  The title is used in an ironic way to react to the model of time employed by the school, which determined the fate of students, “died” because they were out of sight, without anyone knowing, but rather that ewe could think they were alive, their work has perpetuated and influenced the others, the poetry won once again, served as communication vehicle , connecting two generations.The movie is brilliant and brings with multiple tabs for discussion, but without a shadow of doubt that is poetry the most beautiful and brilliant of the whole movie.
Mariluce Lemos

Translating Poetry!

As this subject is about poetry I think that is possible to make a post of one task that I did in other discipline of our course. I’m also taking classes of Version, and some of this tasks was to translate a poem of Cecília Meireles. The one that we translated is the Chant I. We are supposed to translate poems in Portuguese to English. And here is my translation (of course, is nothing like Cecília, but we always try! J)

“Don’t you wish for a homeland

Don’t slipt Earth

Neither Heaven

Don’t throw scraps in the ocean

Don’t long for having

Spring up high

And everything will be yours.

And you shall reach the horizon

And your eyes everywhere

Shall get you to everything

Like God.”

(Posted by Lis Machado)