Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain...

May 25, 2012 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full charactered with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain
Beyond all date even to eternity -

Or at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be missed.

That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,

To trust those tables that receive thee more.
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
Were to import forgetfulness in me.

William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
- - -
( sonnet 122 )


Même quand nous dormons

May 21, 2012 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Même quand nous dormons nous veillons l'un sur l'autre
Et cet amour plus lourd que le fruit mûr d'un lac
Sans rire et sans pleurer dure depuis toujours
Un jour après un jour une nuit après nous.

(Derniers Poèmes d'amour)

Paul Eluard 14 December (1895 –  1952)


Lines Written in Early Spring

May 19, 2012 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thought I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)

- - -
( in Lyricals ballads, 1798 )



May 09, 2012 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Rappelle-toi, quand l'Aurore craintive
Ouvre au Soleil son palais enchanté ;
Rappelle-toi, lorsque la nuit pensive
Passe en rêvant sous son voile argenté ;
A l'appel du plaisir lorsque ton sein palpite,
Aux doux songes du soir lorsque l'ombre t'invite,
Ecoute au fond des bois
Murmurer une voix :

Rappelle-toi, lorsque les destinées
M'auront de toi pour jamais séparé,
Quand le chagrin, l'exil et les années
Auront flétri ce coeur désespéré ;
Songe à mon triste amour, songe à l'adieu suprême !
L'absence ni le temps ne sont rien quand on aime.
Tant que mon coeur battra,
Toujours il te dira

Rappelle-toi, quand sous la froide terre
Mon coeur brisé pour toujours dormira ;
Rappelle-toi, quand la fleur solitaire
Sur mon tombeau doucement s'ouvrira.
Je ne te verrai plus ; mais mon âme immortelle
Reviendra près de toi comme une soeur fidèle.
Ecoute, dans la nuit,
Une voix qui gémit :

Alfred de MUSSET (1810-1857)


Jeunes Filles en Noir (Renoir)

May 01, 2012 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

Two women, both in black, the widow's veil
is flung across one shoulder, cast aside.
A child's face where sorrow can't prevail,
those sloe-dark eyes more suited to a bride.

The funeral past, she sheds no mourning tear
as she surveys the seething cafe crowd.
What does her confidante say in her ear?
What secret that she dare not say aloud?

A glorious auburn head displays behind;
a sunset orange sweats the juice of life;
but all her beauty is concealed, consigned
to nun-like garments of the mourning wife.

What future can this widow-child foresee?
Could manacles of marriage set her free?

George Wilson

With the kind permisson of the author


On Reading a Shakespearean Sonnet

May 01, 2012 Rasel Rana 0 Comments

He helps me keep alive those active cells
that sometimes light the spark of thought anew,
hoping that the cave where reason dwells
might warm with feeling as it used to do.

When thought and feeling fuse, just now and then
and blood rejuvenates the numbing brain
the ageing world regains its glory when
light and laughter match the constant rain.

That surge of mystery, that day in night
encapsulates an element of grace,
a moment of existence brought to light,
cradled in a sonnet's firm embrace.

Such moments of delight his words conceive,
So much for me his sonnet can achieve.

George Wilson

With the kind permisson of the author