Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

A Poem For The Suckers Of Love

'To Silvia' by Giacomo Leopardi is like the story of my life. I tried to understand the poem, and I think I did, hope I'm not wrong, actually I hope I am because it's very sad. It's about Giacomo who was in love with a beautiful girl, whom died early sadly and in this poem he opens his heart about her.

Suckers for love, that's who we are, enjoy.

"To Silvia

Silvia, do you remember
the moments, in your mortal life,
when beauty still shone
in your sidelong, laughing eyes,
and you, light and thoughtful,
went
beyond girlhood’s limits?

The quiet rooms and the streets
around you, sounded
to your endless singing,
when you sat, happily content,
intent, on that woman’s work,
the vague future, arriving alive in your mind.
It was the scented May, and that’s how
you spent your day.

I would leave my intoxicating studies,
and the turned-down pages,
where my young life,
the best of me, was left,
and from the balcony of my father’s house
strain to catch the sound of your voice,
and your hand, quick,
running over the loom.
I would look at the serene sky,
the gold lit gardens and paths,
that side the mountains, this side the far-off sea.
And human tongue cannot say
what I felt then.

What sweet thoughts,
what hopes, what hearts, O Silvia mia!
How it appeared to us then,
all human life and fate!
When I recall that hope
such feelings pain me,
harsh, disconsolate,
I brood on my own destiny.
Oh Nature, Nature
why do you not give now
what you promised then? Why
do you so deceive your children?

Attacked, and conquered, by secret disease,
you died, my tenderest one, and did not see
your years flower, or feel your heart moved,
by sweet praise of your black hair
your shy, loving looks.
No friends talked with you,
on holidays, about love.

My sweet hopes died also
little by little: to me too
Fate has denied those years. Oh,
how you have passed me by,
dear friend of my new life,
my saddened hope!
Is this the world, the dreams,
the loves, events, delights,
we spoke about so much together?
Is this our human life?
At the advance of Truth
you fell, unhappy one,
and from the distance,
with your hand, you pointed
towards death’s coldness and the silent grave."

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Poem, Gitmek. Hayatta Kalabilmek Icin Bir Ömür Veriyoruz

"Bugünlerde herkes gitmek istiyor.
Küçük bir sahil kasabasına,
Bir başka ülkeye, dağlara, uzaklara...

Hayatından memnun olan yok.
Kiminle konuşsam aynı şey...
Herşeyi, herkesi bırakıp gitme isteği.

Öyle "yanına almak istediği üç şey" falan yok.
Bir kendisi.
Bu yeter zaten.
Herşeyi, herkesi götürdün demektir.
Keşke kendini bırakıp gidebilse insan.
Ama olmuyor.

Hadi kendimize razıyız diyelim, öteki de olmuyor.
Yani herşeyi yüzüstü bırakmak göze alınmıyor.

Böyle gidiyoruz işte.
Bir yanımız "kalk gidelim",
öbür yanımız "otur" diyor.

"Otur" diyen kazanıyor.
O yan kalabalık zira...
İş, güç, sorumluluk, çoluk çocuk, aile,
Güvende olma duygusu...
En kötüsü alışkanlık.
Alışkanlığın verdiği rahatlık,
Monotonluğun doğurduğu bıkkınlığı yeniyor.
Kalıyoruz...
Kuş olup uçmak isterken, ağaç olup kök salıyoruz.

Evlenmeler...
Bir çocuk daha doğurmalar...
Borçlara girmeler...
İşi büyütmeler...
Bir köpek bile bizi uçmaktan alıkoyabiliyor.

Misal ben...
Kapıdaki Rex'i bırakıp gidemiyorum.
Değil bu şehirden gitmek,
İki sokak öteye taşınamıyorum.
Alıp götürsem gelmez ki...
Bütün sokağın köpeği olduğunun farkında,
Herkes onu, o herkesi seviyor.
Hangi birimizle gitsin?

"Sırtında yumurta küfesi olmak" diye bir deyim vardır;
Evet, sırtımızda yumurta küfesi var hepimizin,
Kendi imalatımız küfeler.

Ama eğreti de yaşanmaz ki bu dünyada.
Ölüm var zira.
Ölüme inat tutunmak lazım,
İnadına kök salmak lazım.

Bari ufak kaçışlar yapabilsek.
Var tabii yapanlar, ama az.
Sadece kaymak tabakası.
Hepimiz kaçabilsek...
Bütçe, zaman, keyif... Denk olsa.
Gün içinde mesela...
Küçücük gitmeler yapabilsek.

Ne mümkün.
Sabah 9, akşam 18
Sonra başka mecburiyetler
Sıkışıp kaldık.
Sırf yeme, içme, barınmanın bedeli
Bu kadar ağır olmamalı.

Hayatta kalabilmek için bir ömür veriyoruz.
Bir ömür karşılığı, bir ömür yani.
Ne saçma...
Bahar mıdır bizi bu hale getiren?
Galiba.

Ben her bahar aşık olmam ama
Her bahar gitmek isterim.
Gittiğim olmadı hiç,
Ama olsun... İstemek de güzel.

-Can Yücel"

:') I miss all my relatives in Turkey all of a sudden, feel horrible that I didn't go to them this summer although I have a blast alone. Some things you shouldn't miss out on though. Going to see my way to Ankara as soon as I can.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Go Johnny Go Go!

Oh man, this song has been spinning in my head all day long, SONG OF THE DAAAAAAY.


I have been through about fourteen chapters (i.e fourteen classes) of Stella Adler's book "The Art of Acting" and it's really fascinating (wow that was a damn hard word to spell). To basically put it in layman terms, acting is about using your imagination, and building circumstances around you and just react and play a long with it. You don't act feelings, actually you don't act at all. You DO.

Like Sir Ben Kingsley said in his "Inside the Actor's Studio" episode, the camera is allergic to acting, it doesn't like it or take it in one bit. If you "act" in front of a camera people will spot it in a second. The camera's achilles heel is BEHAVIOR. Behavior, behavior, behavior.

What a long strange trip this is going to be. I am of course still dreaming about New York Film Academy and that scholarship. I've gone through it time and time again in my head and yup, if I do get that scholarship I'm off, great isn't it? I can't imagine anywhere else to study to be honest, not a single place in the world, except under Stella Adler herself but alas. NYFA just attracts me something immense.

My idea book, where I write down all my small little ideas I get is getting a little bit thicker by the week/month.

I am going to leave you with this though, although I have already given you too much, some insight to a great mind, mine. (HA!) and a CLASSIC song (still got it playing as I write this in loop). Here is a amazing short film from... Yes Uzbekistan, how did you guess? :) Based on Ray Bradbury's short story called "There will come soft rains" which I am guessing is based on a poem by Sara Teasdale. And I am giving you all three bitches!



And the poem, three is a charm. Cha cha

" There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

Sara Teasdale"

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Poem, Untitled

I wrote a few poems since a few days back, not sure why, trying to be creative innit... If you have something to say, say it! Creativity is lovely. Here it is, the first out of maybe more to be "published" publicly...

"I see you suffering, envy is such a terrible affliction
material things, like cars and houses makes your head spin

one million, two million, your mind is clouded with bills
money corrupts, kills and gives people the cold chills

the richest men are poor, the poorest men are rich
I rather die then die of envy, the simplest things in life gives me bliss"

Burak Köseoglu, 19/5-09

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Poem, Trees


Ah poems, getting quite interesting now. I only picked up poems a few months ago. I am not actively looking for them but when I come across one I like for some reason I usually keep it so I can post it here later. I am really thinking about starting to write stuff, incl poems. And I am also thinking of getting some painting equipment so I can paint a little. I remember that I always used to paint as a kid. I really like oil paintings with bold strokes, like THIS one (that is currently my desktop pic as well, made by Claude Monet "Nympheas (1897)")

As far as acting update goes, I actually might to do an audition for a short film on Monday! The fella is supposed to send me the script on SUNDAY, that means I have one day to learn the shit. But he said it was intentional so... screw that guy man :( Nah he seemed really cool because his ad said that they were looking for people around my age with acting experience to come and audition and here I am. I am not expecting to get it at all, I just want to go for the sake of going and making and effort!

Anyway, here is the poem by (Alfred) Joyce Kilmer, a religious fella that likes to include it as a big topic in his poems. You guys know what I think about religion but nonetheless. This poem was really short and sweet. It's really expressive and for poem "n00bs" like me who don't get the heavy stuff (YET!) this one is a doll.

*Ehm ehm*

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Nixon's speach that never was. + Poem Time!

Just done watching a six episode documentary about the moon landing. The documentary goes into deep detail from the moment the US is trying to get a rocket into space, getting a man into space all the way to how the shuttle program operates and it's truly fascinating. Imagine walking on the moon, or even flying in space. Now there is something I HAVE TO DO before I die, fuck bungy jumping, I want to walk in space.

Checking out digg.com I stumbled upon a little speech. A speech that we never got to hear because he was only going to read it if Niel Armstrong and the boys didn't make it to moon, if they crashed onto the surface or couldn't get out of there for some reason.

The speech writer named William Safire wrote this short but beautiful speach, I am taking the liberty of highlighting the bits that I like the most, it's my fucking blog after all.

"Fate has ordained that the men who went to the moon to explore in peace will stay on the moon to rest in peace.

These brave men, Neil Armstrong and Edwin Aldrin, know that there is no hope for their recovery. But they also know that there is hope for mankind in their sacrifice.

These two men are laying down their lives in mankind's most noble goal: the search for truth and understanding.

They will be mourned by their families and friends; they will be mourned by their nation; they will be mourned by the people of the world; they will be mourned by a Mother Earth that dared send two of her sons into the unknown.

In their exploration, they stirred the people of the world to feel as one; in their sacrifice, they bind more tightly the brotherhood of man.

In ancient days, men looked at stars and saw their heroes in the constellations. In modern times, we do much the same, but our heroes are epic men of flesh and blood.

Others will follow, and surely find their way home. Man's search will not be denied. But these men were the first, and they will remain the foremost in our hearts.

For every human being who looks up at the moon in the nights to come will know that there is some corner of another world that is forever mankind."

Simply beautiful, on another note, I think he got a little influenced by one of Rupert Brook's poems "The Soldier". It's an amazing poem, I am not a type of person who roots the country I grew up in, so I don't care too much if something would happen to Sweden, or Turkey even less. I am more of a swede then anything, but this poem almost made me well upp and felt very brittish for some reason, so enjoy bitches.

"The Solider

by Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven."


Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Poem, I have a rendezvous with death.



One more poem, it's pretty sweet. The man who wrote it, Alan Seeger, did it while on WWI duty. Let me give you the poem. *ehm*

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope on battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Beautiful isn't it. He actually died before his poems became famous. As is the case for some great people.

The user PoetryAnimations in YouTube has some great animated poems (as the name suggests). Here is the animation for Alan's Poem.



Thursday, December 25, 2008

Poem, Solitude.


I'm really starting to digg poems.

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

"Solitude

LAUGH, and the world will laugh with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of it's own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it's is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from a voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain."