Poem No. 118: “Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou

Gedichte, poems
Flamenco Dancer

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you? 
Why are you beset with gloom? 
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken? 
Bowed head and lowered eyes? 
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you? 
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you? 
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs? 

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Poem No. 117: “My Loyal Friend” by Pat Fleming

Gedichte, Nature, poems

Outside my bedroom window
Stands an old majestic tree.
She’s been standing there for decades,
Just as proud as she can be.

And every morning when I wake,
She’s the first thing I see.
This lovely constant in my life,
So magnificent and free.

I can see the early, rising sun
Peeking through her lush green leaves.
I can hear her moving gently,
In the summer’s warming breeze.

She has a personality
That she wants the world to see.
And her moods are ever changing
Behind her silent dignity.

She responds to every season,
In her own unfettered way.
All we have to do is gaze at her
To know what season’s on its way.

In the Spring she comes alive again,
As her leaves begin to bloom.
And beneath the sun’s attention,
You can almost see her swoon.

And in the heat of the summertime,
When her joy is magnified.
She has never looked more beautiful,
All “decked out to the nines.”

And when the Fall comes creeping in,
And a chill floats on the breeze,
She prefers to don more earthy tones,
And does just what she please.

But when the Winter’s looming large,
It’s impossible to hide
As her barren limbs droop soulfully.
They betray her grief inside.

She’s stood by me through all my days.
She’s watched me laugh and cry.
She’s listened so intently
While I’ve pondered on my life.

And when I see her dank and weary,
I will sit with her sometimes.
And all the years we’ve shared together
Will come rushing back to mind.

But both of us are strong and true.
We’ve become the closest friends,
And we will weather every storm
Together till the end.

Poem No. 116: “Depth Of A Woman” by Courtney Kane

Gedichte, poems

there is depth in me that is
much like the sea
and on days of my greatest gleam
i am the woman who manages
what some may say is the impossible

a son, a daughter, i have them all
and nothing prevents me from
keeping them calm, in great winds, 
in the roughest rain, 

the sight of my eyes, the searing pain
of life’s hard road, 
it all bulds to a glorious strength, 

the strength of the women before me, 
it is the depth of a worldly woman. 

Poem No. 115: “The Crazy Woman” by Gwendolyn Brooks

arts, Gedichte, poems
Designer Iris Apfel

I shall not sing a May song. 
A May song should be gay. 
I’ll wait until November 
And sing a song of gray. 

I’ll wait until November 
That is the time for me. 
I’ll go out in the frosty dark 
And sing most terribly. 

And all the little people 
Will stare at me and say, 
“That is the Crazy Woman 
Who would not sing in May.” 

Poem No. 114: “To See A World…” (Fragments from “Auguries of Innocence” by William Blake

Gedichte, poems
Bildergebnis für To see a World in a Grain of Sand

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Redbreast in a Cage Puts all Heaven in a Rage. A dove house fill’d with doves and pigeons
Shudders Hell thro’ all its regions.
A Dog starv’d at his Master’s Gate Predicts the ruin of the State.
A Horse misus’d upon the Road Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted
Hare A fiber from the Brain does tear.

He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
The Beggar’s Dog and Widow’s Cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The Gnat that sings his Summer song
Poison gets from Slander’s tongue.
The poison of the Snake and Newt
Is the sweat of Envy’s Foot.

A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for Joy and Woe;
And when this we rightly know
Thro’ the World we safely go.
Every Night and every
Morn Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight.
Some are Born to sweet delight,
Some are Born to Endless Night.

Poem No. 97: “A Dream Within a Dream” by Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849)

Film, Gedichte, Movie, poems, Psychologie, psychology
Is it all just a dream?
(Reality Check à la “INCEPTION”)

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow:
You are not wrong who deem
That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand–
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep–while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?

My recommendation – an exciting, multilayered movie about “dreams within dreams” with a powerful visual language: “INCEPTION” (2010)

Poem Nr. 1: “Portrait eines Vogels” (To Paint The Portrait of a Bird) von Jaques Prevert, English & Deutsche Übersetzung

Gedichte, poems, Psychologie, psychology, Tipps

260px-A_single_white_feather_closeupDas Portrait eines Vogels
(Jaques Prevert)

Male zuerst einen Käfig mit offener Tür.
Dann male etwas, was hübsch ist,
und einfach schön und nützlich,
für den Vogel.

Male dann einen Baum
In einem Garten, in einem Gehölz, in einem Wald. Verbirg dich hinter dem Baum, sprich nicht und halte still…

Manchmal kommt der Vogel geschwind,
doch mag es auch Jahre dauern, bis das geschieht.
Laß den Mut nicht sinken
Und warte.
Viele Jahr`, wenn der Vogel so will.

Ob er geschwind kommt oder zögernd,
der Wert des Bildes wird davon nicht berührt. Kommt er dann, falls er kommt,
übe tiefes Schweigen, bis er im Käfig ist.

Verschließe die Tür mit einem sanften Pinselstrich. Dann Lösche alle Gitterstäbe aus,
einen nach dem anderen
und hüte dich,
die Federn des Vogels zu berühren.

Male dann das Bild eines Baumes
Und wähle den schönsten seiner Zweige
Für den Vogel

Warte auf sein Singen.
Singt er nicht, ist es ein schlechtes Omen,
und ein schlechtes Bild.
Singt er, ist es ein gutes Omen,
du kannst ein gutes Bild mit deinem Namen zeichnen.

Mit sanften Händen
reiß‘ dem Vogel eine Feder aus dem Gefieder,
und schreibe deinen Namen an den Rand.

Translation into English:

To Paint a Portrait of a Bird

First paint a cage
With an open door
Then paint
Something pretty
Something simple
Something beautiful
Something useful
For the bird

Then place the canvas against a tree
In a garden
In a wood
Or in a forest
Hide yourself behind the tree
Without speaking
Without moving…

Sometimes the bird will arrive soon
But it could also easily take many years
For it to decide
Wait
Wait if necessary for years

The rapidity or slowness of the arrival of the bird
Has no connection with the success of the painting
When the bird arrives
If it arrives

Observe the most profound silence
Wait until the bird enters the cage
And when it has entered
Gently close the door with the brush
Then
Erase one by one all of the bars
While being careful not to touch any of the feathers of the bird

Then make a portrait of the tree
Choosing the most beautiful of its branches
For the bird
Paint also the green foliage and the freshness of the wind
The dust of the sun
And the noise of the creatures of the grass in the heat of summer

And then wait for the bird to decide to sing
If the bird does not sing
It’s a bad sign
A sign that the painting is no good
But if it does sing it’s a good sign
A sign that you can sign.

Then you gently pull out
One of the feathers of the bird
And you sign your name in a corner of the painting.