Naeema

Sweety, tu esti f buna ca si avocata ! :) Te voi lua ca si avocata mea personala ! ! :(

Oricum nu te vedeam pe tine in halat alb ! ;)

Scoala de politie ? Si ca politista ai fi fost buna ! ! 8)

Da' ce, e viata/cariera parintilor sau a ta ? E nasol cand se baga ai tai peste tine, nu esti ''proprietatea'' lor, ca sa te controleze in fiecare aspect, mi se pare UNFAIR si ilegal ! !

Am vazut ca iti place sa citesti..

..spune-mi un autor si o carte a lui care ti-a placut in adoloscenta.

Buna seara ..scz.. ;)

laurent-III-rd a scris:

Am vazut ca iti place sa citesti..

..spune-mi un autor si o carte a lui care ti-a placut in adoloscenta.

Buna seara ..scz.. ;)

In adolscenta am avut ocazia sa gasesc Iliada,Odisea ale lui Homer si Eneida lui Virgil (in limba romana) dar in proza sub forma de nuvela nu in versuri. Daca imi amintesc eu bine cartile au fost adaptate de un scriitor roman dupa versurile originale. Nu mai tin minte daca a fost George Murnu,Constantin Botez sau George Andreescu. Toata acuratetea a fost pastrata,nimic inventat sau schimbat. Am ramas fermecata de aceste naratiuni,pina in prezent. Recent am cumparat cele doua capodopere ale lui Homer in versuri traduse in engeza. Am ramas dezamagita dupa citeva pagini.

Buna seara ..deci esti acasa azi . 8)

Un poet preferat..?

*banuiesc ca citesti sau ca iti place poezia .

ai vreo fobie?

laurent-III-rd a scris:

Buna seara ..deci esti acasa azi . 8)

Un poet preferat..?

*banuiesc ca citesti sau ca iti place poezia .

Buna seara Laurent,

Imi place mult poezia. Poetul meu preferat dintodeauna a fost Eminescu. Nu va mai exista altul ca el.

Pe locul doi se afla Byron. Ai citit poezia "And Thou Art Dead, as Young and Fair" ? Beautiful. Este foarte asemanatoare Luceafarului lui Eminescu.

rise_again a scris:

ai vreo fobie?

Vai da....cadavrele. Am oroare de inmormintari si cimitire din cauza asta.

Naeema a scris:

Imi place mult poezia. Poetul meu preferat dintodeauna a fost Eminescu. Nu va mai exista altul ca el.

Ai citit Rumi? Daca da, care e poezia preferata?

catelusulschiop a scris:

Ai citit Rumi? Daca da, care e poezia preferata?

Nu am citit din lucrarile acestuia. Trebuie sa zic ca nu sunt deloc familiara cu scrierile poetilor si autorilor persani.Dar acum ca l-ai mentionat o sa caut ceva scris de el. Ce stil are?

Naeema a scris:

Nu am citit din lucrarile acestuia. Trebuie sa zic ca nu sunt deloc familiara cu scrierile poetilor si autorilor persani.Dar acum ca l-ai mentionat o sa caut ceva scris de el. Ce stil are?

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Jalal_al-Din_Muhammad_Rumi

uite una dintre poeziile preferate:

You Worry Too Much

Oh soul,

you worry too much.

You say,

I make you feel dizzy.

Of a little headache then,

why do you worry?

You say, I am your antelope.

Of seeing a lion here and there

why do you worry?

Oh soul,

you worry too much.

You say, I am your moon-faced beauty.

Of the cycles of the moon and

passing of the years,

why do you worry?

You say, I am your source of passion,

I excite you.

Of playing into the Devils hand,

why do you worry?

Oh soul,

you worry too much.

Look at yourself,

what you have become.

You are now a field of sugar canes,

why show that sour face to me?

You have tamed the

winged horse of Love.

Of a death of a donkey,

why do you worry?

You say that I keep you warm inside.

Then why this cold sigh?

You have gone to the roof of heavens.

Of this world of dust, why do you worry?

Oh soul,

you worry too much.

Since you met me,

you have become a master singer,

and are now a skilled wrangler,

you can untangle any knot.

Of life's little leash

why do you worry?

Your arms are heavy

with treasures of all kinds.

About poverty,

why do you worry?

You are Joseph,

beautiful, strong,

steadfast in your belief,

all of Egypt has become drunk

because of you.

Of those who are blind to your beauty,

and deaf to your songs,

why do you worry?

Oh soul,

you worry too much.

You say that your housemate is the

Heart of Love,

she is your best friend.

You say that you are the heat of

the oven of every Lover.

You say that you are the servant of

Ali's magical sword, Zolfaghar.

Of any little dagger

why do you still worry?

Oh soul,

you worry too much.

You have seen your own strength.

You have seen your own beauty.

You have seen your golden wings.

Of anything less,

why do you worry?

You are in truth

the soul, of the soul, of the soul.

You are the security,

the shelter of the spirit of Lovers.

Oh the sultan of sultans,

of any other king,

why do you worry?

Be silent, like a fish,

and go into that pleasant sea.

You are in deep waters now,

of life's blazing fire.

Why do you worry?

Foarte frumoasa si "adinca" poezia. Mersi mult. Hai sa-ti pun si eu o poezie preferata a mea.

And thou art dead, as young and fair

As aught of mortal birth;

And form so soft, and charms so rare,

Too soon return'd to Earth!

Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed,

And o'er the spot the crowd may tread

In carelessness or mirth,

There is an eye which could not brook

A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where thou liest low,

Nor gaze upon the spot;

There flowers or weeds at will may grow,

So I behold them not:

It is enough for me to prove

That what I lov'd, and long must love,

Like common earth can rot;

To me there needs no stone to tell,

'T is Nothing that I lov'd so well.

Yet did I love thee to the last

As fervently as thou,

Who didst not change through all the past,

And canst not alter now.

The love where Death has set his seal,

Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow:

And, what were worse, thou canst not see

Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine:

The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,

Shall never more be thine.

The silence of that dreamless sleep

I envy now too much to weep;

Nor need I to repine

That all those charms have pass'd away,

I might have watch'd through long decay.

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd

Must fall the earliest prey;

Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,

The leaves must drop away:

And yet it were a greater grief

To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,

Than see it pluck'd to-day;

Since earthly eye but ill can bear

To trace the change to foul from fair.

I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;

The night that follow'd such a morn

Had worn a deeper shade:

Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,

And thou wert lovely to the last,

Extinguish'd, not decay'd;

As stars that shoot along the sky

Shine brightest as they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,

My tears might well be shed,

To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed;

To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,

To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head;

And show that love, however vain,

Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free,

The loveliest things that still remain,

Than thus remember thee!

The all of thine that cannot die

Through dark and dread Eternity

Returns again to me,

And more thy buried love endears

Than aught except its living years.