alivepoeticverse

[bsd-bibliophile]

He was sad, truly deeply sad. His sadness was not the sadness of florid youth, nor simply the sadness of lovers. It was a more profound and greater sadness, a sadness inherent in the innermost reaches of human life. The flowing of moving waters, the withering of blossoming flowers-when encountering that irresistible force which is deep within nature, there is nothing as wretched nor as transient as man.

Tayama Katai, Futon

[metamorphesque]

Judas (1885), Ilya Repin

[unusual-suspects]

"Old Trees" by artist Vlad Miroshnikov, 2019, oil on canvas

[dailyclassicart]

Arthur Hughes - "Ophelia" (1865)

[nobrashfestivity]

Edvard Munch, Details from Madonna, 1895/1896

lithograph in black with hand coloring

[dalals]

The Tambourine Girl by Gaetano de Martini painting.

[metamorphesque]

poems for the man who painted flowers in wartime

The Dream of a Curious Man, Charles Baudelaire

Tired, Langston Hughes

Threads of Life, W. B. Yeats

The Way The Light Reflects, Richard Siken

When I Have Fears, John Keats

Tear It Down, Jack Gilbert

A Center, Ha Jin

To the One Who is Reading Me, Jorge Luis Borges

Longing (karot) and Waiting, Hovhannes Grigoryan (translated by Tathev Simonyan)

I Belong There, Mahmoud Darwish

The Gardener 85, Rabindranath Tagore

Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower, Rainer Maria Rilke

Wait For Me, Konstantin Simonov (tr. by Mike Munford)

I flounder, Mesrop Mashtots (translated by Diana Der-Hovanessian)

RÉVEILLÉ, Ronald Lewis Carton

“Hope” is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson

For the New Year 1981, Denise Levertov

A Vote For the Gentle Light, Charles Bukowski

There Are Birds Here, Jamaal May

Good Bones, Maggie Smith

Hope, Czeslaw Milosz

Though there are torturers, Michael Coady

Goodbye to Tolerance, Denise Levertov

Perhaps the World Ends Here. Joy Harjo

From the River to the Sea, Samer Abu Hawwash (translated by Huda Fakhreddine)

Book of Lamentations: Conversations with God, from the depth of my heart, Grigor Narekatsi

[enchantedbook]

'Eurynome and Ophion' by Kate Baylay

[eyelesscat]

husn-e-mahtaab se mili hai neimat shab ko

ik soz-e-khalish hi hai bas is virani-e-dil ko

(The favor of the beauty of the moon, the night has,

the passion for sorrow only for this desolate heart)

[eyelesscat]

It is sad yet beautiful how the heart persists in its craving for love, despite the ache.

[eyelesscat]

But how do you know what to

say?

- I do not. It is the heart

that speaks, on its own.

[bsd-bibliophile]

Sorry to put in two asks in a row but there was another topic I wanted to hear your thoughts on: the relationship between Tanizaki and Naomi, particularly in relation to your reply on Dazai and women/romance in the series. So far they are one of, if not the only, people in any of the major groups in the series in a romantic relationship of any kind, which in itself is nice (Tho I’m not sure if Tanizaki is the yandere or it’s a double yandere couple), but it makes me wonder where it might go

Tanizaki and his wife, Ishikawa ChiyokoYeah, these two are probably the exception to the unspoken no romance rule in BSD (well, other than Fitzgerald and his wife Zelda, who we never really meet). And I think that this is because of the… interesting… way Tanizaki writes his female characters. 

*This post is not for the eyes of children* (Well, more PG-13 rating I guess)

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[eyelesscat]

"Crows sense the loneliness of things -- harbinger of misfortune, as they are fated to be."

[eyelesscat]

I met silence on the road,

in the soul-barren night;

the darkness before me was broad,

but I knew I was alright.

Out of human captivity I saunter'd,

like a prisoner on parole;

As violent voices all slumber'd,

basked I in dark galore.

The houses were quite,

quiet were the street;

dead were all human riot,

whereupon peace I meet.

Incorporated in the soft shade,

wherein I forgo my heft;

o'er my soul, silence overlaid,

till no grief of mine was left.

There, then, was I kissed,

by the intangible shadow;

for what I had always wished,

I was in heaven's meadow.

In that crisp and cold,

and I do not extol,

for as such it be told,

silence was poetry to my soul.

[eyelesscat]

such lengthy days. monotone of melancholy.

[eyelesscat]

The world, magically, shrinks into her everytime I sit next to her.

[eyelesscat]

“And she would touch me like she was leafing through a book - getting deeper and deeper into my skin.”

Keep reading

[eyelesscat]

Keep me in the pockets of your heart, I would rather wither there, than bloom someplace else.