Lieblingsgedichte Einstellungen

[Slavko Milosevic]

Hi!
Postet mal eure Lieblingsgedichte. Ich fang gleich mal an:

Das Nebelgedicht, in meinen einsamen, depressiven Zeiten (vor der Offenbarung des Techno) hat mir das immer viel gegegeben:

Seltsam in Nebel zu wandern
einsam ist jeder Busch und Stein
Kein Baum sieht den andern
jeder ist allein

Voll von Freuden war meine Welt
als mein Leben noch Licht war
Jetzt da der Nebel fällst
ist keiner mehr sichtbar

Wahrlich keiner ist weise
der nicht das Dunkel kennt
Das unentrinnbar und leise
von allem ihn trennt

Selstsam im Nebel zu wandern
Leben heisst einsam sein
Kein Mensch kennt den anderen
jeder ist allein

-Hermann Hesse

Mein All Time Favourite: (IMG:http://www.technoboard.at/style_emoticons/default/wub.gif) (IMG:http://www.technoboard.at/style_emoticons/default/wub.gif) (IMG:http://www.technoboard.at/style_emoticons/default/wub.gif)

The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my heart grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Zum drüberstreuen: (IMG:http://www.technoboard.at/style_emoticons/default/happy.gif)

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned. - Alexander Pope

Auch eins meiner Liebsten:

No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe; every man
is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a
Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse,
as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor
of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans
death diminishes me, because I am
involved in Mankinde; and therefore
never send to know for
whom the bell tolls;
it tolls für thee.

-John Donne

Hat was:

William Butler Yeats
Porte-noir

Ein jäher Stoß: die Schwinge, bebend, packt
die Taumelnde; der Schwimmhaut schwarze Lust
greift um das Schenkelpaar; der Schnabel hackt
sich ins Genick und Brust preßt sich auf Brust.

Wie konnte jene angstverwirrte Hand
so weiße Pracht von willigen Schenkeln wehren?
Und wie der Leib, vom Fittich übermannt,
so fremden Herzens Klopfen überhören?

Ein blindes Schaudern in den Lenden schaut
der Mauer Sturz, Glut im Gebälk entfacht,
und Agamemnons Tod. Die's also graut
vorm Blut der Luft, das wild herniederstieß:
gehörte ihr das Wissen seiner Macht,
eh sie der Schnabel lässig fallen lies?

lg George

Der Beitrag wurde von DJ George le Nagelaux bearbeitet: 18 Oct 2004, 23:45

[rotter]

gute idee, george!

hier eines meiner all time favourites:

Möglicherweise ein Irrtum
Möglicherweise das Glück
Sicherheitshalber die kleinere Liebe
Seereise ohne Zurück.
Uns hat es niemals gegeben
Wir fanden nirgendwo statt
Dich übermannte ein lauwarmes Leben
Ich wurde müde und satt.
Möglicherweise ein Walzer
Möglicherweise ein Blues
Ewig vertagt - diese Stimme, die sagt:
Wenn du es tun willst, dann tu's.
Dich hab ich tragen und trösten gewollt
Du warst die Schönste von allen.
Nie hab ich Dir meine Fragen gestellt.
Du hast mir furchtbar gefallen.
Möglicherweise nur Feigheit
Möglicherweise Verstand
All mein Versäumtes Nichtausgeträumtes
behältst du als brennendes Pfand.
Möglicherweise ein Walzer
Möglicherweise ein Blues
Ewig vertagt - diese Stimme, die sagt:
Wenn du es tun willst, dann tu's.

Herman Van Veen, Möglicherweise ein Walzer

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