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Enciclopèdia AVUI
Si teniu algun CDROM de l'Enciclopèdia AVUI (de 12 CDROMs) podreu escoltar la recitació d'alguns poemes o fragments. Per fer-ho, poseu qualsevol dels discs dins la unitat de CDROM —ha de ser la unitat D:\ o E:\— i, des d'aquesta pàgina web els sentireu, simplement picant damunt la icona de so corresponent.




[Shakespeare: Night Dream] [Shakespeare: Macbeth] [Donne] [Milton] [Blake]

[Wordsworth] [Byron] [Shelley] [Keats ]

[Hardy] [Eliot] [Auden] [Yeats] [Heaney] [Whitman] [Dickinson]





Shaskespeare Shaskespeare

A Midsummer's Night Dream
Act V
Scene I Athens. The palace of THESEUS.
...
PUCK CDROM de l'Encicl. AVUI a la unitat D:\CDROM a D:\ Enciclopèdia AVUI CDROM de l'Encicl. AVUI a la unitat E:\CDROM a E:\

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

En català: CDROM de l'Encicl. AVUI a la unitat D:\D:\ Enciclopèdia AVUI CDROM de l'Encicl. AVUI a la unitat E:\E:\

Shaskespeare

Macbeth
Scene V Dunsinane. Within the castle.

[Enter MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers, with drum and colours] ...

SEYTON The queen my lord, is dead.
MACBETH D:\ E:\
She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

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Donne Donne

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                                The Good-Morrow

                  I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I
                      Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then
                  But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
                      Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?
                  'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
                  If ever any beauty I did see,
              Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

                  And now good morrow to our waking souls,
                      Which watch not one another out of fear;
                  For love, all love of other sights controls,
                      And makes one little room, an every where.
                  Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
                  Let maps to others, worlds on worlds have shown,
              Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.
				   
                  My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
                      And true plain hearts do in the faces rest,
                  Where can we find two better hemispheres
                      Without sharp north, without declining west?
                  What ever dies, was not mixed equally;
                  If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
              Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.













Milton

Milton D:\ E:\

Paradise Lost
Say first—for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell—say first what cause
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his will
For one restraint, lords of the World besides.


Gravat de Doré

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Blake Blake

(Londres 1757 - 1827) Poeta, pintor i gravador anglès. Tota la seva obra madura fou concebuda com una combinació íntima de text i d’il·lustracions. Les poesies líriques són agrupades en dos volums, Songs of Innocence (1789) i Songs of Experience (1794). La seva tendència visionària, apareguda ben aviat, augmentà notablement amb la sèrie de Prophetical Books, culminats amb Milton (1804-08) i Jerusalem (1804-20). Dedicat preferentment a la il·lustració de llibres, sovint en feia tiratges independents, costum que donà origen a la realització de les cèlebres estampes en colors del 1795 (Elohim crea Adam, Déu jutja Adam, Pietat, Newton, etc, a la Tate Gallery de Londres). Des del 1790 es dedicà a la pintura al tremp sobre tela, guix o fusta (Satanàs aclapara Job amb plagues purulentes, ~1826-27; Tate Gallery). També utilitzà l’aquarel·la: en sobresurten les sèries d’il·lustracions per al Llibre de Job (~1820-21) i la Divina Comèdia (1825-27), que representà la culminació de la seva audàcia innovadora. En català hi ha una edició bilingüe de Cançons d’innocència i experiència (1975), i la traducció dels Llibres profètics (1976) feta per M.Manent. (Enc. AVUI)


                       Milton a Poem, Book 2, copy C, plate 33

                       Into this pleasant Shadow all the weak & weary
                       Like Women & Children were taken away as on wings
                       Of dovelike softness, & shadowy habitations prepared for them
                       But every Man returnd & went still going forward thro'
                       The Bosom of the Father in Eternity on Eternity
                       Neither did any lack or fall into Error without
                       A Shadow to repose in all the Days of happy Eternity

                       Into this pleasant Shadow Beulah. all Ololon descended
                       And when the Daughters of Beulah heard the lamentation
                       All Beulah wept. for they saw the Lord coming in the Clouds
                       And the Shadows of Beulah terminate in rocky Albion-

                       And all Nations wept in affliction Family by Family
                       Germany wept towards France & Italy: England wept & trembled
                       Towards America: India rose up from his golden bed:
                       As one awakend in the night: they saw the Lord coming
                       In the Clouds of Ololon with Power & Great Glory!

                       And all the Living Creatures of the Four Elements, wail'd
                       With bitter wailing: these in the aggregate are named Satan
                       And Rahab: they know not of Regeneration, but only of Generation
                       The Fairies, Nymphs, Gnomes & Genii of the Four Elements
                       Unforgiving & unalterable: these cannot be Regenerated
                       But must be Created, for they know only of Generation
                       These are the Gods of the Kingdoms of the Earth: in contrarious
                       And cruel opposition: Element against Element, opposed in War
                       Not Mental, as the Wars of Eternity, but a Corporeal Strife
                       In Loss Halls continual labouring in the Furnaces of Golgonooza
                       Orc howls on the Atlantic: Enitharmon trembles; All Beulah weeps

                       Thou hearest the Nightingale begin the Song of Spring:
                       The Lark sitting upon his earthy bed: just as the morn
                       Appears; listens silent: then springing from the waving Corn-field! loud
                       He leads the Choir of Day! trill, trill, trill, trill,
                       Mounting upon the wings of light into the Great Expanse.
                       Reecchoing against the lovely blue & shining heavenly Shell:
                       His little throat labours with inspiration; every feather
                       On throat & breast & wings vibrates with the effluence Divine
                       All Nature listens silent to him & the awful Sun
                       Stands still upon the Mountain looking on this little Bird
                       With eyes of soft humility, & wonder love & awe,
                       Then loud from their green covert all the Birds begin their Song
                       The Thrush, the Linnet & the Goldfinch, Robin & the Wren
                       Awake the Sun from his sweet reverie upon the Mountain:
                       The Nightingale again assays his song & thro the day,
                       And thro the night warbles luxuriant: every Bird of Song
                       Attending his loud harmony with admiration & love.
                       This is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon!

                       Thou percievest the Flowers put forth their precious Odours!
                       And none can tell how from so small a center comes such sweets
                       Forgetting that within that Center Eternity expands
                       Its ever during doors. that Og & Anak fiercely guard
                       First eer the morning breaks joy opens in the flowery bosoms           D:\E:\
                       Joy even to tears, which the Sun rising dries: first the Wild Thyme
                       And Meadow-sweet downy & soft waving among the reeds.
                       Light springing on the air lead the sweet Dance: they wake
                       The Honeysuckle sleeping on the Oak: the flaunting beauty
                       Revels along upon the wind; the White-thorn lovely May
                       Opens her many lovely eyes: listening the Rose still sleeps
                       None dare to wake her. soon she bursts her crimson curtaind bed
                       And comes forth in the majesty of beauty; every Flower:
                       The Pink, the Jessamine, the Wall-flower, the Carnation
                       The Jonquil, the mild Lilly opes her heavens! every Tree,
                       And Flower & Herb soon fill the air with an innumerable Dance
                       Yet all in order sweet & lovely, Men are sick with Love!
                       Such is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon
								 

Gravat de la mà de Blake

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Wordsworth

(Cockermouth 1770 - Grasmere 1850) Poeta anglès. Figura cabdal del primer romanticisme anglès, dels anomenats lakistes. Orfe de pare i mare a tretze anys, estudià al St. John’s College de Cambridge, bé que no palesà cap tarannà acadèmic, que en aquella època volia dir acceptació d’un orde religiós. El 1791 viatjà a França, per tal de veure de prop la marxa de la Revolució. Allí conegué Annette Vallon, amb qui tingué una filla. Tornà a Anglaterra sol, i les hostilitats entre la seva pàtria i aquell país representaren una barrera indubtable per a la parella. El 1793 publicà les seves primeres obres, An Evening Walk i Descriptive Sketches, obra, aquesta segona, molt inferior al diari de la seva germana, Dorothy, amb la qual visqué des de la seva tornada de França. Fou decisiva la seva amistat, a partir del 1795, amb el també poeta S.T.Coleridge, amb qui publicà conjuntament Lyrical Ballads (1798), volum reeditat el 1800 amb addicions poètiques i un important prefaci de Wordsworth, mena de pamflet de la seva concepció de la poesia i, en conseqüència, del romanticisme. El 1802 es casà amb una amiga de la família, Mary Hutchison, enllaç que trencà l’estreta i particular relació amb la seva germana Dorothy. Durant un viatge per Escòcia conegué i tractà W.Scott. Del 1805 és la redacció de The Prelude, que no fou publicat fins el 1850, de caràcter autobiogràfic, considerat la seva obra mestra i una de les més importants de la poesia anglesa de la primera meitat de s XIX. Altres obres poètiques seves són The Excursion (1814), Ecclesiastic Sonnets (1822) i el poema inacabat The Recluse (1888). (Encicl. AVUI)
D:\Enciclopèdia AVUIE:\ 

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE SEPT. 3, 1802 EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

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Byron George G. N. Byron (1788-1824), From a Painting by Th. Phillips

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I Saw Thee Weep I saw thee weep--the big bright tear Came o'er that eye of blue; And then methought it did appear A violet dropping dew: I saw thee smile--the sapphire's blaze Beside thee ceased to shine; It could not match the living rays That filled that glance of thine. As clouds from yonder sun receive A deep and mellow dye, Which scarce the shade of coming eve Can banish from the sky, Those smiles unto the moodiest mind Their own pure joy impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind That lightens o'er the heart.
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Shelley Shelley

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EPIPSYCHIDION (...) The wingèd storms, chanting their thunder-psalm To other lands, leave azure chasms of calm Over this isle, or weep themselves in dew, From which its fields and woods ever renew Their green and golden immortality. And from the sea there rise, and from the sky There fall, clear exhalations, soft and bright, Veil after veil, each hiding some delight, Which Sun or Moon or zephyr draw aside, Till the isle's beauty, like a naked bride Glowing at once with love and loveliness, Blushes and trembles at its own excess: (...)

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Keats Keats

Faery Song D:\E:\ Shed no tear, oh, shed no tear, the flower will bloom another year. Weep no more, oh, weep no more, young buds sleep in the root white core. Dry your eyes, oh dry your eyes For I was taught in paradise to ease my breast of melody Shed no tear. Overhead, look overhead 'mong the blossoms white & red. Look up, look up, I flutter now and displash... granate bow. See me! 'tis this silvery bill, ever cures the good man's ill. Shed no tear, Oh shed no tear, the flower will bloom another year. Adieu, adieu, I fly! Adieu. I vanish in the heaven's blue. Adieu, adieu.

a faery

Cançó de la Fada D:\ E:\ No ploris més, la flor gentil ja tornarà amb un altre abril. No ploris més, no ploris més. L'arrel ja guarda nous rosers. Eixuga el plor i allunya el dol; del paradís, del blau redol, sé una música de consol. No ploris més! Au, mira amunt. Entre el florir rosat i blanc jo faig camí. Enlaire! Mira al meu repòs el magraner vermell de flors. Mira'm, aquesta llum d'argent sempre guareix la dolça gent. No ploris més, la flor gentil ja tornarà amb una altre abril. M'envolo amunt, adéu siau. Ja m'esvaeixo en el cel blau, Adéu-siau, adéu-siau.





Hardy Thomas Hardy

Afterwards D:\ E:\ When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay, And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings, Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say, 'He was a man who used to notice such things'? If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid's soundless blink, The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight Upon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think, 'To him this must have been a familiar sight.' If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm, When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn, One may say, 'He strove that such innocent creatures should come to no harm, But he could do little for them; and now he is gone.' If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at the door, Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more, 'He was one who had an eye for such mysteries'? And will any say when my bell of quittance is heard in the gloom And a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings, Till they rise again, as they were a new bell's boom, 'He hears it not now, but used to notice such things'?

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Eliot

Eliot

Four Quartets I D:\ E:\ Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past. If all time is eternally present All time is unredeemable. What might have been is an abstraction Remaining a perpetual possibility Only in a world of speculation. What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden. My words echo Thus, in your mind.

En català: D:\ E:\




Auden

clic per escoltar. Enllaç eagles.web     D:\ E:\

Funeral Blues Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message: He Is Dead, Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the oceans and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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Yeats W.B. Yeats

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XVII. After Long Silence SPEECH after long silence; it is right, All other lovers being estranged or dead, Unfriendly lamplight hid under its shade, The curtains drawn upon unfriendly night, That we descant and yet again descant Upon the supreme theme of Art and Song: Bodily decrepitude is wisdom; young We loved each other and were ignorant.

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Heaney Seamus Heaney

Heaney, Seamus (comtat de Derry, Irlanda 1939) Poeta, assagista i traductor irlandès. Es graduà a Belfast en llengua anglesa i començà a escriure als anys seixanta, dins l’anomenat ‘‘grup de Belfast’’, i publicà per primer cop l’any 1966 (Death of a Naturalist). Després d’una curta estada a Berkeley, els fets del ‘‘diumenge sagnant’’ (30 de gener de 1972), el van fer agafar un camí més compromès amb la realitat del país. Va publicar nous llibres, entre els quals Station Island (1984), The Haw Lantern (1987), Seeing Things (1991) i The Spirit Level (1995) i va ser professor de poesia a Oxford (1989-1994). També és autor d’assaigs com Preoccupations (1980), The Government of the Tongue (1988), The Place of Writing (1989) i The Redress of Poetry (1995) i de l’obra de teatre The Cure at Troy (1991). El 1995 li fou atorgat el premi Nobel de literatura, en reconeixement a la bellesa lírica i la profunditat ètica de les seves obres’. (Encicl. AVUI)

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The Haw Lantern The wintry haw is burning out of season, crab of the thorn, a small light for small people, wanting no more from them but that they keep the wick of self-respect from dying out, not having to blind them with illumination. But sometimes when your breath plumes in the frost it takes the roaming shape of Diogenes with his lantern, seeking one just man; so you end up scrutinized from behind the haw he holds up at eye-level on its twig, and you flinch before its bonded pith and stone, its blood-prick that you wish would test and clear you, its pecked-at ripeness that scans you, then moves on. by Seamus Heaney From The Haw Lantern, 1987

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Whitman Whitman

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Poets to Come POETS to come! orators, singers, musicians to come! Not to-day is to justify me, and answer what I am for; But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known, Arouse!--for you must justify me. I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future, I but advance a moment, only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness. I am a man who, sauntering along, without fully stopping, turns a casual look upon you, and then averts his face, Leaving it to you to prove and define it, Expecting the main things from you. Whitman, Walt. 1900. Leaves of Grass.


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Dickinson Emily Dickinson

I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed D:\ E:\ I taste a liquor never brewed— From Tankards scooped in Pearl— Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an Alcohol! Inebriate of Air—Am I— And Debauchee of Dew— Reeling—thro endless summer days— From inns of Molten Blue— When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee Out of the Floxglove's door— When Butterflies—renounce their "drams"— I shall but drink the more! Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats— And Saints—to windows run— To see the little Tippler Leaning against the sun!

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Lincs: E. Dickinson 'Poems' | Emily Dickinson Poems On-line


[Shakespeare: Night Dream] [Shakespeare: Macbeth] [Donne] [Milton] [Blake]

[Wordsworth] [Byron] [Shelley] [Keats ]

[Hardy] [Eliot] [Auden] [Yeats] [Heaney] [Whitman] [Dickinson]


Shakespeare: As you like it | Macbeth | F. Pujols sobre Hamlet

bilingües anglès-català: [ Illa del Tresor | E.A. Poe | L'eclesiastès | O. Wilde | Tirant lo Blanc ]



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