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Lchakoian
10-06-2012, 20:05
I enjoy writing poetry, have a passion for Russian poetry, and so would welcome news about poetry readings, etc.

I have been to the group that gathers on Saturdays at the Bulgakov Apt/Museum. It seems a pretty tight community there. Lately, it seems it hasn't been as active as in the past. Not sure what the deal is.

I also post my stuff on stikhi.ru since I've moved to Moscow to work. I've done some translations, but it's mostly in English. I lost my collaborator in translation crime...

BabyFirefly
10-06-2012, 20:18
Not a poet, but a writer, also a storyteller, I'd love to go to a poetry reading here, or something like "The Moth", which is just a bunch of people telling real fascinating stories.

yakspeare
10-06-2012, 20:32
I am a poet and writer.

This was my second attempt at a Russian poem, which was a lot of hard work, i have posted it previously but will post again:

Я люблю мою новую Родину.
Дикие ягоды, растущие в лесу.
Белую и холодную на севере,
Зелёную и яркую на теплом юге.
Как странно!
Не знал я свободы,
Когда был я моложе,
Когда жил я не здесь.

Страна многих наций,
Множества блюд и специй,
Приём гостей теплее,
Хоть холодна зима.
Объятья людей и сердца их открыты,
А двери домов никогда не закрыты.
Как странно!
Не знал я любви,
Когда был я моложе,
Когда жил я не здесь.

Луга зелёные
И гор вершины.
Церкви богаче дворцов,
И вера здесь чтится отцов.
Мир и война, радость и горе,
Но я люблю это боле и боле.
Как странно!
Жизни не знал я,
Когда был моложе,
Когда жил не здесь.

Here is a poem I wrote last year, haven't done poetry for a while(focusing on my novel):

Love is forever
We sustain ourselves with nostalgia.
For every time we love
We come closer to God
And knowing ourselves.

There is no past love,
Because love is beyond time.
Each time we love
Helps complete us.

Love is never wasted.
It is not whom you love,
Love can never be unworthy.
For we gain the secret of life through love,
No matter the source or target....

Lchakoian
10-06-2012, 20:44
Yeah, if you know of any events, I'm game to go. My work schedule might be a problem sometimes, but Saturday nights, Sundays are pretty free. The Bulgakov event is from 2 or 3 in the afternoon until 5 or 6 depending on how many come to read. But again, I went in March and April a few times and it had been canceled for one reason or another. They have a small espresso bar though, and it's pretty cheap.

Tell me if you hear of anything interesting to do.

Lchakoian
10-06-2012, 20:48
Very bold of you to write in Russian. You aren't in Moscow though, right? I've just relocated and thought I'd try to translate Lermontov's Moskva Moskva poem, but right off I needed a person with better Russian to collaborate. Plus that poem is part of a larger work, and I'm not sure about how it fits into the whole, etc, etc. Always more complicated than convenient. My poetry is here if you are interested.

http://stihi.ru/avtor/lchakoian

yakspeare
10-06-2012, 20:52
Alas we shall not meet
for I do not hold Moskva dear
heavy snow and cold streets
I live now in the sun

In the south we have it green
with bountiful fields to play
and weather divine
though oft times too hot
we can lay on the beach all day.

Lchakoian
10-06-2012, 20:57
hilarious...looking forward to your thoughts about my scribblings...

yakspeare
10-06-2012, 21:07
Pale blue lipstick on his black shoulder,
iridescent ghost of a quick farewell,
faint love triangles left me to wonder
her look, her face, what tenderness there.

And the long escalator ride before him,
the remnants of their embrace aglow
on a young man, who couldn’t have known
such symbols were anywhere on show.

My mind creates the scene, vivid and pure,
young lovers torn away by the daily grind,
checking texts and those kisses to savor
on his way, she’s always on his mind.

Blue lipstick, pale as a crescent moon,
floating happily on dark shoulders at noon.

<<This is brilliant, great work. You should post some on here for all to see.

Early morning fate is lovely in imagery but their is some arkwardness to it. It seems like a translation. It could just be your style though.

yakspeare
10-06-2012, 21:10
Your moscow noises remind me of "A street in Sydney":

Cruel blackness swallows my form
Lonely footsteps on pavement
A single cigarette
Breath turned to steam
A cloudless night
Stars holding up the heavans
A shiver
People are around
But they fail to notice
Solitude
My soul resting
No daylight to illuminate the dark shadows
Hidden treasures
Unseen dangers
A cat darting across my view
Just it and me exploring the abyss of the changeless dark
Cars, noise and yet the air is still
Pondering
The cigarette weakens it will be soon at it’s end
The cat has gone
The cars have disappeared
And a faint glow appears in the eastern sky
Dawn
The night is no more
The cigarette is out

Lchakoian
10-06-2012, 21:28
ah, early morning fate...I was unsure about it. Has some Russian fatalism layer that I might not be good at yet. Thanks for the encouraging words on the lipstick poem.

That Sydney poem is quite fine...yours? It reminds me of an old one about Moscow streets...I'll go find it.

http://stihi.ru/2012/04/03/10454

Written in the spring...that icy Moscow you try to avoid...

yakspeare
10-06-2012, 21:32
Yes i wrote that poem on actually a very interesting evening in Sydney.

Jack17
11-06-2012, 07:28
Nice Yaks, mnye inravitza.

Lchakoian
11-06-2012, 09:43
well, thanks...I think.

rusmeister
11-06-2012, 11:00
AFAIC, "free verse" means "poetry-free". There is a reason for having rules, and all of the fun is in obeying them while producing something cool.

That's why Pushkin rocks and modern poets do not.

Try "The Ballad of the White Horse", one of the last epic ballads written in the English language. Or Frost's "The Road Not Taken". Or "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner". We need to learn from the great poets of the past before we pick up the pen. Otherwise, we'll most likely produce cr#p.

mds45
11-06-2012, 14:45
AFAIC, "free verse" means "poetry-free". There is a reason for having rules, and all of the fun is in obeying them while producing something cool.

That's why Pushkin rocks and modern poets do not.

Try "The Ballad of the White Horse", one of the last epic ballads written in the English language. Or Frost's "The Road Not Taken". Or "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner". We need to learn from the great poets of the past before we pick up the pen. Otherwise, we'll most likely produce cr#p.

I agree with rus !! And would add that the rules he mentions are there for a reason and carefully thought out and arranged. It is important to follow them to avoid a mass of jumbled linked words. I think poetry is one of those talents which is so much harder than it looks .

rusmeister
11-06-2012, 15:45
Thanks, mds.

As a case in point, "Evgeny Onegin" is amazing (in poetic terms) because it is an entire book written in a 14-line disciplined rhyme scheme
Onegin stanza - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

No poetry, however is amazing because it is "free"; it is a rather prosaic poetry, which is a contradiction in terms, not a great expression of an art.

I think it's the same thing as modern art, which casts off all rules and produces random crap and sells it to suckers and "critics" who would play great bit roles in "The Emperor's New Clothes" oohing and aahing a big nothing. Next to Rembrandt and Repin.... It's mice trying to compare themselves to giants.

martpark
11-06-2012, 16:55
Poetry is about creativity; not about rhyming or not rhyming. People who limit themselves so, are missing out.

As the great man said:

“Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun.... there are millions of suns left,
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand.... nor look through the eyes of the dead.... nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.”
― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass: The First (1855) Edition

rusmeister
11-06-2012, 17:09
Poetry is about creativity; not about rhyming or not rhyming. People who limit themselves so, are missing out.

As the great man said:

“Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun.... there are millions of suns left,
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand.... nor look through the eyes of the dead.... nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.”
― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass: The First (1855) Edition

I agree that it is creativity - but one may create cr@p as well as something good, something better or worse. The case for rhyme and rhythm is that they provide a framework that makes what is created recognizable to all. I see most artistic movements of the twentieth century as degradation from great things to mediocre things.

Fortunately, this is one of those things where my opinion, though strong, is not a dogma. Although highly unlikely, it is not altogether inconceivable that my mind could be changed. It's "my opinion".

It's worth noting that Whitman had a great influence on young Gilbert Chesterton, if not his poetic style, at least his optimism.

yakspeare
11-06-2012, 17:32
One I wrote many years ago-apparently with Rus in mind. I don't polish or edit my poems, they come as they come. Yes I could make them better but I like to leave them in their "raw" state, so they aren't perfect:

2000 YEARS IN THE MAKING



As he was nailed to a tree

As blood dripped freely

From wounds of man

I nearly ran

Into the hills of Jerusalem.



he was my saviour my king

What were they doing to him?

as they murdered him

on a hill of green.



Two thieves, one to each side

The women wailed and cried

And yet many jeered him

Our messiah pinned

To a wooden cross.



The day grew old and cool

The throng dispersed to a few

Still praying for some miracle

We had loved this man, no fool

Who had healed so many.



At a late hour he yelled out and cried

Took one last breath and died

My Lord for three long years



It was a few days time

Others had buried him, he was not alive

And yet there were whispers

That our King survived.



He had risen

And was glorified

Resurrected from the ground.

I was walking towards Samaria

Leaving the city forever

When a man touched my arm

And as I looked

As I spun,



I met the eyes of my King

Praise be to him

And I bowed to my feet

And he said these words clearly to me

“ James son of Zebedee,

Yes do not worry I am he.

Gather the others and meet with me

For the kingdom of God is at hand”



And with those words I ran

Back to my beloved Jerusalem.

For this man indeed was my risen King!

Lchakoian
11-06-2012, 20:23
So many experts, and so few poets...so like life.

Well, if anyone is off to a literary event, I'd be interested to know about it.

I also enjoy collaborating with other poets, so check in with me if this has an appeal. Thanks

MickeyTong
12-06-2012, 23:37
I think poetry is one of those talents which is so much harder than it looks .

It's even harder than Sudoku!

Look at the rhyming pattern of Louis MacNeice:

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold;
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.

RussianParagon
26-06-2012, 15:57
I enjoy writing poetry, have a passion for Russian poetry, and so would welcome news about poetry readings, etc.

I have been to the group that gathers on Saturdays at the Bulgakov Apt/Museum. It seems a pretty tight community there. Lately, it seems it hasn't been as active as in the past. Not sure what the deal is.

I also post my stuff on stikhi.ru since I've moved to Moscow to work. I've done some translations, but it's mostly in English. I lost my collaborator in translation crime...

I enjoy writing poetry also, English poetry. Somehow it's easier to express myself in English, I don't know why.

Saint-Petersburg

That town of yours, it's rather wicked;
I don't know why you chose to pick it.
It stands on bogs, it never sleeps,
It waltzes quietly and weeps.

Its dwellers one by one go mad,
There's not a day they don't get sad.
They try to trick it - poor wee souls,
For it's for them that the bell tolls.

I beg of you to leave the city,
It will not make you strong and witty.
It'll rape you, squash you like a bug,
You'll break in pieces like a mug.

Run far away, back in the country
Where olden couples still play country.
Be realistic, be complete, -
But never, ever go to St. Pete.

(you can listen to this one on 'ere - The Aroness - St. Pete - YouTube)

A Silent Heckler

Here comes the call and I go out
And I am welcomed by applause.
And, having figured them out,
I close my eyes and make a pause.

I find my rhythm and drop on them.
They laugh and cry and I with them.

But, as I near them, I notice
A single man reading a book.
I lose my nerve, I have to focus,
But I just take another look.

He turns the page, I look away;
I can't remember what to say.

I stumble over, lisp the words,
Forget my part, - the audience groans.

I'm tempted to come down and ask:
"Is that some kind of homework task?"

I run away and in the wings
My fellow partner gently sings:
"You've lost the game, my darling heart,
You've screwed the entire part".


A fallen angel

He was a scruffy chap of sixty;
His empty eyes were pale and misty.
A pair of Wellingtons he wore,
He suckled Whiskey and he swore.
But as he shuffled to his door,
His tiny feet all tense and sore,
He would take off his tacky things
Just to reveal a pair of wings.

Lchakoian
26-06-2012, 21:16
Well, nice to meet you. Your verse is very cheering. Do you do literary sorts of things? Frankly, I'm getting a little short on time these days with work getting busy, but if there are events to know about, please post them here.

rusmeister
27-06-2012, 07:44
So many experts, and so few poets...so like life.

Well, if anyone is off to a literary event, I'd be interested to know about it.

I also enjoy collaborating with other poets, so check in with me if this has an appeal. Thanks

Hi Lchakoian,
It's not a question of being an expert. I think anyone can try their hand at poetry, and so far am with you.
But paradoxically, real and good poets ARE few and far between, and by "good", I hold a fairly high standard - it ahould appeal and find resonance, not with a small number of people now, but with a large number of people over time, generations. It must have the power to become classic. And for that, it needs to be the kind of poetry that can do that. And that's what classic forms do and why they are called "classic".

So most people will churn out fairly mediocre poetry, and the kind that is truly good will be rare. And it will probably have rhyme and meter, which will retain their power over the centuries where the mere random broken sentences called "free verse" will generally die out, and the few exceptions will have something absolutely remarkable about them that can hold the attention of our great-grandchildren. The futurists are now in the past. They proudly cast off the traditions of their ancestors, forgetting that their own grandchildren were liable to cast off theirs in turn.

One doesn't need to be an "expert" on poetry to talk about this; but one does need to take time to read and think. FWIW, I hold an M.A. Degree in Russian language and literature and a BCLAD in English.

That said, I encourage you to keep up the lit circle. The Inklings, after all were such people who did strive for excellence and encouraged each other, and we now can thank them for giving us JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis and Charles Williams.

Lchakoian
27-06-2012, 09:29
Well, by your own admission you are an expert. And what do you know about me? Do you know who I've read? Which poets I admire? What forms I have written in? I have found this poem by Kafka quite helpful lately...perhaps it will put an end to these useless comments people feel compelled to place here.

We are as forlorn as children lost in the woods.
When you stand in front of me and look at me,
what do you know of the griefs that are in me
and what do I know of yours?

And if I were to cast myself down before you
and weep and tell you,
what more would you know about me
than you know about Hell when someone tells you
it is hot and dreadful?

For that reason alone
we human beings ought to stand before one another
as reverently, as reflectively, as lovingly
as we would before the entrance to Hell.

Kafka

rusmeister
27-06-2012, 15:23
Hi Lchakoian,
I don't aim at irritating you, nor do I make any claim to know anything about you. People were discussing poetry in general; I threw in my two cents as a person with some literary background.

Frankly, I have no reverence at all for the entrance to hell, and if I were to stand before you and treat you like I would treat the entrance to hell, then you would probably be deeply offended and upset. I think you can be grateful that I think Kafka's advice to be terrible advice, and very far from truth and beauty, which I think to be the main business of poetry.

Again, I think there's nothing wrong with poetry circles, and say 'go for it!'.
I just think that the goal of the poet ought to be to communicate timeless truth and beauty, and think the timelessness to be connected with conventions that really have stood the test of time.

I'm sorry if that offends or upsets you.

mds45
27-06-2012, 17:31
A boy stood on a burning deck
His pocket full of crackers
One slipped down his trouser leg
And blew off one of his Knackers

mds45
27-06-2012, 17:33
Is this anything to do with poetry

There was a young lady from China
Who went on a trip on a liner
She slipped on the deck and twisted her neck
And now she can see right behind her

rusmeister
27-06-2012, 19:14
Is this anything to do with poetry

There was a young lady from China
Who went on a trip on a liner
She slipped on the deck and twisted her neck
And now she can see right behind her
Guess she was dis-Oriented...

Lchakoian
27-06-2012, 19:28
I'm just suggesting if you want to debate poetic forms to start a new thread, not put it here where I was trying to crowd source some poets.



Hi Lchakoian,
I don't aim at irritating you, nor do I make any claim to know anything about you. People were discussing poetry in general; I threw in my two cents as a person with some literary background.

Frankly, I have no reverence at all for the entrance to hell, and if I were to stand before you and treat you like I would treat the entrance to hell, then you would probably be deeply offended and upset. I think you can be grateful that I think Kafka's advice to be terrible advice, and very far from truth and beauty, which I think to be the main business of poetry.

Again, I think there's nothing wrong with poetry circles, and say 'go for it!'.
I just think that the goal of the poet ought to be to communicate timeless truth and beauty, and think the timelessness to be connected with conventions that really have stood the test of time.

I'm sorry if that offends or upsets you.

mds45
27-06-2012, 20:04
I'm just suggesting if you want to debate poetic forms to start a new thread, not put it here where I was trying to crowd source some poets.

Don't you just hate it when things don't go to plan on public forums and people don't play by your rules !! really annoys me too...

Korotky Gennady
05-07-2012, 14:14
I am a poet and writer.


Как странно!
Не знал я свободы,
Когда был я моложе,
Когда жил я не здесь...


Хоть холодна зима.
Объятья людей и сердца их открыты,
А двери домов никогда не закрыты.
Как странно!...

Луга зелёные
И гор вершины.
Церкви богаче дворцов,
И вера здесь чтится отцов.
.
Mr. Yak maybe you are a great poet but please don't write the false lines of this kind more in the future. :))))

Korotky Gennady
05-07-2012, 14:17
Not a poet, but a writer, also a storyteller,
.
I am a storyteller also. At least I think so... And I'm proud of that I managed to published a few scientific articles. :)

yakspeare
05-07-2012, 18:20
why "false" lines?

Ibanez
05-07-2012, 20:20
Is this anything to do with poetry

There was a young lady from China
Who went on a trip on a liner
She slipped on the deck and twisted her neck
And now she can see right behind her

There was a young man from Madras..
Whose balls were made from brass..
In stormy weather, they clashed together...
And sparks flew out of his a$$...

Korotky Gennady
06-07-2012, 03:45
why "false" lines? becoz they sound pretentious and lying...

the sweet sentimentality up to fake :)))

better write russian limericks if you have talent really.

or read Esenin as I adviced you before.

yakspeare
06-07-2012, 07:17
becoz they sound pretentious and lying...

the sweet sentimentality up to fake :)))

better write russian limericks if you have talent really.

or read Esenin as I adviced you before.

thank you for the critique, but the emotions were quite heartfelt and true-as people who know me, know. Russian culture is rich and beautiful and I love the vastness of Russia and the feeling of history here. When I am on a train(I have loved every journey on a train until my last one-plazkart in summer) I look out the window for hours and reflect how Genghis khan and tatars hordes once rode across those plains, Ivan Grozny sent his armies to take Kazan and Astrahan, Cossacks rode against Turks, French and Germans tried in vain to conqueor etc. Perhaps one day I will move to Israel, but otherwise I will stay here. I will become a doctor here and at least work here a few years. I will become a citizen of Russia. I will not return to Australia. Here I have the theatre,opera and ballet which I love. I am a singer and I am learning Russia songs. I read dostoevsky, Tolstoy and so on. My dream is to learn the balilaika even.

Bonifaciy
06-07-2012, 09:31
Well, sorry for my poor English. This poem is about my hometown Pushkino. It`s not far from Moscow.


Excursion in Pushkino


I live in Pushkino and know,
This town`s beautiful and nice,
Don`t you believe me? Well, let`s go!
I`ll show places, girls and guys.


First railway station, every morning
We go there, if you ain`t VIP,
We get on train, look at the window,
Yawn 2-3 times and fall asleep.


Next`s our Broadway, way through this town,
I like this street, (and my respect),
The nicest girls and nicest buildings
You`ll see on Moscow prospect.


If you are bored, it`s not problem,
There is park, please sit on benches,
I garantee, in 1-2 hours
You`ll catch a lot of new adventures!


I like this town, central market,
Old dranken man, who sings so sad,
This is my place, it`s our Russia,
Can you choose better? No…нет.


***

Ожидание

Ждет таксист клиентов у вокзала,
Там же мент таджиков сторожит,
А вчера соседка мне сказала
На день города ларек будет закрыт.
Ждем открытия вокзальных турникетов,
(Зайцы тренируются в прыжках)
Зря тепла мы ждали этим летом,
Сидя под дождем на шашлыках.
Гопник ждет когда наступит ночка,
Ждут кого-то приключения опять,
И бомжара пива ждет глоточка,
Продолжая мусорку копать.
Ждет трудяга повышения зарплаты,
Потому как цены то растут!
Только ждет его с утра лопата
И тяжелый монотонный труд.
Ждет поэт прилива вдохновенья,
Но оно не хочет приливать,
А жену терзают смутные сомненья,
Время полночь, но пуста кровать.
Торгаши ждут покупателей на рынке,
Нищий в переходе ждет рубля,
Туфли, шлепанцы, блестящие ботинки
Пробегают мимо, Стойте! б...я.

В ожидании не стОит вешать нос,
Мы не унываем, просто ждем-с!

****

Языкознание

Ах зачем же, зачем языки изучать?
Очевидно, чтоб лучше друг друга понять,
Только вот парадокс, где ответ уж готов,
Иногда я тебя понимаю без слов.
Только вдруг мы с тобою опять в тупике,
Мы не слышим друг друга на родном языке...


***

Расставания

От Алены тихо я ушел,
Да и с Ленкой счастья не нашел,
А с Марусей громко хлопнул дверью,
Никому не нужен там теперь я,
И надрывно расставались с Розой,
До сих пор на сердце та заноза,
Но зато легко расстались с Викой,
К обоюдной радости великой.
Понял, всяко в жизни может быть,
Стало вот труднее приходить.

candy888
06-07-2012, 15:40
you see i'm not an angel though i wanted to be,
i've hurt so many people just for being me,
but you a stranger who passed by me,
made an angel in my heart that no one could see.



:11721:




-----------------------------------------
the beautiful and innocent has no enemies,except time.

Lchakoian
17-07-2012, 10:53
That must have taken some time and effort to puzzle out, and yet all I can say is something not allowed on this forum.