Posts Tagged: Poetry

Advent

On 29 November 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Advent, Candle, Christmas, Light, Poetry, Prayer, Translation, Women

I Worried – Mary Oliver

On 17 November 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Artists, Feelings, Flowers, Poetry

Remembrance

On 11 November 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

November pierces with its bleak remembrance
Of all the bitterness and waste of war.
Our silence tries but fails to make a semblance
Of that lost peace they thought worth fighting for.
Our silence seethes instead with wraiths and whispers,
And all the restless rumour of new wars,
The shells are falling all around our vespers,
No moment is unscarred, there is no pause,
In every instant bloodied innocence
Falls to the weary earth ,and whilst we stand
Quiescence ends again in acquiescence,
And Abel’s blood still cries in every land
One silence only might redeem that blood
Only the silence of a dying God.

Malcolm Guite.

Feelings, Malcolm Guite, Poetry, Prayer, Window

The Key

On 10 November 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Letters to a young poet (1934) Letter 4, 16 July 1903

Advent, Artists, Books, Light, Poetry

materia poetica

On 14 October 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Artists, Inspiration, Kenneth White, Poetry

Live slowly

On 12 October 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Artists, Candle, Colour, Feelings, Leunig, Light, Poetry, Prayer

National poetry day LIGHT

On 8 October 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Autumn slowly draws the curtain of long nights

Flowers, Garden, Light, Months of the Year, Poetry, Seasons, Yellow

The Shell by Molly Drake

On 25 September 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Living grows round us
like a skin,
to shut away
the outer desolation

For if we clearly mark
the furthest deep,
we should be dead
long years before the grave

But turning around
within the homely shell
of worry, discontent
and narrow joy,
we grow and flourish
and rarely see
the outside dark
that would
confound our eyes

Some break the shell

I think that they are those
who push their fingers
through the brittle walls
and make a hole

And through this cruel slit
they stare out across
the cinders of the world
with naked eyes

They look both out and in
Knowing themselves
and too much else besides

Everyday, Feelings, Molly Drake, Poetry, This Side and Beyond, Women

Love by George Herbert

On 16 September 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Love bade me welcome ; yet my soul drew back,
Guiltie of dust and sin.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From m’y first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack’d anything.
A guest, I answer’d, worthy to be here.
Love said, You shall be he.
I, the unkinde, ungrateful ? Ah, my deare,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand and smiling did reply :
Who made the eyes, but I ?
Truth, Lord ; but I have marr’d them : let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love ; who bore the blame ?
My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat.
So I did sit and eat.

George Herbert (1593 - 1633)

Simone Weil, the French philosopher, dearly loved this poem by George Herbert, and it was instrumental in her approach to christianity. She wrote in a letter to Joë BOUSQUET:

Je vous mets ci-joint le poème anglais que je vous avais récité, Love; il a joué un grand rôle dans ma vie, car j'étais occupée à me le réciter à moi-même, à ce moment où, pour la première fois, le Christ est venu me prendre. Je croyais ne faire que redire un beau poème, et à mon insu c'était une prière. (799)

I hereby include the English poem that I recited to you, Love; it played a big role in my life, for I was busy reciting it to myself at the moment when, for the first time, Christ came to take me. I believed I was merely resaying a beautiful poem, and unbeknownst to myself, it was a prayer.

Children, Feelings, George Herbert, Love, Poetry

“Hope” is the thing with feathers – Emily Dickinson

On 7 July 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Annecy, Artists, Emily Dickinson, Feelings, France, Museums, Poetry, Translation

Newer Entries — Older Entries

Posts Tagged: Poetry

Advent

ATTENTE

WAITING

I Worried – Mary Oliver

Remembrance

Silence

The Key

materia poetica

The "known" materials of my life

Live slowly

National poetry day LIGHT

Autumn slowly draws the curtain of long nights

The Shell by Molly Drake

Living grows round us
like a skin,
to shut away
the outer desolation

For if we clearly mark
the furthest deep,
we should be dead
long years before the grave

But turning around
within the homely shell
of worry, discontent
and narrow joy,
we grow and flourish
and rarely see
the outside dark
that would
confound our eyes

Some break the shell

I think that they are those
who push their fingers
through the brittle walls
and make a hole

And through this cruel slit
they stare out across
the cinders of the world
with naked eyes

They look both out and in
Knowing themselves
and too much else besides

Love by George Herbert

LOVE

“Hope” is the thing with feathers – Emily Dickinson

In The Poems of Emily Dickinson edited by R. W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999)
Traduction Margot Krebs Neale

Posts Tagged: Poetry

ATTENTE

WAITING

Silence

The "known" materials of my life

Autumn slowly draws the curtain of long nights

Living grows round us like a skin, to shut away the outer desolation

For if we clearly mark the furthest deep, we should be dead long years before the grave

But turning around within the homely shell of worry, discontent and narrow joy, we grow and flourish and rarely see the outside dark that would confound our eyes

Some break the shell

I think that they are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls and make a hole

And through this cruel slit they stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes

They look both out and in Knowing themselves and too much else besides

LOVE

In The Poems of Emily Dickinson edited by R. W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999) Traduction Margot Krebs Neale

Living grows round us
like a skin,
to shut away
the outer desolation

For if we clearly mark
the furthest deep,
we should be dead
long years before the grave

But turning around
within the homely shell
of worry, discontent
and narrow joy,
we grow and flourish
and rarely see
the outside dark
that would
confound our eyes

I think that they are those
who push their fingers
through the brittle walls
and make a hole

And through this cruel slit
they stare out across
the cinders of the world
with naked eyes

They look both out and in
Knowing themselves
and too much else besides

In The Poems of Emily Dickinson edited by R. W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999)
Traduction Margot Krebs Neale