Your Favorite Poems

[SoNotHer]

I am trying to find more information for a friend at the gym on a poet named Manuel Flores who was writing at the turn of the century (19th/20th) in Mexico. My friend studied him in grade school and cannot find a book or any information about him.

Does anyone have his work or know where I might find it? I have not yet found him on the Internet.

[Nat]

Originally Posted by SoNotHer

I am trying to find more information for a friend at the gym on a poet named Manuel Flores who was writing at the turn of the century (19th/20th) in Mexico. My friend studied him in grade school and cannot find a book or any information about him.

Does anyone have his work or know where I might find it? I have not yet found him on the Internet.

Maybe Manuel María Flores?

[SoNotHer]

I wondered about that, Nat. He described a line of poetry particularly in which the male speaker says that the ground shook beneath her feet.

Does that sound familiar?

[Nat]

Originally Posted by SoNotHer

I wondered about that, Nat. He described a line of poetry particularly in which the male speaker says that the ground shook beneath her feet.

Does that sound familiar?

It appears many things tremble and shake in his poems, and he mentions a woman's feet so often he might have a fetish - but I'm not seeing the sentence. I'm guessing he's your guy, but maybe not.

[SoNotHer]

I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone
by Rainer Maria Rilke
translated by Annemarie S. Kidder

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.

[femmedyke]

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 for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden

[SoNotHer]

Originally Posted by femmedyke

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 for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden