When I have fears that I may cease to be
    Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
    Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
    Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
    Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
    That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the fairy power
    Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

John Keats

Riches I hold in light esteem,
    And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dream,
    That vanished with the morn:

And if I pray, the only prayer
    That moves my lips for me
Is, “Leave the heart that now I bear,
    And give me liberty!”

Yes, as my swift days near their goal:
    ’Tis all that I implore;
In life and death a chainless soul,
    With courage to endure.

Emily Brontë

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

       Hoarse, booming drums of the
               regiment,
       Little souls who thirst for fight,
       These men were born to drill and die.
       The unexplained glory flies above
                them,
       Great is the battle-god, great, and his
                kingdom—;
       A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow
         trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

       Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
       Eagle with crest of red and gold,
       These men were born to drill and die.
       Point for them the virtue of the slaughter,
       Make plain to them the excellence of killing
       And a field where a thousand corpses
                lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Stephen Crane

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Lord Byron

Prije mnogo i mnogo ljeta
u kraljevstvu na obali
življaše djeva znana sred svijeta
pod imenom Anabela Lee,
i življaše sred briga i radosnih sjeta
da me voli i da se volimo mi.

Bio sam dijete i bila je dijete
u kraljestvu što plâču valovi,
no ljubavlju većom od ljubavi svete
ljubljasmo se ja i Lee,
te nam na ljubavi nebeske čete
zaviđahu, anđeli svi.

I tako prije ljeta i ljeta
u kraljestvu što plâču valovi,
vjetar iz oblaka skrši poput cvijeta
moju lijepu Anabelu Lee,
i tako njoj brata žalost dopa,
da je ponese daleko od mene,
da je u kamenom grobu zakopa,
što ječi od umorne pjene.

Anđeli nesrećni i u raju
zaviđahu njoj i meni
i zato, (svi ljudi znaju
u kraljestvu što ga more mî)
u noći iz magle zaduhuju
vjetri i ubiju moju Anabelu Lee.

No naša je ljubav jača od one
njih što bjehu stariji no mi,
njih što jesu umniji no mi,
pa ni anđeli s vrh vasione,
pa ni bjesovi što pod morem rone,
duše ne mogu rastaviti: dušu mi
od duše lijepe Anabele Lee.

Kad mjesec sine, nosi mi sanje
o lijepoj Anabeli Lee;
kad zvijezde izađu, sinu oči danje
prelijepe Anabele Lee;
i tako noću za noći ja sjedim
i dragu, moju ljubav i moj život gledim,
tamo u grobnici na valu,
u njenom grobu na zvučnome žalu.

Edgar Allan Poe (preveo Tin Ujević)

I met William Burroughs in a dream.
It was some sort of bohemian farmhouse,
and he was enthroned, small and skeletal,
in a truly gigantic red armchair.

When I asked him how he was, he replied
Well, you know what they say—for best results,
always mock and frighten lobster before boiling.
Franz—I like that name, Franz. Childe Franz

to the dark tower something or other … Hey,
got a smoke? And quit worrying so much:
they can’t help themselves, they’re like abused dogs
and they’re going to react to affection and kindness

with uncontrollable savagery. Just tell them,
You’re out of my mind, pal. You’re out
of my mind. Either that or, I’m out of yours.
That’ll keep them brain-chained to their trees.

Franz Wright

(Tom Waits reads “the laughing heart”: video on YouTube)

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

Charles Bukowski

Dan je kao sunčan.
Ti si kao veseo.
Prolaziš, kao ne vide te.
Svima je kao lijepo.
Svima je kao dobro.
Svima je kao ludo.
I ti si kao sretan.
Živi se kao u miru.
Ptice su kao slobodne.
Budućnost kao na dlanu.
Savjest je kao čista.
I suncu je kao jasno.
O, srce, kao pjevaj.
Svi kao brinu o svima.
Svatko je prijatelj kao.
Svima je kao stalo do tebe
i do svijeta.
I dan kao ode.
I ti se kao smiješiš!
I ništa te kao ne boli.

Enes Kišević

Seti se Barbara
Celog tog dana pljuštalo je nad Brestom
Išla si razdragana
Rascvala ustreptala blistava
Po kiši
Seti se Barbara
Stalno je pljuštalo nad Brestom
I sreo sam te u ulici Sijam
Smešila si se
I ja sam ti se nasmešio
Seti se Barbara
A nisam te ni poznavao
A ni ti mene
Seti se
Seti se ipak tog dana
Ne zaboravi ga
Čovek što je stajao pod strehom
Zovnuo te
Barbara
I poletela si prema njemu kroz kišu
Rascvala ustreptala blistava
I bacila mu se u zagrljaj
Seti se toga Barbara
I ne zameri mi što ti govorim ti
Ja kažem ti svima koje volim
Čak i kada ih ne poznajem
Seti se Barbara
I ne zaboravi
Tu mudru i radosnu kišu
Na tvom srećnom licu
Taj srećni grad
Tu kišu po moru
Po brodogradilištu
Po lađi za Usan
Ooo Barbara
Kakva budalaština je rat
Šta je sada s tobom
Pod ovom kišom od gvožđa
Od vatre od čelika od krvi
I onaj što te stezao u zagrljaju
Strasno
Da li je mrtav nestao ili živ
Ooo Barbara
Stalno pljušti nad Brestom
Kao što je pljuštalo nekad
Ali to više nije isto i sve je sad uništeno
To je pogrebna kiša grozna i očajna
To više nije ni pljusak
Od gvožđa čelika i krvi
To su sad samo oblaci
Što crkavaju ko štenad
Štenad što promine
Vodenim strujama duž Bresta
I odlazi da gnjile negde daleko
Daleko strašno daleko od Bresta
Od kojeg sad nije ostalo ništa.

Jacques Prévert (preveo Miroslav Karaulac)

Always be drunk.
That’s it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time’s horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
Get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On  wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or sings,
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock
will answer you:
“Time to get drunk!
Don’t be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!”

Charles Baudelaire