Poetic Language Reflection

Gosh! It is so hard to describe poetic language. Poetic language, I suppose, is language used to express emotion or a specific view. Poetic language is language used to create poetry. Poetic language is also accompanied by rhythm. Poetry is made up of poetic language that has rhythm and flows. They are different in the sense that one makes up the other. Poetic language is not always used to make up poetry. It can sometimes be used to express things with more meaning in speech.

~kitty

In a Moment of Craziness

In a Moment of Craziness
AAAAAAAH
Damn people need to stay out of my business
I'm so tired of all the deaths, the pain, and the violence
When is it going to end?
I NEED to get out of here
WE need to get out of here
I feel like I'm yelling so hard but nobody seems to be listening
Damn Maira, you need to stop allowing them to get to you
HE needs to get away...No, THEY need to get away
Please just get away...
I don't want to drag you into this
Sometimes I just want to throw myself into the sea and have someone save me
Please save me
I feel like I'm drowning
STOP
Stop choking me
aren't you supposed to be the one saving me?
get me away from here
get me away from them
get me away from you
DAMN...just get me away from myself
just leave me alone
All of you leave me alone
I don't need you to try to save me if in the end you're going to kill me
I need to breathe
I need to live
I need to be FREE!!!
Just STOP!

~kitty

Pablo Neruda

As some of you may already know, my favorite poet is Pablo Neruda. Ever since the first poem I read of his I fell in love. His poetry is in spanish and even though I believe that it is good for his poetry to be translated in order for non-spanish speakers to understand it, I believe that the true meaning of his poetry is not kept when translated into English.
~kitty

Poema XX (Saddest Poem) by Pablo Neruda

POEMA XX

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: «La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos».

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

Saddest Poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. 
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance." 
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. 
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. 
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky. 
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes? 
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her. 
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass. 
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me. 
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her. 
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me. 
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer. 
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear. 
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes. 
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long. 
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her. 
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

letting you in

Through this blog I am going to allow you to see a little into my pensamientos...
Bienvenidos
~kitty