Take some Picts, Celts and Silures
And let them settle,
Then overrun them with Roman conquerors.
Remove the Romans after approximately 400 years
Add lots of Norman French to some
Angles, Saxons, Jutes and Vikings, then stir vigorously.
Mix some hot Chileans, cool Jamaicans, Dominicans,
Trinidadians and Bajans with some Ethiopians, Chinese,
......
'Does the blackened ruin, situated in the stony ground between Durraj and Mutathallam, which did not speak to me, when addressed, belong to the abode of Ummi Awfa?
'And is it her dwelling at the two stony meadows, seeming as though they were the renewed tattoo marks in the sinews of the wrist?
'The wild cows and the white deer are wandering about there, one herd behind the other, while their young are springing up from every lying-down place.
'I stood again near it, (the encampment of the tribe of Awfa,) after an absence of twenty years, and with some efforts, I know her abode again after thinking awhile.
'I recognized the three stones blackened by fire at the place where the kettle used to be placed at night, and the trench round the encampment, which had not burst, like the source of a pool.
......
'TIME to put off the world and go somewhere
And find my health again in the sea air,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And make my soul before my pate is bare.-
'And get a comfortable wife and house
To rid me of the devil in my shoes,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And the worse devil that is between my thighs.'
And though I'd marry with a comely lass,
She need not be too comely -- let it pass,'
......
Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops
De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots
Dis poetry is designed fe rantin
Dance hall style, big mouth chanting,
Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep
Preaching follow me
Like yu is blind sheep,
Dis poetry is not Party Political
Not designed fe dose who are critical.
Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed
......
The wrathful winter, 'proaching on apace,
With blustering blasts had all ybar'd the treen,
And old Saturnus, with his frosty face,
With chilling cold had pierc'd the tender green;
The mantles rent, wherein enwrapped been
The gladsome groves that now lay overthrown,
The tapets torn, and every bloom down blown.
The soil, that erst so seemly was to seen,
Was all despoiled of her beauty's hue;
......
Schoonheid
is zoveel meer
dan mooi zijn.
Het zit in een blik
die begrijpt zonder woorden,
in handen die vasthouden
zonder te dwingen.
Het leeft
......
Before he was Pontiff,
before the white robe and the bullet
and the balcony,
he was Karol-
a man walking beneath Polish skies,
writing in the quiet
where faith and flesh wrestled
like Jacob with the angel.
He did not write to be heard
......
I know you-
not just your name,
but the rhythm of your silence,
the weight of your gaze
when words fall short.
You know me-
not merely my face,
but the tremble in my voice
when I'm on the verge
......
In de stegen van Genua klinkt zijn naam,
Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer, bard van het leven,
schrijver van overvloed en waarheid,
waar de zee zijn woorden kust.
Hij bouwt kathedralen van taal,
geen steen blijft onberoerd,
geen leugen blijft ongetoond.
Hij kijkt ons recht aan,
en vraagt:"Durf jij de wereld te zien?"
......
There was a hunter,
who lived for game.
His mind was strong,
but thoughts were lame.
He met a deer,
who changed his life.
She stabbed his heart,
with a hunting knife.
The mighty hunter,
......