Vakker poesi av E.E. Cummings og W.H. Auden

[somewhere i have never travelled]

somewhere i have never travelled,

gladly beyond
any experience,

your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself 

as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,

i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: 

whose texture compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

Så vakkert og så inderlig… Og slik fant det meg første gang, i en av mine favorittfilmer Hannah and her sisters av Woody Allen:

I en annen favorittfilm, "Four weddings and a funeral” , gråter eg meg gjennom følgende scene kvar gang. En av mine favorittskuespillere, John Hannah, framfører “Funeral Blues” av W H Auden. 

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 forever: 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.