Une bimbo nommée désir
truc trac ky thuat, may bua nay khong lam sao
update Tin Van duoc
Bua nay GCC phai ra tiem Internet di 1 duong thong bao, vi ban huu mail hoi tham, so di xa luon roi!
Chac phai mot hoac hai bua nua, moi hoat dong binh thuong tro lai duoc
Tks all for your concern. NQT
Thơ Mỗi Ngày
lifted in his mother's arms to see a parade
And that old man throwing breadcrumbs
pigeons crowding around his feet in the park,
Could they be the same person?
woman who may know the answer recalls
Seeing a ship as big as a city block
night all lit up past her kitchen window
On its way to the dark and stormy Atlantic.
Granta: Summer 2013: Travel
A MORNING IN VICENZA
In memoriam Joseph Brodsky, Krzysztof Kieslowski
The sun was
so fragile, so young,
that we were a little scared; a careless move
might scratch it, just a shout-if anyone
had tried-might do it harm; only the rushing swifts,
with wings hard as cast-iron,
were free to sing out loud, because they'd spent their brief,
uneasy childhoods in clay nests
alongside siblings, small, mad planets,
black as forest berries.
In a small
cafe the sleepy waiter-the night's last shadows
met beneath his eyes-searched for change
in his vast pocket, and the coffee smelled of solemn
printer's ink, of sweetness, Arabia. The sky's blue
promised a long afternoon, an endless day.
I saw you as if for the first time.
And even the Palladio columns seemed
newborn, they rose from waves of dawn
like Venus, your elder companion.
from scratch, to count the losses, count the dead,
to start a new day without the two of you, first you
whom we buried twice and lamented twice,
you lived two times as strongly as the rest, on two continents,
in two languages, in the world and in imagination-then you,
with your chiseled face, the gaze that amplified
objects and hearts (always too small).
You both are gone, and so from now we'll lead a double life,
at once in shadow and in light, in bright sunshine
and the cool of stony halls, in mourning and in joy.
Adam Zagajewski: Without End
“Pour survivre, il aurait fallu qu'elle soit plus cynique ou moins proche de la réalité. Au lieu de cela, elle était un poète au coin de la rue essayant de réciter ses vers à une foule qui lui arrache ses vêtements. "
Ðế sống sót, phải đểu giả
và đừng có dí mặt thật gần vào đống kít, tức cuộc đời.
Thay vì vậy thì em là thi sĩ ở 1 góc đường, cố tìm cách đọc thơ cho lũ man rợ xúm nhau lột truồng em ra để chiêm ngưỡng bướm của em.
by MM: Người đàn bà sau
khi mần tình.
Et Marilyn créa l'émeute
"Sept Ans de réflexion" (1955), de Billy Wilder, Marilyn Monroe, dont
on célèbre le 50e anniversaire de la mort, devient un mythe universel.
Hồi đó đó, cái tít được dịch loạn là Bảy Năm Ngứa Nghề