தளத்தைப் பற்றி

ஏராளமான இணைய தளங்கள் தமிழில் உள்ளது. அவற்றிலிருந்து காலத்தால் அழிக்கமுடியாதவை சிலவற்றை இங்கே இந்த இடத்தில் தொகுக்கின்றேன். மேலும் சிறுபத்திரிகை சம்பந்தபட்டவற்றை (இணையத்தில் கிடைக்கும் பட வடிவ கோப்புகளை) - என் மனம் போன போக்கில் - Automated Google-Ocr (TShrinivasan's Python script) மூலம் தொகுக்கின்றேன். அவற்றில் ஏதேனும் குறையோ பிழையோ இருந்தாலும், பதிப்புரிமை உள்ளவர்கள் பதிவிட வேண்டாமென்று விருப்பப்பட்டாலும் அவை நீக்கப்படும். மெய்ப்புபார்க்க இயலவில்லை. மன்னிக்கவும். யாராவது மெய்ப்பு பார்க்க இயலுமாயின், சரிபார்த்து இந்த மின்னஞ்சலுக்கு அனுப்பவும்
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Tuesday, August 20, 2013

The River Merchants Wife: A Letter by Ezra Pound

The River Merchants Wife: A Letter  by Ezra Pound 

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead 
              Played I about the front gate, pulling flowers.
              You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
              You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
              And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
              Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

              At fourteen I married My Lord you,
              I never laughed, being bashful.
              Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
              Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

              At fifteen I stopped scowling,
              I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
              Forever and forever and forever.
              Why should I climb the look out?

              At sixteen you departed,
              You went into fat Ku-to-yen, by the river of swirling eddies,
              And you have been gone five months.
              The monkeys make sorrowful noises overhead.

              You dragged your feet when you went out.
              By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
              Too deep to clear them away!
              The leaves fall early in autumn, in wind.
              The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
              Over the grass in the West garden;
              They hurt me. I grow older.
              If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
              Please let me know beforehand,
              And I will come out to meet tou
                              As far as Cho-fu-Sa.


In a Station of the Metro

by Ezra Pound

The apparition of these faces in the crowd; 

              Petals on a wet, black bough.


L'Art

by Ezra Pound

Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth, 
              Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.

A Virginal

by Ezra Pound

No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately.
I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,
For my surrounding air hath a new lightness;
Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly
And left me cloaked as with a gauze of æther;
As with sweet leaves; as with subtle clearness.
Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness
To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her.
No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour,
Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers.
Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches,
As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches,
Hath of the trees a likeness of the savour:
As white as their bark, so white this lady's hours.