artemo 3.1.5 → 3.1.6

data/examples/txt/Earth Again - Poem by Czeslaw Milosz.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,13 @@
+They are incomprehensible, the things of this earth.
+The lure of waters. The lure of fruits.
+Lure of two breasts and the long hair of a maiden.
+In rouge, in vermillion, in that color of ponds
+Found only in the Green Lakes near Wilno.
+An ungraspable multitudes swarm, come together
+In the crinkles of tree bark, in the telescope's eye,
+For an endless wedding,
+For the kindling of eyes, for a sweet dance
+In the elements of air, sea, earth, and subterranean caves,
+So that for a short moment there is no death
+And time does not unreel like a skein of yarn
+Thrown into an abyss. 

data/examples/txt/First Love - Poem by Wislawa Szymborska.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,26 @@
+They say
+the first love is the most important.
+That's very romantic
+but it's not the case with me.
+
+There was something between us yet there wasn't.
+It transpired and expired.
+
+My hands don't tremble,
+when I stumble upon small mementos
+or a stack of letters wrapped in twine
+—not even a ribbon.
+
+Our only meeting after all these years
+is a conversation between two chairs
+at a cold table.
+
+Other loves
+still breathe deeply within me.
+This one lacks the breath to sigh.
+
+But still, just the way it is,
+it can do what the rest are not yet able to do:
+unremembered
+not even dreamt of
+it accustoms me to death

data/examples/txt/Grass - Poem by Julian Tuwim.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,14 @@
+Grass, grass up to my knees! 
+Grow up to the sky 
+So that there won't seem to be 
+Any you or I 
+
+So that I will turn all green 
+And blossom to my bones, 
+So that my words won't come between 
+Your freshness and my own. 
+
+So that for the two of us 
+There will be one name: 
+Either for both of us - grass, 
+Or both both of us - tuwim. 

data/examples/txt/Hatred - Poem by Wislawa Szymborska.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,37 @@
+See how efficient it still is,
+how it keeps itself in shape—
+our century's hatred.
+How easily it vaults the tallest obstacles.
+How rapidly it pounces, tracks us down.
+
+It's not like other feelings.
+At once both older and younger.
+It gives birth itself to the reasons
+that give it life.
+When it sleeps, it's never eternal rest.
+And sleeplessness won't sap its strength; it feeds it.
+
+
+One religion or another -
+whatever gets it ready, in position.
+One fatherland or another -
+whatever helps it get a running start.
+Justice also works well at the outset
+until hate gets its own momentum going.
+Hatred. Hatred.
+Its face twisted in a grimace
+of erotic ecstasy…
+
+Hatred is a master of contrast-
+between explosions and dead quiet,
+red blood and white snow.
+Above all, it never tires
+of its leitmotif - the impeccable executioner
+towering over its soiled victim.
+
+It's always ready for new challenges.
+If it has to wait awhile, it will.
+They say it's blind. Blind?
+It has a sniper's keen sight
+and gazes unflinchingly at the future
+as only it can. 

data/examples/txt/It Was Winter - Poem by Czeslaw Milosz.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,69 @@
+Winter came as it does in this valley. 
+After eight dry months rain fell 
+And the mountains, straw-colored, turned green for a while. 
+In the canyons where gray laurels 
+Graft their stony roots to granite, 
+Streams must have filled the dried-up creek beds. 
+Ocean winds churned the eucalyptus trees, 
+And under clouds torn by a crystal of towers 
+Prickly lights were glowing on the docks. 
+
+
+This is not a place where you sit under a café awning 
+On a marble piazza, watching the crowd, 
+Or play the flute at a window over a narrow street 
+While children’s sandals clatter in the vaulted entryway. 
+
+
+They heard of a land, empty and vast, 
+Bordered by mountains. So they went, leaving behind crosses 
+Of thorny wood and traces of campfires. 
+As it happened, they spent winter in the snow of a mountain pass, 
+And drew lots and boiled the bones of their companions; 
+And so afterward a hot valley where indigo could be grown 
+Seemed beautiful to them. And beyond, where fog 
+Heaved into shoreline coves, the ocean labored. 
+
+
+Sleep: rocks and capes will lie down inside you, 
+War councils of motionless animals in a barren place, 
+Basilicas of reptiles, a frothy whiteness. 
+Sleep on your coat, while your horse nibbles grass 
+And an eagle gauges a precipice. 
+
+
+When you wake up, you will have the parts of the world. 
+West, an empty conch of water and air. 
+East, always behind you, the voided memory of snow-covered fir. 
+And extending from your outspread arms 
+Nothing but bronze grasses, north and south. 
+
+
+We are poor people, much afflicted. 
+We camped under various stars, 
+Where you dip water with a cup from a muddy river 
+And slice your bread with a pocketknife. 
+This is the place; accepted, not chosen. 
+We remembered that there were streets and houses where we came 
+from, 
+So there had to be houses here, a saddler’s signboard, 
+A small veranda with a chair. But empty, a country where 
+The thunder beneath the rippled skin of the earth, 
+The breaking waves, a patrol of pelicans, nullified us. 
+As if our vases, brought here from another shore, 
+Were the dug-up spearheads of some lost tribe 
+Who fed on lizards and acorn flour. 
+
+
+And here I am walking the eternal earth. 
+Tiny, leaning on a stick. 
+I pass a volcanic park, lie down at a spring, 
+Not knowing how to express what is always and everywhere: 
+The earth I cling to is so solid 
+Under my breast and belly that I feel grateful 
+For every pebble, and I don’t know whether 
+It is my pulse or the earth’s that I hear, 
+When the hems of invisible silk vestments pass over me, 
+Hands, wherever they have been, touch my arm, 
+Or small laughter, once, long ago over wine, 
+With lanterns in the magnolias, for my house is huge

data/examples/txt/Photograph From September 11 - Poem by Wislawa Szymborska.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,24 @@
+They jumped from the burning floors—
+one, two, a few more,
+higher, lower.
+
+The photograph halted them in life,
+and now keeps them 
+above the earth toward the earth.
+
+Each is still complete,
+with a particular face
+and blood well hidden.
+
+There's enough time
+for hair to come loose,
+for keys and coins
+to fall from pockets.
+
+They're still within the air's reach,
+within the compass of places
+that have just now opened.
+
+I can do only two things for them—
+describe this flight
+and not add a last line.

data/examples/txt/Pigtail - Poem by Tadeusz Rozewicz.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,24 @@
+When all the women in the transport
+had their heads shaved
+four workmen with brooms made of birch twigs
+swept up
+and gathered up the hair
+
+Behind clean glass
+the stiff hair lies
+of those suffocated in gas chambers
+there are pins and side combs
+in this hair
+
+The hair is not shot through with light
+is not parted by the breeze
+is not touched by any hand
+or rain or lips
+
+In huge chests
+clouds of dry hair
+of those suffocated
+and a faded plait
+a pigtail with a ribbon
+pulled at school
+by naughty boys

data/examples/txt/Polish Flowers - Poem by Julian Tuwim.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,6 @@
+A box with paints from childhood's time: 
+The colors of town are earth and grime. 
+An old worker at a dark doorway squats, 
+The spuds in his bowl are powdery dry. 
+It's a face of yellowish and gray spots 
+In the midst of hunger, cold, dirt and slime. 

data/examples/txt/Preface - Poem by Czeslaw Milosz.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,26 @@
+First, plain speech in the mother tongue.
+Hearing it, you should be able to see
+Apple trees, a river, the bend of a road,
+As if in a flash of summer lightning.
+
+And it should contain more than images.
+It has been lured by singsong,
+A daydream, melody. Defenseless,
+It was bypassed by the sharp, dry world.
+
+You often ask yourself why you feel shame
+Whenever you look through a book of poetry.
+As if the author, for reasons unclear to you,
+Addressed the worse side of your nature,
+Pushing aside thought, cheating thought.
+
+Seasoned with jokes, clowning, satire,
+Poetry still knows how to please.
+Then its excellence is much admired.
+But the grave combats where life is at stake
+Are fought in prose. It was not always so.
+
+And our regret has remained unconfessed.
+Novels and essays serve but will not last.
+One clear stanza can take more weight
+Than a whole wagon of elaborate prose.

data/examples/txt/Rovigo - Poem by Zbigniew Herbert.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,28 @@
+ROVIGO STATION. Unclear associations. A drama of Goethe
+or something from Byron. I traveled through Rovigo
+n times and exactly at the nth time I understood
+that in my inner geography it is a special
+place although it certainly yields
+to Florence. I never touched it with my living foot
+and Rovigo was always approaching or fleeing behind
+At the time I was filled with love for the Altichiera
+at the Oratory of San Giorgio in Padua and for Ferrara
+which I loved because it reminded me
+of the pillaged city of my fathers. I lived stretched
+between the past and the present moment
+many times crucified by a place and a time
+And yet happy firmly trusting
+the sacrifice will not be wasted
+Rovigo wasn’t distinguished by anything particular it was
+a masterpiece of mediocrity straight streets plain houses
+only before or after the city (depending on the train’s direction)
+a mountain suddenly rose from the plain -sliced open by a red quarry
+like an Easter Ham surrounded by kale
+besides that nothing to amuse sadden dazzle the eye
+And yet it was a city of blood and stone – just like the others
+a city in which yesterday somebody died someone went mad
+someone coughed hopelessly throughout the night
+ACCOMPANIED BY WHICH BELLS DO YOU APPEAR ROVIGO
+Reduced to a station to a comma a crossed letter
+nothing but a station – arrivi – partenze
+and why do I think about you Rovigo Rovigo

data/examples/txt/The Dancing Socrates - Poem by Julian Tuwim.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,12 @@
+Autoplay next video
+I roast in the sun, old wretch...
+I lie, and yawn, I stretch.
+Old am I, but full of pep:
+When I take a slug from the cup
+I sing.
+My ancient bones bask in the sun's glow,
+And my curly, wise, grey head.
+In that wise head, like woods in spring
+Hums and hums a wiser wine.
+Eternal thoughts flow and flow,
+Like time. 

data/examples/txt/The Fable About A Nail - Poem by Zbigniew Herbert.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,64 @@
+Jan came this morning
+—I dreamt of my father
+he says
+
+he was riding in an oak coffin
+I walked next to the hearse
+and father turned to me:
+
+you dressed me nicely
+and the funeral is very beautiful
+at this time of year so many flowers
+it must have cost a lot
+
+don’t worry about it father
+—I say—let people see
+we loved you
+that we spared nothing
+
+six men in black livery
+walk nicely at our sides
+
+father thought for a while
+and said—the key to the desk
+is in the silver inkwell
+there is still some money
+in the second drawer on the left
+
+with this money—I say—
+we will buy you a gravestone
+a large one of black marble
+
+it isn’t necessary—says father—
+better give it to the poor
+
+six men in black livery
+walk nicely at our sides
+they carry burning lanterns
+
+again he seemed to be thinking
+—take care of the flowers in the garden
+cover them for the winter
+I don’t want them to be wasted
+
+you are the oldest—he says—
+from a little felt bag behind the painting
+take out the cuff links with real pearls
+let them bring you luck
+my mother gave them to me
+when I finished high school
+then he didn’t say anything
+he must have entered a deeper sleep
+
+this is how our dead
+look after us
+they warn us through dreams
+bring back lost money
+hunt for jobs
+whisper the numbers of lottery tickets
+or when they can’t do this
+knock with their fingers on the windows
+
+and out of gratitude
+we imagine immortality for them
+snug as the burrow of a mouse

data/examples/txt/The Gate - Poem by Tadeusz Rozewicz.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,65 @@
+Lasciate ogni speranza
+Voi ch'entrate
+
+abandon all hope
+ye who enter here
+
+the inscription at the entrance to the inferno
+of Dante's Divine Comedy
+
+courage! 
+
+behind that gate 
+there is no hell
+
+hell has been dismantled
+by theologians
+and deep psychologists
+
+converted into allegory
+for humanitarian and educational
+reasons
+
+courage!
+behind that gate
+the same thing begins again
+
+two drunken grave-diggers
+sit at the edge of a hole
+
+they're drinking non-alcoholic beer
+and munching on sausage
+winking at us
+under the cross 
+they play soccer
+with Adam's skull
+
+the hole awaits
+tomorrow's corpse
+the "stiff" is on its way
+
+courage!
+
+here we will await 
+the final judgment
+
+water gathers in the hole
+cigarette butts are floating in it
+
+courage!
+
+behind that gate
+there will neither be history
+nor goodness nor poetry
+
+and what will there be
+dear stranger?
+
+there will be stones
+
+stone 
+upon stone
+stone upon stone
+and on that stone 
+one more
+stone 

data/examples/txt/The Return - Poem by Tadeusz Rozewicz.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,27 @@
+Suddenly the window will open
+and Mother will call
+it's time to come in
+
+the wall will part
+I will enter heaven in muddy shoes
+
+I will come to the table
+and answer questions rudely
+
+I am all right leave me
+alone. Head in hand I
+sit and sit. How can I tell them
+about that long
+and tangled way.
+
+Here in heaven mothers
+knit green scarves
+
+flies buzz
+
+Father dozes by the stove
+after six days' labour.
+
+No--surely I can't tell them
+that people are at each
+other's throats.

data/examples/txt/The Road - Poem by Czeslaw Milosz.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,19 @@
+here where you see a green valley
+And a road half-covered with grass,
+Through an oak wood beginning to bloom
+Children are returning home from school.
+
+In a pencil case that opens sideways
+Crayons rattle among crumbs of a roll
+And a copper penny saved by every child
+To greet the first spring cuckoo.
+
+Sister's beret and brother's cap
+Bob in the bushy underbrush,
+A screeching jay hops in the branches
+And long clouds float over the trees.
+
+A red roof is already visible at the bend.
+In front of the house father, leaning on a hoe,
+Bows down, touches the unfolded leaves,
+And from his flower bed inspects the whole region

data/examples/txt/The Saturday Night Song - Poem by Julian Tuwim.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,19 @@
+Hooray, the echo will resound throughout the wide square,
+When a sincere drunkard's song emanates from my throat;
+Tonight I'll be lapping up a smoky pub's atmosphere,
+I'm bloody well going to get sloshed, buzzed and somewhere float.
+
+My spirit gorged, I'll bang the table with my strong fist,
+Searching for a little brightness from these gloomy days-
+Take no more you soft touch! Liberty! May the vile twists
+Of my ricketed brats in the garret rot away.
+
+I'll drink-smash everything in sight but never mind,
+I'll pay myself! Can I not afford to break a glass or two?
+I can, you bastards! With the rubles from my black grind
+I could even have two dozen mistresses to woo.
+
+I smash-because I feel like it! Hang it all! Freedom! I've power!
+Run, spirit, till dawn. Out of the way. Today we rule!
+And when I leave the pub with hands in the pocket of my trousers
+I'll stagger wide down the drunken street, nobody's fool!

data/examples/txt/The Survivor - Poem by Tadeusz Rozewicz.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,34 @@
+I am twenty-four
+led to slaughter
+I survived.
+
+The following are empty synonyms:
+man and beast
+love and hate
+friend and foe
+darkness and light.
+
+The way of killing men and beasts is the same
+I've seen it:
+truckfuls of chopped-up men
+who will not be saved.
+
+Ideas are mere words:
+virtue and crime
+truth and lies
+beauty and ugliness
+courage and cowardice.
+
+Virtue and crime weigh the same
+I've seen it:
+in a man who was both
+criminal and virtuous.
+
+I seek a teacher and a master
+may he restore my sight hearing and speech
+may he again name objects and ideas
+may he separate darkness from light.
+
+I am twenty-four
+led to slaughter
+I survived

data/examples/txt/To My Bones - Poem by Zbigniew Herbert.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,33 @@
+In my sleep it rips through
+my meagre skin
+throws off the red bandage of the flesh
+and goes strolling through the room
+my monument a little incomplete
+
+one can be prodigal
+with tears and blood
+what will endure here the longest
+must be thoughtfully provided for
+
+better (than with a priest's dry finger
+to the rains which drip from a cloud of sand)
+to give one's monument to the academey
+
+they will prop it up in a glass display case
+and in Latin they will pray before
+the little altar made from an os frontalis
+
+they will reckon the bones and surfaces
+they will not forget not overlook
+
+happily I will give my color of eyes
+pattern of nails and curve of eyelids
+I the perfectly objective
+made from white crystals of anatomy
+
+can for thoughts
+heart cage
+bony pile
+and two shins
+
+you my little monument not quite complete

data/examples/txt/Two Monkeys by Brueghel - Poem by Wislawa Szymborska.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,13 @@
+I keep dreaming of my graduation exam:
+in a window sit two chained monkeys,
+beyond the window floats the sky,
+and the sea splashes.
+
+I am taking an exam on the history of mankind:
+I stammer and flounder.
+
+One monkey, eyes fixed upon me, listens ironically,
+the other seems to be dozing- 
+and when silence follows a question,
+he prompts me
+with a soft jingling of the chain

data/examples/txt/Veni Seer - Poem by Czeslaw Milosz.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,15 @@
+Come, Holy Spirit,
+bending or not bending the grasses,
+appearing or not above our heads in a tongue of flame, 
+at hay harvest or when they plough in the orchards,
+or when snow covers crippled firs in the Sierra Nevada.
+
+I am only a human being: I need visible signs.
+I tire easily, building the stairway of abstraction.
+Many a time I asked, you know it well,
+that the statue in church lift its hand, only once, just once, for me.
+But I understand that signs must be human,
+therefore, call one person, anywhere on earth,
+not me-after all I have some decency-
+and allow me, when I look at that person, 
+to marvel at you. 

data/examples/txt/Vermeer - Poem by Wislawa Szymborska.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,6 @@
+As long as the woman from Rijksmuseum
+in painted silence and concentration
+day after day pours milk
+from the jug to the bowl,
+the World does not deserve
+the end of the world

data/examples/txt/Wasp - Poem by Zbigniew Herbert.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+When the honey, fruit and flowery tablecloth were whisked from the table in one sweep, it flew off with a start. Entangled in the suffocating smoke of the curtains, it buzzed for a long time. At last it reached the window. It beat its weakening body repeatedly against the cold, solid air of the pane. In the last flutter of its wings drowsed the faith that the body’s unrest can awaken a wind carrying us to longed-for worlds. 
+You who stood under the window of your beloved, who saw your happiness in a shop window—do you know how to take away the sting of this death? 

data/examples/txt/What Our Dead Do - Poem by Zbigniew Herbert.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,64 @@
+Jan came this morning
+—I dreamt of my father
+he says
+
+he was riding in an oak coffin
+I walked next to the hearse
+and father turned to me:
+
+you dressed me nicely
+and the funeral is very beautiful
+at this time of year so many flowers
+it must have cost a lot
+
+don’t worry about it father
+—I say—let people see
+we loved you
+that we spared nothing
+
+six men in black livery
+walk nicely at our sides
+
+father thought for a while
+and said—the key to the desk
+is in the silver inkwell
+there is still some money
+in the second drawer on the left
+
+with this money—I say—
+we will buy you a gravestone
+a large one of black marble
+
+it isn’t necessary—says father—
+better give it to the poor
+
+six men in black livery
+walk nicely at our sides
+they carry burning lanterns
+
+again he seemed to be thinking
+—take care of the flowers in the garden
+cover them for the winter
+I don’t want them to be wasted
+
+you are the oldest—he says—
+from a little felt bag behind the painting
+take out the cuff links with real pearls
+let them bring you luck
+my mother gave them to me
+when I finished high school
+then he didn’t say anything
+he must have entered a deeper sleep
+
+this is how our dead
+look after us
+they warn us through dreams
+bring back lost money
+hunt for jobs
+whisper the numbers of lottery tickets
+or when they can’t do this
+knock with their fingers on the windows
+
+and out of gratitude
+we imagine immortality for them
+snug as the burrow of a mouse