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‼️ لیست به زودی حذف خواهد شد....

Fever- Joachim Pastor

🎸Never know how much I love you
Never know how much I care
When you put your arms around me
I get a fever that's so hard to bear
You give me fever
You give me fever
هرگز نخواهى فهميد چقدر عاشقت هستم
هرگز نخواهى فهميد چقدر بهت اهميت ميدم
وقتى دستانت را دورم ميندازى
وجودم رو تب ميگيره، تحملش خيلى سخته
تو وجودم رو تبدار ميكنى

🎸Sun lights up the daytime
And moon lights up the night
Captain Smith and Pocahontas
Had a very mad affair
Romeo loved Juliet
And Juliet she felt the same
I light up when you call my name
And you know I'm gonna treat you right
You give me fever
نور خورشيد روزهامون رو روشن ميكنه
و نور ماه شبهامون رو مهتابى ميكنه
كاپيتان اسميت و پكوهانتز
ديوونه وار عاشق هم بودن
رومئو عاشق جوليت بود
و جوليت هم همين حس رو بهش داشت
وقتى اسمم رو صدا ميزنى دنيام نورانى ميشه
تو ميدونى من باهات خوب رفتار ميكنم
تو وجودم رو تبدار ميكنى

🎸Now you've listened to my story
Here's the point that I have made
Chicks were born to give you fever
Be it Fahrenheit or Centigrade
They give you fever
حالا كه به داستانم گوش كردى
اين نكته ايه كه ميخواستم بگم
دخترها هم به دنيا اومدند
تا وجودت رو تبدار كنند
چه با فارنهايت چه سانتيگراد
اونها وجودت رو تبدار ميكنند
#متن_موزيك
♥️⃤

📚ᵗʰᵉ ѕʰᵉᵖʰᵉʳᵈ

How sweet is the Shepherds sweet lot,
From the morn to the evening he strays:
He shall follow his sheep all the day
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.

For he hears the lambs innocent call,
And he hears the ewes tender reply,
He is watchful while they are in peace,
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.

✏️ wιllιαм вlαĸe

#Englishliterature #Poem #WilliamBlake

"The Shepherd"

is a poem from William Blake's Songs of Innocence (1789). This collection of songs was published individually four times before it was combined with the Songs of Experience for 12 editions which created the joint collection Songs of Innocence and of Experience (1794).

💭In ‘The Shepherd,’ William Blake paints an idyllic portrait of a shepherd’s life, celebrating simplicity, nature’s beauty, and spiritual connections. The poem captures the shepherd’s harmonious existence, attentiveness to the calls of lambs and ewes and the profound trust between shepherd and flock.

💭Blake’s lyrical verses resonate with themes of innocence, watchfulness, and a deeper, metaphysical appreciation for the pastoral landscape. The poem stands as a timeless ode to the beauty found in a serene and interconnected natural world.

💭This poem is one of the three pastoral poems in Songs of Innocence, the other two being The Lamb and Spring. This poem is written from the Piper's perspective. This can be seen in the repetition of the word 'sweet' in the first line which the Piper uses in the other poems of his narration.  This repetition may also be read as a subtle irony about the Shepherd's lack of agency as he follows his herd rather than leading them through the fields. The Little Boy Full of Joy that is depicted in Spring, grows into the shepherd of The Lamb, and then completes his journey through life as The Shepherd in this poem.  In the first stanza, The Shepherd is full of joy which mirrors the innocent nature of this collection of poems. In the second stanza, The Shepherd is presented as a caring and protective force over his herd. This can be seen in his listening for the call and reply of the ewe and lamb in the second stanza. Readers from Blake's time would have found it odd that The Shepherd was following his herd.  Blake allows the voice of the poem to speak for itself rather than revealing a firm interpretation. The Shepherd's relationship to his flock is further explored in the final lines of the poem. When he is present, the herd remains calm and peaceful.

💭There are also religious connotations in this poem. The image of The Shepherd as Christ is initially found in another Song, "The Little Black Boy". Psalm 23 depicts God as a shepherd of mankind, and the capitalization of the word 'Shepherd' in the first and last lines furthers the idea that the Shepherd is a symbol of God. In the bible, a shepherd's presence is representative of guidance. In this poem, the Shepherd can be viewed as the spiritual guide or a savior of the herd, rejoicing in their numbers. Jesus is also referred to in the bible as the Lamb of God. Since the poem depicts The Shepherd as following his herd, the reader may view both the sheep and The Shepherd as protectors of each other. The Shepherd watches over his herd with delight as God watches over his people. Reversed, Jesus - represented as a lamb - does not lead mankind - The Shepherd
#Poem #WilliamBlake

William Blake

 (28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827) was an English poet, painter, and printmaker. Largely unrecognised during his life, Blake has become a seminal figure in the history of the poetry and visual art of the Romantic Age. What he called his "prophetic works" were said by 20th-century critic Northrop Frye to form "what is in proportion to its merits the least read body of poetry in the English language".  While he lived in London his entire life, except for three years spent in Felpham, he produced a diverse and symbolically rich collection of works, which embraced the imagination as "the body of God", or "human existence itself".

#englishliterature #poem

💭Although Blake was considered mad by contemporaries for his idiosyncratic views, he came to be highly regarded by later critics and readers for his expressiveness and creativity, and for the philosophical and mystical undercurrents within his work. His paintings and poetry have been characterised as part of the Romantic movement and as "Pre-Romantic". A theist who preferred his own Marcionite style of theology, he was hostile to the Church of England (indeed, to almost all forms of organised religion), and was influenced by the ideals and ambitions of the French and American revolutions. Although later he rejected many of these political beliefs, he maintained an amicable relationship with the political activist Thomas Paine; he was also influenced by thinkers such as Emanuel Swedenborg. Despite these known influences, the singularity of Blake's work makes him difficult to classify. The 19th-century scholar William Michael Rossetti characterised him as a "glorious luminary", and "a man not forestalled by predecessors, nor to be classed with contemporaries, nor to be replaced by known or readily surmisable successors".

#englishliterature #poem #author

🔸

ویلیام بلیک شاعر،

عارف و نقاش بزرگ انگلستان در قرن هجدهم است که او را از بزرگ‌ترین شاعران در انگلستان و هم ردیف با شکسپیر می‌دانند. بلیک را فردی انسان دوست، صلح طلب و آزادی خواه می‌دانستند چرا که او اندیشه هایش را بی پروا در آثارش بیان می‌کرد.

▫️عرفان او به طرزی بی بدیل با عرفان اسلامی و به خصوص با اندیشه‌های مولانا شباهت و همسانی دارد. اندیشه‌های عرفانی بلیک که در تضاد با کلیسا و دربار بود، از او در محافل رسمی چهره‌ای منفور ساخته بود، تا جایی که وی را مجنون و دیوانه خطاب می‌کردند.

▫️بلیک نقاشی چیره دست نیز بود و از نقاشی هایش به عنوان مکمل و همراه اشعارش استفاده می‌کرد. از زیباترین و بهترین شعر‌های او می‌توان به «راهب» و «گل آفتابگردان» اشاره کرد.

▫️بلیک در ۲۸نوامبر ۱۷۵۷ در لندن چشم به جهان گشود. او سومین پسر یک جوراب فروش لندنی بود. بدون داشتن معلم و به تنهایی به مطالعه پرداخت و کتاب مقدس، نوشته‌های جان میلتون، متون کلاسیک یونان، متون لاتین، اشعار شکسپیر و بن جانسون را خواند.

▫️بلیک در سال ۱۷۷۱ شاگرد یک حکاک شد. در سال ۱۷۷۹ به عنوان حکاک برای یک کتاب فروش محلی کار می‌کرد. در سال ۱۷۸۴ به تدریج و با کمک یکی از دوستانش توانست یک حکاکی را به طور مستقل برای خود به راه اندازد. او به عنوان حکاک و شاعر به کار خود ادامه داد. بلیک تمام عمر خود را به غیر از سه سال، در لندن سپری کرد. از زمانی که چهار سال بیشتر نداشت، تصاویری ذهنی می‌دید. کارهایش ترکیبی بود از تصاویر ذهنی اش، ظلم و ستم، مرگ، باور‌ها و رویاها.

▫️بلیک در دوازدهم آگوست ۱۸۲۷ چشم از جهان فرو بست. او را در گوری بی نام و نشان در قبرستان عمومی منطقه «بان هیل» به خاک سپردند. پس از مرگ بلیک «وردزورث» در وصف او چنین می‌نویسد: هیچ شکی وجود نداشت که این مرد بیچاره مجنون بود، اما در جنون این مرد چیزی بود که بیشتر از سلامت روانی «لرد بایرون» و «والتر اسکات» برای من جذاب بود.

▫️ویلیام بلیک بی شک یکی از برجسته‌ترین شاعران قرن ۱۸ در انگلستان است. فردی هنرمند، عارف و شاعری که همگان او را نخستین شاعر بزرگ شعر‌های عاشقانه انگلستان می‌دانند. بلیک در حوزه نقاشی نیز فعالیت می‌کرد. او حتی به مدت ۶سال در آکادمی سلطنتی به فراگیری نقاشی پرداخت.
#ادبیاتانگلیسی #ادبیات #شعر

‌  ‌
   ‌ ‌‌Be the author of ur ᴼwn ˢtory

‌ ‌ ‌ نویسنده ی داســــــتـــــــانــــــــِ خودت باش...!

‍💜⃤

🎼 Move on

🎧 Deeperise

🩷 It's over I know that
You and I can't go back
Many words left unspoken
You need some time alone
همه چيز تموم شده، اينو ميدونم
ما ديگه نميتونيم به عقب برگرديم
خيلى حرفها ناگفته مونده
تو به كمى تنهايى نياز دارى

❤️ You and I have to know that
Another day soon will shine
Night will bring the cold back
To your heart and mine
هر دومون بايد اينو بدونيم
يه روز تازه به زودى طلوع ميكنه
شب دوباره سرما رو برميگردونه
به قلب تو و من

🧡 There's no way
I can breathe without you
And your smile
Makes it all so simple
But there's a wall
Around your heart
I cannot get through
هيچ راهى نداره،
كه بتونم بى تو نفس بكشم
لبخند تو، همه ى مشكلات رو آسون ميكنه
اما يك ديوار دور قلبت كشيده شده
كه نميتونم ازش رد بشم

💛 You'll find fault
If it's what you're searching
Break down your walls
Learn how to let go
Or your love
It'll fade away
Why can't we move on?
نقص و خطا رو پيدا ميكنى،
اگه اين اون چيزى هست كه دنبالش هستى
ديوارهاى قلبت رو بشكن
رها كردن رو ياد بگير
وگرنه عشقت محو ميشه
چرا نميشه من و تو پيش بريم؟
#متن_موزيك

📚Daddy

"Daddy" was written on October 12th, 1962, a month after Plath had separated from her husband and moved—with their two small children—from their home in Devon to a flat (apartment) in London. Four months later, Plath was dead, but she wrote some of her best poems during that turbulent period.

#englishliterature #poem

Daddy

You do not do, you do not do   
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot   
For thirty years, poor and white,   
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.   
You died before I had time——
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,   
Ghastly statue with one gray toe   
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic   
Where it pours bean green over blue   
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.   
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town   
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.   
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.   
So I never could tell where you   
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.   
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.   
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.   
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna   
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck   
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.   
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.   
Every woman adores a Fascist,   
The boot in the face, the brute   
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,   
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot   
But no less a devil for that, no not   
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.   
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,   
And they stuck me together with glue.   
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.   
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through.
The black telephone’s off at the root,   
The voices just can’t worm through.

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——
The vampire who said he was you   
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There’s a stake in your fat black heart   
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.   
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

✍ѕʸˡᵛᶤᵃ ᵖˡᵃᵗʰ
#Englishliterature
#Poem #SylviaPlath