Friday, 31 July 2015

Romantic Poetry, Heart Touching Love Poetry, Latest Urdu Poetry,

Mana ky mai ny ghour sy daikha na tha tmhe
Sooraj ko ankh bhar ky koi daikhta hai kia??

Sadest Urdu Poetry, Sad Poetry, Latest Urdu Poetry,

Ab awaz ai to tujhe nikal ky phaink dunga
Ay dil so ja kaha na tera koi nai hai..

Latest Urdu Poetry, Sad Love Poetry, Sadest Urdu Poetry,

Dosri baar bhi hoti to, tumhi sy hoti
mai jo bilfarz  muhabbat ko,  dobara krta.

Sad Love Poetry, Latest Urdu Poetry, Two Lines Poetry,

Bas jate hain dil mai ejazat liye baghair
Woh log jinhen hum zindagi bhar paa nahi sakty.

Latest Poetry, Heart Touching Love Poetry, Heart Touching Poetry,

Hum toh kab sy tumhary hain
Tum hath bhara kar dekho toh...!

Latest Poetry, Sadest Urdu Poetry, Sad Love Poetry,

Chandni raat ky khamosh sitaron ki qasam
Dil mai ab tery siwa koi aabad nahi.

Wednesday, 29 July 2015

Latest Poetry, Heart Touching Love Poetry,

Mai aik phool hon ujrri hoi baharon ka 
na jane q meri khatir machal gaya koi.

Love Poetry, Latest Urdu Poetry, Latest Poetry,

Umar bhar jis phool ki mai ny parwarish ki sagar
Jab khushboo ky qabil hoa to ghairon ko dy dia...!!

Love Poetry, Romantic Urdu Poetry, Romantic Urdu Poetry,

Suno Itny bhi Pyare nahi ho tm bus
meri chahat ny tumhe sar pa charha rakha hai.

Latest Urdu Poetry, Latest Urdu Poetry 2015, Sadest Urdu Poetry,

Mai to toota hoa patta hon meri aoqat he kia
Phool pairon sy masalty hain tery shehr ky log.

Sad Poetry, Latest Urdu Poetry,

To hawa ka rukh pa chahaton ky diye jalane ki zid na kr
ye udaas logon ka shehr hai yahan muskurane ki zidd na kr.

Saturday, 18 July 2015

The Letters of Ginsberg and Ferlinghetti and a 40-year Friendship


The letters of Allen Ginsberg and Lawrence Ferlinghetti chart a 40-year friendship and two storied careers.

"The story now feels nearly inevitable. In 1955, Allen Ginsberg moved into an apartment in the San Francisco North Beach area, just a few blocks away from Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s City Lights Pocket Bookshop. Ginsberg showed the fledging publisher his work, and Ferlinghetti was intrigued. He attended an event at the Six Gallery on October 7, 1955, where Ginsberg recited part of “Howl” for the first time. A few days later, Ferlinghetti sent the poet a telegram: “I greet you at the beginning of a great career,” he cabled, echoing Ralph Waldo Emerson’s legendary note to Walt Whitman. “When do I get the manuscript of ‘Howl’?”

So began a decades-long relationship between the two men, as writer and publisher and as friends. From 1955 until Ginsberg’s death in 1997, they exchanged letters on matters large and small, from the 1957 obscenity charges that Ferlinghetti faced as the publisher of Howl to Ginsberg’s precarious finances (“I’m broke, dumb, writeless and nowhere. Send on royalties as soon as you can,” wrote Ginsberg in 1958). They sent each other thoughtful editorial notes and breezy accounts of their far-flung travels. In the early years, letters were their principal mode of communication, and their correspondence tracks not only the arc of their storied careers but also the palpable affection and respect the two men had for each other..."

continue reading at http://www.poetryfoundation.org/article/250736


Tuesday, 14 July 2015

Sad Urdu Poetry, Latest Poetry, Two Lines Poetry,

Numaish ky liye rakh diya hai dil apna
Mera mehboob nirala hai zamana daikhy.

Sad Love Poetry, Latest Poetry, Two Lines Poetry,

Itny chup chaap ky rasty bhi rahen lailm
chor jayen gy ksi roz nagr shaam ky bad.

Love Poetry, Heart Touching Love Poetry, Latest Poetry,

Chaand sa misra akela hai mery kaghaz par 
chaat pa a jao mera shair mukammal kr do.

Two Lines Poetry, Latest Poetry, Love Poetry,

Mujh sy ab aor tamasha ho nahi skta 
ly ja, ye dikhawy ki hansi bhi aa kr.

Sad Urdu Poetry, Two Lines Poetry,

Phr youn hoa ky sath tera chorna parra
sabit hoa hai ky lazim o mazloom kch nahi.

Sad Urdu Poetry, Sad Poetry

Aag lehra ky chali hai isy aanchal kr do
tum mujhe raat ka jalta hoa jangal kr do.

Monday, 13 July 2015

James Tate




James Tate died this week at age 71. His death came just before the publication of his new book, Dome of the Hidden Pavilion: New Poems.

One of the most popular poets of his generation, his work was often seen as a more accessible and entertaining version of poetry.

The new book is his 17th full-length collection.

An NPR piece on him by poet Craig Morgan Teicher describes his poetry this way:

"A Tate poem often features a hapless protagonist (usually a well-meaning man) who stumbles into a set of ridiculous circumstances that nonetheless don't seem particularly ridiculous to him. The tone is airy, bemused — "Some things don't deserve to be contemplated" — hiding profundity beneath a relaxed surface. This man might meet a few townsfolk, each of whom will make some remark on the circumstance, which will get weirder with each remark, and then the poem then ends with a clever zinger. Usually, the action turns on increasing communication difficulties. Tate may be the only poet whose main subject is the benefit of misunderstanding."

His poem "Like A Scarf," opens this way:

The directions to the lunatic asylum were confusing,
more likely they were the random associations
and confused ramblings of a lunatic.
We arrived three hours late for lunch
and the lunatics were stacked up on their shelves,
quite neatly, I might add, giving credit where credit is due.

This is his short poem "Goodtime Jesus":

Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dream-
ing so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it?
A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled
back, skin falling off. But he wasn't afraid of that. It was a beau-
tiful day. How 'bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do. Take a little
ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody.

In Teicher's tribute to Tate, he wishes that "what follows for him be as odd and pleasant as the scene in his new poem, "The Afterlife," in which a dead man — a ghost — falls into the speaker's backyard."

I just float
around," he said. "Well, I've never met a dead man. I'm
pleased to meet you," I said. "I think you're supposed to
scream or something," he said. "Oh no, I'm really pleased,"
I said. "It's really kind of you to drop by." "I didn't
drop by. It was the wind," he said. "And then the wind stopped
and I fell into the tree." "How lucky for me," I said. "You'll
be going with me, of course, when I leave. You'll never be
coming back," he said.

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