Suheir hammad what i'm gonna nugent ted

The titans

It is not however
The time. They are still
Untied. The divine does not meet the disinterested.
Then let them do the math
With Delphi. Meanwhile, give in the hours of celebration
And that I may rest, the dead
To think. Many died
General in olden times
And beautiful women and poets
And in newer
A lot of men
But I am alone.

and sailing into the ocean
The fragrant islands ask
Where are they going.

Because some of them are
Left in faithful scriptures
And some in the sagas of the time.
God reveals much.
Because work for a long time
Down the clouds
And holy wilderness that prepares many roots takes root.
Wealth is hot. Because it is missing
In song, it loosens the mind.
He would eat it
And would be against yourself
Because never tolerates
Captivity the heavenly fire.

But it is pleasing
The banquet or when on a feast
The eye is shiny and of pearls
The virgin neck.
Also war game

and through the corridors
The gardens are blaring
The memory of the battle and soothed
On a slim chest
The resounding weirs rest
From hero fathers to children.
But humming around me
The Bien and where the Akersmann
The furrows sing against it
The birds to the light. Some help
Heaven. This sees
The poet. It is good in others
To keep. Because nobody bears life alone.

But when it is inflamed
The busy day
And on the chain that
Deriving the bliz
From the hour of the rise
Heavenly dew shines,
Must be among mortals too
Feel the high.
That's why they build houses
And the workshop goes
And over streams the ship.
And people offer it in exchange
Hands with each other, it makes sense
On earth and it is not in vain
Eyes fixed on the floor.

But you feel
Also other kind.
Because under the measure
It also needs the raw
So that the pure knows itself.
If but

And reaches into the depths
That it should come alive
The all-shaker, they think
Let the heavenly come
Down to the dead and mighty dawn
In the unbound abyss
Im all minding.
But I don't want to say
The heavenly ones grow weak
When it comes up.
If but
and it goes

To the head of the father that

and the bird of the sky to him
It indicates. Wonderful
He thinks of it in anger.

The Titans

Not yet, however,
The time has come. They still are
Untethered. What's divine does not strike the unconcerned.
Then let them reckon
With Delphi. Meanwhile in festive hours,
And so that I may rest, allow me
To think of the dead. In olden days
Died many generals
And lovely women and poets,
In modern times
A host of men.
But I am on my own.

And sailing into the ocean
The fragrant islands ask
where they have gone.

For something of them has been
Preserved in faithful writings
And something in lore of the age.
Much does the God reveal.
For long already the clouds
Have worked upon what's below them,
and holy wilderness, pregnant with much, has grown roots.
Hot is wealth. For we lack
Song that loosens the mind.
It would devour
And would make was on itself
For never the heavenly fire
Will suffer captivity.

Yet men are gladdened by
the banquet, and when in celebration
Our eyes are bright, and with pearls
The virgin's neck.
Martial games no less

and through the walks
Of garden blares
The memory of battle and soothed
Upon the slender breasts
Of children quiet lie
Loud weapons of their heroic ancestors.
But around me hums
the bee, and where the plowman draws
His furrows, birds are singing
Against the light. Many give help
To heaven. And them
The poet sees. It is good to rely
Upon others. For no one can bear this life on his own.

But when the busy day
Has been kindled
And on the chain that
Conducts the lightning
From the hour of sunrise
Glistens heavenly dew,
So among mortals
What is high must feel at home.
That is why they build at houses
And the workshop's astir
And over currents the ship.
And, bartering, men hold out
Their hands to one another; pensive it is
On earth, and not for nothing
Are eyes fixed on the ground.

Yet you also sense
A different kind. For measure demands that
Crudity, coarseness exist, so that
What is pure shall know itself.
But when

And down into the depth
To make it come to life,
Reaches he who shakes all things,
They believe the heavenly comes
Down to the dead, and mightily
In the unfettered abyss,
The all-living, light breaks.
But I do not wish to say
That the heavenly is growing weak
Though now it erupts
But when
and it rises

Up to the partings of the Father's hair, so that

and the bird of Heaven
Makes it known to him. Then
Marvelous in anger he comes.

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