Amazing ❤

I did compare this recital with the one you recorded for your “all 154” compilation. They’re both wonderful yet so different I’m style!

Wicked good Arthur!

Thank you for gifting your wonderful voice and all the poetry! Everything on this channel is fabulous without exception!

Opinions vary. Too high a dramatic pitch throughout. This wonderful poem stands on its own and does not need histrionics. To do so takes away from the words. This is a thoughtful poem and should be read that way.

Thanks

Your birthday is upcoming on this Friday, the 28th of June. I’ll be busy on that day, though it is said that congratulating prior to the date means bad luck a little thank you can’t be wrong. I’d love to be more generous as you have brought me so much joy over these years I have to watch my limited OAP‘s budget, still I shall add a shipload of love to my little contribution.

Wondrous ❤

Bravo

Still better ❤

❤

Beautiful and powerful original. Great work. Thank you.

❤

Well done!

Donne was a bit sermonish at times. But he knew love!

Here I am!

There is a white wind where my love was, An echo in a cathedral, And the artist, and the nun; Only a silent frost appears, Only a heart in pieces And a handkerchief of tears, While crossing the Thames at daybreak Is a murderer on the run. There is a white wind where my love was, A monster in the river And a sermoning John Donne; If only we knew the ways of the heart, For entropy increases, And we manage the carriage the way of the cart, And the night was never the morrow, And the moon was never the sun. I gave my all to love, Love took away it all And left me only broken shards Of hope, and alcohol; I gave my all to love, Love span me a dying song, It went: la la, la la, la la, Now all I dare claim or possess Are the shards of hope and lonesomeness, The alcohol and the last cigar, And like the sun was never the moon They shall turn to ashes soon. I gave my all and swallowed The cruel effects of love. I am not bitter, I do not care, My vision was a wisp of air, And even time must cease to move, And lurking inside nothingness Is God-- and we are there.

I like that his voice sounded young - more like Keats would be.

Thanks

A marvellous reading, filled with feeling and energy. An old man thanks you from afar young friend.

Love love love this

thank you Arthur❤ wonderful very move

somebody is here in 2024

I think I do a kick-ass Othello I would love to collaborate with you

Thank you for reading this lovely poem celebrating friendship. It had been a pleasure to working on this translation together. It is rather an adaptation to respect the noble form of the sonnet, I think it transfers the essence well. Wonderful performance as well!

Very well done Sir

0:41

À M.V.H. (from Alfred de Musset) a translation by Arthur L Wood and Florian Diaz Pesantes One must in this world love every small thing, For to know in the end what lived in the mind: The bonbons, the ocean, the sparkling wind, The women, the horses, the roses of spring, One needs oft to trample the small budding flowers And sometimes to crumble, to bid friends farewell, The heart thereby learns what rises, what fell; And time marches on and marks up the hours. Of everything good, that we tamely defend, The best that e’er was is one lovely friend Whom we lost long ago. In the mist, he appears, Closer he comes, smile greets smile, hand meets hand, We sigh, remembering those good, distant years, And know on the morrow is yesterday's land. A M. V. H. by Alfred de Musset Il faut, dans ce bas monde, aimer beaucoup de choses, Pour savoir, après tout, ce qu’on aime le mieux, Les bonbons, l’Océan, le jeu, l’azur des cieux, Les femmes, les chevaux, les lauriers et les roses. Il faut fouler aux pieds des fleurs à peine écloses ; Il faut beaucoup pleurer, dire beaucoup d’adieux. Puis le coeur s’aperçoit qu’il est devenu vieux, Et l’effet qui s’en va nous découvre les causes. De ces biens passagers que l’on goûte à demi, Le meilleur qui nous reste est un ancien ami. On se brouille, on se fuit. Qu’un hasard nous rassemble, On s’approche, on sourit, la main touche la main, Et nous nous souvenons que nous marchions ensemble, Que l’âme est immortelle, et qu’hier c’est demain.

“The dream-beings”

When that I was and a little tiny boy,   With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, A foolish thing was but a toy,   For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came to man's estate,   With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut the gate,   For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came, alas! to wive,   With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive,   For the rain it raineth every day. Advertisement Support the Guardian and enjoy the app ad-free. Support the Guardian But when I came unto my beds,   With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, With toss-pots still had drunken heads,   For the rain it raineth every day. A great while ago the world begun,   With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, But that's all one, our play is done,   And we'll strive to please you every day.

Nice! The delivery was excellent. I have seen people perform Shakespeare in a way that can make the lines sound kind of cliche. It seemed like you very acutely determined an appropriate emotion or intonation for each line, to make the poem fully come alive as a theatrical scene or monologue. I’ll gladly watch you recite more Shakespeare and also more literature, poetry, fiction and theater in general!

“Be gentle, for everything is again”. Love that!

“…reach a hand through time and delicately hold me”. What a line!

Stellar, top of the key - that was gangster.

“I think on thee” what an unalloyed pleasure to watch this recital!

Exciting! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

So soon I shall leave my self-made cage! How wonderful and spend many an hours with your precious poetry!

Most not know the horror of this poems meaning and intent. The sad enunciated script of a human criminal only by the laws of a bigoted time. The beauty in the darkness of what it means for us who live in fear of hateful law. Never Again🏳️‍🌈

Thank you

Once again I listened to this eerie poem, so fitting to these days! Dark and brilliant. I hold it dear.

“What love I bore to thee” ❤️‍🔥 (you got a very elegant voice)

“That melancholy dream”.

I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And she I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed, The bowers where Lucy played; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

Ummmm.

Excellent tempo

wonderfully read

‘Perfumed like a milliner!’ 😂😂😂 reminds me of a film scene from “ Withnail and I”

Congratulations to 5k subscribers!

“But lives to wed an equal mind”