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Everything for me becomes allegory.

quote by Charles Baudelaire
Added by Lucian Velea
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Gareth And Lynette

The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent,
And tallest, Gareth, in a showerful spring
Stared at the spate. A slender-shafted Pine
Lost footing, fell, and so was whirled away.
'How he went down,' said Gareth, 'as a false knight
Or evil king before my lance if lance
Were mine to use--O senseless cataract,
Bearing all down in thy precipitancy--
And yet thou art but swollen with cold snows
And mine is living blood: thou dost His will,
The Maker's, and not knowest, and I that know,
Have strength and wit, in my good mother's hall
Linger with vacillating obedience,
Prisoned, and kept and coaxed and whistled to--
Since the good mother holds me still a child!
Good mother is bad mother unto me!
A worse were better; yet no worse would I.
Heaven yield her for it, but in me put force
To weary her ears with one continuous prayer,
Until she let me fly discaged to sweep
In ever-highering eagle-circles up
To the great Sun of Glory, and thence swoop
Down upon all things base, and dash them dead,
A knight of Arthur, working out his will,
To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, when he came
With Modred hither in the summertime,
Asked me to tilt with him, the proven knight.
Modred for want of worthier was the judge.
Then I so shook him in the saddle, he said,
"Thou hast half prevailed against me," said so--he--
Though Modred biting his thin lips was mute,
For he is alway sullen: what care I?'

And Gareth went, and hovering round her chair
Asked, 'Mother, though ye count me still the child,
Sweet mother, do ye love the child?' She laughed,
'Thou art but a wild-goose to question it.'
'Then, mother, an ye love the child,' he said,
'Being a goose and rather tame than wild,
Hear the child's story.' 'Yea, my well-beloved,
An 'twere but of the goose and golden eggs.'

And Gareth answered her with kindling eyes,
'Nay, nay, good mother, but this egg of mine
Was finer gold than any goose can lay;
For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid
Almost beyond eye-reach, on such a palm
As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours.
And there was ever haunting round the palm
A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Bee (Chapter 16, Verses 75-76, Holy Koran)

I ask for refuge to Allah from Satan the exiled evildoer.
In the name of Allah the Kind and the Merciful Giver.

Allah has here set forth an allegory, just consider
A slave the property of another
Therefore he has no power
On the contrary
One who is granted a handsome sustenance so he
Spends from it secretly and openly -
Are the two similar?
Praise is due to Allah
But most of the people are not aware.

And Allah has set forth anther allegory, now consider
Two persons, one of them is dumb
Unable to do anything on his own
Thus he is a burden to his master
Wherever he is sent he brings no good outcome
Can he be held equal with him, who
Has enjoined what is just
And is also on the straight avenue.

poem by Asif Andalib
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I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence.

quote by J.R.R. Tolkien
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hope

You want to go out Friday
And you want to go forever.
You know that it sounds childish
That you've dreamt of alligators.
You hope that we are all with you
And you hope that you're recognized
You want to go forever
You see it in my eyes.
I'm lost in the confusion
And it doesn't seem to matter
You really can't believe it
And you hope it's getting better.

You want to trust the doctors
Their procedure is the best
But the last try was a failure
And the intern was a mess.
They did the same to Matthew
And he bled 'til Sunday night
They're saying don't be frightened
But you're weakened by the sight of it
You lock into a pattern
And you know that it's the last ditch
You're trying to see through it
And it doesn't make sense
But they're saying don't be frightened
And they're killing alligators
And they're hog-tied
And accepting of the struggle

You want to trust religion
And you know it's allegory
But the people who are followers
Have written their own story.
So you look up to the heavens
And you hope that it's a spaceship
And it's something from your childhood
Your thinking don't be frightened

You want to climb the ladder
You want to see forever
You want to go out Friday
And you want to go forever.
And you want to cross your DNA
To cross your DNA with something reptile.
And you're questioning the sciences
And questioning religion
You're looking like an idiot
And you no longer care.
And you want to bridge the schism

song performed by R.E.M. from Up
Added by Lucian Velea
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A novel is not an allegory... It is the sensual experience of another world. If you don't enter that world, hold your breath with the characters and become involved in their destiny, you won't be able to empathize, and empathy is at the heart of the novel. This is how you read a novel: you inhale the experience. So start breathing.

Azar Nafisi in Reading Lolita in Tehran (2003)
Added by Simona Enache
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An allegory is not meant to be taken literally. There is a great lack of comprehension on the part of some readers.

quote by Naguib Mahfouz
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V is like a mythical situation. It's an allegory for what could happen. V has philosophies within it that actually warn against things like that happening.

quote by David Lloyd
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I can work in films as long as the story doesn't have a realistic nature. If I'm working with an allegory, a fantasy, it can be developed in synthetic terms.

quote by Manuel Puig
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A priest is he who lives solely in the realm of the invisible, for whom all that is visible has only the truth of an allegory.

quote by Karl Wilhelm Friedrich Schlegel
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I wrote The Same Sea not as a political allegory about Israelis and Palestinians. I wrote it about something much more gutsy and immediate. I wrote it as a piece of chamber music.

quote by Amos Oz
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hope

You want to go out friday
And you want to go forever
You know that it sounds childish
That youve dreamt of alligators
You hope that we are with you
And you hope youre recognized
You want to go forever
You see it in my eyes
Im lost in the confusion
And it doesnt seem to matter
You really cant believe it
And you hope its getting better
You want to trust the doctors
Their procedure is the best
But the last try was a failure
And the intern was a mess
And they did the same to matthew
And he bled til sunday night
Theyre saying dont be frightened
But youre weakened by the sight of it
You lock into a pattern
And you know that its the last ditch
Youre trying to see through it
And it doesnt make sense
But theyre saying dont be frightened
And theyre killing alligators
And theyre hog tied
And accepting of the struggle
You want to trust religion
And you know its allegory
But the people who are followers
Have written their own story
So you look up to the heavens
And you hope that its a spaceship
And its something from your childhood
Youre thinking dont be frightened
You want to climb the ladder
You want to see forever
You want to go out friday
And you want to go forever
And you want to cross your dna
To cross your dna with something reptile
And youre questioning the sciences
And questioning religion
Youre looking like an idiot
And you no longer care
And you want bridge the schism
A built in mechanism to protect you
And youre looking for salvation
And youre looking for deliverance

[...] Read more

song performed by REM
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No One Knows My Plan

In my prison cell I think these words
I was careless
I can see that now
I must be silent
Must contain my secret smile
I want to tell you
You my mirror
You my iron bars
When I made a shadow on my window shade
They called the police and testified
But theyre like the people chained up in the cave
In the allegory of the people in the cave by the greek guy
No one understands
No one knows my plan
Why the dancing, shouting
Why the shrieks of pain
The lovely music
Why the smell of burning autumn leaves
No one understands
No one knows my plan
Why the dancing, shouting
Why the shrieks of pain
The lovely music
Why the smell of burning autumn leaves
In my prison cell I bide my time
Always thinking
Always busy cooking up an angle
Working on the tiny blueprint of the angle
Sketching out the burning autumn leaves
No one understands
No one knows my plan
I must be silent, must contain my secret smile
I want to tell you
You my mirror
You my iron bars
No one understands
No one knows my plan

song performed by They Might Be Giants
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Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Caution

I've thrown
Caution
To the wind.

Come and
Catch me or I'll
Blow away with
The storm.

(Theme: Allegory)

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Shiva 2-Jothilingam-Thiruvannamalai

The holy fire vast is aghast cool
Poleless source of a soul to rule
Matted flames of a roll whole
Mounded mien dominant silence sole

Myth of mysteries truth of an allegory
Fiery defeat of Brahma, Vishnu a divine arbitrary
He is the force of macrocosmic theory
Power of allpowers a surpassing glory

Do not doubt the ism of nature
Omnipresent the Lord to venture
Fiery His blessings to nurture
At Thiruvannamalai esteemed His stature
Consorted with Unnamulai, elated our rapture

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Joseph Campbell Knew

Joseph knew the power of myth
This champion of archaic allegory
Storyteller, Master Wordsmith
Of magical, mythological stories

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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Allegory

It's an all too common allegory
Pressed from the hands of time
Lent out silent praised theme
Careless whispers never hard to find

With redeeming qualities fading
An elevation of angers hot glow
Bitterness is the totality it's framing
Seperating rightous victims who know

Blazing through their transparent veils
The blame is countered with denial
Running rapidly from the inner problem's core
Slowing down but for a little while

At last catching up to the blameworthy
Who brazenly sit atop the Moon
Arrogantly still in denial
Their rude awakening is coming soon

poem by Theodora Onken
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Birth Of Hope

See, now we are left with nothing
A tiny desire of infinity no longer entails our songs
As they embark into the sky like vastness of our meeting
See, we have seen the light of darkest hours
And the cravings that we had are now blossoms of little delights
Now a dropp of failure and defeated shy
is taking its last leave from us
And we are weeping in consoling tears
But see, we have no sadness.
This is just a good bye.
And we have seen roads returning
begin with a small change, a small step that we are ready to take.

Not every road shows you a sign
And the nomadic allegory of life
Comes to life in such company.
We have explored happiness in almost
all of its possible hideouts, caves of pain.
The outcomes were summaries of insides of us.
A poem without language speaks the light of life.
The adventures of death have lured all our wonders
Now life is much and much in it is
more than a droplet of night

A traveler is about to be one with the night
Some homeless children are looking for shelters
of their hunger, a drought has just passed from our hearts
and we are flooded still
Like stars we sit at these dying hours staring at one another
with blinking pearls of our thoughts.
We are searching traces of life
Yet, yet, see there is no pain
We have explored all the possible hideouts
Life is never far from us.
If like me you too have a little nothingness
Let us sit in the next sunset and share these celebrations
of death and birth.
I am ready to disappear in life's waves
to eternity, an era of timelessness.
Let every exploration end but into a beginning
See in the envelope of sunrise
There are messages from the world beyond
raising the rays of birth of hope.
Are you ready for the morning?

poem by Aman Saa
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Hypocrite Auteur

mon semblable, mon frère
(1)
Our epoch takes a voluptuous satisfaction
In that perspective of the action
Which pictures us inhabiting the end
Of everything with death for only friend.

Not that we love death,
Not truly, not the fluttering breath,
The obscene shudder of the finished act—
What the doe feels when the ultimate fact
Tears at her bowels with its jaws.

Our taste is for the opulent pause
Before the end comes. If the end is certain
All of us are players at the final curtain:
All of us, silence for a time deferred,
Find time before us for one sad last word.
Victim, rebel, convert, stoic—
Every role but the heroic—
We turn our tragic faces to the stalls
To wince our moment till the curtain falls.
(2)
A world ends when its metaphor has died.

An age becomes an age, all else beside,
When sensuous poets in their pride invent
Emblems for the soul’s consent
That speak the meanings men will never know
But man-imagined images can show:
It perishes when those images, though seen,
No longer mean.

(3)
A world was ended when the womb
Where girl held God became the tomb
Where God lies buried in a man:
Botticelli’s image neither speaks nor can
To our kind. His star-guided stranger
Teaches no longer, by the child, the manger,
The meaning of the beckoning skies.

Sophocles, when his reverent actors rise
To play the king with bleeding eyes,
No longer shows us on the stage advance
God’s purpose in the terrible fatality of chance.

[...] Read more

poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Sometimes Poetry's More Similar to Politics Than I'd Care to Think About

O, metaphor!
O, simile!
O, allegory!
Jelly beans!
O, fable, myth!
Oh, silly me -
Disguising what
I really mean.

poem by Heidi K. Haskell
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