Tag: Poem

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Translation | Gentle Poems vol. 2 by Michizo Tachihara

The preface poem

A quiet poem, softly
Do you, come, from where
To where, pass me
And come, to erase?

A blaze of the setting sun ends a day
And, When it would–
The stars, powerless, are full of heaven
When they begin to sparkle faintly
And climb higher, and sob
Like a chain, you, tender poem
You live, when, in my heart?

In what way, to your heart
I return, in the middle of the night
When it is full of light darkness?

I On refreshing May

Like moonlight overflow, to thy cheek
They would overflow, great tears of weeping, that drew the lines
Me, how, would I have them sustained?
You, have, silenced me……

« The stars, you were radiant
« The flowers, you were beautiful
« The birds, you have been kind
…… I’ll talk in your ear for a while
But I never said, once.
« How I love you
« Like what, do you, love me

Like a rose, blooms first time
I stopped crying, if we made a smile, on your cheek
I would have put my heart, from where?

II In a boi of deciduous trees

Like this
The cloud, became red
In the light
It stretched

I leaned against it
You, silent, were outside of me
Look, late to return
A bird flew below
For us, one day
Was long, like infinity

Of the cloud, of the bird
And, from the flowers of this twilight

Our, short lives
How much, to envy, did they think

III A sad campaign

Now someone, to me
Whispered a name of a flower, and left
To my ears, the wind, announced
Like a day of remembrance

Now someone, silently
His body revealed, beside me
Would fall scrambling, little butterflies
Like reaching out
Ah, and, “but”
Why did I say
At noon, that, “it’s all right whoever”

Now someone far away
Calls, my name…… ah, but
I don’t answer, you, a woman is not someone

IV After a Dream

« Your, heart
I didn’t understand
« My, heart
I did not understand

The missing moon, in the middle of the sky
Appears between the peaks
Already the wind has fallen
I can vaguely hear the voice of a mosquito
It, such as it is, will pass
Around us, this, silent night

Surely one day, that (it is the thing of old)
If our, hearts recall, I want! ……

« Your, heart, I did not understand
« My, heart, I did not understand

V In a boi of deciduous trees, again

Without me noticing, already autumn!, yesterday
Was summer…… A joyous and calm
Radiance, in the wood, murmurs
A place, surrounded by swaying herb leaves

When you left my house
Around that, a pale violet flower blooms
And now you come and say
That we will certainly endure
In the transparent sky, a great bell
Resounds, like a departure
I look at clouds, I look at a mountain range far away

You look at clouds, you look at a mountain range far away
But already, two glances begin to leave
You will return from me, the day of contentment, when will it come?

VI In the morning

Your heart, clear flowers
Like a sheaf, always
Speak to my heart, waking up
“A moment in the morning, this clear sky, blue sky

My heart is bruised
It’s you, you pulled out a splinter
Innocent, smile, and
Futile, from your heart, babble
Ah, the wind blows, it’s the fresh wind
Herbs, diggings, and the murmur of a stream
How they answer, who spoke

All things are born again!
A dew falls and dries
Birds, and butterflies, will lift it high

VII At noon again

I, on the distant sky and clouds flow
No longer a poem……
At noon, in the white light
You stand beside me

Neither flower, nor fledgling
Unlimited, your love
I want to believe, it’s good
I look at you all the time
Forever, like this, it’s better you survive

There are no barriers in the light
You and I live
All things are here! …… Our bounded circumference

VIII In the afternoon

Pace the solitary steps
Goats, calmly, grasses, eat
This green food, more than your
What, is beautiful meal!

My hunger, but, to him
Cannot arrive
My heart, is lonelier, trembles
By I would commit, faults, and falsehoods
From the eyes of gentle animals, is reflected
The colour of the sky, look!

« I, possess, anything?
« I, possess, anything?

Pace the solitary steps
Goats calmly eat grass

IX In the shade of a tree

In the days
Pitiful, it was not apparent
The word, now it
Has become great!

In your rib
And in me, it has grown
…… Outside the light fills
But still it shines
Now we rest
You and I wait, Deep in our ears
Meaningful, the wind whispers and passes

On a fountain, these little waves
Never stop shuddering…… Our
Hands capture, for this light

X The thing I dreamed……

The thing I dreamed, is happiness
The thing I wished for, is love
Some places in the mountains, silent villages were
On a clear Sunday, there was a blue sky

Holding umbrellas, country girls
Adorn themselves and sing
Tracing a great circle
Country girls dance a song
Says and sings
Blue wings, a chick
On a low branch sings

The thing I dreamed is happiness
The thing I wished for, is a love
These things all, there are here, I mean

List of Poetry Translations
(English, Français, Deutsch, Español, Italiano)

Poetry Books (US)

Poetry eBooks (US)

Jean-Michel Serres Apfel Café Music QR Codes Center English 2024.

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A Poetry About The Poetry by ChatGPT, Part 1

« Prologue »

In the realm of words and verse,
Where emotions and thoughts immerse,
Lies a world of infinite possibilities,
Where hearts and minds find their felicities.

A place where words flow like a stream,
And rhymes dance like a dream,
Where metaphors and similes abound,
And imagery and symbolism astound.

Poetry, a language of the soul,
Where every word has its own role,
A canvas to paint emotions and desires,
And a medium to ignite poetic fires.

From sonnets to haikus, from ballads to odes,
Each poem has its own unique codes,
A reflection of the poet’s innermost thoughts,
And a glimpse of the world that he or she wrought.

So let us dive into this world of rhyme,
Where every word is a precious chime,
And let our hearts and minds be free,
To explore the endless possibilities.

« Free Verse 01 »

Poetry is the beat of the heart
The rhythm of the soul
It’s the language of emotion
The words that make us whole

It’s the feeling of a first kiss
Or the pain of a goodbye
It’s the way we express ourselves
When we can’t find the words to try

It’s the dance of the metaphors
And the flow of the rhyme
It’s the beauty of the imagery
That takes us back in time

It’s the colors of the sunset
And the sound of the sea
It’s the way we capture moments
And make them poetry

It’s the power of the written word
And the magic that it weaves
It’s the way we connect with others
And find the strength to believe

Poetry is a journey
That takes us to the stars
It’s the way we share our stories
And show who we really are.

« Free Verse 02 »

The poetry lay before me, a blank canvas
A sea of infinite possibilities, yet daunting in its vastness
Each word a brushstroke, each line a stroke of genius
And yet, my mind is empty, my thoughts aimless

I search for inspiration, for a spark to ignite
The fire within me, to set my words alight
But the canvas remains bare, the page still blank
My creativity stifled, my imagination dank

I turn to the masters, the great poets of old
Their words, a tapestry of stories, their tales untold
I read their verses, their stanzas so pure
And yet, I cannot find my own voice, my own allure

I close my eyes, and in the silence, I find
A whisper, a murmur, a voice in my mind
It tells me to let go, to trust in my soul
To write from the heart, to let my words roll

And so, I pick up my pen, and let my mind soar
My fingers dance across the page, my spirit roars
The poetry flows, a river of emotion and thought
My story, my voice, my very soul wrought

And in that moment, I am no longer lost
For I have found my words, at any cost
The poetry before me, no longer daunting or bare
But a canvas of infinite beauty, a story to share.

« 3 Sonnets »

Sonnet 1:

Oh poetry, how sweet your words do flow,
A language made of metered melody,
A canvas where emotions ebb and glow,
A symphony of imagery set free.

With each new line, a story is unfurled,
A world revealed in every phrase and rhyme,
A tapestry that paints a wondrous world,
Of beauty, love, and passions so divine.

You speak of truth and heartache, joy and pain,
Of all that makes us human, flesh and bone,
You teach us how to live and love again,
And guide us through the darkness we have known.

Oh poetry, your power doth surpass,
All else on earth, a treasure unsurpassed.

Sonnet 2:

In the realm of poetry, we find truth,
The essence of our being laid to bare,
An art that captures beauty and our youth,
And shows us how to love, how to care.

Each word and phrase a treasure to behold,
A story waiting to be told in verse,
A language that can touch the young and old,
And make our souls with inspiration burst.

Through sonnets, ballads, odes, and haikus too,
We find the beauty that surrounds us all,
We see the world in a different hue,
And hear the whispers of the earth’s call.

Oh poetry, thou art the heart’s delight,
A shining star that guides us through the night.

Sonnet 3:

Oh, poetry, how sweet thy music flows,
A language that transcends the bounds of time,
A world of wonder where the heartache goes,
And love, and beauty, and truth combine.

Thou art the voice of all humanity,
A mirror that reflects the human soul,
A light that shines upon our destiny,
And makes us see the world in a new whole.

In every line, a message doth unfold,
A truth that touches every heart and mind,
A beauty that can never be retold,
A wonder that will last until the end of time.

Oh, poetry, thou art the heart’s delight,
The language of the soul, a purest light.

« Poetic Hymn »

Oh, poetry, how sweet thy words do sing,
A symphony of language, melody, and rhyme,
A holy hymn that lifts the soul on high,
And fills the heart with wonder, joy, and light divine.

Thy words doth weave a tapestry of tales,
A masterpiece of images and sounds,
A sacred art that touches hearts and minds,
And echoes through the ages, forever to resound.

In every line, a beauty doth unfold,
A truth that shines like stars upon the night,
A love that touches all who dare to hold,
And fills their hearts with pure and holy light.

Thou art the language of the universe,
The music of creation, pure and true,
A hymn of praise that rises to the skies,
And fills the earth with blessings ever new.

Oh, poetry, thou art the soul’s delight,
A holy hymn that lifts us to the height,
A shining light that guides us through the night,
And fills our hearts with wonder and with light.

« Epic Poem 01 »

In the realm of words and rhyme,
Where language flows like a winding stream,
There lies a power beyond time,
A force that’s more than it may seem.

Poetry, the language of the soul,
A medium to express what’s deep within,
A symphony of words that roll,
And speak of joy, sorrow, love, and sin.

From ancient times until today,
Poetry has been a source of light,
A guiding star to show the way,
And help us through the darkest night.

From the epic tales of Homer’s Greece,
To Dante’s journey through the realms of sin,
From Shakespeare’s plays to Blake’s release,
Poetry has been a force within.

Through sonnets, ballads, odes, and more,
Poetry has told of all life’s hues,
From the thrill of love to the pain of war,
It speaks to us of all life’s truths.

It’s the language of the heart’s desire,
And the whispers of the soul’s own voice,
It’s the spark that sets the heart on fire,
And makes us feel that we have a choice.

So let us celebrate this art divine,
And cherish every word, phrase, and line,
For poetry is a treasure, rare and fine,
That will forever shine and forever shine.

« Epic Poem 02 »

In the beginning, there was only chaos,
A formless void with no shape or purpose,
But then, a voice arose and spoke with poise,
Creating order out of the abyss.

That voice was Poetry, the ancient muse,
Whose words could move the mountains and the seas,
And as she spoke, the world was born anew,
A symphony of beauty and of peace.

From the depths of human consciousness,
Poetry draws her inspiration,
A mirror of the soul’s deepest recess,
A glimpse into our truest inclination.

Through her eyes, we see the world with wonder,
Her words revealing secrets of the heart,
Her voice a bridge that connects us under,
A language that transcends all time and art.

For poetry is not just words on a page,
But a living force that echoes through the ages,
A timeless dance that defies all age,
A light that shines in the darkest of mazes.

Her power lies in her infinite grace,
Her ability to stir the human soul,
Her capacity to take us to that place,
Where the truth of existence we behold.

So let us honor her with every line,
And pay homage to her timeless grace,
For poetry is the spark that makes us shine,
And the light that illuminates our race.

« Lyric Poem 01 »

Poetry, the language of the soul,
A rhythm that makes our hearts feel whole,
With every word and every line,
A beauty that’s rare and so divine.

The power of poetry is in its voice,
A melody that makes our hearts rejoice,
With each new verse, a story is told,
Of love, of life, of all that’s bold.

Through poetry, we see the world anew,
A tapestry of colors, bright and true,
It paints a picture of our deepest dreams,
And shows us what we can achieve, it seems.

In every stanza, a truth is found,
A message that echoes all around,
It speaks to us of hope and light,
And guides us through the darkest night.

So let us embrace this art so rare,
And cherish every word, phrase, and flair,
For poetry is a gift beyond compare,
A melody that weaves its magic everywhere.

« Lyric Poem 02 »

Poetry is not for the faint of heart,
It is a journey down a treacherous path,
A maze of words that tear us apart,
And expose the wounds we’ve long kept under wraps.

It demands from us our very best,
A sacrifice of ego and of pride,
A willingness to lay bare our chest,
And let the world see what we try to hide.

For poetry is a mirror of our soul,
A reflection of our deepest fears and dreams,
A canvas where our thoughts and feelings unfold,
A place where nothing is quite as it seems.

It is a language that defies all rules,
A symphony of sounds that dance and play,
A tool that helps us express the truth,
And navigate the rough waters of life’s way.

But it’s not just pretty words on a page,
Nor a mere escape from reality,
It is a force that can both heal and rage,
And transform us into what we’re meant to be.

For in its depths lies a power untold,
A force that can shake the very ground we stand,
A light that can shine through the darkest of cold,
And guide us to a place of peace and understanding.

So let us not take it for granted,
Or think it a mere trifle to toy with,
For poetry demands to be respected,
And revered for the gift that it is.

(This text is a work generated by ChatGPT and is not written in fact or in reality.)

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Translation | “Poems of the First Period” Songs of A Goat by Chuya Nakahara

Evening of a spring day

A galvanised sheet eats a biscuit
Evening of a spring day is quiet
Ashes is thrown down that fade
A spring day’s evening is silent

Ah! There is a scarecrow… There is not
A horse barks… It does not also bark
Like the moonlight’s ciscosity
What is he subjected to? Evening of a spring day

A cathedral blushes like fire in the fields
Wagons’ wheels are out of oil
When I say on the historical now
Laugh and laugh, the sky and mountains

A galvanized sheet, It goes astray
Evening of a spring day by now
Without saying, It will walk
To oneself, In their venous blood vessel

Moon

This night, the moon becomes sadder and sadder
Look at the suspicion of the adoptive father.
Time sends silver waves into the desert
An old man’s ear glows with fluorescence.

Ah, a canal dam is forgotten
A tank’s rumble engraves in my heart
A tobacco from a rusty box
The moon smokes languidly.

Around it seven celestial nymphs
Do the dance of the toe head again, But
To the moon’s heart is soaked with humiliation
They do not give the soul pity.
The stars scatter in the distant sky!
The moon waits for her two hands

Circus

There were what times
_ And there was the brown war

There were what times
_ And the wind was blowing hard

There were what times
_ A banquet of this night and here
_ _ A banquet of this night and here

The circus hut of a high beam
_ There was a swing
The swing that you can’t look at

With its head upside down and its hands hanging
_ On the dirty cotton roof
Boom boom buooohm

White lamps around
_ Exhaled a little and a cheap ribbon

All the spectators were sardines
_ Would purr with oyster shells
Boom boom buooohm

_ _ The outside was all dark, dark of dark
_ _ The night was coming on little by little
_ _ With the nostalgia of parachute
_ _ Boom boom buooohm

A Spring Night

Quietly in a window frame
_ A sprig of flower, A pink flower.

It was received the moonlight and was faint
_ The surface of the earth of a garden was flies.

Ah, there is nothing there nothing there
_ Be his walk and laugh the trees.

These noises trouble
_ There’s no hope, that’s why, no confession too.

A modest carpenter alone,
_ In his dream, the footsteps of merchant soldiers sway gently.

In the window, refreshing and blurred
_ A beige silk dress

Vast piano tones would sound
_ There are no ancestors and relatives disappeared.

Somewhere a dog was buried,
_ It bloomed like saffron colour
_ _ On a spring night.

Morning Song

On the ceiling, Colour red appeared
_ Between a gap in a window, Leaks in the light.
Rustic, the memory of military music
_ Played, There is nothing.

Fledglings, I was not listening
_ In the sky today, The colour is undulating,
It held at a distance, From the hearts of the people
_ Gave a warning, There is nothing.

By the scent of resin, The morning is voluptuous
_ I have lost, Various dreams,
Rows of the forest, It would be sounded by the wind

They would spread out, On the flat and vast sky,
_ Following the bank, Disappeared
Beautiful, Various dreams.

Last Moment

A autumn sky is dull colour
Eyes of a black horse are shine
_ Lilly flowers drop by drying up
_ Ah, my mind reflects them

There is no God and singpost
Under the window, a lady passes away
_ There is white sky unclear
_ There is white sky cold

The side of the window, she washed her hair
And the arms are beautiful
_ The morning sunshine is wet
_ Tone of water does not drip

The towns are astir
Voices of children are astir too
_ However, what will the sprit be?
_ Will become thin, then become sky?

A Summer Night of the City

The moon in the sky like a medal,
Buildings in the streets like a organ,
Men tired by pastimes, are going home.
-Ikamune collar is bend-

The rip open out
Its mind is sorrow.
The head become a clod of clay,
It is going to sing lah lah only.

Things about buisiness and ancestors
They don’t forget about them,
A summer midnight in the city–
Drown with a dead gun powder
Street lights prick my eyes
I’m going to sing lah lah only.

A Day of the Autumn

Like a morning, men wake up lately
By the sound of the wind beating a door and cars,
Drown in the sea in which a siren blow.

Speaking in stands on summer night,
The conscience of architects is already nothing.
All of the things are the ancient history and
The colour of eyes of the far horizon of granites.

This morning all things are obedient to the flag of the consulate,
I know only a specter and palace and angel’s drum.
Being no attention to a hoarse voice of a mollusk,
With a purple shadow crouching down in a park, a baby put sand into his mouth.

_ _ (The sky blue platform and
_ _ Girls are excited and bad boys ridicule
_ _ I hate I hate!)

With my hands in the pockets
Through streets, reached the bay
Concede with the spirit of today
And I’ll seek a piece of cloth.

Dusk

On the surface of unclear din lake,
Lotus flowers getting close are swaying.
Leaves of the lotus, are bold,
Make sound sneakily only.

The sound makes my mind sway,
My eyes follow the little bright horizon…
I only look dark black mountains
-Lost things never come back.

What is the sad thing, here is the saddest thing
I smell the ascent of grassroots,
The soil of a field watches me with a stone.
-At last I don’t want to cultivate!
I quietly stand at dusk,
And somehow I remind the image of my father and I start to walk step by step only.

Wish of the Midnight

It’s, of bubbly culcium
Going to dry
Too fast–the voice of a girl is stubborn
Runny nose of the wife of a bag shop.

Eventide of God
Is rubbed mother.
Around branches bugs fly about,
Dance of a obsolate pierrot.

I can’t see hunting dogs their body hair waving,
A hunter carries his bend back over there.
The grassfield before the forest
_ Become a slope!

Margarete walks up a black beach
Whitle her veil is cutting into pieces.
Her body must dive into,
The sea as the father of stern God.

She on the hill
A spirit draw a mysterious stripes.
Her memory is a sorrow blancket of a writing studio
She must pass away right away.

A Rainy Night of the Winter

_ Because of the black winter night
A hard rain was falling.
–The misery of white radish, was threw under the dask,
It was still better–
Light now because of the black winter night
A hard rain was falling.
I sought the voice of a girl had passed away
aé ao aé ao, éo, aéo éo!
_ I was strolling in the rain
Whenever it disappeared, that milky white ice packs…
Light now because of the black winter night
A hard rain was falling,
The band of kimono of my mother
Was flews by rain water, and was broken,
Many pities of humans
Were only the colour of orange finally…

Homecoming

The pillar and the garden are dry
Today the whether is fine
_ _ A spiderweb under the rim
_ _ Is swinging like feeling helpless

On the mountain dead trees took a breath
Ah, today the whether is fine
_ _ Shadows of grasses on the road
_ _ Had childlike sadness

It is my old home
Also wind blew modestly
_ _ Sweep carelessly
_ _ Told by an old man’s low voice

Ah, Why do you come here and what to do……
Blowing wind told to me

A Terrifyring Dusk

Rolling up, the time of the wind also was melancholic
Grasses were not fluttered, I was not see,
Far ancient hayato etc.

Of a silver paper colour bamboo spier,
Along a beach, it continued.
_ _ I was relying on a mind of small fish.

Blowing wind didn’t temper, on the ground
Lying dead bodies–
The sky, rose to the podium.

Houses, were clever retainers,
Dirty teeth, by nicotine, were hidden.

The Song of Near Summer

Branches of the roadside trees deeply breathed,
The higher and higher sky, watched them.
The fragments of glasses on a burned burned ground,
A traveller was walking found it suddenly.

The end of a mountain, clear and clear,
Purified the mouthes of golden fishes and a girl.
That airplane flied to come,
I rubbed on tears of insects.

Wind sent a ribbon to the sky,
I thought I was going to tell about
The waves of the sea was declined in the past.

About a cavalry company and monving of upper legs,
The red shoes of a junior official,
A cycle was going to the road along the mountain without a rider
I thought I was going to tell about.

Sad Morning

A sound of river come to a mountain,
Light of spring, like a stone.
Water of Kakehi, told a story
It also looks like a grey hair old woman.

I sang the mouth like a mica,
Laid back, and I sang,
My heart was dry and became hoarse,
Above the rocks, tightrope walking.

Unknown fire, went to the sky!

Rain of sound, got soarked!

……………….

I clapped by various ways.

The Song of a Summer Day

The blue sky doesn’t move,
There is no even a piece of cloud.
_ By the silence of summer midday
_ Also a light of tar become pure.

There is something in the summer sky,
The something make me irritated.
_ Burned bold sunflowers
_ Bloom at the station of a country.

Like a mother bring up a child,
A whistle of a steam locomotive blows.
_ When it go through near a moumtain.

The locomotive is going through near the mountain,
The whistle blows like a mother.
_ When the very hot time of summer midday.

Evening Glow

Hills, put hands on their chests
Retreat.
Sunset, is the colour of affection
Gold colour.

There are grasses on the field,
Sing a rustic song
Trees on the mountain,
Old and frugal mind reminisents me.

On such an occasion my heart lost
A boy tread on
Shellfish meat.

On such an occasion solid,
What a modest resignation
Go away folding arms.

The Autumn of a Harbour Bazaar

To a stone cliff, morning sunshine burns
The autumn sky is exceedingly beautiful.
The other side harbour I can see,
Is an horn of snail

On the town people sweep their pipes.
Dolphins stretches themselves
The sky is separated.
Holiday of public servants—they wear padded dressing gowns.

“If I were born again……”
Seaman says.
“GANG GANG, flutter It……”
A raccoon old hag sings.

_ An autumn day of harbour bazaar,
_ Is a quiet craziness.
_ On the day I lost,
_ The chair of my life.

Sigh: For Tetsutaro Kawakami

A sigh will go to a night pond,
And would blink in the miasma.
The blink will being flowed with resentfulness, and clap a sound of bang.
Trees would be like lines of necks of his friends of academicians.

When the dawn will come, the window would open.
A farmer carrying a cart, would go to the town.
Sigh would become more deep,
It will must be become the sound of a cart ringing a hill.

Pains sticking out to the field from the edge of a mountain, would look after me.
It will be easily but it won’t smile, like a uncle.
Like a god take fishes, at the bottom of an atmosphere.

If the sky will cloudy, eyes of locusts, will be found in the sand.
A distant town, looks like a limestone.
The eye balls of Peter the Great, are shining in a cloud.

A Spring Memory

Trampled lotus flowers
_ The time to back home at dusk
At a strolling graveyard of Spring
_ _ I flapped it on the sand ground

One more time I view by regret
_ With I’m crapping my hands meticulously
I come to run on the road
_ _ (The sky getting dark is this!)

When I get back my home
_ Messing around peacefully
Is it the hill of a autumn day or smoke of a rice cooker
_ _ There is a thing dazzle me

_ _ _ Of a rich palace of the ancient time
_ _ _ _ Quadrille _ Swinging scarf
_ _ _ _ Quadrille _ Swinging scarf
_ _ _ It will be finished someday _ Quadrille!

An Autumn Night Sky

Oh dear, it was flourishing,
Everyone said strange things
However unsympathetic gracefulness
Ladies would gather.
_ _ The lower world was on an autumn night
But what was the flourishing of this celestial world.

On the very smooth floor,
A gold lantern was lit.
Small head, long sleeve,
There was no chair.
_ _ Nevertheless the lower world was on an autumn night
What the brightness of the celestial world was it.

Mildly blight the celestial world
The festival of the shadow of the far past,
Silent and silent flourishing
A banquet of a night of the celestial world.
_ _ I saw it from the lower world,
It ended when I was absent.

Hangover

In the morning, dull sunlight is shinning
_ A wind blows.
Thousand angels
_ Play basketball.

I’m closing my eyes,
_ It’s a sad drunkenness.
A stove is already unneeded
_ Got rust whitely.

In the morning, dull sunlight is shinning
_ A wind blows.
Thousand angels
_ Play basketball.

List of Poetry Translations
(English, Français, Deutsch, Español, Italiano)

Poetry Books (US)

Poetry eBooks (US)

Jean-Michel Serres Apfel Café Music QR Codes Center English 2024.