Post a Poem
Author Message
Aemma
Offline
...



France

Posts: 2.249
Joined: Mar 2012
Reputation: 957
Post: #51
RE: Post a Poem
Ennui, Sylvia Plath

Tea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe,
designing futures where nothing will occur:
cross the gypsy’s palm and yawning she
will still predict no perils left to conquer.
Jeopardy is jejune now: naïve knight
finds ogres out-of-date and dragons unheard
of, while blasé princesses indict
tilts at terror as downright absurd.

The beast in Jamesian grove will never jump,
compelling hero’s dull career to crisis;
and when insouciant angels play God’s trump,
while bored arena crowds for once look eager,
hoping toward havoc, neither pleas nor prizes
shall coax from doom’s blank door lady or tiger.

~Be the Virtuous Man or Woman you are meant to be.~
2012 Oct 12 05:59
Like PostLIKE REPLY
The following 3 users Like Aemma's post:
Lohengrin (01-12-2012), Violet (12-10-2012), Zephyr (16-11-2012)
Phlegethon
Offline
Factionist of the forlorn



Deutschland

Posts: 5.282
Joined: Jun 2012
Reputation: 641
Post: #52
RE: Post a Poem
Strange Meeting

It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which Titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall;
With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
"Strange, friend," I said, "Here is no cause to mourn."
"None," said the other, "Save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something has been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now . . ."


- Wilfred Owen


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2012 Oct 14 00:19
Like PostLIKE REPLY
The following 3 users Like Phlegethon's post:
Aemma (19-04-2013), Violet (16-11-2012), Zephyr (16-11-2012)
Phlegethon
Offline
Factionist of the forlorn



Deutschland

Posts: 5.282
Joined: Jun 2012
Reputation: 641
Post: #53
RE: Post a Poem
Der Tod fürs Vaterland

Du kömmst, o Schlacht! schon wogen die Jünglinge
Hinab von ihren Hügeln, hinab ins Tal,
Wo keck herauf die Würger dringen,
Sicher der Kunst und des Arms, doch sichrer

Kömmt über sie die Seele der Jünglinge,
Denn die Gerechten schlagen, wie Zauberer,
Und ihre Vaterlandsgesänge
Lähmen die Kniee den Ehrelosen.

O nimmt mich, nimmt mich mit in die Reihen auf,
Damit ich einst nicht sterbe gemeinen Tods!
Umsonst zu sterben, lieb' ich nicht, doch
Lieb ich, zu fallen am Opferhügel

Fürs Vaterland, zu bluten des Herzens Blut
Fürs Vaterland - und bald ist's geschehn! Zu euch,
Ihr Teuern! komm ich, die mich leben
Lehrten und sterben, zu euch hinunter

Wie oft im Lichte dürstet' ich euch zu sehn,
Ihr Helden und ihr Dichter aus alter Zeit!
Nun grüßt ihr freundlich den geringen
Fremdling und brüderlich ists hier unten;

Und Siegesboten kommen herab: Die Schlacht
Ist unser! Lebe droben, o Vaterland,
Und zähle nicht die Toten! Dir ist,
Liebes! nicht Einer zu viel gefallen.


My own translation, not even trying to maintain the extremely complicated classical Greek Aeolian metric of the verses:


The Death for the Fatherland

You're coming, o battle! The saplings already surge
down from their hills, into the vale,
where jauntily the stranglers urge uphill
Confident in their art and their arm, but more confident

over them comes the soul of the saplings
because the righteous strike, like sorcerors
and their Fatherland songs
Paralyze the knees of those without honour

O take me, take me too into your ranks,
So that I one day won't have to die a common death!
To die in vain I do not love, but
I do love to die at the sacrificial mound

For the Fatherland, to bleed the heart's blood
For the Fatherland - and soon it is to come! Towards you,
You dear ones! I come, who taught me
to live and die, downwards to you

How often in light I thirsted to see you,
You heroes and poets from ancient times!
Now you friendly greet the humble
stranger and it's fraternal down here;

And messengers of victory descend: The battle
is ours! Live above, o Fatherland,
and do not count the dead. For you,
Beloved, not one too many has fallen.



Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2012 Oct 14 14:37
Like PostLIKE REPLY
The following 3 users Like Phlegethon's post:
Aemma (19-04-2013), Dussander (14-10-2012), Zephyr (16-11-2012)
Phlegethon
Offline
Factionist of the forlorn



Deutschland

Posts: 5.282
Joined: Jun 2012
Reputation: 641
Post: #54
RE: Post a Poem
Dream-Life

Listen, friend, and I will tell you
Why I sometimes seem so glad,
Then, without a reason changing,
Soon become so grave and sad.

Half my life I live a beggar,
Ragged, helpless, and alone;
But the other half a monarch,
With my courtiers round my throne.

Half my life is full of sorrow,
Half of joy, still fresh and new;
One of these lives is a fancy,
But the other one is true.

While I live and feast on gladness,
Still I feel the thought remain,
This must soon end, -- nearer, nearer
Comes the life of grief and pain.

While I live a wretched beggar,
One bright hope my lot can cheer;
Soon, soon, thou shalt have thy kingdom,
Brighter hours are drawing near.

So you see my life is twofold,
Half a pleasure, half a grief;
Thus all joy is somewhat tempered,
And all sorrow finds relief.

Which, you ask me, is the real life,
Which the Dream -- the joy, or woe?
Hush, friend! it is little matter,
And, indeed -- I never know.



- Adelaide Anne Procter


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2012 Nov 16 01:50
Like PostLIKE REPLY
The following 4 users Like Phlegethon's post:
Aemma (19-04-2013), Lohengrin (01-12-2012), Violet (16-11-2012), Zephyr (16-11-2012)
Phlegethon
Offline
Factionist of the forlorn



Deutschland

Posts: 5.282
Joined: Jun 2012
Reputation: 641
Post: #55
RE: Post a Poem
America

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate.
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.


Claude McKay


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2012 Nov 18 15:49
Like PostLIKE REPLY
The following 2 users Like Phlegethon's post:
Aemma (19-04-2013), Violet (30-11-2012)
Phlegethon
Offline
Factionist of the forlorn



Deutschland

Posts: 5.282
Joined: Jun 2012
Reputation: 641
Post: #56
RE: Post a Poem
Life And Death

"What is Life, Father?"
"A Battle, my child,
Where the strongest lance may fail,
Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled,
And the stoutest heart may quail.
Where the foes are gathered on every hand,
And rest not day or night,
And the feeble little ones must stand
In the thickest of the fight."

"What is Death, Father?"
"The rest, my child,
When the strife and the toil are o'er;
The Angel of God, who, calm and mild,
Says we need fight no more;
Who, driving away the demon band,
Bids the din of the battle cease;
Takes banner and spear from our failing hand,
And proclaims an eternal Peace."

"Let me die, Father! I tremble and fear
To yield in that terrible strife!"

"The crown must be won for Heaven, dear,
In the battle-field of life:
My child, though thy foes are strong and tried,
He loveth the weak and small;
The Angels of Heaven are on thy side,
And God is over all!"


Adelaide Ann Procter


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2012 Nov 18 20:02
Like PostLIKE REPLY
The following 3 users Like Phlegethon's post:
Aemma (19-04-2013), Violet (30-11-2012), Zephyr (19-11-2012)
Phlegethon
Offline
Factionist of the forlorn



Deutschland

Posts: 5.282
Joined: Jun 2012
Reputation: 641
Post: #57
RE: Post a Poem
Cleansing Fires

Let thy gold be cast in the furnace,
Thy red gold, precious and bright,
Do not fear the hungry fire,
With its caverns of burning light:
And thy gold shall return more precious,
Free from every spot and stain;
For gold must be tried by fire,
As a heart must be tried by pain!

In the cruel fire of Sorrow
Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail;
Let thy hand be firm and steady,
Do not let thy spirit quail:
But wait till the trial is over,
And take thy heart again;
For as gold is tried by fire,
So a heart must be tried by pain!

I shall know by the gleam and glitter
Of the golden chain you wear,
By your heart's calm strength in loving,
Of the fire they have had to bear.
Beat on, true heart, for ever;
Shine bright, strong golden chain;
And bless the cleansing fire,
And the furnace of living pain!



Adelaide Ann Procter


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2012 Nov 18 20:22
Like PostLIKE REPLY
The following 3 users Like Phlegethon's post:
Aemma (19-04-2013), Violet (30-11-2012), Zephyr (19-11-2012)
Phlegethon
Offline
Factionist of the forlorn



Deutschland

Posts: 5.282
Joined: Jun 2012
Reputation: 641
Post: #58
RE: Post a Poem
A Student

Over an ancient scroll I bent,
Steeping my soul in wise content,
Nor paused a moment, save to chide
A low voice whispering at my side.

I wove beneath the stars' pale shine
A dream, half human, half divine;
And shook off (not to break the charm)
A little hand laid on my arm.

I read; until my heart would glow
With the great deeds of long ago;
Nor heard, while with those mighty dead,
Pass to and fro a faltering tread.

On the old theme I pondered long—
The struggle between right and wrong;
I could not check such visions high,
To soothe a little quivering sigh.

I tried to solve the problem—Life;
Dreaming of that mysterious strife,
How could I leave such reasonings wise,
To answer two blue pleading eyes?

I strove how best to give, and when,
My blood to save my fellow-men—
How could I turn aside, to look
At snowdrops laid upon my book?

Now Time has fled—the world is strange,
Something there is of pain and change;
My books lie closed upon the shelf;
I miss the old heart in myself.

I miss the sunbeams in my room—
It was not always wrapped in gloom:
I miss my dreams—they fade so fast,
Or flit into some trivial past.

The great stream of the world goes by;
None care, or heed, or question, why
I, the lone student, cannot raise
My voice or hand as in old days.

No echo seems to wake again
My heart to anything but pain,
Save when a dream of twilight brings
The fluttering of an angel's wings!



- Adelaide Ann Procter


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2012 Nov 29 23:54
Like PostLIKE REPLY
The following 4 users Like Phlegethon's post:
Aemma (19-04-2013), Lohengrin (01-12-2012), Violet (30-11-2012), W. R. (03-12-2012)
Phlegethon
Offline
Factionist of the forlorn



Deutschland

Posts: 5.282
Joined: Jun 2012
Reputation: 641
Post: #59
RE: Post a Poem

Now

Rise! for the day is passing,
And you lie dreaming on;
The others have buckled their armour,
And forth to the fight are gone:
A place in the ranks awaits you,
Each man has some part to play;
The Past and the Future are nothing,
In the face of the stern To-day.

Rise from your dreams of the Future—
Of gaining some hard-fought field;
Of storming some airy fortress,
Or bidding some giant yield;
Your Future has deeds of glory,
Of honour (God grant it may!)
But your arm will never be stronger,
Or the need so great as To-day.

Rise! if the Past detains you,
Her sunshine and storms forget;
No chains so unworthy to hold you
As those of a vain regret:
Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever,
Cast her phantom arms away,
Nor look back, save to learn the lesson
Of a nobler strife To-day.

Rise! for the day is passing:
The sound that you scarcely hear
Is the enemy marching to battle—
Arise! for the foe is here!
Stay not to sharpen your weapons,
Or the hour will strike at last,
When, from dreams of a coming battle,
You may wake to find it past!



- Adelaide Ann Procter


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2012 Dec 02 21:07
Like PostLIKE REPLY
The following 1 user Likes Phlegethon's post:
Aemma (19-04-2013)
Guiri
Offline
Member



España

Posts: 130
Joined: Nov 2012
Reputation: 28
Post: #60
RE: Post a Poem
The Call of the Bush


Three roads there are that climb and wind
Amongst the hills, and leave behind
The patterned orchards, sloping down
To meet a little country town.

And of these roads I'll take the one
That tops the ridges, where the sun
Is tempered by the mountain-breeze
And dancing shadows of the trees.

The road is rough - but to my feet
Softer than is the city street;
And then the trees! - how beautiful
She-oak and gum - how fresh and cool!

No walls there are to hamper me;
Only in blue infinity
The distant mountain-ramparts rise
Beneath the broad arch of the skies.

And in that high place I shall hear
The wild birds' singing, soft and clear;
And horse-bells tinkling as of old
In amongst the wattles' gold

Far-off is the ocean tide;
But there across the country-side
Roll waves of bush that rise and fall
To break against the mountain-wall.

And every little farm is seen
An island in a sea of green;
And every little farm at night
Flings through the dark its beacon-light -

There in the silence of the hills,
I shall find peace that soothes and stills
The throbbing of the weary brain, -
For I am going home again.


~ Dora Wilcox
2012 Dec 03 10:12
Like PostLIKE REPLY
The following 1 user Likes Guiri's post:
Aemma (19-04-2013)


Forum Jump:


User(s) browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)