National Poetry Month

[Dindrane]

Quia Multum Amavi
by Oscar Wilde

DEAR Heart I think the young impassioned priest
When first he takes from out the hidden shrine
His God imprisoned in the Eucharist,
And eats the bread, and drinks the dreadful wine,

Feels not such awful wonder as I felt
When first my smitten eyes beat full on thee,
And all night long before thy feet I knelt
Till thou wert wearied of Idolatry.

Ah! had'st thou liked me less and loved me more,
Through all those summer days of joy and rain, 10
I had not now been sorrow's heritor,
Or stood a lackey in the House of Pain.

Yet, though remorse, youth's white-faced seneschal
Tread on my heels with all his retinue,
I am most glad I loved thee--think of all
The suns that go to make one speedwell blue!

[Dindrane]

An Ubhal as Airde/The Highest Apple
--lyrics by Runrig

Comhla rium
A tha thu an drasd
Mo shuilean duinte, mo chuimhne dan
Nam sheasamh a' coimhead
Gach cnoc is gach traigh
Is an siol a dh'fhag thu ann a 'fas

Tha an garradh lan
Le craobhan treun
Le meas a' fas dhuinn ann ri bhuain
Ubhlan abaich
Milis geur
Ach tha aon ubhal nach ruig sinn idir air

Seididh gaoth is dearrsaidh grian
Tro mheas nan craobhan lin gu lin
Ach thig an la is thig an t-am
Airson an ubhal as airde
Air a' chraobh a bhuain

Is co 'nar measg
A mhaireas la
Seachad air am is air oidhche fhein
A liuthad uair
A shreap mi suas
Airson an ubhal as airde chur gu beul

Seididh gaoth is dearrsaidh grian
Tro mheas nan craobhan lin gu lin
Ach thig an la is thig an t-am
Airson an ubhal as airde
Air a' chraobh a bhuain

--oOo--

At present
All you were is with me
My eyes closed, my memory confident
Standing here watching
Each hill and shoreline
With the seed you left
Still growing

The garden is well stocked
With mighty trees
With fruit growing for the whole world
Ripe, sweet
And bitter apples
And the one apple
That is beyond reach

The winds will blow
And the sun will shine
From generation to generation
Through the trees of the garden
But the day and the hour
Will surely come
To take the highest apple
From the knowledge tree

Who amongst us
Can exist a single day
Beyond our own time and our own limits
Countless and futile
Are times I've climbed
To reach and taste
The forbidden fruit

The winds will blow
And the sun will shine
From generation to generation
Through the trees of the garden
But the day and the hour
Will surely come
To take the highest apple
From the knowledge tree

[annodoom1]

In the spirit of LOLiot's Wasteland, I give you Savage Chickens poetry:

[Dindrane]

Awesome. That second one, especially, is genius and will be pinned to my cube wall forthwith.

[Dindrane]

Prayer Before Birth
--Louis MacNeice


I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the club-footed ghoul come near me.

I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me, with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me, on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

I am not yet born; provide me
With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light in the back of my mind to guide me.

I am not yet born; forgive me
For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me, my treason engendered by traitors beyond me, my life when they murder by means of my hands, my death when they live me.

I am not yet born; rehearse me
In the parts I must play and the cues I must take when old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white waves call me to folly and the desert calls me to doom and the beggar refuses my gift and my children curse me.

I am not yet born; O hear me,
Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God come near me.

I am not yet born; O fill me
With strength against those who would freeze my humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton, would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with one face, a thing, and against all those who would dissipate my entirety, would blow me like thistledown hither and thither or hither and thither like water held in the hands would spill me.

Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.
Otherwise kill me.

[Dindrane]

Darkness
--Byron


I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went -and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light;
And they did live by watchfires -and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings -the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gathered round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those which dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch;
A fearful hope was all the world contained;
Forests were set on fire -but hour by hour
They fell and faded -and the crackling trunks
Extinguished with a crash -and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them: some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnashed their teeth and howled; the wild birds shrieked,
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawled
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless -they were slain for food;
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again; -a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought -and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails -men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devoured,
Even dogs assailed their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famished men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the drooping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answered not with a caress -he died.
The crowd was famished by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heaped a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage: they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects -saw, and shrieked, and died -
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless -
A lump of death -a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropped
They slept on the abyss without a surge -
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perished! Darkness had no need
Of aid from them -She was the Universe!

[Dindrane]

Phêdre
by Oscar Wilde

How vain and dull this common world must seem
To such a One as thou, who should'st have talked
At Florence with Mirandola, or walked
Through the cool olives of the Academe:
Thou should'st have gathered reeds from a green stream
For Goat-foot Pan's shrill piping, and have played
With the white girls in that Phæacian glade
Where grave Odysseus wakened from his dream.

Ah! surely once some urn of Attic clay
Held thy wan dust, and thou hast come again
Back to this common world so dull and vain,
For thou wert weary of the sunless day,
The heavy fields of scentless asphodel,
The loveless lips with which men kiss in Hell.

[Dindrane]

"Save Me From Madness, God..."
--Aleksandr Pushkin

Save me from madness, God, I beg.
No, I prefer the beggar's bag,
Prefer to starve and toil.
And not as if I praise my head,
And not as if I were not glad
To part with mind at all.

If I were left alone and free,
Oh, how fast I then would flee
To wildness, thick and dim!
I would sing songs in flaming fits
And lose myself in fumes and bits
Of mixed and lovely dreams.

And I would listen to the sea,
And, full of happiness, would see
The heavens' empty flesh;
And then I would be strong and free
Like whirl that could dig up a lea
And leave a forest smashed.

Alas! The man whose mind is lost,
Would be as awful as a curse,
And very soon be locked,
They'd put the fool in chains in rage,
And, as a wild beast, through the cage
They would you tease and mock.

And in the night I would attend
Not to the nightingale's clarinet,
And hum of woods and plains -
But to the cries of my inmates,
And oaths of the jailers-rats,
And squeak and ring of chains.

[~Phi]

Nantucket Girl's Song
Written February 1855 by Martha Ford (?) at Russell, Bay of Islands, New Zealand.

I have made up my mind now to be a Sailor's wife,
To have a purse full of money and a very easy life,
For a clever sailor husband is so seldom at his home,
That his wife can spend the dollars with a will that's all her own,
Then I'll haste to wed a sailor, and send him off to sea,
For a life of independence is the pleasant life for me,
But every now and then I shall like to see his face,
For it always seemes to me to beam with manly grace,
With his brow so nobly open, and his dark and kindly eye,
Oh my heart beats fondly towards him whenever he is nigh,
But when he says Goodbye my love, I'm off across the sea
First I cry for his departure, then laugh because I'm free,
Yet I'll welcome him most gladly, whenever he returnes
And share with him so cheerfully all the money that he earns
For he's a loving Husband, though he leads a roving life
And well I know how good it is to be a Sailor's Wife.

http://www.nha.org/library/faq/nantucketgirlssong.html

[Dindrane]

Excellent, Phi, thank you!

Oddly honest and nice to see something with that much regional flavor. And welcome to the boards!