Poets and I: Recent Episodes
Saloni
ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀyᴏɴᴇ!!! ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴩᴏᴇᴛʀy ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ᴍy ᴄʜᴀɴɴᴇʟ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ʀᴇᴄɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ᴩᴏᴇᴍ ᴇᴠᴇʀy ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴅᴀy.
ᴍy ᴩᴏᴅᴄᴀꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴅᴇᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴩᴏᴇᴛʀy ꜰʀᴇᴀᴋꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ!
ᴇɴᴊᴏy🙂
Humanity's bright image to impair. Scorn laid thee prostrate in the deepest dust; Wit wages ceaseless war on all that's fair,-- In angel and in God it puts no trust; The bosom's treasures it would make its prey,-- Besieges fancy,--dims e'en faith's pure ray.
Yet issuing like thyself from humble line, Like thee a gentle shepherdess is she-- Sweet poesy affords her rights divine, And to the stars eternal soars with thee. Around thy brow a glory she hath thrown; The heart 'twas formed thee,--ever thou'lt live on!
The world delights whate'er is bright to stain, And in the dust to lay the glorious low; Yet fear not! noble bosoms still remain, That for the lofty, for the radiant glow Let Momus serve to fill the booth with mirth; A nobler mind loves forms of nobler worth.
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then, But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den? 'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be. If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
And now good morrow to our waking souls, Which watch not one another out of fear; For love all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room an everywhere. Let sea discovers to new worlds have gone, Let maps to others, worlds on worlds have shown: Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one. My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest; Where can we find two better hemishperes, Without sharp North, without declining West? Whatever dies was not mixed equally; If our two loves be one, or thou and I Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die.
I hate you, rubber souls, you seem to stretch to fit any regime.
They'll give a yawning smile, stretched wide, and, like an octopus, they'll draw you tight.
A rubber man is an elusive rogue: a fist gets sucked into the bog.
The rubber editor is scared of script, the author is bogged down in it.
A rubber office I used to know where "yes" was stretched to courteous "no". I pity you, elastic crank, as if erased, your past is blank.
You have erased many a passion, many a thought, but you were happy and excited, were you not?...
Above the waist you are a cowardly man, an ace of spade, and an unlucky one...
(Parvati at her lattice) O Love! were you a basil-wreath to twine among my tresses, A jewelled clasp of shining gold to bind around my sleeve, O Love! were you the keora's soul that haunts my silken raiment, A bright, vermilion tassel in the girdles that I weave;
O Love! were you the scented fan that lies upon my pillow, A sandal lute, or silver lamp that burns before my shrine, Why should I fear the jealous dawn that spreads with cruel laughter, Sad veils of separation between your face and mine?
Haste, O wild-bee hours, to the gardens of the sun set! Fly, wild-parrot day, to the orchards of the west! Come, O tender night, with your sweet, consoling darkness, And bring me my Beloved to the shelter of my breast!
(Amar Singh in the saddle) O Love! were you the hooded hawk upon my hand that flutters, Its collar-band of gleaming bells atinkle as I ride, O Love! were you a turban-spray or floating heron-feather, The radiant, swift, unconquered sword that swingeth at my side;
O Love! were you a shield against the arrows of my foemen, An amulet of jade against the perils of the way, How should the drum-beats of the dawn divide me from your bosom, Or the union of the midnight be ended with the day?
Haste, O wild-deer hours, to the meadows of the sunset! Fly, wild stallion day, to the pastures of the west! Come, O tranquil night, with your soft, consenting darkness, And bear me to the fragrance of my Beloved's breast!
Hope was but a timid friend; She sat without the grated den, Watching how my fate would tend, Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear; Through the bars, one dreary day, I looked out to see her there, And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard, false watch keeping, Still, in strife, she whispered peace; She would sing while I was weeping; If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting; When my last joys strewed the ground, Even Sorrow saw, repenting, Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope, whose whisper would have given Balm to all my frenzied pain, Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, Went, and ne'er returned again!
The lateral vibrations caress me, They leap and caress me, They work pathetically in my favour, They seek my financial good.
She of the spear stands present. The gods of the underworld attend me, O Annubis, These are they of thy company. With a pathetic solicitude they attend me; Undulant, Their realm is the lateral courses.
Light! I am up to follow thee, Pallas. Up and out of their caresses. You were gone up as a rocket, Bending your passages from right to left and from left to right In the flat projection of a spiral. The gods of drugged sleep attend me, Wishing me well; I am up to follow thee, Pallas.
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
Freezing dusk is closing Like a slow trap of steel On trees and roads and hills and all That can no longer feel. But the carp is in its depth Like a planet in its heaven. And the badger in its bedding Like a loaf in the oven. And the butterfly in its mummy Like a viol in its case. And the owl in its feathers Like a doll in its lace.
Freezing dusk has tightened Like a nut screwed tight On the starry aeroplane Of the soaring night. But the trout is in its hole Like a chuckle in a sleeper. The hare strays down the highway Like a root going deeper. The snail is dry in the outhouse Like a seed in a sunflower. The owl is pale on the gatepost Like a clock on its tower.
Moonlight freezes the shaggy world Like a mammoth of ice - The past and the future Are the jaws of a steel vice. But the cod is in the tide-rip Like a key in a purse. The deer are on the bare-blown hill Like smiles on a nurse. The flies are behind the plaster Like the lost score of a jig. Sparrows are in the ivy-clump Like money in a pig.
Such a frost The flimsy moon Has lost her wits.
A star falls.
The sweating farmers Turn in their sleep Like oxen on spits.
The Warm and the Cold - Ted Hughes
MY trust in nothing now is placed,
Hurrah! So in the world true joy I taste,
Hurrah! Then he who would be a comrade of mine Must rattle his glass, and in chorus combine, Over these dregs of wine.
I placed my trust in gold and wealth,
Hurrah! But then I lost all joy and health,
Lack-a-day! Both here and there the money roll'd, And when I had it here, behold, From there had fled the gold!
I placed my trust in women next,
Hurrah! But there in truth was sorely vex'd,
Lack-a-day! The False another portion sought, The True with tediousness were fraught, The Best could not be bought.
My trust in travels then I placed,
Hurrah! And left my native land in haste.
Lack-a-day! But not a single thing seem'd good, The beds were bad, and strange the food, And I not understood.
I placed my trust in rank and fame,
Hurrah! Another put me straight to shame,
Lack-a-day! And as I had been prominent, All scowl'd upon me as I went, I found not one content.
I placed my trust in war and fight,
Hurrah! We gain'd full many a triumph bright,
Hurrah! Into the foeman's land we cross'd, We put our friends to equal cost, And there a leg I lost.
My trust is placed in nothing now,
Hurrah! At my command the world must bow,
Hurrah! And as we've ended feast and strain, The cup we'll to the bottom drain; No dregs must there remain!
1806.
VANITAS! VANITATUM VANITAS! - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Lift not the painted veil which those who live Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there, And it but mimic all we would believe With colours idly spread,--behind, lurk Fear And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear. I knew one who had lifted it--he sought, For his lost heart was tender, things to love, But found them not, alas! nor was there aught The world contains, the which he could approve. Through the unheeding many he did move, A splendour among shadows, a bright blot Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.
Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live - Percy Bysshe Shelley