Posts tagged ‘1914’

Saturday, 24 June 2017

I Am He Whom I Love by Mansur al-Hallaj

I am He whom I love,
and He whom I love is I:
We are two spirits
dwelling in one body.
If thou seest me,
thou seest Him,
And if thou seest Him,
thou seest us both

From: https://allpoetry.com/Mansur-Al-Hallaj

Date: 9th century (original in Arabic); 1914 (translation in English)

By: Mansur al-Hallaj (c858-922)

Translated by: Reynold Alleyne Nicholson (1868-1945)

Advertisements
Wednesday, 6 July 2016

Opportunity by George Lucian Crary

They call me opportunity;
But once in a life time we meet,
As I hasten through your community
I walk on the toes of my feet,

And those wings on my feet that you see,
Are to show you how quick I pass by,
Unless by the hair you now seize me,
When past you I quickly will fly.

Though again for the chance you may yearn,
When once you have let me pass by,
You will find that I never return
But onward, straight onward I fly.

The wise Greeks a statue did raise,
And on it this lesson engraved,
That the traveler upon it might gaze
And from disappointment be saved.

Then let us this lesson receive,
And then we shall never regret,
Or will never have reason to grieve,
That we did not seize her when we met.

From: From: Crary, Oringe Smith and Crary, George Lucian, Poetical Works of Oringe Smith Crary and George Lucian Crary, 1914, Self Published: New York, p. 96.
(https://archive.org/stream/poeticalworksofo00crar#page/96/mode/2up)

Date: 1914

By: George Lucian Crary (1837-1923)

Monday, 27 June 2016

Beneath the Sea by Maud Keary

Were I a fish beneath the sea,
Shell‐paved and pearl‐brocaded,
Would you come down and live with me,
In groves by coral shaded?

No washing would we have to do;
Our cushions should be sponges—
And many a great ship’s envious crew
Should watch our merry plunges!

From: Keary, Maud, Enchanted Tulips and Other Verses for Children, 1914, Macmillan and Co: London, p. 6.
(http://purl.dlib.indiana.edu/iudl/vwwp/VAB7182)

Date: 1914

By: Maud Keary (18??-19??)

Wednesday, 17 February 2016

Cupid’s Lament by Gil Vicente

O whom shall I my sorrows tell?
Who will listen to my woe?
Why in such a time farewell,
Comfort, wouldst thou bid, and go,
Leaving Love alone to dwell?

Hope, that fair appeared to me,
What away from me could wean thee?
Were I now thy face to see
Still wouldst thou a stranger be,
Since so long I have not seen thee!

They who sightless Love portray
No wise fancy so devise,
For Love has as many eyes
As the deaths for which I pray ;
And not one to me replies.

From: http://www.gilvicente.eu/dbp/english/lyrics.html?fs=poems/rubena_2.html

Date: 1536 (original in Portugese); 1914 (translation in English)

By: Gil Vicente (c1465-c1536)

Translated by: Aubrey Fitz Gerald Bell (1882-1950)

Alternative Title: Love’s Lament

Tuesday, 10 November 2015

Fallen by Alice Corbin Henderson

He was wounded and he fell in the midst of hoarse shouting.
The tide passed, and the waves came and whispered about his ankles.
Far off he heard a cock crow — children laughing,
Rising at dawn to greet the storm of petals
Shaken from apple-boughs; he heard them cry,
And turned again to find the breast of her,
And sank confusèd with a little sigh…
Thereafter water running, and a voice
That seemed to stir and flutter through the trenches
And set dead lips to talking…

Wreckage was mingled with the storm of petals…

He felt her near him, and the weight dropped off —
Suddenly…

From: https://teoppoet.wordpress.com/2013/05/09/world-war-i-poetry-by-women-alice-corbin/

Date: 1914

By: Alice Corbin Henderson (1881-1949)

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

To Nimue by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

I had clean forgotten all, her face who had caused my trouble.
Gone was she as a cloud, as a bird which passed in the wind, as a glittering stream-borne bubble,
As a shadow set by a ship on the sea, where the sail looks down on its double.

I had laid her face to the wall, on the shelf where my fancies sleep.
I had laid my pain in its grave, in its rose-leaf passionless grave, with the things I had dared not keep.
I had left it there. I had dried my tears. I had said, “Ah, why should I weep?”

I will not be fooled by her, by the spell of her fair child’s face.
What is its meaning to me, who have seen, who have known, who have loved what miracle forms of grace?
What are its innocent wiles, its smiles, its idle sweet girlishness?

I will not love without love. I despise the ways of a fool.
Let me prevail as of old, as lover, as lord, as king, or have done with Love’s tyrant rule.
I was born to command, not serve, not obey. No boy am I in Love’s school.

I have fled to the fields, the plains, the desert places of rest,
To the forest’s infinite smile, where the cushat calls from the trees and the yaffle has lined her nest,
To the purple hills with the spray of the sea, when the wind blows loud from the west.

I have done with her love and her, the wine-draughts of human pleasure.
The voice of nature is best, the cradle song of the trees which is hymned to Time’s stateliest measure,
As once a boy in the woods I heard it and held it an exquisite treasure.

I had clean forgotten all. I had sung to the indolent hills
Songs of joy without grief, since grief is of human things the shadow of human ills.
I sang aloud in my pride of song to the chime of the answering rills.

And, behold, the whole world heard, the dull mad man-ridden Earth.
And they cried, “A prophet hath risen, a sage with the heart of a child, a bard of no human birth,
A soul that hath known nor pain, nor sin, a singer of infinite mirth.”

And she too heard it and came. And she knew it was I grown wise.
And she stood from the rest apart, and I watched her with pitying scorn, and then with a sad surprise,
And last with a new sweet passionate joy, for I saw there were tears in her eyes.

And she came and sat at my feet, as in days ere our grief began.
And I saw her a woman grown. And I was a prophet no more, but a desolate voiceless man.
And I clasped her fast in my arms in joy and kissed her tears as they ran.

And I shall not be fooled by her, though her face is fair as a rose.
And I shall not live without love, though the world should forget my songs and I should forget its woes,
And the purple hills should forget the sea and the spray when the west wind blows.

From: http://d.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/text/blunt-to-nimue

Date: 1914

By: Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (1840-1922)

Sunday, 16 February 2014

The Leaden-Eyed by Nicholas Vachel Lindsay

Let not young souls be smothered out before
They do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride.
It is the world’s one crime its babes grow dull,
Its poor are ox-like, limp and leaden-eyed.
Not that they starve, but starve so dreamlessly,
Not that they sow, but that they seldom reap,
Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve,
Not that they die, but that they die like sheep.

From: http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/Lindsay/lindsay.html

Date: 1914

By: Nicholas Vachel Lindsay (1879-1931)

Wednesday, 10 July 2013

Mourning by Georg Trakl

The dark eagles, sleep and death,
Rustle all night around my head:
The golden statue of man
Is swallowed by the icy comber
Of eternity. On the frightening reef
The purple remains go to pieces,
And the dark voice mourns
Over the sea.
Sister in my wild despair
Look, a precarious skiff is sinking
Under the stars,
The face of night whose voice is fading.

From: Bly, Robert and Wright, James, Twenty Poems of Georg Trakl, 1961, Sixties Press;Madison, p. 23.
(http://www.dreamsongs.com/Files/Trakl.pdf)

Date: 1914 (in German)

By: Georg Trakl (1887-1914)

Translated by: James Wright (1927-1980) and Robert Bly (1926- )

Monday, 1 July 2013

Remembrance: Greek Folk Song by Margaret Widdemer

Not unto the forest — not unto the forest, O my lover!
Why do you lead me to the forest?
Joy is where the temples are, lines of dancers swinging far.
Drums and lyres and viols in the town —
(It is dark in the forest)
And the flapping leaves will blind me and the clinging vines will bind me
And the thorny rose-boughs tear my saffron gown —
And I fear the forest.

Not unto the forest — not unto the forest, O my lover!
There was one once who led me to the forest:
Hand in hand we wandered mute, where was neither lyre nor flute,
Little stars were bright against the dusk
(There was wind in the forest)
And the thickets of wild rose breathed across our lips locked close
Dizzy perfumings of spikenard and of musk . . .
I am tired of the forest!

Not unto the forest — not unto the forest, O my lover!
Take me from the silence of the forest!
I will love you by the light and the beat of drums at night
And the echoing of laughter in my ears,
But here in the forest
I am still, remembering a forgotten, useless thing,
And my eyelids are locked down for fear of tears —
There is memory in the forest.

From: http://digicoll.library.wisc.edu/cgi-bin/DLDecArts/DLDecArts-idx?type=div&did=DLDecArts.hdv27n01.i0007&isize=M

Date: 1914

By: Margaret Widdemer (1884-1978)

Thursday, 27 June 2013

Who Loves the Rain by Frances Wells Shaw

Who loves the rain
And loves his home,
And looks on life with quiet eyes,
Him will I follow through the storm;
And at his hearth-fire keep me warm;
Nor hell nor heaven shall that soul surprise,
Who loves the rain,
And loves his home,
And looks on life with quiet eyes.

From: http://eachlittleworld.typepad.com/each_little_world/2009/09/who-loves-the-rain.html

Date: 1914

By: Frances Wells Shaw (1872-1937)