Posts tagged ‘1922’

Sunday, 30 June 2019

Sea Sand by Louise Morey Bowman

Between the rhythmical, unfathomed sea,
And the rich, warm fecundity of land
There lies the sand,
The shifting sand of beach and dune,
Pure, strange, sea dust, so alien to green earth,
With its brown furrows that the ploughman makes
Ready for sowers – and for miracle.

Here on the sand,
I lie and watch the coarse sea-grass that creeps
Like an adventurer along the dunes,
With wild pea-vines that bravely cling and spread
Tenacious tendrils in this sterile soil …
A barren mockery of useful bloom.

I let a little handful of the sand
Drift slowly through my fingers, and I see
Its myriad tiny atoms – shells and stones
That long ago the great waves tossed and ground
To starry powder on the rocky ledge.

At sunset out on the wet, shining sand
Left by the ebbing tide, rare colours fall,
And linger there as if they loved the sand.
Who dreams at noontide that its level ways
Can hold such colour: rose and turquoise green,
Purple and gold, and even a crimson glow
Just for a moment, till the splendour dies …

Then the moon, silvery and alone, shines down
Upon the sand – pure, strange, sea-dust of Time.

From: Trehearne, Brian (ed.), Canadian Poetry 1920 to 1960, 2010, McClelland & Stewart: Toronto, p. 19.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=5YgppDd6JQcC)

Date: 1922

By: Louise Morey Bowman (1882-1944)

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Tuesday, 19 March 2019

Change by John Raymond Knister

I shall not wonder more, then,
But I shall know.

Leaves change, and birds, flowers,
And after years are still the same.

The sea’s breast heaves in sighs to the moon,
But they are moon and sea forever.

As in other times the trees stand tense and lonely,
And spread a hollow moan of other times.

You will be you yourself,
I’ll find you more, not else,
For vintage of the woeful years.

The sea breathes, or broods, or loudens,
Is bright or is mist and the end of the world;
And the sea is constant to change.

I shall not wonder more, then,
But I shall know.

From: https://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poems/change

Date: 1922

By: John Raymond Knister (1899-1932)

Monday, 11 February 2019

O Day As Hot As Day of Lovers’ Parting by Abu’l Qasim Suri

O day as hot as day of lovers’ parting
I spent upon a courser lean of flank!
On him in summer’s wave like heart of lover
Burning with separation’s pain I sank.

From: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Abu%27l-Qasim_Suri_untitled_poem

Date: c975 (original in Arabic); 1922 (translation in English)

By: Abu’l Qasim Suri (10th century)

Translated by: David Samuel Margoliouth (1858-1940)

Monday, 15 January 2018

Love Feathereth My Wings, and Bold Desire by Luigi Tansillo

Love feathereth my wings, and bold desire
Spreadeth them for such lofty flight that I,
For ever soaring, hour by hour aspire
To assail the very portals of the sky.
When I look down afraid through boundless space,
He speaketh, proudly promising so be
I fall and perish in such noble race.
Death’s leap will be my immortality.

Whence, as of one who ardently desired,
And, dying, gave the sea his lasting name
Where the sun melted his brave wings apart,
The world might say of me: “He too aspired
Unto the stars, and if he fell the blame
Is life’s, this failed, but not his daring heart!”

From: Lucchi, Lorna de’, An Anthology of Italian Poems, 13th-19th Century, 1922, Alfred A. Knopf: New York, p. 141.
(https://archive.org/details/anthologyofitali00luccrich)

Date: c1550 (original in Italian); 1922 (translation in English)

By: Luigi Tansillo (1510-1568)

Translated by: Lorna de’Lucchi (18??-19??)

Sunday, 3 December 2017

The Parrot by Sacheverell Reresby Sitwell

The parrot’s voice snaps out–
No good to contradict–
What he says he’ll say again:
Dry facts, like biscuits,–

His voice and vivid colours
Of his breast and wings
Are immemoriably old;
Old dowagers dressed in crimpèd satin
Boxed in their rooms
Like specimens beneath a glass
Inviolate–and never changing,
Their memory of emotions dead;
The ardour of their summers
Sprayed like camphor
On their silken parasols
Entissued in a cupboard.

Reflective, but with never a new thought
The parrot sways upon his ivory perch–
Then gravely turns a somersault
Through rings nailed in the roof–
Much as the sun performs his antics
As he climbs the aerial bridge
We only see
Through crystal prisms in a falling rain.

From: http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/sitwell2.html

Date:  1922

By: Sacheverell Reresby Sitwell (1897-1988)

Monday, 6 November 2017

A Mother Walks in Her Garden: 1917 by Blanche Allyn Bane Kuder

The clipped hedge and the hollyhocks,
The pungent borders of the box,
The stretch of meadow, green and wide,
Somewhere in France a boy has died.

That I may walk in my garden dim,
His clean young soul is gone from him,
That I may loiter in sun-drenched dreams,
Over his head the wild shell screams.

The apricots by the southern wall,
The purple heaps where the ripe plums fall,
The fringed grass by the sunk pool’s side,
Somewhere in France a boy has died.

That I may gather of fruit and bloom
His be the pain and rack and doom,
The ashen face and the tortured limb,
And mine own son may follow him!

From: Kuder, Blanche Bane, April Weather, 1922, The Cornhill Publishing Co: Boston & New York, p. 14.
(https://archive.org/details/aprilweather00kudeiala)

Date: 1922

By: Blanche Allyn Bane Kuder (1882-1959)

Friday, 20 October 2017

The Last Fire by Herbert Sherman Gorman

You saw the last fires burning on the hill
In that far autumn twilight when we took
The future by the hand through woods as still
As your heart is to-day, and crossed the brook.

The brook that gurgled through the quietude
Was just a slender stream that sauntered on.
How were we to know the thing we should—
That we had crossed our narrow Rubicon?

And after, in the shadow of the leaves,
When your great eyes grew with the growing night
They left the hollows where the twilight grieves
And mirrored back the bonfire on the height.

And what quick flame was in your eyes I knew;
And how the moment caught us on our way
Is Time’s own story written for a few
In dust of ashes in your eyes to-day.

From: Gorman, Herbert S., “The Last Fire” in The Outlook, 12 July 1922, p. 449.
(https://www.unz.org/Pub/Outlook-1922jul12-00449?View=PDF)

Date: 1922

By: Herbert Sherman Gorman (1893-1954)

Thursday, 1 June 2017

If You Could Come by Katharine Lee Bates

My love, my love, if you could come once more
From your high place,
I would not question you for heavenly lore,
But, silent, take the comfort of your face.

I would not ask you if those golden spheres
In love rejoice,
If only our stained star hath sin and tears,
But fill my famished hearing with your voice.

One touch of you were worth a thousand creeds.
My wound is numb
Through toil-pressed, but all night long it bleeds
In aching dreams, and still you cannot come.

From: http://www.public-domain-poetry.com/katharine-lee-bates/if-you-could-come-8841

Date: 1922

By: Katharine Lee Bates (1859-1929)

Monday, 10 October 2016

Madrigal III by Ludovico Ariosto

When a fierce wind goes raging by,
A great fire grows, it doth not die;
When a light zephyr floats about
It blows a little burning out!
Where bitterest is the battle strife
In every place, by every coast,
Within the heart great love hath life
And of the doughtiest deeds doth boast.
Madonna, poor thy love and slight
If by a breath ’tis put to flight!

From: http://elfinspell.com/AriostoPoem.html

Date: 1518 (original in Italian); 1922 (translation in English)

By: Ludovico Ariosto (1474-1533)

Translated by: Lorna de’Lucchi (?-?)

Wednesday, 31 August 2016

Sonnet by Pietro Bembo

Thou too then, Brother, in the tide of spring
Dying, hast left me solitary here,
Whence life, before so bright and glad a thing,
Is shadowed over with dismay and fear;
Justice it would have been and passionate
Desire of mine that hitherwards the dart
Firstly had sped, that as I was not late
In coming, so I might betimes depart.
Then I would not have known such deep despair,
Nor seen myself’s best portion borne away,
Nor been subjected to such misery;
But now, since I before thee might not fare,
God grant, Who loveth equity, I may
Be liberated soon and follow thee.

From: http://elfinspell.com/BemboPoem.html

Date: 1530 (original in Italian), 1922 (translation in English)

By: Pietro Bembo (1470-1547)

Translated by: Lorna de’Lucchi (?-?)