Posts tagged ‘1928’

Thursday, 5 May 2022

Caged by Rufa Douglas

Love’s labouring hands won from the wilderness
A patch of earth, where he might raise
A refuge that the years’ unkindliness
Would leave untouched, and all our days
Be spent in quiet graciousness.

Ah, sweet and warm and safe with Love I live.
But once there passed a singing boy
In cloak and shoes of scarlet. I would give
Up all my hours of prisoned joy
To walk the hills with that glad fugitive!

From: Douglas, Rufa, “Caged” in The Australasian, Saturday, 8 December 1928, p. 56.
(https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/141359237)

Date: 1928

By: Rufa Douglas (fl. 1927-1929)

Thursday, 23 September 2021

The Wolves by Rollie Lynn Riggs

Puzzled and challenging
At our fear,
They have wavered, waiting to spring
Ear by ear.

Circuitous their path
Through rivers of mud,
Avoiding our spilt wrath
Like blood.

Laughter may suffice
To avert the pack—
Fanged, snapping, twice
Turned, but never turned back.

From: Riggs, Lynn, ‘The Wolves’ in Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, Volume XXXII, Number V, August 1928, p. 262.
(https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=18071)

Date: 1928

By: Rollie Lynn Riggs (1899-1954)

Sunday, 1 August 2021

To Someone Remembered by Herman Spector

when it is in the space of a body
the silence of a mind
when it is night on the earth

i will call for you,
i will cry
i will know you lost.

whenever on these rare occasions
i will be filled with the night,
i will call for you.

in the space of a body
the silence of a mind.

i will know you lost.
i will know earth last

who drinks my tears as rain.

From: Spector, Herman; Johns, Bud; and Clancy, Judith S. (eds.), Bastard in the Ragged Suit: Writings of, with drawings by Herman Spector, 1977, Synergistic Press: San Francisco, p. 24.
(https://archive.org/details/bastardinraggeds00specrich/)

Date: 1928

By: Herman Spector (1905-1959)

Monday, 26 July 2021

Night Sounds by Paul van Ostaijen

There must be white farms beyond the edge
of the blue fields by the moon
at night you hear along distant roads
horse hooves
you hear everything then silent delusion
water is suddenly oozing from distant moon fountains
—you suddenly hear water
oozing in the night—
the horses drink hurriedly
and whinny
then they are heard trotting towards the stable again.

From: https://www.poetrynook.com/poem/night-sounds

Date: 1928 (original in Dutch); 1982 (translation in English)

By: Paul van Ostaijen (1896-1928)

Translated by: James Stratton Holmes (1924-1986)

Saturday, 19 June 2021

A Window by Jorge Guillén Álvarez

The sky dreams clouds for the real world
with matter enamored of light and space.
Today dunes scatter over a reef,
sands with marine waves that are snows.
So many chance crossings, by fanciful caprice,
there in plain view with an irresistible
smiling reality. I dwell on the edges
of solid transparent depths.
The air is enclosing, displaying, enhancing
the leaves on the branch, the branches on the trunk,
walls, eaves, corners, pillars
Calm proof of the evening,
requiring a window’s tranquil vision.
Details chime with their surroundings:
smooth pebbles, there a fence, then a wire.
Every minute finds its own aureole,
or is it fancy dreaming this glass?
I am like my window. I marvel at the air.
Beauty so limpid, now so in accord,
between the sun and the mind! There are polished words,
but I would like to know as the June air knows.
The poplar’s stirring makes a visible breeze,
in a circle of peace the evening encloses me,
and a soaring sky adapts to my horizon.

From: Guillén, Jorge and Franzen, Cola (transl.), Horses in the Air and Other Poems, 1999, City Lights Books: San Francisco, p. 5.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=W9Qj2e70ZMoC)

Date: 1928 (original in Spanish); 1999 (translation in English)

By: Jorge Guillén Álvarez (1893-1984)

Translated by: Cola Franzen (1923-2018)

Friday, 13 December 2019

Hymn for Saint Lucia by Arvid Rosén

Nightly, go heavy hearts
Round farm and steading
On earth, where sun departs,
shadows are spreading.
Then on our darkest night,
Comes with her shining light
Saint Lucia! Saint Lucia!
Then on our darkest night,
Comes with her shining light
Saint Lucia, Saint Lucia

Night-darkling, huge and still.
Hark! something’s stirring!
In all our silent rooms,
Wingbeats are whisp’ring!
Stands on our threshold there,
White clad, lights in her hair,
Saint Lucia! Saint Lucia!
Stands on our threshold there,
White clad, lights in her hair,
Saint Lucia! Saint Lucia!

“Darkness shall fly away
Through earthly portals!”
She brings such wonderful
words to us mortals!
“Daylight, again renewed,
will rise, all rosy-hued!”
Saint Lucia! Saint Lucia!
“Daylight, again renewed,
will rise, all rosy-hued!”
Saint Lucia! Saint Lucia!

From: http://donerickson.name/home/swedish/lucia.htm

Date: 1928 (original in Swedish); 19?? (translation in English)

By: Arvid Rosén (1895-1973)

Translated by: Colin MacCallum (19??- )

Monday, 18 February 2019

A Leave-Taking by Arthur Yvor Winters

I, who never kissed your head,
Lay these ashes in their bed;
That which I could do have done.
Now farewell, my newborn son.

From: Parkinson, Thomas, The Untranslatable Poetry of Yvor Winters in The Georgia Review, Vol. 34, No. 3 (Fall 1980), pp. 671-677.
(https://www.jstor.org/stable/41397985)

Date: c1928

By: Arthur Yvor Winters (1900-1968)

Sunday, 29 July 2018

They Went Forth to Battle, but They Always Fell by Shaemas O’Sheel

They went forth to battle, but they always fell;
Their eyes were fixed above the sullen shields;
Nobly they fought and bravely, but not well,
And sank heart-wounded by a subtle spell.
They knew not fear that to the foeman yields,
They were not weak, as one who vainly wields
A futile weapon; yet the sad scrolls tell
How on the hard-fought field they always fell.

It was a secret music that they heard,
A sad sweet plea for pity and for peace;
And that which pierced the heart was but a word,
Though the white breast was red-lipped where the sword
Pressed a fierce cruel kiss, to put surcease
On its hot thirst, but drank a hot increase.
Ah, they by some strange troubling doubt were stirred,
And died for hearing what no foeman heard.

They went forth to battle but they always fell;
Their might was not the might of lifted spears;
Over the battle-clamor came a spell
Of troubling music, and they fought not well.
Their wreaths are willows and their tribute, tears;
Their names are old sad stories in men’s ears;
Yet they will scatter the red hordes.

From: http://www.ricorso.net/rx/az-data/authors/o/OSheel_S/life.htm

Date: 1928

By: Shaemas O’Sheel (1886-1954)

Thursday, 5 October 2017

A Ballad of Insanity by Robert Ervin Howard

Adam was my ball-and-chain,
A tall short mule,
A walking red olay tennis court
In Eden’s judgment pool.

He tore the dubious petticoat
From Eve’s sequestered hips,
Oh, Adam was my elephant
Upon the sea in ships.

From: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/A_Ballad_of_Insanity

Date: 1928

By: Robert Ervin Howard (1906-1936)

Friday, 30 November 2012

The Women of the West by George Essex Evans

They left the vine-wreathed cottage and the mansion on the hill,
The houses in the busy streets where life is never still,
The pleasures of the city, and the friends they cherished best:
For love they faced the wilderness — the Women of the West.

The roar, and rush, and fever of the city died away,
And the old-time joys and faces — they were gone for many a day;
In their place the lurching coach-wheel, or the creaking bullock chains,
O’er the everlasting sameness of the never-ending plains.

In the slab-built, zinc-roofed homestead of some lately-taken run,
In the tent beside the bankment of a railway just begun,
In the huts on new selections, in the camps of man’s unrest,
On the frontiers of the Nation, live the Women of the West.

The red sun robs their beauty, and, in weariness and pain,
The slow years steal the nameless grace that never comes again;
And there are hours men cannot soothe, and words men cannot say —
The nearest woman’s face may be a hundred miles away.

The wide Bush holds the secrets of their longings and desires,
When the white stars in reverence light their holy altar-fires,
And silence, like the touch of God, sinks deep into the breast —
Perchance He hears and understands the Women of the West.

For them no trumpet sounds the call, no poet plies his arts —
They only hear the beating of their gallant, loving hearts.
But they have sung with silent lives the song all songs above —
The holiness of sacrifice, the dignity of love.

Well have we held our fathers’ creed. No call has passed us by.
We faced and fought the wilderness, we sent our sons to die.
And we have hearts to do and dare, and yet, o’er all the rest,
The hearts that made the Nation were the Women of the West.

From: https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/html/1807/4350/poem2689.html

Date: 1928 (published)

By: George Essex Evans (1863-1909)