Escritas

Poems List

Literature is news that stays

Literature is news that stays news.
👁️ 220

Properly, we should read for

Properly, we should read for power. Man reading should be man intensely alive. The book should be a ball of light in one's hand.
👁️ 245

Women Before A Shop

Women Before A Shop

The gew-gaws of false amber and false turquoise attract them.
'Like to like nature': these agglutinous yellows!
👁️ 535

Villanelle: The Psychological Hour

Villanelle: The Psychological Hour

I had over prepared the event,
that much was ominous.
With middle-ageing care
I had laid out just the right books.
I had almost turned down the pages.


Beauty is so rare a thing.
So few drink of my fountain.


So much barren regret,
So many hours wasted!
And now I watch, from the window,
the rain, the wandering busses.


"Their little cosmos is shaken" the
air is alive with that fact.
In their parts of the city
they are played on by diverse forces.
How do I know?
Oh, I know well enough.
For them there is something afoot.
As for me;
I had over-prepared the event -


Beauty is so rare a thing.
So few drink of my fountain.


Two friends: a breath of the forest. . .
Friends? Are people less friends
because one has just, at last, found them?
Twice they promised to come.


"Between the night and the morning?"
Beauty would drink of my mind.
Youth would awhile forget
my youth is gone from me.


(Speak up! You have danced so stiffly?
Someone admired your works,
And said so frankly.


"Did you talk like a fool,
The first night?
The second evening?"


"But they promised again:
'To-morrow at tea-time'.")


Now the third day is here no
word from either;



No word from her nor him,
Only another man's note:
"Dear Pound, I am leaving England."
👁️ 350

Translations And Adaptations From Heine

Translations And Adaptations From Heine

FROM ‘DIE HEIMKEHR'


I
Is your hate, then, of such measure?
Do you, truly, so detest me?
Through all the world will I complain
Of how you have addressed me.


O ye lips that are ungrateful,
Hath it never once distressed you,
That you can say such awful things
Of any one who ever kissed you?


II
So thou hast forgotten fully
That I so long held thy heart wholly,
Thy little heart, so sweet and false and small
That there's no thing more sweet or false at all.


Love and lay thou hast forgotten fully,
And my heart worked at them unduly.
I know not if the love or if the lay were better stuff,
But I know now, they both were good enough.


III
Tell me where thy lovely love is,
Whom thou once did sing so sweetly,
When the fairy flames enshrouded
Thee, and held thy heart completely.


All the flames are dead and sped now
And my heart is cold and sere;
Behold this book, the urn of ashes,
Tis my true love's sepulchre.


IV
I dreamt that I was God Himself
Whom heavenly joy immerses,
And all the angels sat about
And praised my verses.


V
The mutilated choir boys
When I begin to sing
Complain about the awful noise
And call my voice too thick a thing.


When light their voices lift them up,



Bright notes against the ear,
Through trills and runs like crystal,
Ring delicate and clear.


They sing of Love that's grown desirous,
Of Love, and joy that is Love's inmost part,
And all the ladies swim through tears
Toward such a work of art.


VI
This delightful young man
Should not lack for honourers,
He propitiates me with oysters,
With Rhine wine and liqueurs.


How his coat and pants adorn him!
Yet his ties are more adorning,
In these he daily comes to ask me:
'Are you feeling well this morning?'


He speaks of my extended fame,
My wit, charm, definitions,
And is diligent to serve me,
Is detailed in his provisions.


In evening company he sets his face
In most spirituel positions,
And declaims before the ladies
My god-like compositions.


what comfort is it for me
To find him such, when the days bring
No comfort, at my time of life when
All good things go vanishing.


TRANSLATOR TO TRANSLATED
O Harry Heine, curses be,
I live too late to sup with thee!
Who can demolish at such polished ease
Philistia's pomp and Art's pomposities!


VII
SONG FROM 'DIE HARZREISE'
I am the Princess Ilza
In Ilsenstein I fare,
Come with me to that castle
And we'll be happy there.


Thy head will I cover over



With my waves' clarity
Till thou forget thy sorrow,
wounded sorrowfully.


Thou wilt in my white arms then
Nay, on my breast thou must
Forget and rest and dream there
For thine old legend-lust.


My lips and my heart are thine there
As they were his and mine.
His? Why the good King Harry's,
And he is dead lang syne.


Dead men stay alway dead men.
Life is the live man's part,
And I am fair and golden
With joy breathless at heart.


If my heart stay below there,
My crystal halls ring clear
To the dance of lords and ladies
In all their splendid gear.


The silken trains go rustling,
The spur-clinks sound between,
The dark dwarfs blow and bow there
Small horn and violin.


Yet shall my white arms hold thee,
That bound King Harry about.
Ah, I covered his ears with them
When the trumpet rang out.


VIII
NIGHT SONG
And have you thoroughly kissed my lips;
There was no particular haste,
And are you not ready when evening's come?
There's no particular haste.


You've got the whole night before you,
Heart's-all-beloved-my-own;
In an uninterrupted night one can
Get a good deal of kissing done.
👁️ 484

To Whistler, American

To Whistler, American

On the loan exhibit of his paintings at the Tate Gallery.


You also, our first great,
Had tried all ways;
Tested and pried and worked in many fashions,
And this much gives me heart to play the game.


Here is part that's slight, and part gone wrong,
And much of little moment, and some few
Perfect as Diirer!
'In the Studio' and these two portraits, if I had my choice!
And then these sketches in the mood of Greece?


You had your searches, your uncertainties,
And this is good to know for us, I mean,
Who bear the brunt of our America
And try to wrench her impulse into art.


You were not always sure, not always set
To hiding night or tuning ^symphonies';
Had not one style from birth, but tried and pried
And stretched and tampered with the media.


You and Abe Lincoln from that mass of dolts
Show us there's chance at least of winning through.
👁️ 388

To Dives

To Dives

Who am I to condemn you, O Dives,
I who am as much embittered
With poverty
As you are with useless riches ?
👁️ 506

These Fought in Any Case

These Fought in Any Case

These fought in any case,
and some believing
pro domo, in any case .....


Died some, pro patria,
walked eye-deep in hell
believing in old men's lies, then unbelieving
came home, home to a lie,
home to many deceits,
home to old lies and new infamy;
usury age-old and age-thick
and liars in public places.


Daring as never before, wastage as never before.
Young blood and high blood,
fair cheeks, and fine bodies;


fortitude as never before


frankness as never before,
disillusions as never told in the old days,
hysterias, trench confessions,
laughter out of dead bellies.
👁️ 434

The Tree

The Tree

I stood still and was a tree amid the wood,
Knowing the truth of things unseen before;
Of Daphne and the laurel bow
And that god-feasting couple old
that grew elm-oak amid the wold.
'Twas not until the gods had been
Kindly entreated, and been brought within
Unto the hearth of their heart's home
That they might do this wonder thing;
Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood
And many a new thing understood
That was rank folly to my head before.
👁️ 473

The Three Poets

The Three Poets

Candidia has taken a new lover
And three poets are gone into mourning.
The first has written a long elegy to 'Chloris',
To 'Chloris chaste and cold,' his 'only Chloris'.
The second has written a sonnet
upon the mutability of woman,
And the third writes an epigram to Candidia.
👁️ 337

Comments (0)

Log in ToPostComment

NoComments