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Dodona/Dodone/Lord Byron/Oracle of Dodona

Oct

(Asphodels)

Lucky are the no longer living: for they cannot remember

life’s bitterness. When the sun

sets and dusk comes

do not cry for them, no matter how big your sorrow is!

For, at that time, souls become thirsty and walk to

the crystal Spring of Lethe. (*)

But dark mud the water turns into

if a tear is shed, from loved ones.

And if they drink muddy water, they remember again,

walking through a meadow of asphodels,(**)

old sorrows, that sleep inside them.

So if you must cry at dusk,

let your eyes lament the living,

for they want to forget, but there is no way.

(*) according to ancient Greek beliefs, the dead drink the water of Spring of Lethe (forgetfulness), and forget everything on earth.

(**)meadow of asphodels : the image refers to an area (full of flowers called asphodels) of ”Hades” (ancient Greek god of the dead) where the souls of heroes roamed permanently or rested.

Tes Lethes; Poem by Lorentzos Mavilis (1860 – 1912). He was born in 1860 in Ithaca, where his Spanish-born father Pavlos Mavilis served as president of the Ionian State courts.

Καλότυχοι οι νεκροί, που λησμονάνε
την πίκρια της ζωής. Όντας βυθήσει
ο ήλιος και το σούρουπο ακλουθήσει,
μήν τους κλαϊς, ο καημός σου όσος και να ‘ναι!

Τέτοιαν ώρα οι ψυχές διψούν και πάνε
στης Λησμονιάς την κρουσταλλένια βρύση
μα βούρκος το νεράκι θα μαυρίσει,
ά στάξει γι’ αυτές δάκρυ, όθε αγαπάνε.

Κι άν πιούν θολό νερό, ξαναθυμούνται,
διαβαίνοντας λιβάδι’ απ’ ασφοδείλι,
πόνους παλιούς, που μέσα τους κοιμούνται.

Α δέ μπορείς παρά να κλαϊς το δείλι,
τους ζωντανούς τα μάτια σου άς θρηνήσουν·
θέλουν, μα δέ βολεί, να λησμονήσουν.

2 years ago Short URL Comments

2 years ago Short URL Comments

Dec

Sailor of Aphrodite

χειμέριον μὲν πνεῦμα: φέρει δ᾽ ἐπὶ σοί με, Μυΐσκε,
ἁρπαστὸν κώμοις ὁ γλυκύδακρυς Ἔρως.
χειμαίνει δὲ βαρὺς πνεύσας Πόθος, ἀλλὰ μ᾽ ἐς ὅρμον
δέξαι, τὸν ναύτην Κύπριδος ἐν πελάγει.

(Μελέαγρος ὁ Γαδαρεύς; 1st century BC)

wintery is this air: carrying me over to you, Μυΐσκε (Myiskus),

captured by the sweet teared Eros (God of Love).

by a storm this heavily blowing Desire is driven, but accept

in your cove this sailor of Κypris ( Aphrodite) who is in the sea.

( by Ancient Greek poet Meleager of Gadara ; 1st century BC)

love

Oct

You should..

They say

anything they want

Let them talk

I am untroubled

You should Love me

It is in your best interest

**********

ΛΕΓΟΥΣΙΝ

Α ΘΕΛΟΥΣΙΝ

ΛΕΓΕΤΩΣΑΝ

ΟΥ ΜΕΛΙ ΜΟΙ

ΣΥ ΦΙΛΙ ΜΕ

ΣΥΝΦΕΡΙ ΣΟΙ

(Ancient Greek poem , dated before 2nd-3rd century)

Ancient Greek Poetry/eros

Apr

Without noticing…

Without consideration, without regret, without embarrassment,
big and tall walls they have built around me

And right now I am sitting here being desperate
I can not think of anything else: this fate devours my thoughts

because many things I had to do outside
Ah when they were building the walls how could I not paid attention

But I never heard the hammering of builders nor a sound
Without even noticing they ‘ve locked me out from the world

Constantine P. Cavafy (1897)

Τείχη

Χωρίς περίσκεψιν, χωρίς λύπην, χωρίς αιδώ
μεγάλα κ’ υψηλά τριγύρω μου έκτισαν τείχη.

Και κάθομαι και απελπίζομαι τώρα εδώ.
Άλλο δεν σκέπτομαι: τον νουν μου τρώγει αυτή η τύχη·

διότι πράγματα πολλά έξω να κάμω είχον.
Α όταν έκτιζαν τα τείχη πώς να μην προσέξω.

Αλλά δεν άκουσα ποτέ κρότον κτιστών ή ήχον.
Ανεπαισθήτως μ’ έκλεισαν από τον κόσμον έξω.

Κωνσταντίνος Π. Καβάφης (1897)

https://ruverses.com/alexander-pushkin/i-thought-my-heart-had-lost-the-power/

Constantine Kavafis

Apr

“Beauty’s sovran might…”

“I thought my heart had lost the power
Of suffering love’s gentle pain:
I said, “The past, the fleeting hour
Comes not again, comes not again.

«They’ve gone, the raptures and the longing.
The flattering dreams that shone so bright. . . .»
But as I spoke, they came back thronging.
Called up by Beauty’s sovran might”

by A. Pushkin, I thought my heart had lost the power…

https://ruverses.com/alexander-pushkin/ode-to-liberty/

Alexander Pushkin

Apr

“The Eternal Law (from Ode to Liberty)”

“..To smite transgression from on high
With one blow, righteously severe
In fingers uncorrupted by
Ravenous avarice or fear.
O Monarchs, ye are crowned by will
And law of Man, not Nature’s hand.
Though ye above the people stand,
Eternal Law stands higher still…”

By A. Pushkin. Ode to liberty

Alexander Pushkin/Ode to Liberty

Nov

Warning

My soul warns me to abandon Heliodora’s desire,

for it knows the tears and jealousies of the past.

It orders me to do so, but I have no strength to give it up,

for she is shameless and warns,

and while she is warning she kisses me.

ψυχή μοι προλέγει φεύγειν πόθον Ἡλιοδώρας,
δάκρυα καὶ ζήλους τοὺς πρὶν ἐπισταμένη.
φησὶ μὲν ἀλλὰ φυγεῖν οὔ μοι σθένος: ἡ γὰρ ἀναιδὴς
αὐτὴ καὶ προλέγει, καὶ προλέγουσα φιλεῖ.

http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Anth.+Gr.+5.24&fromdoc=Perseus%3Atext%3A2008.01.0472

5 years ago Short URL Comments

https://www.lib.virginia.edu/rmds/collections/gordon/literary/labe/index.html

Mar

Je vis, Je meurs

Sonnet VIII

Louise Labé

(interprétation de l’Ode à l’Aimée de Sappho)

Je vis, je meurs ; je me brule et me noye.
J’ay chaut estreme en endurant froidure
La vie m’est et trop molle et trop dure.
J’ai grands ennuis entremeslez de joyes

Tout à un coup je ris et je larmoye,
Et en plaisir maint grief tourment j’endure
Mon bien s’en va, et à jamais il dure
Tout en un coup je seiche et je verdoye.

Ainsi amour inconstamment me meine
Et quand je pense avoir plus de douleur,
Sans y penser je me treuve hors de peine.

Puis quand je croy en ma joye estre certeine,
Et estre au haut de mon désiré heur,
Il me remet en mon premier malheur.

http://thehuuvandan.org/lit.html#labe

Jan

“Forgotten”

What good is my name to you?
It will die, like the melancholy sound
Of a wave breaking on a distant shore,
Like night’s noises in the dense forest.
On the album page
It will leave a dead trace, like
The pattern of an epitaph on a tombstone
In an unknown language.
What good is it? Long forgotten
In new, stormy emotions,
It will not evoke in your soul
Peaceful, tender memories.
But… on a day of grief, in the silence
Pronounce it, pining;
Say: someone remembers me,
There is in the world a heart, in which I live…”

by A. S. Pushkin

Dec

The Dance of Love

“Go ahead young men, get in the dance and sing,

sing how love begins in the eyes,

sprouts on the lips,

and grows roots in the heart.”

(from an old Greek song).

eros/Greek Song/love

Nov

Resemblance

Oh je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes
Des jours heureux où nous étions amis
En ce temps là, la vie était plus belle
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu’aujourd’hui
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Tu vois je n’ai pas oublié
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
Et le vent du nord les emportet
Dans la nuit froide de l’oubli
Tu vois, je n’ai pas oublié
La chanson que tu me chantais

C’est une chanson, qui nous ressemble
Toi tu m’aimais, et je t’aimais
Et nous vivions tout les deux ensemble
Toi qui m’aimais, moi qui t’aimais
Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s’aiment
Tout doucement sans faire de bruit
Et la mer efface sur le sable
Le pas des amants désunis

C’est une chanson, qui nous ressemble
Toi tu m’aimais et je t’aimais
Et nous vivions, tous deux ensemble
Toi qui m’aimait, moi qui t’aimais
Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s’aime
Tout doucement sans faire de bruit
Et la mer efface sur le sable
Le pas des amants désunis.

*************

Oh I wish so much you would remember
those happy days when we were friends.
Life in those times was so much brighter
and the sun was hotter than today.
Dead leaves picked up by the shovelful.
You see, I have not forgotten.
Dead leaves picked up by the shovelful,
memories and regrets also,
and the North wind carries them away
into the cold night of oblivion.
You see, I have not forgotten
the song that you sang for me:
It is a song resembling us.
We lived together, the both of us,
you who loved me
and I who loved you.
But life drives apart those who love
ever so softly
without a noise
and the sea erases from the sand
the steps of lovers gone their ways.

(http://max.mmlc.northwestern.edu/mdenner/Demo/texts/loved_you_once.htm)

love/Prevert

Nov

Worldessly love

Я вас любил: любовь еще, быть может
В душе моей угасла не совсем;
Но пусть она вас больше не тревожит;
Я не хочу печалить вас ничем.
Я вас любил безмолвно, безнадежно,
То робостью, то ревностью томим;
Я вас любил так искренно, так нежно,
Как дай вам бог любимой быть другим.

(by Alexander Pushkin- http://pushkin.ellink.ru/english/pushkin/push1.asp).

I loved you once: perhaps that love has yet
To die down thoroughly within my soul;
But let it not dismay you any longer;
I have no wish to cause you any sorrow.
I loved you wordlessly, without a hope,
By shyness tortured, or by jealousy.
I loved you with such tenderness and candor
And pray God grants you to be loved that way again.

Alexander Pushkin/eros/love

Oct

Like the sweet apple ripening at the end of a branch

high at the highest branch that the harvesters overlooked,

but they have not overlooked you, they were just not able to acquire you.

Οἶον τὸ γλυκύμαλον ἐρεύθεται ἄκρῳ ἐπ᾽ ὔσδῳ
ἄκρον ἐπ᾽ ἀκροτάτῳ λελάθοντο δὲ μαλοδρόπνεσ,
οὐ μὰν ἐκλελάθοντ᾽, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐδύναντ᾽ ἐπίκεσθαι.

by Sappho (630-570 BC)

7 years ago Short URL Comments

7 years ago Short URL Comments

pride/Sappho/Sweet apple

Jan

The Turn

Στο περιγιάλι το κρυφό At the hidden shore
κι άσπρο σαν περιστέρι white like a dove
διψάσαμε το μεσημέρι we got withered midday
μα το νερό γλυφό but the water was saline.

Πάνω στην άμμο την ξανθή On the light sand
γράψαμε τ όνομα της we wrote her name
ωραία που φύσηξεν ο μπάτης nicely the breeze blew
και σβήστηκε η γραφή and erased the writing.

Με τι καρδιά με τι πνοή With such heart with such breath
τι πόθους και τι πάθος such desires and such passions
πήραμε τη ζωή μας λάθος! we misled our life!
κι αλλάξαμε ζωή. and changed our life.

(“Strophe” by G. Seferis, see https://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/4112/george-seferis-the-art-of-poetry-no-13-george-seferis)

http://www.thehypertexts.com/Best%20Love%20Poems.htm)

life/love/Seferis/Strophe

Jan

Our Song

The outlanders pursue him as if he were game.
They will kill him if he comes in force.
It is otherwise with us.

Wulf is on one island; I, on another.
That island is fast, surrounded by fens.
There are fierce men on this island.
They will kill him if he comes in force.
It is otherwise with us.

My thoughts pursued Wulf like a panting hound.
Whenever it rained and I woke disconsolate
the bold warrior came: he took me in his arms.
For me, there was pleasure, but its end was loathsome.
Wulf, O, my Wulf, my ache for you
has made me sick; your infrequent visits
have left me famished, but why should I eat?
Do you hear, Eadwacer? A she-wolf has borne
our wretched whelp to the woods.
One can easily sunder what was never one:
our song together.

Wulf and Eadwacer (Anonymous Ballad, circa 960-990 AD)
(ref:

7 years ago Short URL Comments

life/love poem

Oct

I sang, and sang

Till I lost my voice.

If you don’t tell me that

you love me

I will never sing again.

Oct

Great Gentleness…

Joyless
The bargain I have made!
The heart of him I loved I wrung.

‘Twas madness
Not to do his pleasure,
Were there not the fear of Heaven’s King.

‘Twas a trifle
That wrung Curithir’s heart against me:
To him great was my gentleness.

A short while I was
In the company of Curithir:
Sweet was my intimacy with him.

The music of the forest
Would sing to me when with Curithir,
Together with the voice of the purple sea.

Would that
Nothing of all I have done
Should have wrung his heart against me!

Conceal it not!
He was my heart’s love,
Whatever else I might love.

A roaring flame
Has dissolved this heart of mine—
Without him for certain it cannot live.

REF: LIADIN AND CURITHIR (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32030/32030-h/32030-h.htm)

Ancient Irish Poetry/LIADIN AND CURITHIR/love

Jul

Arrows

These are arrows that murder sleep

At every hour in the bitter-cold night:

Pangs of love throughout the day

For the company of the man from Roiny.

Great love of a man from another land

Has come to me beyond all else:

It has taken my bloom, no colour is left,

It does not let me rest.

Sweeter than songs was his speech,

Save holy adoration of Heaven’s King;

He was a glorious flame, no boastful word fell from his lips,

A slender mate for a maid’s side.

………

(In the battle of Aidne, Crede, the daughter of King Guare of Aidne, beheld Dinertach of the Hy Fidgenti, who had come to the help of Guare, with seventeen wounds upon his breast. Then she fell in love with him. He died, and was buried in the cemetery of Colman’s Church.”

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32030/32030-h/32030-h.htm#Page_63

Ancient Irish Poetry/love/Love Lyrics/young man/young woman

Jul

Regret

AH, Circe, Circe! in the wood we cried;
Ah, Circe, Circe! but no voice replied;
No voice from bowers o’ergrown and ruinous
As fallen rocks upon the mountain side.

There was no sound of singing in the air;
Failed or fled the maidens that were fair,
No more for sorrow or joy were seen of us,
No light of laughing eyes, or floating hair.

The perfume, and the music, and the flame
Had passed away; the memory of shame
Alone abode, and stings of faint desire,
And pulses of vague quiet went and came.

Ah, Circe! in thy sad changed fairy place,
Our dead Youth came and looked on us a space,
With drooping wings, and eyes of faded fire,
And wasted hair about a weary face.

Why had we ever sought the magic isle
That seemed so happy in the days erewhile?
Why did we ever leave it, where we met
A world of happy wonders in one smile?

Back to the westward and the waning light
We turned, we fled; the solitude of night
Was better than the infinite regret,
In fallen places of our dead delight.

Source: http://www.online-literature.com/andrew_lang/grass-of-parnassus/21/

http://webspace.ship.edu/cgboer/sappho.html

Andrew Lang/Circe/Kirke/love/Odysseas/regret

May

I have a Daughter,Cleis

I have a small
daughter called
Cleis, who is
like a golden
flower
I wouldn’t
take all Croesus’
kingdom with love
thrown in, for her

Don’t ask me what to wear
I have no embroidered
headband from Sardis to
give you, Cleis, such as
I wore
and my mother
always said that in her
day a purple ribbon
looped in the hair was thought
to be high style indeed

but we were dark:
a girl
whose hair is yellower than
torchlight should wear no
headdress but fresh flowers

–by Sappho- (630 and 612 BCE, and it is said that she died around 570 BCE)

–Translated by Mary Barnard

–Source: gopher://gopher.OCF.Berkeley.EDU:70/
00/Library/Poetry/Sappho/sappho.Cleis

Cleis/daughter/Sappho/woman/Young Girl

Feb

Sound

To those who were left behind

In cold foreign lands

By their compatriots

By their friends

By their sons

The sound of this wind

Around you

Is the sound of my heart.

absence

Feb

Rouge

Immense et rouge

Au-dessus du Grand Palais
Le soleil d’hiver apparaît
Et disparaît
Comme lui mon coeur va disparaître
Et tout mon sang va s’en aller
S’en aller à ta recherche
Mon amour
Ma beauté
Et te trouver
Là où tu es.

by J. Prevert

Immense and red
Above the Grand Palais
The winter sun appears
And disappears
The way my heart will disappear
And all my blood will go
Will go to look for you
My love
My beauty
And find you
There wherever you are.

eros/J. Prevert/love

Dec

This One

Thirty seven years approaching

already ripped pages of my life

by this time white pieces of hair have grown,

Xanthippei *, discreet announcers of age

regadless, chattery psalms in the head are chanting

and a relentless fire is burning the heart-

but for this coronida** quickly write about, Muses,

this one, my rulers, overthrows your madness.

*Xanthippe was an ancient Athenian (of supposedly argumentative nature), the wife of pholosopher Socrates, and mother of their three sons: Lamprocles, Sophroniscus, and Menexenus.

**coronida (singular)-THE two KORONIDES (or Coronides) were two nymph daughters of the constellation-giant Orion. When the land of Boiotia (Boeotia) was struck by pestilence and drought they voluntarily offered themselves up as sacrifice to the gods, bashing out their own brains with shuttles. Persephone in pity then turned them into comets.

The name Koronides was associated with the Greek words korônis, “curving one” or “comet” and korônê “the shuttle” and “the crow.”

Original:

Philodemus-Xanthipi

(AP XI.41)

By Philodemus 110-30BC.

(see Index scholarum in Universitate Litteraria Gryphiswaldensi

-Philodemus, Georg Kaibel)

Philodemus of Gadara (ca. 110–ca. 30 BC) “was an Epicurean philosopher and epigrammatist who, having studied in the Epicurean school …”http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/philodemus )

Classical Studies/desire/eros/love/Love Lyrics/Philodemos/young woman

Oct

Drenched in Fragance…

J’ai voulu ce matin te rapporter des roses ;
Mais j’en avais tant pris dans mes ceintures closes
Que les noeuds trop serrés n’ont pu les contenir.

Les noeuds ont éclaté. Les roses envolées
Dans le vent, à la mer s’en sont toutes allées.
Elles ont suivi l’eau pour ne plus revenir.

La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée.
Ce soir, ma robe en est toute embaumée.
Respires-en sur moi l’odorant souvenir.

( Les Roses de Saadi,

by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore)

eros/love/Marcceline Desbordes-Valmore/Roses

Sep

Epigrammatic

No pleasure is sweeter than love; other joys, are all

second to it ; even the honey from my mouth I spit out.

This is what Nossis says: whoever did not love Kypris,

does not know her blossoms what kind of roses are.

(PALAT. ANT. BOOK V – 170–Epigram by Nossis about 400 BC )

῞Αδιον οὐδὲν ἔρωτος· ἃ δ’ ὄλβια, δεύτερα πάντα
ἐστίν· ὰπὸ στόματος δ’ ἔπτυσα καὶ τὸ μέλι.
Τοῦτο λέγει Νοσσίς· τίνα δ’ ἁ Κύπρις οὐκ ἐφίλασεν,
οὐκ οἶδεν κήνα γ’ ἅνθεα ποῖα ῥόδα.

http://www.locriantica.it/english/figures/nossis.htm

Ancient Greece/Epigram/eros/Kypris/Nossis

Aug

Impression

Twenty minutes waiting for a coffee in a hot summer day… I remembered the first night I arrived in this town, almost five years ago. It was middle of November, a very cold night. I got off the train and started walking towards my friend’s house, following the directions written on a box of matches. “Take the road to the left and keep going straight until the end of the street”. As I was half way to the outskirts of the town the street separated into two alleys. I decided to go left. Soon though, I could only see the lights of few houses scattered in the dark. I was not sure whether I should keep walking or turn back. I was tired and lost. There, a person appeared behind me. “Where are you going?” All I could say was “Here!” I handed the box of matches with no doubts and no other words. We reached the steps of my friend’s house. “Have a good stay!” I got a glimpse of two beautiful eyes when my friend turned on the front door light. “The most beautiful person on earth!” I thought. As I was getting ready to leave, a waiter approached. “This is from the person who was standing in front of you in line”, he said as he handed me a box of matches with my friend’s address written on it. I got a glimpse of two beautiful eyes staring at me from across the street…

Beautiful person/Friendship/Kindness/Stranger

fiction/Short story

Aug

Opening

The piano kissed by a delicate hand

Gleams distantly in rose-grey evening

While with a wingtips’ weightless sound

A fine old tune, so fragile, charming

Roams discreetly, almost trembling,

Through the chamber She’s long perfumed.

What is this sudden cradle song

That gradually lulls my poor being?

What do you want of me, playful one?

What do you wish, slight vague refrain

Drifting now, dying, towards the window

Opening a little on a patch of garden?

The Piano Kissed..by Paul Verlaine (1844-1896)

http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/French/SelectedFrenchPoemsoftheNineteenthCentury.htm

http://jewishchristianlit.com/Texts/ANEmrg/pBeatty.html

Apr

Impulse

My hearts races
When I think of you, love.
It throws ‘normal’ out the window
and leaps out of its place.
It won’t let me get dressed,
or put on a scarf,
I can’t do my eye-shadow,
or even rub on my oils.
“Go there now!” it insists
whenever he comes to mind.
Don’t be an idiot, heart,
are you out of your mind?
Be patient, be still, the brother will come.
There are eyes everywhere, you know!
I don’t want people saying,
“Love did this woman in.”
Keep calm when thinking of him.
Heart, stop racing

—– —–

My heart flutters hastily,
When I think of my love of you;
It lets me not act sensibly,
It leaps from its place.
It lets me not put on a dress,
Nor wrap my scarf around me;
I put no paint upon my eyes,
I’m even not anointed.
“Don’t wait, go there,” says it to me,
As often as I think of him;
My heart, don’t act so stupidly,
Why do you play the fool?
Sit still, the brother comes to you,
And many eyes as well.
Let not the people say of me:
“A woman fallen through love!”
Be steady when you think of him,
My heart, do not flutter!

Ancient Egyptian Poem

Fourth Stanza, from Papyrus Chester Beatty I

Refs:

http://www.humanistictexts.org/egyptlov.htm#My%20Heart%20Flutters%20Hastily

http://www.greek-language.gr/digitalResources/ancient_greek/anthology/literature/browse.html?text_id=33

Apr

Distant

“for the wealth of golden Gygeo* I do not care

nor I have envy, nor I am blinded by

gifts of gods, high authority does not impress me

they are all distant from my eyes”

(* King of Lydia (about 687-652 BC))

ARHILOHOS

Original:

«οὔ μοι τὰ Γύγεω* τοῦ πολυχρύσου μέλει,
οὐδ᾽ εἷλέ πώ με ζῆλος, οὐδ᾽ ἀγαίομαι
θεῶν ἔργα, μεγάλης δ᾽ οὐκ ἐρέω τυραννίδος·
ἀπόπροθεν γάρ ἐστιν ὀφθαλμῶν ἐμῶν.»

*Βασιλιάς της Λυδίας (περ. 687-652 π.Χ.),

ΑΡΧΙΛΟΧΟΣ

Apr

To Aphrodite

Child of the great Zeus, World beauty,

Immortal Aphrodite! Everything bows to you.

No pains, No sorrows! Torment me not

With deceptions of desire!

by Sappho (625-570BC)

http://academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/english/melani/novel_19c/wuthering/index.html

Feb

Love and Friendship

“Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree —
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most contantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who wil call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.”

by Emily Bronte

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/181856

Feb

Archer

“What is god, what is not god, and what is in between?”

————-

“Lyric nightingale,

on a night like this, by the shore of Proteus,

the Spartan slave-girls heard you and began their lament,

and among them — who would have believed it? — Helen!

She whom we hunted so many years by the banks of the Scamander.

She was there, at the desert’s lip; I touched her; she spoke to me:

‘It isn’t true, it isn’t true,’ she cried.

‘I didn’t board the blue bowed ship.

I never went to valiant Troy.’

Breasts girded high, the sun in her hair, and that stature

shadows and smiles everywhere,

on shoulders, thighs and knees;

the skin alive, and her eyes

with the large eyelids,

she was there, on the banks of a Delta.

And at Troy?

At Troy, nothing: just a phantom image.

That’s how the gods wanted it.

And Paris, Paris lay with a shadow as though it were a solid being;

and for ten whole years we slaughtered ourselves for Helen.”

from “Eleni” by Giorgos Seferis ( http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1963/seferis-bio.html)

Eleni/Giorgos Seferis/Troia

Feb

[My life, I love you]

Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,
[My life, I love you]

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo’d by each Aegean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks’ blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
[My life, I love you]

By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By love’s alternate joy and woe,
[My life, I love you]…..

George Gordon Byron (1788 – 1824)

Title: Maid Of Athens, Ere We Part

Lord Byron

Jan

What are we waiting for

What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?

The barbarians are due here today.

Why isn’t anything happening in the senate?
Why do the senators sit there without legislating?

Because the barbarians are coming today.
What laws can the senators make now?
Once the barbarians are here, they’ll do the legislating.

Why did our emperor get up so early,
and why is he sitting at the city’s main gate
on his throne, in state, wearing the crown?

Because the barbarians are coming today
and the emperor is waiting to receive their leader.
He has even prepared a scroll to give him,
replete with titles, with imposing names.

Why have our two consuls and praetors come out today
wearing their embroidered, their scarlet togas?
Why have they put on bracelets with so many amethysts,
and rings sparkling with magnificent emeralds?
Why are they carrying elegant canes
beautifully worked in silver and gold?

Because the barbarians are coming today
and things like that dazzle the barbarians.

Why don’t our distinguished orators come forward as usual
to make their speeches, say what they have to say?

Because the barbarians are coming today
and they’re bored by rhetoric and public speaking.

Why this sudden restlessness, this confusion?
(How serious people’s faces have become.)
Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly,
everyone going home so lost in thought?

Because night has fallen and the barbarians have not come.
And some who have just returned from the border say
there are no barbarians any longer.

And now, what’s going to happen to us without barbarians?
They were, those people, a kind of solution.

Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard

(C.P. Cavafy, Collected Poems. Translated by Edmund Keeleyand Philip Sherrard. Edited by George Savidis. Revised Edition.

Princeton University Press, 1992)

— Why are we come together in the market place?

Barbarians are expected here to-day.

— Why in the Senate-house this inactivity —
why sit the Senators and do not legislate?

Because barbarians are to come to-day
What laws should they make now — the Senators?
Presently the barbarians will make laws.

— Why has our Emperor risen close upon the sun —
why is he waiting there, by the main city-gates,
seated upon the throne, — august, wearing the crown?

Because barbarians are to come to-day
And so the Emperor in person waits
to greet their leader. He has even prepared
a title-deed, on skin of Pergamus,
in favour of this leader. It confers
high rank on the barbarian, many names.

— Why do our consuls and the praetors go about
in scarlet togas fretted with embroidery;
why are they wearing bracelets rife with amethysts,
and rings magnificent with glowing emeralds;
why are they holding those invaluable staffs
inlaid so cunningly with silver and with gold?

Because barbarians are to come to-day;
and the barbarians marvel at such things.

— Why come not, as they use, our able orators
to hold forth in their rhetoric, to have their say?

Because barbarians are to come to-day;
and the barbarians have no taste for words.

— Why this confusion all at once, and nervousness:
(how serious of a sudden the faces have become):
why are the streets and meeting-places emptying,
and all the people lost in thought as they turn home?

Because the daylight fails, and the night comes,
but the barbarians come not. And there be
who from the frontier have arrived and said
that there are barbarians now at all.

And now what shall become of us without barbarians?
These people were in sooth some sort of settlement.

Translated by John Cavafy

(Poems by C. P. Cavafy. Translated, from the Greek, by J. C. Cavafy. Ikaros, 2003)

The barbarians are supposed to show up today.

Why is there such indolence in the senate?
Why are the senators sitting around, making no laws?

Because the barbarians are supposed to show up today.
Why should the senators trouble themselves with laws?
When the barbarians arrive, they’ll do the legislating.

Why has our emperor risen so early this morning,
and why is he now enthroned at the city’s great gate,
sitting there in state and wearing his crown?

Because the barbarians are supposed to show up today.
And the emperor is waiting there to receive
their leader. He’s even had a parchment scroll
prepared as a tribute: it’s loaded with
all sorts of titles and high honors.

Why have our two consuls and praetors turned up
today, resplendent in their red brocaded togas;
why are they wearing bracelets encrusted with amethysts,
and rings studded with brilliant, glittering emeralds;
why are they sporting those priceless canes,
the ones of finely-worked gold and silver?

Because the barbarians are supposed to show up today;
And such things really dazzle the barbarians.

Why don’t our illustrious speakers come out to speak
as they always do, to speak what’s on their minds?

Because the barbarians are supposed to show up today,
and they really can’t stand lofty oration and demagogy.

Why is everyone so suddenly ill at ease
and confused (just look how solemn their faces are)?
Why are the streets and the squares all at once empty,
as everyone heads for home, lost in their thoughts?

Because it’s night now, and the barbarians haven’t shown up.
And there are others, just back from the borderlands,
who claim that the barbarians no longer exist.

What in the world will we do without barbarians?
Those people would have been a solution, of sorts.

Translated by Stratis Haviaras

(C.P. Cavafy, The Canon. Translated from the Greek

by Stratis Haviaras, Hermes Publishing, 2004)

The original (in Greek)

Τι περιμένουμε στην αγορά συναθροισμένοι;

Είναι οι βάρβαροι να φθάσουν σήμερα.

— Γιατί μέσα στην Σύγκλητο μια τέτοια απραξία;
Τι κάθοντ’ οι Συγκλητικοί και δεν νομοθετούνε;

Γιατί οι βάρβαροι θα φθάσουν σήμερα.
Τι νόμους πια θα κάμουν οι Συγκλητικοί;
Οι βάρβαροι σαν έλθουν θα νομοθετήσουν.

—Γιατί ο αυτοκράτωρ μας τόσο πρωί σηκώθη,
και κάθεται στης πόλεως την πιο μεγάλη πύλη
στον θρόνο επάνω, επίσημος, φορώντας την κορώνα;

Γιατί οι βάρβαροι θα φθάσουν σήμερα.
Κι ο αυτοκράτωρ περιμένει να δεχθεί
τον αρχηγό τους. Μάλιστα ετοίμασε
για να τον δώσει μια περγαμηνή. Εκεί
τον έγραψε τίτλους πολλούς κι ονόματα.

— Γιατί οι δυο μας ύπατοι κ’ οι πραίτορες εβγήκαν
σήμερα με τες κόκκινες, τες κεντημένες τόγες·
γιατί βραχιόλια φόρεσαν με τόσους αμεθύστους,
και δαχτυλίδια με λαμπρά, γυαλιστερά σμαράγδια·
γιατί να πιάσουν σήμερα πολύτιμα μπαστούνια
μ’ ασήμια και μαλάματα έκτακτα σκαλιγμένα;

Γιατί οι βάρβαροι θα φθάσουν σήμερα·
και τέτοια πράγματα θαμπώνουν τους βαρβάρους.

—Γιατί κ’ οι άξιοι ρήτορες δεν έρχονται σαν πάντα
να βγάλουνε τους λόγους τους, να πούνε τα δικά τους;

Γιατί οι βάρβαροι θα φθάσουν σήμερα·
κι αυτοί βαρυούντ’ ευφράδειες και δημηγορίες.

— Γιατί ν’ αρχίσει μονομιάς αυτή η ανησυχία
κ’ η σύγχυσις. (Τα πρόσωπα τι σοβαρά που εγίναν).
Γιατί αδειάζουν γρήγορα οι δρόμοι κ’ η πλατέες,
κι όλοι γυρνούν στα σπίτια τους πολύ συλλογισμένοι;

Γιατί ενύχτωσε κ’ οι βάρβαροι δεν ήλθαν.
Και μερικοί έφθασαν απ’ τα σύνορα,
και είπανε πως βάρβαροι πια δεν υπάρχουν.

Και τώρα τι θα γένουμε χωρίς βαρβάρους.
Οι άνθρωποι αυτοί ήσαν μια κάποια λύσις.

(Από τα Ποιήματα 1897-1933)

http://sacred-texts.com/chr/aah/index.htm

Kavafis

Nov

“at least our imagination, which perpetually figures them to us by the desire we have of seeing them again, makes us think so. By a peculiar power love can make that seem life itself which, as soon as the loved object returns, is nothing but a little canvas and flat colour. I have your picture in my room; I never pass it without stopping to look at it; and yet when you are present with me I scarce ever cast my eyes on it. If a picture, which is but a mute representation of an object, can give such pleasure, what cannot letters inspire? They have souls; they can speak; they have in them all that force which expresses the transports of the heart; they have all the fire of our passions, they can raise them as much as if the persons themselves were present; they have all the tenderness and the delicacy of speech, and sometimes even a boldness of expression beyond it.”

Heloise to Abelard, Letter II, p.25 (1901)

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40227

Poetry/Quotes/Uncategorized

absence/desire/endurance/eros/Heloise and Aberald/love/Romance/young man/young woman

Oct

“My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,

And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;

Where can we find two better hemispheres,

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.”

“My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,

And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;

Where can we find two better hemispheres,

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.”

The Good-Morrow

by John Donne 1572-1631

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/john-donne

eros/Good-Morrow/John Donne/love/Tristan and Isolde/young man/young woman

Oct

“Beside a golden sanded bay
We saw the Sirens, very fair
The flowery hill whereon they lay,
The flowers set upon their hair.
Their old sweet song came down the wind,
Remembered music waxing strong,
Ah now no need of cords to bind,
No need had we of Orphic song.

It once had seemed a little thing,
To lay our lives down at their feet,
That dying we might hear them sing,
And dying see their faces sweet;
But now, we glanced, and passing by,
No care had we to tarry long;
Faint hope, and rest, and memory
Were more than any Siren’s song.”

THEY HEAR THE SIRENS FOR THE SECOND TIME

http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext97/blpof10h.htm

http://www.rampantscotland.com/poetry/blpoems_wish.htm)

Greek Poetry/hope/Siren

Oct

Aften

“I aften wish that eence again
The weary road I’ve traivell’t

Wis mine tae tread, I’d hae things fit

Withoot mischance or guessin’;

My ships wad safely mak’the port,

My webs be never raivell’t,

An’ a’d be for the best – I wish,

An faur’s the hairm in wishin’? ”

(by “Turlundie”-Scottish poet

dream/life/Scottish poetry/Turlundie/Wish

Oct

Twice

“You took my heart in your hand
With a friendly smile,
With a critical eye you scanned,
Then set it down,
And said: It is still unripe,
Better wait a while;
Wait while the skylarks pipe,
Till the corn grows brown

As you set it down it broke-
Broke, but I did not wince;
I smiled at the speech you spoke,
At your judgment that I heard:
But I have not often smiled
Since then, nor questioned since,
Nor cared for corn-flowers wild,
Nor sung with the singing bird.”

by Christina Rosetti (1830-1894)

http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/crossetti/harrison2/4.6.html

Christina Rosetti/eros/fulfillment/hope/love/Romance/young man/young woman

Sep

Tidings

My tidings for you: the stag bells,

Winter snows, summer is gone.

Wind high and cold, low the sun,

Short his course, sea running high.

Deep-red the bracken, its shape all gone—

The wild-goose has raised his wonted cry.

Cold has caught the wings of birds;

Season of ice—these are my tidings.

(old Irish poem “Summer is gone”

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32030/32030-h/32030-h.htm#Page_56)

Fall/Old Irish poetry/summer

Sep

Three poems

In Paris

Starlit houses, and sky below,

Earth dazed in the nearness.

The same secret longing though

In Paris, so vast and joyous.

The evening boulevards noisy,

The last ray of light dies,

Couples, paired round me,

Fierce lips, insolent eyes.

I’m alone. It’s sweet to rest

My head on a chestnut tree.

As in far Moscow, my breast

Throbs to Rostand’s poetry.

Paris at night, painful strangeness,

Dear the heart’s ancient folly!

I’m going back to violets, sadness,

A portrait of someone kind to me.

There that gaze, pensive, a brother,

There that mild profile, on the wall.

Rostand, L’Aiglon that martyr,

And Sarah – in dream I find them all!

In Paris, so vast and joyous,

I dream of clouds and grass,

Laughter, shadows, ominous,

And the pain that will not pass.

Paris, June 1909.

Marina Tsvetaeva

(Note: Rostand’s play L’Aiglon concerns the unhappy life of the Duke of Reichstadt, the son of Napoleon I and Marie Louise, lived under the surveillance of Metternich at the Schönbrunn Palace. The drama was produced, on the 15th March 1900, by Sarah Bernhardt, at her own theatre, she herself playing the part of the Duke.

http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Russian/Tsvetaeva.htm#_Toc254018895)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘To kiss the brow – eases anxiety.’

To kiss the brow-eases all anxiety.

I kiss the brow.

To kiss the eyes – cures insomnia’s misery.

I kiss the eyes.

To kiss the lips – one’s no longer thirsty.

I kiss the lips.

To kiss the brow – erases memory.

I kiss the brow.

5th June 1917.

Marina Tsvetaeva

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Go, find yourself naïve lovers, they’

Go, find yourself naïve lovers, they

Won’t correct marvels by number.

I know that Venus was – hand made,

I’m a craftsman, with craft encumbered.

From the highest solemnity, dumb,

To the soul almost trampled to death,

Here’s the whole celestial stair – from

My breathing – to: not one breath!

18th June 1922

Marina Tsvetaeva

absence/desire/dream/eros/kiss/love/Marina Tsvetaeva/Paris/Romance/Russian poetry/young man/young woman

Jul

Paris de Nuit…

Paris de Nuit

Trois allumettes une à une allumées dans la nuit
La première pour voir ton visage tout entier
La seconde pour voir tes yeux
La dernière pour voir ta bouche
Et l’obscuritè tout entière pour me rappeler tout cela
En te serrant dans mes bras.

— Jacques Prévert

Three matches lit one by one in the night
The first to see your face in its entirety
The second to see your eyes
The last to see your mouth
And the darkness all around to remind me of all of them
As I take you in my arms.

Jacques Prévert/Paris de Nuit

Jul

Golden

“A man had a hen that laid a golden egg for him each and every day.

The man was not satisfied with this daily profit, and instead he foolishly grasped for more.

Expecting to find a treasure inside, the man slaughtered the hen.

When he found that the hen did not have a treasure inside her after all,

he remarked to himself, ‘While chasing after hopes of a treasure,

I lost the profit I held in my hands!’

–Aesop’s Fables (Chambry edition), Index Chambry 287 = Perry 87

Ὄρνιν τις εἶχε καλὴν χρυσᾶ ὠὰ τίκτουσαν· νομίσας δὲ ἔνδον αὐτῆς ὄγκον χρυσίου εἶναι καὶ θύσας εὗρεν οὖσαν ὁμοίαν τῶν λοιπῶν ὀρνίθων. Ὁ δὲ ἀθρόον πλοῦτον ἐλπίσας εὑρεῖν καὶ τοῦ μικροῦ κέρδους ἐστερήθη. Ὅτι τοῖς παροῦσιν ἀρκείσθω τις καὶ τὴν ἀπληστίαν φευγέτω.”

(Hellenistic statue claimed to depict Aesop, Art Collection of Villa Albani, Rome)

Αἴσωπος, Aisōpos, (620–564 BC). Greek historian Herodotus claimed that Aesop (c. 620-560 BC) was a slave first owned by Xanthus on Isle of Samos and later by Iadmon who gave him freedom because he was such a skilled storyteller (Herodotus, Waterfield & Dewald,1998).

http://www.researchgate.net/…/02e7e535e6dc2bb7f6000000

fiction/Literature/Short story/Uncategorized

Aesop/Fable/greed/Silk Road/Silk Road fables

Jul

Cyprian

“This is the site of the Cyprian, since it is agreeable to her

to look ever from the mainland upon the bright sea

that she may make the voyage good for sailors. Around her the sea

trembles looking upon her polished image”.

(by Anyte of Tegea)

Κύπριδος οὗτος ὁ χῶρος, ἐπεὶ φίλον ἔπλετο τήναι

αἰὲν ἀπ᾽ ἠπείρου λαμπρὸν ὁρῆν πέλαγος,

ὄφρα φίλον ναύτηισι τελῆι πλόον· ἀμφὶ δὲ πόντος

δειμαίνει λιπαρὸν δερκόμενος ζόανον.

Anyte of Tegea (Greek: Ἀνύτη; fl. early 3rd century BC) was an Arcadian poet,

admired for her epigrams and epitaphs.

http://www.hs-augsburg.de/~harsch/graeca/Chronologia/S_ante03/Anyte/any_epi.html

Ancient Greek Poetry/Anyte of Tegea/Cyprian/epitaph/woman

Poetry/Uncategorized

Jul

Noble Form

I live upon this wretched solitary cliff

Like a bird of sorrow that shuns green

Branches and clear water: and withdraw

From my worldly loves, and my very self,

So my thoughts may fly swiftly to that sun

I worship and adore. And though they fail

To spread their wings as I wish, yet if I call

Still they fly back from other paths to this.

And in the instant that they reach the place,

Where I send them, ardent, happy, their brief joy

Surpasses every delight on Earth by far.

And if they could but re-create his noble

Form, just as the burning mind desires,

I might own my portion of perfect good.

by Vittoria Colonna (1490-1547)
Translated by A. S. Kline

absence/desire/dream/endurance/eros/italian poetry/loneliness/love/Romance/Vittoria Colonna/young woman

Jul

N’écris pas

“N’écris pas – N’apprenons qu’à mourir à nous-mêmes
Ne demande qu’à Dieu … qu’à toi, si je t’aimais !
Au fond de ton silence écouter que tu m’aimes,
C’est entendre le ciel sans y monter jamais
N’écris pas ! ”

by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore (1786-1859)

“Do not write – Let us learn for ourselves how to die.
Ask only God… and to yourself if I loved you!
In your absence’s depth to hear that you love me
Is to hear heaven without ever getting there.
Do not write! ”

Translated by Thomas D. Le in 2007
http://thehuuvandan.org/lit.html#valmore

absence/french poetry/loneliness/love/Love Lyrics/Marceline Desbordes-Valmore/Romance/young man/young woman

Poetry/Uncategorized

Jul

I know

I know not whether thou has been absent:
I lie down with thee, I rise up with thee,
In my dreams thou art with me.
If my eardrops tremble in my ears,
I know it is thou moving within my heart.

Aztec Indian Wedding Poem

http://www.documentsanddesigns.com/verse/Native_American_wedding_vows.htm#t2

Aztec/love/Love Lyrics/wedding poem/young man/young woman

Jul

Cet amour

Cet amour
Si violent
Si fragile
Si tendre
Si désespéré
Cet amour
Beau comme le jour
Et mauvais comme le temps
Quand le temps est mauvais
Cet amour si vrai
Cet amour si beau
Si heureux
Si joyeux
Et si dérisoire
Tremblant de peur comme un enfant dans le noir

Et si sûr de lui
Comme un homme tranquille au milieu de la nuit …

by Jacques Prevert (4 February 1900 – 11 April 1977 ).

This love
So violent
So fragile
So tender
So hopeless
This love
Beautiful as the day
And bad as the weather
When the weather is bad
This love so true
This love so beautiful
So happy
So joyous
And so pathetic
Trembling with fear like a child in the dark

And so sure of itself
Like a tranquil man in the middle of the night…