An Old Doll

Low on her little stool she sits

To make a nursing lap,

And cares for nothing but the form

Her little arms enwrap.

With hairless skull that gapes apart,

A broken plaster ball,

One chipped glass eye that squints askew,

And ne’er a nose at all-

No raddle left on grimy cheek,

No mouth that one can see-

It scarce discloses, at a glance,

What it was meant to be.

But something in the simple scheme

As it extends below

(It is the “tidy” from my chair

That she is rumpling so)-

A certain folding of the stuff

That winds the thing about

(But still permits the sawdust gore

To trickle down and out)-

The way it curves around her waist,

On little knees outspread-

Implies a body frail and dear,

Whence one infers a head.

She rocks the scarecrow to and fro,

With croonings soft and deep,

A lullaby designed to hush

The bunch of rags to sleep.

I ask what rubbish has she there.

“My dolly,” she replies,

But tone and smile and gesture say,

“My angel from the skies.”

Ineffable the look of love

Cast on the hideous blur

That somehow means a precious face,

Most beautiful, to her.

The deftness and the tenderness

Of her caressing hands . . . . . .

How can she possibly divine

For what the creature stands?

Herself a nurseling, that has seen

The summers and the snows

Of scarce five years of baby life.

And yet she knows-she knows.

Just as a puppy of the pack

Knows unheard huntsman’s call,

And knows it is a running hound

Before it learns to crawl.

Just as she knew, when hardly born,

The breast unseen before,

And knew-how well!-before they touched,

What milk and mouth were for.

So, by some mystic extra-sense

Denied to eyes and ears,

Her spirit communes with its own

Beyond the veil of years.

She hears unechoing footsteps run

On floors she never trod,

Sees lineaments invisible

As is the face of God-

Forms she can recognise and greet,

Though wholly hid from me.

Alas! a treasure that is not,

And that may never be.

The majesty of motherhood

Sits on her baby brow;

Before her little three-legged throne

My grizzled head must bow.

That dingy bundle in her arms

Symbols immortal things-

A heritage, by right divine,

Beyond the claims of kings.

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A few random poems:

External links

Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

Talking Writing Monster’s Page –

Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

Poems in English 

• Олег Бундур – Уроки by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Умный кот by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Учительница открыла журнал by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Уборка by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – У кромки моря by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Тропа by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Тревожное время by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Тополёк by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Там, где мы родились by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Света у доски by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Сухари by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Страх by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Сторож by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Старания by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Справились с делами by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Спешу by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Совет by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Сорока by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Сон by Поэзия На Русском
• Олег Бундур – Собираемся в гости by Поэзия На Русском

More external links (open in a new tab):

Russian Commerce Agency

Dealing Monster

Doska or the Board – write anything

Search engines:

Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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