A poem by Aldous Huxley (1894 – 1963)
(From the French of Stéphane Mallarmé.)
I would immortalize these nymphs: so bright
Their sunlit colouring, so airy light,
It floats like drowsing down. Loved I a dream?
My doubts, born of oblivious darkness, seem
A subtle tracery of branches grown
The tree’s true self–proving that I have known
No triumph, but the shadow of a rose.
But think. These nymphs, their loveliness … suppose
They bodied forth your senses’ fabulous thirst?
Illusion! which the blue eyes of the first,
As cold and chaste as is the weeping spring,
Beget: the other, sighing, passioning,
Is she the wind, warm in your fleece at noon?
No, through this quiet, when a weary swoon
Crushes and chokes the latest faint essay
Of morning, cool against the encroaching day,
There is no murmuring water, save the gush
Of my clear fluted notes; and in the hush
Blows never a wind, save that which through my reed
Puffs out before the rain of notes can speed
Upon the air, with that calm breath of art
That mounts the unwrinkled zenith visibly,
Where inspiration seeks its native sky.
You fringes of a calm Sicilian lake,
The sun’s own mirror which I love to take,
Silent beneath your starry flowers, tell
_How here I cut the hollow rushes, well
Tamed by my skill, when on the glaucous gold
Of distant lawns about their fountain cold
A living whiteness stirs like a lazy wave;
And at the first slow notes my panpipes gave
These flocking swans, these naiads, rather, fly
Or dive._ Noon burns inert and tawny dry,
Nor marks how clean that Hymen slipped away
From me who seek in song the real A.
Wake, then, to the first ardour and the sight,
O lonely faun, of the old fierce white light,
With, lilies, one of you for innocence.
Other than their lips’ delicate pretence,
The light caress that quiets treacherous lovers,
My breast, I know not how to tell, discovers
The bitten print of some immortal’s kiss.
But hush! a mystery so great as this
I dare not tell, save to my double reed,
Which, sharer of my every joy and need,
Dreams down its cadenced monologues that we
Falsely confuse the beauties that we see
With the bright palpable shapes our song creates:
My flute, as loud as passion modulates,
Purges the common dream of flank and breast,
Seen through closed eyes and inwardly caressed,
Of every empty and monotonous line.
Bloom then, O Syrinx, in thy flight malign,
A reed once more beside our trysting-lake.
Proud of my music, let me often make
A song of goddesses and see their rape
Profanely done on many a painted shape.
So when the grape’s transparent juice I drain,
I quell regret for pleasures past and feign
A new real grape. For holding towards the sky
The empty skin, I blow it tight and lie
Dream-drunk till evening, eyeing it.
Tell o’er
Remembered joys and plump the grape once more.
_Between the reeds I saw their bodies gleam
Who cool no mortal fever in the stream
Crying to the woods the rage of their desire:
And their bright hair went down in jewelled fire
Where crystal broke and dazzled shudderingly.
I check my swift pursuit: for see where lie,
Bruised, being twins in love, by languor sweet,
Two sleeping girls, clasped at my very feet.
I seize and run with them, nor part the pair,
Breaking this covert of frail petals, where
Roses drink scent of the sun and our light play
‘Mid tumbled flowers shall match the death of day._
I love that virginal fury–ah, the wild
Thrill when a maiden body shrinks, defiled,
Shuddering like arctic light, from lips that sear
Its nakedness … the flesh in secret fear!
Contagiously through my linked pair it flies
Where innocence in either, struggling, dies,
Wet with fond tears or some less piteous dew.
_Gay in the conquest of these fears, I grew
So rash that I must needs the sheaf divide
Of ruffled kisses heaven itself had tied.
For as I leaned to stifle in the hair
Of one my passionate laughter (taking care
With a stretched finger, that her innocence
Might stain with her companion’s kindling sense
To touch the younger little one, who lay
Child-like unblushing) my ungrateful prey
Slips from me, freed by passion’s sudden death,
Nor heeds the frenzy of my sobbing breath._
Let it pass! others of their hair shall twist
A rope to drag me to those joys I missed.
See how the ripe pomegranates bursting red
To quench the thirst of the mumbling bees have bled;
So too our blood, kindled by some chance fire,
Flows for the swarming legions of desire.
At evening, when the woodland green turns gold
And ashen grey, ‘mid the quenched leaves, behold!
Red Etna glows, by Venus visited,
Walking the lava with her snowy tread
Whene’er the flames in thunderous slumber die.
I hold the goddess!
Ah, sure penalty!
But the unthinking soul and body swoon
At last beneath the heavy hush of noon.
Forgetful let me lie where summer’s drouth
Sifts fine the sand and then with gaping mouth
Dream planet-struck by the grape’s round wine-red star.
Nymphs, I shall see the shade that now you are.
A few random poems:
- DEATH AND VISION by Satish Verma
- By The Side Of The Grave Some Years After by William Wordsworth
- November by William Cullen Bryant
- Оливер Голдсмит – Опровержение логики
- 10 Valentine’s Day Scrapbooking Ideas With or Without Photos
- Give Me Back My Rags by Vasko Popa
- “Could I but leave men wiser by my song ” poem – Alfred Austin
- Нина Воронель – Неделю, как сотню, лучше не трогать
- Ольга Ермолаева – Я так же, как ты, от стыда опускаю ресницы
- The Epic of Jack and Jill by Robby Charters
- Robert Burns: The Bonie Wee Thing:
- Repression of War Experience by Siegfried Sassoon
- The Old House poem – Amy Levy poems | Poems and Poetry
- Apollo And The Graces poem – John Keats poems
- Омар Хайям – Будь камнем твердым я
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
- Николай Языков – Романс (Что делал с Евою Адам)
- Николай Языков – Родина
- Николай Языков – Разбойники
- Николай Языков – Пушкину (О ты, чья дружба мне дороже)
- Николай Языков – Прошли младые наши годы
- Николай Языков – Прощальная песня (В последний раз приволье жизни братской)
- Николай Языков – Прими ты мой поклон заздравный
- Николай Языков – Поздравление М. Н. Дириной
- Николай Языков – Посвящение А. А. Воейковой «Песни короля Регнера»
- Николай Языков – Послание к Кулибину (Какой огонь тогда блистал)
- Николай Языков – Послание к Ф. И. Иноземцеву (Да сохранит тебя великий русский бог)
- Николай Языков – Послание к А. Н. Очкину (О, ты, с которым я, от юношеских лет)
- Николай Языков – Поэт (Радушно рабствует поэту)
- Николай Языков – Подражание псалму XIV
- Николай Языков – Подражание псалму
- Николай Языков – Пловец (Воют волны, скачут волны)
- Николай Языков – Песня (Я жду тебя, когда вечерней мглою)
- Николай Языков – Песня (Пусть свободны и легки)
- Николай Языков – Песня (От сердца дружные с вином)
- Николай Языков – Песня (Налей и мне, товарищ мой)
More external links (open in a new tab):
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.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Alcaeus of Mytilene ( c. 625/620 – c. 580 Before Christ) ] was a lyric poet from the Greek island of Lesbos who is credited with inventing the Alcaic stanza. He was included in the canonical list of nine lyric poets by the scholars of Hellenistic Alexandria.