Listen, Beloved, the Casurinas quiver,
Each tassel prays the wind to set it free,
Hark to the frantic sobbing of the river,
Wild to attain extinction in the sea.
All Nature blindly struggles to dissolve
In other forms and forces, thus to solve
The painful riddle of identity.
Ah, that my soul might lose itself in thee!
Yet, my Beloved One, wherefore seek I union,
Since there is no such thing in all the world,–
Are not our spirits linked in close communion,–
And on my lips thy clinging lips are curled?
Thy tender arms are round my shoulders thrown,
I hear thy heart more loudly than my own,
And yet, to my despair, I know thee far,
As in the stellar darkness, star from star.
Even in times when love with bounteous measure
A simultaneous joy on us has shed,
In the last moment of delirious pleasure,
Ere the sense fail, or any force be fled,
My rapture has been even as a wall,
Shutting out any thought of thee at all!
My being, by its own delight possessed,
Forgot that it was sleeping on thy breast.
Ay, from his birth each man is vowed and given
To a vast loneliness, ungauged, unspanned,
Whether by pain and woe his soul be riven,
Or all fair pleasures clustered ‘neath his hand.
His gain by day, his ecstasy by night,–
His force, his folly, fierce or faint delight,–
Suffering or sorrow, fortune, feud, or care,–
Whate’er he find or feel,–he may not share.
Lonely we join the world, and we depart
Even as lonely, having lived alone,
The breast that feeds us, the beloved one’s heart,
The lips we kiss,–or curse–alike unknown.
Ay, even these lips of thine, so often kissed,
What certitude have I that they exist?
Alas, it is the truth, though harsh it seems,
I have been loved as sweetly in my dreams.
Therefore if I should seem too fiercely fond,
Too swift to love, too eager to attain,
Forgive the fervour that would forge beyond
The limits set to mortal joy and pain.
Knowing the soul’s unmeasured loneliness,
My passion must be mingled with distress,
As I, despairing, struggle to draw near
What is as unattainable as dear.
Thirst may be quenched at any kindly river,
Rest may be found ‘neath any arching tree.
No sleep allures, no draughts of love deliver
My spirit from its aching need of thee.
Thy sweet assentiveness to my demands,
All the caressive touches of thy hands,–
These soft cool hands, with fingers tipped with fire,–
They can do nothing to assuage desire.
Sometimes I think my longing soul remembers
A previous love to which it aims and strives,
As if this fire of ours were but the embers
Of some wild flame burnt out in former lives.
Perchance in earlier days I _did_ attain
That which I seek for now so all in vain,
Maybe my soul with thine _was_ fused and wed
In some great night, long since dissolved and dead.
We may progress; but who shall answer clearly
The riddle of the endless change of things.
Perchance in other days men loved more dearly,
Or Love himself had wider ways and wings,
Maybe we gave ourselves with less control,
Or simpler living left more free the soul,
So that with ease the flesh aside was flung,–
Or was it merely that _Mankind was young?_
Or has my spirit a divine prevision
Of vast vague passions stored in days to be,
When some strong souls shall conquer their division
And two shall be as one, eternally?
Finding at last upon each other’s breast,
Unutterable calm and infinite rest,
While love shall burn with such intense a glow
That both shall die, and neither heed or know.
Why do I question thus, and wake confusion
In the soft thought that lights thy perfect face,
Ah, shed once more thy perfumed hair’s profusion,
Open thine arms and make my resting place.
Lay thy red lips on mine as heretofore,
Grant me the treasure of thy beauty’s store,
Stifle all thought in one imperious kiss,–
What shall I ask for more than this,–and this?
A few random poems:
- Illusion by Mercedes Madrigal
- Desmond’s Song by Thomas Moore
- An Old Man’s Thought of School. by Walt Whitman
- The Gyres by William Butler Yeats
- My Father by Yehuda Amichai
- Валерий Брюсов – К Армении
- Lamentations by Siegfried Sassoon
- Snow Flakes by Tala Bar
- In the Valley of Cauteretz poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- A Death Song by William Morris
- Оливер Голдсмит – Песенка
- Translations Dante Inferno Canto Xxvi
- Show me by Rixa White
- Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath
- Images by Mary Etta Metcalf
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
- Владимир Маяковский – Гимназист или строитель
- Владимир Маяковский – Гимн взятке
- Владимир Маяковский – Гимн судье
- Владимир Маяковский – Гимн обеду
- Владимир Маяковский – Гевлок Вильсон
- Владимир Маяковский – Если белогвардейщину не добьем совсем… (РОСТА №148)
- Владимир Маяковский – Еще Петербург
- Владимир Маяковский – Электричество – вид энергии
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй, уралец! Без помощи твоего рудника не победить разруху никак (Агитплакаты)
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй, товарищи, за труд!.. (Главполитпросвет №146)
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй, товарищи! От сбора продналога… (Главполитпросвет №284)
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй, товарищ! Поищи дома (Главполитпросвет №95)
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй, товарищ! Если ты пришел на Сухаревку… (РОСТА №262)
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй, шахтер! В опасности трудовая республика твоя! (Агитплакаты)
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй, онанисты, кричите «Ура!»
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй! крестьянин, помни ты… (Главполитпросвет №43)
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй, граждане, берегите воду!.. (Главполитпросвет №249)
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй
- Владимир Маяковский – Дядя ЭМЭСПЭО
- Владимир Маяковский – Две культуры
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
Violet Nicolson ( 1865 – 1904); otherwise known as Adela Florence Nicolson (née Cory), was an English poetess who wrote under the pseudonym of Laurence Hope, however she became known as Violet Nicolson. In the early 1900s, she became a best-selling author. She committed suicide and is buried in Madras, now Chennai, India.