A poem by Alan Seeger (1888-1916)
A shell surprised our post one day
And killed a comrade at my side.
My heart was sick to see the way
He suffered as he died.
I dug about the place he fell,
And found, no bigger than my thumb,
A fragment of the splintered shell
In warm aluminum.
I melted it, and made a mould,
And poured it in the opening,
And worked it, when the cast was cold,
Into a shapely ring.
And when my ring was smooth and bright,
Holding it on a rounded stick,
For seal, I bade a Turco write
Maktoob in Arabic.
Maktoob! “‘Tis written!” . . . So they think,
These children of the desert, who
From its immense expanses drink
Some of its grandeur too.
Within the book of Destiny,
Whose leaves are time, whose cover, space,
The day when you shall cease to be,
The hour, the mode, the place,
Are marked, they say; and you shall not
By taking thought or using wit
Alter that certain fate one jot,
Postpone or conjure it.
Learn to drive fear, then, from your heart.
If you must perish, know, O man,
‘Tis an inevitable part
Of the predestined plan.
And, seeing that through the ebon door
Once only you may pass, and meet
Of those that have gone through before
The mighty, the elite — —
Guard that not bowed nor blanched with fear
You enter, but serene, erect,
As you would wish most to appear
To those you most respect.
So die as though your funeral
Ushered you through the doors that led
Into a stately banquet hall
Where heroes banqueted;
And it shall all depend therein
Whether you come as slave or lord,
If they acclaim you as their kin
Or spurn you from their board.
So, when the order comes: “Attack!”
And the assaulting wave deploys,
And the heart trembles to look back
On life and all its joys;
Or in a ditch that they seem near
To find, and round your shallow trough
Drop the big shells that you can hear
Coming a half mile off;
When, not to hear, some try to talk,
And some to clean their guns, or sing,
And some dig deeper in the chalk –;
I look upon my ring:
And nerves relax that were most tense,
And Death comes whistling down unheard,
As I consider all the sense
Held in that mystic word.
And it brings, quieting like balm
My heart whose flutterings have ceased,
The resignation and the calm
And wisdom of the East.
A few random poems:
- Lune de Miel by T. S. Eliot
- meeting.html
- Hug O’War by Shel Silverstein
- The Princess (prologue) poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- Rimini by Rudyard Kipling
- Василий Курочкин – Юмористическим чутьем
- America by Robert Creeley
- A Man Young And Old: VIII. Summer And Spring by William Butler Yeats
- Низами Гянджеви – Я долго шел по лугу лет
- Now Hollow Fires Burn Out to Black poem – Alfred Edward Housman
- Angel Of Christmas Love Shining Bright
- Against A Sickness To The Female Double Principle God
- To Mrs. M. B. On Her Birthday poem – Alexander Pope
- Владимир Маяковский – Россия — единое советское хозяйство (РОСТА № 280)
- Иван Мятлев – Соловей
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
- Robert Burns: The Farewell:
- Robert Burns: Stanzas On Naething: Extempore Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
- Robert Burns: Lines Written On A Banknote:
- Robert Burns: Lines To Mr. John Kennedy:
- Robert Burns: Motto Prefixed To The Author’s First Publication:
- Robert Burns: Lines To An Old Sweetheart:
- Robert Burns: The Lass O’ Ballochmyle:
- Robert Burns: Epitaph On “Wee Johnie”: Hic Jacet wee Johnie.
- Robert Burns: Epitaph For Gavin Hamilton, Esq.:
- Robert Burns: Epitaph For Robert Aiken, Esq.:
- Robert Burns: A Bard’s Epitaph:
- Robert Burns: Farewell To Eliza:
- Robert Burns: On A Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indies:
- Robert Burns: The Farewell To the Brethren of St. James’ Lodge, Tarbolton:
- Robert Burns: Versified Note To Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline:
- Robert Burns: A Dedication : To Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
- Robert Burns: A Dream: Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statute blames with reason; But surely Dreams were ne’er indicted Treason. On reading, in the public papers, the Laureate’s Ode, with the other parade of June 4th, 1786, the Author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the Birth-day Levee: and, in his dreaming fancy, made the following Address:
- Robert Burns: Address Of Beelzebub: To the Right Honourable the Earl of Breadalbane, President of the Right Honourable and Honourable the Highland Society, which met on the 23rd of May last at the Shakespeare, Covent Garden, to concert ways and means to frustrate the designs of five hundred Highlanders, who, as the Society were informed by Mr. M’Kenzie of Applecross, were so audacious as to attempt an escape from their lawful lords and masters whose property they were, by emigrating from the lands of Mr. Macdonald of Glengary to the wilds of Canada, in search of that fantastic thing-Liberty.
- Robert Burns: Epistle To A Young Friend:
- Robert Burns: My Highland Lassie, O:
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
Alan Seeger (1888-1916) was an American war poet who fought and died in World War I during the Battle of the Somme, serving in the French Foreign Legion. Seeger was the brother of Charles Seeger, a noted American pacifist and musicologist and the uncle of folk musician, Pete Seeger.