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:
- kaleidoscopic whorled wide web. by matthew scott harris
- Design poem – A. R. Ammons poems | Poetry Monster
- Омар Хайям – Бокала полного веселый вид мне люб
- Robert Burns: My Bonie Bell:
- Илья Эренбург – Я не трубач, труба
- Robert Burns: Why, Why Tell The Lover: Fragment,
- The Hanging Tree
- Convalescent poem – Ambrose Bierce poems | Poems and Poetry
- Robert Burns: The Gowden Locks Of Anna:
- Crazy Jane Reproved by William Butler Yeats
- Robert Burns: Phillis The Fair:
- The City That Will Not Repent by Vachel Lindsay
- Two Kopjes by Rudyard Kipling
- The Coach Of Life poem – Alexander Pushkin
- Игорь Северянин – Памяти Н.И. Кульбина
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: Behold, My Love, How Green The Groves:
- Robert Burns: The Winter Of Life:
- Robert Burns: The Lover’s Morning Salute To His Mistress:
- Robert Burns: Inconstancy In Love:
- Robert Burns: How Lang And Dreary Is The Night:
- Robert Burns: Saw Ye My Dear, My Philly:
- Robert Burns: Esteem For Chloris:
- Robert Burns: Pretty Peg:
- Robert Burns: On Andrew Turner:
- Robert Burns: On An Innkeeper Nicknamed “The Marquis”:
- Robert Burns: On A Swearing Coxcomb:
- Robert Burns: On A Suicide:
- Robert Burns: On Hearing It Asserted Falsehood: is expressed in the Rev. Dr. Babington’s very looks.
- Robert Burns: On Being Shewn A Beautiful Country Seat : Belonging to the same Laird [not quite so wise as Solomon].
- Robert Burns: Epigram On A Country Laird,: not quite so wise as Solomon.
- Robert Burns: On Seeing Mrs. Kemble In Yarico:
- Robert Burns: On Chloris: Requesting me to give her a Spring of Blossomed Thorn.
- Robert Burns: To The Beautiful Miss Eliza J-N: On her Principles of Liberty and Equality.
- Robert Burns: To Dr. Maxwell: On Miss Jessy Staig’s recovery.
- Robert Burns: She Says She Loes Me Best Of A’:
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.