Poems about Poetry
THE POET AND IMAGINATION
by Walter William Safar
I am going!… I am leaving you, world!
How horrible this admission echoes
in the company of solitude.
And while the northern wind, like an invisible carpenter,
peels the bark off the old wooden cross,
an old homeless man, with his trembling hand,
leaves a red rose at a nameless grave,
my future home.
And while hyppocrites pretend to be compassionate,
I know that they won’t shed a tear for me.
There are wonderful people who can shed their tears,
but they won’t know where my grave is.
The old homeless man stares at the grave,
wondering whether death might come for him
before the black soil covers the body
of his brother in poverty.
It is sad to end up in a nameless grave,
but the world doesn’t care too much about sadness.
Perhaps a priest might come to the funeral by chance,
but not to hold a farewell speech,
no, rather to see if the nameless grave
takes up too much space,
and maybe a flower shall rise from the black soil tomorrow,
like a beautiful bride to the soul of the dead poet.
The time to leave is approaching… my tired body
is waiting for the blistered hands of the grave diggers
to be lowered into the nameless grave.
Oh, Lord, give me time enough
just to fill this white paper,
my sad testament to the cold world.
Above me, a turquoise butterfly is wistfully flapping its wings,
as if it came to his poet’s funeral.
It is so young and beautiful,
as if it arose from my poem back when I believed in the world.
There is nothing left for me apar from my imagination.
Yes, world, me and my imagination used to knock
on your thick door for days, months and years,
but you would always send us away like tramps.
I wanted to ransom your sin with my poems,
but you always crumple them and threw them into the bin.
You threw away your children… your conscience!…
It is time to leave!
You know, Lord, that I’m not one of those who give up
at the halfway point.
Now I am standing in the same place
where I took off into the world, followed by childish dreams,
and the reverberating echo of my mother’s wishes,
I am going, leaving behind imagination
which is feverishly clinging on to me…
I know it would like to go with its poet,
but there is no space for it down in the black soil.
Wise men say that the imagination
is the mother and father to every poet,
but I am just leaving…
leaving for a world without imagination.
I am taking all my life’s legacy with me,
a stack of white paper, a dry pen,
and ink as hard as flintstone,
because I haven’t immersed my pen in it in ages,
but what good is any of this without imagination?
Where I am heading, there is no place for imagination,
my faithful squire, is there?
Death is silently standing in its black cloak,
everything on it is black apart from… apart from…
Oh, Lord, can it be that death is crying…?
Never in my life did I see such a big pearly tear,
slowly sliding, silvering all the darkness surrounding death,
and in death,
how strange it is for death to cry because I’m leaving,
and the world… living people… they don’t even turn to see.
There is no fear in me, only sadness,
not because I am leaving this cold world,
but because I am leaving my imagination,
and it needs me so much,
because there are so many sheets of white paper left unfilled.
I am leaving!… Do not worry, my imagination!…
Just wait for me in the same spot!…
From our poems, a new soul shall arise
and enter a new mother’s womb
to bring a poet into this world
who will be luckier than I was.
©Walter William Safar
Walter William Safar
Copyright ©:
©Walter William Safar
A few random poems:
- life on the escalator by Raj Arumugam
- Unlike, For Example, The Sound Of A Riptooth Saw by Thomas Lux
- The Seed Market by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- Виктор Гончаров – Опять пришла пора дождей
- Detached Living by P.J.Reed
- Наум Коржавин – Памяти Герцена или Баллада об историческом недосыпе
- To Homer poem – John Keats poems
- To a Childless Woman by Siegfried Sassoon
- Grass by Russell Edson
- Владимир Маяковский – Неделя фронта (РОСТА)
- Mediums. by Walt Whitman
- Thalidomide by Sylvia Plath
- English Poetry. Philip James Bailey. Festus – 20. Филип Джеймс Бэйли.
- Belle Isle, 1949 by Philip Levine
- The Rabbi’s Song by Rudyard Kipling
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: Verses To Collector Mitchell :
- Robert Burns: Jockey’s Taen The Parting Kiss:
- Robert Burns: Mally’s Meek, Mally’s Sweet:
- Robert Burns: Crowdie Ever Mair:
- Robert Burns: News, Lassies, News:
- Robert Burns: The Wren’s Nest: Fragment
- Robert Burns: Leezie Lindsay: Fragment
- Robert Burns: Inscription: Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems, presented to the Lady whom, in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of-“Chloris.”
- Robert Burns: O That’s The Lassie O’ My Heart :
- Robert Burns: Song Inscribed To Alexander Cunningham:
- Robert Burns: O Bonie Was Yon Rosy Brier:
- Robert Burns: This Is No My Ain Lassie:
- Robert Burns: The Braw Wooer:
- Robert Burns: Why, Why Tell The Lover: Fragment,
- Robert Burns: Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Near:
- Robert Burns: Their Groves O’Sweet Myrtle :
- Robert Burns: Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E’e:
- Robert Burns: Mark Yonder Pomp Of Costly Fashion:
- Robert Burns: How Cruel Are The Parents: Altered from an old English song. tune-“John Anderson, my jo.”
- Robert Burns: On Chloris Being Ill:
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