A poem by Alan Seeger (1888-1916)
To see the clouds his spirit yearned toward so
Over new mountains piled and unploughed waves,
Back of old-storied spires and architraves
To watch Arcturus rise or Fomalhaut,
And roused by street-cries in strange tongues when day
Flooded with gold some domed metropolis,
Between new towers to waken and new bliss
Spread on his pillow in a wondrous way:
These were his joys. Oft under bulging crates,
Coming to market with his morning load,
The peasant found him early on his road
To greet the sunrise at the city-gates,—
There where the meadows waken in its rays,
Golden with mist, and the great roads commence,
And backward, where the chimney-tops are dense,
Cathedral-arches glimmer through the haze.
White dunes that breaking show a strip of sea,
A plowman and his team against the blue
Swiss pastures musical with cowbells, too,
And poplar-lined canals in Picardie,
And coast-towns where the vultures back and forth
Sail in the clear depths of the tropic sky,
And swallows in the sunset where they fly
Over gray Gothic cities in the north,
And the wine-cellar and the chorus there,
The dance-hall and a face among the crowd,—
Were all delights that made him sing aloud
For joy to sojourn in a world so fair.
Back of his footsteps as he journeyed fell
Range after range; ahead blue hills emerged.
Before him tireless to applaud it surged
The sweet interminable spectacle.
And like the west behind a sundown sea
Shone the past joys his memory retraced,
And bright as the blue east he always faced
Beckoned the loves and joys that were to be.
From every branch a blossom for his brow
He gathered, singing down Life’s flower-lined road,
And youth impelled his spirit as he strode
Like winged Victory on the galley’s prow.
That Loveliness whose being sun and star,
Green Earth and dawn and amber evening robe,
That lamp whereof the opalescent globe
The season’s emulative splendors are,
That veiled divinity whose beams transpire
From every pore of universal space,
As the fair soul illumes the lovely face—
That was his guest, his passion, his desire.
His heart the love of Beauty held as hides
One gem most pure a casket of pure gold.
It was too rich a lesser thing to bold;
It was not large enough for aught besides.
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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 – Вам
- Владимир Маяковский – В Советской России не может быть никакого царя… (Главполитпросвет №361)
- Владимир Маяковский – В шикарном вагоне, в вагоне-салоне… (Главполитпросвет №315)
- Владимир Маяковский – В РСФСР 130 миллионов населения (Агитплакаты)
- Владимир Маяковский – В России голод… (Главполитпросвет № 236)
- Владимир Маяковский – В Париже совещание “живых сил” (РОСТА №851)
- Владимир Маяковский – В начале настоящего года у нас было 3833 здоровых паровоза… (РОСТА №776)
- Владимир Маяковский – В мире два класса… (РОСТА №501)
- Владимир Маяковский – В Европе кризис (РОСТА №869)
- Владимир Маяковский – В авто
- Владимир Маяковский – В 12 часов по ночам
- Владимир Маяковский – Уже из-за снежных заносов прекратилось… (РОСТА №774)
- Владимир Маяковский – Ужасающая фамильярность
- Владимир Маяковский – Увеличивается ли питание Москвы… (Главполитпросвет №234)
- Владимир Маяковский – Успокоилась Франция, злобой не пышет… (РОСТА №625)
- Владимир Маяковский – Универсальный ответ
- Владимир Маяковский – Уймется Антанта… (РОСТА №571)
- Владимир Маяковский – Учитесь! (РОСТА №937)
- Владимир Маяковский – У шахтера нет чая, нет табаку, нет сахару… (РОСТА №604)
- Владимир Маяковский – У буржуев на весь мир пир… (РОСТА №315)
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Parallel Translations of Poetry
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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.