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Thread: I Love this Poet

  1. #1
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    I Love this Poet

    Slowly, silently, now the moon

    Walks the night in her silver shoon;

    This way, and that, she peers, and sees

    Silver fruit upon silver trees;

    One by one the casements catch

    Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;

    Couched in his kennel, like a log,

    With paws of silver sleeps the dog;

    From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep

    Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;

    A harvest mouse goes scampering by,

    With silver claws and a silver eye;

    And moveless fish in the water gleam,

    By silver reeds in a silver stream.

  2. #2
    Registered User tailor STATELY's Avatar
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    Good to see you posting again free !

    Beautiful poem; delicate and ethereal. I found an analysis of Silver (1913) by Walter de la Mare... https://owlcation.com/humanities/The...re-An-Analysis

    Here in Garden Valley we will have a full Moon this evening, hopefully with clear skies otherwise (Your results may vary).

    Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
    tailor
    tailor

    who am I but a stitch in time
    what if I were to bare my soul
    would you see me origami

    7-8-2015

  3. #3
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    Thank you, tailor.

    ...............



    Millions and millions of years

    Would not suffice

    To speak of

    The little second of eternity

    When you kissed me

    When I kissed you

    One morning in the winter sunlight

    In Montsouris Park in Paris

    On the Earth

    The Earth that is a star.
    Last edited by free; 12-14-2022 at 12:15 PM.

  4. #4
    Registered User tailor STATELY's Avatar
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    Another delightful poem... this by Jacques Prévert; the English translation being a bit loose with the number of years does not detract from the poem at all

    Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
    tailor
    tailor

    who am I but a stitch in time
    what if I were to bare my soul
    would you see me origami

    7-8-2015

  5. #5
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    Yes, tailor.

    It is not easy to translate a poem. From my point of view, poems are not science, not philosophy, not a cognitive kind of work.... They are music of words that influence human's emotions to get to a frequency of their minds which can help them spiritually develop.

  6. #6
    Registered User tailor STATELY's Avatar
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    Well said

    Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
    tailor
    tailor

    who am I but a stitch in time
    what if I were to bare my soul
    would you see me origami

    7-8-2015

  7. #7
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    How can I keep my soul in me, so that
    it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise
    it high enough, past you, to other things?
    I would like to shelter it, among remote
    lost objects, in some dark and silent place
    that doesn't resonate when your depths resound.
    Yet everything that touches us, me and you,
    takes us together like a violin's bow,
    which draws one voice out of two separate strings.
    Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
    And what musician holds us in his hand?
    Oh sweetest song.

  8. #8
    Registered User tailor STATELY's Avatar
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    Another incredible poem !

    The beautiful lyricism of Rainer Maria Rilke perhaps relating the incredible celestial resonance created by the master musician contrasted with the desires of earthly self, or charity vs vanity. I found a translation for the antepenultimate line that better resonates and suits my sensibilities: "Upon which instrument are we strung?" Forgive me the quibble.

    I remember reading earlier this year some of Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet in English that I must revisit and finish which may be found here : https://www.poetryintranslation.com/...lkeLetters.php - an intriguing glimpse into his psyche.
    An audio book of Rilke's poetry in English translation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDrAwEryvSw

    Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
    tailor
    tailor

    who am I but a stitch in time
    what if I were to bare my soul
    would you see me origami

    7-8-2015

  9. #9
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    Lovely, tailor, indeed.

    I cannot remember a beautiful poem by F. Schiller. I wanted to post it here. It is something about a lover waiting for his girlfriend somewhere in the nature. Wenever something changes there, like a sound or visually, he gets excited and happy thinking that she is coming, but it was something else....Do you, by any chance know it and its title?

  10. #10
    Registered User tailor STATELY's Avatar
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    I did not know it but a challenge it became happily reading through some of Friedrich Schiller's poetry. I may have found it: (it's a sweet poem anyway if not)

    The Assignation - Friedrich Schiller

    Hear I the creaking gate unclose?
    The gleaming latch uplifted?
    No - 'twas the wind that, whirring, rose,
    Amidst the poplars drifted!
    Adorn thyself, thou green leaf-bowering roof,
    Destined the bright one's presence to receive,
    For her, a shadowy palace-hall aloof
    With holy night, thy boughs familiar weave.
    And ye sweet flatteries of the delicate air,
    Awake and sport her rosy cheek around,
    When their light weight the tender feet shall bear,
    When beauty comes to passion's trysting-ground.

    Hush! what amidst the copses crept -
    So swiftly by me now?
    No-'twas the startled bird that swept
    The light leaves of the bough!
    Day, quench thy torch! come, ghostlike, from on high,
    With thy loved silence, come, thou haunting Eve,
    Broaden below thy web of purple dye,
    Which lulled boughs mysterious round us weave.
    For love's delight, enduring listeners none,
    The froward witness of the light will flee;
    Hesper alone, the rosy silent one,
    Down-glancing may our sweet familiar be!

    What murmur in the distance spoke,
    And like a whisper died?
    No - 'twas the swan that gently broke
    In rings the silver tide!
    Soft to my ear there comes a music-flow;
    In gleesome murmur glides the waterfall;
    To zephyr's kiss the flowers are bending low;
    Through life goes joy, exchanging joy with all.
    Tempt to the touch the grapes - the blushing fruit, [15]
    Voluptuous swelling from the leaves that bide;
    And, drinking fever from my cheek, the mute
    Air sleeps all liquid in the odor-tide!

    Hark! through the alley hear I now
    A footfall? Comes the maiden?
    No, - 'twas the fruit slid from the bough,
    With its own richness laden!

    Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death,
    And pale and paler wane his jocund hues,
    The flowers too gentle for his glowing breath,
    Ope their frank beauty to the twilight dews.
    The bright face of the moon is still and lone,
    Melts in vast masses the world silently;
    Slides from each charm the slowly-loosening zone;
    And round all beauty, veilless, roves the eye.

    What yonder seems to glimmer?
    Her white robe's glancing hues?
    No, - 'twas the column's shimmer
    Athwart the darksome yews!

    O, longing heart, no more delight-upbuoyed
    Let the sweet airy image thee befool!
    The arms that would embrace her clasp the void
    This feverish breast no phantom-bliss can cool,
    O, waft her here, the true, the living one!
    Let but my hand her hand, the tender, feel -
    The very shadow of her robe alone! -
    So into life the idle dream shall steal!

    As glide from heaven, when least we ween,
    The rosy hours of bliss,
    All gently came the maid, unseen: -
    He waked beneath her kiss!

    Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
    tailor
    Last edited by tailor STATELY; 12-17-2022 at 05:02 AM. Reason: indent
    tailor

    who am I but a stitch in time
    what if I were to bare my soul
    would you see me origami

    7-8-2015

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    Yes, yes, tailor. This is the one. You are great!

    Since we are with German poets, I love Goethe. too. Here is a small part from his FAUST I find a very intriguing one,
    Scene XXI - Walpurgis–Night:


    FAUST (dancing with the young witch)

    A lovely dream once came to me;
    I then beheld an apple-tree,
    And there two fairest apples shone:
    They lured me so, I climbed thereon.

    THE FAIR ONE

    Apples have been desired by you,
    Since first in Paradise they grew;
    And I am moved with joy, to know
    That such within my garden grow.

  12. #12
    Registered User tailor STATELY's Avatar
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    Wonderful poetry Freudian imagery. Preceding interchanges between Faust and Mephistopheles set the scene... https://lyrics.az/johann-wolfgang-vo...t-chap-21.html

    I've learned recently that Goethe had a love of gardens and even conducted botanical experiments no less.

    Here's a primer to introduce others to Goethe:
    https://mypoeticside.com/poets/johan...n-goethe-poems
    https://interestingliterature.com/20...-about-goethe/

    and something I found interesting re: Goethe's poems on clouds: https://www.dailygood.org/story/1160...-maria-popova/

    Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
    tailor
    tailor

    who am I but a stitch in time
    what if I were to bare my soul
    would you see me origami

    7-8-2015

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    Great writer, indeed. Although a bit tragic for my taste. Rememeber his "The Sorrows of Young Werther"? So depressive, is it not? Sometimes I think that Gog gave tallents to writers to write about the world as it should be, not as it is.... hehe....

    That is why I go back to my old love - de la Mare and his THE LISTENERES, it gets me high for some reason.



    The Listeners
    Walter de la Mare











    ‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
    Knocking on the moonlit door;
    And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
    Of the forest’s ferny floor:
    And a bird flew up out of the turret,
    Above the Traveller’s head:
    And he smote upon the door again a second time;
    ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
    But no one descended to the Traveller;
    No head from the leaf-fringed sill
    Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
    Where he stood perplexed and still.
    But only a host of phantom listeners
    That dwelt in the lone house then
    Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
    To that voice from the world of men:
    Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
    That goes down to the empty hall,
    Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
    By the lonely Traveller’s call.
    And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
    Their stillness answering his cry,
    While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
    ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
    For he suddenly smote on the door, even
    Louder, and lifted his head:—
    ‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
    That I kept my word,’ he said.
    Never the least stir made the listeners,
    Though every word he spake
    Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
    From the one man left awake:
    Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
    And the sound of iron on stone,
    And how the silence surged softly backward,
    When the plunging hoofs were gone.

  14. #14
    Registered User tailor STATELY's Avatar
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    Yes, "The Sorrows of Young Werther" is quite tragic... I read Goethe tried to distance himself from the story, ostensibly because of the fame, but I think there is more to the story.

    Walter de la Mare's poem is quite enigmatic. I found a critique of "The Listeners" that opened more questions than resolved...
    https://www.litbug.com/2021/08/14/th...-and-analysis/

    Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
    tailor
    tailor

    who am I but a stitch in time
    what if I were to bare my soul
    would you see me origami

    7-8-2015

  15. #15
    On the road, but not! Danik 2016's Avatar
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    Forgive my chiming in. I had to write a preface for a translation of Werther, so I had to read about the book. The novel is indeed based on a personal experience of the young Goethe, who fell in love with a married lady. But unlike his protagonist, he recovered so well from the episode that, during his long life, he fell in love with numerous other ladies. I counted about 15 and maybe there were some that remained unknown to posterity.
    "I seemed to have sensed also from an early age that some of my experiences as a reader would change me more as a person than would many an event in the world where I sat and read. "
    Gerald Murnane, Tamarisk Row

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