I Love this Poet

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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.

[tailor STATELY]

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-Poem-Silver-1913-by-Walter-de-la-Mare-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

[free]

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.

[tailor STATELY]

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

[free]

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.

[tailor STATELY]

Well said :)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[free]

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.

[tailor STATELY]

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/PITBR/German/RilkeLetters.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

[free]

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?

[tailor STATELY]

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

[free]

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.

[tailor STATELY]

Wonderful poetry :) Freudian imagery. Preceding interchanges between Faust and Mephistopheles set the scene... https://lyrics.az/johann-wolfgang-von-goethe/faust-english/faust-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/johann-wolfgang-von-goethe-poems
• https://interestingliterature.com/2016/12/five-fascinating-facts-about-goethe/

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

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[free]

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.

[tailor STATELY]

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/the-listeners-summary-and-analysis/

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[Danik 2016]

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.

[tailor STATELY]

Forgive my chiming in. Lol... thank you for your contribution... please drop in any time :)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[Danik 2016]

You are welcome !

[free]

Quote Originally Posted by tailor STATELY View Post


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
He seems to me as a supernaturalistic poet. Some of his poems are considered to be written for children, but they do not sound to me like it. They are just full of symbilistic meanings, like

Someone



by Walter de la Mare



Someone came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Someone came knocking,
I'm sure — sure — sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But nought there was a-stirring
In the still, dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech owl's call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all, at all, at all.

I, simply, adore his style. But, again... maybe I am childish... LOL

[tailor STATELY]

A poem of this genre is one of my favorites...



Antigonish - Hughes Mearns


Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
I wish, I wish he'd go away...

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn't see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door... (slam!)

Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
Oh, how I wish he'd go away...

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[free]

A poem of this genre is one of my favorites...



Antigonish - Hughes Mearns


Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
I wish, I wish he'd go away...

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn't see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door... (slam!)

Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
Oh, how I wish he'd go away...

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor


tailor, "You are talking my language!"

:smile5:

[free]

The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

[tailor STATELY]

Great poem... I read it often :)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[Danik 2016]

I also love this poem

[free]

Seaside Golf

How straight it flew, how long it flew,
It clear'd the rutty track
And soaring, disappeared from view
Beyond the bunker's back -
A glorious, sailing, bounding drive
That made me glad I was alive.


And down the fairway, far along
It glowed a lonely white;
I played an iron sure and strong
And clipp'd it out of sight,
And spite of grassy banks between
I knew I'd find it on the green.


And so I did.
It lay content
Two paces from the pin;
A steady putt and then it went
Oh, most surely in.

The very turf rejoiced to see
That quite unprecedented three.


Ah! Seaweed smells from sandy caves
And thyme and mist in whiffs,
In-coming tide, Atlantic waves
Slapping the sunny cliffs,
Lark song and sea sounds in the air
And splendour, splendour everywhere.


Written by John Betjeman

[tailor STATELY]

:) Ah, golf. I knew the game as a child as a caddy for my Father that took us on early morning jaunts here and there throughout Washington State and California. He was a fabulous golfer who shared the name of a professional player of the same era, as do I. I never took the game seriously, in fact never played a complete round until I purchased a home nestled near the 7th green of a golf course in of all places "just above Paradise", now a fire ravaged recovering community. Still, I know the highs and lows of the game and can appreciate Betjeman's poem. In my research I found Betjeman's poem coupled with another poem that more nearly reflects my short playing days, albeit not blessed with a seaside aspect... https://www.bridgeinthebox.co.uk/a-wretched-game/

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

[free]

Thanks, tailor. Nice memories. Try again.
I myself do not see much fun when I watch it on TV, except for spending nice time in nice nature with nice people :)...


Brilliance of Rosetta Stone

Meaningless squiggles and wiggles
Noted for decades
Without collaborated meaning

Rosetta Stone discovered at last
The missing correlation
Brilliance of a Wise mind

Ancient abstract squiggles
Consolidated wiggles
Revealed under desert sand

Proof of ones or ones
Who cared and dared shared
Translation key to the world.

- Caren Krutsinger


(PS Is there an error to say: "Proof of ones or ones", instead: "Proof of one or ones"?)

[WICKES]

Walter de la Mare is wonderful – and so underrated. It's funny how certain writers fade out of the public consciousness, often for no reason. The poet Swinburne is another example – superb, yet hardly ever read.