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No Platonic Love
Tell me no more of minds embracing minds,
And hearts exchang’d for hearts;
That spirits spirits meet, as winds do winds,
And mix their subt’lest parts;
That two unbodied essences may kiss,
And then like Angels, twist and feel one Bliss.
I was that silly thing that once was wrought
To practise this thin love;
I climb’d from sex to soul, from soul to thought;
But thinking there to move,
Headlong I rolled from thought to soul, and then
From soul I lighted at the sex again.
As some strict down-looked men pretend to fast,
Who yet in closets eat;
So lovers who profess they spririts taste,
Feed yet on grosser meat;
I know they boast they souls to souls convey,
Howe’r they meet, the body is the way.
Come, I will undeceive thee, they that tread
Those vain aerial ways
Are like young heirs and alchemists misled
To waste their wealth and days,
For searching thus to be for ever rich,
They only find a med’cine for the itch.
William Cartwright
(1611-1643)
No Platonic Love
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive C-D, Archive C-D, CLASSIC POETRY
To the President of Magdalen College, Oxford
Since now from woodland mist and flooded clay
I am fled beside the steep Devonian shore,
Nor stand for welcome at your gothic door,
‘Neath the fair tower of Magdalen and May,
Such tribute, Warren, as fond poets pay
For generous esteem, I write, not more
Enhearten’d than my need is, reckoning o’er
My life-long wanderings on the heavenly way:
But well-befriended we become good friends,
Well-honour’d honourable; and all attain
Somewhat by fathering what fortune sends.
I bid your presidency a long reign,
True friend; and may your praise to greater ends
Aid better men than I, nor me in vain.
Robert Bridges
(1844-1930)
To the President of Magdalen College, Oxford
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive A-B, Bridges, Robert, WAR & PEACE
Life
Life! I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met,
I own to me ‘s a secret yet.
But this I know, when thou art fled,
Where’er they lay these limbs, this head,
No clod so valueless shall be
As all that then remains of me.
O whither, whither dost thou fly?
Where bend unseen thy trackless course?
And in this strange divorce,
Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I?
To the vast ocean of empyreal flame
From whence thy essence came
Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed
From matter’s base encumbering weed?
Or dost thou, hid from sight,
Wait, like some spell-bound knight,
Through blank oblivious years th’ appointed hour
To break thy trance and reassume thy power?
Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be?
O say, what art thou, when no more thou’rt thee?
Life! we have been long together,
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
‘Tis hard to part when friends are dear;
Perhaps ’twill cost a sigh, a tear;–
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;
Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime
Bid me Good-morning!
Anna Laetitia Barbauld
(1743-1825)
Life
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, CLASSIC POETRY
Du
Du. Ich will dich in den Wassern wecken!
Du. Ich will dich aus den Sternen schweißen!
Du. Ich will dich von dem Irdnen lecken,
Eine Hündin! Dich aus Früchten beißen,
Eine Wilde! Du. Ich will so vieles –
Liebes. Liebstes. Kannst du dich nicht spenden?
Nicht am Ende des Levkojenstieles
Deine weiße Blüte zu mir wenden?
Sieh, ich ging so oft auf harten Wegen,
Auf verpflastert harten, bösen Straßen;
Ich verdarb, verblich an Glut und Regen,
Schluchzend, stammelnd: “. . . über alle Maßen . . .”
Und die Pauke und das Blasrohr lärmten,
Und ich kam mit einer goldnen Kette,
Tanzte unter Lichtern, die mich wärmten,
Schönen Lichtern auf der Schädelstätte.
Und ich möchte wohl in Gärten sitzen,
Auch den Wein wohl trinken aus der Kelter,
Doch die Lider klafften, trübe Ritzen,
Und ich ward in Augenblicken älter.
Und auf meinen Leichnam hingekrochen
Ist die Schnecke träger Arbeitstage,
Zog den Schleimpfad dünner grauer Wochen,
Schlaffer Freude und geringer Plage.
In den Wäldern bin ich umgetrieben.
Ich verriet den Vögeln deinen Namen,
Doch die Vögel sind mir ferngeblieben;
Wenn ich weinte, zirpte keiner: Amen.
Und die Scheckenkühe an den Rainen
Grasten fort mit seltnem Häupterheben.
Da entfloh ich wieder zu den Steinen,
Die mir dieses Kind, mein Kind nicht geben.
Einmal muß ich noch im Finstren kauern
Und das Göttliche zu mir versammeln,
Es beschwören durch getünchte Mauern,
Seinem Ausgang meine Tür verrammeln,
Bis zum bunten Morgen mit ihm ringen.
Ach, es wird den Segen nimmer sprechen,
Nur mit seinem Schlag der erznen Schwingen
Diese flehnde Stirn in Stücke brechen…
Gertrud Kolmar
(1894-1943)
gedicht: Du
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Kolmar, Gertrud
The Outlaw’s Song
The chough and crow to roost are gone,
The owl sits on the tree,
The hush’d wind wails with feeble moan,
Like infant charity.
The wild-fire dances on the fen,
The red star sheds its ray;
Uprouse ye then, my merry men!
It is our op’ning day.
Both child and nurse are fast asleep,
And closed is every flower,
And winking tapers faintly peep
High from my lady’s bower;
Bewilder’d hinds with shorten’d ken
Shrink on their murky way;
Uprouse ye then, my merry men!
It is our op’ning day.
Nor board nor garner own we now,
Nor roof nor latched door,
Nor kind mate, bound by holy vow
To bless a good man’s store;
Noon lulls us in a gloomy den,
And night is grown our day;
Uprouse ye then, my merry men!
And use it as ye may.
Joanna Baillie
(1762-1851)
The Outlaw’s Song
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, CLASSIC POETRY
Nächte
Deine Hände keimen in Finsternissen,
Und ich seh nicht, wie sie blühn,
Atmend aus dem Schnee der Kissen.
Meeresgrün,
Wogengrau verglitzern deine Augen;
Meine Wange leckt ihr Schaum.
Nelkenrote Quallen saugen . . .
Süßes Harz von weißem Birkenbaum
Tropft die Stille goldbraun nieder . . .
O breiter Flügel, zuckender Schulter entstiegen !
O bleicher Schwanenflügel, der mich beschattet!
O Nacken, flaumige Brust, o Leib, den ein Wiegen
Verschilfter Bucht umschläfert, zärtlich ermattet !
Libellensirrendes Wispern . . .
Gertrud Kolmar
(1894-1943)
gedicht: Nächte
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Kolmar, Gertrud
The Voice
Atoms as old as stars,
Mutation on mutation,
Millions and millions of cells
Dividing yet still the same,
From air and changing earth,
From ancient Eastern rivers,
From turquoise tropic seas,
Unto myself I came.
My spirit like my flesh
Sprang from a thousand sources,
From cave-man, hunter and shepherd,
From Karnak, Cyprus, Rome;
The living thoughts in me
Spring from dead men and women,
Forgotten time out of mind
And many as bubbles of foam.
Here for a moment’s space
Into the light out of darkness,
I come and they come with me
Finding words with my breath;
From the wisdom of many life-times
I hear them cry: ‘Forever
Seek for Beauty, she only
Fights with man against Death!’
Sara Teasdale
(1884 – 1933)
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
Bedouin Song
From the Desert I come to thee
On a stallion shod with fire;
And the winds are left behind
In the speed of my desire.
Under thy window I stand,
And the midnight hears my cry:
I love thee, I love but thee,
With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgement
Book unfold!
Look from thy window and see
My passion and my pain;
I lie on the sands below,
And I faint in thy disdain.
Let the night-winds touch thy brow
With the heat of my burning sigh,
And melt thee to hear the vow
Of a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgement
Book unfold!
My steps are nightly driven,
By the fever in my breast,
To hear from thy lattice breathed
The word that shall give me rest.
Open the door of thy heart,
And open thy chamber door,
And my kisses shall teach thy lips
The love that shall fade no more
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgement
Book unfold!
Bayard Taylor
(1825-1878)
Bedouin Song
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, CLASSIC POETRY
For the first time in a quarter century, a major new volume of translations of the beloved poetry of Federico García Lorca, presented in a beautiful bilingual edition.
The fluid and mesmeric lines of these new translations by the award-winning poet Sarah Arvio bring us closer than ever to the talismanic perfection of the great García Lorca. Poet in Spain invokes the “wild, innate, local surrealism” of the Spanish voice, in moonlit poems of love and death set among poplars, rivers, low hills, and high sierras.
Arvio’s ample and rhythmically rich offering includes, among other essential works, the folkloric yet modernist Gypsy Ballads, the plaintive flamenco Poem of the Cante Jondo, and the turbulent and beautiful Dark Love Sonnets—addressed to Lorca’s homosexual lover—which Lorca was revising at the time of his brutal political murder by Fascist forces in the early days of the Spanish Civil War.
Here, too, are several lyrics translated into English for the first time and the play Blood Wedding—also a great tragic poem. Arvio has created a fresh voice for Lorca in English, full of urgency, pathos, and lyricism—showing the poet’s work has grown only more beautiful with the passage of time.
Federico Garcia Lorca may be Spain’s most famous poet and dramatist of all time. Born in Andalusia in 1898, he grew up in a village on the Vega and in the city of Granada.
His prolific works, known for their powerful lyricism and an obsession with love and death, include the Gypsy Ballads, which brought him far-reaching fame, and the homoerotic Dark Love Sonnets, which did not see print until almost fifty years after his death.
His murder in 1936 by Fascist forces at the outset of the Spanish Civil War became a literary cause célébre; in Spain, his writings were banned. Lorca’s poems and plays are now read and revered in many languages throughout the world.
Poet in Spain
By Federico Garcia Lorca
Translated by Sarah Arvio
Category: Poetry
Hardcover
Nov 07, 2017
576 Pages
$35.00
Published by Knopf
ISBN 9781524733117
new books
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: - Book News, Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Art & Literature News, Garcia Lorca, Federico, WAR & PEACE
Euthanasia
Take from my hand, dear love, these opening flowers.
Afar from thee they grew, ‘neath alien skies
Their stems sought light and life in humble wise,
Fed by the careless suns and vagrant showers.
But now their fate obeys the rule of ours.
They pass to airs made glorious by thine eyes.
Smit with swift joy, they breathe, in fragrant sighs,
Their souls out toward thee in their last glad hours,
Paying leal tribute to a brighter bloom.
Thus, and not other, is the giver’s fate.
Through years unblest by thee, a cheerless path,
A checkered maze of common glare and gloom,
He came to know in rapture deep though late
How thou couldst brighten life and gentle death.
John Hay
(1838-1905)
Euthanasia
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive G-H, Archive G-H, CLASSIC POETRY
Sonet
Fra bank to bank, fra wood to wood I rin,
Ourhailit with my feeble fantasie;
Like til a leaf that fallis from a tree,
Or til a reed ourblawin with the win.
Twa gods guides me: the ane of tham is blin,
Yea and a bairn brocht up in vanitie;
The next a wife ingenrit of the sea,
And lichter nor a dauphin with her fin.
Unhappy is the man for evermair
That tills the sand and sawis in the air;
But twice unhappier is he, I lairn,
That feidis in his hairt a mad desire,
And follows on a woman throw the fire,
Led by a blind and teachit by a bairn.
Mark Alexander Boyd
(1563-1601)
Sonet
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, CLASSIC POETRY
Rainer Maria Rilke feierte die Liebe, verschrieb sich ihr mit ganzer Seele. Die Frauen standen für ihn im Mittelpunkt.
Angefangen bei seiner innig geliebten Mutter Sophia und der gestrengen »Übermutter« Lou Andreas-Salomé über die Bildhauerin Clara Westhoff bis zu der großzügigen Mäzenin Fürstin von Thurn und Taxis. In seiner neuen, meisterlich geschriebenen Biografie erzählt Heimo Schwilk von diesen Frauen und ihren Schicksalen.
Ein Buch über die Liebe – und wie sie sich in großer Dichtung vollendet.
Heimo Schwilk, geboren 1952 in Stuttgart, Dr. phil., ist Autor zahlreicher Bücher über Politik und Literatur. Seine großen Biografien über Ernst Jünger und Hermann Hesse wurden im In- und Ausland hoch gelobt. Er war lange Jahre Leitender Redakteur der Welt am Sonntag und lebt in Berlin. 1991 wurde er mit dem Theodor-Wolff-Preis für herausragenden Journalismus ausgezeichnet.
Heimo Schwilk
Rilke und die Frauen
Biografie eines Liebenden
‘Piper’ Taschenbuch
Piper Verlag GmbH
Mit 22 Abbildungen
EAN: 9783492308878
ISBN: 3492308872
2016
336 Seiten
kartoniert
€ 11,00
new books
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: - Book News, Archive Q-R, Archive Q-R, Archive S-T, Art & Literature News, Rilke, Rainer Maria, The Ideal Woman
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