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At the Door
I thought myself indeed secure,
So fast the door, so firm the lock;
But, lo! he toddling comes to lure
My parent ear with timorous knock.
My heart were stone could it withstand
The sweetness of my baby’s plea,—
That timorous, baby knocking and
“Please let me in,—it’s only me.”
I threw aside the unfinished book,
Regardless of its tempting charms,
And opening wide the door, I took
My laughing darling in my arms.
Who knows but in Eternity,
I, like a truant child, shall wait
The glories of a life to be,
Beyond the Heavenly Father’s gate?
And will that Heavenly Father heed
The truant’s supplicating cry,
As at the outer door I plead,
“‘T is I, O Father! only I”?
Eugene Field
(1850 – 1895)
At the Door
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The Advertiser
I am an advertiser great!
In letters bold
The praises of my wares I sound,
Prosperity is my estate;
The people come,
The people goIn one continuous,
Surging flow.
They buy my goods and come again
And I’m the happiest of men;
And this the reason I relate,
I’m an advertiser great!
There is a shop across the way
Where ne’er is heard a human tread,
Where trade is paralyzed and dead,
With ne’er a customer a day.
The people come,
The people go,
But never there.
They do not know
There’s such a shop beneath the skies,
Because he does not advertise!
While I with pleasure contemplate
That I’m an advertiser great.
The secret of my fortune lies
In one small fact, which I may state,
Too many tradesmen learn too late,
If I have goods,
I advertise.Then people come
And people go
In constant streams,
For people know
That he who has good wares to sell
Will surely advertise them well;
And proudly I reiterate,
I am an advertiser great!
Eugene Field
(1850 – 1895)
The Advertiser
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Gedicht über Nachtwirkungen
Noch nicht Tag! Die fratzenhafte Nacht
hat mich Stück für Stück entzweigerissen.
Wehe Striemen drücken mir die Kissen,
jede Falte hat mich wund gemacht.
Und der Träume quälerische Schwere:
Wollust, Ekel, Schmerzen, Tränen, Mord,
treibt mein Herz auf einem dunklen Meere
wie ein purpurrotes Segel fort.
Bin ein zitternd Geflecht von Nerven,
allem Bösen in die Hand gegeben,
Und die Schatten sind wie Messerschärfen,
die von meinem Zucken trunken leben.
Und ich möchte in das Dunkel schrein.
Aber meine Stimme ist nicht mehr.
Wilder Bilder ewige Wiederkehr,
stumm, gestaltlos, haltlos muss ich sein!
Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele
(1889 – 1915)
Gedicht über Nachtwirkungen
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Among the sheaves
I
Among the sheaves—the golden sheaves,
An empty heart, I walk forlorn:
How sadly sigh the alder leaves—
I loathe those fields of mellow corn!
II
Among the sheaves—the golden sheaves,
My heart is full, new hopes are born:
My heart is faint—for Hope deceives:
My passion may be met by scorn!
III
Among the sheaves—the golden sheaves,
My Love is won! No more forlorn,
How sweet the whisp’ring alder leaves—
I bless those fields of mellow corn!
Evelyn Forest
(Pen name of Anne Pares)
( … – … unknown)
Among the sheaves
Illustration: Frederick Eltze (1836–1870)
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Der Dichter
Es neigte sich die Schar der jungen Knechte
Dem wirren Haar und dem zerschlißnen Rock.
Die Straße weiter taperte die Rechte,
Die Linke hielt sich krampfig fest am Stock.
Scham schlug ihm rot empor: er war betrunken
Und rang mit seinem Weg; und jäh erblaßt
War er im Rinnstein stolpernd hingesunken
Und raffte sich empor in wirrer Hast.
Da kam’s, daß er den Blick nach innen schlug,
Wo er, buntwechselnd wie Geleucht der Meere,
Wuchernder Blumen Fülle in sich trug.
Und atemraubend gab der süße, schwere
Duft seinem Sinn, der wie ein großer Falter
In ihre tiefen Rätselkelche sank,
Seltsamen Traum und schuf ihn zum Gestalter,
Der Lust und Qual in seine Lieder zwang.
So ging er, in sein Fühlen tief versunken,
Betäubt von Fiebern, Künder schwüler Nächte.
Man wich ihm schonend aus: er war betrunken.
Es neigte sich die Schar der jungen Knechte.
Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele
(1889 – 1915)
Der Dichter
Aus: Versensporn
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“Alone—together”
I
Alone, I see the sunrise, from the rocks above the sea;
And the hamlet flushed with rosy light, seems fairy-land to me:
There dwells the pilot’s daughter, whose dear love I’d die to win;
And the blue sky fills my heart with hope, while the merry tide flows in.
II
’Tis noon—we stand together, on the sands beside the sea;
And the maiden, folded to my heart, is sworn my bride to be!
In the sunshine flash the sea-gulls, skimming waves of rippled light;
The fisher boats ride gaily, under cliffs of dazzling white.
III
Alone, I see the sunset, from the churchyard near the sea,
For the cruel grave-stone at my feet, hides my darling’s face from me!
Like some dark pall, the sea-weeds droop from ledges cold and grey;
The night-mists shroud the hamlet, and the tide ebbs fast away!
Evelyn Forest
(Pen name of Anne Pares)
(? – ?)
“Alone—together”
Illustration: Frederick Eltze (1836–1870)
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The Seasons
Spring—and her heart is singing
A song full of joyous cheer;
For each brightening day seems bringing
The hope of her life more near.
Summer—her heart is waiting;
Its dream is yet unfulfilled:
But her trust knows no abating,
Though the Spring’s glad song is stilled.
Autumn—her heart is burning
With the fever of restless fears;
And the darkened days returning
Bring her no relief save tears.
Winter—her heart is broken:
The struggles of Hope are o’er;
But the love that was here unspoken
Will be hers where hearts bleed no more.
Evelyn Forest
(Pen name of Anne Pares)
(? – ?)
The Seasons (1862-63)
Illustration: Frederick Eltze (1836–1870)
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Song
What can it mean?—that glance so tender,
Out of the depths of two soft dark eyes;
Can it be earnest of heart-surrender,
Making me blest with a sweet surprise?
What can it mean?—white hands caressing
Between them a hand that is scarred and brown:
Is it a dream?—two soft lips pressing
That hard rough hand while the tears fall down.
What can it mean?—you kneel beside me,
Laying your dear head upon my breast,
Giving me all that you once denied me!
Is it, sweetheart, is it love confessed?
Evelyn Forest
(Pen name of Anne Pares)
( …-… unknown)
Song
Illustration: Frederick Eltze (1836–1870)
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Schwermütig kam die Nacht …
Schwermütig kam die Nacht. Ich bin allein.
Rings wuchern Bücher, Möbel und Tapeten
Im gelben Licht der Lampe fremd und kalt.
Wie weh tun Sehnsucht, Nacht und Einsamsein!
Still möcht ich in dein junges Leben treten
Wie eine Wanderschaft durch einen grünen Wald.
Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele
(1889 – 1915)
Schwermütig kam die Nacht …
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Von des Daseins körperlicher Schwere …
Von des Daseins körperlicher Schwere
Überfallen, bedrückt und tief gehemmt,
Dürstet mein Gemüt nach einer Leere.
Draußen haben blasse Abendmeere
Straßen trüb und traurig überschwemmt.
Und die Stadt sinkt wie verwest und grau
In den Schoß der mütterlichen Nacht.
Tief in meiner Seele weint und wacht
Die Erinnerung an eine Frau,
An ein Lied, ein Buch, an Sonne, Blau,
An viel Not, an manche Lust und Pracht.
Schwach durchzittert vom Geläut der Qual
Treibt mein Tag in eine ernste Stille.
Dunklen Himmels glanzlose Pupille
Starrt durchs Fenster hoffnungsblind und fahl.
Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele
(1889 – 1915)
Von des Daseins körperlicher Schwere …
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Harvest Lingo is the fourteenth collection of poems by Lionel Fogarty, a Murri man with traditional connections to the Yugambeh people from south of Brisbane and the Kudjela people of north Queensland.
He is a leading Indigenous rights activist, and one of Australia’s foremost poets, and this collection displays all of the urgency, energy and linguistic audacity for which Fogarty is known.
At the centre of the collection is a series of poems written in India. Deeply empathetic, these poems are remarkable for the connections they draw between the social problems the poet encounters in this country – poverty, class division, corruption – and those he sees in contemporary Australia, besetting his own people.
Other poems tell of encounters between people and between cultures, address historical and cultural issues and political events, and pay tribute to important Indigenous figures. There are intensely felt lyrics of personal experience, and poems which contemplate Fogarty’s own position as a poet and an activist, speaking with and for his community.
Fogarty’s poems are bold and fierce, at times challenging and confronting, moved by strong rhythms and a remarkable freedom with language. They are an expression of the ‘harvest lingo’ which gives the collection its title.
Lionel Fogarty was born on Wakka Wakka land, at Cherbourg Aboriginal Reserve in south-east Queensland in 1957. Throughout the 1970s he worked as an activist for Aboriginal Land Rights, and in the 1990s, after the death of his brother Daniel Yock, protesting against Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. His poetry collections date from the early 1980s; his most recent collections are Connection Requital; Mogwie-Idan: Stories of the Land; Eelahroo (Long Ago) Nyah (Looking) Mobo-Mobo (Future), all with Vagabond Press, and Lionel Fogarty: Selected Poems 1980-2017, published by re.press.
Harvest Lingo
by Lionel Fogarty
Poetry
Giramondo Publishing
112 pages
Paperback, 21 x 14.8 cm
Published June 2022
ISBN 9781925336177
$25,00
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In her English-language debut, acclaimed French-language poet of the Palestinian diaspora Olivia Elias probes deeply into the upheavals of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries
Poet of the Palestinian diaspora, born in Haifa in 1944, Olivia Elias writes in French. She lived until she was 16 years old in Lebanon where her family took refuge in 1948, then in Montréal-Canada, before moving to France.
Her third and most recent collection, Chaos, Traversée, appeared in 2019. Characterized by terse, laconic language and strong rhythms, her poetry shows a deep sensitivity to the Palestinian cause, the plight of refugees and human suffering in general.
Her work, translated into English, Arabic, Spanish, Italian and Japanese, has been published in numerous journals and in anthologies.
Kareem James Abu-Zeid is a translator of writers from across the Arab world, including Najwan Darwish (Palestine), Adonis (Syria), Rabee Jaber (Lebanon), and Dunya Mikhail (Iraq). He has received an NEA translation grant, PEN Center USA’s Translation Award, a Fulbright Fellowship (Germany), and a CASA Fellowship (Egypt), among other honors. He is also the author of The Poetics of Adonis and Yves Bonnefoy: Poetry as Spiritual Practice.
Chaos, Crossing —translated by award-winning translator Kareem James Abu-Zeid—is a powerful chronicle of uprootedness, of times marked by inequality, injustice, and disconnection. These poems—presented here in a bilingual edition—seek the calm at the center of the storm, the still point amidst the chaos.
Chaos, Crossing
Olivia Elias (Author)
Kareem James Abu-Zeid (Translator)
Foreword by Najwan Darwish
Pub Date: 11/15/2022
Publisher: World Poetry Books
Product Number:9781954218079
ISBN978-1-954218-07-9
Binding: Paperback
Pages: 192
Price: $ 20.00
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