A sudden blow: the great wings beating still Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill, He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push The feathered glory from her loosening thighs? And how can body, laid in that white rush, But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there The broken wall, the burning roof and tower And Agamemnon dead. Being so caught up, So mastered by the brute blood of the air, Did she put on his knowledge with his power Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
By E.H. Shepard; Public Domain; Source: Wikimedia Commons
There are lots and lots of people who are always asking things, Like Dates and Pounds-and-ounces and the names of funny Kings, And the answer's either Sixpence or A Hundred Inches Long, And I know they'll think me silly if I get the answer wrong.
So Pooh and I go whispering, and Pooh looks very bright, And says, "Well, I say sixpence, but I don't suppose I'm right," And then it doesn't matter what the answer ought to be, 'Cos if he's right, I'm Right, and if he's wrong, it isn't Me.
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow -- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand -- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep -- while I weep! O God! Can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
I came once to Tiantai, And back ten-thousand times. Like clouds or water tides: Drift and flow, come and go. I stroll, free of worry, Buddha's Path - in no hurry. While the world's forked roads Lead men to fret and scurry.
In Spring, the waters rise -- Shore grass sways with breezes, And geese drift right beside; Boats glide as the stream pleases. Yon pagoda looks far, but feels quite close.
Streamside, one feels a chill. Fields have yet to be plowed -- Not while the torrents spill. Mulberry limbs are bowed. Soon we'll have a taste, and harvest cocoons.
NOTE: The title of this poem is 蝶 戀 花. Xu Yuanchong uses the quite literal “Butterflies in Love with Flowers” as his translated title. I chose differently because a wet Spring is the throughline of the poem and, well, there are no explicit butterflies (or flowers) in the poem [only their potential.] Of course, maybe that’s exactly why the original is a great title.
Project Gutenberg Page
This was Lowell’s first published collection (1912,) and my 5-stars notwithstanding, it is not everyone’s cup of tea. I think I understand why this is. If you read some of Lowell’s more popular and highly anthologized poems, you might find that this collection is unlike them in several ways. Many of those popular poems are highly imagist, emulate East Asian sparseness, and are free verse. These poems are by and large metered and rhymed verse and I would not be the first to say that they often feel conventional and pedestrian. As I was reading the final section, “Verses for Children,” I figured out what other key feature of Lowell’s poetry was largely missing from the lyric poetry and sonnets that preceded these Children’s poems — playfulness. [Fortunately, it’s on display in the kid’s poems.] . With all that said, there are some spectacularly evocative images presented within these poems. I particularly enjoyed poems like: “New York at Night” and “A Japanese Wood-Carving.” As I don’t have the aversion to metered verse that many poetry readers seem to have today, I wasn’t as dismayed by the collection as some readers seem to be. Though I will admit that the collection doesn’t just play it safe with form, it also infects the tone and content of the poems.
Still, I found the collection readable and pleasant reading. (But maybe this is because I like a good scavenger hunt for golden nuggets of beautiful verse.)
The shades of night were falling fast, As though an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped the groan, Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior!
"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!" A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered, with a sigh, Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!" This was the peasant's last Good-night, A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air, Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device, Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell like a falling star, Excelsior!
One may live a century -- Short span though it may be: Joys are bitterly brief And sorrows are many. You may take a wine jug On your wisteria rounds: See flowers grow to the eves As sparse rains wet the grounds. And when the wine is gone, One strolls with cane and croons. We become wizened with age; South Mount, fair through countless moons.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry (二十四诗品.) It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a crude translation of the twenty-third of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 旷达, which has been translated as: “Illumed” [Giles,] “Big-hearted and Expansive [Barnstone and Ping,] “Expansive,” and “Open-minded.”
Tiger Riding for Beginners 