Category Archives: Literature

“Darest Thou Now O Soul” by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
4 
Darest thou now O soul,
 Walk out with me toward the unknown region,
 Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow?

No map there, nor guide,
 Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,
 Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.

I know it not O soul,
 Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us,
 All waits undream'd of in that region, that inaccessible land. 

Till when the ties loosen,
 All but the ties eternal, Time and Space,
 Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bounding us.

Then we burst forth, we float,
 In Time and Space O soul, prepared for them,
 Equal, equipt at last, (O joy! O fruit of all!) them to fulfill O soul.

“Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau” by William Blake [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
Reply 
Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau;
   Mock on, Mock on, 'tis all in vain.
 You throw the sand against the wind,
   And the wind blows it back again.

And every sand becomes a Gem
   Reflected in the beams divine;
 Blown back, they blind the mocking Eye,
   But still in Israel's paths they shine.

The Atoms of Democritus
   And Newton's Particles of light
 Are sands upon the Red Sea shore
   Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.

“Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow” [Soliloquy from MACBETH] by William Shakespeare [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
3 
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
 To the last syllable of recorded time;
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
  Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
   That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
   And then is heard no more. It is a tale 
   Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
   Signifying nothing.

“Reply to Caishu’s ‘Ancient Temple by a River'” by Mei Yaochen [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
Reply 
Old trees with tangled hanging tassels
   by a deserted temple open to the river.
 Rain, rain threw down the clay statues
   and wind blew down this ancient building.
 Wild birds nest in dusty shrines,
   fishermen hold a bamboo lottery cup.
 About to play the tune "Mountain Ghost," I stop:
   the Verses of Chu make me too sad.

Translation: Barnstone, Tony and Ping, Chou. 2005. The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry: From Ancient to Contemporary. New York: Anchor Books.

“Walking to Guanghua Temple by Moonlight” by Ouyang Xiu [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
Reply 
Sound of water cascading over rock.
   A silent mountain in the night.
 Bright moonlight washes over the pines.
   One thousand peaks, all in one color.

“Retort” by Paul Laurence Dunbar [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
Reply 
"Thou art a fool," said my head to my heart,
 "Indeed, the greatest of fools thou art,
 To be led astray by the trick of a tress,
 By a smiling face or a ribbon smart;"
 And my heart was in sore distress.
 Then Phyllis came by, and her face was fair,
 The light gleamed soft on her raven hair;
 And her lips were blooming a rosy red.
 Then my heart spoke out with a right bold air:
 "Thou art worse than a fool, O head!"

“Drunk in the Fairyland” by Huang Tingjian [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
Reply 
In the face of heavy morning cloud again
   And drizzling evening rain,
 Leaning on each other, rugged the hills remain.

The Gorge of Witch and lofty peaks
   Lock in the Southern Palace rosy cheeks.

In spring the halberds move in force,
   Maids in fair dress welcome heroes on horse,
 To the riverside town they go only.

I come to the wasteland a thousand miles away,
   With my shadow so lonely.

How can I become cheerful and gay?

It is said the Southern land is so high,
   It nearly scrapes the sky.
 To the capital I stretch my eye,
   I see but misty water far and nigh.

When I drank in the hall,
   My friends were talents all.

Songstresses sang with rosy face
   And dancers danced with grace,
 Drunk, they intoxicated the place. 

Hearing the cuckoo's home-going song
   All the night long, 
 Could I resist my yearning strong?

Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, pp. 191-192.

“Ode on Solitude” by Alexander Pope [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
4 
Happy the man, whose wish and care
   A few paternal acres bound,
 Content to breathe his native air,
                    In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
   Whose flocks supply him with attire,
 Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
                    In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find
   Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
 In health of body, peace of mind,
                    Quiet by the day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
   Together mixed; sweet recreation;
 And innocence, which most does please,
                    With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
   Thus unlamented let me die;
 Steal from the world, and not a stone
                    Tell where I lie.

BOOKS: “One Hundred Poems of Kabir (1915)” Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

Posted on by
Reply
One Hundred Poems of KabirOne Hundred Poems of Kabir by Kabir
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Amazon.in Page

Kabir was a fifteenth century Indian poet and mystic. This collection was translated by the Bengali Indian Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore, and Tagore’s stylistic imprint is felt in these poems. The poems are overwhelmingly of a mystic / spiritual nature. Kabir was non-sectarian but extremely oriented towards mystic belief. He references the Koran and Vedas alike, but is more likely to communicate in secular, if mystical, terms.

How much the godly emphasis works for the reader will vary greatly. For me it was a bit excessive, often reading more like prayers than poems, but your results may vary.

The only thing I found actually disturbing was the repeated romanticization of sati, a practice in use during Kabir’s lifetime in which widows would be burned alive on their husband’s funeral pyre. Kabir repeatedly writes of sati as if it was always a completely voluntary act of raw passion and connection and was never motivated by being old and destitute (not to mention being societally pressured or, even, physically forced into it.)

The poems are well composed and engaging, and if you can get past the periodic sati propaganda, it’s a pleasant, almost euphoric, read.

View all my reviews

“Because I Could Not Stop for Death” (479) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

Posted on by
Reply 
Because I could not stop for Death —
   He kindly stopped for me —
 The Carriage held but just Ourselves —
   And Immortality.

We slowly drove — He knew no haste
   And I had put away
 My labour and my leisure too,
   For His Civility —

We passed the School, where Children strove
   At Recess — in the Ring —
 We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain -
   We passed the Setting Sun -

Or rather - He passed us -
   The Dews drew quivering and chill -
 For only Gossamer, my Gown -
   My Tippet - only Tulle -

We paused before a House that seemed 
   A Swelling of the Ground -
 The Roof was scarcely visible -
   The Cornice - in the Ground-

Since then - ‘tis Centuries - and yet
   Feels shorter than the Day
 I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
   Were toward Eternity -