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[MyNecroticSnail]

Arthur Rimbaud
First Evening

(Première Soirée)
Two translations Hitting and missing
- She was very much half-dressed
And big indiscreet trees
Threw out their leaves against the pane
Cunningly, and close, quite close.

Sitting half naked in my big chair,
She clasped her hands.
Her small and so delicate feet
Trembled with pleasure on the floor.

- The colour of wax, I watched
A little wild ray of light
Flutter on her smiling lips
And on her breast, - an insect on the rose-bush.

- I kissed her delicate ankles.
She laughed softly and suddenly
A string of clear trills,
A lovely laugh of crystal.

The small feet fled beneath
Her petticoat : "Stop it, do !"
- The first act of daring permitted,
Her laugh pretended to punish me !

- Softly I kissed her eyes,
Trembling beneath my lips, poor things :
- She threw back her fragile head
"Oh ! come now that's going too far !...

Listen, Sir, I have something to say to you..."
- I transferred the rest to her breast
In a kiss which made her laugh
With a kind laugh that was willing...

- She was very much half-dressed
And big indiscreet trees threw
Out their leaves against the pane
Cunningly, and close, quite close.

As translated by Oliver Bernard
~~~~~~~~~
First Evening



She was barely dressed though,

And the great indiscreet trees

Touched the glass with their leaves,

In malice, quite close, quite close.



Sitting in my deep chair,

Half-naked, hands clasped together,

On the floor, little feet, so fine,

So fine, shivered with pleasure.



I watched, the beeswax colour

Of a truant ray of sun’s glow

Flit about her smile, and over

Her breast – a fly on the rose.



- I kissed her delicate ankle.

She gave an abrupt sweet giggle

Chiming in clear trills,

A pretty laugh of crystal.



Her little feet under her slip

Sped away: ‘Will you desist!’

Allowing that first bold act,

Her laugh pretended to punish!



- Trembling under my lips,

Poor things, I gently kissed her lids.

- She threw her vapid head back.

‘Oh! That’s worse, that is!’…



‘Sir, I’ve two words to say to you...’

- I planted the rest on her breast

In a kiss that made her laugh

With a laugh of readiness….



- She was barely dressed though,

And the great indiscreet trees

Touched the glass with their leaves

In malice, quite close, quite close.

Translated by Tony Kline

In all fairness to Tony Kline, this may be the worst translation on his web-site. Some are quite good. Contrast the last lines. What line would a gifted adolesent use to good effect.

Cunningly, and close, quite close.

In malice, quite close, quite close.

- Elle était fort déshabillée
Et de grands arbres indiscrets
Aux vitres jetaient leur feuillée
Malinement, tout près, tout près.

Ah Translation, the old Saw; it is like a woman, either beautiful or faithful

From Rexroth on Rimbaud

Rimbaud did not see the Absolute, or try to become an angel, or any of the other things his worshipers attribute to him. He very simply tried to take the pretensions of poetry seriously and to reform art so that it could alter the experienced meaning of reality. He decided that this was a hoax and an activity beneath the dignity of grown men, and he turned to what he considered more interesting activities. However, he almost succeeded, and poetry will never be the same again.

* * *

The translations and the books about Rimbaud in English are of doubtful guidance. They are all weakened by adherence to one or another of the Rimbaud myths. We badly need a translation of the devastating critique of Étiemble. Best read two or more face en face translations and puzzle out the French with a dictionary.

En Tu Du Fu?

 

[sugarmountain]

Theodore Roethke

I Knew a Woman

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin:
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing did we make.)

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways.)

.....dedicated to a special someone

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

8 Count
Charles Bukowski


from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
one flies
off.
then
another.
one is left,
then
it too
is gone.
my typewriter is
tombstone
still.
and I am
reduced to bird
watching.
just thought I'd
let you
know,
fucker.

 

[sugarmountain]

John Greenleaf Whittier

MAUD MULLER

by: John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)

AUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadows sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But, when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast--

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught
From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles bare and brown;

And listened, while a pleasant surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away,

Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah, me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!

"He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine.

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat;
My brother should sail a painted boat.

"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
And the baby should have a new toy each day.

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
And all should bless me who left our door."

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still.

"A form more fair, a face more sweet,
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

"And her modest answer and graceful air
Show her wise and good as she is fair.

"Would she were mine, and I to-day,
Like her, a harvester of hay:

"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

"But low of cattle, and song of birds,
And health, and quiet, and loving words."

But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold,
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune;

And the young girl mused beside the well,
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
He watched a picture come and go:

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.

Oft when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead;

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms.

And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain,
"Ah, that I were free again!

"Free as when I rode that day,
Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay."

She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
And many children played round her door.

But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain,
Left their traces on heart and brain.

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,

And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside, through the wall,

In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein,

And, gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls;

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned;

And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,

A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.

Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, "It might have been."

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,
For rich repiner and household drudge!

God pity them both! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes;

And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away!

"Maud Muller" is reprinted from One Hundred Choice Selections. Ed. Phineas Garrett. Philadelphia: Penn Publishing Co., 1897.

 

[sugarmountain]

For a friend...

Wild Iris

At the end of my suffering
there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive
as conciousness
buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abrubtly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:

from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.

Louise Gluck

 

[vampiredust]

Death of a Naturalist by Seamus Heaney

All the year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampots full of the jellied
Specks to range on the window-sills at home,
On shalves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.

Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hadges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like snails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.

 

[Tzara]

The Proud Citizen
Russell Edson

...An old man was proud that he had passed his years, as he
had his breath and stools, without his having killed anyone.
...He wondered if he might not report this to the police,
hoping to be received with sirens and blinking lights of penal
gratitude.
...He would explain that he had had many opportunities,
that it wasn't just laziness; that virtue without lure of sin
hardly earns its name....

 

[RhymeFairy]

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

~~ Edgar Allan Poe

 

[Oblimo]

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined

they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite

the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss

they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance

The man capitalized his name, gosh darn it.

 

[TheRainMan]

here's one that oughta wake ya up, boys . . .


Stilettos by Melody Lacina


Who named the shoe for the knife?
A man who likes the danger
of sharp things--blades and heels
and the tongue of someone sassy.
I want to be that woman,
wearing a pair of spikes
that tighten my leg muscles up
to my thighs, that thick meat
he begs to get his hands on,
the heft of buttocks and breasts
I spill out of a V-neck.
Yes, I want him begging
as his fingers inch the length
of my body, beginning
at the daggers that whet his appetite
for sex against the doorjamb,
on the table, wherever
I set my wicked hunger down.

 

[flyguy69]

here's one that oughta wake ya up, boys . . .


Stilettos by Melody Lacina


Who named the shoe for the knife?
A man who likes the danger
of sharp things--blades and heels
and the tongue of someone sassy.
I want to be that woman,
wearing a pair of spikes
that tighten my leg muscles up
to my thighs, that thick meat
he begs to get his hands on,
the heft of buttocks and breasts
I spill out of a V-neck.
Yes, I want him begging
as his fingers inch the length
of my body, beginning
at the daggers that whet his appetite
for sex against the doorjamb,
on the table, wherever
I set my wicked hunger down.

I just bit my lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

 

[TheRainMan]

I just bit my lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

i knew you would respond, if you were here.

 

[Tzara]

here's one that oughta wake ya up, boys . . .


Stilettos by Melody Lacina

██████████████████████████
████████████████████
█████████████████████████
██████████████████████████. . .

Uh, I liked this, but it seems to have scorched the screen on my PC.

Torrid poem, TRM.

 

[flyguy69]

i knew you would respond, if you were here.

A man that doesn't respond to this poem needs his toe tagged.

 

[Maria2394]

needs his toe tagged? wow!!a poetent poem, huh


sweet dreams, y'all




julie

 

[flyguy69]

needs his toe tagged? wow!!a poetent poem, huh


sweet dreams, y'all




julie

I'm neither dead nor impoetent!

Night night, Carolina

 

[vampiredust]

I'm neither dead nor impoetent!

Night night, Carolina

I am the former but not the latter

Good to see you back Mr Fly

 

[Tzara]

Cassandra
Robinson Jeffers

The mad girl with the staring eyes and long white fingers
Hooked in the stones of the wall,
The storm-wrack hair and the screeching mouth: does it matter, Cassandra,
Whether the people believe
Your bitter fountain? Truly men hate the truth, they'd liefer
Meet a tiger on the road.
Therefore the poets honey their truth with lying; but religion-
Venders and political men
Pour from the barrel, new lies on the old, and are praised for kindly
Wisdom. Poor bitch be wise.
No: you'll still mumble in a corner a crust of truth, to men
And gods disgusting.—You and I, Cassandra.

 

[Tzara]

Read Lu Chi and Make a Poem
Olav H. Hauge

Read Lu Chi and make a poem.
He doesn't say what it should be like.
Many had painted an oak before.
Nonetheless Munch painted an oak.
Translated by Robin Fulton

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

"next to of course god america i
love you land of the pilgrims' and so forth oh
say can you see by the dawn's early my
country 'tis of centuries come and go
and are no more what of it we should worry
in every language even deafanddumb
thy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorry
by jingo by gee by gosh by gum
why talk of beauty what could be more beaut-
iful than these heroic happy dead
who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter
they did not stop to think they died instead
then shall the voice of liberty be mute?"

He spoke. And drank rapidly a glass of water

-- e. e. cummings
for Karl Rove

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Palm Sunday

by Amy Clampitt

Neither the wild tulip, poignant
and sanguinary, nor the dandelion
blowsily unbuttoning, answers
the gardener's imperative, if need be,
to maim and hamper in the name of order,
or the taste for rendering adorable
the torturer's implements--never mind
what entrails, not yet trampled under
by the feet of choirboys (sing,
my tongue the glorious battle),
mulch the olive groves, the flowering
of apple and almond, the boxwood
corridor, the churchyard yew,
the gallows tree.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Fear Of Snakes

The snake can separate itself
from its shadow, move on ribbons of light,
taste the air, the morning and the evening,
the darkness at the heart of things. I remember
when my fear of snakes left for good,
it fell behind me like an old skin. In Swift Current
the boys found a huge snake and chased me
down the alleys, Larry Moen carrying it like a green torch,
the others yelling, Drop it down her back, my terror
of it sliding in the runnell of my spine (Larry,
the one who touched the inside of my legs on the swing,
an older boy we knew we shouldn't get close to
with our little dresses, our soft skin), my brother
saying Let her go, and I crouched behind the caraganas,
watched Larry nail the snake to a telephone pole.
It twisted on twin points of light, unable to crawl
out of its pain, its mouth opening, the red
tongue tasting its own terror, I loved it then,
that snake. The boys standing there with their stupid hands
dangling from their wrists, the beautiful green
mouth opening, a terrible dark O
no one could hear.

by Lorna Crozier

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

God, give us men!

for DA whom I admire

GOD, give us men! A time like this demands

Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands;
Men whom the lust of office does not kill;​

Men whom the spoils of office can not buy;

Men who possess opinions and a will;​

Men who have honor; men who will not lie;
Men who can stand before a demagogue

And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking!​

​

Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog

In public duty, and in private thinking;​

For while the rabble, with their thumb-worn creeds,
Their large professions and their little deeds,
Mingle in selfish strife, lo! Freedom weeps,
Wrong rules the land and waiting Justice sleeps.

Josiah Gilbert Holland

I got an email about hatefullness
I do hate the rabble, with their thumb-worn creeds,
Their large professions and their little deeds, and demagogues
Personally, I don't hate anyone. Not worth it. Just business.
And I am not, nor have I ever been a member of the TIE.

 

[Tzara]

Calling him back from layoff
Bob Hicok

I called a man today. After he said
hello and I said hello came a pause
during which it would have been

confusing to say hello again so I said
how are you doing and guess what, he said
fine and wondered aloud how I was

and it turns out I'm OK. He
was on the couch watching cars
painted with ads for Budweiser follow cars

painted with ads for Tide around an oval
that's a metaphor for life because
most of us run out of gas and settle

for getting drunk in the stands
and shouting at someone in a t-shirt
we want kraut on our dog. I said

he could have his job back and during
the pause that followed his whiskers
scrubbed the mouthpiece clean

and his breath passed in and out
in the tidal fashion popular
with mammals until he broke through

with the words how soon thank you
ohmyGod which crossed his lips and drove
through the wires on the backs of ions

as one long word as one hard prayer
of relief meant to be heard
by the sky. When he began to cry I tried

with the shape of my silence to say
I understood but each confession
of fear and poverty was more awkward

than what you learn in the shower.
After he hung up I went outside and sat
with one hand in the bower of the other

and thought if I turn my head to the left
it changes the song of the oriole
and if I give a job to one stomach other

forks are naked and if tonight a steak
sizzles in his kitchen do the seven
other people staring at their phones

hear?


Thanks to TRM for mentioning this guy. Really good.
Oh, and congrats, sir.

 

[bogusbrig]

I am Very Bothered

I am very bothered when I think
of the bad things I have done in my life.
Not least that time in the chemistry lab
when I held a pair of scissors by the blades
and played the handles
in the naked lilac flame of the Bunsen burner;
then called your name, and handed them over.

O the unrivalled stench of branded skin
as you slipped your thumb and middle finger in,
then couldn't shake off the two burning rings. Marked,
the doctor said, for eternity.

Don't believe me, please, if I say
that was just my butterfingered way, at thirteen,
of asking you if you would marry me.


Simon Armitage


Read You're Beautiful. I'm afraid I can't copy and paste it because its on flash.