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I Love The Tsarskoselsky Gardens

I love the Tsarskoselsky Gardens
Late in the fall when, in soft haze
Enfolded, as in sleep's embrace
They lie... The cold's breath slowly hardens,
And on the dull glass of the lake,
Clad in that same fine haze, white-winged
And strangely languid visions linger
And seem bemused, but half-awake.

The skies are grey, by not a star lit...
The evening's shadows onward press
And softly lick the steps dark scarlet
Of Catherine's lofty palaces.
Then dark the gardens grow and dreamy,
The stars appear and turn a dome,
Outlined by them, into a gleam of
A golden past, its symbol lone...

poem by Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
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It's haze, hard haze...

It's haze, hard haze,
As a veil as a shroud...
And there, in two steps,
It is war behind the haze.
And the battles go on,
But we can't take part in them,
We're absolutly chained by haze to earth now -
We are the air workers of the war.

It's haze, hard haze
On past events, on life.
And so far, in distant land
There is our house fine.
And in front dugout hut
We are dreaming of the child,
That we were in past, but now we to adults grown -
We are the air workers of the war.

It's haze, grey haze...
It will come and again.
And so far in distant land
There is love behind the haze.
And the brides will wait for long,
When we could from war return,
And, alas, not all will then return to home...
We are the air workers of the war...

song, music by A. Kolker, lyrics by K. Ryzhov, translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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The Night Road

The streetlight buzzes
Lit in an amber haze
Rain falls against windows
Trickles down the glass
Counting the minutes
The night roads are empty
Sleeping a travels rest
While the days trails
Become washed away
The overgrown gardens
Narrow the path
Shadows dart everywhere
Limited shade on offer
A while ago someone passed
Head bowed, scurrying
Trying to shelter from the rain
The line of amber beacons
Little amber torches hover
Into the dark of night
Buzzing little stars guide
Along a road into shadows

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Foggy Day

Foggy day in the street
Of its wandering play
Giving shadows on concrete
As they grow long their way
Thru the moments of twist
That the streets are now in
And gray morning has kissed
With a diffusional spin

Every hour in its gray
As the evening passes thru
And kids in streets play
For each opportunity new
When feelings are in laughter
In every moments awake
And what there comes after
In their giving and take

Foggy day in the city
Like a haze of the grays
So much playful and witty
That is now in its haze
Sideway kids there talking
Youth of hope and a smile
Brussels playground walking
For its enduring while

Foggy day in the street
Of its wandering play
Giving shadows on concrete
As they grow long their way
Whisper dark soon there
With its nocturnal sleep
As darkness is everywhere
In their dreams to keep

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Red Is The Color Of Blood

Red is the color of blood, and I will seek it:
I have sought it in the grass.
It is the color of steep sun seen through eyelids.

It is hidden under the suave flesh of women-
Flows there, quietly flows.
It mounts from the heart to the temples, the singing mouth-
As cold sap climbs to the rose.
I am confused in webs and knots of scarlet
Spun from the darkness;
Or shuttled from the mouths of thirsty spiders.

Madness for red! I devour the leaves of autumn.
I tire of the green of the world.
I am myself a mouth for blood…

Here, in the golden haze of the late slant sun,
Let us walk, with the light in our eyes,
To a single bench from the outset predetermined.
Look: there are seagulls in these city skies,
Kindled against the blue.
But I do not think of the seagulls, I think of you.

Your eyes, with the late sun in them,
Are like blue pools dazzled with yellow petals.
This pale green suits them well.

Here is your finger, with an emerald on it:
The one I gave you. I say these things politely-
But what I think beneath them, who can tell?

For I think of you, crumpled against a whiteness;
Flayed and torn, with a dulled face.
I think of you, writing, a thing of scarlet,
And myself, rising red from that embrace.

November sun is sunlight poured through honey:
Old things, in such a light, grow subtle and fine.
Bare oaks are like still fire.
Talk to me: now we drink the evening's wine.
Look, how our shadows creep along the grave!-
And this way, how the gravel begins to shine!

This is the time of day for recollections,
For sentimental regrets, oblique allusions,
Rose-leaves, shrivelled in a musty jar.
Scatter them to the wind! There are tempests coming.
It is dark, with a windy star.

If human mouths were really roses, my dear,-
(Why must we link things so?-)
I would tear yours petal by petal with slow murder.
I would pluck the stamens, the pistils,
The gold and the green,-
Spreading the subtle sweetness that was your breath
On a cold wave of death….

Now let us walk back, slowly, as we came.
We will light the room with candles; they may shine
Like rows of yellow eyes.
Your hair is like spun fire, by candle-flame.
You smile at me-say nothing. You are wise.

For I think of you, flung down brutal darkness;
Crushed and red, with pale face.
I think of you, with your hair disordered and dripping.
And myself, rising red from that embrace.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Out of the waves of time [Din valurile vremii]

Out of the waves of time, come up, my love, and shine
With your white marble arms, with your hair, long and fine –
With your translucent face, which is like wax – soft, white,
Which suffers in the shade and cannot sleep at night!
You gently touch my eyes with your attractive smile,
You are a shining star, no woman has your style
And when you turn your head and watch your shoulder's skin
I look into your eyes and see the bliss within.
How can I take you out of this dark haze, my love,
To hold you to my chest, dear angel from above,
To lay my teary cheek on your exquisite face,
To choke you with my kiss and with my hot embrace,
To warm your chilly hand with the volcanic flame
Of my ecstatic heart that flutters at your name?

Alas! You're not alive, you don't seem to exist
Your shadow disappears into the cold, wet mist
And here I am again, so gloomy and so sad
Reluctantly recalling the nice dream that I had...
In vain I seek your face, in vain I want your charms
The waves of time roll by, you won't be in my arms.

poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Sonnet. The lake and star

The mountain lake, o'ershadowed by the hills,
May still gaze heavenward on the evening star,
Whose distant light its dark recesses fills,
Though boundless distance must divide them far;
Still may the lake the star's bright image bear,
Still may the star, from its blue ether dome,
Shower down its silver beams across the gloom,
And light the wave that wanders darkly there.
Star of my life! thus do I turn to thee
Amid the shadows that above me roll;
Thus from thy distant sphere thou shinest on me;
Thus does thine image float upon my soul,
Through the wide space that must our lives dissever
Far as the lake and star, ah me! forever.

poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Autmun night [Noapte de toamnă]

Murmur of eaves narrow, whispers full of harshness
Grow from all the places and get lost in darkness.
Seldom, through the curtains, light is quickly flying
The cold water mirrors before me igniting
And its ray, reflected, to my face is clinging...

Rain knocks at the windows, all the eaves are singing.
Step by step, the loudness of the rumor falls
Muffling the dull singing of these waterfalls.
More and more around me living shadows rise
Rain has stopped its falling from the leaden skies

And in piles of dark mists waters now are creeping...

Sleeps the world entire, all the eaves are weeping.
There, on the horizon, silver rays are though
On the vault of heaven showing beds of snow,
Slowly break the shadows, hang on branches tight
Blue and lovely sparkles, grains of shining light.
And right from the secret of the open sky
Fall off lights that really stun and please the eye
And in heaps of white snow break the clouds defiant
But when moon is rising, the wet eaves keep silent.
***
Sleep in peace, my dearest!...
Only I, alone, linger on the alley
And the charming moments quietly I tally...
To wake you I'm trying with my thoughts' bright flares,
From your secret hallway to come down the stairs.
In this cold clear autumn come with your heart beating
And, by dreaming all these moments that are fleeting,
To enhance the sadness of the dark late hour
When, without you, darling, my soul, lone and sour,
Goes in search, but vainly, trying hard to see
And to kiss the footsteps of what used to be.

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Evening Star

I travelled to a distant shore
I felt I had to go
An inner voice had called me there
But why I did not know
I saw the evening star rise up
Shining out to sea
And now I understand at last what it means
What it all means
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
I used to tempt fate
I couldnt see straight
I faltered through my younger days
Never knowing where I was going
Then something helped me penetrate the haze
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
Now I am stronger
The haze no longer
Ruins my future destiny
Such inspirations and new sensations
Pull up these string ties chasing me
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
Im home once more, much better for
The things that I have found
Much wiser now, so simple how
Each time I turn around
I see the evening star rise up
Shining out on me
And now I understand at last what it means
What it all means
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright

song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shadows Forever Free

Forsaken rooms wash with bold shadows
Quiet corridor seems to grow cold
Catherine walked the sweet spring meadow
My love will never become old
Altars with candles burning loftily
She is gone but whispers softly

Wine glasses elegant as the day she left
Time staggers like a whispering oak tree
Her gown hangs with its soft blue felt
I have left and soon will forever be free
She walks thru the window like moonlight
Appears in the mirror every blissful night

Catherine calls me to join her shadow
My work is done and I have given notice
Daily my restless mad joy seems to grow
I sleep near her sweet sensuous bodice
Tonight I walk the cliffs by the sea
Catherine bids me too finally be free

I am soon to live on the other side
Where no loneliness or worry abides
You ask if there is sun and stars there?
Does it matter? My Catherine is there
Amidst this house by the sea we shall ever be
Dancing in the moonlight shadows forever free

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Cycle

"Good evening", said the cyclist,
It echoed in the evening mist,
I was baffled I never knew him,
The dark stranger tall and slim!
Before I could acknowledge
He was gone in the haze,
The unknown messenger of good wills
A roaming angel on two wheels!
"Good evening", I said on my way,
The passerby was baffled had no word to say
In the silent evening of misty haze
I was happy to turn a new page!

poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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You Cant Stop The Music

And so norman decides to stop living
Out his fantasy of being a rock star and
Accept reality. this is the end for
Norman but not for us because there
Will always be someone ready to take
His place -- after all, euerybodys a
Star!
You cant stop the music
Lets all raise a glass
To the rock stars of the past,
Those that made it,
Those that faded,
Those that never even made the grade,
Those that we thought would never last.
Singers come and go,
And stars fade away.
They vanish in the haze
And theyre never seen again,
But the music just keeps playing on.
They cant stop the music,
They cant stop the music,
They cant stop the music playing on.
Ive been half a million places,
Ive seen half a million people who stare,
Ive been a star and down and out,
Ive been put on, sat on, punched and spat on,
Theyve called me a faggot, a spiv and a fake,
They can knock me down and tread on my face,
They cant stop the music playing on.
Lets all raise a glass
To the rock stars of the past,
Those that made it,
Those that faded,
Those that never even made the grade,
Those that we thought would never last.
Singers come and go,
And stars fade away.
They vanish in the haze
And theyre never seen again,
But they cant stop the music playing on.

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Queensferry

The blackbird sang, the skies were clear and clean
We bowled along a road that curved a spine
Superbly sinuous and serpentine
Thro' silent symphonies of summer green.
Sudden the Forth came on us--sad of mien,
No cloud to colour it, no breeze to line:
A sheet of dark, dull glass, without a sign
Of life or death, two spits of sand between.
Water and sky merged blank in mist together,
The Fort loomed spectral, and the Guardship's spars
Traced vague, black shadows on the shimmery glaze:
We felt the dim, strange years, the grey, strange weather,
The still, strange land, unvexed of sun or stars,
Where Lancelot rides clanking thro' the haze.

poem by William Ernest Henley
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I Was At Hastings Gardens And I Saw

I was at Hastings Gardens and I saw
High, high above and stretching through the stars
The giant Night crawling inexorably
The sea ebbed and flowed all quietly
While giant Night crawled inexorably
Across the marbled blue of heaven’s dome.

I was at Hastings Gardens and I saw
Nigh, nigh around, around me turn and churn
A mist full-hovering around and like a net
Incorporating all it met: grey like a phantom
Stood the Night
Like a grey thief in phantom’s garbs full dressed.

I was at Hastings Gardens and I saw
A sickle huge scar heaven’s face
And spreading horror like a scimitar
Amidst the nebulae amidst the stars
And of a sudden me thought that I heard
A cry pervasive high across the skies
Lo cometh Night make way, make way
I looked in motion saw the sickle huge
Like clouds spreading over heaven’s whole
Is it the Night? Is it The Night?
Is Night a moving sickle in heaven’s face?
No reply to me came; and from the ravelin
Two old oaks whispering in the night I heard.

poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Elegy

Since I lost you, my darling, the sky has come near,
And I am of it, the small sharp stars are quite near,
The white moon going among them like a white bird among snow-berries,
And the sound of her gently rustling in heaven like a bird I hear.

And I am willing to come to you now, my dear,
As a pigeon lets itself off from a cathedral dome
To be lost in the haze of the sky, I would like to come,
And be lost out of sight with you, and be gone like foam.

For I am tired, my dear, and if I could lift my feet,
My tenacious feet from off the dome of the earth
To fall like a breath within the breathing wind
Where you are lost, what rest, my love, what rest!

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon

When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon
I held you in an embrace,
while the moon did cling bright white to the heaven,
winking stars appeared in the night

and sweet we were blissful together
when you trusted me, with your body, spirit and soul.
When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon
I held you in an embrace,

suddenly the evening star did disappear
while I held your hand in mine,
saw the glance in the depths of your eyes
and all the misunderstandings and pain were gone,
when the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon.

poem by Gert Strydom
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A thought after Yeats

When youth was life and life was youth
and life was love and love was life,
I thought love came and went;
its coming, overwhelming; and its going,
death of spirit; then, as if
the wild white swans had flown away
and left the waters of the heart’s lake cold.

But now I know it’s not like that:
love that, guarded, never flies from here in heart
to where it will, may grow dark, cold and miserly;
ungiven every livelong day
it turns to rags and dry old bones,
confiscated in the heart.

Better now, be with those wild white swans
which on a dark cold icy winter’s day
gather at the water’s edge to stretch
for yesterday’s warm loaf still fresh;
then turn, swim, lift strong wings and fly
one knows not where, and may not ask;

watch them then, into the distance;
hear the flap of wings grow into silent air;
pause still a little while;
then turn, one’s living breath
white in that winter air;
then back to warmth of home and love and peat fire
glowing in the hearth of heart renewed.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Evening Shadows

When evening shadows fall
Minutes seem so long
When evening shadows fall
I'm waiting for the dawn
I miss you every night
Just about this time
You're always on my mind
When evening shadows fall
When evening shadows fall
End up staring at the wall
Even when you're gone
The feeling's all so strong
Want you to come on back
Back where you belong
So I can sing my song
When evening shadows fall
Well I'm living in a dream
And it s getting so late
And you call my name
And I'm wide awake
It might as well be night
Hope that you're alright
Well I just can't wait
To get you in my sight
I'm here every day
Just about this time
From dusk till dawn
When evening shadows fall
Well I'm living in a dream
And it's getting so late
And you call my name
Then I'm wide awake
It might as well be night
Hope that you're alright
Well I just can't wait
To get you in my sight
You ask me if I miss you
I say not at all
Only every night
'Bout this time
When evening shadows fall
Every night about this time
When evening shadows fail
You're always on my mind
When evening shadows fall

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballade Of Sleep

The hours are passing slow,
I hear their weary tread
Clang from the tower, and go
Back to their kinsfolk dead.
Sleep! death's twin brother dread!
Why dost thou scorn me so?
The wind's voice overhead
Long wakeful here I know,
And music from the steep
Where waters fall and flow.
Wilt thou not hear sue, Sleep?

All sounds that might bestow
Rest on the fever'd bed,
All slumb'rous sounds and low
Are mingled here and wed,
And bring no drowsihed.
Shy dreams flit to and fro
With shadowy hair dispread;
With wistful eyes that glow,
And silent robes that sweep.
Thou wilt not hear me; no?
Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep?

What cause hast thou to show
Of sacrifice unsped?
Of all thy slaves below
I most have laboured
With service sung and said;
Have cull'd such buds as blow,
Soft poppies white and red,
Where thy still gardens grow,
And Lethe's waters weep.
Why, then, art thou my foe?
Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep?

ENVOY.

Prince, ere the dark be shred
By golden shafts, ere now
And long the shadows creep:
Lord of the wand of lead,
Soft-footed as the snow,
Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep!

poem by Andrew Lang
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Love Magical

IF you had been where I have been
(Grey, grey the skies above),
And you had seen what I have seen,
You would not laugh at love.
Seek, seek till you find a rose
Red all through to its petal-tips,
And you shall know the curve of her mouth,
The scent of her breath and the red of her lips.
If you had heard what I have heard
(Dull, dull the beat of the sea).
Your heart would leap like a singing bird
Troubled and thrilled by ecstasy.
Stars sing in the dark o' the night,
Birds sing in the gold o' the noon;
Melody reigned in her speech a queen,
The song of the stars and the birds' tune.
The rose is dead that was her mouth
(Pale, pale on the earth it lies),
And East and West and North and South
The world is full of weeping eyes.
A noon is dark, a star is gone,
A rose is dead, a bird is mute;
And love that made sounds magical
Is silent like a broken lute.

poem by Roderic Quinn
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Hope Gardens Every Whisper

Hope gardens every whisper
Ever thought thoughtful flowers
A brocade of desire
Like dew-fall they are there to wander
The landscape of your dreams
To filter down and replenish
Every fallen leaf thereafter
Every jasmine is a star-gazer
White and pure in the now and hereafter
Hope gardens eternal
Just listen to the children's laughter
Their sudden mist of tears may fall
But search what happens after
Their limbs move gentler than the rain
When they in your arms are renewed
With your love again
Hope gardens every whisper
To a rainbows end we all must surrender
Pliant with; root in the earth, seeking heaven.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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