Eastern River
Do not look for the stones
in water above the mud,
the boat is gone.
No longer with nets and baskets
the river is dotted.
The sun wick,
the marsh marigold flickered out in rain.
Only the willow still bears witness,
in its roots
the secrets of tramps lie hidden,
their paltry treasures,
a rusty fishhook,
a bottle full of sand,
a tine with no bottom,
in which to preserve
conversations long forgotten.
On the boughs,
empty nests of the penduline titmice,
shoes light as birds.
No one slips them
over children's feet.
Translated by Michael Hamburger
poem by Peter Huchel
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Related quotes
For you
Early morning I will pick up the most beautiful seashells,
before the sand-plovers and tourists come
and like a child as if they are treasures
I will give hands full to you
and you I will take with the first daybreak
down to the beach
and together we will walk long stretches
where the water just meet our feet
and we will have long conversations
about the things
that we should have said years ago
and I will tell you how you fit into my life.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Poems Flutter
Along each river in thousands are the ditches,
And the dungeons that conceals the objects,
Thousands of things hidden to the human eyes.
Man in fact is a brimming river wide and deep,
Thousands of ditches hide secrets countless;
As pebbles, sand, stones dwell in the bottom,
Covered with the opaque oozy settling layers.
I bring out those pebbles, sand and stones,
To construct, erect the castle with thick walls,
Where nestle themselves poems mysterious,
And often flutter; flap there from one by one.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Remembrance
As a child I saw the sun
hanging over the marsh,
when it caught the first red rays.
In that marsh land
long-tailed widow-birds
glided deeper into the reeds.
Plover’s pretending
to have broken wings,
tried to entice me away
from their nests.
In life’s marsh
there were enemy soldiers
that was stone-dead,
while I had hidden deeper
into the reeds.
Groups of enemy patrols
cut past following the river,
to find my comrades and I.
Every time that the sun
hanged new over the reeds,
the enemy became less
and the chance to catch us diminished
and mosquitoes swarmed around me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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0106 Winter Sunlight in China
The cry of the stork echoes
from the cold cliff where the mist
is clearing for an hour or two
this winter morning
so that when nature has found a place
among the stones at the edge
of this broad slow river
for this empty
Coca Cola bottle
it may catch the sunlight
between the clear water and wet stones
and find itself beautiful
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Willow Tree
Let me be your weeping willow tree
Surround you with my long limbs
My dear, let me grow in the shade
In the sands by the bank of your river
Let I drink from your streams
The cool breeze fill my leaves
We will sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
Sweet river caress how softly
Stir my searching roots
Shading the sun in the summers heat
Let I cool you
We have been dancing so long
In the winters freeze and the summers drought
We survive
We belong
Let us sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
I wish I was your weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
Let us sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
Let us sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
We can sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
Let me be
Your willow tree
Your willow tree
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Seashore
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Seashore
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead
and the restless water is boisterous.
On the seashore of endless worlds
the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand
and they play with empty shells.
With withered leaves they weave their boats
and smilingly float them on the vast deep.
Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets.
Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships,
while children gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter
and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children,
even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with children,
and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
Tempest roams in the pathless sky,
ships get wrecked in the trackless water,
death is abroad and children play.
On the seashore of endless worlds is the
great meeting of children.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Eternal torque
subtle waves
move water
little stones
sand grains
slightly move along
for a moment
settling down
on the sandy bottom
of the sea
or the wet beach
they all reflect
the light
if they are in sight
of the sun
while hiddenin sand
waiting for the moment
the land above them
is on the move again
everything is about to change
that next wave
causes an earthquake
in that little world
of stones, water, sand and sea
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Lament
To the memory of my mother
And now she has over her head brown clouds of roots
a slim lily of salt on the temples beads of sand
while she sails on the bottom of a boat through foaming nebulas
a mile beyond us where the river turns
visible-invisible as the light on a wave
truly she isn't different-abandoned like all of us
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
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Misty River
This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Song of Karen, the Dancing Child
(O little white feet of mine)
Out in the storm and the rain you fly;
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
Can the children hear my cry?
(O little white feet of mine)
Never a child in the whole great town;
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
Lights out and the blinds pulled down.
(O little white feet of mine)
Never a light on a window pane,
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
And the wild wet cry of the rain.
(O little white feet of mine)
Shall I never again be still?
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
And away over valley and hill.
(O little white feet of mine)
Children, children, open the door!
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
And the wind shrieks Nevermore.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Lost In Echo.....
you cut off my thumbs,
strung them on a necklace.
split my tongue with a razor,
and burned my shoes.
now i go howling,
in half darkened rooms.
drawn by the scent and the symphony,
of red pulsing blood!
you arched your back,
and the curtains trembled.
the vase full of water,
fell on your pillow.
i awoke from a dream,
my lips dry and aching.
moaned without thinking,
the willow bent, and sure!
who are we? the forgotten,
the silence lost in echo!
the tire worn thin,
the key left in the lock.
the bottle near empty,
on the edge of god's table...
the drum in the closet,
the nest blown by the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The hijol* tree’s shade
Her fault was she had been to the river to look at herself
The god of the river took her down to the water and that’s that
The one who jumped in to bring her from the water
Had a boat of ejar* wood and his calves too were ejar-hued
Leaving boat and oar meandering under water
The light house of truth glimmered in the distance easy as a straight line
Exhausted swimming as they got out of water on to land
Under the shade of the hijol by the river they looked at their eyes
The colour of breath under water was green on land it’s like land
The shade of the hijol hides all unwritten annals of the earth
***
* The Indian oak, Barringtonia acutangula.
* A species of timber tree, Lagerstroemia reginae.
(Translated from Assamese by Prof. Pradip Acharya)
poem by Kushal Dutta
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Papa's lone journey in the mountain
and then he writes in his diary: i was alone in the forest
with my horse, i sleep under a big tree watching the full moon
the wind blows from the sea, far, far away, i lit a cigarette, open
a bottle of wine. It feels like i am a fishing boat in the rain, sailing,
asleep in that long and winding river.
and then the rain begins to fall.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Story Of A River!
That empty river was filled with water,
Running water never stagnant to collect litter,
Clean and clear to see the treasures stored,
Heavy pebbles, the quick fish on the soften rocks,
Green kingdom of algae and their blooms peep,
Dipped into the river to pick up a handful,
Of tiny river sand, suddenly floated along the river,
That drifted and took me to a furlong,
How to swim opposite when the current was so strong,
Shocked, confused and kept the head above the liquid,
I saw myself moving faster with the Mother Nature,
The green wild yam with spacious big leaves,
Where my grannies told that the reptiles hide,
The recently planted teak trees stood still,
The palms were high and full of fruits,
Even one not dropped into the water, when I passed,
Bananas were useless with soft stem,
There was a slanting coconut tree at the brim
Leaned to the river for water and sun,
I held its root as hard as I could,
Reached the bank with joy in a blink,
That river full of water is empty now,
And our farmers not even go out,
To check their handed down plowing tools,
The dried up Tamil Nadu with people with tears,
A nuclear plant is built on its shore.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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A Rainy Day In Early June
The gray sky clouded over the rain is drizzling down
And the golf course is deserted by the river near the town
An early June day in early Winter in the Southern Hemisphere
The sun in the rain clouds hidden it is that time of year
From once you hear him singing his voice with you remain
The magpie he is piping in defiance of the rain
The gray and brown red wattlebird with a hoarseness in his cry
Is calling on a flowering gum that drips of rain nearby
To the vast expanse of dark water that crawls slowly to the sea
And in the calm dampness of the drizzling rain come the song of the pee wee
On this rainy day in early Winter it seems a long way from the Spring
When most of Nature's wildborn birds will build their nests and chirp and sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Pulicate Lake (Chennai)
A rollicking trip on a boat
we had through the Pulicate Lake.
The nests cast all along the creek
warn the boat-men take care.
Men, women and children
dip in and come up the water,
with pulsating trout in their palms
and dropp into the slinging bags and creels.
The weak and the old in loin-cloths
are holding the fishing-rods,
and peering at the wood pulp with eager
to lug up the unwary dab.
Some dogs are emerging out in knee-deep water,
with struggling dace between the teeth.
We looked at the scene with pity
though we had fried fish to crunch at lunch.
Oh dear! They're stone statues not birds
waiting to pick up the misled fish!
The scent of coastal stuff from my friends
drove away the shrimps from our way.
Ah! Some baskets and towels too swirl around
to catch the lusty wealth of the sea.
Never these fish roaming in the lake
could go back to the estuary.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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On The First Anniversary Of Nuclear Explosions
The pitcher of the Earth
Has got emptied
The water-bags of eyes
Of the damsels going to the fountains
Have dried;
Un-kissed kisses of the damsel of Thur
From the yellow branch of lips
Shed one by one.
The farms
Where my ploughmen seeded Life
Now Death is getting its roots deeper.
On the chest of the Earth
The crops of sores wave,
And half dead colonies: villages and towns
Are sitting on the brims of grave,
Hanging the feet down,
Gilding eyes with a hope of last ablutions.
Those who fight on the front thirst
Their weak eyes gaze at the supply of rain;
In the season of migration,
Greenery and the birds,
Have surpassed the human beings.
The bowls of dried fountains
Far and near are lying turned up;
And on the paths leading to the founts,
The jingles of anklets and bangles
Are lying dead, un-graved, without coffins.
The giggles of children
Left away one by one in the chase of water,
And a thirsty-river
On the paper of sand
Is composing an elegy of Water.
On the forehead of the Earth,
Thirst is inscribed for the descending generations,
Ah! The water of our eyes has dried.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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I too, have got shoes
Have you seen shoes on children here
No shoes for other children
No shoes for your children
My uncle said to my dad
I lost my shoes—small shoes
from then on
My feet crushed the thorns
from then on
The city was taken from me
But not me from the city
from then on
Many years later my shoe remover died
And I got back my shoes
Bigger shoes—for crushing thorns
from then on
I cat walked in them
And went to bed in them
from then on
I got the city back
Even when I stayed there
from then on
Believe me I too have got shoes
And I slip my feet in them
But not for sleep anymore
Yes I too have got shoes
Other children wear shoes
My children wear shoes
Wear shoes why not
Why not why not why not why not
Shoes in the cot
Shoes to school
Shoes to the market
Shoes to the office
Why not wear shoes
poem by Moses Kainwo
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Double Edged Pleasures
naked children
bathing under the rain
girls stamping their
feet on the water
scattered pleasures
in the rising waters of the river
the boys are at it again
cliff jumping
there are no stones
the rain keeps on pouring
the bamboo raft floats
seeking a strap for home
naked boys and girls
they bathe in the river
long ago there was no malice at all
pure pleasure of angels
the rain keeps pouring
the waters still rising
there is a flood of happiness
at what price tonight?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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