En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Rememberance

And you wait, keep waiting for that one thing
which would infinitely enrich your life:
the powerful, uniquely uncommon,
the awakening of dormant stones,
depths that would reveal you to yourself.

In the dusk you notice the book shelves
with their volumes in gold and in brown;
and you think of far lands you journeyed,
of pictures and of shimmering gowns
worn by women you conquered and lost.

And it comes to you all of a sudden:
That was it! And you arise, for you are
aware of a year in your distant past
with its fears and events and prayers.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Neighbor

Strange violin, why do you follow me?
In how many foreign cities did you
speak of your lonely nights and those of mine.
Are you being played by hundreds? Or by one?

Do in all great cities men exist
who tormented and in deep despair
would have sought the river but for you?
And why does your playing always reach me?

Why is it that I am always neighbor
to those lost ones who are forced to sing
and to say: Life is infinitely heavier
than the heaviness of all things.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Song Of The Orphan

I am no one and never will be anyone,
for I am far too small to claim to be;
not even later.

Mothers and Fathers,
take pity on me.

I fear it will not pay to raise me:
I shall fall victim to the mower's scythe.
No one can find me useful now: I am too young,
and tomorrow will be too late.

I only have one dress,
worn thin and faded,
but it will last an eternity
even before God, perhaps.

I only have this whispy hair
(that always remained the same)
yet once was someone's dearest love.

Now he has nothing that he loves.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Night (This night, agitated by the growing storm)

This night, agitated by the growing storm,
how it has suddenly expanded its dimensions--,
that ordinarily would have gone unnoticed,
like a cloth folded, and hidden in the folds of time.

Where the stars give resistance it does not stop there,
neither does it begin within the forest's depths,
nor show upon the surface of my face
nor with your appearance.

The lamps keep swaying, fully unaware:
is our light lying?
Is night the only reality
that has endured through thousands of years?

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Voices

The rich and fortunate do well to keep silent,
for no one cares to know who and what they are.
But those in need must reveal themselves,
must say: I am blind,
or: I'm on the verge of going blind,
or: nothing goes well with me on earth,
or: I have a sickly child,
or: I have little to hold me together...

And chances are this is not nearly enough.

And because people try to ignore them as they
pass by them: these unfortunate ones have to sing!

And at times one hears some excellent singing!

Of course, people differ in their tastes: some would
prefer to listen to choirs of boy-castrati.

But God himself comes often and stays long,
when the castrati's singing disturbs Him.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Heartbeat

Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart
which safely exists in the center of all things?
His giant heartbeat is diverted in us
into little pulses. And his giant grief
is, like his giant jubilation, far too
great for us. And so we tear ourselves away
from him time after time, remaining only
mouths. But unexepectedly and secretly
the giant heartbeat enters our being,
so that we scream ----,
and are transformed in being and in countenance.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In The Beginning

Ever since those wondrous days of Creation
our Lord God sleeps: we are His sleep.
And He accepted this in His indulgence,
resigned to rest among the distant stars.

Our actions stopped Him from reacting,
for His fist-tight hand is numbed by sleep,
and the times brought in the age of heroes
during which our dark hearts plundered Him.

Sometimes He appears as if tormented,
and His body jerks as if plagued by pain;
but these spells are always outweighed by the
number of His countless other worlds.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Blue, Brown and Gold

Blue, brown and gold, bold, I'll unfold
a portrait drawn upon a train
one summer morn which shall remain
for heart to hold if truth be told.

Brown, gold and blue she sat, smiled too,
to me it seemed true beauty gleamed, -
my spirit teemed with hopes that, teamed,
we'd share love through fair seasons new.

Blue, gold and brown without a frown
she journeyed on, too soon was gone, -
yet still upon my soul she shone.
Brown bag, blue gown, - Life's golden crown!

Blue, brown and gold, cannot grow [c]old
Year in year out their tale is told...

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Song Of The Widow

In the beginning life was good to me;
it held me warm and gave me courage.
That this is granted all while in their youth,
how could I then have known of this.
I never knew what living was----.
But suddenly it was just year on year,
no more good, no more new, no more wonderful.
Life had been torn in two right down the middle.

That was not his fault nor mine
since both of us had nothing but patience;
but death has none.
I saw him coming (how rotten he looked),
and I watched him as he took and took:
and nothing was mine.

What, then, belonged to me; was mine, my own?
Was not even this utter wretchedness
on loan to me by fate?
Fate does not only claim your happiness,
it also wants your pain back and your tears
and buys the ruin as something useless, old.

Fate was present and acquired for a nothing
every expression my face is capable of,
even to the way I walk.
The daily diminishing of me went on
and after I was emptied fate gave me up
and left me standing there, abandoned.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Book Mark

I remain
Where she left me
After she had finished reading.
No one leafed through the book of love
Time has coursed its way
Aeons have passed
But I remain entangled
In the inconclusive tale of love
Waiting for her to come back
And once again turn its pages
Get the story going again.

She was keen to progress in life
Desirous of
Glamour, fame, a bright career
How could she find time to read?
Accustomed to decorating shelves
With bric-a-brac and books
She knew
Nothing could be gained from old volumes
Except dried-up flower petals
Dead butterflies
Words, moth-eaten
Letters, hidden as mementoes
Names of some friends.

I remain
Where she left me
After she had finished reading
For I'm a memento too
A forgotten tale of past friendship
A symbol of memories, old and worn out
Sacred remorse of one-sided love
I remain
A peacock feather in a holy book
I do not have the luxury of tears.....!

(1988, Translated from the original Urdu by Satyapal Anand)

poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Lament (O how all things are far removed)

O how all things are far removed
and long have passed away.
I do believe the star,
whose light my face reflects,
is dead and has been so
for many thousand years.

I had a vision of a passing boat
and heard some voices saying disquieting things.
I heard a clock strike in some distant house...
but in which house?...

I long to quiet my anxious heart
and stand beneath the sky's immensity.
I long to pray...
And one of all the stars
must still exist.
I do believe that I would know
which one alone
endured,
and which like a white city stands
at the ray's end shining in the heavens.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Awakening

'The Awakening'

By
Charles L. East

There comes…
at times…
an insidious awakening
that stirs my soul to memories,
so faint,
intangible,
of past strife and death
…and life…
of glories faded, buried,
as though they never were.

Yet…
I hear the distant drums of war
and the heralding trumpet's muted voices,
and dimly see
a legion of shimmering golden helmets…
their plumes dancing in Sparta's wind.

I feel the blistering sting of cold salt spray
as I behold the failing sun slip quietly
beneath an unforgiving sea.

My life's blood absorbed by the warm sands
of Rome's coliseum…
I am aware
of the fragrance of the Earth
in Flanders field.

There comes…
at times…
an insidious awakening.

poem by Charles L. East
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Song

(From the diaries of Malte Laurids Brigge)

You, whom I do not tell that all night long
I lie weeping,
whose very being makes me feel wanting
like a cradle.

You, who do not tell me, that you lie awake
thinking of me:--
what, if we carried all these longings within us
without ever being overwhelmed by them,
letting them pass?

Look at these lovers, tormented by love,
when first they begin confessing,
how soon they lie!

You make me feel alone. I try imagining:
one moment it is you, then it's the soaring wind;
a fragrance comes and goes but never lasts.
Oh, within my arms I lost all whom I loved!
Only you remain, always reborn again.
For since I never held you, I hold you fast.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Slumber Song

Some day, if I should ever lose you,
will you be able then to go to sleep
without me softly whispering above you
like night air stirring in the linden tree?

Without my waking here and watching
and saying words as tender as eyelids
that come to rest weightlessly upon your breast,
upon your sleeping limbs, upon your lips?

Without my touching you and leaving you
alone with what is yours, like a summer garden
that is overflowing with masses
of melissa and star-anise?

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Self-Portrait

The steadfastness of generations of nobility
shows in the curving lines that form the eyebrows.
And the blue eyes still show traces of childhood fears
and of humility here and there, not of a servant's,
yet of one who serves obediantly, and of a woman.
The mouth formed as a mouth, large and accurate,
not given to long phrases, but to express
persuasively what is right. The forehead without guile
and favoring the shadows of quiet downward gazing.

This, as a coherent whole, only casually observed;
never as yet tried in suffering or succeeding,
held together for an enduring fulfillment,
yet so as if for times to come, out of these scattered things,
something serious and lasting were being planned.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Song Of The Beggar

I am always going from door to door,
whether in rain or heat,
and sometimes I will lay my right ear in
the palm of my right hand.
And as I speak my voice seems strange as if
it were alien to me,

for I'm not certain whose voice is crying:
mine or someone else's.
I cry for a pittance to sustain me.
The poets cry for more.

In the end I conceal my entire face
and cover both my eyes;
there it lies in my hands with all its weight
and looks as if at rest,
so no one may think I had no place where-
upon to lay my head.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Falling Stars

Do you remember still the falling stars
that like swift horses through the heavens raced
and suddenly leaped across the hurdles
of our wishes--do you recall? And we
did make so many! For there were countless numbers
of stars: each time we looked above we were
astounded by the swiftness of their daring play,
while in our hearts we felt safe and secure
watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate,
knowing somehow we had survived their fall.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Extinguish Thou My Eyes

Extinguish Thou my eyes:I still can see Thee,
deprive my ears of sound:I still can hear Thee,
and without feet I still can come to Thee,
and without voice I still can call to Thee.

Sever my arms from me, I still will hold Thee
with all my heart as with a single hand,
arrest my heart, my brain will keep on beating,
and Should Thy fire at last my brain consume,
the flowing of my blood will carry Thee.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Tally

Blood speckles the earthen ground,
Men sacrifice their life, their mind, their everything.
A fading memory, a shimmering sound.

The face of life wears a frown,
For life is flying on broken wings,
As blood speckles the earthen ground.

Family photos lay strewn to later be found,
Among the anguished souls, still longing, searching,
For a fading memory, a shimmering sound.

Functions cease and pumps break down,
Adrenaline lies dormant, still waiting,
As blood speckles the earthen ground.

Thoughts float by under limits and bounds,
The calls and prayers soothing,
The fading memory, the shimmering sound.

The effort of many, of whose spirits are wound,
Tightly on strings pulled taut by forces of reckoning,
As blood speckles the earthen ground,
For a fading memory, a shimmering sound.

poem by Samuel Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

You're A Good Man Albert Brown

Well you're a good man albert brown
And you was wounded in the war
And though you shot some people down
You're still a good man albert brown
Well you're a good man albert brown
Though you are drunk upon the floor
And if you're buying the next round
Then you're a good man albert...
Brown was the colour of the mud across the somme
Red was the blood you spilled upon it
Pink were the fingers of the nurse who dressed your wound
White was the starch upon her bonnet
And you married that nurse
And her name was else
And then along came dad
...i'll have another pint of...
Brown is the colour of your old walking boots
Green is the cash you'd love to squander
Gold is the colour of your wife's faithful heart
So get yourself home, no more to wander
And you married that nurse
And her name's still else
And another child was had
You're a good man albert brown

song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Westward Ho!

We should not sit us down and sigh,
My girl, whose brow a fane appears,
Whose steadfast eyes look royally
Backwards and forwards o'er the years--

The long, long years of conquered time,
The possible years unwon, that slope
Before us in the pale sublime
Of lives that have more faith than hope.

We dare not sit us down and dream
Fond dreams, as idle children do:
My forehead owns too many a seam,
And tears have worn their channels through

Your poor thin cheeks, which now I take
Twixt my two hands, caressing. Dear,
A little sunshine for my sake!
Although we're far on in the year.

Though all our violets, sweet! are dead,
The primrose lost from fields we knew,
Who knows that harvests may be spread
For reapers brave like me and you?

Who knows what bright October suns
May light up distant valleys mild,
Where as our pathway downward runs
We see Joy meet us, like a child

Who, sudden, by the roadside stands,
To kiss the travellers' weary brows,
And lead them through the twilight lands
Safely unto their Father's house.

So, we'll not dream, nor look back, dear!
But march right on, content and bold,
To where our life sets, heavenly clear,
Westward, behind the hills of gold.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!