The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. February
UNDER THE SPEAKER'S GALLERY
In all the comedy of human things
What is more mirthful than for those, who sit
Far from the great world's vain imaginings,
To mingle in its war of words and wit,
A listener here, when Greek meets Greek, Fox Pitt,
At question--time in the Queen's Parliament?
'Tis the arena of old Rome. Here meet
More than mere Dacians on mere slaughter bent.
Yonder and close to Mr. Speaker's chair,
Enfolding all things in a net of words,
Stands our first gymnast. Let the rest beware.
The Tory Stafford, with voice sweet as bird's,
Shall answer him anon, or bolder borne
And if luck favours, from the nether herds
A voice of patriot wrath shall rise in scorn,
Or even young Cassius blow his windy horn.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Mr Speaker
Wriggles from his captors arms
Mr speaker gets the word and
Running now from the alarms
Speaks his mind free as a bird
Free now to roam around
Stand up straight when he quotes
Spread the word that he has found
Books of verse and scribbled notes
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
Stands up straight outside my door
I bring you now the words Ive learned
To whom it may concern senor
Tell my friends I have returned
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
Excitement rages through his brain
Stirred and stirred throughout the years
Not enough time to explain
Eyes of many sighs of fear
Making space from colney hatch lane
Just some poetry my friend
Scuttles past my window frame
Vanishes right round the bend
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Mr Speaker Gets The Word
Wriggles from his captors arms
Mr speaker gets the word and
Running now from the alarms
Speaks his mind free as a bird
Free now to roam around
Stand up straight when he quotes
Spread the word that he has found
Books of verse and scribbled notes
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
Stands up straight outside my door
I bring you now the words Ive learned
To whom it may concern senor
Tell my friends I have returned
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
Excitement rages through his brain
Stirred and stirred throughout the years
Not enough time to explain
Eyes of many sighs of fear
Making space from colney hatch lane
Just some poetry my friend
Scuttles past my window frame
Vanishes right round the bend
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
If deeds are wanting, all words appear mere vanity and emptiness.
A Prince from Western Libya
Aristomenis, son of Menelaos,
the Prince from Western Libya,
was generally liked in Alexandria
during the ten days he spent there.
As his name, his dress, modest, was also Greek.
He received honors gladly,
but he did not solicit them; he was unassuming.
He bought Greek books,
especially history and philosophy.
Above all he was a man of few words.
It got around that he must be a profound thinker,
and men like that naturally don't speak very much.
He was neither a profound thinker nor anything else—
just a piddling, laughable man.
He assumed a Greek name, dressed like the Greeks,
learned to behave more or less like a Greek;
and all the time he was terrified he would spoil
his reasonably good image
by coming out with barbaric howlers in Greek
and the Alexandrians, in their usual way,
would make fun of him, vile people that they are.
This was why he limited himself to a few words,
terribly careful of his syntax and pronunciation;
and he was driven almost out of his mind, having
so much talk bottled up inside him.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I do not separate Christ from God more than a voice from the speaker or a beam from the sun. Christ is the voice of the speaker. He and the Father are the same thing, as the beam and the light, are the same light.
quote by Michael Servetus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Philhellene
Make sure the engraving is done skillfully.
The expression serious, majestic.
The diadem preferably somewhat narrow:
I don't like that broad kind the Parthians wear.
The inscription, as usual, in Greek:
nothing excessive, nothing pompous—
we don't want the proconsul to take it the wrong way:
he's always nosing things out and reporting back to Rome—
but of course giving me due honor.
Something very special on the other side:
some discus-thrower, young, good-looking.
Above all I urge you to see to it
(Sithaspis, for God's sake don't let them forget)
that after "King" and "Savior,"
they engrave "Philhellene" in elegant characters.
Now don't try to be clever
with your "where are the Greeks?" and "what things Greek
here behind Zagros, out beyond Phraata?"
Since so many others more barbarian than ourselves
choose to inscribe it, we will inscribe it too.
And besides, don't forget that sometimes
sophists do come to us from Syria,
and versifiers, and other triflers of that kind.
So we are not, I think, un-Greek.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bear With Me
The operator girl
kept saying this to me
over the phone
while waiting for her
to finish her assignment
I requested for her to do
but she kept saying
'Bear with me, bear with me...'
I thought to myself
what do I have to bear with
only a phone call bill
at the end of the month...
and a little patience
for this girl to finish her job?
but she is so sweet to say
such words that warm my heart
in the end
what do I have to bear with now?
A new light shined on me
with this man as sweet as this girl
who keeps saying
'Bear with me, bear with me...'
but this man is not English speaker
so he can't say
'Bear with me.'
but he is the rekindled heart
that was brought forth
in my life now
but I don't have to bear with it
nor suffer through with it
but just a zest or play
some kids might enjoy doing
with their friends
I also became a child
to play the play things
with him
so delightful to hear him say
in my language
that was forgotten in me
for so long
but now returned a new
in different form of language
a new language
Living in two language worlds
made me forget all the things
that were inherent in that language
but now they are returned and refreshed a new
in this fellow a new fiery light
who is he?
I don't quite well know
but is better than the one who kept
saying to me over the phone
on one fine day
'I love you! I so much love you,
that's all I want to say to you
to let you know..'
He didn't give me his name nor
his identity but only the empty 'I Love You's
over the phone in one afternoon
but this new light-shine on me
a new friend is not saying such stupid words
but things he needs to know
needs to say and do
Those are the ones he only says
and the language he speaks is so refreshing
and renews my heart
the lost words
in me returned through him.
Hello, friend,
are you gonna stay around for a long time
or are you gonna go away and
not return..
only he is the one who will answer this question.
So today I bear with this girl
who is doing a job for me
and who is sweet enough to say
such sweet words to me
that brought me another poem like this
this morning.
No more of suffering
no more of bearing
but simple facts and duties to fulfill
life's journey has ended here
and job well done,
done with.
10: 07am Korea-Japan Time
(November 9,2012)
poem by Sangnam Nam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Objectified
All beautiful things meet their demise
Flowers in bloom surely will die
Frozen are the wings of the dead butterfly
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Clouds of gray spoil the light of the skies
The ocean must fall in order to rise
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
I knew I was doomed when you first said, “Hi.”
Two ships in the night, we were bound to collide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Four months can pass in the blink of an eye
We lose ourselves without having to try
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
The simplest words become hard to define
You can’t see the truth when you cover your eyes
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Your pay the price to take this ride
Slowly, you find that you’re living a lie
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Pictures of us will fade over time
We become strangers in a world so wide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
You’ll keep on searching for what you won’t find
You’ll lose your faith while I lose my mind
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Sometimes your morals get left behind
It will be too late when you realize
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
poem by Vaida Marea
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That Voice Again
I want to be with you
I want to be clear
But each time I try
Its the voice I hear
I hear that voice again
Im listening to the conversation
Judge and jury in my head
Its colouring everything
All we did and said
And still I head that sharp tongue talking
Talking tangled words
I can sense the danger
Just listen to the wind
I want you close I want you near
I cant help but listen
But I dont want to hear
Hear that voice again
I want to be with you
I want to be clear
But each time I try
Its the voice I hear
I hear that voice again
Im hearing right and wrong so clearly
There must be more than this
Its only in uncertainty
That were naked and alive
I hear it through the rattle of a streetcar
Hear it through the things you said
I can get so scared
Listen to the wind
I want you close I want you near
I cant help but listen
But I dont want to hear
Hear that voice again
What I carry in my heart
Brings us so close or so far apart
Only love can make love
I want you close I want you near
I cant help but listen
But I dont want to hear
I hear that voice again
I want to be with you
I want to be clear
But each time I try
Its the voice I hear
I hear that voice again
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Woman
I would climb the highest mountain to speak with you my swami
You are seer and knower of all things great and small
Your knowledge and understanding has no boundaries
Your intellect is only surpassed by your beauty and charm
Queen of my heart and princess of the earth
You are the mother of humanity and the barer of fruits
Thru your manifestation you bring forth life
You are the queen of all things and the mother of humanity
Muse of my soul and the captain of my ship
I shall build you a garden house so I can reach you at my whim
Your sense of style and taste captures your spirit within
Fly me away so I can come on down to your sandy shores
In your red dress, you dress to impress
For everything I do you are always on my mind
I dream a dream of being in your arms forever
A heavenly bliss that any man would die for
To taste your lips of cherry wine would be intoxicating
I would drink until I was fully inebriated
I would swim in your waters until I drown in your love
Your earthly brown tones I dream of embracing me
Your laughter brings joy to my moody day.
You must be an arsonist for you set my soul on fire
High on a throne you should be seated for I am only a jester at your side
You bring so much levity that sparks my humorous side
You are my beauty queen and I a mere minstrel at your periphery
You are a rare beauty a treasured fine that is one of a kind
My nimble fingers can not construct the words to let you know how you make me feel
You are all that is good and pure in the world
Some say pure as the driven snow but I say pure as the first humans to walk this earth
Ask of me what you will for I will die trying to comfort you
Your sultry sense is not a state of being but a state of mind
Dance my tiny dancer for the world will travel to your beat
Dance to your own music for some just don’t get you
Your colors are warm and they bring comfort to the eyes
How does one construct words to explain how you make me feel
Sweet Sensuous words of my true feelings
Words that will sway you in my way
Word that would captivate your heart from the start
To live a life of servitude with you would be a dream come true
You are a Goddess to be worshiped
You are more than any mere mortal can comprehend
The utterance of your angelic voice brings shivers down my spine
I can not rest until we converse again
When I am sad you make me glad
You are the true love that I never had
poem by Wilfred Mellers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Paper Men To Air Hopes And Fears
The first speaker said
Fear fire. Fear furnaces
Incinerators, the city dump
The faint scratch of a match.
The second speaker said
Fear water. Fear drenching rain
Drizzle, oceans, puddles, a damp
Day and the flush toilet.
The third speaker said
Fear wind. And it needn't be
A hurricane. Drafts, open
Windows, electric fans.
The fourth speaker said
Fear knives. Fear any sharp
Thing, machine, shears
Scissors, lawnmowers.
The fifth speaker said
Hope. Hope for the best
A smooth folder in a steel file.
poem by Robert Francis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Of Dimitrios Sotir
Everything he'd hoped for turned out wrong.
He'd seen himself doing great things,
ending the humiliation that had kept his country down
ever since the battle of Magnesia
seen himself making Syria a powerful state again,
with her armies, her fleets,
her big fortresses, her wealth.
He'd suffered in Rome, become bitter
when he sensed in the talk of friends,
young men of the great families,
that in spite of all their delicacy, their politeness
toward him, the son
of King Selefkos Philopator-
when he sensed that in spite of this there was always
a secret contempt for the Hellenized dynasties:
their heyday was over, they weren't fit for anything serious,
were completely unable to rule their peoples.
He'd cut himself off, indignant, swearing
it would be quite different from the way they thought.
Why, wasn't he himself full of determination?
He would act, he would fight, he would put it all right again.
If he could only find a way of getting to the East,
only manage to escape from Italy,
then all this inner strength,
all this energy,
he'd pass on to his people.
Only to be in Syria!
He was so young when he left his country
he hardly remembered what it looked like.
But in his mind he'd always thought of it
as something sacred that you approach reverently,
as a beautiful place unveiled, a vision
of Greek cities and Greek ports.
And now?
Now despair and sorrow.
They were right, the young men in Rome.
The dynasties resulting from the Macedonian Conquest
can't be kept going any longer.
It doesn't matter. He'd made the effort,
fought as much as he could.
And in his bleak disillusion
there's only one thing in which he still takes pride:
that even in failure
he shows the world his same indomitable courage.
The rest: they were dreams and wasted energy.
This Syria -it almost seems it isn't his country
this Syria is the land of Valas and Herakleidis.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Listening and thinking
A good speaker is a bad listener.
A batsman is keen in watching.
A bowler is keen in throwing.
The bad listener hardly learns.
The good listener hardly thinks.
28.03.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Frankincense and Myrrh
My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings
Vibrate most readily to minor chords,
Searching and sad; my mind is stuffed with words
Which voice the passion and the ache of things:
Illusions beating with their baffled wings
Against the walls of circumstance, and hoards
Of torn desires, broken joys; records
Of all a bruised life's maimed imaginings.
Now you are come! You tremble like a star
Poised where, behind earth's rim, the sun has set.
Your voice has sung across my heart, but numb
And mute, I have no tones to answer. Far
Within I kneel before you, speechless yet,
And life ablaze with beauty, I am dumb.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Desert Is In Your Heart
producer for bonnie: ?
Recorded in 1992 for sophie arbaniti 's album 'parafora', lyrics taken from
Careful listening.
First half of this song is in greek...so your guess is as good as mine - here's
The english part...
You move the veil from your face
And escape from the world that is hurting
You feel oppressed when you know
That the words are killing the meaning
There is no reason to hide in the dark
When you're far from the fighting
How can you dream in a world that is getting greyer than grey?
You don't have to hide your face, there's no disgrace
There's no harm in knowing that we're all a part of the human race
You have got to lift your head, think of what he said
You were born to know the truth, nothing but the truth, and what the truth is
Worth
Oh, the desert is in your heart
In your heart
The desert is in your heart
In your heart
It's so hard to try to forget
So many thinks you regret
You try to look back, but there's little to see
Just nothing can't take this pain from me
Oh, the desert is in your heart
In your heart
You don't have to hide your face
There's no disgrace
There's no harm in knowing we're all a part of the human race
You have got to lift your head, think of what he said
You were born to know the truth, nothing but the truth, and what the truth is
Worth
Oh, the desert is in your heart
In your heart
The desert is in your heart
In your heart
(greek)
In your heart
(greek)
The desert is in your heart
(greek)
The desert is in your heart
(greek)
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war.
The life or death question
You could guess from the crowd
converging on the Memorial Hall
and on a Saturday night, that
the speaker must be world-famed in his field,
making his first visit to the college.
A French scientist of renown –
cognitive theory or some such –
turned Buddhist monk these thirty, forty years,
he carried the blessing and the curse,
the burden of responsibility not only of his vocation
but his fame. The hall was packed.
Serene – ‘together’ has to be the word –
he spoke for an hour; enthusiastic applause;
then question time.
There’s always that tense silence before
the first question…how will
the hall respond tonight? Will it hold the level
of the speaker’s mind? …we knew all too well
those ‘first question’ students – the one
who had to wrap a compliment in
confectioner’s sugar, eliciting an inward groan –
as if the speaker were unaware of his own ability...
she’d marry rich, then live a life of patronising
complacency bestowing well-publicised charity…
or the one whose ‘clever’ question blatantly advertised
to whoever might be impressed, beyond herself,
that she was already on the speaker’s wavelength
before the lecture and before the rest of us…
she’d commit herself to a future academic life
of maintaining this self-superiority,
exhausting herself, losing friends and influencing few…
but no – tonight it was that wild and self-abusive student
who seldom attended any lecture except to challenge –
‘Can you give me one single reason
why I should go on living? ’..
You could have heard a cliché drop..
a pin; a paperclip; but loud, the universal thought –
how could the speaker know, this was the brilliant boy
of already three serious suicide attempts…
representative of the rite of passage greatly magnified,
sex, drugs, rocknroll, and whatever lay beyond…
‘No… I cannot…’
This was the boy we detested, despaired of, tried to befriend,
hated for his disruption, but almost feared,
feared for the wild openness of his mind…
the hall united in hushed, waiting silence…
‘… for you have given yourself the reason –
you have asked the question few of us
have dared to ask… and a question
sincerely asked, brings its answer with it…
‘..when you hear the answer that your question
holds in its heart, like some golden lotus,
you will have the answers to all questions,
and you will be a wiser, happier man than me…’
only Buddhists and their like can smile
with such detached serenity; with
a space that’s full of meaning. The hall
broke into the laughter of relief; great laughter;
the unqualified love of five hundred students
poured like a mighty river on that boy
who was still standing, wild-haired –
and I saw that he was laughing too
and through my mind flashed the thought,
the air is full of angels..
where had those angels who laughed
so lightly with us, where had those angels been,
before; and would go, after?
The boy, still laughing as he left.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I love you
I love you,
more than mere words
can express.
Even though I must confess
that I did not really know,
what love really was
before I met you.
More than any feelings
and passions could command,
you taught me the principles of love
and gave yourself
without expecting anything back.
At times every thing in live
looked in vain
and yet endlessly you kept on
dreaming with me
and when disaster struck,
you still stayed and prayed with me.
I love you,
more than mere words
can express.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How Do I Love You?
In mere words I can find no kind of way
to express the depth of my love for you,
the yearning of every passing day,
not even in the things that I say and do.
In the simple small daily kind of things
that fit into the mere puzzle of life,
intimate, sincere heartfelt tidings
outbalancing the every day strife
it is all unclear in the silent need,
that comes natural to you as my wife
it is from far beyond any act or deed
and its truth never pierces like a knife,
but is much like childhood faith, without pain
it is somewhat difficult to explain…
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Eloquence is in the assembly, not merely in the speaker.
quote by William Pitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!