Wilfred Owen “The Parable of the Old Man and the Young” So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went, And took the fire with him, and a knife. And as they sojourned both of them together, Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father, Behold the preparations, fire and iron, But where the lamb for this burnt-offering? Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps, and builded parapets and trenches there, And stretchèd forth the knife to slay his son. When lo! an angel called him out of heaven, Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad, Neither do anything to him. Behold, A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns; Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him. But the old man would not so, but slew his son, And half the seed of Europe, one by one. Tom Sienkewicz Catullus 2 Passer, deliciae meae puellae, quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere, cui primum digitum dare appetenti et acris solet incitare morsus, cum desiderio meo nitenti carum nescio quid lubet iocari et solaciolum sui doloris, credo ut tum gravis acquiescat ardor: tecum ludere sicut ipsa possem et tristis animi levare curas! Sparrow, favorite of my girl, with whom she is accustomed to play, whom she is accustomed to hold in her lap, for whom, seeking greedily, she is accustomed to give her index finger and to provoke sharp bites. When it is pleasing for my shining desire to make some kind of joke and a relief of her grief. I believe, so that her heavy passion may become quiet. If only I were able to play with you yourself, and to lighten the sad cares of your mind. Translation by Joannes Fortaperus
here where it seems no good word emerges. though it is cold, I am aware such reluctance could lose these blinking hours to simple safety. Here is an inwardless purpose. In these hours when snow shuts, it may be we empty, amounting to something. How could I not wait for those few words, which we might enter. Ken Cramer e. e. cummings “(listen)” (listen) this a dog barks and how crazily houses eyes people smiles faces streets steeples are eagerly tumbl ing through wonder ful sunlight ––look–– selves,stir:writhe o-p-e-n-i-n-g are(leaves;flowers)dreams ,come quickly come run run with me now jump shout(laugh dance cry sing)for it’s Spring ––irrevocably; and in earth sky trees :every where a miracle arrives (yes) you and i may not hurry it with a thousand poems my darling but nobody will stop it With All The Policeman In The World
my horse for her house, my saddle for her mirror, my knife for her blanket. My friend, I come bleeding from the gates of Cabra. --If it were possible, my boy, I'd help you fix that trade. But now I am not I, nor is my house now my house. --My friend, I want to die decently in my bed. Of iron, if that's possible, with blankets of fine chambray. Don't you see the wound I have from my chest up to my throat? --Your white shirt has grown thirsy dark brown roses. Your blood oozes and flees a round the corners of your sash. But now I am not I, nor is my house now my house. --Let me climb up, at least, up to the high balconies; Let me climb up! Let me, up to the green balconies. Railings of the moon through which the water rumbles. Now the two friends climb up, up to the high balconies. Leaving a trail of blood. Leaving a trail of teardrops. Tin bell vines were trembling on the roofs. A thousand crystal tambourines struck at the dawn light. Green, how I want you green, green wind, green branches. The two friends climbed up. The stiff wind left in their mouths, a strange taste of bile, of mint, and of basil My friend, where is she--tell me-- where is your bitter girl? How many times she waited for you! How many times would she wait for you, cool face, black hair, on this green balcony! Over the mouth of the cistern the gypsy girl was swinging, green flesh, her hair green, with eyes of cold silver. An icicle of moon holds her up above the water. The night became intimate like a little plaza. Drunken "Guardias Civiles" were pounding on the door. Green, how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches. The ship out on the sea. And the horse on the mountain. Translation by William Logan
Annika Hagley Ani DiFranco “Bodily” You broke me bodily The heart ain't the half of it And I'll never learn to laugh at it In my good natured way In fact I'm laughing less in general But I learned a lot at my own funeral And I knew you'd be the death of me So I guess that's the price I pay I'm trying to make new memories In cities where we fell in love My head just barely above The darkest water I've ever known You had me in that cage You had me jumpin through those hoops for you Still, I think I'd stoop for you Stoop for your eyes alone From that bomb shell moon in yet another lovely dress To the deep mahogany sheen of a roach I am trying to take an appreciative approach To life in your wake I focus on the quiet now And occasionally I'll fall asleep somehow And emptiness has its solace In that there's nothing left to take Mark Willhardt Edna St. Vincent Millay Sonnet XL Loving you less than life, a little less Than bitter-sweet upon a broken wall Or brush-wood smoke in autumn, I confess I cannot swear I love you not at all. For there is that about you in this light – A yellow darkness, sinister of rain – Which sturdily recalls my stubborn sight To dwell on you, and dwell on you again. And I am made aware of many a week I shall consume, remembering in what way Your brown hair grows about your brow and cheek, And what divine absurdities you say: Till all the world, and I, and surely you,
Benjamin Eaton “Island Number 10” The clouds split the Mississippi River— gray stones flinch underneath. The river illumes redgloss-stumps and moss-bark, both blossomed under flowing boulders and branches, each scratching shoreline coasts. Thatches and slabs and mildew scabs crash-crescendo down banks, flooding with twigs that decimate the thrushes’ canebrakes and stock piles by river basins under undisturbed beds of the dead. Beneath the carnage a slow walleye battles for inches, a sturgeon swims with the strong current, a large mouth bass bouts, and the muscle hugs unnoticed, as the currents strength forces another shad to perish. Joe Angotti Arica Brazil “Something Close to Home” The buildings kept climbing up, and we kept plummeting down Gypcrete and glass Each one more eager to interrupt heaven Each one more shiny and slick; Secreting an electric sludge. Books became rocks, Rocks became sidewalks, Advanced into something… Wind pipes creeping up on plastic matrix. Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone And I think it's gonna’ be a long. long time. The buildings kept climbing up, and we kept plummeting down Steel and sand Each one more willing to interrupt heaven Each one more complex and copied; Unions loved the sites. The bad and the new bad The sad and the new sad