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The Detroit String Quartet played Brahms last night. Brahms lost.

quote by Bennett Cerf
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The Odyssey: Book 21

Minerva now put it in Penelope's mind to make the suitors try
their skill with the bow and with the iron axes, in contest among
themselves, as a means of bringing about their destruction. She went
upstairs and got the store room key, which was made of bronze and
had a handle of ivory; she then went with her maidens into the store
room at the end of the house, where her husband's treasures of gold,
bronze, and wrought iron were kept, and where was also his bow, and
the quiver full of deadly arrows that had been given him by a friend
whom he had met in Lacedaemon- Iphitus the son of Eurytus. The two
fell in with one another in Messene at the house of Ortilochus,
where Ulysses was staying in order to recover a debt that was owing
from the whole people; for the Messenians had carried off three
hundred sheep from Ithaca, and had sailed away with them and with
their shepherds. In quest of these Ulysses took a long journey while
still quite young, for his father and the other chieftains sent him on
a mission to recover them. Iphitus had gone there also to try and
get back twelve brood mares that he had lost, and the mule foals
that were running with them. These mares were the death of him in
the end, for when he went to the house of Jove's son, mighty Hercules,
who performed such prodigies of valour, Hercules to his shame killed
him, though he was his guest, for he feared not heaven's vengeance,
nor yet respected his own table which he had set before Iphitus, but
killed him in spite of everything, and kept the mares himself. It
was when claiming these that Iphitus met Ulysses, and gave him the bow
which mighty Eurytus had been used to carry, and which on his death
had been left by him to his son. Ulysses gave him in return a sword
and a spear, and this was the beginning of a fast friendship, although
they never visited at one another's houses, for Jove's son Hercules
killed Iphitus ere they could do so. This bow, then, given him by
Iphitus, had not been taken with him by Ulysses when he sailed for
Troy; he had used it so long as he had been at home, but had left it
behind as having been a keepsake from a valued friend.
Penelope presently reached the oak threshold of the store room;
the carpenter had planed this duly, and had drawn a line on it so as
to get it quite straight; he had then set the door posts into it and
hung the doors. She loosed the strap from the handle of the door,
put in the key, and drove it straight home to shoot back the bolts
that held the doors; these flew open with a noise like a bull
bellowing in a meadow, and Penelope stepped upon the raised
platform, where the chests stood in which the fair linen and clothes
were laid by along with fragrant herbs: reaching thence, she took down
the bow with its bow case from the peg on which it hung. She sat
down with it on her knees, weeping bitterly as she took the bow out of
its case, and when her tears had relieved her, she went to the
cloister where the suitors were, carrying the bow and the quiver, with
the many deadly arrows that were inside it. Along with her came her
maidens, bearing a chest that contained much iron and bronze which her
husband had won as prizes. When she reached the suitors, she stood
by one of the bearing-posts supporting the roof of the cloister,
holding a veil before her face, and with a maid on either side of her.

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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Song of Wink Star

The Song of Wink Star
a happy story for children of all ages
story and text © Raj Arumugam, June 2008

☼ ☼

☼ Preamble

Come…children all, children of all ages…sit close and listen…
Come and listen to this happy story of the stars and of life…
Come children of the universe, children of all nations and of all races, and of all climates and of all kinds of space and dimensions and universes…
Come, dearest children of all beings of the living universe, come and listen to The Song of Wink Star…

Come and listen to this story, this happy story…listen, as the story itself sings to you…

Sit close then, and listen to the story that was not made by any, or written by a poet, or fashioned by grandfathers and grandmothers warming themselves at the fire of burning stars…

O dearest children all, come and listen to the story that lives
of itself, and that glows bright and happy….

Come…children all, children of all ages, come and listen to this happy story, the story so natural and smooth as life, as it sings itself to you….

☼ The Song of Wink Star
a happy story for children of all ages

☼ 1

Night Child, always so light and gentle, slept on a flower.
And every night, before he went to sleep, he would look up at the sky.
He would look at the eastern corner, five o’clock.

And there he would see all the stars in near and distant galaxies that were only visible to the People of Star Eyes.

Night Child was one of the People of Star Eyes. And so he could see the stars. And of all the stars he could see, he loved to watch Wink Star.

Wink Star twinkled and winked and laughed.
Every night Wink Star did that. Winked and laughed.

[...] Read more

poem by Raj Arumugam
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Detroit City

Me and Iggy were giggin' with Ziggy and kickin' with the MC5
Ted and Seger were burnin' with fever
And let the Silver Bullets fly
The Kid was in his crib, Shady wore a bib
And the Posse wasn't even alive
Shock rock choppin' block, songs to make your heart stop
Shovin' it in to overdrive
Playing loud and fast
Make that guitar blast
Playing like today will be your last...
Well I was born there
Gonna die there
With all my long hair
Detroit City
You feel your heart beat
You hit the concrete
Dance the mean street
Detroit City
There's a riot raging downtown
Tryin' to burn the place down
Skies glowin' red and gray
But the Riff kept a rockin'
The Creem kept a talkin'
And the streets still smokin' today
Playing loud and fast
Make that guitar blast
Playing like today will be your last...
Well I was born there
Probably die there
With all my long hair
Detroit City
You feel your heart beat
You hit the concrete
Dance the mean streets
Detroit City
Six mile seven mile eight mile nine mile ten mile eleven mile
Detroit City
Louder
Faster
Louder
Detroit City
Well, I was born there
Gonna die there
We don't belong here
Detroit City
You feel your heart beat
Hit the concrete
Dance the mean street
Detroit City
Well, I was born there

[...] Read more

song performed by Alice Cooper
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Detroit City (Lyrics)

Me and Iggy were giggin' with Ziggy and kickin' with the MC5
Ted and Seger were burnin' with fever
and let the Silver bullets fly
The Kid was in his crib, shady wore a bib
and the posse wasn`t even alive
Shock rock choppin' block, songs to make your heart stop
Shovie it in ta overdrive

Playing loud and fast
Make that guitar blast
Playing like today will be your last...

Well I was born there
Gonna die there
With all my long hair
Detroit City
You feel your heart beat
You hit the concrete
Dance the mean street
Detroit City

There`s a riot raging downtown
Tryin' to burn the place down
Skies glowin; red and grey
But the Riff kept a Rockin'
The Creem kept a-talkin'
And the streets still smokin' today

Playing loud and fast
Make that guitar blast
Playing like today will be your last...

Well I was born there
Probably die there
With all my long hair
Detroit City
You feel your heart beat
You hit the concrete
Dance the mean streets
Detroit City

Six mile seven mile eight mile nine mile
ten mile eleven mile Detroit city

Louder
Faster
Louder
Detroit City

Well I was born there

[...] Read more

poem by Satan's Sibling
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Detroit

(ian hunter)
(transcribed by nicole apostola)
He used to ride through the streets, crying through the alleyway
Freezing cold in the early morning light
Out to get a salary
Detroit, detroit
Tv image ain't gonna pay the bills
Big big cars
Detroit, detroit
The fan
Detroit, detroit
Big big shots
Got their heads in the sand
The usual
(buzzing cars noises from ian)
You're late
Detroit, detroit
He's a working man
Ghost town
Ghost town
(indistinguishable sounds, laughs)
The loneliest man in the world

song performed by Ian Hunter
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Panic In Detroit

Ah oooh
He looked a lot like che guevara, drove a diesel van
Kept his gun in quiet seclusion, such a humble man
The only survivor of the national peoples gang
Panic in detroit, I asked for an autograph
He wanted to stay home, I wish someone would phone
Panic in detroit (oh oh oh aahh, oh oh oh aahh)
He laughed at accidental sirens that broke the evening gloom
The police had warned of repercussions
They followed none too soon
A trickle of strangers were all that were left alive
Panic in detroit, I asked for an autograph
He wanted to stay home, I wish someone would phone
Panic in detroit (oh oh oh aahh, ah ah ah aahh)
Putting on some clothes I made my way to school
(oh oh oh)
And I found my teacher crouching in his overalls
I screamed and ran to smash my favourite slot machine (oh oh oh)
And jumped the silent cars that slept at traffic lights
Having scored a trillion dollars, made a run back home
Found him slumped across the table. a gun and me alone
I ran to the window. looked for a plane or two
Panic in detroit. hed left me an autograph
Let me collect dust. I wish someone would phone
Panic in detroit
Panic in detroit
Panic in detroit
Aoo

song performed by David Bowie
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Detroit (Out Take 5 - Vocal)

(ian hunter)
(transcribed by nicole apostola)
He used to ride through the streets, crying through the alleyway
Freezing cold in the early morning light
Out to get a salary
Detroit, detroit
Tv image aint gonna pay the bills
Big big cars
Detroit, detroit
The fan
Detroit, detroit
Big big shots
Got their heads in the sand
The usual
(buzzing cars noises from ian)
Youre late
Detroit, detroit
Hes a working man
Ghost town
Ghost town
(indistinguishable sounds, laughs)
The loneliest man in the world

song performed by Ian Hunter
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!

O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]

POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR

POEMS

1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song

[...] Read more

poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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Six String Music

Six string music
By: jimmy buffett, g.e. smith
1994
Turn off the t.v.
Turn off the crap
Kick off your high heels
Climb up in my lap
Chorus:
And Ill play music
A song from me to you
Simple six string music
A ballad or the blues
No interruptions
>from the telephone
Dont need call waitin
Just you and me alone
Chorus:
And my six string music (six string music)
A song from me to you
Simple six string music (six string music)
A ballad or the blues
Oh I remember that night in africa
My daughter and my little guitar
Straddling the equator
The king of zanzibar
Those shy black hidden faces
They didnt know me from adams cat
But the words and the singin
And the people in a ring
And the whole night went like that
Now some folks like icing
Some folks like cake
Some swim in the ocean
Some paddle in a lake
Well you can get into beethoven
Or you can groove on jimmy reed
But keep it simple stupid
All we really need is
Chorus:
Six string music (six string music)
A song from me to you
Simple six string music (six string music)
A ballad or the blues
Six string music (six string music)
Aint no symphony
Its just six string music (six string music)
So elementary

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
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But For Being Lost

As black imbued black, so was rendered the pitch of darkness
That befogged this godforsaken yard of graves -
And too the dank, ‘til now forgotten chapel that
Did little to grace these forlorn grounds.

Yet here stood I, seemingly first to tread this weed-ridden soil
Since times of yore when life had erstwhile blessed this land.
But for being lost in solitude - as does a country wanderer -
Would I not have happened across this morbid landscape.

And though detail rendered barely visible to my naked eye –
For desperately had the moon tried to break through this jet fog –
A sense of something suffused the place.
Was it those tormented spirits desperate for absolution,
Or perhaps the gargoyles teasing me on whether they be of stone or living flesh?

I was drawn to the oak door as it enticingly opened in passage for me.
The organ called from down the nave and through the pale orange of unsteady light
- that which could only be mustered from the few discoloured, moribund candles.
Could I also hear a distant choir of stern voices, as if in effort to scold me?

As I approached, those tarnished pipes came into view.
Standing erect with gothic pride, they bore down on me with patronising air -
Exaggerated by the disjointed sneering of minor chords,
As if to state that insignificant I had henceforth no grant of solace.

In answer, I steadied my rocking legs and racing mind to wonder of this scenario.
And in doing so, I found myself waking from a cramped dream –
Whence the message dawned: mine had been such a claustrophobic life.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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String-a-long

String-a-long, string-a-long, thats what I am
String-a-long, string-a-long, thats what I am
String-a-long - thats all I am is just your
String-a-long someone that you just seem to
Bring along, whenever you are all alone
And need some company you always turn to me
String-a-long - thats all I do is sort of
String-a-long you never seem to notice
Im along although I hope and pray that
You will need me someday
All I ever do - is tag along with you
No matter where you chance to roam
Im just satisfied - to be by your side
Here - there - near - far - I wanna be anywhere you are
Treat me wrong and maybe soon youll lose your
String-a-long, someone may come and bring a
Love thats strong and wanna string-a-long with me
Break:
All I ever do - is tag along with you
No matter where you chance to roam
Im just satisfied - to be by your side
Here - there - near - far - I wanna be anywhere you are
Treat me wrong - and maybe soon youll lose your
String-a-long someone may come and bring a
Love thats strong and wanna string-a-long with me
Ill find somebody new - wont treat me like you do
Ill find somebody new - wont treat me like you do
Ill find somebody new - wont treat me like you do

song performed by Fleetwood Mac
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The Idols

An Ode
Luce intellettual, piena d' amore

Prelude
Lo, the spirit of a pulsing star within a stone
Born of earth, sprung from night!
Prisoned with the profound fires of the light
That lives like all the tongues of eloquence
Locked in a speech unknown!
The crystal, cold and hard as innocence,
Immures the flame; and yet as if it knew
Raptures or pangs it could not but betray,
As if the light could feel changes of blood and breath
And all--but--human quiverings of the sense,
Throbs of a sudden rose, a frosty blue,
Shoot thrilling in its ray,
Like the far longings of the intellect
Restless in clouding clay.

Who has confined the Light? Who has held it a slave,
Sold and bought, bought and sold?
Who has made of it a mystery to be doled,
Or trophy, to awe with legendary fire,
Where regal banners wave?
And still into the dark it sends Desire.
In the heart's darkness it sows cruelties.
The bright jewel becomes a beacon to the vile,
A lodestar to corruption, envy's own:
Soiled with blood, fought for, clutched at; this world's prize,
Captive Authority. Oh, the star is stone
To all that outward sight,
Yet still, like truth that none has ever used,
Lives lost in its own light.

Troubled I fly. O let me wander again at will
(Far from cries, far from these
Hard blindnesses and frozen certainties!)
Where life proceeds in vastness unaware
And stirs profound and still:
Where leafing thoughts at shy touch of the air
Tremble, and gleams come seeking to be mine,
Or dart, like suddenly remembered youth,
Like the ache of love, a light, lost, found, and lost again.
Surely in the dusk some messenger was there!
But, haunted in the heart, I thirst, I pine.--
Oh, how can truth be truth
Except I taste it close and sweet and sharp
As an apple to the tooth?

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Laurence Binyon
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Night Bring Me My Lover

Night bring me my lover, night
Bring me my lover, night
The night has brought me you, ooooh
Night bring me my lover, night
Bring me my lover, night
The night has brought me you, ooh
Night, bring me my lover
Baby, night is sweet?
To each other thats the way we meet
I went all day for night to come
When I ? so easy
Do you want my lover, baby
Exchanging smiles and glances,
Just by to take my chances
Night bring me my lover, night
Bring me my lover, night
The night has brought me you, ooooh
Night bring me my lover, night
Bring me my lover, night
The night has brought me you, ooh
Night, bring me my lover
Youre the living cruel
To satisfy each other, thats the loving truth
One day is all I want belong to ? baby
Thats the way I found you, lover?
Each other
Nights brought us one another
Night bring me my lover, night
Bring me my lover, night
The night has brought me you, ooooh
Night bring me my lover, night
Bring me my lover, night
The night has brought me you, ooh
(Im so high) Im in love tonight
(so high) I think our love is so right
(so high) ? tomorrow-morrow
Night (bring me my lover)
Bring me my lover,
Night
(bring me my lover)
Bring me my lover, night
The night has brought me you, ooooh
Night (bring me my lover)
Bring me my lover, night
(bring me my lover)
Bring me my lover, night
The night has brought me you, ooh
Night (bring me my lover)
Bring me my lover, night
(bring me my lover)

[...] Read more

song performed by Gloria Estefan
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We Want A Rock

Where was i? I forgot
The point that I was making
I said if I was smart that I would
Save up for a piece of string
And a rock to wind the string around
Everybody wants a rock
To wind a piece of string around
Everybody wants a rock
To wind a piece of string around
Throw the crib door wide
Let the people crawl inside
Someone in this town
Is trying to burn the playhouse down
They want to stop the ones who want
A rock to wind a string around
But everybody wants a rock
To wind a piece of string around
Throw the crib door wide
Let the people crawl inside
Someone in this town
Is trying to burn the playhouse down
They want to stop the ones who want
A rock to wind a string around
But everybody wants a rock
To wind a piece of string around
If I were a carpenter id
Hammer on my piglet, id
Collect the seven dollars and id
Buy a big prosthetic forehead
And wear it on my real head
Everybody wants prosthetic
Foreheads on their real heads
Everybody wants prosthetic
Foreheads on their real heads
Throw the crib door wide
Let the people crawl inside
Someone in this town
Is trying to burn the playhouse down
They want to stop the ones who want
Prosthetic foreheads on their heads
But everybody wants prosthetic
Foreheads on their real heads
Throw the crib door wide
Let the people crawl inside
Someone in this town
Is trying to burn the foreheads down
They want to stop the ones who want
A rock to wind a string around
But everybody wants a rock
To wind a piece of string around

song performed by They Might Be Giants
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The Loves of the Angels

'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!

Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Moore
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Not at a Loss Chord - after Adelaide Anne Procter – A Lost Chord

Not at a Loss Chord

Playing one day with my organ,
I was blissful – not ill at ease -
while five fingers wandered wildly
web-cams recording each wheeze.

I know the spot vibrating,
less what I was dreaming then,
but I strummed with both will and spirit
and an “Oh My God! Amen! ”

Adrenaline flowed not vainly
from heart to crimson palm,
as it coursed both veins and spirit
with little akin to calm.

It quieted pain and sorrow,
like love overcoming strife;
it seem[en]ed orgasmic echo
to tune discordant life.

It linked all perplexèd meanings
into one perfect peace,
and trembled away into silence
although I was loth to cease.

I have sought, and I seek not vainly,
that one G spot divine,
which linked my soul to the organ
so manifestly mine.

La petite morte delightful
strikes shivering molten core,
as this little verse insightful
calls for en corps encore!

It may be that Death's bright angel
will speak in that chord again,
for it’s surely in seventh Heaven
one sings “Oh My God! Amen! ”

Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
8 April 2007

ROBIN Jonathan 1947_2006 robi3_1338_proc1_0001 PXY_MXX Not at a Loss Chord_Playing one day with my organ
A Lost Chord

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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A UFO of Night or Mind?

He focused on the waters. Above, an
Overhanging vista: layers of hues
Were blending in complexity,
Tuning in the sky's allure – the blues

Had darkened overhead, revealing
What he really sought - the minor streak
Could not have been a meteor.
An easy thrum had underlined a sleek

And ever-growing yellow core,
Pursued by dancing tails of teasing fire;
His hopeful eyes adapting, peering,
Smoothing out the contrast. A glorious choir

Trilled inside the power plant,
Harmonising in the pitch of black.
The trail of dazzling effluence had
Harkened him to bend, arch his back;

Give his disbelieving eyes a
Sense of concept, thus assimilate
The aviating UFO.
For many barren years he had to wait

For such a prize: a form unknown –
Unique to Man – for him to see it land
Atop the shore. The underside
Received a gentle nudge from running sand,

Frantic in the wavelets. He launched,
Lurching, surging down in salutation,
Bidding all an earthly welcome …
Overcome by his hallucination.

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Sometime at a concert hall, in recollection...

Sometime at a concert hall, in recollection,
A Brahms intermezzo will wound me-I'll start,
Remember that summer, the flowerbed garden,
The walks and the bathing, the tryst of six hearts,

The awkward, shy artist, with steep, dreamlike forehead,
Her smile, into which one would dive for a while,
A smile, as good-natured and bright as a river,
Her artist's appearance, her forehead, her smile.

They'll play me some Brahms-I will shudder, surrender,
And in retrospection the sounds will evoke
That faraway summer, the hoard of provisions,
My son and my brother, the garden, the oak.

The artist would stuff in her overall pockets
Her pencils, and objects with fanciful names,
Or would, inadvertently dropping her palette,
Turn much of the grass into colourful stains.

They'll play me some Brahms-I'll surrender, remember
The stubborn dry brushwood, the entrance, the roof,
Her smile and appearance, the mouth and the eyebrows,
The darkened verandah, the steps and the rooms.

And suddenly, as in a fairytale sequence,
The family, neighbours and friends will appear,
And-memories crowding-I'll drown in my weeping
Before I have time to have shed all my tears.

And, circling around in a swift intermezzo-
Embracing the song like a treetrunk at noon,
Four families' shadows will turn on the meadow
To Brahms's compelling and childhood-clear tune

poem by Boris Pasternak
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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

[...] Read more

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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