I Am Not Merely Human
Thus far I've spent my evenings in Hovd translating additional poems by poet L. Olziitogs. I post here one of my favorites from her book The Practice of Loneliness (Г а н ц а а р д л ы н Д а с г а л / Gantsaardaliin Dasgal) in its original and first draft English versions.
***
У у л ы г х а р а а д б и у у л г э д г э э м э д д э г
У н и а р м а н а н г а ж а а д ү ү л г э д г э э м э д э р д э г
Б о р о о ш и в э р с н и й д а р а а ө в с г э д г э э с э р д э г
Б о г ш и р г о н ы ж и р г э э э х э л м э г ц ө г л ө ө г э д г э э с а н а д а г
Б и х ү н л б и ш
О д д ү р э л з э х и й н ц а г т х а р а н х ү й г э д г э э м э д д э г
О х и д н и м г э л э э д э х э л м э г ц х а в а р г э д г э э с а н а д а г
Е р т ө н ц и й н х ү н б ү р э э с г а г ц х ү с э л л ү н э р т э х э д
Е р ө ө с а м г а л а н з ү р х м и н ь з а г а с н ы х б о л о х ы г о й л г о д о г
Б и х ү н л б и ш
Ө н г ө ө н г и й н т э н г э р д о р а у г а а и х Х О О С О Н ,
Ө н ө ө д р ө ө с э х л э э д б и , з ө в х ө н ...
***
I look at a mountain and know that I am mountain
I observe mist and perceive that I am cloud
After rain sprinkles I sense that I am grass
As soon as the sparrow's twittering begins, I remember
that I am morning
I am not merely human
When a star flares up I know that I am darkness
As soon as girls shed their thick winter clothes, I remember
that I am spring
When I smell only longing from every person in the universe
My ever more tranquil heart understands that it is a fish's
I am not merely human
Under a multi-colored sky the immense VOID,
From today on I, only…
© Lisa Fink,16 August 2007
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Lalla Ruk
Dearest dream, my soul's enchantment
Lovely guest from heav'n above,
Most benevolent attender
To the earthly realm below,
You gave me blissful satisfaction
Momentary but complete:
Bringing with you happy tidings -
Like a herald from the skies.
I dreamed dreams of life eternal
In that Promised Land of peace;
I dreamed dreams of fragrant regions,
Of a tranquil, sweet Kashmir;
I could witness celebrations,
Festivals of roses vernal
Honoring that lovely maiden
From lands strange and far away.
And, with glistening enchantment
Like an angel from above, -
This untainted, youthful vision
Came before my dreaming eyes;
Like a veil, a shining shroud
Screened her lovely face from view,
Tenderly she did incline
Her shy gazes toward the earth.
All her traits - her timid shyness
Underneath her shining crown,
Childlike her animation,
And her face's noble beauty -
Glowing with a depth of feeling,
Sweet serenity and peace -
All of these completely artless
Indescribably sublime!
As I watched, the apparition
(Captivating me in passing)
Never to return, flew by;
I pursued - but it had gone!
T'was a vision merely fleeting,
Transient illumination
Leaving nothing but a legend
Of its passing through my life!
T'is not ours to harbor
Beauty's spirit - Ah, so pure!
It comes nigh but for a moment
From its heavenly abode;
Like a dream, it slips away,
[...] Read more
poem by Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky
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The Bard
My friends, can you descry that mound of earth
Above clear waters in the shade of trees?
You can just hear the babbling spring against the bank;
You can just feel a breeze that's wafting in the leaves;
A wreath and lyre hang upon the boughs...
Alas, my friends! This mound's a grave;
Here earth conceals the ashes of a bard;
Poor bard!
A gentle soul, a simple heart
He was a sojourner in the world;
He'd barely bloomed, yet lost his taste for life
He craved his end with yearning and excitement;
And early on he met his end,
He found the grave's desired sleep.
Your time was but a moment - a moment sad
Poor bard!
He sang with tenderness of friendship to his friend, -
His loyal friend cut down in his life's bloom;
He sang of love - but in a doleful voice;
Alas! Of love he knew naught but its woe;
Now all has met with its demise,
Your soul partakes of peace eternal;
You slumber in your silent grave,
Poor bard!
Here, by this stream one eventide
He sang his doleful farewell song:
'O lovely world, where blossomed I in vain;
Farewell forever; with a soul deceived
For happiness I waited - but my dreams have died;
All's perished; lyre, be still;
To your serene abode, o haste,
Poor bard!
What's life, when charm is lacking?
To know of bliss, with all the spirit's striving,
Only to see oneself cut off by an abyss;
Each moment to desire and yet fear desiring...
O refuge of vexatious hearts,
O grave, sure path to peace,
When will you call to your embrace
The poor bard?'
The bard's no more ... his lyre's silent...
All trace of him has disappeared from here;
The hills and valleys mourn;
And all is still ... save zephyrs soft,
That stir the faded wreath,
[...] Read more
poem by Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky
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To A Familiar Genius Flying By
Reveal yourself, anonymous enchanter!
What heaven hastens you to me?
Why draw me to that promised land again
That I gave up so long ago?
Was it not you who in my youth
Enchanted me with such sweet dreams,
Did you not whisper, long ago,
Dear hopes of a guests ethereal?
Was it not you through whom all lived
In golden days, in happy lands
Of fragrant meadows, waters bright,
Where days were merry ?neath clear skies?
Was it not you who breathed into my vernal breast
Some melancholy mysteries
Tormenting it with keen desire
Exciting it to anxious joy?
Was it not you who bore my soul aloft
Upon the inspiration of your sacred verse,
Who flamed before me like a holy vision,
Initiating me into life's beauty?
In hours lost, hours of secret grief,
Did you not always murmur to my heart,
With happy comfort soothe it
And nurture it with quiet hope?
Did not my soul forever heed you
In all the purest moments of my life
When'ere it glimpsed fate's sacred essence
With only God to witness it?
What news bring you, O, my enchantress?
Or will you once more call in dreams
Awaken futile thoughts of old,
Whisper of joy and then fall silent?
O spirit, bide with me awhile;
O, faithful friend, haste not away;
Stay, please become my earthly life,
O, Guardian angel of my soul.
К мимопро летевше му знакомо му гению
С ;кажи, кто ты, плените ль безымян ный?
С каких небес примчал ся ты ко мне?
[...] Read more
poem by Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky
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The Mysterious Visitor
Spirit, lovely guest, who are you?
Whence have you flown down to us?
Taciturn and without a sound
Why have you abandoned us?
Where are you? Where is your dwelling?
What are you, where did you go?
Why did you appear,
Heavenly, upon the Earth?
Mayhap you are youthful Hope,
Who arrives from time to time
Cloaked in magic
From a land unknown?
Merciless as Hope,
Sweetest joy you show us
For a moment, then
Take it back and fly away.
Was it Love that you enacted
For us all in mystery? . . .
Days of love, when one beloved
Rendered this world beautiful
Ah! then, sighted through the veil
Earth did seem unearthly...
Now the veil has lifted; Love is gone;
Life is empty, joy - a dream.
Was it Thought, enchanting
You embodied for us here?
Far removed from every worry,
With a dreamy finger pointing
To her lips, she sallies forth
Just like you, from time to time,
Ushers us without a sound
Back to bygone days.
Or within you dwells the sacred spirit
Of Dame Poetry? . . .
Just like you, she came from Heaven
Veiling us twofold:
Using azure for the skies,
And clear white for earth;
What lies near is lovely through her;
All that's distant - known.
Or perhaps 'twas premonition
That descended in your guise
And to us with clarity described
All that's sacred and divine?
Thus it often happens in this life:
[...] Read more
poem by Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky
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The Boatman
Driven by misfortune's whirlwind,
Having neither oar nor rudder,
By a storm my bark was driven
Out upon the boundless sea.
'midst black clouds a small star sparkled;
'Don't conceal yourself!' I cried;
But it disappeared, unheeding;
And my anchor was lost, too.
All was clothed in gloomy darkness;
Great swells heaved all round;
In the darkness yawned the depths
I was hemmed in by cliffs.
'There's no hope for my salvation!'
I bemoaned, with heavy spirit…
Madman! Providence
Was your secret helmsman.
With a hand invisible,
'midst the roaring waves,
Through the gloomy, veiled depths
Past the terrifying cliffs,
My all-powerful savior guided me.
Then-all's quiet ! gloom has vanished;
I behold a paradisical realm…
Three celestial angels.
Providence - O, my protector!
My dejected groaning ceases;
On my knees, in exaltation,
On their image I did gaze.
Who could sing their charm?
Or their power o'er the soul?
All around them holy innocence
And an aura divine.
A delight as yet untasted -
Live and breathe for them;
Take into my soul and heart
All their words and glances sweet.
O fate! I've but one desire:
Let them sample every blessing;
Vouchsafe them delight - me suffering;
Only let me die before they do.
Плове ;ц
Вихрk 7;м бедстви я гонимый ,
Без кормила и весла,
[...] Read more
poem by Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky
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1918
Stars were racing; waves were washing headlands.
Salt went blind, and tears were slowly drying.
Darkened were the bedrooms; thoughts were racing,
And the Sphinx was listening to the desert.
Candles swam. It seemed that the Colossus'
Blood grew cold; upon his lips was spreading
The blue shadow smile of the Sahara.
With the turning tide the night was waning.
Sea-breeze from Morocco touched the water.
Simooms blew. In snowdrifts snored Archangel.
Candles swam; the rough draft of 'The Prophet'
Slowly dried, and dawn broke on the Ganges
----------------------------------- -------
Мчали ;сь звезды. В море мылись мысы.
Сл&# 1077;пла соль. И слезы высыхал и.
Были темны спальни. Мчались мысли,
И прислуш ивался сфинкс к Сахаре.
Плыли свечи. И казалос ь, стынет
050;ровь колосса. Заплыва ли губы
Го 083;убой улыбкою пустыни .
В час отлива ночь пошла на убыль.
i 2;оре тронул ветерок с Марокко .
Шел самум. Храпел в снегах Арханге льск.
Пл&# 1099;ли свечи. Чернови к 'Пророка ;'
Просых& #1072;л, и брезжил день на Ганге.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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In the Cold
In the cold
there's no room
for old fears; tears
that freeze on your
cheeks are
useless.
Lying under narrow eves
on porch or sidewalk grate
waiting for sleep
or death
to ease your pain,
you cannot remember
how you got this way;
for thought, like water,
congeals to solid rock,
and you can't
even pray.
*******
Author's Note: Estimates of the numbers of homeless in the US today range from 200,000 to 500,000, many of whom are unsheltered children. This is a national disgrace.
**********
В х о л о д н о е
В х о л о д н о е
з д е с ь н е т м е с т а
з а с т а р ы е с т р а х и , с л е з ы
ч т о м о р а т о р и й н а в а ш
щ е к и
б е с п о л е з н о .
Л е ж а п о д у з к и м к а н у н ы
н а к р ы л ь ц е и л и т р о т у а р е р е ш е т к у
о ж и д а н и я д л я с н а
и л и с м е р т ь
ч т о б ы о б л е г ч и т ь в а ш у б о л ь ,
В ы н е м о ж е т е в с п о м н и т ь
к а к в ы п о л у ч и л и т а к и м о б р а з о м ;
д л я р а з м ы ш л е н и й , к а к в о д а ,
з а с т ы в а е т в т в е р д ы е п о р о д ы ,
и в ы н е м о ж е т е
д а ж е м о л и т ь с я .
***
[...] Read more
poem by Steven Federle
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Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping...
Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping,
Of February, in sobs and ink,
Write poems, while the slush in thunder
Is burning in the black of spring.
Through clanking wheels, through church bells ringing
A hired cab will take you where
The town has ended, where the showers
Are louder still than ink and tears.
Where rooks, like charred pears, from the branches
In thousands break away, and sweep
Into the melting snow, instilling
Dry sadness into eyes that weep.
Beneath - the earth is black in puddles,
The wind with croaking screeches throbs,
And-the more randomly, the surer
Poems are forming out of sobs.
Original Version ??
Феврал& #1100;. Достать чернил и плакать! Писать о феврале навзрыд, Пока грохочу щая слякоть Весною черною горит. Достать пролетк у. За шесть гривен, Чрез благове ст, чрез клик колес, Перенес тись туда, где ливень Еще шумней чернил и слез. Где, как обуглен ные груши, С деревье в тысячи грачей Сорвутс я в лужи и обрушат Сухую грусть на дно очей. Под ней протали ны чернеют, И ветер криками изрыт, И чем случайн ей, тем вернее Слагают ся стихи навзрыд.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Morning Prayer
In winter's stark dawning
in cold fog encased,
your warmth I'm discerning
though night will not fade,
for unwilling is morning
it lurks in sore limbs,
your song's arising
and I know that you'll send
to my darkest night-hour
new light to set me free
and your song I'll be singing
in the glow of the east!
**
У т р е н н я я м о л и т в а
Н а а б с о л ю т н о м з и м н и й р а с с в е т
в х о л о д н ы й т у м а н з а к л ю ч е н н а я ,
с в о е т е п л о я в з ы с к а т е л ь н ы х
х о т я н о ч ь н е и с ч е з н у т ,
д л я ж е л а ю т э т о у т р о
о н с к р ы в а е т с я в б о л и к о н е ч н о с т е й ,
В а ш а п е с н я , в ы т е к а ю щ и х
и я з н а ю , в ы б у д е т е о т п р а в л я т ь
н а м о й т е м н ы й н о ч н о й ч а с
н о в ы й с в е т , ч т о б ы о с в о б о д и т ь м е н я
и в а ш а п е с н я , к о т о р у ю я б у д у п е т ь
в л у ч а х в о с т о к !
poem by Steven Federle
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Eyes/Oci
Like night butterflies spreading the wings
In the dance of light peaceful dark spread
Like the rhythm of rivers the water pulse
Opens the drо ps and the light beat shed
Unlocks the eyelids unlocks the windows
For a blink of light to raise a throne
When houses closed before the waking dawns
In wings eternal stopped by Chrone
О ч и
К о н о ћ н и л е п т и р и ш т о л е п е т о м к р и л а
У п л е с у с в ј е т л а м и р н и р а с к р и љ у ј у м р а к
К о р и т а м с в и х р и ј е к а в о д е н о г б и л а
О т в о р и к а п и о т к у ц а ј л а к
О т к љ у ч а к а п к е о т к љ у ч а п р о з о р е
Д а т р е п т а ј у с в ј е т л а п о д и г н у т р о н
К а д к у ћ е с к л о п љ е н е п р е д б у д н е з о р е
У к р и л у в ј е ч н о г з а у с т а в и Х р о н
©М и р о с л а в а О д а л о в и ћ
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Wet Paint
'Look out! Wet paint.' My soul was blind,
I have to pay the price,
All marked with stains of calves and cheeks
And hands and lips and eyes.
I loved you more than luck or grief
Because with you in sight
The old and yellowed world became
As white as painters' white.
I swear my friend, my gloom-it will
One day still whiter gleam,
Than lampshades, than a bandaged brow,
Than a delirious dream.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Нk 7; трогать
'Не трогать, свежевы крашен', -
Душа не берегла сь,
И память - в пятнах икр и щек,
И рук, и губ, и глаз.
Я больше всех удач и бед
За то тебя любил,
Ч&# 1090;о пожелте лый белый свет
С тобой - белей белил.
h 8; мгла моя, мой друг, божусь,
&# 1054;н станет как-нибу ;дь
Беле&# 1081;, чем бред, чем абажур,
&# 1063;ем белый бинт на лбу!
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Fall Omen
Twinkling,
when even the day
is shrinking,
and the sun declines
in the fold of the mountains,
belches out quietly
the fall flame from
the cornfield,
where the raven
is only
the fingers of a plough.
--
original:
Е с е н н а п о л и ч б а
В м и г ,
к о г а т о и д е н я т
с е с в и в а ,
и с л ъ н ц е т о з а м и р а
в с г ъ в к а т а н а п л а н и н а т а ,
и з р и г в а т и х о
е с е н н и я т п л а м ъ к о т
н и в я т а ,
к ъ д е т о г а р в а н ъ т
е с а м о
п р ъ с т и т е н а о р а н .
*Translator bulgarian-english: Vessislava Savova
poem by Bozhidar Pangelov
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Simplicity/ п р о с т о т а
unencumbered
like water
flowing through
pure time, my
mind climbs to
perfect sky
to the silence
of my heart
to meet you
and know
at last
your simple
will.
************************** *********
п р о с т о т а
н е о б р е м е н е н н ы й
к а к в о д а
п р о т е к а ю щ и й ч е р е з
ч и с т о г о в р е м е н и , м о й
у м п о д н и м а е т с я н а
и д е а л ь н о е н е б о
к т и ш и н е
в м о е м с е р д ц е
в с т р е т и т ь с я с в а м и
и з н а т ь ,
н а к о н е ц
в а ш п р о с т о й
б у д е т .
poem by Steven Federle
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Iu
Little IU,
Little IU...
Drop, drop,
drop, drop.
Drops...
Body -
shaking leaves
Ю
м а л к а Ю ,
м а л к а Ю …
ц о п - ц о п
ц о п - ц о п
к а п ч и ц и …
т я л о –
л и с т т р е п е р е щ
poem by Bozhidar Pangelov
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All Is Loneliness
All is loneliness
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me.
All is loneliness
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me.
All is loneliness
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me.
All is loneliness
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me.
All is loneliness
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me
Loneliness here for me.
Loneliness come on bother me
Want me 'round my door.
I get loneliness
I get loneliness
I get loneliness
I get loneliness
Loneliness, heck i said loneliness
Lord, loneliness, yeah, i said loneliness.
I said loneliness come on by my bed
Gonna worry me 'round on my door-mat.
I said loneliness come and found me,
I said you found me whole.
Yeah and now loneliness
Lordy lordy loneliness
Lordy lordy loneliness
Lordy lordy loneliness
Yeah, loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Oh loneliness
Ah loneliness
Ah loneliness
Loneliness
Loneliness
Loneliness
Loneliness.
Every day when i walk home
I see loneliness
When i waited for my baby.
[...] Read more
song performed by Janis Joplin
Added by Lucian Velea
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Loneliness
There're many things in life i can endure,
One such thing is poverty.
But loneliness, loneliness,
Is one thing i can't endure.
There're many things in the world i can endure,
One such thing is humility.
But loneliness, (loneliness) loneliness, (loneliness)
Is something i can't endure.
How could i stand loneliness, loneliness?
How are you suppose to cope with loneliness, loneliness?
How would one live with loneliness, loneliness, lo-oh-loneliness?
(oh, loneliness)
There are many things in time and space i can endure,
In fact, i can endure most anything.
But loneliness, (loneliness) loneliness, (loneliness)
Is something i can't endure.
How could i stand loneliness, loneliness?
How are you suppose to cope with loneliness, loneliness?
How would one live with loneliness, loneliness, lo-oh-loneliness?
Lo-oh-loneliness.
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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My dream-boat drifts on river Danube!
Bulgaria (Listeni /ˌ bʌ lˈ gerijə /; Bulgarian: Б ъ л г а р и я ; officially the Republic of Bulgaria Р е п у б л и к а Б ъ л г а р и я , translit. Republika Bulgaria, [6] [rɛ ˈ publikɐ bɤ ̞ ɫ ˈ ɡ arijɐ ]) , is a country in Southeast Europe. Bulgaria borders five other countries: Romania to the north (mostly along the Danube) , Serbia and the Republic of Macedonia to the west, and Greece and Turkey to the south. The Black Sea defines the extent of the country to the east.
O The ripples sing something
And I analyzed the song
That 's very familiar to my lonely soul
Like Black sea,
A rare bird's nocturne guides me the voyage
And I feel comfortable till I find the invisible shore!
* A humble dedication to the poetess Vessy!
Respond to your great poem ' The Mirror of Joy and Sadness'
None of us can avoid the illness and slow weakening of the body that accompany aging, and still fewer of us can escape death?
[Unlocking the mysteries of birth & death]
-Daisaku Ikeda
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Adverbially Speaking
Sometimes sometimes sometimes not
Many times т а и м з forgot what sometimes sometimes meant
Was sometimes many times slapped in time
Timed sometimes т и м е for the right strike of many times
Never really ready
Time stricken dead clicked uuuuuh sometimes too hard
Wanted ever с о м е т и м е с never forever never forgot
What ever never forever ever meant
Was never forever in anybodies ever restricted time zone
Was sometimes с о м е т и м е с per time a time but not a heart
Time zoned dead clicked uuuuuh forever too hard
Sometimes many с а м т а ј м з times never forever
Stayed in anybody’s ever relevant zone
Just sometimes с о м е т а и м з but many times not
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Eighth Book
ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.
The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:
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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Fifth Book
AURORA LEIGH, be humble. Shall I hope
To speak my poems in mysterious tune
With man and nature,–with the lava-lymph
That trickles from successive galaxies
Still drop by drop adown the finger of God,
In still new worlds?–with summer-days in this,
That scarce dare breathe, they are so beautiful?–
With spring's delicious trouble in the ground
Tormented by the quickened blood of roots.
And softly pricked by golden crocus-sheaves
In token of the harvest-time of flowers?–
With winters and with autumns,–and beyond,
With the human heart's large seasons,–when it hopes
And fears, joys, grieves, and loves?–with all that strain
Of sexual passion, which devours the flesh
In a sacrament of souls? with mother's breasts,
Which, round the new made creatures hanging there,
Throb luminous and harmonious like pure spheres?–
With multitudinous life, and finally
With the great out-goings of ecstatic souls,
Who, in a rush of too long prisoned flame,
Their radiant faces upward, burn away
This dark of the body, issuing on a world
Beyond our mortal?–can I speak my verse
So plainly in tune to these things and the rest,
That men shall feel it catch them on the quick,
As having the same warrant over them
To hold and move them, if they will or no,
Alike imperious as the primal rhythm
Of that theurgic nature? I must fail,
Who fail at the beginning to hold and move
One man,–and he my cousin, and he my friend,
And he born tender, made intelligent,
Inclined to ponder the precipitous sides
Of difficult questions; yet, obtuse to me,–
Of me, incurious! likes me very well,
And wishes me a paradise of good,
Good looks, good means, and good digestion!–ay,
But otherwise evades me, puts me off
With kindness, with a tolerant gentleness,–
Too light a book for a grave man's reading! Go,
Aurora Leigh: be humble.
There it is;
We women are too apt to look to one,
Which proves a certain impotence in art.
We strain our natures at doing something great,
Far less because it's something great to do,
Than, haply, that we, so, commend ourselves
As being not small, and more appreciable
To some one friend. We must have mediators
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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!