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The Separated Women

THE Separated Women
Go lying through the land,
For they have plenty dresses,
And money, too, in hand;
They married brutes and drunkards
And blackguards “frightful low”,
But why are they so eager
For all the world to know?

The shamed and ill-used woman
Who really longs to die,
She slaves at home in silence
And hides her poor black eye!
She lives a life of terror
Eased off at times in woe—
But why is she so frightened
That any one might know?

The Separated Woman
She rushes to the court,

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poem by Henry Lawson
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Chance Encounters

Life’s chance encounters may precipitate
Enchantment, steering shared, transparent course.
Triumph surfs strong currents. Longings' force
Sham obstacles can overcome, create
Eternity, where Time’s lease knows no date.
New dawn spawns hope, dissolving past remorse,
Despising compromise, pretentions coarse.
Fast, echoes of regret disintegrate,
Expelling fears, from tears emancipate.
As inspiration’s catalytic source
Revitalizes joyful intercourse,
Needs met beget seeds thriving, liberate
Open house where friendship, love, blend, bloom,
Where darkness fails, where light tips scales of doom.

28 April 1997 revised 6 October 2009
robi03_0842_robi03_0000 ASX_CEK
for previous versions entitled Constant Current see below

Constant Current

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Classical Revival

At the outset I may mention it's my sovereign intention
To revive the classic memories of Athens at its best,
For my company possesses all the necessary dresses,
And a course of quiet cramming will supply us with the rest.
We've a choir hyporchematic (that is, ballet-operatic)
Who respond to the CHOREUTAE of that cultivated age,
And our clever chorus-master, all but captious criticaster,
Would accept as the CHOREGUS of the early Attic stage.
This return to classic ages is considered in their wages,
Which are always calculated by the day or by the week -
And I'll pay 'em (if they'll back me) all in OBOLOI and DRACHMAE,
Which they'll get (if they prefer it) at the Kalends that are
Greek!

(At this juncture I may mention
That this erudition sham
Is but classical pretension,
The result of steady "cram.":
Periphrastic methods spurning,
To my readers all discerning

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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Kol Haklafim

HAKOL BEYNEYNU NIGMAR
HATZA'ER LI LO 'AZAR
HAZMAN NITKA' BESHA'ON
BIR'CHOVOT HAKARIM
ANACHNU K'MU SHNEY ZARIM
MEGALGALIM DIKAON
V'ATAH BODED EY SHAM
MESACHEK LI GEBER 'AKSHAN
SHOMER MERCHAK SHAVO RAK ATAH NIGMAR
KOL HAQLAFIM GLUYIM 'AL HASHULCHAN
RAK LEBAVOT SH'BURIM BUKHIM BAZMAN
MISHEHU DOFEK LI BADELET
MISHEHU HOSHEV SHEHU KAN
BIMIPH'ALIM HAREYKIM
HAPO'ALIM DLUKIM
T'LUSH HAMASHKORET SHACHOR
BAKNYISAH MISAVIV
MOL PRETZUF LO HAVIV
KHULAM 'OMDIM BATOR
RAK ATAH ABUD EY SHAM

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song performed by Ofra Haza
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Men & Women

I cant see how I can
Turn around what has been done
I was just like a child
With my eyes wide open
History and any cause
And my eyes are still open
But my mouth my mouth is shut
Im closing off the lies
Making my own mind up
When I can I will
How many dirty little secrets
Were kept behind my back
Men and women
Men and women
Men and women
Giving each other the sham
Hungry at any cost
Now my eyes are still open
But my mouth my mouth is shut
Im closing out the lies and promises

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song performed by INXS
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Men And Women

I can't see how I can
Turn around what has been done
I was just like a child
With my eyes wide open
History and any cause
And my eyes are still open
But my mouth my mouth is shut
I'm closing off the lies
Making my own mind up
When I can I will
How many dirty little secrets
Were kept behind my back
Men and women
Men and women
Men and women
Giving each other the sham
Hungry at any cost
Now my eyes are still open
But my mouth my mouth is shut
I'm closing out the lies and promises

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song performed by INXS
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I Am What I Am

I am what I am
I am my own special creation
So come take a look
Give me the hook or the ovation
Its my world
That I want to have a little pride in
My world
And its not a place I have to hide in
Lifes not worth a damn
Till you can say
I am what I am
I am what I am
I dont want praise I dont want pity
I bang my own drum
Some think its noise I think its pretty
And so what if I love each sparkle and each bangle
Why not try to see things from a different angle
Your life is a sham
Till you can shout out
I am what I am

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song performed by Gloria Gaynor
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Metamorphoses: Book The Thirteenth

THE chiefs were set; the soldiers crown'd the
field:
To these the master of the seven-fold shield
Upstarted fierce: and kindled with disdain.
Eager to speak, unable to contain
His boiling rage, he rowl'd his eyes around
The shore, and Graecian gallies hall'd a-ground.
The Then stretching out his hands, O Jove, he cry'd,
Speeches of Must then our cause before the fleet be try'd?
Ajax and And dares Ulysses for the prize contend,
Ulysses In sight of what he durst not once defend?
But basely fled that memorable day,
When I from Hector's hands redeem'd the flaming
prey.
So much 'tis safer at the noisie bar
With words to flourish, than ingage in war.
By diff'rent methods we maintain our right,
Nor am I made to talk, nor he to fight.
In bloody fields I labour to be great;
His arms are a smooth tongue, and soft deceit:

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poem by Ovid
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Lethe

When dark thy childhood, tears and grief have filled
Thy swelling heart, that understood too much,
Yet not enough to be forgiving, when
The sun was pale, and darkness lonely, when
The fear of unknown evil made thy lips
Turn cold, and wonder changed to horror, then
To dumb despair, to childhood's hopelessness,
More hopeless than old age's iron clutch
Of unbelief, the shadow of the past
Will cast a pall o'er all thy life, then say:
Go down, Remembrance, into Lethe, go!
When work was hard and sacrifice in vain,
And stones were hurled at thee, thy flowers trodden
Into the soil, that, soaked with all thy blood,
Could not resist, and giving way would swallow
Thy noblest thoughts, and teach thee to undo
Thyself, gainsay thyself, as if a coward
Were crouching on thy shoulders, making thee
Believe that all thy heroism was
A sham--then say: Go down to Lethe, Thought,

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poem by Carmen Sylva
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