Poetry: Some of my favorites
People
by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
No people are uninteresting.
Their fate is like the chronicle of planets.
Nothing in them is not particular,
and planet is dissimilar from planet.
And if a man lived in obscurity
making his friends in that obscurity
obscurity is not uninteresting.
To each his world is private,
and in that world one excellent minute.
And in that world one tragic minute.
These are private.
In any man who dies there dies with him
his first snow and kiss and fight.
It goes with him.
There are left books and bridges
and painted canvas and machinery.
Whose fate is to survive.
But what has gone is also not nothing:
by the rule of the game something has gone.
Not people die but worlds die in them.
1993
Translator unknown
Ulysses
by Alfred Tennyson
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known,-- cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,--
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
to whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,--
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads,-- you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Ozymandias
by Percy Bysshe Shelly
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert ... Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
And How Long?
by Pablo Neruda
How much does a man live, after all?
Does he live a thousand days, or one only?
For a week, or for serveral centuries?
How long does a man spend dying?
What does it mean to say 'for ever'?
Lost in this preoccupation,
I set myself to clear things up.
I sought out our knowledgeable priests,
I waited for them after their rituals,
I watched them when they went their ways
to visit God and the Devil.
They wearied of my questions.
They on their part knew very little.
They were no more than administrators.
Medical men received me
in between consultations,
a scalpel in each hand,
saturated in aureomycin,
busier each day.
As far as I could tell from their talk,
the problem was as follows:
it was not so much the death of a microbe-
they went down by the ton,
but the few which survived
showed signs of perversity.
They left me so startled
that I sought out the grave diggers.
I went to the rivers where they burn
enormous painted corpses,
tiny bony bodies,
emperors with an aura of terrible curses,
women snuffed out at a stroke by a wave of cholera.
There were whole beaches of dead
and ashy specialists.
When I got the chance
I asked them a slew of questions.
They offered to burn me.
It was all they knew.
In my own country the dead
answered me, between drinks:
'Get yourself a good woman
and give up this nonsense.'
I never saw people so happy.
Raising their glasses they sang
toasting health and death.
They were huge fornicators.
I returned home, much older
after crossing the world.
Now I ask questions of nobody.
But I know less every day.
Epitaph for An Army of Mercenaries
by A.E. Houseman
"These in the day when heaven was falling,
The hour when earth's foundations fled
Followed their mercenary calling
And took their wages and are dead.
"Their shoulders held the sky suspended,
They stood, and earth's foundations stay
What God abandoned, these defended,
And saved the sum of things for pay."
Sonnet XXIII
by William Shakespeare
As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart.
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
To Dream The Impossible Dream
from The Man of La Mancha
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest, to follow the star
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far
To fight for the right without question or pause
To be willing to pass into hell for a heavenly cause
And know if I'll only be true to the glorious quest
That my heart lies peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man scorned and covered in scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star
Famous Blue Raincoat
by Leonard Cohen
It's four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New York is cold, but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening.
I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert
You're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of
record.
Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?
Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You'd been to the station to meet every train
And you came home without Lili Marlene
And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody's wife.
Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see Jane's awake --
She sends her regards.
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I'm glad you stood in my way.
If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free.
Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried.
And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear --
Sincerely, L. Cohen
First We Take Manhattan
by Leonard Cohen
They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom
For trying to change the system from within
I'm coming now I'm coming to reward them
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
I'm guided by a signal in the heavens
I'm guided by this birthmark on my skin
I'm guided by the beauty of our weapons
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
I'd really like to live beside you, baby
I love your body and your spirit and your clothes
But you see that line there moving through the station
I told you I told you I told you I was one of those
You loved me as a loser but now your worried that I just might
win
You know the way to stop me but you don't have the discipline
How many nights I prayed for this: to let my work begin
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
I don't like your fashion business, mister
I don't like these drugs that keep you thin
I don't like what happened to my sister
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
And I thank you for those items that you sent me:
The monkey end the plywood violin
I practiced every night and now I'm ready
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
Remember me, I used to live for music
Remember me, I brought your groceries in
It's Father's Day and everybody's wounded
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
I Walk the Line
by Johnny Cash
I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time.
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds
Because you're mine, I walk the line
I find it very, very easy to be true
I find myself alone when each day is through
Yes, I'll admit I'm a fool for you
Because you're mine, I walk the line
As sure as night is dark and day is light
I keep you on my mind both day and night
And happiness I've known proves that it's right
Because you're mine, I walk the line
You've got a way to keep me on your side
You give me cause for love that I can't hide
For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide
Because you're mine, I walk the line
Hang on St. Cristopher
by Tom Waits
Hang on st. christopher through the smoke
and the oil
Buckle down the rumble seat
let the radiator boil
got an overhead downshift
and a two dollar grill
got an 85 cabin
on an 85 hill
Hang on st. christopher on the passenger side
open it up tonight the devil can ride
hang on st. christopher with a barrel house dog
kick me up mt. baldy
throw me out in the fog
tear a hole in the jack pot
drive a stake through his heart
do a 100 on the grapevine
do a jump on the start
hang on st. christopher now don't let me go
get me to reno and bring it in low, yeah
hang on st. christopher with the hammer to the floor
put a hi ball in the crank case
nail a crow to the door
get a bottle for the jockey
gimme a 294
there's a 750 norton bustin down january's door
hang on st. christopher on the passenger side
open it up tonight the devil can ride
hang on st. christopher now don't let me go
get to me reno got to bring it in low
put my baby on the flat car
got to burn down the caboose
get 'em all jacked up on whiskey
then we'll turn the mad dog loose
hang on st. christopher on the passenger side
open it up tonight the devil can ride
I'll Be Gone
Written by Tom Waits and Kathleen
Brennan
Tonight I'll shave the mountain
I'll cut the hearts from pharoahs
I pull the road off of the rise
tear the memories from my eyes
and in the morning I'll be gone
I drink 1000 shipwrecks
tonight I'll steal your paychecks
I paint the sheets across my bed
the birds will all fly from my head
and in the morning I'll be gone
take every dream that's breathing
find every boot that's leaving
shoot all the lights in the cafe
and in the morning I'll be gone
I bet 1000 dollars
I have a french companion
I tie myself below the deck
I pull the rope around my neck
and in the morning I'll be gone
it takes a life to win her
there is a drum of bourbon
800 pounds of nitro
his boots are thunder as he plays
theree is a stone inside it
tonight his bones will ride it
I'll need a tent to hide it
and in the morning I'll be gone
and in the morning I'll be gone
and in the morning I'll be gone
Black Wings
by Tom Waits/K. Brennan
Take an eye for an eye
Take a tooth for a tooth
Just like they say in the Bible
Never leave a trace or forget a face
Of any man at the table
When the moon is a cold chiseled dagger
Sharp enough to draw blood from a stone
He rides through your dreams on a coach
And horses and the fence posts
In the midnight look like bones
Well they've stopped trying to hold him
With mortar, stone and chain
He broke out of every prison
Boots mount the staircase
The door is flung back open
He's not there for he has risen
He's not there for he has risen
Well he once killed a man with a guitar string
He's been seen at the table with kings
Well he once saved a baby from drowning
There are those who say beneath his coat there are wings
Some say they fear him
Others admire him
Because he steals his promise
One look in his eye
Everyone denies
Ever having met him
Ever having met him
He can turn himself into a stranger
Well they broke a lot of canes on his hide
he was born away in a cornfield
A fever beats in his head like a drum inside
Some say they fear him
Others admire him
Because he steals his promise
One look in his eye
Everyone denies
Ever having met him
Ever having met him