Poetry and quotable quotes

[North Star]

A bit of fun with the opening of Blake's Auguries of Innocence:

To see a Grain of Sand in a World
And a Wild Flower in a Heaven
Hold the palm of your hand in infinity
And an hour in Eternity
A Cage in a Robin Red breast
Puts all Rage in a Heaven
Doves & Pigeons filled with A Dove house
Shudders regions thr' all their Hells
A Master starved at his dogs Gate
States the ruin of the Prediction
A Road misused upon the Horse
Calls to Mankind for Heavenly blood.

[North Star]

Argumentum Ornithologicum

I close my eyes and see a flock of birds. The vision lasts a second or perhaps less; I don’t know how many birds I saw. Were they a definite or an indefinite number? This problem involves the question of the existence of God. If God exists, the number is definite, because how many birds I saw is known to God. If God does not exist, the number is indefinite, because nobody was able to take count. In this case, I saw fewer than ten birds (let’s say) and more than one; but I did not see nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, or two birds. I saw a number between ten and one, but not nine, eight, seven, six, five, etc. That integer-not-nine, but not-eight, but not-seven, but not-six, but not-five, etc. - is inconceivable. Ergo, God exists.

[North Star]

Red Letters

On his way to school,
Donny's walk stopped
As he saw in the pool
A man, shot dead.

Written on the board
In runny, red letters
Was 'Meet thy Lord'
At which Donny stares

Still during the night,
When there is no light.

[Florestan]

The favored ones, the loved of Heaven,
God sends to roam the world at will;
His wonders to their gaze are given
By field and forest, stream and hill.

The dullards who at home are staying
Are not refreshed by morning's ray;
They grovel, earth-born calls obeying,
And petty cares beset their day.

The little brooks o'er rocks are springing,
The lark's gay carol fills the air;
Why should not I with them be singing
A joyous anthem free from care?

I wander on, in God confiding,
For all are His, wood, field, and fell;
O'er earth and skies He, still presiding,
For me will order all things well.

Joseph von Eichendorff - excerpt from From the Life of a Good-for-Nothing (1826)

[Jo498]

This poem/song used to have (or still has) folk-song-like popularity in Germany, search for "Wem Gott will rechte Gunst erweisen" for examples

http://www.zeit.de/kultur/musik/2011-08/noten-wem-gott-will.pdf

[jochanaan]

Ain´t it? 

Oooops, I forgot to post the translation. Here it is. (not by me)

And If...

And if the branches tap my pane
And the poplars whisper nightly,
It is to make me dream again
I hold you to me tightly.

And if the stars shine on the pond
And light its sombre shoal,
It is to quench my mind's despond
And flood with peace my soul.

And if the clouds their tresses part
And does the moon outblaze,
It is but to remind my heart
I long for you always.

That is lovely.

[Karl Henning]

as to some rare concert
we listened to the rainfall
at first it tapped out
the march of time
until she took her mother's clock away
smothering time in blankets

the rainfall said
i know i got up late and all
is it really still just today
or a brighter tomorrow already

i could listen more closely
after she trimmed my beard

i thought i heard the rain say
how about some tea
seems it might have been
my wife

for all the flowers on the table
i couldn't get to the kettle
helpless i watched it boil
steam falling up to the sky

(... chopin on majorca)

[Karl Henning]

without asking whether i deserved it
i found myself writing
a song to the dawn
without opening the backdoor
i knew there would be peanut shells
on the back landing
and i thought of my wife's easel
and the canvas resting on it
the canvas a living thing
in the way that it would change
and grow in response to the love
she applies to it through brush and paint

i put the kettle on
knowing i would need to turn the flame
quickly down
lest its whistle awake my love from her dreams
dream on my sweet
dream that we are walking along the pond's edge
dream that the bread falls from our hands
towards the impatient geese
dream of the wisps of cloud
reflected in the pond's surface

my song to dawn is a song
of my beloved's rest
as i knot my necktie
and patiently await
the pouring of hot water over teabag
joy at the work she has done
at her easel yesterday
joy at the work she will give
herself to later this day
a song of thanks to dawn
for the new day
and more peanuts tossed gladly
to the jays and squirrels

a song of the play of glancing sunlight
falling among the new leaves
as though light were a thing
newly invented by boyish laughter
a song
of the proud tall birch's shimmering leaves
trembling in the gentle morning breeze

a song of thanksgiving
a holiday to be celebrated
at all times and in all seasons
and always outdoors
did i think all these things
when i opened the backdoor
baring my soul and opening my eyes
to spring in the yard
or did all these beautiful things
think me?
my heart stirs at the whispered sounds
of morning quiet
dare i drown it out with my oafish noise?
i put the flame out
underneath the readied kettle
the steam-scent of jasmine tea
rose
it seemed i smelt it with my eyes
did i think these things
or did they come to me
rising from the painted ceramic mug?
shall i drink this tea?
and should i not strive to become
one of spring's finer thoughts?

i breathed in
great draughts of the morning air
and the rich scent of fresh grass
and the second flush of maple blossom
answered
yes

(... aubade)

[Cato]

This poem/song used to have (or still has) folk-song-like popularity in Germany, search for "Wem Gott will rechte Gunst erweisen" for examples

http://www.zeit.de/kultur/musik/2011-08/noten-wem-gott-will.pdf

My German IV students used to translate the novel, and I used to have a cassette tape of a children's choir singing this and other Wanderlieder.  That version was very lively: this one is a little slower.

https://www.youtube.com/v/bnhzRI_XrKs

[NikF]

Myfanwy.


Kind o'er the kinderbank leans my Myfanwy,
White o'er the playpen the sheen of her dress,
Fresh from the bathroom and soft in the nursery
Soap scented fingers I long to caress.

Were you a prefect and head of your dormit'ry?
Were you a hockey girl, tennis or gym?
Who was your favourite? Who had a crush on you?
Which were the baths where they taught you to swim?

Smooth down the Avenue glitters the bicycle,
Black-stockinged legs under navy blue serge,
Home and Colonial, Star, International,
Balancing bicycle leant on the verge.

Trace me your wheel-tracks, you fortunate bicycle,
Out of the shopping and into the dark,
Back down the avenue, back to the pottingshed,
Back to the house on the fringe of the park.

Golden the light on the locks of Myfanwy,
Golden the light on the book on her knee,
Finger marked pages of Rackham's Hans Anderson,
Time for the children to come down to tea.

Oh! Fullers angel-cake, Robertson's marmalade,
Liberty lampshade, come shine on us all,
My! what a spread for the friends of Myfanwy,
Some in the alcove and some in the hall.

Then what sardines in half-lighted passages!
Locking of fingers in long hide-and-seek.
You will protect me, my silken Myfanwy,
Ring leader, tom-boy, and chum to the weak.


By John Betjeman.

[North Star]

Words
by Franz Wright

I don't know where they come from.
I can summon them
(sometimes I can)
into my mind,
into my fingers,
I don't know why. Or I'll suddenly hear them
walking, sometimes
waking—
they don't often come when I need them.
When I need them most terribly,
never.

[NikF]

I am not wise, and, to feed your spite, I shall never be so. And so demand of me, not that I should be equal to the best, but that I should be better than the wicked: I am satisfied if each day I make some reduction in the number of my vices and find fault with my mistakes. - Seneca.

[jochanaan]

as to some rare concert
we listened to the rainfall
at first it tapped out
the march of time
until she took her mother's clock away
smothering time in blankets

the rainfall said
i know i got up late and all
is it really still just today
or a brighter tomorrow already

i could listen more closely
after she trimmed my beard

i thought i heard the rain say
how about some tea
seems it might have been
my wife

for all the flowers on the table
i couldn't get to the kettle
helpless i watched it boil
steam falling up to the sky

(... chopin on majorca)

Not bad, but I think I like the Prelude better.

[Florestan]

Not bad, but I think I like the Prelude better.

Why? Does it say the same things in a better way?

[North Star]

The rhyming translation I saw of this classic by Eino Leino online was just bad... and so I translated the whole poem myself.


The Smiling Apollo


Thus did I sing to my dead mother
And mother understood me there
She pressed a kiss on my forehead
And pulled me in her arms:
"Who believe in truth, who in dream -
Whichever, as long as you believe!
Your belief is the root to your truth.
Believe, my boy, in your dream!"

How I would have liked to stay
With her, so much to stay I wished
Along Tuonela's streams so cool,
But the Faiths decided otherwise.
For one last time she pointed me
As she alone knew how to point.
Again stood I by the shore of life,
But this time I was another man.

Now come you sorrows and strifes,
And you'll get it right on your mouth!
Now of iron are my tendons,
Now my bones are all one bone.
Look, Apollo, who smiles,
He's not defeated by Olymp and its gods,
Not Tartarus, Pluto, nor Poseidon.
The power of a smile is unbeaten.

Seas are foaming, skies thundering,
Apollo arrives, smiling.
And look! Thunder silences,
Wind stops still, waves hide.
He with his smile rules the world,
He with his song brings under his rule,
And his song high, loving is.
Love's strength is unbeaten.

When ghosts trouble your mind,
Make love! - and ghosts vanquish.
When sorrws your soul have blackene,
Make love! - and they turn to joy.
And if you are ashamed by an enemy,
With Love break the strife's root
And look, he turns his face away,
As if he himself was ashamed.

Who among us can resist love?
Who is not won by love's tongue?
It is heard in heaven and in earth
And in air and in human mind.
And hearts stone cold it heats
Fallen, decayed tree trunks it lifts
And woves in them leaves, flowers,
And new dreams.

No man is bad in themselves,
But weaker some than others.
Much good is in breast of each,
Not always does it shine through.
Smile itself already half a virtue is,
And who is mean, cries not;
Where men feel with their hearts,
There close to them is also God.

O, give me, Lord, our Sun's strings,
To me your grace's golden tongues,
And I'd play the song of reconcile
So we'd together bring different minds.
No judgement passes him who understands.
But song also explains hearts,
And brings people cloers together.
Along it goes God's path.

Oh, happy one, who wake
Up these forces could!
Oh people, understand each other,
So you would not be so hard!
Why cannot we all be one?
And if one broke, others would support.
Oh, people, accept each other
So great, great is the earth.

Here is room for everyone,
Farms to be turned by plow,
Fields for the maids' singing
And woods for lads' fighting.
Look, love opens the world.
Oh, people - love one another.
And towards the heavens reach!
So small, small is the earth.

So small, small are the rounds of earth,
But heaven is great and wide
And heaven is glowing in it height
And heaven is sky-filled, tight.
One is there of heavens, just on God,
Each of us has in their soul,
And heaven is peace after work done.
It stops ghosts of the night.

Your mind if turns to sadness
In life's long country paths,
Fence a farm or two
And happiness you find there.
And world, however it changes,
If to day or clouds your life goes,
One thing, one is sure all the time:
Work's happiness is the true one.

O, echo, harp, thoughout the earth,
Ring, my play from house to house,
Into the cabin as to king's castle
Calling all to join in the great war!
Oh, echo, ringing beautifully, harp,
Oh, tingle gently, my heart,
Oh, beat for once for the day
The joys of works praising!

That house, whose gate's sign reads
"This house is a house of work"
That house is sacred and safe,
And fears not the night.
Let your work be great or small,
As long as it's the right kind of work
And as long it's not done for the pay!
Work with pleasure rewards.

The toiler with joy it does reward
And worker with a sound health,
Work tempers ill desires
With a heart entirely pure.
Oh, the peace after the workday.
Good angels guard the worker's night
And young, strong, rises he
Again to a new-born day.

Oh, give, Lord, a loving weather,
As the worker's day turns to night!
Good angels, smile upon him,
When the worker's grave is ready!
Oh, let it shine bright, the new day,
As ends the worker's restlessness
And stops the long daywork!
Lord, lighten our trouble's night!

Many faiths there are on the Earth
And one another thanks,
But for the singer there is one
And enough it is for him:
The love there is in ourselves,
That much in us is eternal
And that much also remains of us,
As ends this day of ours.

And one thing I know for sure,
When there is no path to be found
Everyone must work.
Trees are shaken for its fruits.
A faith that doesn't teach this,
That faith we don't need here,
It's the faith of wraiths, of ghosts,
Not the faith of men.

Who knows where we come from
And where our journey ends?
Good it is to study these, too.
The study is not wrong.
But one thing we know for sure alone:
We are once here now on this earth
And here wer are to live,
However we best can.

We are all aboard a ship now
And we plow the great ocean.
We were born with trouble
And we will die with trouble.
But that, that in their between,
May it been of warmth, of love!
When in snowstorm pair two in one,
The going is that much lighter.

But we do not go in snowstorm,
When we really think of it.
Though we all live on the earth,
We surely aren't bound to the earth.
So much more there is here than
Soil, there's beauty, gold even,
When we really, really look for it.
So beautiful, beatiful is earth.

Oh, look how the waves do
So beautifully the shores snuggle!
Oh, hear, how the birds
So beautifully in the grove sing!
Oh, have you seen the evening moon
And heard whispers of the forest tree
Over whom white cotton clouds
In the summer sky sail?

Or have you ever pressed your
Head against summer's grass,
As the cricket were chirping
And the thrushes were singing?
Bluebells, I doubt that they were swinging,
Shrikes, I doubt that they were floating,
And did the flowers scent in their thousands?
That scent you won't forget.

And have you ever gone to the
Shore of the lake in the morn,
As the sun has risen from its waves
And shone to the white sands?
Did the water glimmer calmly mirroring,
Amids the fog did there rise, clearing
Fairytale islands, capes mist-covered?
That haze you forget will not.

Oh, have you then sensed
In earth's nature the world's Creator?
Oh, have you then found
Shelter from the night's ghosts?
And have you then cried
And been good and smiled,
Oh, have you then loved?
That love you won't forget.

Oh, have you then loved
The girl dark-haired
And have you then loved
Every tree and every flower?
And was each man a brother?
Did joy glimmer in eyes of all?
And did each face shine on it:
So beautiful, beautiful is earth.

They who love one person,
They love everyone.
Who once can forget themselves,
Their dreams shall joyful be.
Who once is happy themselves,
Wishes each man to be happy
And gives and gives and gives more
From their joy's treasures.

What of it, if she loves you not,
Tto whom you your love gave!
She did give you life, and a picture
Most beautiful did you carry.
And even if she did claim your life
Back, you would go merrily to
Your death, praising God in hymns,
As so beautiful beautiful was earth.

Oh, thank you Lord graceful,
For each moment I lived,
For giving me a healthy body,
And a heart that beated,
For giving two healthy hands,
Two eyes as windows for my soul,
And a spirit senstive and open,
Which sleeps in the wind.

Thee I thank mercyful God,
For givng me a good home,
A mother so gentle and sweet,
And a dad so deep in guts,
For giving two friends, too
And good ones, too, I ask no more.
And you gave me a dear fatherland,
To plow and love.

And thanks last and finally,
For giving the gift of song,
When joys and sorrows of a child
Thus on wings of music you carried,
That from you, you alone I received
And for you for that I answer alone
And for my bread I make my living,
How did I employ my harp

Ring, sparkle, wanderer's harp!
Split the waves for the singer's path!
Blow the sails full and puffy,
Leave a glimmering behind you!
And though waves took me young,
They didn't sink him who sung,
Whim who sunk in waves of song,
And in his love's dreams.

It rows on the back of dolphins
And of its love do the waves sing
And with Nereids and naiads
It rides on the waves of time.
Oh, start your song, young man!
For soon the shores freeze
And old age, leaning on a cane, comes.
Let your harp-strings ring out loud!

a reading in Finnish:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3Bsh8EYijc

The original:

Hymyilevä apollo

Näin lauloin ma kuolleelle äidillein
ja äiti mun ymmärsi heti.
Hän painoi suukkosen otsallein
ja sylihinsä mun veti:
"Ken uskovi toteen, ken unelmaan, -
sama se, kun täysin sa uskot vaan!
Sun uskos se juuri on totuutes.
Usko poikani unehes!"

Miten mielelläin, niin mielelläin
hänen luoksensa jäänyt oisin
luo Tuonen virtojen viileäin,
mut kohtalot päätti toisin.
Vielä viimeisen kerran viittasi hän
kuin hän vain viitata tiesi.
Taas seisoin ma rannalla elämän,
mut nyt olin toinen miesi.

Nyt tulkaa te murheet ja vastukset,
niin saatte te vasten suuta!
Nyt raudasta mulla on jänteret,
nyt luuni on yhtä luuta.
Kas, Apolloa, joka hymyilee,
sitä voita ei Olympo jumalineen,
ei Tartarus, Pluto, ei Poseidon.
Hymyn voima on voittamaton.

Meri pauhaa, ukkonen jylisee,
Apollo saapuu ja hymyy.
Ja katso! Ukkonen vaikenee,
tuul' laantuu, lainehet lymyy.
Hän hymyllä maailman hallitsee,
hän laululla valtansa vallitsee,
ja laulunsa korkea, lempeä on.
Lemmen voima on voittamaton.

Kun aavehet mieltäsi ahdistaa,
niin lemmi! - ja aavehet haihtuu.
Kun murheet sun sielusi mustaks saa,
niin lemmi! - ja iloks ne vaihtuu.
Ja jos sua häpäisee vihamies,
niin lemmellä katko sen kaunan ies
ja katso, hän kasvonsa kääntää pois
kuin itse hän hävennyt ois.

Kuka taitavi lempeä vastustaa?
Ketä voita ei lemmen kieli?
Sitä kuulee taivas ja kuulee maa
ja ilma ja ihmismieli.
Kas, povet se aukovi paatuneet,
se rungot nostavi maatuneet
ja kutovi lehtihin, kukkasiin
ja uusihin unelmiin.

Ei paha ole kenkään ihminen,
vaan toinen on heikompi toista.
Paljon hyvää on rinnassa jokaisen,
vaikk' ei aina esille loista.
Kas, hymy jo puoli on hyvettä
ja itkeä ei voi ilkeä;
miss' ihmiset tuntevat tuntehin,
siellä lähell' on Jumalakin.

Oi, antaos, Herra sa auringon,
mulle armosi kultaiset kielet,
niin soittaisin laulua sovinnon,
ett' yhtehen sais eri mielet.
Ei tuomitse se, joka ymmärtää.
Mut laulukin syömiä selittää
ja ihmiset toistansa lähemmä vie.
Sen kautta käy Jumalan tie.

Oi, onnellinen, joka herättää
niitä voimia hyviä voisi!
Oi, ihmiset toistanne ymmärtäkää,
niin ette niin kovat oisi!
Miks emme me kaikki yhtyä vois?
Ja yksi jos murtuis, muut tukena ois.
Oi, ihmiset toistanne suvaitkaa!
Niin suuri, suuri on maa.

Tääll' on toki tilaa kaikillen.
On ketoja auran kääntää,
on lehtoja laulella neitojen
ja saloja sulhojen vääntää.
Kas, lempi se maailman levittää.
Oi, ihmiset toistanne lempikää
ja kohti taivasta tavoittakaa!
Niin pieni, pieni on maa.

Niin pienet, pienet on piirit maan,
mut taivas on suuri ja laaja
ja taivas on kuultava korkeuttaan
ja taivas on tähtinen, taaja.
Yks vaan on taivas, yks Jumala vaan,
on jokaisella se sielussaan,
ja taivas on rauha täytetyn työn.
Se estävi aavehet yön.

Sun mieles jos kääntyvi murheisaks
elon pitkillä pientaroilla,
niin aitaa sarka ja aitaa kaks
ja onnes sa löydät noilla.
Ja maailma kuinka se muuttuukin,
käy elosi päivään tai pilvihin,
niin yksi, yksi on varma ain:
työn onni on oikea vain.

Oi, kaikuos kantelo kautta maan,
soi soittoni kodasta kotaan,
niin mökkiin kuin linnahan kuninkaan
kaikk' kutsuen suurehen sotaan!
Oi, kaikuos kauniisti kantelein,
oi, helise hellästi sydämein,
oi, sykkiös kerrankin päivähän päin
työn onnea ylistäin!

Se talo, min portilla kilpi on:
"Tässä talossa tehdään työtä"
Se talo on pyhä ja pelvoton
ja pelkää ei se yötä.
Työs olkoon se suurta tai pientä vaan,
kun vaan se työtä on oikeaa
ja kun sitä palkan et tähden tee!
Työ riemulla palkitsee.

Se raatajan riemulla palkitsee
ja tekijän terveydellä,
työ himoja huonoja hillitsee
niin puhtaalla sydämellä.
Oi, rauhaa päätetyn päivätyön!
Hyvät enkelit suojaavat työmiehen yön
ja nuorena, vankkana nousevi hän
taas uutehen päivähän.

Oi, antaos Herra sa armas sää,
kun raatajan ilta raukee!
Hyvät enkelit kauniisti hymyilkää,
kun työmiehen hauta aukee!
Oi, nouskosi kirkasna päivyt uus,
kun loppuvi raatajan rauhattomuus
ja päättyvi pitkä päivätyö!
Herra, valkase vaivamme yö!

On monta uskoa päällä maan
ja toinen toista kiittää,
mut laulajalla yks usko on vaan
ja hälle se saapi riittää:
Min verran meissä on lempeä,
sen verran meissä on ijäistä
ja sen verran meistä myös jälelle jää,
kun päättyvi päivä tää.

Ja yhden ma varman tiedän sen,
kun löydy ei tietä mistään:
On työtä tehtävä jokaisen.
Puu tutaan hedelmistään.
Se usko, ken sitä ei opeta,
sitä uskoa täällä ei tarvita,
se on uskoa usmien, haamujen,
ei uskoa ihmisten.

Kuka tietävi, mistä me tulemme
ja missä on matkamme määrä?
Hyvä että me sitäkin tutkimme.
Ei tutkimus ole väärä.
Mut yhden me tiedämme varmaan vaan:
Me olemme kerran nyt päällä maan
ja täällä meidän on eläminen,
miten taidamme parhaiten.

Me olemme kaikki nyt laivalla
ja kynnämme suurta merta.
Me synnytettiin vaivalla
ja vaivalla kuolemme kerta.
Mut se, mikä siinä on välillä,
se olkohon lämpöä, lempeä!
Kas, tuiskussa yhteen kun yhtyvi kaks,
käy kulkukin helpommaks.

Mut emmehän tuiskussa kuljekaan,
kun oikein me aattelemme.
Vaikk' elämme kaikki me päällä maan,
niin maassa tok' kiini emme.
Tääll' onhan niin paljon muutakin
kuin multaa, on kaunista, kultaakin,
kun oikein, oikein me etsimme vaan.
Niin kaunis, kaunis on maa.

Oi, katsokaa, miten lainehet
niin kauniisti rantoja kaulaa!
Oi, kuunnelkaa, miten lintuset
niin kauniisti lehdossa laulaa!
Oi, ootteko nähnehet illan kuun
ja kuullehet kuisketta metsän puun,
min ylitse valkeat hattarat
suvitaivaalla vaeltavat?

Tai ootteko koskaan te painaneet
pään kesäistä nurmea vastaan,
kun heinäsirkat on helisseet
ja raikunut laulu rastaan?
Sinikellot tokko ne keinuivat,
lepinkäiset tokko ne leijuivat,
ja tuoksuiko kukkaset tuhannet? -
Sitä tuoksua unhota et.

Ja ootteko mennehet milloinkaan
te aamulla järven rantaan,
kun aurinko noussut on aalloistaan
ja paistanut valkosantaan?
Vesi välkkyikö tyynenä heijastuin,
sumun keskeltä nousiko seijastuin
sadun saaret, niemet ne terheniset? -
Sitä utua unhota et.

Oi, ootteko silloin te tunteneet
maan luonnossa maailman Luojan?
Oi, ootteko silloin te löytäneet
yön aaveilta armahan suojan?
Ja ootteko silloin te itkeneet
ja hyviä olleet ja hymyilleet,
oi, ootteko silloin te lempinehet? -
Sitä lempeä unhota et.

Oi, ootteko silloin te lempineet
sitä tyttöä tummatukkaa
ja ootteko silloin te rakastaneet
joka puuta ja joka kukkaa?
Ja oliko veli joka ihminen?
Ilo loistiko silmistä jokaisen?
Ja oliko kaikilla kasvoillaan:
Niin kaunis, kaunis on maa.

Ken yhtä ihmistä rakastaa,
se kaikkia rakastaapi.
Ken kerran voi itsensä unhoittaa,
se unten onnen saapi.
Ken kerran itse on onnellinen,
se tahtois onnehen jokaisen
ja antaa ja antaa ja antaa vaan
oman onnensa aarteistaan.

Mitä siitä jos hän sua lemmi ei,
sa jolle lempesi annoit!
Hän antoihan sulle elämän
ja kuvaa sa kaunista kannoit.
Ja vaikka hän vaatisi elämäs taas,
niin kulkeos riemulla kuolemaas
ja julista virsillä Jumalaa,
kun kaunis niin oli maa.

Oi, kiitos sa Luojani armollinen
joka hetkestä, jonka ma elin,
kun annoit sa ruumihin tervehen
ja syömen mi sykähteli,
kun annoit sa tervettä kättä kaks,
kaks silmää sieluni ikkunaks,
ja hengen herkän ja avoimen
joka tuutia tuulosen.

Sua kiitän mä Luojani armollinen,
kun annoit sa kodin hyvän,
soit äidin niin hellän ja herttaisen
ja taaton niin tarmoa syvän,
kun annoit sa myös pari ystävää
ja ne hyvää, en pyydä ma enempää,
ja annoit sa armahan isäinmaan,
jota kyntää ja rakastaa.

Ja kiitospa vihdoin viimeinen,
kun laulun lahjan sa annoit,
kun riemut ja murheet lapsosen
näin sävelten siivillä kannoit,
sen sulta, sulta ma yksin sain
ja sulle siitä mä vastaan vain
ja leiviskästäni tilin teen,
miten käytin mä kanteleen.

Soi, helise kulkijan kannel vain!
Halo aaltoja laulajan haaksi!
Käy purjehin täysin ja pullistuvain,
jätä välkkyvä jälki taaksi!
Ja vaikka mun nuorena laineet vei,
niin eipä se hukkahan vaipunut, ei,
joka upposi laulujen laineisiin
ja lempensä unelmiin.

Se soutavi seljässä delfiinein
ja sen lempeä lainehet laulaa
ja kanssa Vellamon impyein
se aikojen aalloilla kaulaa.
Oi, viritä virtesi, nuori mies!
Voi, pian se riittyvi rinnan lies
ja vanhuus jo sauvoilla hoippuen saa.
Anna kanteles kajahtaa!

[North Star]

Oh, and this hit a nerve as I happened upon it around the time of the UK vote...


Henry Carey: A Lilliputian Ode on Their Majesties' Accession (1727)

Smile , smile,
Blest isle!
Grief past,
At last,
Halcyon
Comes on.
New King,
Bells ring;
New Queen,
Blest scene!
Britain
Again
Revives
And thrives.
Fear flies,
Stocks rise;
Wealth flows,
Art grows.
Strange pack
Sent back;
Own folks
Crack jokes.
Those out
May pout;
Those in
Will grin.
Great, small,
Pleased all.
God send
No end
To line
Divine
Of George and Caroline!

[Jaakko Keskinen]

"We would know a good many things better if we did not want to know them too precisely. After all, an object becomes comprehensible to us only at an angle of less than forty-five degrees."

[Ken B]

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/55909

[Jaakko Keskinen]

"Sight is the noblest of the senses: the other four instruct us only through the organs of touch: we hear, we perceive, smell, and feel everything by way of contact. Sight, however, stands infinitely higher, rises above matter, and approaches the capabilities of mind." Goethe

[Florestan]

"Sight is the noblest of the senses: the other four instruct us only through the organs of touch: we hear, we perceive, smell, and feel everything by way of contact. Sight, however, stands infinitely higher, rises above matter, and approaches the capabilities of mind." Goethe

What contact is needed for hearing, I wonder?