Poetry and quotable quotes

[North Star]

Snow (excerpted)

John Davison, 1909

Some more poems of snows,
before all of it away goes.


Robert Frost - "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" (1923)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
the darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.





Louis MacNeice, "Snow" (1935)

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes –
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands –
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.






Richard Wilbur, "First Snow in Alsace" (1947)

The snow came down last night like moths
Burned on the moon; it fell till dawn,
Covered the town with simple cloths.

Absolute snow lies rumpled on
What shellbursts scattered and deranged,
Entangled railings, crevassed lawn.

As if it did not know they'd changed,
Snow smoothly clasps the roofs of homes
Fear-gutted, trustless and estranged.

The ration stacks are milky domes;
Across the ammunition pile
The snow has climbed in sparkling combs.

You think: beyond the town a mile
Or two, this snowfall fills the eyes
Of soldiers dead a little while.

Persons and persons in disguise,
Walking the new air white and fine,
Trade glances quick with shared surprise.

At children's windows, heaped, benign,
As always, winter shines the most,
And frost makes marvelous designs.

The night guard coming from his post,
Ten first-snows back in thought, walks slow
And warms him with a boyish boast:

He was the first to see the snow.




Derek Mahon, "The Snow Party" (1975)

(for Louis Asekoff)

Bashō, coming
To the city of Nagoya,
Is asked to a snow party.

There is a tinkling of china
And tea into china;
There are introductions.

Then everyone
Crowds to the window
To watch the falling snow.

Snow is falling on Nagoya
And farther south
On the tiles of Kyōto;

Eastward, beyond Irago,
It is falling
Like leaves on the cold sea.

Elsewhere they are burning
Witches and heretics
In the boiling squares,

Thousands have died since dawn
In the service
Of barbarous kings;

But there is silence
In the houses of Nagoya
And the hills of Ise.

[Phrygian]

I taught that Robert Frost poem, "Stopping by Woods..." for high-school Year 11 (15/16y/o).  It's an enigmatic little poem and very sensual - you can feel the cold and see the ice and snowflakes and hear the bells of the horse's harness.  Those repeated last lines "But I have miles to go before I sleep" are extremely ambiguous.  Why does Frost repeat them and what do they mean?  For some people the poem is an invocation of death;  that the poet is drawn to the "deep" and "dark", isolated woods and could be seduced by that - but he is on a journey and cannot stop.  It has a quite melancholy tone.  And the horse thinking "it queer"?  Shaking the head and bells in 'answer'.  Wonderful stuff from a great poet.

My favourite by Frost is a narrative poem, "Out, out" about a boy who dies in a sawmill accident and Frost uses Macbeth's famous speech, "Out, brief candle, out" as his inspiration for the title.  I used to read it to the kids acting out speaking part/s and they went still and quiet because they found it so disturbing!!  (One of those great teaching moments.)  It reminded me of that terribly distressing scene in "Walk The Line" - the Johnny Cash biopic - where his brother is killed in a sawmill.

'Out, Out—'
BY ROBERT FROST

The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside him in her apron
To tell them 'Supper.' At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man's work, though a child at heart—
He saw all spoiled. 'Don't let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!'
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

[Cato]

The following is spoken by a character in a novel, and in no way represents my opinion: the character has just received a poem in a mysterious way, and then offers an opinion on poetry in general, after a very frustrating day and night!

The Circle

Behold the circle
And its perfect symmetry!
And the willow tree
is chaos.

Behold the circle
And its perfect loneliness!
And the lioness
is terror.

Behold the circle
And its lovely mystery!
And the honey bee
is purple.

Behold the circle
And its uncrowned agony
Born from the terror
And the chaos
Of its purple perfection!


To a person barely adequate for Life's challenges, nothing was more galling, more maddening, more mentally crushing, and more screamingly soul-grinding than poetry!  Allusions and elisions, rhythm and symbolism, assonance and consonance, alliteration and alloteration, and onomatopoeia and whattaloadacrappa!  I always dreaded English class, whenever it was time for "The Poetry Hour,"  because I could never understand why the poet refused just to tell us plainly what his point was.  Why did we have to figure out the meaning behind all the symbols and all the -isms and -tions and -ances?  Why not use clear and unambiguous prose?  Yes, yes, I know: if the poet writes clear and unambiguous prose then he is no poet!  Yet it all just seemed so...evil, especially when poems were used to torture children in those large brick-and-concrete boxes warehousing the next generation for six to eight hours per day.

On the other  hand, girls seemed to like poetry, and even seemed to write poetry!  In such a case poetry became the very definition and embodiment of a "necessary evil."    

[Karl Henning]

. . . the very definition and embodiment of a "necessary evil."

(* chortle *)

[Florestan]

A propos snow and winter, here is one of the top 3 Romanian poems dealing with them.

George Bacovia

Decembre

Te uită cum ninge decembre...
Spre geamuri, iubito, priveşte -
Mai spune s-aducă jăratec
Şi focul s-aud cum trosneşte.

Şi mână fotoliul spre sobă,
La horn să ascult vijelia,
Sau zilele mele - totuna -
Aş vrea să le-nvăţ simfonia.

Mai spune s-aducă şi ceaiul,
Şi vino şi tu mai aproape, -
Citeşte-mi ceva de la poluri,
Şi ningă... zăpada ne-ngroape.

Ce cald e aicea la tine,
Şi toate din casă mi-s sfinte, -
Te uită cum ninge decembre...
Nu râde... citeşte nainte.

E ziuă şi ce întuneric...
Mai spune s-aducă şi lampa -
Te uită, zăpada-i cât gardul,
Şi-a prins promoroacă şi clampa.

Eu nu mă mai duc azi acasă...
Potop e-napoi şi nainte,
Te uită cum ninge decembre...
Nu râde... citeşte nainte.

My translation (rhyme and rythm lost, unfortunately)

December

Look how December is snowing...
Look towards the windows, my love -
Order more embers
So that I can hear the fire clacking.

And move the armchair towards the stove,
Let me hear the blizzard in the chimney,
Or my days - the same -
I´d like to learn their symphony.

And order the tea,
And come closer yourself,
Read me something of the poles,
And let it snow... let the snow bury us.

How warm is your home here,
And all things in this house are sacred to me, -
Look how December is snowing...
Don´t laugh... read on...

´Tis daytime yet what darkness...
Order the lamp, too -
Look, the snow´s as high as the paling,
And the door handle´s covered in white frost

I won´t go home today anymore...
There´s flood behind and ahead,
Look how December is snowing...
Don´t laugh... read on.


If you wonder how it sounds, here it is set to music by one of the greatest Romanian folk singers and composers, Nicu Alifantis .

https://www.youtube.com/v/C5eusmEqeb0

[North Star]

Alright, here's my very quick translation of  Eino Leino's Sydämeni Talvi

The Winter of my Heart

Winter is no time of songs,
winter is the time of work
of sitting in the cabin,
of long nights' merriments,
Winter is time of night.

Winter is no time of rush,
winter is the time of slow work,
winter is the time of slow speech,
singing of old songs,
out of the boss's reach.

Frosted are the pinetrees,
Frozen are the windowsills.
Folk stares at the fireplace,
slowly moving chars -
moving the  graves of memories

Winter is no time of worry,
Winter is the time of snow,
Of watching beautiful memories
Merries old rejoiced,
Dreaming of summer

Sparrows freeze on their branches,
thick is the snow-cover of ground,
people go and do their chores --
in their mind the song of birds,
the ringing of bells in the stable.

Indoors is the sky clean,
flower the beds an fields,
sing the larks and birds --
outside are the pinetrees,
howling forest beasts

Dead is faith and love,
Frozen are the poor roses.
But when at night shines
At the window the moon or a star,
Beautiful are even the flowers of frost

Grief is bridges of sisters,
Pity is the flower of frost.
Winter is the time of pity,
Self-pity and pity of others:
Friend, poor friend!

O thine mad heart,
O thine mad head,
I know not which was more mad,
but mad they were both,
in need of winter's ice.

Did you wish your wishes true,
did you dream of happiness?
In the snow lie the buried dreams.
We all have but one road.
At winter, there is snow

[Florestan]

Alright, here's my very quick translation of  Eino Leino's Sydämeni Talvi

Great poem, thanks for sharing! Could you please post the Finnish original?

[North Star]

Great poem, thanks for sharing! Could you please post the Finnish original?

Thanks, there is undoubtedly something lost in translation, and something added, for good or bad.

I knew I forgot something. . .  Here it is.

http://standardlibrary.com/authors/l/eino_leino/00014649_sata_ja_yksi_laulua_hiihtjn_virsi_pyh_kevt/00014649_finnish_iso88591_p008.htm

SYDÄMENI TALVI.

Talvella lauluja tehdä ei,
talvella tehdään työtä,
talvella tuvassa istutaan,
iltoja pitkiä iloitaan,
talvella paljon on yötä.

Talvella talossa kiirettä ei,
talvell' on pitkät puhteet,
talvella hiljaa haastellaan,
lauluja vanhoja lauletaan,
kuulu ei isännän nuhteet.

Huurtehessa on honkapuut,
hyyteessä ikkunalaudat.
Ihmiset takkahan tuijottaa,
hiljaa hiiliä liikuttaa--
liikkuvi muistojen haudat.

Talvella murheita muisteta ei,
talvella paljon on lunta,
muistoja kauniita katsellaan,
riemuja vanhoja riemuitaan,
nähdähän kesästä unta.

Varpuset jäätyvät oksillaan,
paksu on hanki maassa,
ihmiset kulkee ja askaroi--
mielessä lintujen laulut soi,
kellojen kilke haassa.

Sisällä siintävi taivas sees,
kukkivat kummut ja kedot,
laulavi leivot ja linnut muut--
ulkona huojuvat honkapuut,
ulvovat metsien pedot.

Kuollut on usko ja rakkaus,
jäässä on ruusurukat.
Mutta kun illalla ikkunaan
loistavi kuu tahi tähti vaan,
kauniit on hallankin kukat.

Suru on siltoja siskojen,
sääli on hallan kukka.
Talvella toistansa säälitään,
itseään sekä ystäviään:
Ystävä, ystävä rukka!

Voi sinun hullua sydäntäs,
voi sinun hullua päätäs,
tiedä en, kump' oli hullumpi,
hullut ne vaan oli kummatki,
tarvis ol' talven jäätäs.

Tahdoitko toivoja toteuttaa,
näitkö sä onnesta unta?
Hangessa toivojen hauta lie.
Kaikilla meillä on yksi tie.
Talvella paljon on lunta.

[Florestan]

Thanks, there is undoubtedly something lost in translation, and something added, for good or bad.

I knew I forgot something. . .  Here it is.

Thanks a lot. I like to "read" poetry in languages I don´t understand anything of. It´s a visual pleasure not unlike that of looking at a pàinting. The rhymes and rythms are of course absent sonically, but vividly present visually. I have always thought that a poem which doesn´t look great on paper is worthless aurally as well. 

EDIT: could you please post a link to this poem (or any other with rhyme and rythm) being recited or sung? I´d really like to hear the inner music of your language.

[North Star]

I should add that Leino (1878-1926) was a journalist and poet, widely considered the best Finnish poet to have lived, albeit for a much too short time. In addition to writing a large amount of poetry, plays, prose fiction, a movie script, and texts on Finnish literature and history, he translated Dante's Comedia, with his version of 'Abandon all hope — Ye Who Enter Here' entering everyday language, Topelius, Runeberg, Racine, Schiller, Goethe and others' work.


Peace
by Eino Leino

What is this fragrance around me?
What is this quietness?
What is this knowledge of peace in my heart?
What strange, great, new thing is this?

I can hear the flowers growing
and the talk of the trees in the wood.
I think all my old dreams are ripening,
all the hopes and the wishes I sowed.

Everything's quiet around me,
Everything's gentle and sweet.
Great flowers are opening up in my heart
with a fragrance of deepest peace.

(1898)
translated by Lola Rogers

Original:


Rauha

Mitä on nää touksut mun ympärilläin?
Mitä on tämä hiljaisuus?
Mitä tietävi rauha mun sydämessäin,
tää suuri ja outo ja uus?

Minä kuulen, kuink' kukkaset kasvavat
ja metsässä puhuvat puut.
Minä luulen, nyt kypsyvät unelmat
ja toivot ja toou'ot muut.

Kaikk' on niin hiljaa mun ympärilläin,
kaikk' on niin hellää ja hyvää.
Kukat suuret mun aukeevat sydämessäin
ja touksuvat rauhaa syvää.


http://www.magdalenabiela.com/?cat=12

[North Star]

Thanks a lot. I like to "read" poetry in languages I don´t understand anything of. It´s a visual pleasure not unlike that of looking at a pàinting. The rhymes and rythms are of course absent sonically, but vividly present visually. I have always thought that a poem which doesn´t look great on paper is worthless aurally as well. 

Just remember that everything is pronounced as it reads - j as the consonant y of English, and 'ng' as in 'English'.

[Florestan]

Just remember that everything is pronounced as it reads

Well, this is quite tricky! 

1. I am aware of the Finnish pronunciation of j, but in Romanian it is pronounced as in the French Je, or the Russian Zhdanov. Correct me if I´m wrong, there is no equivalent sound in Finnish.

2. There is no ä in Romanian. Does it sound like in German?

Could you please post a link to a poem recited in Finnish? I´d really like to hear the inner music of your Language.

[Karl Henning]

2. There is no ä in Romanian. Does it sound like in German?

Not that this will necessarily aid you, but it is a bit similar to the a in cat.  En anglais, I mean 

[Florestan]

Not that this will necessarily aid you, but it is a bit similar to the a in cat.  En anglais, I mean 

Which is quite different from the German one. 

[Karl Henning]

Aye, just so.

[North Star]

Well, this is quite tricky! 

1. I am aware of the Finnish pronunciation of j, but in Romanian it is pronounced as in the French Je, or the Russian Zhdanov. Correct me if I´m wrong, there is no equivalent sound in Finnish.

2. There is no ä in Romanian. Does it sound like in German?

Could you please post a link to a poem recited in Finnish? I´d really like to hear the inner music of your Language.

Vesa-Matti Loiri singing Leino's Nocturne
https://www.youtube.com/v/YNlBrJkvzg0

Pronunciation guide:
https://www.cs.tut.fi/~jkorpela/finnish.pronunciation.html

[Florestan]

Vesa-Matti Loiri singing Leino's Nocturne
https://www.youtube.com/v/YNlBrJkvzg0

Lovely! Thanks!

Pronunciation guide:
https://www.cs.tut.fi/~jkorpela/finnish.pronunciation.html

Thanks again!

[North Star]

Lovely! Thanks!

Thanks again!

You're most welcome. Loiri's Leino recording is quite popular (among my parents, and me, anyway)

Lapin Kesä (Summer of Lapland)

https://www.youtube.com/v/-aSxSUy34HU

words & translation

[Florestan]

Lapin Kesä (Summer of Lapland)

https://www.youtube.com/v/-aSxSUy34HU

Love it!

[North Star]

Love it!

Excellent.

Here's something I scribbled this afternoon:

The Sound

The sound of heart, beating
The rushing blood, streaming
The scratching needle, dropping

Silently in the agonizing
Body, in the veins flowing
Soothing pain, and killing
All sensation, and being.

Muscles relenting,
Body dropping
In silence.