The Best Poems of Michael R. Burch, Part II

The Best Poems of Michael R. Burch, Part II
The Most Popular Poems of Michael R. Burch, Part II

 

She bathes in silver
by Michael R. Burch

She bathes in silver,
~~~~~afloat~~~~~
on her reflections...

 

Kin
by Michael R. Burch

O pale, austere moon,
haughty beauty ...

what do we know of love,
or duty?

 

Styx
by Michael R. Burch, age 16

Black waters,
deep and dark and still . . .
all men have passed this way,
or will.

 

Huang E translations of "Sorrows of the Wild Geese"

SORROWS OF THE WILD GEESE by HUANG E

Sent to My Husband
by Huang E
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The wild geese never fly beyond Hengyang ...
how then can my brocaded words reach Yongchang?

Like wilted willow flowers I am ill-fated indeed;
in that far-off foreign land you feel similar despair.

“Oh, to go home, to go home!” you implore the calendar.
“Oh, if only it would rain, if only it would rain!” I complain to the heavens.

~Momentary Lapse of Reason~

I am drowning in my pain
Spinning faster and faster
I closed my eyes to escape
From my momentary lapse of reason
In my grave reality of my demise
But there is nowhere to hide
In a world of complete emptiness
I am going under faster and faster
Feeling nothing but helplessness
And everything was still
Just as hope seemed to have faded
There was shelter in the distance
That shelter was you and I felt warm
And everything was still
Even from the depths of my mind
I knew I was trapped frozen in time

Carlyle

I.

" God does nothing!" sigh'd the Seer,
Sick of playing Prophet:
To his eyes the sun-flames clear
Seem'd the fumes of Tophet;
Off the King he tore his crown,
Stript the Priest of clothing,
Curst the world — then with a frown,
Murmur'd, " God does — nothing! "

II.

Bitter creed, and creedless cry
Of the soul despairing —
He who once on sea and sky
Saw the Portent flaring,
He who chose the thorny road,
Paths of pleasure loathing,
Crying loudly, " Great is God,
Only Man is nothing!"

Psyche

Love came to me one morn in May,
Bringing all glad things on his way,
" Lo, here are Autumn and Summer and Spring,
All three seasons in one I bring. "
He spake me smooth,
And he sware for sooth,
That his gold was good, and his troth was truth.
Alack, the day!
Heigho, Sing Sorrow!
Man sows in vain what he reaps with pain,
And the joy once gone shall be never again
Heigho, Sing Sorrow!
'Tis ever thus
Love deals with us;
Builds his bower for to-day, and then flies away
To-morrow.

Translation of Petrarch's Rima, Sonnet 134

I FIND no peace, and all my war is done;
I fear and hope; I burn and freeze like ice;
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;
And nought I have, and all the world I seize on;
That looseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison
And holdeth me not, yet can I 'scape nowise;
Nor letteth me live nor die at my device, [by my own choice]
And yet of death it giveth none occasion.
Withouten eyen, I see; and without tongue I plain; [lament]
I desire to perish, and yet I ask health;


Two Nights

(Suggested by the lives of Napoleon and Josephine.)

I.

ONE night was full of rapture and delight-
Of reunited arms and swooning kisses,
And all the unnamed and unnumbered blisses
Which fond souls find in love of love at night.

Heart beat with heart, and each clung into each
With twining arms that did but loose their hold
To cling still closer; and fond glances told
These truths for which there is no uttered speech.

There was sweet laughter and endearing words,


Translations Dante - Inferno, Canto XXVI

Florence, rejoice! For thou o'er land and sea
So spread'st thy pinions that the fame of thee
Hath reached no less into the depths of Hell.
So noble were the five I found to dwell
Therein -- thy sons -- whence shame accrues to me
And no great praise is thine; but if it be
That truth unveil in dreamings before dawn,
Then is the vengeful hour not far withdrawn
When Prato shall exult within her walls
To see thy suffering. Whate'er befalls,
Let it come soon, since come it must, for later,


Translated from Geibel

O say, thou wild, thou oft deceived heart,
What mean these noisy throbbings in my breast?
After thy long, unutterable woe
Wouldst thou not rest?

Fall'n from Life's tree the sweet rose-blossom lies,
And fragrant youth has fled. What made to seem
This earth as fair to thee as Paradise,
Was all a dream.

The blossom fell, the thorn was left to me;
Deep from the wound the blood-drops ever flow,
All that I have are yearnings, wild desires,
And wrath and woe.


Pages

Subscribe to RSS - sorrow