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Sad Strains of a Gay Waltz
Sad Strains of a Gay Waltz by Wallace Stevens The truth is that there comes a time When we can mourn no more over music That is so much motionless sound. There comes a time when the waltz Is no longer a mode of desire, a mode Of revealing desire and is empty of shadows.…
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Secrets
Twelve Songs [Song VIII, April 1936] by W. H. Auden At last the secret is out, as it always must come in the end, The delicious story is ripe to tell to the intimate friend; Over the tea-cups and in the square the tongue has its desire; Still waters run deep, my dear, there’s never…
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Plums
On a particularly slow and boring evening, I happened to breeze through this site on my way to nowhere (side note: the post from June 18th is about the linotype; all of my graduate work was done in a building named after its inventor, Mergenthaler), and was reminded of a poem that has been a…
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Selections
from Félise by Swinburne Two gifts perforce he has given us yet, Though sad things stay and glad things fly ; Two gifts he has given us, to forget All glad and sad things that go by, And then to die. from Ilicet by Swinburne A little sorrow, a little pleasure, Fate metes us from…
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Winter of Minds
My sister will be in town this weekend, so it looks like another week delay. I’m hoping we can meet more regularly when the spring kicks in, but I can’t say why I think that would happen. Nice weather? Oh well. The plan, as far as I can tell, is to do Wordsworth still. The…
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Anyone want to talk poetry this weekend?
Here’s my thinking. I will be talking poetry this weekend. I am perfectly happy to talk with myself, as I have begun to do on my morning Metro commute, but I would also enjoy discussions involving other, actual people. If anyone else is interested in talking poetry, I’d be happy to participate. I am far…
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A bit of fun from Brooke
Two of my favorites from Rupert Brooke: The Voice by Rupert Brooke Safe in the magic of my woods I lay, and watched the dying light. Faint in the pale high solitudes, And washed with rain and veiled by night, Silver and blue and green were showing. And the dark woods grew darker still; And…
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I’m feeling neglected
Just thought you should know. Ye weep for those who weep? she said— Ah, fools! I bid you pass them by. Go, weep for those whose hearts have bled What time their eyes were dry. Whom sadder can I say? she said. —from “The Mask” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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L’Invitation au voyage
Laura reminded me that a CD I was listening to quoted this poem in the liner notes. I believe it was originally published in Les Fleurs du mal. As it is simple enough for me to understand, even with my weak French, I thought I’d post it. I’m working on torturing my translation into rhyme,…
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Thanks, Mike, for that post.
Thanks, Mike, for that post. I enjoyed it very much. I’d like to launch a few brief volleys on the topic of death. First, I, myself, don’t make the leap to permanence when I think about how death bears on question of whether life is meaningful. I don’t think life would only be meaningful if…