Some Hearts
Prowler
Quetzalcoatlus said:I did it onceit must be in the previous pages
DAAAANG. Kudos to you. That's a lot of typing.
Thought I'd post here for the heck of it, although I know no one has been around in awhile.
I love to read. Here's some of my favorite poems. Not sure if there's been any Osip Mandelstam yet. He's a Russian poet from early 20th cent. and he was persecuted by Stalin and sent to die in the gulags - -for writng a poem against Stalin. Language is power! And also deadly. Ah for the days when poets could be seen as dangerous!!
(nb: he doesn't title his poems for the most part; he numbers them. The best translation of Mandelstam, who wrote in Russian, seems to be the Brown and Merwin translation, from which come the following. ) You can kinda see, as time passes, and the wars and the jail times and exiles mount up, how his voice changes.
78
Insomnia. Homer. Taut sails.
I've read to the middle of the list of ships;
the strung-out flock, the stream of cranes
that once rose above Hellas.
Flight of cranes crossing strange borders,
leaders drenched with the foam of the gods,
where are you sailing? What would Troy be to you,
men of Achaea, without Helen?
The sea - Homer - it's all moved by love. But to whom
shall I listen? No sound now from Homer,
and the black sea roars like a speech
and thunders up the bed.
(from 1915)
221
I've come back to my city. These are my own old tears,
my own little veins, the swollen glands of my childhood.
So you're back. Open wide. Swallow
the fish-oil from the river lamps of Leningrad.
Open your eyes. Do you know this December day,
the egg-yolk with the deadly tar beaten into it?
Petersburg! I don't want to die yet!
You know my telephone numbers.
Petersburg! I've still got the addresses:
I can look up dead voices.
I live on back stairs, and the bell,
torn out nerves and all, jangles in my temples.
And I wait till morning for guests that I love,
and rattle the door in its chains.
(from 1930)
307
You took away all the oceans and all the room.
You gave me my shoe-size in earth with bars around it.
Where did it get you? Nowhere.
You left me my lips, and they shape words, even in silence.
(from 1935)
I love to read. Here's some of my favorite poems. Not sure if there's been any Osip Mandelstam yet. He's a Russian poet from early 20th cent. and he was persecuted by Stalin and sent to die in the gulags - -for writng a poem against Stalin. Language is power! And also deadly. Ah for the days when poets could be seen as dangerous!!
(nb: he doesn't title his poems for the most part; he numbers them. The best translation of Mandelstam, who wrote in Russian, seems to be the Brown and Merwin translation, from which come the following. ) You can kinda see, as time passes, and the wars and the jail times and exiles mount up, how his voice changes.
78
Insomnia. Homer. Taut sails.
I've read to the middle of the list of ships;
the strung-out flock, the stream of cranes
that once rose above Hellas.
Flight of cranes crossing strange borders,
leaders drenched with the foam of the gods,
where are you sailing? What would Troy be to you,
men of Achaea, without Helen?
The sea - Homer - it's all moved by love. But to whom
shall I listen? No sound now from Homer,
and the black sea roars like a speech
and thunders up the bed.
(from 1915)
221
I've come back to my city. These are my own old tears,
my own little veins, the swollen glands of my childhood.
So you're back. Open wide. Swallow
the fish-oil from the river lamps of Leningrad.
Open your eyes. Do you know this December day,
the egg-yolk with the deadly tar beaten into it?
Petersburg! I don't want to die yet!
You know my telephone numbers.
Petersburg! I've still got the addresses:
I can look up dead voices.
I live on back stairs, and the bell,
torn out nerves and all, jangles in my temples.
And I wait till morning for guests that I love,
and rattle the door in its chains.
(from 1930)
307
You took away all the oceans and all the room.
You gave me my shoe-size in earth with bars around it.
Where did it get you? Nowhere.
You left me my lips, and they shape words, even in silence.
(from 1935)
Quetzalcoatlus said:Thanks
I didn't know him nor Acmeism -the movement he represented.
Glad you enjoyed his work!! He has a unique way about him-- he can really create a picture and an emotion in a few, spare words.
Acmeism is kind of interesting . I'd like to find some of the other writers who considered themselves Acmeists(Anna Akhmatova and her husband Nikolay Gumilev). The trans. I have of Mandelstam suggests he didn't follow the tenets of Acmeism too closely!
Quetzalcoatlus said:
I do like Russian literature, but I havn't read Pushkin yet! Any recommendations? He wrote short stories, I think? What would you consider your favorite work?
I've read pretty much the standards I suppose, Chekov, Turgenev, tackled Tolstoy; I have a long way to go to read all the Russian greats yet. I'd like to re-read War and Peace, as I read it so long ago. I'm probably forgetting some names here. Have not read Dostoevsky yet! You'll laugh at that.
I've read a female Russian author whose short stories were great, dark, humorous, and she was supposd to be related to Tolstoy, but her name is escaping too, although I believe it was variation of Tolstoy. I like the darkness of Russian litereature, and then these great glaring ridiculous scenes that are full of satire. The darkness and strange humor even in misery kind of seems to appear in many of the works. Should I include Nabokov? I think he was born in Russia, lived a long time in the states, but he's an awesome writer.
____no5
Free Man
No, unfortunately. I had read some poems of his when I was younger and I felt astonished but I don't remember titles, nothing...
In fact I asked you just in case you could enlighten me
The only not-so-mainstream Russian opus I can recommend you is Chinghiz Aitmatov's Jamilya (small novel)
All the other I have read is the classics :
Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Tolstoy, Gorky, Ostrovsky, Mayakovsky etc. nothing extra-ordinary really
Did you read Anna Karenina (sp?) Or the Idiot? I have read about them and find them kind of intriguing and somehow haven't gotten around to reading them yet.
Funny a guy from work mentioned Russian literature the other day -- well, he is Russian -- but it's funny that he should have brought it up at the same time this thread started - coincidence! -- Maybe he's gotta different take because he can read without a translation!
I think that author I was trying to remember the other day is named Tatiana Tolstaia, but I'm not sure.
Funny a guy from work mentioned Russian literature the other day -- well, he is Russian -- but it's funny that he should have brought it up at the same time this thread started - coincidence! -- Maybe he's gotta different take because he can read without a translation!
I think that author I was trying to remember the other day is named Tatiana Tolstaia, but I'm not sure.
____no5
Free Man
Idiot is a very personal book for me,
because we used a lot of references from this book (quotes, names) I and my friends in early teen age
-the same we did for Kerouac's On the Road -for our late teen years
You absolutely should read Idiot -if you like Dostoevsky's style of course.
Karenina, I've only seen it in theater
I don't know coincidence or not, but I've grown with Russian literature, so I love it, to say the least
because we used a lot of references from this book (quotes, names) I and my friends in early teen age
-the same we did for Kerouac's On the Road -for our late teen years
You absolutely should read Idiot -if you like Dostoevsky's style of course.
Karenina, I've only seen it in theater
I don't know coincidence or not, but I've grown with Russian literature, so I love it, to say the least
Forostar
Ancient Mariner
jmpoet said:
Seen that one in a film version by Kurosawa. Very dramatic, or rather depressing.
"Of all my films, people wrote to me most about this one... ...I had wanted to make The Idiot long before Rashomon. Since I was little I've liked Russian literature, but I find that I like Dostoevsky the best and had long thought that this book would make a wonderful film. He is still my favourite author, and he is the one — I still think — who writes most honestly about human existence."
—Akira Kurosawa
I liked Kurusawa's Russian film Dersu Uzala way more, but since this is a poetry topic I should stop right here.
INteresting about the films -- I suppose film could be a form of poetry depending! -- I will check it out.
Both Russian poetry and prose can tend to dark, bleak kind of forms, sometimes it seems using the landscape to reflect the psychological state -- or it seems that way to me. (I don't mean to sound didactic, I'm just thinking as I go.)
So did you think the mood/atmosphere or the subject were depressing in the Idiot?
That must have been pretty cool. I was kind of on my own with Russian literature, I think! Both poetry and the old novels do seem very dark and heavy. I guess that's why I like them. I want to check out Pushkin poetry.
Any ideas/ opinions /recommendations for current Russian poets?
Both Russian poetry and prose can tend to dark, bleak kind of forms, sometimes it seems using the landscape to reflect the psychological state -- or it seems that way to me. (I don't mean to sound didactic, I'm just thinking as I go.)
Forostar said:
So did you think the mood/atmosphere or the subject were depressing in the Idiot?
Quetzalcoatlus said:
That must have been pretty cool. I was kind of on my own with Russian literature, I think! Both poetry and the old novels do seem very dark and heavy. I guess that's why I like them. I want to check out Pushkin poetry.
Any ideas/ opinions /recommendations for current Russian poets?
Forostar
Ancient Mariner
The story was sad, and the atmosphere certainly as well. So it didn't depress me because it was a bad film.
Still, Kurosawa is one of my favourite directors and there's a big number of his films that I like better.
In case you like classic cinema feel free to take a look in this topic as well.
Still, Kurosawa is one of my favourite directors and there's a big number of his films that I like better.
In case you like classic cinema feel free to take a look in this topic as well.
Forostar
Ancient Mariner
The Song of Amheirgin
Amheirgin ; as per translation by Robert Graves
`The Song of Amheirgin', supposedly composed by the chief bard of the Milesians, who Fintan mac Bochra said came from Iberia. It was passed down by word of mouth for countless generations until finally written down in medieval times. Reconstructed by a modern English poet, its origins are said to begin in 1268 BC"
I am a stag: of seven tines,
I am a flood: across a plain,
I am a wind: on a deep lake,
I am a tear: the Sun lets fall,
I am a hawk: above the cliff,
I am a thorn: beneath the nail,
I am a wonder: among flowers,
I am a wizard: who but I
sets the cool head aflame
with smoke?
I am a spear: that roars for blood,
I am a salmon: in a pool,
I am a lure: from paradise,
I am a hill: where poets walk,
I am a boar: ruthless and red,
I am a breaker: threatening doom,
I am a tide: that drags to death,
I am an infant: who but I
peeps from the unhewn
dolmen, arch?
I am the womb: of every holt,
I am the blaze: on every hill,
I am the queen: of every hive,
I am the shield: for every head,
I am the tomb: of every hope.
Amheirgin ; as per translation by Robert Graves
`The Song of Amheirgin', supposedly composed by the chief bard of the Milesians, who Fintan mac Bochra said came from Iberia. It was passed down by word of mouth for countless generations until finally written down in medieval times. Reconstructed by a modern English poet, its origins are said to begin in 1268 BC"
I am a stag: of seven tines,
I am a flood: across a plain,
I am a wind: on a deep lake,
I am a tear: the Sun lets fall,
I am a hawk: above the cliff,
I am a thorn: beneath the nail,
I am a wonder: among flowers,
I am a wizard: who but I
sets the cool head aflame
with smoke?
I am a spear: that roars for blood,
I am a salmon: in a pool,
I am a lure: from paradise,
I am a hill: where poets walk,
I am a boar: ruthless and red,
I am a breaker: threatening doom,
I am a tide: that drags to death,
I am an infant: who but I
peeps from the unhewn
dolmen, arch?
I am the womb: of every holt,
I am the blaze: on every hill,
I am the queen: of every hive,
I am the shield: for every head,
I am the tomb: of every hope.
Forostar
Ancient Mariner
Ancient poetry, I really like this style.
Some more info I found about the writer:
Amergin was the Chief Druid of the Milesians, who were the final wave of invaders of Ireland, according to the "Book of Invasions" and the "Annals of the Four Masters".
The Milesians are, according to legend, the ancestors of the Irish Celts. They wrested control of Ireland from the Tuatha De Dannan, who became the Irish Gods.
Amergin was said to have uttered the song when he first set foot upon the shores of Ireland.
Robert Graves wrote that 'English poetic education should really begin not with The Canterbury Tales... but with The Song of Amergin'.
Here you can hear and see The song of Amergin in Gaelic, by Lisa Gerrard. Images from BBC documentary The Celts.
Beautiful stuff!
Am gaeth i m-muir
Am tond trethan
Am fuaim mara
Am dam secht ndirend
Am séig i n-aill
Am dér gréne
Am cain lubai
Am torc ar gail
Am he i l-lind
Am loch i m-maig
Am brí a ndai
Am bri i fodb fras feochtu
Am dé delbas do chind codnu
Coiche nod gleith clochur slébe
Cia on co tagair aesa éscai
Cia du i l-laig fuiniud gréne
Cia beir buar o thig tethrach
Cia buar tethrach tibi
Cia dám, cia dé delbas faebru a ndind ailsiu
Cáinte im gai, cainte gaithe
Some more info I found about the writer:
Amergin was the Chief Druid of the Milesians, who were the final wave of invaders of Ireland, according to the "Book of Invasions" and the "Annals of the Four Masters".
The Milesians are, according to legend, the ancestors of the Irish Celts. They wrested control of Ireland from the Tuatha De Dannan, who became the Irish Gods.
Amergin was said to have uttered the song when he first set foot upon the shores of Ireland.
Robert Graves wrote that 'English poetic education should really begin not with The Canterbury Tales... but with The Song of Amergin'.
Here you can hear and see The song of Amergin in Gaelic, by Lisa Gerrard. Images from BBC documentary The Celts.
Beautiful stuff!
Am gaeth i m-muir
Am tond trethan
Am fuaim mara
Am dam secht ndirend
Am séig i n-aill
Am dér gréne
Am cain lubai
Am torc ar gail
Am he i l-lind
Am loch i m-maig
Am brí a ndai
Am bri i fodb fras feochtu
Am dé delbas do chind codnu
Coiche nod gleith clochur slébe
Cia on co tagair aesa éscai
Cia du i l-laig fuiniud gréne
Cia beir buar o thig tethrach
Cia buar tethrach tibi
Cia dám, cia dé delbas faebru a ndind ailsiu
Cáinte im gai, cainte gaithe
Pretty cool. It reads like stuff from Tolkien, especially The Silmarillion -- probably because Tolkien took from Celtic and Anglo-Saxon history, language, and mythologies. I've read a couple books about the Celts, but it would be interesting to find out more.
On an aside, Lisa Gerrard is listed as a composer and arranger on the Gladiator soundtrack -- I'm thinking it's the same Lisa Gerrard. Yeah, I just looked it up, same artist. She's really interesting. Apparently, there was also an Amergin's Invocation on a movie about KIng Arthur, from 2004. I didn't see that one though.
On an aside, Lisa Gerrard is listed as a composer and arranger on the Gladiator soundtrack -- I'm thinking it's the same Lisa Gerrard. Yeah, I just looked it up, same artist. She's really interesting. Apparently, there was also an Amergin's Invocation on a movie about KIng Arthur, from 2004. I didn't see that one though.
Forostar
Ancient Mariner
jmpoet said:
She has also been a core member of Dead Can Dance. Check them out if you haven't done that yet.
Forostar said:She has also been a core member of Dead Can Dance. Check them out if you haven't done that yet.
I do remember them from my Goth listening days. I didn't really seem to get into them then but I should revisit their music. I found myself later on understanding her voice a lot better. If you have any recommendations from their work, Foro, I'd appreciate it.
This poet, Michael Earl Craig, is an oddball American from Montana. Rather than working in academia where so many American poets make their living nowadays, this guy works as a farrier.
I thought he makes a nice contrast with the ancient poet from the above post because his voice is not in command or leadership, but a lost and alienated voice not at all bitter but more in wonder at such an overwhelming, twisted, yet still oddly beautiful world.
MONTGOMERY
He wore a beautiful hat in massive mahogany
which he unscrewed and set on the bureau.
He loosened his tie and walked over
to the window; from there he could see
down into the courtyard where his dog was
tied, in the rain, to a tall hedge.
He kept his back to the room:
a silver probang lay on a black cushion;
a jar of tongue depressors; various calipers;
an old-looking telephone
with what looked to be white icing on the mouthpiece.
Montgomery tapped the ash off his cigar.
He cleared his throat and spoke: "No.
I said I saw a pile of hurdles
behind the meat plant." The nurse
held her clipboard defensively.
She nodded. She wrote: "Is
quite handsome. Is in need of a bath."
PERSONAL HELP LIBRARY
Smoke rises from a tray and fills the green lampshade.
All of the books between bookends lean on each other
with an equal weight tonight, I'd say, and not a single
car or person goes by on the wet street. A typed note
here on my desk reads, "Don't lose your temper. Don't
hit the horse with the hammer." Even the single spider,
descending now on his thread from the ceiling, holds
a thought like a drop of serum . . . piece of mail
unopened. My chair has wheels and I love that. From one
window to the other. It is June. It is perhaps a drop
of serum only, that he carries, and his thread makes him
the happiest of all insects.
Frankly I have my doubts about tomorrow,
but they all have to do with my height and my hamstrings.
I have grown here in this room
and cannot get out, cannot get now
into the sun or the hedges -- which brings me to a question
for the spider: Spider, what are you up to? And: Take me to
your maker. His answer is recorded in his delicate
ascension. It is a jaw made of iron, trimmed with chrome.
HAND POLISHED
"You were at that round table in the sun,
why did you move?
I said why'd you move,
you were at that nice table, in the sun?
You were just at that table ---
I said why'd you move dammit you were in the sun?"
The old man says nothing.
The waitress begins choking him.
The table is shaking. The waitress
has reached across the table to throttle
the old man, which causes to topple
a salt shaker from the table.
"You were just at that table -- "
The old man is sheet-white.
Each of his hans is like a big clay hand
beside its spoon, beside its fork and knife.
I gather up my stuff
and go over and sit down at the round table.
It's very bright.
I remove my sweater, my eyes
closed, and flap blackly over apple country.