|Best Poems About / On ELEGY
The foul stench of burning flesh permeates the air,
Rotten, putrefying bodies lie in the baking sun,
Bright crimson death everywhere,
Frightened masses on the run
Wide-eyed terror on the prowl,
Africa rent asunder,
Can be seen Deaths scowl,
Sheer madness in Rwanda
Frenzied killing unabated,
A fevered orgy of blood,
Hate and bloodlust not sated,
A vile and incessant flood
Machetes a-glint in the firelight,
Dark night knows no end,
Rampant death beneath stars bright,
The victims souls ascend
Sculpted in lifeless repose,
Torn bodies and silent screams,
The legion of dead in abject throes,
Naught can ever the killers redeem
And, where must be asked, was the World?
When they were needed the most,
Why were their actions not most bold?
Why was saving lives not topmost?
And today, the land lies sullied in shame,
The rabid killers remain unbowed,
The dark pall of hate still silently aflame,
And beyond, a menacing cloud
But perhaps, as if from the ashes of the dead,
Rwanda can rise once more,
To assuage the blood, terror and dread,
And embrace Peace forevermore!
Read more poems from Ross DixPeek >>>
An Elegy On The Death Of Soad Hosni
by Ghazi Al-Gosaibi
Translated by Saleh Badrah
Dusk was strangling the city,
Slaying the soul of chilly, sad London,
Staining its buildings with sighs,
Killing all whom he saw along the road.
I feared he would visit my window
And extend his black nail
Into my eyes, stealing their blackness;
Extend his black fang
Into my chest and wrench my heart.
I spotted the crowd of admirers in the street;
The street erupted with cheers:
Soad! O Soad!
You! O woman with perfect features!
Dusk advanced swiftly like a fearful thief
And London gleamed
Like a wedding night.
I look from my little window:
I am the princess!
I scatter roses at the huge crowds;
My hair flirts with the clouds
And stars twinkle in my hair.
Sing to us O princess!
I sing... and the tune circulates in the breeze;
My old tune
- Abdel Halim! -
We desire a dance,
I dance like a young butterfly,
I fasten the admirers in my hair,
Listen to their cheers:
Come closer, O perfect one!
Come closer, your old admirers
Wish to see you near,
Wish to embrace their precious sweetheart.
The cheers rise.
I'm here my dear fans,
I've come back to you, a young star,
Your old dazzling darling.
Dusk was unashamed
As he killed the princess.
(London - June 2001)
Translated 22 June 2008
Translation Copyright © Saleh Badrah
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Der Einfall, Remaining Light In Duino
[Beginning with two lines from Duino Elegies by Rainer Maria Rilke]
'You that fall with the
thud only fruits know, unripe, '
here wait to be shaken.
Here we carry, or ought to (driven so much past
bitter root) , sugar,
not for selves but for the gods to sweeten their too
(at least they have tongues/mouths,
we know they have teeth)
to open them into our subjectivity which, secret told, is
what they crave, our realist sufferings, such are sweet
to them, makes them, too, more solid -
what they seek - solidity beyond our capacities to reify
but for Imagination which conducts/births them into material
Our extreme suffering compensates for, gravitates their
too refined coldness toward heat.
They, like scattered flour, having no leaven,
dream/desire us-the-leaven; they seek/swell
into what we have, what we bring, we, the most baked,
to be torn into, eaten, too, for yearning gods' sake.
They come/fall compelled to colors, palettes, ours, upon
worn pallets, these acrobats, as yet enfleshed lovers in
not yet felt world and literal sense, they
do balance, risk, stumble, break, stutter/cry, utter
such further dimension into
desire's bodies, breath, ashes,
importantly, always just arriving
forgetting the arguing seed's
previous vertical discontent.
Such skies already known
limb by limb escape
slowly their shaping.
They suspend, extend then
into their felt fall,
hard land into waking.
What uses for tears there
are gather there from
the eye, pour upon the
cheek from which miscreant
tongues may most drink.
Think again upon these things which go about
in darkness and stumble against us begging no
pardon, intent still on passage, confused for words
or Ibn Arabi's 'Black Light' no light at all, or
thing, but a gnossis found, or given.
Gnossis, most striven for, in minutest motes, is.
All this to say, Ready.
further beyond (yet into)
unsaid street corner,
into inarticulate cathedral,
into unutterable mosque,
into wholly other loci
dependent upon uninhabited
blue field, crust, what
passes for, or has, Light,
just overtones 'beyond the fiddle.'
Now here must stop
in what is remaining light to cook
must bend to the purple cabbage at hand,
the courage of the knife
the helpful drive of hunger,
marvel yet again, it's faceted pattern when
halved, same as the onion, the leek
Such facets in me too reveal when
I dare to be loved in two
**The quote in the poem is from the Duino Elegies
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Again Endorsing the Lady
Horace: Book II, Elegy 2
"Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto--"
I was free. I thought that I had entered
Love's Antarctic Zone.
"A truce to sentiment," I said. "My nights
shall be my own."
But Love had double-crossed me. How can
Beauty be so fair?
The grace of her, the face of her--and oh,
her yellow hair!
And oh, the wondrous walk of her! So doth
a goddess glide.
Jove's sister--ay, or Pallas--hath no statelier
Fair as Iscomache herself, the Lapithanian
Or Brimo where at Mercury's side her virgin
form she laid.
Surrender now, ye goddesses whom erst the
Upon the heights of Ida lay your vestitures
And though she reach the countless years of
the Cumζan Sibyl,
May never, never Age at those delightful
Franklin P. Adams
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