Dark and morbid poems written by foreign poets. The first pat of them. The second poet is another one of of my most favourite poems. I enjoy the first guy's as well, but you can see the different styles. Anyway, succumb to my dark and morbid mood. *grin*
DUSK
(by George Bacovia)
Like vast tears of blood
Leaves from the branches flow
And slowly the bloodied dusk
Penetrates the window.
Over the blue hills
A moon of blood rises,
The lake looks like blood,
A deeper red always.
At the window, in the sick
Dusk, a girl coughs.
And now her handkerchief
Looks like the flowing leaves.
FUNERAL MARCH
(by George Bacovia)
It was snowing richly, sadly ; it was late
When in the street at a window I was stopped
By a piano ; caught by delirium, there I wept
Bitterly the desolate wind whistled through the night.
I saw a wide, bare drawing-room through the drapes,
And at a piano, in a mourning cloak
A woman sat, dishevelled and dark,
And played sadly, moaning between the lamps.
She would insanely repeat
Chopin's lugubrious march
By the window the funeral tune
Echoed, and the wind whistled like a train's shriek.
Then a blonde girl came into the room
And almost naked she took, in her sleep,
A blackened fiddle from the piano top
And lost, accompanied the monotonous march.
Tall, dishevelled, white as ash,
She seemed a mad Ophelia... and long
Now groaned the bow drawing across the string
That terrible lugubrious funeral march.
It was delirium ; they played bitterly
The piano sadly moaned, and the violin
The candles struggled in their throes
And slowly a night of eternity spread out,
And last, I heard a body's heavy fall.
Since then, alas, the world seems more downcast
Than ever ; life is a funeral tune
And I cannot forget the insane
Fiddler, and the sad, transfigured pianist
NOCTURNE
(by George Bacovia)
I'm stuck here... and the slush drips, water, mud
To know nothing again, there'd be one method
A gas lamp's in the throes, it's there, it's not there,
An alcoholic crosses the dismal square.
Soaked in the heavy dampness the town sleeps.
Between these walls she too sleeps, perhaps,
Houses of iron in brick houses,
And the heavy doors close.
Upstairs the quiet humming of a piano;
Stuck like a gloomy sack in the clouds, my shadow
Drop spurt,
It's snowind slops,
From a window, in a vase,
A yellow rose looks down.
Down Where The Lonely Poplars Grow
Mihai Eminescu
Down where the lonely poplars grow
How often have I erred;
My steps that all the neighbours know
You only have not heard.
Towards your window lighted through
How oft my gaze has flown;
A world entire my secret knew
You only have not known.
A word, a murmur of reply
How often did I pray!
What matters then if I should die,
Enough to live that day;
To know one hour of tenderness,
One hour of lovers' night;
To hear you whisper's soft caress
One hour, then come what might!
Had you but granted me a glance
That was not filles with scorn,
Out of its shinning radiance
A new star hab been born.
You would have lived through lives untold
Beyond the ends of time;
O deity with arms so cold,
O marble form sublime!
An idol of some pagan lore
As now no more is seen,
Come down to us from times yore,
From times that long have been.
My worship was of ages gone,
Sad eyes by faith beguiled,
Each generation handed on
From father unto child.
But now I very little care
To walk along that lane,
Nor heed the face I found so fair
Looks out for me in vain;
For you are like them today
In bearing and in guise,
And I but look on your display
With cold and lifeless eyes.
You should have known to value right
With wondering intent,
And lit your candela at night
To Love that God had sent.
One Wish Alone Have I
Mihai Eminescu
One wish alone have I:
In some calm land
Beside the sea to die;
Upon its strand
That I forever sleep,
The forest near,
A heaven near,
Stretched over the peaceful deep.
No candles shine,
Nor tomb I need, instead
Let them for me a bed
Of twigs entwine.
That no one weeps my end,
Nor for me grieves,
But let the autumn lend
Tongues to the leaves,
When brooklet ripples fall
With murmuring sound,
And moon is found
Among the pine-trees tall,
While softly rings
The wind its trembling chime
And over me the lime
Its blossom flings.
As I will then no more
A wanderer be,
Let them with fondness store
My memory.
And Lucifer the while,
Above the pine.
Good comrade mine,
Will on me gently smile;
In mournful mood,
The sea sings sad refrain ...
And I be earth again
In solitude.
If you read no other poem, read this one. It is one of the most beautiful pieces of poetry I have come across, as well as a very unique display of creativity. By the way, the author lived between 1850-1889. So it's a pretty ancient poetry these last few poems.
Glossa
Mihai Eminescu
Time goes by, time comes along,
All is old and all is new;
What is right and what is wrong,
You must think and ask of you;
Have no hope and have no fear,
Waves that rise can never hold;
If they urge or if they cheer,
You remain aloof and cold.
To our sight a lot will glisten,
Many sounds will reach our ear;
Who could take the time to listen
And remember all we hear?
Keep aside from all that patter,
Seek yourself, far from the throng
When with loud and idle clatter
Time goes by, time comes along.
Nor forget the tongue of reason
Or its even scales depress
When the moment, changing season,
Wears the mask of happiness -
It is born of reason's slumber
And may last a wink as true:
For the one who knows its number
All is old and all is new.
Be as to a play, spectator,
As the world unfolds before:
You will know the heart of matter
Should they act two parts or four;
When they cry or tear asunder
From your seat enjoy along
And you'll learn from art to wonder
What is right and what is wrong.
Past and future, ever blending,
Are the twin sides of same page:
New start will begin with ending
When you know to learn from age;
All that was or be tomorrow
We have in the present, too;
But what's vain and futile sorrow
You must think and ask of you;
For the living cannot sever
From the means we've always had:
Now, as years ago, and ever,
Men are happy or are sad:
Other masks, same play repeated;
Diff'rent tongues, same words to hear;
Of your dreams so often cheated,
Have no hope and have no fear.
Hope not when the villains cluster
By success and glory drawn:
Fools with perfect lack of luster
Will outshine Hyperion!
Fear it not, they'll push each other
To reach higher in the fold,
Do not side with them as brother,
Waves that rise can never hold.
Sounds of siren songs call steady
Toward golden nets, astray;
Life attracts you into eddies
To change actors in the play;
Steal aside from crowd and bustle,
Do not look, seem not to hear
From your path, away from hustle,
If they urge or if they cheer;
If they reach for you, go faster,
Hold your tongue when slanders yell;
Your advice they cannot master,
Don't you know their measure well?
Let them talk and let them chatter,
Let all go past, young and old;
Unattached to man or matter,
You remain aloof and cold.
You remain aloof and cold
If they urge or if they cheer;
Waves that rise can never hold,
Have no hope and have no fear;
You must think and ask of you
What is right and what is wrong;
All is old and all is new,
Time goes by, time comes along.
Now I go sleep. Good night.
