Written by
Delmira Agustini |
SpanishFuera, la noche en veste de tragedia sollozaComo una enorme viuda pegada a mis cristales.
Mi cuarto:…Por un bello milagro de la luz y del fuegoMi cuarto es una gruta de oro y gemas raras:Tiene un musgo tan suave, tan hondo de tapices,Y es tan vívida y cálida, tan dulce que me creoDentro de un corazón… Mi lecho que está en blanco es blanco y vaporosoComo flor de inocencia,Como espuma de vicio! Esta noche hace insomnio;Hay noches negras, negras, que llevan en la frenteUna rosa de sol…En estas noches negras y claras no se duerme.
Y yo te amo, Invierno!Yo te imagino viejo,Yo te imagino sabio,Con un divino cuerpo de marmól palpitanteQue arrastra como un manto regio el peso del Tiempo…Invierno, yo te amo y soy la primavera…Yo sonroso, tú nievas:Tú porque todo sabes,Yo porque todo sueño… …Amémonos por eso!… Sobre mi lecho en blanco,Tan blanco y vaporoso como flor de inocencia,Como espuma de vicio,Invierno, Invierno, Invierno,Caigamos en un ramo de rosas y de lirios! English Outside the night, dressed in tragedy, sighsLike an enormous widow fastened to my windowpane.
My room…By a wondrous miracle of light and fireMy room is a grotto of gold and precious gems:With a moss so smooth, so deep its tapestries,And it is vivid and hot, so sweet I believeI am inside a heart… My bed there in white, is white and vaporousLike a flower of innocence.
Like the froth of vice! This night brings insomnia;There are black nights, black, which bring forthOne rose of sun…On these black and clear nights I do not sleep.
And I love you, Winter!I imagine you are old,I imagine you are wise,With a divine body of beating marbleWhich drags the weight of Time like a regal cloak…Winter, I love you and I am the spring…I blush, you snow:Because you know it all,Because I dream it all… We love each other like this!… On my bed all in white,So white and vaporous like the flower of innocence,Like the froth of vice,Winter, Winter, Winter,We fall in a cluster of roses and lilies!
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Written by
Elinor Wylie |
She has danced for leagues and leagues,
Over thorns and thistles,
Prancing to a tune of Griegg's
Performed on willow whistles.
Antelopes behold her, dazed,
Velvet-eyed, and furry;
Polar flowers, crackle-glazed,
Snap beneath her hurry.
In a wig of copper wire,
A gown of scalloped gauzes,
She capers like a flame of fire
Over Arctic mosses.
All her tears have turned to birds,
All her thoughts of dolour
Paint the snow with scarlet words
And traceries of colour.
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Written by
Barry Tebb |
THE WALK TO THE PARADISE GARDENS
1
Bonfire Night beckoned us to the bridge
By Saint Hilda’s where we started down
Knostrop to chump but I trailed behind
With Margaret when it was late September
The song of summer ceased and fires in
Blackleaded grates began and we were
Hidden from the others by the bridge’s span.
2
When you bent I saw the buds of your breasts
As you meant and I laughed at your craft when
You blushed and denied and finally cried
But there was a smile in your eyes.
3
It was the season of yo-yo’s in yellow or
Pink or pillar-box red and you spooled out
The thread as only you could and it dipped
And rose like a dancer.
4
The paddock by the tusky sheds was cropped
And polished by the horses’ hooves, their
Nostrils flared and they bared their teeth
As we passed and tossed their manes as we
Shied from the rusty fence where peg-legged
We jumped the cracks and pulled away each
Dandelion head, “Pee-the-bed! Pee-the bed!”
Rubbing the yellow dust into each other’s
Cheeks and chins as we kissed.
5
The bluebells had died and on the other side
The nettle beds were filled with broken branches
White as bone, clouds were tags of wool, the
Night sky magenta sands with bands of gold
And bright stars beckoned and burned like
Ragged robins in a ditch and rich magnolias
In East End Park.
6
I am alone in the dark
Remembering Bonfire Night
Of nineteen-fifty four
When it was early dusk
Your hair was gold
As angels’ wings.
7
From the binyard in the backstreet we brought
The dry stored branches, broken staves under
The taunting stars and we have never left
That night or that place on the Hollows
The fire we built has never gone out and
The light in your eyes is bright:
We took the road by the river with a star
Map and dream sacks on our backs.
8
The Hollows stretched into darkness
The fire burned in the frost, sparks
Crackled and jumped and floated
Stars into the invisible night and
The log glowed red and the fire we
Fed has never died.
9
The catherine-wheel pinned to the palings
Hissed and spun as we ran passed the railings
Rattling our sticks until the stars had beat retreat.
10
From the night comes a figure
Into the firelight: Margaret Gardiner
My first, my only love, the violet pools
Of your eyes, your voice still calling,
“I am here, I am waiting.
”
11
Where the road turns
Past St Hilda’s
Down Knostrop
By the Black Road
By the Red Road
Interminable blue
And I remember you,
Margaret, in your
Mauve blazer standing
By the river, your
Worn-out flower patterned
Frock and black
Laceless runners
12
Into the brewer’s yard
Stumbled the drayhorses
Armoured in leather
And clashing brass
Strident as Belshazzar’s
Feast, rich as yeast
On Auntie Nellie’s
Baking board, barrels
Banked on barrels
From the cooper’s yard.
13
Margaret, are you listening?
Are your eyes still distant
And dreaming? Can you hear
My voice in Eden?
My poems are all for you
The one who never knew
Silent and most generous
Muse, eternal primavera
Under the streetlamps
Of Leeds Nine.
14
Margaret, hold my hand
As we set out into the
Land of summers lost
A day-time ghost surrenders
At the top of the steps
To the Aire where we
Looked over the Hollows
Misted with memory and
Images of summer.
We are standing on the corner of Falmouth Place
We are standing by the steps to the Aire
We are standing outside the Maypole
Falling into Eden.
15
Falling into Eden is just a beginning
Hoardings on the gable ends for household
Soap, washing is out on the lines
Falmouth Street full of children playing,
Patrick Keown, Keith Ibbotson, the Flaherty
Twins spilling over the pavements, holding
A skipping rope, whirling and twirling;
Margaret you never missed a turn
While I could never make one, out before I began.
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Written by
John Milton |
III
Qual in colle aspro, al imbrunir di sera
L'avezza giovinetta pastorella
Va bagnando l'herbetta strana e bella
Che mal si spande a disusata spera
Fuor di sua natia alma primavera,
Cosi Amor meco insu la lingua snella
Desta il fior novo di strania favella,
Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera,
Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso
E'l bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno
Amor lo volse, ed io a l'altrui peso
Seppi ch' Amor cosa mai volse indarno.
Deh! foss' il mio cuor lento e'l duro seno
A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.
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