My Most Popular Poems On the Internet Iii
My most popular poems on the Internet (III)
A number of my poems and translations have gone viral, according to Google, and some have been copied onto hundreds to thousands of web pages. That’s a lot of cutting and pasting! The poems below are based on the results returned by Google at the time I did the searches.
Auschwitz Rose
by Michael R. Burch
There is a Rose at Auschwitz, in the briar,
a rose like Sharon's, lovely as her name.
The world forgot her, and is not the same.
I still love her and extend this sacred fire
to keep her memory exalted flame
unmolested by the thistles and the nettles.
On Auschwitz now the reddening sunset settles!
They sleep alike?diminutive and tall,
the innocent, the "surgeons." Sleeping, all.
Red oxides of her blood, bright crimson petals,
if accidents of coloration, gall
my heart no less. Amid thick weeds and muck
there lies a rose man's crackling lightning struck:
the only Rose I ever longed to pluck.
Soon I'll bed there and bid the world "Good Luck."
Miklos Radnoti, in my opinion, was one of the greatest of the Jewish Holocaust poets. He died on a Nazi death march toward the end of World War II, and the poems below were found on his body by his wife. They were apparently written on the final days of the death march.
Postcard 1
by Miklós Radnóti
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Out of Bulgaria, the great wild roar of the artillery thunders,
resounds on the mountain ridges, rebounds, then ebbs into silence
while here men, beasts, wagons and imagination all steadily increase;
the road whinnies and bucks, neighing; the maned sky gallops;
and you are eternally with me, love, constant amid all the chaos,
glowing within my conscience?incandescent, intense.
Somewhere within me, dear, you abide forever?
still, motionless, mute, like an angel stunned to silence by death
or a beetle hiding in the heart of a rotting tree.
Postcard 2
by Miklós Radnóti
written October 6, 1944 near Crvenka, Serbia
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
A few miles away they're incinerating
the haystacks and the houses,
while squatting here on the fringe of this pleasant meadow,
the shell-shocked peasants sit quietly smoking their pipes.
Now, here, stepping into this still pond, the little shepherd girl
sets the silver water a-ripple
while, leaning over to drink, her flocculent sheep
seem to swim like drifting clouds.
Postcard 3
by Miklós Radnóti
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The oxen dribble bloody spittle;
the men pass blood in their piss.
Our stinking regiment halts, a horde of perspiring savages,
adding our aroma to death's repulsive stench.
Postcard 4
by Miklós Radnóti
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I toppled beside him?his body already taut,
tight as a string just before it snaps,
shot in the back of the head.
"This is how you’ll end too; just lie quietly here,"
I whispered to myself, patience blossoming from dread.
"Der springt noch auf," the voice above me jeered;
I could only dimly hear
through the congealing blood slowly sealing my ear.
This was his final poem, written October 31, 1944 near Szentkirályszabadja, Hungary. "Der springt noch auf" means something like "That one is still twitching."
Like Angels, Winged
by Michael R. Burch
Like angels?winged,
shimmering, misunderstood?
they flit beyond our understanding
being neither evil, nor good.
They are as they are ...
and we are their lovers, their prey;
they seek us out when the moon is full;
they dream of us by day.
Their eyes?hypnotic, alluring?
trap ours with their strange appeal
till like flame-drawn moths, we gather ...
to see, to touch, to feel.
And in their arms, enchanted,
we feel their lips, grown old,
till with their gorging kisses
we warm them, growing cold.
Pale Though Her Eyes
by Michael R. Burch
Pale though her eyes,
her lips are scarlet
from drinking of blood,
this child, this harlot
born of the night
and her heart, of darkness,
evil incarnate
to dance so reckless,
dreaming of blood,
her fangs?white?baring,
revealing her lust,
and her eyes, pale, staring ...
pretty pickle
by michael r. burch
u'd blaspheme if u could
because ur God's no good,
but of course u cant:
ur a lowly ant
(or so u were told by a Hierophant) .
escape!
by michael r. burch
for anaïs vionet
to live among the daffodil folk...
slip down the rainslickened drainpipe...
suddenly pop out
the GARGANTUAN SPOUT...
minuscule as alice, shout
yippee-yi-yee!
in wee exultant glee
to be leaving behind the
LARGE
THREE-DENALI GARAGE.
Multiplication, Tabled
by Michael R. Burch
(for the Religious Right)
"Be fruitful and multiply"—
great advice, for a fruitfly!
But for women and men,
simple Simons, say, "WHEN! "
Keywords/Tags: Michael Burch, popular, most popular, best poems, viral poems, poetry, poets, poetic expression, write, writing, epigrams, epitaph, translation, translations, quotes, Google, Internet, journals, literary journals, blogs, social media, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Yahoo, international, Holocaust, World War II
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