Oasis

Oasis by Michael R. Burch for Beth I want tears to form again in the shriveled glands of these eyes dried all these long years by too much heated knowing. I want tears to course down these parched cheeks, to star these cracked lips like an improbable dew in the heart of a desert. I want words to burble up like happiness, like the thought of love, like the overwhelming, shimmering thought of you to a nomad who has only known drought. ### fog by Michael R. Burch ur just a bit of fluff drifting out over the ocean, unleashing an atom of rain, causing a minor commotion, for which u expect awesome GODS to pay u SUPREME DEVOTION! ... but ur just a smidgen of mist unlikely to be missed ... where did u get the notion? ### brrExit by Michael R. Burch what would u give to simply not exist— for a painless exit? he asked himself, uncertain. then from behind the hospital room curtain a patient screamed— "my life!" ### I Have a Yong Suster (Anonymous Medieval English Riddle-Poem, circa 1430) translation by Michael R. Burch I have a yong suster // I have a young sister Fer biyonde the see; // Far beyond the sea; Manye be the druries // Many are the keepsakes That she sente me. // That she sent me. She sente me the cherye // She sent me the cherry Withouten any stoon, // Without any stone; And so she dide the dove // And also the dove Withouten any boon. // Without any bone. She sente me the brere // She sent me the briar Withouten any rinde; // Without any skin; She bad me love my lemman // She bade me love my lover Withoute longinge. // Without longing. How sholde any cherye // How should any cherry Be withoute stoon? // Be without a stone? And how sholde any dove // And how should any dove Be withoute boon? // Be without a bone? How sholde any brere // How should any briar Be withoute rinde? // Be without a skin? How sholde I love my lemman // And how should I love my lover Withoute longinge? // Without longing? Whan the cherye was a flowr, // When the cherry was a flower, Thanne hadde it no stoon; // Then it had no stone; Whan the dove was an ey, // When the dove was an egg, Thanne hadde it no boon. // Then it had no bone. Whan the brere was unbred, // When the briar was unborn, Thanne hadde it no rinde; // Then it had no skin; Whan the maiden hath that she loveth, // And when a maiden has her mate, She is withoute longinge. // She is without longing! That is a wickedly funny ending! ### ### Spring by Charles d'Orleans (c.1394-1465) loose translation/modernization by Michael R. Burch Young lovers, greeting the spring fling themselves downhill, making cobblestones ring with their wild leaps and arcs, like ecstatic sparks struck from coal. What is their brazen goal? They grab at whatever passes, so we can only hazard guesses. But they rear like prancing steeds raked by brilliant spurs of need, Young lovers. ### Oft in My Thought by Charles d'Orleans (c.1394-1465) loose translation/modernization by Michael R. Burch So often in my busy mind I sought, Around the advent of the fledgling year, For something pretty that I really ought To give my lady dear; But that sweet thought's been wrested from me, clear, Since death, alas, has sealed her under clay And robbed the world of all that's precious here? God keep her soul, I can no better say. For me to keep my manner and my thought Acceptable, as suits my age's hour? While proving that I never once forgot Her worth? It tests my power! I serve her now with masses and with prayer; For it would be a shame for me to stray Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near— God keep her soul, I can no better say. Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost And the cost of everything became so dear; Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host, Take my good deeds, as many as there are, And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere, As heaven's truest maid! And may I say: Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer— God keep her soul, I can no better say. When I praise her, or hear her praises raised, I recall how recently she brought me pleasure; Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay And makes me wish to dress for my own bier— God keep her soul, I can no better say. ### Confession of a Stolen Kiss by Charles d'Orleans (c.1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you, That at a window (you know how) I stole a kiss of great sweetness, Which was done out of avidness— But it is done, not undone, now. My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you. But I shall restore it, doubtless, Again, if it may be that I know how; And thus to God I make a vow, And always I ask forgiveness. My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you. Translator note: By "ghostly father" I take Charles d'Orleans to be confessing to a priest. If so, it's ironic that the kiss was "stolen" at a window and the confession is being made at the window of a confession booth. But it also seems possible that Charles could be confessing to his human father, murdered in his youth and now a ghost. ### Rondel: Your Smiling Mouth by Charles d'Orleans (c.1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms' twin chains, Your hands so smooth, each finger straight and plain, Your little feet—please, what more can I say? It is my fetish when you're far away To muse on these and thus to soothe my pain— Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms' twin chains. So would I beg you, if I only may, To see such sights as I before have seen, Because my fetish pleases me. Obscene? I'll be obsessed until my dying day By your sweet smiling mouth and eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms' twin chains!