Best Mnemosyne Poems
1.
Uninvited you come, oh Erato*, you muse of poetry, the
Majority of the times,
Knocking at my soul’s door at any given moment
Insisting on letting you in, your message to deliver
Disregarding at what state my soul is and if she could
With your request, comply
2.
Oh, Muse of poetry, when with my soul’s inspiration
You are flirting all the time
Whispering in her ears words of wisdom, coming
From your divine essence
My soul, mesmerized, tries the words of wisdom,
Lingering in her depths, again to remember**
3.
A difficult task it is; indeed, I admit,
For the language of heavens that my soul, once
Knew very well, now she has forgotten**
Because of her association with her mortal body
For that reason, oh divine muse,
Be patient with her and give her just
A little more time
4.
The time that my soul needs, divine muse, to learn
Or rather to remember
How to talk and to express herself in writing the way
You would like:
In accordance with the universe’s harmony and
Its eternal laws
5.
When this blessed hour comes, my soul able
Would be, poems to compose
But
Her writings, her creations, and her poetic epics,
The work of you would be, oh muse,
No credit would, my soul, claim
For
She knows very well that only an instrument she is,
Oh muse, into your godly embrace,
Just to be used according to your desire
Because only you, oh muse of poetry, know
How
The universe’s poetic language should be used
And how, in verse, it has to be
Delivered!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 SEPTEMBER 2014
* Erato, one of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (memory ).
She is the Muse of lyric poetry, love poetry, and marriage songs.
** Socrates, Greek philosopher 469-399, believed that the soul knows the truth but because of her association with the body, after her incarnation, she forgets therefore what we call learning is, in reality, a process of remembering as it is indicated also by the name of Erato’s mother, Mnemosyne, (memory).
A poet should always follow Erato’s instructions that come in the form of inspiration, in order to reach the desired result. This is because Erato’s knowledge is unadulterated for it is divine!
What memories lay in days gone by?
We learn from the past, how, when, why
In order to benefit from ‘then’…
We must record it with paper and pen.
History books store events of the past
Always looking back, their stories will last
But what of the present, when you look back?
What do your personal memories lack?
I can only recall a few fragments
I’ve missed so many important events
My sister recalls most of her childhood
I’d recollect mine, if only I could…
Alas, I have such a bad memory,
I think Mnemosyne has forgotten me!
These Four Muses Sing
These four
Muses simply pour
Epic words poets eat
great writes can't be beat
Calliope sent charm and wit
those favored she made it fit
Euterpe gave imagination as a boon
graced with wisdom from brighten moon
Erato sprinkled poet dust on her few
beautiful rhyme is all they now ever do
Polyhymnia awarded shining poetic worded love
made it fit so very well, just like a boxer's glove
Four Muses gracing dear poet's Hearts and Souls
raising man's poetic art by setting ever loftier goals
When poetic words rapidly flow into your sore aching head
think not of yourself but rather of these four great Muses instead
Robert J. Lindley, 07-27-2014
note:
Of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne who inspired
artists and musicians.
Four of the daughters: Calliope, Euterpe, Erato
and Polyhymnia were specifically responsible for
inspiring poets!!
Sonnet VII – Invoking The Muses
I call the daughters of Mnemosyne:
Sweet Erato, your kithara solo -
Dearest Euterpe, your aulos blow -
So my words won’t die in ignominy.
Inspire me with words of wit and charms,
That playfully dance like leaves on the streams.
Send them from above, like silver moonbeams,
To embrace my love with gossamer arms.
Like Icarus, I want to reach so high,
But I’m a simple man with simple rhymes
Who wants to enchant, inspire and amuse –
Hoping my loved one will longingly sigh,
And offer her heart to me for all time –
Which is why I’m invoking the Muses!
Hippocrene (hip'?-kren‘) is a fountain on Mount Helicon, Greece, sacred to the Muses and
regarded as a source of poetic inspiration.
Mnemosyne (nemoz'ini) is a titan who is the personification of remembrance. She is the
mother of the nine muses: “All nine muses have a science or an art to protect. Cleo
protects the stories of heroes, Urania astronomy, Calliope elegies, Melpomene the
tragedies, Euterpe flute playing, Erato love poems, Tepsicore choir lyrics, Thalia the
comedies and Polyhymnia dance and music.”
“The Muses love to sing and dance. They are superior in musical competitions and any one
who dares to challenge them will always fall short, just as those who question their
importance.”
In a dream I drink from fount Hippocrene
The daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne
Encompass me while I quench. Nine muses
Guarding their arts from human abuses.
I'm not here to challenge or to question;
Nor I seek material possessions.
My presence among you in this dreamy
State is caused by my love of poetry.
And you, Erato, muse of all love poems
I'm a sleepy poet asleep at home.
It's known by few you sing beautifully.
Would all you muses’ sing a song for me?
My thirst is quenched from draft of drinking cup.
Please! Please sing for me before I wake up.
Coleridge once wrote of the Khan’s pleasure dome
Where Mnemosyne, the mother of muses did roam
And her daughter, Caliope, was the muse of epic poetry
Gave rise to Orpheus, who joined Jason on his odyssey
His love, Eurydice was killed while dancing to his tune
A beautiful nymph, the daughter of Apollo, died to soon
Tragedy and comedy underlie classic Greek Mythology
And while ancient in deed, is the basis of psychology
Thus when the creativity springs from my inner mind
I recognize my source of beauty, the special muse behind
Humble poet, graced by a lovely and elegant guiding sprite
A heavenly creature that slips into my dreams in the night
In deed and thought she shines golden light on Earth
Like the starry celestial orb guiding lost sailors to the North
Perhaps she is unaware of her power, unaware of her love
But all I can say is that she is my muse, shinning from above
Fair Angels of Parnassus, Muses Nine,
That on its snowy summit gay recline
With other gods, are haply the cynosure
Of poets whom inspires your sacred ewer,
O'erflow'd with the ambrosial Hippocrene,
The haunt of daughters of Mnemosyne,
And Father Jove who loves these nymphets most,
And of that gelid crest th’ immortal host.
Apollo, son of Jove, gives company
To your glad song of heaven’s euphony;
There to his lyre flourish unfetter'd throats
That bear the truest art through truest notes.
When sing ye graceful goddesses amidst
The brood of Saturn’s mighty son in feasts,
May gladden the heart of children of the plain
As well who in summer nights hearken you fain.
I heard that music mild betwixt the glades,
‘Twixt valleys old till with the breeze it fades,
Amongst the rustling youthful Aspen leaves,
From bough to bough its tender beauty weaves.
On warbler’s throat ye happy strains do pour,
Above the groves as o’er the mountain soar
They with their pinions unweary and suave,
Dispenser of all art ye fain observe.
4th April, 2017
SILENCE
Articulations bound by another’s place.
Maw silenced, no expressions from this face.
Inarticulate, the lingna moves not for Beauty.
Vocal cords caught, a voice sought.
Yet no lyrical, poetic vibrations projected.
Pinna, tympanic membrane never again to be affected?
Silences, preponderates the roar between a reality and memory.
Mnemosyne, perched on high, tells the story.
Mneme gives insight, with insight, no glory.
For all, fear, fear it has come to an end.
No longer a supposition ?, a bestfriend?
To hold out for a touch, may prove too much.
Auricle, not the Oracle, to believe.
The heart blinds, it doth deceive.
Love ?, did the soul ever receive?
It flounders at the bottom of boundless seas.
B. J. "A" 2
August 15th 2011
O Mnemosyne repugn thy persistent nilling
Shield not thine fenestella from my tarantistic spirit so earnestly
yearning
Lift thy scialytic veil and evince those furibund relics from Lethe's depths.
Memories of mother's soft serene womb
Now to me doth arise
Relics once lost to this humble gerontion
Now arise--feeling the sublime comfort
The caring and secure feeling--weightlessness,
Floating in mother's secure inner chamber
Occlude not this noetic myrmidon
Jape not and render a nisis with alacrity genteel.
O Mnemosyne jounce and
Dive through the seiche of Lethe repugning.
Anon, bathe me in myriad visions revealing.
Now is revealed the conception.
What a most magnificent memory!
A silent beautiful explosion of myriad colors
Streaming to and fro rapidly and slowly all
At once--awe upon delightful awe
Vocabulary:
Mnemosyne-Gr. Myth-the goddess of memory; repugn-to oppose/resist; nill-v.t. arch.-to be
unwilling; fenestella-a small window opening in an altar allowing relics within to be
seen; tarantism-nervous disorder characterized by mania for dancing and music;
scialytic-adj.-dispersing or dispelling shadows; evince- to show in a clear manner/to
manifest; furibund-adj.-rare-filled with or marked by rage or frenzy; Lethe-Gr/Roman
Myth-river of forgetfullness; gerontion-Gr.- old man; occlude-v. to shut out/obstruct;
noetic-Gr. Phil.-adj.-of or pertaining to intellectual or rational activity; myrmidon-
loyal follower; jape-v.-to jest/jeer/mock; nisis-n.pl.Latin-exercise of power in acting
or attempting/an endeavor; jounce-v.t. & v.i.-to shake or move roughly up and down/jolt;
seiche-n.-rhythmic occilation of water above and below the mean level of lakes
Go to "Gallery 4" at: http://groups.msn.com/hart2/shoebox.msnw for more poetry by Mr.
David Hart
I had a heart,
that now has gone from me
Into a world,
and across a sea.
A newborn heart,
who slept upon my breast
As unpracticed breath
pulsed his tiny chest
I had a heart which,
too briefly I called mine
And now am left heart-begging:
Please, Mnemosyne!
I had a father’s heart,
that filled to see him so
And stopped, and burst, and died
to see him go.
Drowsy vertigo thoughts losing their substance
in the spirals of deafening maelstrom black waters,
my letters—my ruins—my Sodom
becoming the cries that
never reach bottom—
—never reach bottom—
never reach bottom—
now becoming both absence and presence,
lurking among their ashen, disintegrating essence.
The stubborn nails doomed in this sinking box
restoring their vileness, those rotten thoughts
somehow find themselves looking up—
looking up—
looking up—
dizzily, dismally, dishearten by the luminance
never again to be reached—
absence and presence and eminence
engulfed.
In time,
Mnemosyne alone
witnesses the damned
parts of me
die.
The Gods above are
playing a vicious trick by
only giving me
big sips to drink from
Mnemosyne instead of
few drops of Lethe.
Standing on a cliff, it feels as if you are a cloud, high above the world.
Lush forests can be seen, full of every creature and plant.
Rivers flow, winding through the valleys, bringing life in the form of water.
Vast fields lay in the open air, covering both hills and plains.
The sheer beauty of it all is captivating, drawing you in.
The only thing better than the sights are the sounds.
Crickets play their sweet melodies, as if inspired by the muses themselves.
The constant rushing of the water soothes the soul.
The wind rustling through the grass is peaceful beyond measure.
This is the world you escape to, the one you wish never to leave behind.
Standing there, you can all but hear the lovely harmonies of the muses,
Those beautiful daughters of Jupiter and Mnemosyne.
Little can bring more joy than the pleasant music they inspire;
Song and verse, hymn and rhyme, all bring pleasure to the ears and to the heart.
The tranquility of music out in the open is the best thing known to man.
"There was a clear pool with water like silver
where mountain goats never resorted
nor shepherds drove their flocks." *
By the crystal pool a mild flower grew
(mild flower)
(wild flower)
And near this bloom a golden butterfly flew
(touched then flew)
(touched then flew)
My eye at depth perceived a shaft of radiant sun go down
(go down)
(go down)
As if there were no alga'd floor no ivory gate no door
(no gate)
(no door)
I heard the voice of Mnemosyne say along her vaulted way
("Flower)
(Silent flower")
* Bullfinch - Mythology
Many a man may muse…
Like lust for Mnemosyne and Zeus’s daughters…
To specify the significance,
Nay the beauty of ONLY one,
Would set the hearts of the rest to slaughter…
No way could I praise the inspiration of a single muse,
When so many have touched my heart,
My mind,
My soul,
Not one could I lose…
To freely speak upon the abundance of each,
Would surely last the length,
Of the ocean’s break on the Pacific beach…
I have been lifted by the love of many a man, woman, and child…
I have been inspired by the anger, hate, and chaos wild…
The sanity lost by him on the edge…
The genius of she who wove beautiful understanding,
Of life’s intricate web…
My muse is the loss of understanding…
The greed of the demanding…
The gleam in the eyes of success…
The scattered clothes used as a bed on the floor…
The frantic fear of time no more…
My children,
My wife,
The world as a whole…
The whole of my life…