Long Doe Poems
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SIR THOMAS WYATT TRANSLATIONS 1
Whoso List to Hunt ("Whoever Longs to Hunt")
by Sir Thomas Wyatt
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Whoever longs to hunt, I know the deer;
but as for me, alas!, I may no more.
This vain pursuit has left me so bone-sore
I'm one of those who falters, at the rear.
Yet friend, how can I draw my anguished mind
away from the doe?
Thus, as she flees before
me, fainting I follow.
I must leave off, therefore,
since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Whoever seeks her out,
I relieve of any doubt,
that he, like me, must spend his time in vain.
For graven with diamonds, set in letters plain,
these words appear, her fair neck ringed about:
Touch me not, for Caesar's I am,
And wild to hold, though I seem tame.
***
My lute and I
by Sir Thomas Wyatt, circa early 16th century
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
At most mischief
I suffer grief
Without relief
Since I have none;
My lute and I
Continually
Shall both apply
To sigh and moan.
Nought may prevail
To weep or wail;
Pity doth fail
In you, alas!
Mourning or moan,
Complaint, or none,
It is all one,
As in this case.
For cruelty,
Most that can be,
Hath sovereignty
Within your heart;
Which maketh bare
All my welfare:
Nought do you care
How sore I smart.
No tiger's heart
Is so perverse
Without desert
To wreak his ire;
And me? You kill
For my goodwill;
Lo, how I spill
For my desire!
There is no love
Your heart to move,
And I can prove
No other way;
Therefore I must
Restrain my lust,
Banish my trust
And wealth away.
Thus in mischief
I suffer grief,
Without relief
Since I have none,
My lute and I
Continually
Shall both apply
To sigh and moan.
Keywords/Tags: Wyatt, translation, hunt, deer, doe, pursuit, net, wind, lute, grief, heart, love, desire, poets, poetry, poems, writing, heartbreak
It is a tale known throughout the ages
Of how a hunter ventured into the woods
In search of a doe.
And not just any doe,
But rather the most beautiful,
Wild,
And graceful of them all.
A doe that strutted across the evergreen
on slender legs that held her frame
as whistling winds converged on the scene.
The hunter squatted,
Scouted,
Waited,
Scaling the woods for the scrapes and rubs
And when he discovered the bedding
And caught the first sight of her
Upon the mound,
The hunter reached to aim his gun
But found himself enamored,
Spellbound.
That trophy hunter,
Stalker,
deer murderer,
Felt his chest heave and from his forehead
Escaped the sweat
Of a man who found love at first sight.
For she was such marvel to behold
He feared that his bodily scent
would alert her sensitive nose,
That she would bound away
Far, far away as if on magical toes.
He held his breath
For all the years he hunted
None more elegant existed
in his wildlife land of does
Seven hours of terror, seven hours of pain,
I’m Jane Doe.
Seven hours stolen, then they called it a mistake again,
I’m Jane Doe.
They wrote an essay, they said they were sorry,
I’m Jane Doe.
As if a page of words could bury a woman's story,
I’m Jane Doe.
A paragraph for violence, a sentence for regret,
I’m Jane Doe.
A future for the guilty, a lifetime to forget,
I’m Jane Doe.
How cheap is justice when ink can buy release?
I’m Jane Doe.
How small must a woman's suffering be to purchase peace?
I’m Jane Doe.
They ask us why we stayed, why we did not run,
I’m Jane Doe.
But never ask the hands that held us what they had done,
I’m Jane Doe.
Seven hours. Say it slowly. Let it live inside your head,
I’m Jane Doe.
Seven hours of a life that cannot be undone or unsaid,
I’m Jane Doe.
And still the system finds a softer word for crime,
I’m Jane Doe.
An essay, an apology, and suddenly they get their time,
I’m Jane Doe.
No sentence for the terror. No justice for the scars,
I’m Jane Doe.
Just doors that close on women while they open for men with power,
I’m Jane Doe.
So do not call this justice. Do not dress it up as law,
I’m Jane Doe.
A system that forgives the cruel has shown us what it saw,
I’m Jane Doe.
So sisters, stop waiting for the hands that never came,
I’m Jane Doe.
Stop begging broken systems to remember your name,
I’m Jane Doe.
If law will not protect us, then we protect our own,
I’m Jane Doe.
If justice will not hear us, we will make our voices known,
I’m Jane Doe.
Let every frightened daughter learn she does not stand alone,
I’m Jane Doe.
Let every silenced woman turn her fury into stone,
I’m Jane Doe.
We are not your silence. We are not your shame,
I’m Jane Doe.
You gave us your injustice. We will give it back its name,
I’m Jane Doe.
You thought seven hours would leave us weak and small,
I’m Jane Doe.
You forgot what happens when the silenced finally call,
I’m Jane Doe.
We will not wait for mercy. We will not beg for rights,
I’m Jane Doe.
We will rise for every woman who was left alone that night,
I’m Jane Doe.
Poor Jane Doe lies on a slab
When they found her she looked drab
Worn-out clothes and no I.D.
No purse, no money, no front-door key
Surely someone wonders where she's at?
Even if it’s just her cat
Her red hair matted to her head
When found, the pavement was her bed
Her eyes were closed, though eggshell blue
Heel all worn down on one shoe
Caesarean scar and bladder full
Long hairline fracture in her skull
Injury caused by blunt force
Inflictor will feel no remorse
Spleen is split almost in half
Purple bruises on each calf
Dental records will soon show
The true identity of Jane Doe
Man gets phone call and starts to cry
“Please can you identify,
A lady that may be your wife”
His heart is breaking, she was his life.
The mortician pulled back the curtain
Before he saw her, he was certain
He held his breath, pulled back the sheet
His heart sank, it was Marguerite
He saw the label on her toe
It said two simple words ‘Jane Doe'
How much doe could a dodo blow if a dodo could blow dodo doe?
A dodo would blow as much doe as a dodo could blow dodo doe....
How could you know what a dodo would blow
when no dodos go blow doe though?
Dodos don't know dodo doe
so dodos don't go blow no doe.
How can a dodo go blow doe
when the dodo don't know dodo doe?
If knowing of the dodo doe
a dodo might blow all the doe,
a dodo might not blow it though,
no one knows there's no dodos,
what's dodo doe?
We don't know,
but we know what we know,
and we know we don't know,
so,
we don't know what dodos blow
when dodo doe is there to blow,
no one knows what
dodos blow
but dodos blow
what dodos blow
when dodos blow
their dodo doe.
The dodos will only blow what they know
and they don't know of dodo doe,
so dodos do not blow dodo doe.
John Doe
Buried 1913 (estimated age 35)
When Death opened its revolving door,
And pulled my screaming soul in,
I found out the truth.
So, here it is fellow citizens of Whittier town,
Both known and unknown,
From John Doe,
Stabbed to death one moonless night,
Over a poker game gone wrong,
That nameless rotting corpse
You found floating that long-ago day,
In the deep river by Pio Pico.
I found out
There is no ending.
The story never ceases to be.
Time and your soul continue on.
Here, where I am now,
On this side of the grave,
The book that you are reading,
Does not have a final page.
The song that you are hearing,
Does not stop playing.
The journey that you are taking,
Will never reach its ultimate destination.
If you throw a stone into the well,
It will never hit bottom.
I found out
This is the way of all striving flesh,
When your number is solemnly called…
…Timeless eternity……….
Permit me now to say a definitive goodbye,
On behalf of all these forlorn dead,
Who now lie reposed as bones and dust,
Interred snugly and deeply,
Very deeply,
Under these lapping walnut trees,
Here in old Mt. Olive Cemetery.
Does anyone remember us?
Remember our names and addresses?
Our appearances and voices?
Of course not.
Sleep everyone.
Sleep deeply
Very deeply, and dream
Of being remembered again.
.
The Sonnet of Jane Doe
Jane Doe, number one four two.
What is your name, what did you do?
Were you a sister a banker or whore?
We want to know what you did before.
Were you a daughter, mother, or aunt?
Without your name we just can’t,
find your family, parents, or home,
and you will lay here dead and alone.
We want to find the ones you did love,
so they can know you’re in heaven above.
You were a person not just a thing,
what is your name so your loved ones can sing.
Jane Doe, number one four two.
What was your name, what did you do?
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
Apropos of John H. Doe
A name we all know
Just like Uncle Sam
~ He too’s on the lam
____________________
'Critics Corner'
(A random sample of published reviews):
"Subtly implicative, bigly"
~ Barron and Donald J. Trump, in unison
"Emasculatory Triumph!!"
~ 'Fannie Femdom'
"Lumpen Proletariat Barfola"
~ Karl and Groucho Marx
"Aso. Learry Derightfur Liting:"
~ Shohei Ohtani, (through an interpreter)
"Yes, it IS poetry. So that means it's, well, a poem, written -- by a poet."
~ Kamala Harris, responding to a hardball question from Oprah W.
"I fell asleep reading this... twice."
~ Joseph Robinette Biden
A Doe and Her Fawn
On wobbly legs, the fawn staggers behind the doe,
Who pauses to let the newborn catch up.
The fawn appears to be just a few hours old,
As revealed by its arduous locomotion
And the white, freckled spots on its back
Melded into its butterscotch-coloured fur coat.
The fawn’s softly adoring, oversized eyes
Plead for nourishment,
And the whitetail deer doe (patient, as mothers go)
Licks her offspring, bonding and cleaning,
As it instinctively nudges her teats with its nose
To stimulate her mammary glands.
The fawn suckles the mother’s milk,
Which provides it with the nutrients to grow.
The doe stares at me without fear
And lets the fawn satiate its hunger.
Its little head bobbing and its tail flagging
As its craving is abated and its appetite satisfied;
It is contented and ready to continue its journey
In the ways of nature and survival.
The doe slowly moves on as the fawn struggles
(Those steps must seem an eternity to complete,
Requiring a great magnitude of expendable energy),
Which the doe senses, and so she lies down,
And the fawn, from on its four legs, plops down
Beside her for a much-needed rest.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
HERE LIES A SIMPLE MAN
EVERYONE SHUN HIM
NO ONE LOVED HIM
Alone Homeless Man
Only His Bones Lies Here
SPIRIT~ ~SOUL~GONE
JOHN DOE
? - February 29 2018
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
9/25/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.