Long Southward Poems
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KING ALFRED THE GREAT MODERN ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS
King Alfred the Great (c. 849-899), arguably the first great king of England, may have done more to lay the groundwork for English literacy and literature than any other English monarch. And he was quite the scholar himself, although there is no consensus that the following translations were primarily Alfred’s work. He could have done the translations himself; he could have overseen the work; or he may have commissioned the translations. No one really knows.
Alfred the Great undertook to translate “the most needful works for all men to know.” He wanted to succeed “both in war and in wisdom.” Alfred has also been credited with helping to develop a new English prose style.
The Meters of Boethius: Prelude or Verse Preface
attributed to King Alfred the Great, circa 880 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Thus begin the tales King Alfred taught us.
The great West Saxon ruler, in his cunning,
Understood the art of all songmen,
Revealed his great skill as a poet.
Keenly he longed for Saxons to craft such songs,
To make men merry with manifold amusements,
To ward away world-weariness with pleasing poems.
Alfred loved poetry for its art and power,
Longed for it to free men from both boredom and pride.
But the arrogant man, in his self-importance,
Pays little heed to wise words. Still I must speak,
Begin my singing, weave tales well-known
For attentive mortals. Hear me, if you will.
Boethius Lay I: The Goths
from King Alfred the Great's Meters of Boethius, circa 880 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Long ago the Goths left Scythia,
swarms of shieldmen streaming from the east,
two savage tribes tramping southward,
both growing in greatness year by year.
Under the rule of two remarkable kings,
Raedgod and Aleric, their people prospered.
Many Goths made it across the Alps,
intent on conquest, raging with war-lust.
Braying brazen battle-boasts, eager to attack
the awaiting Romans, their armor flashing,
stout shieldmen descended, waving war-banners
and slashing swords.
They intended to overrun Italy...
Keywords/Tags: Alfred the Great, Old English, Anglo-Saxon English, Boethius Translations, West Saxon, poet, poetry, art, power, pride, wise, wisdom, king, kings, leadership, war, battle, England, literature, words
It is very impressive to go westward
in an early morning of midwinter,
because you will see a full moon
that you have forgotten for a while
in the middle of the western sky.
[The westward moon is, perhaps,
the one that Li T’ai-Po
who was bewitched by
and delighted by a moon so much
chanted poems in praise of the moon
throughout his life,
after breaking a thick frozen ice on the lake,
scooped an August full moon
that is not sunken but still floating
on the surface of water,
and pasted it to the wintry sky.]
Although the air in my car is still cold as ice,
and roadside snow is being melted from salt spray
and messy, covered with splashes of dirty water,
the moon, like a virgin still chaste,
[By manmade machine and men,
the moon, though, lost her virginity long ago,]
looks immaculate and gorgeous as ever.
For the moon
riding high in the western sky
enjoying the honor and admiration that is entitled
only to virgin girls
though she lost it long ago,
the north wind,
because of her envy toward the moon,
was wandering in the frozen waste
pleasure driving a sheer-white chariot
brings a violent snowstorm,
and heartlessly shakes the moon
that barely hangs on the midwinter’s western sky
to fall.
After so much abuse,
kicks, stamps, smacks, and blows of violent wind
that of more than she can bear
the frightened moon flees to south, then to east
with her paled and waning face,
and finally disappears somewhere
where no one will able to find her.
Total darkness covers the earth,
overwhelms to deny everything.
At the edge of this darkness
a somewhat eerie looking hunchbacked creature
[Although he was much intelligent,
yet tenderhearted, a man more sensitive
than the worldly-minded ordinary persons,]
comes and searches for the disappeared moon,
and when he finds
a segment of a shattered piece of moon on the earth,
he embraces it in his bosom with tears of joy,
and falls to the ground with his last breath.
And as a hunchback perishes
a young man with more holes
than the shattered pieces of fallen moon in his rungs,
who always whispered sadly to the waning moon
while leaning against a southward window frame,
comes and carries the hunchback’s remains hurriedly
in the cart to an eastern gateway, with gasping,
to the place where the full moon dwells, with panting.
TRAUMA BAY
Of true evil, I’d had barely a peek
But this day would be an education
A full immersion in the fetid reek
The foul depths of his soul’s violation.
Indescribable draining sensation,
It leveled its shoulder, knocked out my wind
Stop spinning room, dig deep, began again.
Although miles away we were from the crime
We felt the direct impact on our hearts
His trigger pulls pierced many souls each time,
Bodies punctured, shrouded, lives torn in parts.
Shock waves broke spirits, families apart.
It was his ghoulish realm made manifest,
Backwards kingdom of delusion, unrest.
CHAOS
United by our common urgency
The fair-skinned devil in our own backyard
Morphed into citywide emergency
A distress call radiated outward
The nation slowly turned its eyes southward
Our easiest, natural reaction
Find the inner sword, and gird for action
JANE 1
A loving deed, rare and touching to all
Warm, kindly neighbor from across the street
Taking her friend, the senator to call
Sweetness like yours, I would cherish to meet
Just not with your blood pouring on my feet.
Half whisper, half gasp, you told me your name
“Ma'am, we’ll take good care of you.” Heart aflame.
JANE 2
A still form on the gurney, lying there
Soul dangling on the thinnest thread of life
Crusted crimson stain in her ruffled hair
The same height, same build, same age as my wife
Eviscerate me, invisible knife
CAT scan on the screen revealed the damage
Twisted anatomy, bullet ravaged
HEROISM
Between heroism and everyday strides
A simple matter that we were prepared
The gulf, in reality, not so wide
The tools and skills we wielded, not so rare,
A thousand heroes happened to be there.
Yet together we formed a solid wall
Resolute warriors answered the call
But of heroism, one thing we did learn
Between appearance and reality
The public laurels that a few did earn
Oft unaligned with actuality
How image misconstrues causality
Media promulgated story lines
Have so many false agendas behind
The convenient plot lines of journalists
Tales of what has supposedly been
So little to do with real turns and twists
Tangential resemblance to the blue screen
The actual truth of all I have seen
Yet all the falsehood cannot steal the pride
The fated day's true heroes hold inside
4/5/16
Well, here we were, me, Ernie, and Snowy on this new train,
Both of them were still inside my jacket and sound asleep.
I knew now that mice snored, could feel a strange vibration,
It came and went with a little wheezing sound under my ribs.
I sat there quietly and wondered now about our direction,
Figured it was most likely either west, south, or southwest.
Traveling any further east we would be heading for Europe,
I grinned as I imagined, that would be Captain Nemo style.
At 15 I could hold my breath for two swimming pool lengths,
Knew I'd need a submarine though for that big Atlantic pond.
Then I saw a sign along the highway that read, Mount Vernon,
We were passing near George Washington's home I thought.
I was in awe at that moment of the father of our country,
Would have stopped in respect but had no brake controls.
At least I knew now that we were rolling southward bound,
Later, saw some kids playing near the tracks at Jersey City.
Ernie and Snowy didn't wake up until we hit Philadelphia,
I told Ernie we were entering the city of brotherly love.
Ernie yawned and said, you mean the bulls there like us?
Well, not exactly Ernie I said, they're not our brothers.
Robert, you told me everyone are our brothers and sisters.
Yeah Ernie I said, but sometimes big brothers beat you up.
Robert, think we might meet some brothers here who love us?
I doubt it Ernie, not unless we go downtown into the city.
As we pulled into that Phillie train yard Ernie gave a sigh,
Robert, can't we sneak into the city tonight for a while?
Then Snowy chimed in and said Ernie, I'm afraid to do that,
Don't worry Snowy he said, brother Robert will protect us.
Will you Snowy said to me with those deep pink eyes of hers.
Now wait a minute you two, I said, I haven't said okay yet.
Oh please Robert, Ernie said, I want to go find a brother,
I know there have to be more like you who love us out there.
Ernie, people don't just love you simply because you exist,
You have to go out among them and show you deserve it.
They both sat there blinking up at me with curious eyes,
Okay okay we'll go downtown but don't say I didn't warn you.
(to be continued)
© Copyright 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
I left my hometown and didn't much look back,
headed southward bound in my Cowboy Cadillac,
arrived at this store to grab me some snacks,
Yea, they're right about this town, of how it really attracks,
Yea, here in the town called Nashville, where the Grand Ole Opry's on TV,
They say it's the real deal, where upcoming singers need to be,
but I don't do much singing, 'cause the hound dogs howl at me,
though I sure hope it's worth bringing, my songs, for some to see,
I've got them on the internet, downloading them is free,
I haven't had any right connections yet, but I'm hoping patiently,
gonna find me country singer, try to pitch them a dog gone hit,
like pitching a horseshoe ringer, you know you just can't quit,
Yea, here in the town of Nashville, where the Grand Ole Opry's on TV,
they say it's the real deal, where even writers need to be,
no, I don't do much singing, 'cause the hound dogs howl at me,
but I sure hope it's well worth bringing, my songs, for some to see,
Yea, here in the town of Nashville, where the Grand Ole Opry's on TV,
they say it's the real deal, where upcoming singers hope patiently,
Got some songs to pitch the singers, like me, they just can't quit,
like making a horseshoe ringer, knowing one of them could hit,
I've got them at Poetry Soup, where printing them is free,
log on in, enjoy the view, it's finger friendly as can be,
become a welcomed member, without any sort of fee,
no matter what's your gender, or your nationality,
Yea, here in the town of Nashville, where the Grand Ole Opry's on TV,
they say it's the real deal, where upcoming singers need to be,
Gonna find me a country singer, try to pitch them a dog gone hit,
like throwing a horseshoe ringer, knowing you just can't quit,
Yea, I left my hometown and didn't much look back,
headed southward bound in my Cowboy Cadillac,
arrived at this store to grab me some snacks,
Yea, they're right about this town, of how it really attracks.
The mission had been a close run thing
The Japanese had thrown up quite a sting
They had sent up their fighter planes
And the anti-aircraft fire like leaden rain
The other aircraft in Bombing Six
Had been carved up in the attacking mix
And his Dauntless was damaged in the sweep
With his gunner killed with the anti-aircraft fire greet
So he left the Japanese carrier group of ships
But his luck might have meant he was down on chips
As his compass and radio had been smashed in the fight
And he would need to guess his direction of his homeward flight
He had enough fuel if his luck would hold
And he did not have to fly a plan too bold
The wonder of it all in the end may be
That his plane did not end up in the sea
Then out the corner of his eye
He saw another plane which was a PBY
The black cat waggled its wings a bit
And it's pilot wanted him to follow not quit
The hours went and the pilot worried the fuel wouldn't last
But he followed the PBY determined for this chance to grasp
Until just as the night was about to fall
He saw the wake of his carrier in a close call
He landed on the deck of the carrier then
It had been a frightening flight to spend
As he pulled himself out of the cockpit he looked to the sky
But after scanning the horizon round he didn't see the PBY
He walked into the pilot's ready room
Happy to be back in the gathering gloom
He wanted to thank the PBY's crew
So he submitted a report to his captain through
The report went to the PBY base
And the commander checked his records to place
The PBY plane but he found it had crashed and burned
When the Japanese attacked in their southward turn
As the Second World War went on the PBY
Turned up to guide lost pilots in the sky
It seemed the PBY crew didn't want their war to end
So they did their best saving Allied pilots in the war to contend.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Famed gold crepuscular rays angling down
Knifing in between, through volcanic haze
Hualalai and Mauna Loa’s crowns
Fire Goddess Pele greets fresh island day
Fuchsia blooms explode, steal attention
Pollens mingle on zephyr coastal breeze
Hallowed entry, this tropic dimension
Surf thunder backdrop, soundtrack of the sea
Running shoes crunching the roadside lava
Kaleidoscopic blooms, soon to transmute
Mango, papaya, lilikoi, guava
Untended harvest of paradise fruit
Slow tempo set to the island perfume
Soul dances in the fragrant sensation
Unbridled speed would be this journey’s doom
Not to give in to the exultation
Entering town, the cast of characters
Pungent whiffs of spoiled fish atop stale rice
Green Shangri-La’s dingy inheritors
Tropical Bukowski's frayed paradise
Amphetamine native, drawn skin and bones
Wincing eyes, loose grasp, cigarette homespun
Tribal markings long burnt, faded blue tones
Completed journey, dark side of the sun
Manicured denizens clutter the way
Fair guests at the Royal Lik’a’Heini
Young surf seekers grimace to greet the day
Pakalolo Hostel, skunk-and-briny
Volta at the pier, Triathlon’s temple
Hallowed asphalt, footfalls of history
World’s smartest man living life so simple
Broom pushing, tune whistling, smiling at me
I should run faster; it's Ali’i Drive
Temple of Ironman’s Marathon pride
Vainglorious dreams have boiled alive
Burgeoning pace, a seaside suicide
Fair breeze has halted, sharp rays now reigning
Blanket of torpor fights progress forward
Through fragrant pillow, all fight is draining
A ballistic migraine arcing southward
Demons exorcised, sultry purgation,
Epic journey ends in clear sacred brine
Feet dive in wet sand, a bless’t sensation
Gaia’s ocean of sweat swallowing mine
4/28/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
Pellucid pearls in northeastern North America
since planetary birth
Comprise Lakes Superior, Michigan, Huron,
Erie, and Ontario dearth
Largest group of freshwater lakes on Earth
Straddle Canadian–United States border
tethering partial global girth
Constituting 21% of world's surface
fresh water species hearth
Total surface equals 94,250 square miles
And total volume equals
5,439 cubic miles immeasurable worth.
Lake Erie from Erie tribe, abridged form
of Iroquoian word erielhonan “long tail”
Lake Huron named by French explorers
for Wyandot or “Hurons” whence they did sail
Lake Michigan likely from Ojibwa word mishigami
“great water” aka outsize gold quail
Lake Ontario i.e. “Lake of Shining Waters”
shimmering like hammered coat of mail
Lake Superior coined from French
“lac supérieur” "upper lake", an emerald watery dale
Ojibwe people called it gitchigumi medicinal
to cure that, which might ail.
These five lakes each reside in separate basin
Form a single, naturally interconnected body
of fresh water caisson
Linking east-central interior of North America
to Atlantic Ocean akin to an escutcheon.
From interior to outlet at St. Lawrence River,
Water flows via Superior to Michigan-Huron
southward to Erie to avoid a shiver
Finally released northward to Lake Ontario
as like a well taut archer with his quiver.
The lakes drain a large watershed via many rivers
as an Olympic team
Populated with approximately 35,000 islands
this estimate not x stream.
The Great Lakes region contains
many thousands of smaller lakes,
Often called inland lakes undulating
in cascading analogous to a fluid ream
Lake Michigan the only one located
entirely within United States
While the others border between
United States and Canada – essentially a liquid seam.
Autumn, like an Indian classical dancer, dressed up
Arrives with soft rhymes and quickening steps
She comes aglow, aglow with a rare beauty
Dancing to the anklet’s tinkling song
Her floating robe falls in deep folds around her feet
As she mesmerizes all with her moves full of grace
Viewing the flaming colors in assorted display
We are apt to wonder if Nature carefully saved up
All that is best for the closing grand finale
Autumn tints look enchanting all through the land
With pervading green, offset by crimson, citrus yellow
Flaming red, lustrous gold and a faded russet
The air stays crisp and sweet in the ripening fields
While stray clouds ramble in a flawless turquoise sky
When autumn is thus all agog like a frenzied dervish
It gives us morbid pictures of death and decay
The trees wrestle to free themselves of their worn cloaks
Causing a cascade of withering autumn leaves
Now they fall scattered in endless stream and lie in piles
Like charred carcasses after a fierce forest fire
The rustle of dry leaves blown by the wind
Falls in our ears with the gabble of migrating birds
Pale sunshine sifts through leafless trees of maple and oak
All those leaves once stayed regal in stations high
Now tossed out like worthless chaff
They come nose- diving and fall several meters below
Spreading a hazel curtain over the moist earthen crust
When trampled mercilessly by careless feet
They silently mourn their thankless fate
Graying that comes at the end of each autumnal fall
Reminds us of the pall of gloom that awaits
It is disturbing like the parting song of birds
As they fly southward before the onset of winter
June.15.2022
Poetry Marathon Mile.2.Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mark Tony
Originally posted in Sep.2021
"See of Ghosts"
ghosts never leave
they watch you
while you sleep
casting dreams
of their return
they wait for you
to see
ghosts never leave
whispering their
absent stories
into your delta heart
constant in deep shadows
along the undulating waves
the rocky path to them, you walk
ghosts never leave
whispering their
gracious dreams
in you they live
through all your worst
war-walled nightmares
ghosts never leave
they set their intent
in all your torrid storms
to reach you, a compass set
before you, in all your southward stories
closer north than the distant pall
ghosts never leave
you hear them
in the undertow,
their wishful tone
of eternal wanting,
peace, and love
you hear
underneath the
incessant chatter
the white noise
of who is right
and who knows best
you listen to your heart, alone,
you hear,
a ghost
and its
constant call
ghosts never leave
they watch you
while you sleep
casting dreams
of their return
they wait for you
to wake,
to see
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Easter Sunday, Sydney, Australia
Home
gvlm
“Faith requires following the power of a whisper”
pall
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/pall
communion.
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/communion_1007994
The Lord's Prayer - in Aramaic + English Translation - https://youtu.be/KdXFIYug9HE
(The Lord's Prayer - in Aramaic + English Translation to be
played simultaneously with primary video (set on loop) -
285Hz + 432Hz + 639Hz - Physical Healing + Aura Cleanse + Open Heart Chakra - Through the Mist (II) -
https://youtu.be/KdXFIYug9HE)