Elegy Poems
Duino Elegies: The First Elegy
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
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An Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog
by Oliver Goldsmith
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran—
Whene'er he went to pray.
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O Captain! My Captain!
by Walt Whitman
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10
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Elegy X
by Rainer Maria Rilke
That some day, emerging at last from the terrifying vision
I may burst into jubilant praise to assenting angels!
That of the clear-struck keys of the heart not one may fail
to sound because of a loose, doubtful or broken string!
That my streaming countenance may make me more resplendent
That my humble weeping change into blossoms.
Oh, how will you then, nights of suffering, be remembered
with love. Why did I not kneel more fervently, disconsolate
sisters, more bendingly kneel to receive you, more loosely
surrender myself to your loosened hair? We, squanderers of
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Elegy Xix: To His Mistress Going To Bed
by John Donne
Come, madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labor, I in labor lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now it is bed time.
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We Dead
by Joe Cyr
(epanalepsis)
We Dead are amassed in a vortex of Hate:
Enshrined underneath Towers of Light are we dead;
Collected from the Pentagon walls were we dead;
Scorched fields mark more sacrifices by we dead;
Joined by bomb targets in Israel are we dead;
Souls from West Bank reprisals merge with we dead;
Victims of terrorism and revenge are we dead;
......
Release
by Joe Cyr
(double inverted nonet)
see
the clouds
without form
all wander free
Heaven must be thus
looking over our world
waxing and waning at will
......
Agnes M. and May
by Joe Cyr
(elegy)
Prologue
In a small New England town, in a Church cemetery
at edge of a family plot with room scarce to bury,
stand twin stones to Agnes M. 1887 – 1897,
and to May, who in chiseled 1901 birth year also entered Heaven.
Missing burial records for these two is a local mystery,
As to why memorials appeared many years later, we are not yet privy.
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Blank - Shot
by Divyosmi Goswami
Have you lost your way
Trodding across the fumes of frost?
Or it is fashion to arrive unannounced,
From across the foggy horizon.
But now that you have arrived,
Take refuge behind that lone palm tree.
And look on at the person,
Fluttering like a fish out of pond at the corner.
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English Translations of Uyghur Poems by Michael R. Burch
by Michael R. Burch
These are modern English translations of Uyghur poems by Michael R. Burch, an American translator, editor and publisher of Holocaust and Nakba poetry.
Perhat Tursun (1969-) is one of the foremost living Uyghur language poets, if he is still alive. Tursun has been described as a "self-professed Kafka character" and that comes through splendidly in poems of his like "Elegy." Unfortunately, Tursun has been "disappeared" into a despicable Chinese "reeducation" concentration camp where extreme psychological torture is the norm. According to a disturbing report he was later "hospitalized."
Elegy
by Perhat Tursun
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
"Your soul is the entire world."
— Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
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