ENGLISH 4 - POETRY COLLECTION #1



ENGLISH 4 - POETRY COLLECTION #1

POEM #1 [RUSSIA]

The Bridegroom Alexander Pushkin (translated by D.M. Thomas) [1825]

|For three days Natasha |‘He bows to no one, |Bridegroom |‘And with them is a girl, |

|The merchant’s daughter, |He lives like a lord |‘Friends, why is my fair bride |Pure and beautiful. |

|Was missing. The third night, |With no debts nor worries; |Sad, why is she not |They’ve taken no notice |

|She ran in, distraught. |He’s rich and he’s generous, |Feasting and serving?’ |Of the ikons, they sit |

|Her father and mother |Says he will give his bride, | |To the table without |

|Plied her with questions. |On their wedding-day, |The bride answers the groom: |Praying or taking off |

|She did not hear them, |A fox-fur coat, a pearl, |‘I will tell you why |Their hats. At the head, |

|She could hardly breathe. |Gold rings, brocaded dresses. |As best I can. My soul |The eldest brother, |

| | |Knows no rest, day and night | |

|Stricken with foreboding |‘Yesterday, out driving, |I weep; an evil dream |At his right, the youngest; |

|They pleaded, got angry, |He saw your Natasha; |Oppresses me.’ Her father |At his left, the girl. |

|But still she was silent; |Shall we shake hands |Says: ‘My dear child, tell us |Shouts, laughs, drunken clamour …’ |

|At last they gave up. |And get her to church?’ |What your dream is.’ | |

|Natasha’s cheeks regained |The woman starts to eat | |Bridegroom |

|Their rosy color, |A pie, and talks in riddles, |‘I dreamed,’ she says, ‘that I |‘That betokens merriment.’ |

|And cheerfully again |While the poor girl |Went into a forest, | |

|She sat with her sisters. |Does not know where to look. |It was late and dark; |Bride |

| | |The moon was faintly |‘Wait, sir, I’ve not finished. |

|Once at the shingle-gate |‘Agreed,’ says her father; |Shining behind a cloud; |The drunken din goes on |

|She sat with her friends |‘Go in happiness |I strayed from the path; |And grows louder still. |

|-And a swift troika |To the altar, Natasha; |Nothing stirred except |Only the girl is sad. |

|Flashed by before them; |It’s dull for you here; |The tops of the pine-trees. | |

|A handsome young man |A swallow should not spend | |‘She sits silent; neither |

|Stood driving the horses; |All its time singing, |‘And suddenly, as if |Eating nor drinking; |

|Snow and mud went flying, |It’s time for you to build |I was awake, I saw |But sheds tears in plenty; |

|Splashing the girls. |A nest for your children.’ |A hut. I approach the hut |The eldest brother |

| | |And knock at the door |Takes his knife and, whistling, |

|He gazed as he flew past, |Natasha leaned against |-Silence. A prayer on my lips |Sharpens it; seizing her by |

|And Natasha gazed. |The wall and tried |I open the door and enter. |The hair he kills her |

|He flew on. Natasha froze. |To speak – but found herself |A candle burns. All |And cuts off her right hand.’ |

|Headlong she ran home. |Sobbing; she was shuddering |Is silver and gold.’ | |

|‘It was he! It was he!’ |And laughing. The matchmaker | |‘Why,’ says the groom, ‘this |

|She cried. ‘I know it!’ |Poured out a cup of water, |Bridegroom |Is nonsense! Believe me, |

|I recognized him! Papa, |Gave her some to drink, |‘What is bad about that? |My love, your dream is not evil.’ |

|Mama, save me from him!’ |Splashed some in her face. |It promises wealth.’ |She looks him in the eyes. |

| | | |‘And from whose hand |

|Full of grief and fear, |Her parents are distressed. |Bride |Does this ring come?’ |

|They shake their heads, sighing. |Then Natasha recovered, |‘Wait, sir, I’ve not finished. |The bride said. The whole throng |

|Her father says: ‘My child, |And calmly she said: |Silently I gazed |Rose in the silence. |

|Tell me everything. |‘Your will be done. Call |On the silver and gold, | |

|If someone has harmed you, |My bridegroom to the feast, |The cloths, the rugs, the silks |With a clatter the ring |

|Tell us … even a hint.’ |Bake loaves for the whole world, |From Novgorod, and I |Falls, and rolls along |

|She weeps again and |Brew sweet mead and call |Was lost in wonder. |The floor. The groom blanches, |

|Her lips remain sealed. |The law to the feast.’ |Then I heard a shout |Trembles. Confusion … |

| | |And a clatter of hoofs … |‘Seize him!’ the law commands. |

|The next morning, the old |‘Of course, Natasha, angel! |Someone has driven up |He’s bound, judged, put to death. |

|Matchmaking woman |You know we’d give our lives |To the porch. Quickly |Natasha is famous! |

|Unexpectedly calls and |To make you happy!’ |I slammed the door and hid |Our song at an end. |

|Sings the girl’s praises; |They bake and they brew; |Behind the stove. Now | |

|Says to the father; ‘You |The worthy guests come, |I hear many voices … | |

|Have the goods and I |The bride is led to the feast, |Twelve young men come in, | |

|A buyer for them: |Her maids sing and weep; | | |

|A handsome young man. |Then horses and a sledge | | |

| | | | |

| |With the groom – and all sit. | | |

| |The glasses ring and clatter, | | |

| |The toasting-cup is passed | | |

| |From hand to hand in tumult, | | |

| |The guests are drunk. | | |

POEM #2 [SPAIN]

The Guitar

By Federico Garcia Lorca (translated by Elizabeth du Gue Trapier)

The weeping of the guitar

begins.

The goblets of dawn

are smashed.

The weeping of the guitar

begins.

Useless

to silence it.

Impossible

to silence it.

It weeps monotonously

as water weeps

as the wind weeps

over snowfields.

Impossible

to silence it.

It weeps for distant

things.

Hot southern sands

yearning for white camellias.

Weeps arrow without target

evening without morning

and the first dead bird

on the branch.

Oh, guitar!

Heart mortally wounded

by five swords.

POEM #3 [U.S.]

The Fish

By Elizabeth Bishop

|I caught a tremendous fish |I looked into his eyes |

|and held him beside the boat |which were far larger than mine |

|half out of water, with my hook |but shallower, and yellowed, |

|fast in a corner of his mouth. |the irises backed and packed |

|He didn't fight. |with tarnished tinfoil |

|He hadn't fought at all. |seen through the lenses |

|He hung a grunting weight, |of old scratched isinglass. |

|battered and venerable |They shifted a little, but not |

|and homely. Here and there |to return my stare. |

|his brown skin hung in strips |--It was more like the tipping |

|like ancient wallpaper, |of an object toward the light. |

|and its pattern of darker brown |I admired his sullen face, |

|was like wallpaper: |the mechanism of his jaw, |

|shapes like full-blown roses |and then I saw |

|stained and lost through age. |that from his lower lip |

|He was speckled and barnacles, |--if you could call it a lip |

|fine rosettes of lime, |grim, wet, and weaponlike, |

|and infested |hung five old pieces of fish-line, |

|with tiny white sea-lice, |or four and a wire leader |

|and underneath two or three |with the swivel still attached, |

|rags of green weed hung down. |with all their five big hooks |

|While his gills were breathing in |grown firmly in his mouth. |

|the terrible oxygen |A green line, frayed at the end |

|--the frightening gills, |where he broke it, two heavier lines, |

|fresh and crisp with blood, |and a fine black thread |

|that can cut so badly-- |still crimped from the strain and snap |

|I thought of the coarse white flesh |when it broke and he got away. |

|packed in like feathers, |Like medals with their ribbons |

|the big bones and the little bones, |frayed and wavering, |

|the dramatic reds and blacks |a five-haired beard of wisdom |

|of his shiny entrails, |trailing from his aching jaw. |

|and the pink swim-bladder |I stared and stared |

|like a big peony. |and victory filled up |

| |the little rented boat, |

| |from the pool of bilge |

| |where oil had spread a rainbow |

| |around the rusted engine |

| |to the bailer rusted orange, |

| |the sun-cracked thwarts, |

| |the oarlocks on their strings, |

| |the gunnels--until everything |

| |was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! |

| |And I let the fish go. |

POEM #4 [INDIA / ENGLAND]

Danny Deever

By Rudyard Kipling

"What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade.

"To turn you out, to turn you out", the Colour-Sergeant said.

"What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade.

"I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch", the Colour-Sergeant said.

For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,

The regiment's in 'ollow square -- they're hangin' him to-day;

They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away,

An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

"What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said Files-on-Parade.

"It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold", the Colour-Sergeant said.

"What makes that front-rank man fall down?" said Files-on-Parade.

"A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun", the Colour-Sergeant said.

They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round,

They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground;

An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' hound --

O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'!

" 'is cot was right-'and cot to mine", said Files-on-Parade.

"'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night", the Colour-Sergeant said.

"I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times", said Files-on-Parade.

"'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone", the Colour-Sergeant said.

They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark 'im to 'is place,

For 'e shot a comrade sleepin' -- you must look 'im in the face;

Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's disgrace,

While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

"What's that so black agin' the sun?" said Files-on-Parade.

"It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life", the Colour-Sergeant said.

"What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files-on-Parade.

"It's Danny's soul that's passin' now", the Colour-Sergeant said.

For they're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play,

The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away;

Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer to-day,

After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

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