ARCHAIC TORSO OF APOLLO

We cannot know his legendary head

with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso

is still suffused with brilliance from inside,

like a lamp, in wich his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise

the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could

a smile run through the placid hips and thighs

to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced

beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders

and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur;

would not, from all the borders of itself,

burst like a star; for here there is no place

that does not see you. You must change your life.

Rainer Maria Rilke

1875-1926

translated from the German by Stephen Mitchell

Bold italics in the last line are mine.

Archaïscher Torso Apollos

Wir kannten nicht sein unerhörtes Haupt,

darin die Augenäpfel reiften. Aber

sein Torso glüht noch wie ein Kandelaber,

in dem sein Schauen, nur zurückgeschraubt,

sich hält und glänzt. Sonst könnte nicht der Bug

der Brust dich blenden, und im leisen Drehen

der Lenden könnte nicht ein Lächeln gehen

zu jener Mitte, die die Zeugung trug.

Sonst stünde dieser Stein entstellt und kurz

unter der Schultern durchsichtigem Sturz

und flimmerte nicht so wie Raubtierfelle

und bräche nicht aus allen seinen Rändern

aus wie ein Stern: denn da ist keine Stelle,

die dich nicht sieht. Du mußt dein Leben ändern.

A CHORUS

Elizabeth Jennings

Over the surging tides and the mountain kingdoms,

Over the pastoral valleys and the meadows,

Over the cities with their factory darkness,

Over the lands where peace is still a power,

Over all these and all this planet carries

A power broods, invisible monarch, a stranger

To some, but by many trusted. Man's a believer

Until corrupted. This huge trusted power

Is spirit. He moves in the muscle of the world,

In continual creation. He burns the tides, he shines

From the matchless skies. He is the day's surrender.

Recognize him in the eye of the angry tiger,

In the sign of a child stepping at last into sleep,

In whatever touches, graces and confesses,

In hopes fulfilled or forgotten, in promises

Kept, in the resignation of old men -

This spirit, this power, this holder together of space

Is about, is aware, is working in your breathing.

But most he is the need that shows in hunger

And in the tears shed in the lonely fastness.

And in sorrow after anger. 

Elizabeth Jennings

1926-2001

STILL I RISE

Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history 

With your bitter, twisted lies, 

You may trod me in the very dirt 

But still, like dust, I'll rise. 

Does my sassiness upset you? 

Why are you beset with gloom? 

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells 

Pumping in my living room. 

Just like moons and like suns, 

With the certainty of tides, 

Just like hopes springing high, 

Still I'll rise. 

Did you want to see me broken? 

Bowed head and lowered eyes? 

Shoulders falling down like teardrops. 

Weakened by my soulful cries. 

Does my haughtiness offend you? 

Don't you take it awful hard 

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines 

Diggin' in my own back yard. 

You may shoot me with your words, 

You may cut me with your eyes, 

You may kill me with your hatefulness, 

But still, like air, I'll rise. 

Does my sexiness upset you? 

Does it come as a surprise 

That I dance like I've got diamonds 

At the meeting of my thighs? 

Out of the huts of history's shame 

I rise 

Up from a past that's rooted in pain 

I rise 

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, 

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. 

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear 

I rise 

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear 

I rise 

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, 

I am the dream and the hope of the slave. 

I rise 

I rise 

I rise.

Maya Angelou

born on the 4th April 1928

MONEY

Royal Bank Building, Toronto, Canada

courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I was led into captivity by the bitch business

Not in love but in what seemed a physical necessity

And now i cannot even watch the spring

The itch for subsistence having become responsibility.

Money the she-devil comes to us under many veils

Tactful at first, calling herself beauty

Tear away this disguise, she proposes paternal solicitude

Assuming the dishonest face of duty.

Suddenly you are in bed with a screeching tear-sheet

This is money at last without her night-dress

Clutching you against her fallen udders and sharp bones

In an unscrupulous and deserved embrace.

C.H. Sisson

1914-2003

SPRING from The Life of Love

Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its
Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.
Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw
Inspiration high above the cool green plains.


Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
the Night of Kedre.


The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like
Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of
Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.


Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter's
Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits
With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.


Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.


Khalil Gibran
1883-1931


translated by Anthony Rizcallah Ferris

NOT LOVE PERHAPS

This is not Love perhaps - Love that lays down
Its life, that many waters cannot quench, nor the floods drown -
But something written in lighter ink, said in a lower tone;
Something perhaps especially your own;
A need at times to be together and talk -
And then the finding we can walk
More firmly through dark narrow places
And meet more easily nightmare faces;
A need to reach out sometimes hand to hand -
And then find Earth less like an alien land;
A need for alliance to defeat
The whisperers at the corner of the street;
A need for inns on roads, islands in seas, halts for discoveries to be shared,
Maps checked and notes compared;
A need at times of each for each
Direct as the need of throat and tongue for speech.

A.S.J. Tessimond
1902-1962

TO HELL WITH COMMONSENSE

More kicks than pence

We get from commonsense

Above its door is writ

All hope abandon. It

Is a bank will refuse a post

Dated cheque of the Holy Ghost.

Therefore I say to hell

With all reasonable

Poems in particular

We want no secular

Wisdom plodded together

By concerned fools. Gather

No moss you rolling stones

Nothing thought out atones

For no flight

In the light.

Let them wear out nerve and bone

Those who would have it that way

But in the end nothing that they

Have achieved will be in the shake up

In the final Wake Up

And I have a feeling

That through the hole in reason’s ceiling

We can fly to knowledge

Without ever going to college.

Patrick Kavanagh

1905-1967

Patrick Kavanagh did not go to college. He was born in the parish of Inniskeen, attended Kednaminsha National School till the age of 12, and carried on his father's trade of cobbler and small farmer on the "stony grey soil of Monaghan". At the age of 35 he left for Dublin ("the worst mistake I made in my life") where he published a long poem, "The Great Hunger", about Ireland and the harsh realities of peasant life ("locked in a stable with pigs and cows forever"), a poem that was subversive enough to gain him the attention of the police. In 1953 he developed lung cancer, but lived for another 14 years. He was awarded a pension once he was declared incurable ("like a prize each year until I die"). He married Katharine Moloney in the year of his death.