Poetry Blog No 129 Dylan on the Northern Line

                 DYLAN ON THE NORTHERN LINE

This poem is auto-biographical. When I was young I was inspired to try to write by reading other poets and listening to the lyrics of various song writers. In particular, early on I was thrilled by the "roll" of Dylan Thomas' language and was also interested in many of the lyrics of Bob Dylan. I was also inspired by W,B. Yeats and the songs of Paul Simon. Later on this extended to other songwriters and also Shakespeare and the Romantics. The Northern Line refers to a railway line in Sydney Australia that runs from the centre of the city to the northern suburbs like Ryde, Eastwood, Epping, Pennant Hills and so on and finally Hornsby. At the time I lived in Beecroft.

Mr Tambourine Man and A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall are, of course, two early Dylan songs.

"The first-named one" refers to Dylan Thomas - Dylan being his first name; the first, so to speak, famous Dylan and his actual name (Robert Zimmerman adopted the Dylan part of his name). None of this, however, is intended, in any way, as a slight on Bob Dylan.

"The doctor's morphine" refers to information about his death that ascribes it more to medical error than drinking (though he was a heavy drinker and this did not help his health). For more information see- http://www.theguardian.com/uk/2004/nov/27/books.booksnews

or Google death Dylan Thomas.

"The unknown millennium" - this poem was originally written just before turn of the century.  

Dylan Thomas at the BBC

DYLAN ON THE NORTHERN LINE

...though I sang in my chains like the sea.

-Dylan Thomas, Fern Hill

Now I was young and read you in the crowded trains,

down clattering tracks that racked to the city and back.

In the daily commuting I would dream of the change

(that we know never came) and I silently chanted

tambourine man and a hummed a hard rain.

But firstly, firstly it was you, the first-named one.

Your words were incantation while others read the news.

But the sewn flesh and the fire, the bold cryptic utterance,

all the colour of saying, was not mine to own

(I was awkward and lean; not golden, just green)

but the myth was enough-

and I dreamed as I passed the awakening dark

after sunset burned scrapers and streetlights and cars

needled the night. 

                             Now I'm older- the unknown millennium

is knocking on history's door. Long, long ago

you died in dark flames of depression and fame-

that doctor's morphine blotting out

all the middle-aged years and time's moderation.

But I was moderate always, except that for me,

deep in some secret heat of the heart, somewhere apart,

how I wished I could sing in my chains like the sea.

Poetry Blog No 128 Three "Time" Poems- The Wings of the Hours, The Naming of the Days, Yesterday

THREE POEMS ON "TIME" - The Wings of the Hours, The Naming of the Days, Yesterday

Time is a mysterious thing in some respects. These three short poems for younger readers are in one way or another about time. I do not believe "simpler" poems are of lesser value than more apparently complex ones. In some respects it is easier to be "deep and obscure" than to find something that works in a plainer way. The Wings of the Hours is a metaphor for the mystery of time's passing, The Naming of the Days captures in verse the origin of our English day names but also echoes the cyclic nature of time and Yesterday is about our relationship to the past. All three have previously been in The NSW School Magazine.

THE WINGS OF THE HOURS

Twenty-four birds at the break of the day;

Twenty-four birds fly up and away.

Some of them pearl, some golden-bright,

Twenty-four birds rising up in swift flight.

Some of the moon, some of the sun;

Each of them soaring, one after one.

Some fly in silence, some sing a song-

But when they have flown, where have they gone?

THE NAMING OF THE DAYS

Sunday is the sun's own day;

Powerful-glows his warm, bright ray.

Monday has the moon's fine sign,

Pale and silver-white her shine.

Tuesday carries Tiw's name;

Strength of courage is his claim.

Wotan's day is Wednesday here;

Wisdom brings he, deep and clear.

Thursday's Thor, whose hammer blow

Makes thunder roll and lightning glow.

Friday comes from Freya the Fair;

Goddess of love with golden hair.

Saturn rules on Saturday;

Father Time moves on his way.

So once more comes Sunday's dawn;

Seven more days will be born.

Seven days, forever new,

These are days all named for you.

 

                 YESTERDAY

Where does yesterday go?

Do you know? Do you know?

If time flies,

Where does it go,

To what strange skies?

A wise, old owl

Whispered to me,

“Go down the pathways of the past,

Turn the silver key,

Open the golden gate at last.

What do you find?

Use the eyes of your mind.”

“Has yesterday

All gone away

And vanished now

Entirely?

Or is it there,

In the magical air;

In the hidden kingdom

Of Memory?”

Poetry Blog No 127 Faust Part 2 Scene 1 Act 1

FAUST- THE TRAGEDY PART TWO- ACT ONE SCENE ONE

At the beginning of the second part we find Faust asleep- after some unspecified but probably lengthy time after the end of Part one. The elves or elementals are trying to heal Faust. As the sun rises Ariel warns them to hide from the powerful, spiritual music of the sun. Faust rises but turns from the blinding light of the sun to see its reflection in the rainbow in the waterfall whose colours, he feels, reflect the varied moods of life and living.

This is as far as I have got with translating Faust at this time.

Sunrise over meadows in the Italian Alps

FAUST- THE TRAGEDY PART TWO

IN FIVE ACTS

FIRST ACT

CHARMING REGION

FAUST, BEDDED ON FLOWERING GRASS, ASLEEP,FATIGUED AND RESTLESS.

DAWN LIGHT

SPIRIT CIRCLE MOVING HOVERING, AS GRACEFUL SMALL FORMS.

ARIEL (singing, accompanied by the Aeolian Harp)

When the blossom showers of spring
Drift down over all we're seeing;
When green fields are shimmering,
Blessing every earth-born being;
Tiny elves, yet spirit-great,
Hurry, helping where they can,
Be he fair or foul they take
Pity on the luckless man.

So you who float in airy rings about
His head, reveal your noble elfin way;
Now soothe his heart's fierce turmoil and draw out
The burning, bitter arrows of remorse,
Purge from his depths the dread and dark dismay.
Four are the watches of night's course.
Now fill them up at once with friendly play.
First sink his head upon cool cushion's care
Then bathe him in the dew from Lethe's flow
And ease and loosen limbs, cramp-stiffened there,
If he's to rest to strength for day; full-show
Your elfin duty's fairest might,
Return him to the holy light.

CHORUS (Singly, in pairs and quartets, alternately and together)

When mild warming breezes drift
All through green-surrounded plains,
Sweetly scents, in veils of mist,
Sink with dusk's gold-fading flames.
Softly, sweetly whispers peace,
Rocking hearts to childlike rest;
And the eyes of weariness
Close day's portal doors at last.

Downwards night's already sinking,
Holy joining star on star,
Greater lights and smaller twinklings
Glitter near and shimmer far.
Here they glint in lake's reflecting,
There they shine in clearest night,
Sealing luck of deepest resting
Rules the moon's full-splendid light.

Now already hours are over,
Pain and bliss thus fade away.
Feel it fully! You recover;
Trust the gaze of new-born day.
Valleys grow green, hills seem swelling,
Bushes take shade-restful ways;
And in silver waves are welling
Crops that grow to harvest days.

To obtain wish after wish
Look but to clear light of day;
Slumber but soft-binds your bliss,
Sleep's a shell, cast it away!
Do not hesitate to dare
While the crowd still wavers there;
All is done by fine souls who
Comprehend and swiftly do.

A MIGHTY SOUNDING-FORTH ANNOUNCES THE NEARING OF THE SUN

ARIEL * to the elves*

Hear that! Hear the-storm of hours!
Tones that grow for spirit-hearing
From the new day's birth appearing.
Gates of rock now creak and rattle,
Phoebus' wheel-rims roll and crackle.
What a din brings light's rise near!
Trumpeting and drumming sounded,
Eyes will blink, ears be astounded,
What's unheard-of do not to hear.
Slip into each flowery bell,
Deeper, deep in stillness dwell,
In the rock, beneath a leaf,
If it strikes you, you'll feel deaf.

FAUST

Life's pulse is beating with new livingness
To softly greet ethereal first light.
O earth, you too were constant through this night,
And new-refreshed breathe where my feet now pass.
Already you envelope with delight;
You rouse and stir a strong determination
To ever strive towards higher realms of being.
Pale dawn yet lights the world for seeing,
The forest rings with thousand-voiced creation.
And in and out of valleys mist is streaming.
Yet heaven's clearness sinks into the deep,
And twig and branch, new-fresh, revived, burst forth
From fragrance-filled abyss of sunken sleep;
Hue after hue grow clear from background's source,
Where leaf and blossom drip with trembling pearls.
A paradise surrounds me in this world.

Look up! Great mountain peaks announce the sight
Of day's most festive, solemn hour. They glow,
As first to joy in everlasting light
That later will shine down on us below.
Yet now it bright-bestows new clarity
On Alpine meadows' green-descending ways;
Its downward rays arriving gradually.
The sun is out! Already it is blinding me.
Eyes stabbed by light, I turn away my gaze.

And so it is when, with new hope's aspiring,
We're happy striving towards the highest wish,
Fulfilment's doors swing open like wings flying,
Then from eternal depths bursts forth a mass
Of such excessive flame- we stand abashed;
We simply wished to light the torch of life...
A fire ocean circles us. What fire!

Is it love? Is it hate?the blaze surrounds our sight,
With pain and joy, vast-alternating higher;
So backwards towards the earth once more we gaze
To hide behind the veils of youthful haze;
So let the sun remain now at my back!
That waterfall that roars through clefts in rock,
I see it with a growing sheer delight-
From plunge to plunge in a thousand ways it flees
And then another thousand streams out-pour,
And foam on foam goes flying in the breeze.
How splendid! From this storming springs out more-
The many hues of rainbow's changing lasting,
Now purely drawn, now melting in the air,
As wide-around cool wafting showers are passing.
This mirrors human striving; this is giving
A sense to see and grasp most clearly there:
In coloured mirror-sheen we have the living.

Poetry Blog No 126 Afternoon Road

AFTERNOON ROAD

This poem is framed as a reflection or contemplation and it is more about asking a question than making a dogmatic pronouncement- well. at least that was my intention. What I want to ask is whether we have left some valuable insights behind in the enthusiasm for sensory observation and rationalism that in some ways characterised the 18th century. Of course, the movement often called the "Enlightenment" was a complex phenomenon. For example, many early scientists, including Kepler and Newton were vitally interested in subjects that today would be called "spiritual". Moreover, many of the great achievements of modern times, not only technologically but also socially, can be seen as an outflow of the "Enlightenment". However, I wonder whether other valuable insights that could have been developed further were lost or obscured.

An engraving of the mysterious Count of St Germain by Nicolas Thomas made in 1783, after a painting. Voltaire called him (sarcastically?) - A man who knows everything and never dies. 

AFTERNOON ROAD

A white- and westward-slanted sun,

its shattering of yellow light

through the pine tree needles,

darkly bunching,

and the undisciplined,

leaf-rousing air,

make me of a mood to sing

a wistful elegy for vanished wanderers.

I amble down afternoon's road-

the feel of country gravel.

Free sight, the breathing quiet,

leave thought to rove,

to muse on far-past folk,

of secrets sealed in silence:

of women wise in herbal lore

with soft, unspoken feeling for

the seasons' sacred ceremony,

affinities, antipathies, known only to

noumenal sight,

the rhythmic life of world

and powers that wax and wane

by cyclic moon's degree;

of students of lost alchemy,

the fires of forgotten chambers,

with small world and the great,

in qualities related,

the spirit of the matter;

for thus transmuting inner elements,

base metal into gold;

of storytellers and the singers,

the players of the tales of soul,

inspirited in imaged form;

the dawn of deeper light,

of time guides working through

the self-effacing culture fight.

And contemplating their forgotten paths,

in mellowed day's late light,

it seems they passed along

a meandering, afternoon road

towards obfuscating

enlightenment's night.

Did they listen into nature's song?

Did they gaze upon

the golden signpost to the sun?

Poetry Blog No 125 The King Who Believed Everything

         

THE KING WHO BELIEVED EVERYTHING

The following ballad is based on a folk-tale from Austria. It concerns a king who is so gullible that he believes everything... well, nearly everything. The ballad in the tradition of poetic form is usually composed of stanzas or verses of four lines with some rhyming scheme. It is usually some form of narrative that can be historical, tragic, romantic or comic. The commonest line is a four-footed eight syllable in iambic (iambic tetrameter) Now once there was a foolish king.

Ballads were often set to music ( as in folk songs from many places) and this led to the use of the term for sentimental narrative songs, some blues songs and slower popular songs usually romantic in nature. The ballad form was also used by 18th and 19th century poets for more literary or lyrical effect- The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Coleridge) and La Belle Dame Sans Merci (Keats) are two famous examples. Ballads have also been popular in Australia as the main form of "Bush" poetry.

The King Who Believed Everything was published in a slightly modified form (no hemp) in the NSW School Magazine. 

 

Jakob Jordaens The King Drinks

                  THE KING WHO BELIEVED EVERYTHING

Now once there was a foolish king

Who would believe most anything.

He searched for any who could weave

A tale that he would not believe.

With castle, gold, and lands, for lure,

So many tried to find a cure,

So many liars tried and lost

And in deep dungeon paid the cost.

A farm lad came with his attempt,

"One day I sowed a field of hemp:

Before I'd finished, my first seed

Had sprung up higher than all the trees."

"Soon it was higher than any tower.

I left it for a few days now,

Until it rose right out of view."

"Yes," said the king, "that sounds quite true."

"And so I thought that I might try

To climb up through the sunny sky

Until I came to heaven's sphere;

The climb took me a weary year."

"In heaven angels flew most fair,

Through perfumed, light-filled, singing air;

And beauty shone from everything."

"Yes, I believe you," said the king.

"I saw my mother and father both

A-riding in a silver coach;

In golden robes they took their ease."

"Yes," said the king, "that I'll believe."

"Then I went onward, wondering,

And then I saw your parents, king,

All dressed in rags, with filth and slime,

And caring for a herd of swine."

"You lie," the king roared out this time,

"My parents can't be handling swine!

Deceiving rogue, I'll have your head!"

"I'll have your prize," the farm lad said.