Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Poem Of The Week - Goethe

I've said before that I love when my seemingly diverse interests collide. I never anticipated any meaningful chemistry from the intersection of motorbikes and poetry though. And how wrong I was. Courtesy of Olaf Tiemann's gorgeous Honda CB750 Café Racer I bring you Goethe, another poem giving voice to the otherwise inexpressible. What is it that draws you in until you are lost?

The Fisher

The water rolled, the water swelled;
A fisher sat thereby,
And quitely his angle held;
Chilled to his heart was he.
The water in dreamy motion kept,
As he sat in dreamy mood;
A wave hove up - and a damsel stepped,
All dripping, from the flood.

She sang to him, she spake to him:
"Why wilt thou lure away
My sweet brood by thy human art
To the deadly light of day?
Ah! knewest thou how light of heart
The little fishes live.
Thou wouldst come down, all as thou art,
And thy true life receive."

"Bathes not the sun with all his skies?
Bathes not the moon by night,
To breathe my dew awhile, and rise
All smiling doubly bright?
And tempt the not the deep, deep skies,
Here spread in watery blue?
And tempt the not thine own dark eyes
Down through th' eternal dew?"

The water rolled, the water swelled;
It wetted his bare feet;
A something through his bosom thrilled;
He seemed his love to meet,
She spake to him, she sang to him;
With him 'twas quickly o'er:
Half she drew him, half sank he in,
And never was seen more.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Poem Of The Week- Anna Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova is another poet introduced to me by a friend and another I owe a debt of gratitude for. Anna Akhmatova tells you the truth, you catch your breath, your heart skips a beat maybe you bite your tounge but always you want more.

In Human Closeness There...

In human closeness there is a secret edge,
Nor love nor passion can pass it above,
Let lips with lips be joined in silent rage,
And hearts be burst asunder with the love.

And friendship, too, is powerless plot,
And so years of bliss with noble tends,
When your heart is free and known not,
The slow languor of the earthy sense.

And they who strive to reach this edge are mad,
But they who reached are shocked with anguish hard --
Now you know why beneath your hand
You do not feel the beating of my heart.