Male Poets

A News Came

We present this work in honor of Maha Shivrati.

Amir Khusro
Indian
1253 – 1325

 

Tonight there came a news that you, oh beloved, would come –
Be my head sacrificed to the road along which you will come riding!
All the gazelles of the desert have put their heads on their hands
In the hope that one day you will come to hunt them…
The attraction of love won’t leave you unmoved;
Should you not come to my funeral,
you’ll definitely come to my grave.
My soul has come on my lips (e.g. I am on the point of expiring):
Come so that I may remain alive –
After I am no longer – for what purpose will you come?

Sonnet LXI

Joan Boscà Almogàver
Spanish
1490 – 1542

 

Sweet dream it was and also sweet affliction,
when I was dreaming that it was a dream;
a sweet delight I’d take in what deceived me,
if only that deception longer seemed;
a sweet not being in myself, I saw
every good thing I’d ever want to see;
a sweet pleasure it was, though so intense
that sometimes it would just awaken me:

oh sleep, how much more gentle and delightful
you’d be if you would come so heavily
that with more calm you’d set on me your weight!

For while I slept, in short, I was in bliss,
and it is right that one be blessed in lies
who’s always been in truth unfortunate.

Tell me the news

Sipho Sepamla
South African
1932 – 2007

 

Tell me of a brother
who hanged himself in prison
with a blanket
was he punchdrunk

Tell me of a brother
who flung himself to death
from the ninth floor of a building
did his grip fumble with the loneliness up there

Tell me of a hooded man
who picked out others of his blood on parade
was his skin beginning
to turn with solitude

Oh, tell me of a sister
who returned home pregnant
from a prison cell
has she been charged under the Immorality Act

Tell me of a brother
who hanged himself in jail
with a piece of his torn pair of jeans
was he hiding a pair of scissors in the cell

Tell me, tell me sir
has the gruesome sight
of a mangled corpse
not begun to sit on your conscience

All the People Stood

Hafez Ibrahim
Egyptian
1871 – 1932

 

All the people stood watching how I build the bases of joy on my own
And the pyramid builders at the beginning of time made me speechless during competition
I’m pride’s crown on the middle east’s head and its achievements are the jewels on my necklace
My pride in the beginning of time is huge Who has like my pride and joy?
If I die one day you will never see the middle east raising its head again
I’m free and I have broken my chains in regards to the enemy and I’ve cut my slavery
Did you see me when I broke my life and still didn’t reach my peak yet?
Is it fair that they free their lions while my own lion is still slaved ?
God looked at me and demanded my sons ,so they pulled towards joy in such a powerful way
I promised joy with the best of my men So, Please finish my promise today
And raise my country on knowledge and good conduct Because knowledge alone isn’t powerful
We bypass a situation in which all the beliefs are contradicting And the contradiction of beliefs is harmful
Therefore, Stand strong and powerful and be prepared!

Washington’s Monument – February, 1885

We present this work in honor of Presidents’ Day.

Walt Whitman
American
1819 – 1892

 

Ah, not this marble, dead and cold:
Far from its base and shaft expanding—the round zones circling, comprehending,
Thou, Washington, art all the world’s, the continents’ entire—not yours alone, America,
Europe’s as well, in every part, castle of lord or laborer’s cot,
Or frozen North, or sultry South—the African’s—the Arab’s in his tent,
Old Asia’s there with venerable smile, seated amid her ruins;
(Greets the antique the hero new? ‘tis but the same—the heir legitimate, continued ever,
The indomitable heart and arm—proofs of the never-broken line,
Courage, alertness, patience, faith, the same—e’en in defeat
defeated not, the same:)
Wherever sails a ship, or house is built on land, or day or night,
Through teeming cities’ streets, indoors or out, factories or farms,
Now, or to come, or past—where patriot wills existed or exist,
Wherever Freedom, pois’d by Toleration, sway’d by Law,
Stands or is rising thy true monument.

When You Are Old

We present this work in honor of Valentine’s Day.

William Butler Yeats
Irish
1865 – 1939

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

To the River of Cosamaloapam

Manuel Carpio
Mexican
1791 – 1860

 

Mighty and enchanting river
Which irrigates the meadows of my village,
Who could weep upon thy shores
In the cold rays of the round moon?

At night in my agitated delirium
I seem to view thy groves of palms,
Thy flowering clustered orange trees,
And thy dew covered lilies.

Who would ever deign to glance
Upon that lovely, modest home of mine,
Where I was born, like the bird of the bower?

But thy waters flow at present
Over the ruins, alas! of that home
Where I passed my happy childhood.

The Mirror

In honor of Tu B’Shavat, we present this work by one of Arab Andalusia’s greatest Jewish poets.

Judah Halevi
Arab Andalusian
1075 – 1141

 

Into my eyes he lovingly looked,
My arms about his neck were twined,
And in the mirror of my eyes,
What but his image did he find?

Upon my dark-hued eyes he pressed
His lips with breath of passion rare.
The rogue! ‘Twas not my eyes he kissed;
He kissed his picture mirrored there.

Just Because

Benedict Wallet Vilakazi
South African
1906 – 1947

 

Just because I smile and smile
And happiness is my coat
And my song tuneful and strong
Though you send me down below
Into unbelievable regions
Of the blue rocks of the earth –
You think I am a gatepost
Numb to the stab of pain.

Just because of the laugh on my lips
And my eyes lowered in respect,
Pants rolled up above the knees
And my dark hair all dun-coloured
And thick with the roadside dust,
My hands swinging a pick,
And the back stripped out of my shirt –
You think I am like a stone
And don’t know what it is to die.

Because at the fall of dark
When I’ve unloosened the chains
Of my days long labour
And I fall in with my brothers
Stamping the ground in a tribal dance
And we sing songs of old times
That stir up our fighting blood
Driving away all our cares –
For you think that I’m a beast
That breeds its kind and dies.

Because I seem to you a simpleton
Knocked over by plain ignorance
and the laws beyond my understanding,
except maybe that they rob me.
And the house I built for myself
under the hang of the rock,
a hut of grass for my home,
my clothing an empty sack –
You think I am just an antheap;
and not one tear have I in me
to drip out from my own heart
and run over the pure hands
of the souls who see all.