Quatrains

Abderrahman El Majdoub
Moroccan
1506 – 1568

dirty and ugly they saw me there goes an empty head they said
in fact I am more like an open book there’s much useful stuff
inside this head

o my heart I burn you and if you want I will do more
o my heart you shame me because you like who doesn’t
like you.

neither think nor search too much don’t always be
despondent
the planets are not fixed and life’s not eternal

don’t play with your best friend’s feelings & if people insult
him, ease his mind
who loves you, love him more but if he betrays you, don’t ever
be his friend again

all I’ve had in life is one goat but I’ve written beautiful
quatrains
many are fulfilled through God’s favor yet claim those favors as
their own labors

travel and you’ll get to know people and owe obedience to the
noble
the fathead with the pot-belly sell him for a dime

my heart’s between a hammer & an anvil & that damned
blacksmith has no pity
he keeps hammering & when it cools he kindles the fire
with his bellows

my weak heart can’t bear any pain and by God you are
barbarians
you supported me when I was strong and let me down
when I grew weak

o you who sows the good grain by grain o you who sows
the bad lot by lot
the good multiplies and rises the bad withers and wastes
away

don’t think of this time’s tightness see how wide time is
in God
difficulties wipe out the weak but men wipe out difficulties

I suggest to you devourer of sheep heads throw those
bones in a well
laugh & play with the people but before all shut your
mouth

silence is abundant gold and words destroy good
ambiance
say nothing if you see something and if they ask say
no, no

o friend, be patient hide your burden
sleep naked on thorns wait for a brighter day

the good old days are gone hard ones are here
who dares speak the truth will have his head cut off

don’t get in the saddle before you bridle and tie strong
knots
think twice before you speak or you’ll live to regret it

I made snow into a bed & covered myself with the wind
I made the moon into a lamp & went to sleep in the
starry night

misery should be hidden away & covered under a veil
cover the wound with the skin & the wound will soon heal

O Captain! My Captain!

We present this work in honor of the poet’s 200th birthday.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung–for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Riddle

Madeleine de l’Aubespine
French
1546 – 1596

(About a lute)

As the sweetest diversion that I could ever choose,
Frequently, after dinner, for fear of getting bored,
I take his neck in hand, I touch him, and I stroke,
Till he’s in such a state as to give me delight.

I fall upon my bed and, without letting go,
I grasp him in my arms, I press him to my breast,
And moving hard and fast, all ravished with pleasure,
Amidst a thousand delights I fulfill my desire.

If he sometimes unfortunately happens to slacken,
I erect him with my hand, and right away I strive
To enjoy the delight of such a tender stroking.

Thus my beloved, so long as I pull on his sinew,
Contents and pleases me. Then away from me, softly,
Tired and not sated, I finally withdraw him.

Where Does Such Tenderness Come From

Where does such tenderness come from?
These aren’t the first curls
I’ve wound around my finger—
I’ve kissed lips darker than yours.

The sky is washed and dark
(Where does such tenderness come from?)
Other eyes have known
and shifted away from my eyes.

But I’ve never heard words like this
in the night
(Where does such tenderness come from?)
with my head on your chest, rest.

Where does this tenderness come from?
And what will I do with it? Young
stranger, poet, wandering through town,
you and your eyelashes—longer than anyone’s.

All in a Family Way

We present this work in honor of the poet’s 240th birthday.

My banks are all furnished with rags,
So thick, even Freddy can’t thin ‘em;
I’ve torn up my old money-bags,
Having little or nought to put in ‘em.
My tradesman are smashing by dozens,
But this is all nothing, they say;
For bankrupts, since Adam, are cousins,
So, it’s all in the family way.

My Debt not a penny takes from me,
As sages the matter explain; —
Bob owes it to Tom and then Tommy
Just owes it to Bob back again.
Since all have thus taken to owing,
There’s nobody left that can pay;
And this is the way to keep going, —
All quite in the family way.

My senators vote away millions,
To put in Prosperity’s budget;
And though it were billions or trillions,
The generous rogues wouldn’t grudge it.
‘Tis all but a family hop,
‘Twas Pitt began dancing the hay;
Hands round! — why the deuce should we stop?
‘Tis all in the family way.

My labourers used to eat mutton,
As any great man of the State does;
And now the poor devils are put on
Small rations of tea and potatoes.
But cheer up John, Sawney and Paddy,
The King is your father, they say;
So ev’n if you starve for your Daddy,
‘Tis all in the family way.

My rich manufacturers tumble,
My poor ones have nothing to chew;
And, even if themselves do not grumble,
Their stomachs undoubtedly do.
But coolly to fast en famille,
Is as good for the soul as to pray;
And famine itself is genteel,
When one starves in a family way.

I have found out a secret for Freddy,
A secret for next Budget day;
Though, perhaps he may know it already,
As he, too, ‘s a sage in his way.
When next for the Treasury scene he
Announces “the Devil to pay”,
Let him write on the bills, “Nota bene,
‘Tis all in the family way.”

In Flanders Fields

We present this work in honor of Memorial Day.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

O

Mary Sidney,
Countess of Pembroke
English
1561 – 1621

Oh, what a lantern, what a lamp of light
Is thy pure word to me
To clear my paths and guide my goings right!
I swore and swear again,
I of the statues will observer be,
Thou justly dost ordain.

The heavy weights of grief oppress me sore:
Lord, raise me by the word,
As thou to me didst promise heretofore.
And this unforced praise
I for an off’ring bring, accept, O Lord,
And show to me thy ways.

What if my life lie naked in my hand,
To every chance exposed!
Should I forget what thou dost me command?
No, no, I will not stray
From thy edicts though round about enclosed
With snares the wicked lay.

Thy testimonies as mine heritage,
I have retained still:
And unto them my heart’s delight engage,
My heart which still doth bend,
And only bend to do what thou dost will,
And do it to the end.

Memorandum 13,874

In honor of the Argentine holiday of May Day Revolution, we present this work by one of Argentina’s most delightfully subversive poets.

Humberto Costantini
Argentine
1924 – 1987

Dear boss,
I’m writing to inform you that,
having now completed 20 years of continuous work in this office,
it is imperative, if I am to proceed with this task,
that you send me, at your very earliest convenience,
the items I list below:

A grey sky, some low clouds and an autumn day, if possible.
And a lot of very old trees…
casuarinas, as dark as time.

Would it be too much to ask for some poplars as well?
And dampness,
a slow drizzle – and earth,
definitely earth,
and the smell of earth and autumn and trees.

You could perhaps omit dry leaves,
but not the heart on fire,
nor the blood full of birdsong;
and don’t leave out vertigo either
or the blond girl at my side with all her tenderness,
or the blood filling with birds…

Hope

Love came out of a distant land
But no one followed her.
So the goddess beckoned me,
And bound me with sweet bands.

As I began to feel the pain,
Tears darkened my eyes.
— Ah! What is Love’s happiness?
I cried, why this game?

— I have not yet found anyone,
Said the figure kindly.
— Feel now the power
Which has bound other hearts.

All my desires fled
Into the blue and airy expanse.
Fame seemed to me but a daydream:
The sound of waves breaking on the shore.

Ah! Who will release me from my chains?
For my arms are bound fast,
A swarm of sorrows flies around me.
Will no one, no one at all, save me?

Dare I look in the mirror
Which Hope holds up before me?
Ah, the world is but a delusion!
No, I cannot put my trust in it.

O, but do not let that waver
Which is your only strength.
If your soul mate does not love you,
Your only fate is the bitter death of the invalid.

Good and Evil

The first tree I ever made love to
Took me in its branches with tender care
It hugged me until I could hardly breathe
– Your mother’s milke was not so sweet –
It said in a low rustle after we had finished
I woke up astonished at the clarity of my thought
Exhilarated by a strange feeling of relief

The tree had become a woman
Standing at the foot of my bed
Leafing me with gentle strokes
Pushing her roots over my body
Help Help I cried unable to move as in a nightmare
And then she fell over me
Trying to suck the blood out of my breast
Trying to lap up my body out of a tin plate
Placed in front of a dog’s kennel

I swam desperately trying to get out of reach
Her tongue was getting closer and closer
When a strong breath blew me off the ledge of the plate
I started to fall towards the ground
Which turned out to be her lips
While layers and layers of flesh went past me
And I could read their different shades of meaning
As if they had been the lines of a text

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