诗歌欣赏:Call Me Ishmael

时间:2021-08-31

诗歌欣赏:Call Me Ishmael

  诗歌欣赏:Call Me Ishmael

  by Jackson Mac Low

  Circulation. And long long

  Mind every

  Interest Some how mind and every long

  Coffin about little little

  Money especially

  I shore, having money about especially little

  Cato a little little

  Me extreme

  I sail have me an extreme little

  Cherish and left, left,

  Myself extremest

  It see hypos myself and extremest left,

  City a land. Land.

  Mouth; east,

  Is spleen, hand mouth; an east, land.

  诗歌欣赏:A Poet to His Beloved

  I bring you with reverent hands

  The books of my numberless dreams,

  White woman that passion has worn

  As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,

  And with heart more old than the horn

  That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:

  White woman with numberless dreams,

  I bring you my passionate rhyme.

  诗歌欣赏A Purchase of Porcelain

  Because the king

  decrees that every Jew

  must buy his wedding-right

  in unsold porcelain

  from the royal chinaworks,

  here he stands, an amorous Jew,

  gazing at luminous

  suns and moons arrayed

  on doths of velvet-blue,

  earth that has married fire twice,

  that has been shaped and named

  for what it comprehends: sherbets, salads,

  gravies, desserts. He lifts a platter fine

  as alabaster in cathedral windows:

  salvation, the passage of light

  through bone. Ah, but

  not for you, the store-man says.

  Closeted, in shipping crates

  are pieces no one else will buy

  baboon fops in feathered caps,

  chimpanzees in petticoats.

  Visitors will later testify,

  his home was comfortable,

  despite the china apes

  peering from every corner.

  诗歌欣赏:Batuschka

  From yonder gilded minaret

  Beside the steel-blue Neva set,

  I faintly catch, from time to time,

  The sweet, aerial midnight chime——

  "God save the Tsar!"

  Above the ravelins and the moats

  Of the white citadel it floats;

  And men in dungeons far beneath

  Listen, and pray, and gnash their teeth——

  "God save the Tsar!"

  The soft reiterations sweep

  Across the horror of their sleep,

  a term of endearment applied

  to the Tsar in Russian folk-song.

  As if some daemon in his glee

  Were mocking at their misery——

  "God save the Tsar!"

  In his Red Palace over there,

  Wakeful, he needs must hear the prayer.

  How can it drown the broken cries

  Wrung from his children's agonies?——

  "God save the Tsar!"

  Father they called him from of old——

  Batuschka! . . . How his heart is cold!

  Wait till a million scourged men

  Rise in their awful might, and then——

  God save the Tsar!

  诗歌欣赏:Camma

  Camma

  (To Ellen Terry)

  As one who poring on a Grecian urn

  Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made,

  God with slim goddess, goodly man with maid,

  And for their beauty's sake is loth to turn

  And face the obvious day, must I not yearn

  For many a secret moon of indolent bliss,

  When in midmost shrine of Artemis

  I see thee standing, antique-limbed, and stern?

  And yet - methinks I'd rather see thee play

  That serpent of old Nile, whose witchery

  Made Emperors drunken, - come, great Egypt, shake

  Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay,

  I am grown sick of unreal passions, make

  The world thine Actium, me thine Anthony!

  诗歌欣赏:A Prayer for My Son

  Bid a strong ghost stand at the head

  That my Michael may sleep sound,

  Nor cry, nor turn in the bed

  Till his morning meal come round;

  And may departing twilight keep

  All dread afar till morning‘s back,

  That his mother may not lack

  Her fill of sleep.

  Bid the ghost have sword in fist:

  Some there are, for I avow

  Such devilish things exist,

  Who have planned his murder, for they know

  Of some most haughty deed or thought

  That waits upon his future days,

  And would through hatred of the bays

  Bring that to nought.

  Though You can fashion everything

  From nothing every day, and teach

  The morning stars to sing,

  You have lacked articulate speech

  To tell Your simplest want, and known,

  Wailing upon a woman‘s knee,

  All of that worst ignominy

  Of flesh and bone;

  And when through all the town there ran

  The servants of Your enemy,

  A woman and a man,

  Unless the Holy Writings lie,

  Hurried through the smooth and rough

  And through the fertile and waste,

  Protecting, till the danger past,

  With human love.