Friday, April 29, 2016

NPM: Was It Not Curious?

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Thursday, April 28, 2016

NPM: The Fading Light of Day

And the slant light steepened in the skies,
The old red light of waning day
Made magic fire upon the river,
And the train made on forever its tremendous monotone
That was like silence and forever—
And now there was nothing
But that tremendous monotone of time and silence
And the river, the haunted river,
The enchanted river
That drank forever its great soundless tides
From out the inland slowly,
And that moved through all men's lives
The magic thread of its huge haunting spell,
And that linked his life to magic kingdoms
And to lotus-land
And to all the vision of the magic earth
That he had dreamed of as a child,
And that bore him on forever
Out of magic
To all the grime and sweat and violence of the city,
And into America.
The great river burned there in his vision
In that light of fading day,
And it was hung there
In that spell of silence and forever,
And it was flowing on forever,
And it was stranger than a legend,
And as dark as time.

-- Thomas Wolfe

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Wednesday, April 27, 2016

NPM: I loved them


Да, я любила их, те сборища ночные,-
На маленьком столе стаканы ледяные,
Над черным кофеем пахучий, зимний пар,
Камина красного тяжелый, зимний жар,
Веселость едкую литературной шутки
И друга первый взгляд, беспомощный и жуткий.

5 января 1917, Слепнево

And as translated by me:
Oh, I loved them, those gatherings at night -
The little table with iced glasses
The black coffee with its fragrant, wintry steam,
The red hearth's heavy, wintry heat,
The tasty pleasure of a literary joke
And a friend's first glance, helpless and terrible.

5 January 1917, Slepnevo


-- Anna Akhmatova (tr me)

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Tuesday, April 26, 2016

NPM: Night

...Не рассветает, не рассветает...На брюхе плоском она ползет.
И все длиннее; все распухает...
Не рассветает! Не рассветет.

...Day doesn't break, it doesn't break...
On her belly, flat and low, night crawls.
And it all grows ever longer; and it swells...
Day doesn't break! Nor will it.

-- Zinaida Gippius (tr me)

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Monday, April 25, 2016

NPM: On the Seashore

.On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.

The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless
     water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds
     the children meet with shouts and dances.

They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty
     shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and
     smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their
     play on the seashore of worlds.

They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets.
     Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships,
      while children gather pebbles and scatter them again.
     They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not
     how to cast nets.

The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile
     of the sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless
     ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking
     her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale
     gleams the smile of the sea-beach.

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
     Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships are wrecked
     in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play.
     On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting
     of children.

-- Rabindranath Tagore

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Sunday, April 24, 2016

NPM: Stars

Stars

While we
Know they are
Enormous suns,
Gold lashing
Fire-oceans,
Seas of heavy silver flame,

They look as
Though they could
Be swept
Down, and heaped,
Cold crystal
Sparks, in one
Cupped palm.

-- Valerie Worth

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Saturday, April 23, 2016

NPM: Kilroy

Kilroy is gone,
the word is out,
absent without leave
from Vietnam.

Kilroy
who wrote his name
in every can
from Poland to Japan
and places in between
like Sheboygan and Racine
is gone
absent without leave
from Vietnam.

Kilroy
who kept the dice
and stole the ice
out of the BOQ
Kilroy
whose name was good
on every IOU
in World War II
and even in Korea
is gone
absent without leave
from Vietnam.

Kilroy
the unknown soldier
who was the first to land
the last to leave,
with his own hand
has taken his good name
from all the walls
and toilet stalls.
Kilroy
whose name around the world
was like the flag unfurled
has run it down
and left Saigon
and the Mekong
without a hero or a song
and gone
absent without leave
from Vietnam.

-- Gene McCarthy

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