What is poetry?
- Thread starter Agent327
- Start date
Another poem by Kavafis 
In the year 200 B.C.
“Alexander, son of Philip, and the Greeks except the Lacedaimonians...”
We can very well imagine
how completely indifferent the Spartans would have been
to this inscription. “Except the Lacedaimonians”—
naturally. The Spartans
weren’t to be led and ordered around
like precious servants. Besides,
a pan-Hellenic expedition without
a Spartan king in command
was not to be taken very seriously.
Of course, then, “except the Lacedaimonians.”
That’s certainly one point of view. Quite understandable.
So, “except the Lacedaimonians” at Granikos,
then at Issus, then in the decisive battle
where the terrible army
the Persians mustered at Arbela was wiped out:
it set out for victory from Arbela, and was wiped out.
And from this marvelous pan-Hellenic expedition,
triumphant, brilliant in every way,
celebrated on all sides, glorified
as no other has ever been glorified,
incomparable, we emerged:
the great new Hellenic world.
We the Alexandrians, the Antiochians,
the Selefkians, and the countless
other Greeks of Egypt and Syria,
and those in Media, and Persia, and all the rest:
with our far-flung supremacy,
our flexible policy of judicious integration,
and our Common Greek Language
which we carried as far as Bactria, as far as the Indians.
Talk about Lacedaimonians after that!
In the year 200 B.C.
“Alexander, son of Philip, and the Greeks except the Lacedaimonians...”
We can very well imagine
how completely indifferent the Spartans would have been
to this inscription. “Except the Lacedaimonians”—
naturally. The Spartans
weren’t to be led and ordered around
like precious servants. Besides,
a pan-Hellenic expedition without
a Spartan king in command
was not to be taken very seriously.
Of course, then, “except the Lacedaimonians.”
That’s certainly one point of view. Quite understandable.
So, “except the Lacedaimonians” at Granikos,
then at Issus, then in the decisive battle
where the terrible army
the Persians mustered at Arbela was wiped out:
it set out for victory from Arbela, and was wiped out.
And from this marvelous pan-Hellenic expedition,
triumphant, brilliant in every way,
celebrated on all sides, glorified
as no other has ever been glorified,
incomparable, we emerged:
the great new Hellenic world.
We the Alexandrians, the Antiochians,
the Selefkians, and the countless
other Greeks of Egypt and Syria,
and those in Media, and Persia, and all the rest:
with our far-flung supremacy,
our flexible policy of judicious integration,
and our Common Greek Language
which we carried as far as Bactria, as far as the Indians.
Talk about Lacedaimonians after that!
MagisterCultuum
Great Sage
I recall reading that "The Two Horned One" is a prophet mentioned in the Koran, which is often identified as Alexander the Great but many think should actually refer to Cyrus the Great. It makes more sense for a righteous (possibly monotheistic Zoroastrian) king/Type of Christ like Cyrus to be considered a prophet of God than for a wicked pagan like Alexander to be.
I read that some think the two horns refer to the Medes and the Persians, which in Deniel's prophecy were depicted as two horns of a Ram. (Alexander was in that prophecy represented by the one great horn of a male goat that killed the Ram before its horn broke and was replaced by 4 lesser horns, Alexander's generals.) Could it be that Alexander took this symbol of Cyrus to symbolize his conquest of those two peoples?
If I recall the image of a horned devil did not exist until the mid 4th century AD, when it was used to malign the rural reverence for Pan. Earlier christian depictions of demons showed them not as powerful horned monsters, but as tiny annoying gnats and flies.
I read that some think the two horns refer to the Medes and the Persians, which in Deniel's prophecy were depicted as two horns of a Ram. (Alexander was in that prophecy represented by the one great horn of a male goat that killed the Ram before its horn broke and was replaced by 4 lesser horns, Alexander's generals.) Could it be that Alexander took this symbol of Cyrus to symbolize his conquest of those two peoples?
If I recall the image of a horned devil did not exist until the mid 4th century AD, when it was used to malign the rural reverence for Pan. Earlier christian depictions of demons showed them not as powerful horned monsters, but as tiny annoying gnats and flies.
I
I am sitting under the wistaria,
the last week of a late spring:
the foliage already full of shade
and blossoms still abound.
Steadily the new leaves grow
while evening flowers turn quite pale.
In the clear sky, high and empty,
two butterflies pass by.
This is how the season ought to be -
the sadness in my heart has no ground.
Yu Liangshi (ca. 800)
From Touched by Spring, Three Poems
I am sitting under the wistaria,
the last week of a late spring:
the foliage already full of shade
and blossoms still abound.
Steadily the new leaves grow
while evening flowers turn quite pale.
In the clear sky, high and empty,
two butterflies pass by.
This is how the season ought to be -
the sadness in my heart has no ground.
Yu Liangshi (ca. 800)
From Touched by Spring, Three Poems
Inspiration
Since I follow the grave rule of the Gate of Emptiness
I 've driven off the worries that haunted me all my life.
Only the devil of poetry I did not submit,
leaving spirit and moonlight to inspire me still.
Bai Juyi (772-816)
It is a shame: a woman literate,
more so if she sings of moon and spirit.
It is not my task to rub and iron inkstone -
golden needlework be my greatest honour!
Zhu Shuzhen (12th c.)
Note: the Gate of Emptiness is a reference to Buddhism.
Since I follow the grave rule of the Gate of Emptiness
I 've driven off the worries that haunted me all my life.
Only the devil of poetry I did not submit,
leaving spirit and moonlight to inspire me still.
Bai Juyi (772-816)
It is a shame: a woman literate,
more so if she sings of moon and spirit.
It is not my task to rub and iron inkstone -
golden needlework be my greatest honour!
Zhu Shuzhen (12th c.)
Note: the Gate of Emptiness is a reference to Buddhism.
I was inclined to agree: the problem with Chinese poetry is rather that there's so much of it (both paper and bookprinting being invented much earlier than in the West, so classic Chinese poetry is more in abundance than our classic poetry). After reading some excerpts and rereading an anthology, I've come up with like a dozen that I like and that stand out somewhat among the rest - Chinese poetry also seems to have a limited number of themes (plus ofcourse there are quite a few references that have little meaning for an unaccustomed reader). I must admit I have a similar 'problem' with Indian poetry, of which I know even less... (On the other hand, if I'm forgiven for being so generic, Japanese poetry I find to be quite exquisite at times - more so than Chinese.)
The lyrics to Brothers in Arms by Dire Straits
I decided that since it's a ballad, and therefore a poem set to music, the lyrics count as a poem. It's better with the tune.
EDIT: to justify this post - the Private of the Buffs, dug out of a book I had at school and until last week resided in my attic.
Last night, among his fellow roughs,
He jested, quaffed, and swore:
A drunken private of the Buffs,
Who never looked before.
To-day, beneath the foeman’s frown,
He stands in Elgin’s place,
Ambassador from Britain’s crown,
And type of all her race.
Poor, reckless, rude, lowborn, untaught,
Bewildered, and alone,
A heart, with English instinct fraught,
He yet can call his own.
Aye! Tear his body limb from limb,
Bring cord, or axe, or flame:
He only knows, that not through him
Shall England come to shame.
Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed,
Like dreams, to come and go;
Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed,
One sheet of living snow;
The smoke, above his father’s door,
In gray soft eddyings hung:
Must he then watch it rise no more,
Doomed by himself, so young?
Yes, honor calls!—with strength like steel
He put the vision by.
Let dusky Indians whine and kneel;
An English lad must die.
And thus, with eyes that would not shrink,
With knee to man unbent,
Unfaltering on its dreadful brink,
To his red grave he went.
Vain, mightiest fleets, of iron framed;
Vain, those all-shattering guns;
Unless proud England keep, untamed,
The strong heart of her sons.
So, let his name through Europe ring—
A man of mean estate,
Who died, as firm as Sparta’s king,
Because his soul was great.
Definitely one to be read to schoolchildren. There's a backstory to it, if anyone's that interested.
EDIT: to justify this post - the Private of the Buffs, dug out of a book I had at school and until last week resided in my attic.
Last night, among his fellow roughs,
He jested, quaffed, and swore:
A drunken private of the Buffs,
Who never looked before.
To-day, beneath the foeman’s frown,
He stands in Elgin’s place,
Ambassador from Britain’s crown,
And type of all her race.
Poor, reckless, rude, lowborn, untaught,
Bewildered, and alone,
A heart, with English instinct fraught,
He yet can call his own.
Aye! Tear his body limb from limb,
Bring cord, or axe, or flame:
He only knows, that not through him
Shall England come to shame.
Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed,
Like dreams, to come and go;
Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed,
One sheet of living snow;
The smoke, above his father’s door,
In gray soft eddyings hung:
Must he then watch it rise no more,
Doomed by himself, so young?
Yes, honor calls!—with strength like steel
He put the vision by.
Let dusky Indians whine and kneel;
An English lad must die.
And thus, with eyes that would not shrink,
With knee to man unbent,
Unfaltering on its dreadful brink,
To his red grave he went.
Vain, mightiest fleets, of iron framed;
Vain, those all-shattering guns;
Unless proud England keep, untamed,
The strong heart of her sons.
So, let his name through Europe ring—
A man of mean estate,
Who died, as firm as Sparta’s king,
Because his soul was great.
Definitely one to be read to schoolchildren. There's a backstory to it, if anyone's that interested.
I guess that rather depends on whether you like Dire Straits. As to the "Private", would you care explaining the Buff (for non-Anglo-Saxons); my dictionary leaves me pretty clueless, I'm afraid. And do tell that background story. As for war poetry in general, I find that most poems relating to soldiery and war I've come across tend to glorify and get all lyrical, while not doing justice to the experience of war and soldiering itself (I'm not referring to the War Poets, ofcourse).
The buffs were a British line infantry regiment (originally the 3rd Regiment of Foot, now 3 PWRR). The backstory is that during a war with china one of their soldiers was attached to a sepoy unit, which was later captured by the Chinese. The Chinese lord said that he was now master of his prisoners and would return them home, but to honour him they had to bow to him, which in China in those days meant acknowledging him as their superior. All but the private of the buffs did so, but the englishman refused. Bejcause of this, he was executed.
True, but we need something to read out on Armistice day and all the rest.
True, but we need something to read out on Armistice day and all the rest.
Well, there's one here, that I translated: http://forums.civfanatics.com/showpost.php?p=7627993&postcount=64
I still have some Chinese poems to post - maybe later I'll add some more Rimbaud.
I still have some Chinese poems to post - maybe later I'll add some more Rimbaud.
Some more classical Chinese poetry, as promised, albeit a bit out of season...*
Autumn night
A pale moon illuminates the third watch in the center court.
White dew washed the sky; the Milky Way shines bright,
let not the Western wind blow off all the leaves -
I can, I fear, place autumn sounds nowhere else.
Following the rhyme of a Fu Ziwen epigram
Ten days of mud, wind and rain:
only my staff keeps me company along deserted streets.
This old man has nothing left to do:
bereft of blossoms the garden, so he writes no poem.
Chen Yuyi (1090-1139)
The women of the village
The girls in their white coats are wearing a black skirt:
neighbours left and right are exchanging brides.
Not a hundred paces the mulbrry trees, the rice fields
and all the days of their lives they never see another village.
Lu You (1125-1210)
* Though not over here, as rain regularly alternated with snow this winter.
Autumn night
A pale moon illuminates the third watch in the center court.
White dew washed the sky; the Milky Way shines bright,
let not the Western wind blow off all the leaves -
I can, I fear, place autumn sounds nowhere else.
Following the rhyme of a Fu Ziwen epigram
Ten days of mud, wind and rain:
only my staff keeps me company along deserted streets.
This old man has nothing left to do:
bereft of blossoms the garden, so he writes no poem.
Chen Yuyi (1090-1139)
The women of the village
The girls in their white coats are wearing a black skirt:
neighbours left and right are exchanging brides.
Not a hundred paces the mulbrry trees, the rice fields
and all the days of their lives they never see another village.
Lu You (1125-1210)
* Though not over here, as rain regularly alternated with snow this winter.
