I like boring things.
Sappho
He seems to me equal to gods that man
whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
to your sweet peaking
and lovely laughing–oh it
puts the heart in my chest on wings
for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking
is left in me
no: tongue breaks and thin
fire is racing under skin
and in eyes no sight and drumming
fills ears
and cold sweat holds me and shaking grips me all, greener than grass
I am and dead–or almost
I seem to me
But all is to be dared, because even a person of poverty
From If not, winter Fragments of Sappho, a translation by Anne Carson
De weg terug, M. Vasalis
De avond kwam; de avondspin
had ons onmerkbaar ingesponnen.
Alles stond still en de geronnen
minuten stroomden niet meer in.
We lagen naar het plafond te kijken
dat was ook leeg; ik werd zoo bang,
ik had één strakke koude wang,
we lagen roerloos als twee lijken…
Toen, in dit strak-gespannen niet,
opeens van zeer dichtbij de regen
stil slikkend langs het raamkozijn.
Ontdooien van vast verdriet
en o de pijn om te bewegen
om niet meer dood te mogen zijn.
William Butler Yeats’ terribly beauty: Leda and the Swan
Starring: Leda, raped by Zeus as a swan; her daughters Helen and Clytemnestra; Agamemnon. Together they come together to star in Yeats’ imagery of a terrible beauty of what makes history happen. The rape, the offspring, the war.
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?