Poetry - Spontaneity

[athelstan]

And we shall raise a temple’s light,
Upon the brow of golden halls
Where we shall dance on altars white
Until the stars go out from sight
And birds go deaf from feral calls.
Our nerves of passion all ignite
A heathen triumph, sated not,
But hungry, feasting on the world.
We pour the wine and love our lot
When all our minds are choked with rot.
Is this the will of fate unfurled?
Will this be record of our thought?
You now, all flush with lust of dawn,
What will you have when it’s gone?

[athelstan]

Some Verses on an Exile

Out of the kingdom of light and the knowledge of kin,
Out of the fields and the orchards, with apples so red,
Into the cities of moss and the slumbering dead,
Into the mazes of crags all untrammeled by sin.

Cain, Cain, your brother dead!
And all the sin upon your head
O weary Cain, you cannot stay
But wander more upon your way
For every man that sees your mark
Will cruelly banish you to the dark
And feel no pity for your tears
But laugh unkindly at your fears

Weeping for Abel, they weep not for Cain
Loathing the slayer for the sake of the slain

While sitting by a spring one morn,
He grabbed a cache of stolen corn
And could not help but cry in dread
When all the grains turned gleaming red

Under the stars he is sleeping alone
Groaning and tossing on his bed of stone
Shivering ceaselessly, blanket unknown

If he meets travelers along the road
These days they’re savages, garbed in woad.
But even they, with rocks for blades,
Chase helpless Cain out from their glades,
Until he stands on lonesome grounds
And only hears the wind’s slow sounds.

The pillars of Sun in the uttermost east
Not one man had seen, greatest to least,
Until Cain did come by one eve
And lay by them to cry and grieve.

At last he found himself on stranger shores
To which no compass e’er may lead,
And while he sat to cool his sores,
He watched a stag attempt to feed
Upon some bitter deadened tree.
The creature’s face was gaunt with need
And tremors jolted round its knee.
And Cain felt sorrow wring his heart.
He rose to stand, the stag did turn,
And Cain did stumble towards the hart,
With hands about a leafy fern.

Sometimes they sing the oddest tale—
They swear it true as God on high—
That in some wild, forsaken dale
A man alone goes riding by
Upon a mighty antlered steed,
The forest birds perched on his head,
All caring nothing ‘bout his deed,
Not worried that his hands are red.
And Cain no longer fears the rod
Among the gentle beasts of Nod.

[athelstan]

Here's the beginning of my attempt to translate the twentieth chapter of the Theragatha, the Saṭṭhinipāto (the Sixty Verses).

Mahāmoggallānattheragāthā - Verses of the Elder Mahā Moggallāna

Āraññikā piṇḍapātikā, uñchāpattāgate ratā;
Dālemu maccuno senaṃ, ajjhattaṃ susamāhitā.

Forest-dwelling mendicant,
Rejoicing in alms-food,
Consummate in restraint,
You’ll burst the army of Death asunder


Āraññikā piṇḍapātikā, uñchāpattāgate ratā;
Dhunāma maccuno senaṃ, naḷāgāraṃva kuñjaro.

Forest-dwelling mendicant,
Rejoicing in alms-food,
You’ll shake off the army of Death,
Your fortress a reed-hut in the glens


Rukkhamūlikā sātatikā, uñchāpattāgate ratā;
Dālemu maccuno senaṃ, ajjhattaṃ susamāhitā.

Delighted to sit by a tree’s roots,
Rejoicing in alms-food,
Consummate in restraint,
You’ll burst the army of Death asunder


Rukkhamūlikā sātatikā, uñchāpattāgate ratā;
Dhunāma maccuno senaṃ, naḷāgāraṃva kuñjaro.

Delighted to sit by a tree’s roots,
Rejoicing in alms-food
You’ll shake off the army of Death,
Your fortress a reed-hut in the glens


Aṭṭhikaṅkalakuṭike, maṃsanhārupasibbite;
Dhiratthu pure duggandhe, paragatte mamāyase.

This is a shelter of bones;
This, raiment of flesh.
The wise, who had once reeked,
Cherish this alien shape no more


Gūthabhaste taconaddhe, uragaṇḍipisācini;
Nava sotāni te kāye, yāni sandanti sabbadā.

A shit-stuffed bag wrapped in skin,
A goblin in a serpent’s egg,
This body surges with nine currents
That race constantly, like chariots.

(the strange description of the body as a goblin in a serpent egg has to do with the surface of a serpent egg, which, unlike a bird’s egg, is leathery and relatively soft, rather like human skin)

(The nine currents are blood, urine, sweat, skin grease, fecal matter, spittle, tears, mucus, and pus)


Tava sarīraṃ navasotaṃ, duggandhakaraṃ paribandhaṃ;
Bhikkhu parivajjayate taṃ, mīḷhaṃ ca yathā sucikāmo.

Your body with these nine,
A reeking, roaming darkness:
A monk lays no more claim to it
Than he would to a mound of dung.


Evañce taṃ jano jaññā, yathā jānāmi taṃ ahaṃ;
Ārakā parivajjeyya, gūthaṭṭhānaṃva pāvuse’’.

Only those who are pure
Truly understand me.
Utterly cease to claim it as yours,
This shape from which flows more shit
Than does rain from monsoon storms!


Evametaṃ mahāvīra, yathā samaṇa bhāsasi;
Ettha ceke visīdanti, paṅkamhiva jaraggavo.

Like the greatest of heroes,
I shall not drown in the mire
As does the exhausted bull:
So says the wandering renunciate.


Ākāsamhi haliddiyā, yo maññetha rajetave;
Aññena vāpi raṅgena, vighātudayameva taṃ.

My mind is blessed, boundless space
Utterly unstained by views
Perfect knowledge has washed me clean,
And cut off distress at its root.


Tadākāsasamaṃ cittaṃ, ajjhattaṃ susamāhitaṃ;
Mā pāpacitte āsādi, aggikhandhaṃva pakkhimā.

All can reach this same illimitable mind
If earnestly they train themselves
In the desertion of every defilement
And liberation from the burning khandhas


Passa cittakataṃ bimbaṃ, arukāyaṃ samussitaṃ;
Āturaṃ bahusaṅkappaṃ, yassa natthi dhuvaṃ ṭhiti.

See this festooned puppet
As a weeping sore, exalted by fools;
Reflect often upon the afflictions
That will never once leave it be.


Passa cittakataṃ rūpaṃ, maṇinā kuṇḍalena ca;
Aṭṭhiṃ tacena onaddhaṃ, saha vatthehi sobhati.

See this ornamented form
That fools bejewel with gemstones
As bounded down by bone and skin,
As a thing whose beauty is but a disguise


Alattakakatā pādā, mukhaṃ cuṇṇakamakkhitaṃ;
Alaṃ bālassa mohāya, no ca pāragavesino.

You with lac-stained feet,
Painted lips and perfumed skin:
Enough with your fool delusions,
You who seek not the Further Shore!


Aṭṭhapadakatā kesā, nettā añjanamakkhitā;
Alaṃ bālassa mohāya, no ca pāragavesino.

You with teased hair stiff as bone,
Your eyes black with kohl:
Enough with your fool delusions,
You who seek not the Further Shore!


Añjanīva navā cittā, pūtikāyo alaṅkato;
Alaṃ bālassa mohāya, no ca pāragavesino.

With powders and creams you veil them
This rotten body and its nine filth-floods:
Enough with your fool delusions,
You who seek not the Further Shore!


Odahi migavo pāsaṃ, nāsadā vāguraṃ migo;
Bhutvā nivāpaṃ gacchāma, kaddante migabandhake.

Put down this pursuit of traps:
Nets are the ruin of deer
And we, enjoying our bait,
Become ensnared just as they are.


Chinno pāso migavassa, nāsadā vāguraṃ migo;
Bhutvā nivāpaṃ gacchāma, socante migaluddake.

The snare-crippled hind cries out:
Nets are the ruin of deer
And we, having enjoyed our bait,
Now cry out, alerting the hunter.


Tadāsi yaṃ bhiṃsanakaṃ, tadāsi lomahaṃsanaṃ;
Anekākārasampanne, sāriputtamhi nibbute.

I was filled with such desire,
Overcome with horror and dread.
But after eons of wandering,
Sāriputta and I were unbound at last.


Aniccā vata saṅkhārā uppādavaya dhammino.
Upajjitvā nirujjhanti, tesaṃ vūpasamo sukho.

Transient are conditioned things,
Arising and passing away as they must.
They pass away even as they arise,
And in their stilling is bliss.



Link:

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moggallana

[athelstan]

In the woods behind his eyes
Roam the gibbon tribesmen still.
Orchid cities burn the hill
White and blue like winter skies.
Prowling paths all paved in ferns
Lead from passion's stifling jails
To the halls of dustless dales.
With his kingly pace and turns,
Soon he came to understand
And to long for an end to dukkha
So he left the worldly sukha,
Going forth from its demand.
When the peasants glimpsed him pass,
Even-paced and resolute,
All then gave him calm salute;
Offerings, too, to break his fasts.
Til the wilderness reclaimed
That noble wanderer's shape.
Hope that lowness they'd escape
Kindled: righteous, he proclaimed
Just as it is the way things work.
But no more do banyan trees
Make his roofs and steady lees.
By the cages must he lurk,
Prisons made for little men,
Wrought with law and thoughtless words:
Burning glades, exiling birds,
Choking river, filling fen.
Now amidst the last remains,
An evicted fellowman
Holds him, his trust long since won.
Hidden here from Man's domains,
The brothers embrace,
The last of their race.

[athelstan]

To write a will is not so heavy now,
For he has sold his farm and trusty sow.
The pines are sighing for the names in stone,
The woods are wearing mists as pale as bone.
The ink has dried; the scroll is sealed and bound,
Against the hills the brazen bells resound.
A pilgrim goes upon his way today:
He’ll meet the dreaded Bönpo, who will slay
A man to chew his flesh and wear his hide—
He leaves a lotus where she must reside—
He’ll walk the narrow mountain trails of goats
While watched by leopards, smugly warm in coats—
All things are born, all things will cease: the Law—
He’ll feast on juniper smoke and paw
At trinkets, blessed by monk and priest, for calm—
Upon the stones he wipes a shining balm—
The Middle Kingdom’s borders far behind,
He’ll follow straight the path of Bodhi-mind.
His wish: the Buddha’s grove of peace to see,
To leave her name upon the holy tree.

[athelstan]

Sitting in a Museum

I knew him not, nor knew he me,
And yet we paid our homage there
In praises silent as the sea
When pierced by winter’s deathly stare.
The world was close at hand, and yet
We noble sons of Sākyan tribe
Did not lament in Indra’s net
But sat, unmoved by Māra’s bribes.
The worldlings walked by, clucking noise,
The senseless heels resounding out
Against the wooden floors, and boys
In shapes of men did prowl and pout
Alongside dull-eyed families.
We did not stir nor glance our eyes
But let the buzzing of the bees
Evaporate into the skies.
The Bhagavā before us sat,
His flesh to gilded stone transformed.
My winter jacket was my mat,
And if a nuclear war had stormed
Or if the sky had cracked in twain,
I’d not have left my brother true.
And so we sat within that fane,
And knew that we could waken, too.

[Allya]

I'll delete this if you don't want comments in this thread. Just wanted to tell you that I really loved that last one. Just awesome.

[athelstan]

Thank you. I think I did it well, yes.

[athelstan]

Twenty lines in blank verse, inspired by an injunction from the inimitable Mr. Stephen Fry.

---

The mud is deeper than a horse's flank!
It rained as if the devils slew the Lord.
And I should hate to get the filth beneath
Upon my healing toe, so tender pink.

A morning spent alone is best with tea.

Be careful not to shit on Wednesday nights.

When bored and lonely, you invent a world.
Religions wrought from dragon-smoke and blood
Or mighty cities brought to ruined fate
Or else a god-like king who led the march.

When you encounter vixen-witches, stop,
Remain as calm as you can be, and wait.
Perhaps they simply wish to trade in frogs.
If they express desire to copulate, then run.

The word for black was 'Negro.' Why not now?
It has a rather lovely liquid sound,
Unlike this: 'African-American.'
How awkward, ugly, boorish-plain is that?
But I advise against the use of 'coon:'
There's really no excuse for that there term.

[Kaez]

I love the hell out of this one.

[athelstan]

With feeble brains and jelly heart, again,
Repeat your carnal dramas, meaningless.

'Why not some wine? Some Turkish hash? Some horse?
Oh! dull the senses, mute the voice, so frail
The conscience is, yet strong the pain is grown.
No shame, I must proclaim, for me: today
I set my thoughts, like vultures high,
To fly unburdened, wildly free, beyond
The moral pull of gravity, of Earth
That pulls me back to weep in traffic noise.
Behold that which I am, how fair, how good,
That only I may be this me, so free!'

But, bound to toxins, it fails and fades: and falls
The atmospheric thrill like Icarus.
You crash against a world with every turn.
Your bloodied corpse of joy, with wings of fire,
Is plunged in grey and speechless seas, to sink,
To gasp, to drown, and unremembered be.

[athelstan]

Wordplay.

Sauna Gate Team

Shellac umpire the toe awesome a stay?
The wart moral valley Emma Thames rat.
Ruffians de-shock the dark bling biddies main,
A simple sleek heather till shirty dot;
Saw dime a twat thigh off-leaven shanty.
In doff him Izzy’s galled skimp lecture damn
On Avery Farfrae fearsome tidal climbs,
Butch Lancer NATO’s chain gin cursive tramp
Bit die autumnal seneschal buffet,
Null whose positional thought fur the host,
Nurse hell meth lab the one dress Dennis Spade,
Wenham deferment Liechtenstein the ghost.
Solingen’s munchkin beater rye scans pee,
Sarong Lapiths, on missives laughter tea.

SPOILER: Click to show

en.wikisource.org/wiki/Sonnet_18_%28Shakespeare%29

[athelstan]

Another Stephen Fry exercise. It was to write sixteen lines of unrhymed iambic pentameter, employing trochaic and pyrrhic substitutions, enjambment, and feminine endings as much as possible without harming the flow of the lines. Being the defiant ass that I am, I made it rhyme as well.

---

Devotion

The Phoenix o'er the dawning hills is flying
Upon the buoyant and delightful winds of Zephyr.
Swartest abhorrent night to dawn is dying.
Now wakes with flute the cow-herder his heifer.
The corpse of night to an azure array
Is rotten: stirring thrushes like flies attending.
The fallen darkness shall become their day.
Weary from travel, Luna is now descending
From her celestial perch. The Phoenix rises
To bathe in solar splendor. He is singing!
Cruel and conceited hawks release their prizes,
The echoes of the raven-lords cease ringing.
Pilgrimage halted, geese abide in meadows.
The lovestruck robin's mooning is stilled: Devotion
Becalms the kindred, even chicken-ghettoes,
Until He vanishes beyond the ocean.

[athelstan]

Galahad

Cranes upon the mud flats
sunlight in the North Sea
men don't walk these wastelands
winds arise in the east
winds disappear in the west
life seldom lasts a hundred years
so why should I seek your crooked ways

I must have left fair Camelot
a thousand springs ago
the tide rolls in
a man is proud & worthy
the sea withdraws
a man is lost & shamed

My compass isn't a compass
you can find it everywhere

Birds are roosting on a tree
they squawk and say it's rude
to give them no reply
the tree neither shakes nor breaks
long after they're all gone

The road unfolds forever
from Rome to Babylon
why tramp & choke on trailing dust
when winter's coming on

The moon is hanging full and bright
no idle thoughts remain in my head
nothing to do I praise my God
and leave myself to Him

[athelstan]

They do it for the barley fields
That leprous glow with snowlike blight.
They do it not from hate, but love.

The incense coils towards the fields
Where Tara sings, untouched by blight.
They pray to her, the light of love.

They stand upon the sunlit fields,
Horizon past an eagle's sight,
And cry to Heaven chants of love.

The girl is pure as dew-kissed fields.
The trusting face, the eyes so bright:
They almost weep to see such love.

Gathered upon the summer fields,
The flowers crown her, shining white.
A mother's kiss to darling dove.

They do it not from hate, but love.
She shrinks not from the dagger's bite.
Their wails resound across the fields.