Ode Poems

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
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Ode To The Moon
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Usually after the sun's disappear
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Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
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Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
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Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
...

I

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
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Sadness, scarab
with seven crippled feet,
spiderweb egg,
scramble-brained rat,
...

Day-colored wine,
night-colored wine,
wine with purple feet
or wine with topaz blood,
...

When I close a book
I open life.
I hear
faltering cries
...

Among the market greens,
a bullet
from the ocean
depths,
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There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
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The hands of the clock were reaching high
In an old midtown hotel;
I name no name, but its sordid fame
Is table talk in hell.
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This salt
in the salt cellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
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America, from a grain
of maize you grew
to crown
with spacious lands
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The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heav'ns, a shining frame,
Their great original proclaim:
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Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too,
Double lived in regions new?
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I eat oatmeal for breakfast.
I make it on the hot plate and put skimmed milk on it.
I eat it alone.
I am aware it is not good to eat oatmeal alone.
...

Mara Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder's hands,
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Ode To A Poet
....................

Hey poet!
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Things get broken
at home
like they were pushed
by an invisible, deliberate smasher.
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SAPPHO'S POEMS FOR ATTIS AND ANACTORIA

Some People Say
Sappho, fragment 16
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Ode to August's Splendor
Oh, August, thou art a radiant gem,
When summer's sun doth warmly caress the land,
A time of plenty in each fertile stem,
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A former lyric to celebrate some bode
A lyric to praise someone who is a goad
A lyric in praise of the West Wind - an abode
Of Autumn and frost; a lovely lyric that rowed
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AN ODE TO LOVE
Love resides in the temple of a loving heart,
Both live together in a room, very small,
Eat, drink, dance, play and pray.
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I'm sure they're gonna be great,
Those odes I've yet to write,
Though I don't intend to create,
The odes, I have mentioned, alright?
...

This is my modern English translation of Paul Valéry's poem 'Le cimetière marin' ('The graveyard by the sea') . Valéry was buried in the seaside cemetery evoked in his best-known poem. From the vantage of the cemetery, the tombs seemed to 'support' a sea-ceiling dotted with white sails. Valéry begins and ends his poem with this image...

Excerpts from 'Le cimetière marin' ('The graveyard by the sea')
from Charmes ou poèmes (1922)
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Let Imraul Qais, Antra and yesteryear poets
Weep on their Atlal
On their blackened hearthstones
And sing an ode for the Emirates
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#realm_pandemonium

Writers block
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Ode to the cherry tree
How sweet does spring become
Upon the budding of your flowers
Upon the welcoming sight
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Ode
An ode to you and all your beauty
Ode
On ode to you and all your glory
...