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A Poem a Day

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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Topic: A Poem a Day
    Posted: 01-Sep-2011 at 18:49
Originally posted by Chookie

Originally posted by Don Quixote

Ops...sorry, Chookie! I was under the impression that you are Welsh because you explained to me who is Welsh and who is not on a very old thread elsewhere. Then what is the language you have your signature in, and sometimes post poems in, like the name of this poem? Forgive my dark Balkanic ignoranceCry

No problem Andy. My signature is in Gàidhlig (Scots Gaelic) and is a quotation from Tacitus referring to a desolation (Roman made). The title of the poem is the name of a crofting village in Skye and the occasion was the Battle of the Braes in 1882.

Thank you, Chookie. I was under the impression that the Scots speak like Robert Burns, and he is quite readable /with a dictionary, but still readable/, and I though that only Welsh nowadays speak Gaelic; as I see I was Deadwrong.
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  Quote Chookie Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 01-Sep-2011 at 17:36
Originally posted by Don Quixote

Ops...sorry, Chookie! I was under the impression that you are Welsh because you explained to me who is Welsh and who is not on a very old thread elsewhere. Then what is the language you have your signature in, and sometimes post poems in, like the name of this poem? Forgive my dark Balkanic ignoranceCry

No problem Andy. My signature is in Gàidhlig (Scots Gaelic) and is a quotation from Tacitus referring to a desolation (Roman made). The title of the poem is the name of a crofting village in Skye and the occasion was the Battle of the Braes in 1882.
For money you did what guns could not do.........
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 31-Aug-2011 at 19:43
Kostantin Simonov "Wait for Me":

Wait for me, and I'll come back!
Wait with all you've got!
Wait, when dreary yellow rains
Tell you, you should not.
Wait when snow is falling fast,
Wait when summer's hot,
Wait when yesterdays are past,
Others are forgot.
Wait, when from that far-off place,
Letters don't arrive.
Wait, when those with whom you wait
Doubt if I'm alive.

Wait for me, and I'll come back!
Wait in patience yet
When they tell you off by heart
That you should forget.
Even when my dearest ones
Say that I am lost,
Even when my friends give up,
Sit and count the cost,
Drink a glass of bitter wine
To the fallen friend -
Wait! And do not drink with them!
Wait until the end!

Wait for me and I'll come back,
Dodging every fate!
"What a bit of luck!" they'll say,
Those that would not  wait.
They will never understand
How amidst the strife,
By your waiting for me, dear,
You had saved my life.
Only you and I will know
How you got me through.
Simply - you knew how to wait -
No one else but you.



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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 31-Aug-2011 at 19:11
Originally posted by Chookie

Originally posted by Don Quixote

Originally posted by Chookie


Pheigheinn a' Chorrain? (written by me)

A good one, ChookieSmile! You have to start giving short history lessons with your poems, so we can locate them in time. I have to admit, Welsh history is all...well..Welsh to me. I'll do a google or two to find out the event you are talking about.

Welsh history is a mystery to me too Andy, I'm Scots..........

Ops...sorry, Chookie! I was under the impression that you are Welsh because you explained to me who is Welsh and who is not on a very old thread elsewhere. Then what is the language you have your signature in, and sometimes post poems in, like the name of this poem? Forgive my dark Balkanic ignoranceCry


Edited by Don Quixote - 01-Sep-2011 at 18:41
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  Quote Chookie Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 31-Aug-2011 at 17:17
Originally posted by Don Quixote

Originally posted by Chookie


Pheigheinn a' Chorrain? (written by me)

A good one, ChookieSmile! You have to start giving short history lessons with your poems, so we can locate them in time. I have to admit, Welsh history is all...well..Welsh to me. I'll do a google or two to find out the event you are talking about.

Welsh history is a mystery to me too Andy, I'm Scots..........


Edited by Chookie - 01-Sep-2011 at 18:11
For money you did what guns could not do.........
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 30-Aug-2011 at 19:24
Originally posted by Chookie


Pheigheinn a' Chorrain? (written by me)

A good one, ChookieSmile! You have to start giving short history lessons with your poems, so we can locate them in time. I have to admit, Welsh history is all...well..Welsh to me. I'll do a google or two to find out the event you are talking about.


Edited by Don Quixote - 30-Aug-2011 at 19:32
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 30-Aug-2011 at 18:11
To All Russians Who Voted Stalin the 3rd Best Russian in 2008

Death upon the vortex, passions on the run
The sun never dries them, so they go beserk.
Swimming on the wavebacks on the human sea,
Never ever ending - will not ever Be.

Prisoners of passions ancient as the sea
Are they to be allowed themselves to foresee?
Fault of the upbringing - to collect remorse,
Not to now where to stop and repose,

Victims of the time and geographic chance,
Like some silent fishes dance themselves in trance.
Time will go and time will come, and regimes will change,
But in the spot of memory the darkest shape still blaze -

Like some shapeless Beghemot, like a titan grim,
With green coat, mustaches, hat with a red trim,
To call back to the old fame, to the order strong,
Like so many deer called to the wolf's throne,

And to tempt, to promise something simply clear -
All fishes end in the pan, in the wolf's gut ends the deer.
But, we are simply human, we all covet peace -
Gives us simple orders, we'll think we are free.

For the Liberty is wide, with no place to hide,
And you are all that you can blame for your own demise.
So, in the freedom rocking boat we're hiding from daylight -
And dreaming of security under the Prison's Guard.
DQ
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  Quote Centrix Vigilis Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 30-Aug-2011 at 17:16
The Cavalrymen's Poem

Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped,
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddlers' Green.

Marching past, straight through to Hell
The Infantry are seen.
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.

Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene.
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.

And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green.

"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence"

S. T. Friedman


Pilger's law: 'If it's been officially denied, then it's probably true'

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  Quote Chookie Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 30-Aug-2011 at 17:02

Pheigheinn a' Chorrain? (written by me)

Alas, the glens are lying bare, crofts are now deserted
Our people now are scattered wide and sheep replace the music.
The factors came and with them police, all the way from Glasgow
The people came from all around, the grazings to defend,
From Braes and Tormore, Balmeanach too,
But where were the men, the men of Peinnchorran
"Cait' am bheil fir Pheigheinn a' Chorrainn?"


Black was the wood the rooftree was made from
Blacker the heart of the cash-grabbing landlord
No profit in people, the lordling wants money,
Clearing out people for sheep are much better.
For our croftlands the people rose up in anger
But where were the men, the men of Peinnchorrain?
"Cait' am bheil fir Pheigheinn a' Chorrainn?"


You burned all our homes, you forced us to wander
We gave you our loyalty, our love and our honour,
More bitter than aloes, the taint of your hunger.
For money you did what guns could not do
Evicting the clansmen who gave you your honour.
And where were the men, the men of Peinnchorrain?
"Cait' am bheil fir Pheigheinn a' Chorrainn?"


Many have died, forcèd down to the shores
And others are gone, far over the seas,
The glens are deserted, the rooftrees are down,
Sheep replace people, the music is gone,
Damn all the lordlings who cleared out our people,
And where were the men, the men of Peinnchorrain?
"Cait' am bheil fir Pheigheinn a' Chorrainn?"


The townships are empty and ruined our homes
For money they cleared us, who gave them their fame.
For a sheep was worth more than the whole of the clan.
Across the seas we made our lives,
The rooftrees are burned and the music has gone
But where were the men, the men of Peinnchorrain?
"Cait' am bheil fir Pheigheinn a' Chorrainn?"

For money you did what guns could not do.........
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  Quote Chookie Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 30-Aug-2011 at 16:57
The Princess of the Tide (by Mikhail Lermontov)

One day swimming his horse was a prince by the sea
When he heard a voice cry: “Over here! Look at me!”

The steed started and snorted, but ‘twas nothing to him
He shook off a spray and continued to swim.

Said the voice: “I am born to the King of the Tide"
“Wilt thou one lordly night in my sweet arms abide?”

And behold! From the wake, there a hand did emerge
Reaching out for the bridle of silk on the surge.

A young, pretty head did the brine then reveal
With long braided hair draped in sea-grass of bright teal.

Two dark blue eyes burned with passion’s pure fire
Sea foam rolled on her cheeks like white pearls of desire.

Thought the prince: “For this moment I surely was made . . .”
And he deftly reached out to catch hold of a braid.

He caught her and held her with a warrior’s arm
She splashed and she struggled with panicked alarm

Heedless he dragged her up onto the shore
Then his shouts to his comrades did loudly outpour

“Fellows! Come and see! I am calling to you!”
“Look what I have fished out of bottomless blue!”

“What are you waiting for! Do not delay!”
“You’ve not seen such beauty in many a day!”

And then he turned back to look down on his prize
But alas! The fire was already leaving her eyes!

For there lying limp on the hot golden sand
Was her green tail, like a fish, out of place on the land

It was covered in scales like that of a snake
Already coiling and drying as the sun did it bake

Sweat streamed from her brow presaging her doom
And her eyes quickly darkened with ominous gloom

Her poor hands grew pale as she clutched at the sand
Her lips whispered something he could not understand

The prince walked away for he could not abide:
Would he ever forget the princess of the tide?
For money you did what guns could not do.........
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  Quote Centrix Vigilis Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 29-Aug-2011 at 15:54

At birth a witch laid on me monstrous spells,
And I have trod strange highroads all my days,
Turning my feet to gray, unholy ways.
I grope for stems of broken asphodels;
HIgh on the rims of bare, fiend-haunted fells,
I follow cloven tracks that lie ablaze;
And ghosts have led me through the moonlight's haze
To talk with demons in the granite hells.

Seas crash upon dragon-guarded shores,
Bursting in crimson moons of burning spray,
And iron castles ope to me their doors,
And serpent-women lure with harp and lay.
The misty waves shake now to phantom oars—
Seek not for me; I sail to meet the day.


RE Howard

"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence"

S. T. Friedman


Pilger's law: 'If it's been officially denied, then it's probably true'

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  Quote Chookie Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 28-Aug-2011 at 16:29

Hardihood in time of battle

O Children of Conn, remember hardihood in time of battle,
Be strong, nursing your wrath,
Be resolute and fierce,
Be forceful, standing your ground,
Be nimble and full of valour,
Be dour, inspiring fear,
Be exceeding fierce, recklessly daring,
Be spirited, inflicting great wounds,
Be venomous, implacable,
Be glorious, nobly powerful,
Be exceedingly fierce, king-like,
Be vigorous, nimble footed
in winning the battle against your enemies.
O Children of Conn of the Hundred Battles,
Now is the time for you to win renown,
O raging whelps,
O sturdy bears,
O most sprightly lions,
O battle-loving warriors,
The Children of Conn of the Hundred Battles,
O Children of Conn, remember

hardihood in time of battle.

For money you did what guns could not do.........
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 28-Aug-2011 at 01:09
Boris Pasternak:
Sparrow Hills

 

Breasts beneath kisses, as though under a tap!

Summer’s stream won’t run for ever.

We can’t pump out the accordion’s roar

night after night, in a dusty fever.

 I’ve heard of age. Terrible prophecies!

No wave will lift its hands to the stars.

They say – who believes? No face in the leaves,

no gods in the air, in the ponds: no hearts.

Rouse your soul! Make the day, foaming.

It’s noon in the world. Where are your eyes?

See there, thoughts in the whiteness seething,

fir-cones, woodpeckers, cloud, heat, pines.

Here, the city’s trolley-lines end.

Beyond there’s no rails, it’s the trees.

Beyond – it’s Sunday, breaking branches,

the glade running off, sliding on leaves.

Scattering noons: Whitsuntide: walking,

‘The world’s always like this’, says the wood.

So the copse planned it, the clearing was told,

So it pours, from the clouds, towards us.

 



Edited by Don Quixote - 28-Aug-2011 at 01:14
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 28-Aug-2011 at 01:04
Vladimir Mayakovsky:

I will sew myself black trousers
from the velvet of my voice.
And from three yards of sunset, a yellow blouse.
Along the world's main street, along its glossy lanes,
I will saunter with the gait of Don Juan, a fop.

Let the earth, overripe and placid, cry out:
"You would rape the green Spring!"
I'll yell at the sun with an impudent grin
"I prefer to prance on smooth
asphalt!"

Isn't it because the sky is blue,
And the earth is my lover in this spring
cleaning,
that I give you verses fun as bi-bah-boh
and sharp and useful as toothpicks!

Women who love my flesh, and you,
girl, looking at me like a brother,
toss your smiles to me, the poet -
and I'll sew them like flowers onto my fop's blouse!

1914



Edited by Don Quixote - 28-Aug-2011 at 01:05
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 26-Aug-2011 at 01:41
Longfellow, The Battle of Lovell's Pond:

The Battle of Lovell's Pond

Cold, cold is the north wind and rude is the blast
That sweeps like a hurricane loudly and fast,
As it moans through the tall waving pines lone and drear,
Sighs a requiem sad o'er the warrior's bier.

The war-whoop is still, and the savage's yell
Has sunk into silence along the wild dell;
The din of the battle, the tumult, is o'er,
And the war-clarion's voice is now heard no more.

The warriors that fought for their country, and bled,
Have sunk to their rest; the damp earth is their bed;
No stone tells the place where their ashes repose,
Nor points out the spot from the graves of their foes.

They died in their glory, surrounded by fame,
And Victory's loud trump their death did proclaim;
They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast,
And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest.

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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 24-Aug-2011 at 20:20
Really good poems, everyone!
Mine for today is a Kipling:

A Ballad of Jakkko Hill

One moment bid the horses wait,
Since tiffin is not laid till three,
Below the upward path and strait
You climbed a year ago with me.
Love came upon us suddenly
And loosed -- an idle hour to kill --
A headless, harmless armory
That smote us both on Jakko Hill.

Ah, Heaven! we would wait and wait
Through Time and to Eternity!
Ah, Heaven! we could conquer Fate
With more than Godlike constancy
I cut the date upon a tree --
Here stand the clumsy figures still:
"10-7-85, A.D."
Damp in the mists on Jakko Hill.

What came of high resolve and great,
And until Death fidelity?
Whose horse is waiting at your gate?
Whose 'rickshaw-wheels ride over me?
No Saint's, I swear; and -- let me see
To-night what names your programme fill --
We drift asunder merrily,
As drifts the mist on Jakko Hill.

L'ENVOI.
Princess, behold our ancient state
Has clean departed; and we see
'Twas Idleness we took for Fate
That bound light bonds on you and me.
Amen! Here ends the comedy
Where it began in all good will,
Since Love and Leave together flee
As driven mist on Jakko Hill!



Edited by Don Quixote - 24-Aug-2011 at 20:20
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  Quote Nick1986 Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 24-Aug-2011 at 18:09
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Me Grimlock not nice Dino! Me bash brains!
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  Quote Michael Collins Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 24-Aug-2011 at 18:06
  1. 1] I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow,
    2] That have no treasure but hope,
    3] No riches laid up but a memory
    4] Of an Ancient glory.
    5] My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born,
    6] I am of the blood of serfs;
    7] The children with whom I have played, the men and women with whom I have eaten,
    8] Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters,
    9] And, though gentle, have served churls;
    10] The hands that have touched mine, the dear hands whose touch is familiar to me,
    11] Have worn shameful manacles, have been bitten at the wrist by manacles,
    12] Have grown hard with the manacles and the task-work of strangers,
    13] I am flesh of the flesh of these lowly, I am bone of their bone,
    14] I that have never submitted;
    15] I that have a soul greater than the souls of my people's masters,

    p.338

    16] I that have vision and prophecy and the gift of fiery speech,
    17] I that have spoken with God on the top of His holy hill.
  2. 18] And because I am of the people, I understand the people,
    19] I am sorrowful with their sorrow, I am hungry with their desire:
    20] My heart has been heavy with the grief of mothers,
    21] My eyes have been wet with the tears of children,
    22] I have yearned with old wistful men,
    23] And laughed or cursed with young men;
    24] Their shame is my shame, and I have reddened for it,
    25] Reddened for that they have served, they who should be free,
    26] Reddened for that they have gone in want, while others have been full,
    27] Reddened for that they have walked in fear of lawyers and of their jailors
    28] With their writs of summons and their handcuffs,
    29] Men mean and cruel!

    p.339

    30] I could have borne stripes on my body rather than this shame of my people.
  3. 31] And now I speak, being full of vision;
    32] I speak to my people, and I speak in my people's name to the masters of my people.
    33] I say to my people that they are holy, that they are august, despite their chains,
    34] That they are greater than those that hold them, and stronger and purer,
    35] That they have but need of courage, and to call on the name of their God,
    36] God the unforgetting, the dear God that loves the peoples
    37] For whom He died naked, suffering shame.
    38] And I say to my people's masters: Beware,
    39] Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the risen people,
    40] Who shall take what ye would not give.
    41] Did ye think to conquer the people,
    42] Or that Law is stronger than life and than men's desire to be free?
    43] We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and held,
    44] Ye that have bullied and bribed, tyrants, hypocrites, liars!

- P.H. Pearse
Is í labhairt a dteanga an moladh is mó is féidir linn a thabhairt dár namhaid.
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Centrix Vigilis View Drop Down
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  Quote Centrix Vigilis Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 24-Aug-2011 at 18:05
That..is a classic.
 
Reference a question concerning Robert Service.
"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence"

S. T. Friedman


Pilger's law: 'If it's been officially denied, then it's probably true'

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Chookie View Drop Down
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  Quote Chookie Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 24-Aug-2011 at 18:00
An Eala Bhan  (Dòmhnall Ruadh Chorùna)

Gur duilich leam mar tha mi
'S mo chridhe 'n sas aig bron
Bhon an uair a dh'fhag mi
Beanntan ard a' cheo
Gleanntannan a'mhanrain
Nan loch, nam bagh 's nan srom
'S an eala bhan tha tamh ann
Gach la air 'm bheil mi 'n toir.
A Mhagaidh na bi tursach
A ruin, ged gheibhinn bas-
Co am fear am measg an t-sluaigh
A mhaireas buan gu brath?
Chan eil sinn uile ach air chuairt
Mar dhithein buaile fas
Bheir siantannan na blianna sios
'S nach tog a' ghrian an aird.
Tha 'n talamh leir mun cuairt dhiom
'Na mheallan suas 's na neoil;
Aig na 'shells a' bualadh -
Cha leir dhomh bhuam le ceo:
Gun chlaisneachd aig mo chluasan
Le fuaim a' ghunna mhoir;
Ach ged tha 'n uair seo cruaidh orm
Tha mo smuaintean air NicLeoid.
Air m' uilinn anns na truinnsichean
Tha m' inntinn ort, a ghraidh;
Nam chadal bidh mi a' bruadar ort
Cha dualach dhomh bhith slan;
Tha m' aigne air a lionadh
Le cianalas cho lan
'S a'ghruag a dh'fhas cho ruadh orm
A nis air thuar bhith ban
Oidhche mhath leat fhein, a ruin
Nad leabaidh chubhraidh bhlath;
Cadal samhach air a chul
Do dhusgadh sunndach slan
Tha mise 'n seo 's an truinnsidh fhuar
'S nam chluasan fuaim bhais
Gun duil ri faighinn as le buaidh -
Tha 'n cuan cho buan ri shnamh.

The White Swan (English)

Sad I consider my condition
With my heart engaged with sorrow
From the very time that I left The high bens of the mist
The little glens of dalliance
Of the lochs, the bays and the forelands
And the white swan dwelling there
Whom I daily pursue.
Maggie, don't be sad
Love, if I should die -
Who among men
Endures eternally?
We are all only on a journey
Like flowers in the deserted cattle fold
That the year's wind and rain will bring down
And that the sun cannot raise.
All the ground around me
Is like hail in the heavens;
With the shells exploding -
I am blinded by smoke:
My ears are deafened
By the roar of the cannon;
But despite the savagery of the moment
My thoughts are on the girl called MacLeod.
Crouched in the trenches
My mind is fixed on you, love;
In sleep I dream of you
I am not fated to survive;
My spirit is filled
With a surfeit of longing
And my hair once so auburn
Is now almost white.
Goodnight to you, love
In your warm, sweet-smelling bed;
May you have peaceful sleep and afterwards
May you waken healthy and in good spirits
I am here in the cold trench
With the clamour of death in my ears
With no hope of returning victorious-
The ocean is too wide to swim.
For money you did what guns could not do.........
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