Vastness!!

Pongo otro poema que encontré: "Vastness" de Lord Alfred Tennyson.

MANY a hearth upon our dark globe sighs after many a vanish’d face,
Many a planet by many a sun may roll with a dust of a vanish’d race.

Raving politics, never at rest—as this poor earth’s pale history runs,—
What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?

Lies upon this side, lies upon that side, truthless violence mourn’d by the Wise, 5
Thousands of voices drowning his own in a popular torrent of lies upon lies;

Stately purposes, valor in battle, glorious annals of army and fleet,
Death for the right cause, death for the wrong cause, trumpets of victory, groans of defeat;

Innocence seeth’d in her mother’s milk, and Charity setting the martyr aflame;
Thraldom who walks with the banner of Freedom, and recks not to ruin a realm in her name; 10

Faith at her zenith, or all but lost in the gloom of doubts that darken the schools;
Craft with a bunch of all-heal in her hand, follow’d up by her vassal legion of fools;

Trade flying over a thousand seas with her spice and her vintage, her silk and her corn;
Desolate offing, sailorless harbors, famishing populace, wharves forlorn;

Star of the morning, Hope in the sunrise; gloom of the evening, Life at a close; 15
Pleasure who flaunts on her wide downway with her flying robe and her poison’d rose;

Pain, that has crawl’d from the corpse of Pleasure, a worm which writhes all day, and at night
Stirs up again in the heart of the sleeper, and stings him back to the curse of the light;

Wealth with his wines and his wedded harlots; honest Poverty, bare to the bone;
Opulent Avarice, lean as Poverty; Flattery gilding the rift in a throne; 20

Fame blowing out from her golden trumpet a jubilant challenge to Time and to Fate;
Slander, her shadow, sowing the nettle on all the laurell’d graves of the Great;

Love for the maiden, crown’d with marriage, no regrets for aught that has been,
Household happiness, gracious children, debtless competence, golden mean;

National hatreds of whole generations, and pigmy spites of the village spire; 25
Vows that will last to the last death-ruckle, and vows that are snapp’d in a moment of fire;

He that has liv’d for the lust of a minute, and died in the doing it, flesh without mind;
He that has nail’d all flesh to the Cross, till Self died out in the love of his kind;

Spring and Summer and Autumn and Winter, and all these old revolutions of earth;
All new-old revolutions of Empire—change of the tide—what is all of it worth? 30

What the philosophies, all the sciences, poesy, varying voices of prayer?
All that is noblest, all that is basest, all that is filthy with all that is fair?

What is it all, if we all of us end but in being our own corpse-coffins at last,
Swallow’d in Vastness, lost in Silence, drown’d in the deeps of a meaningless Past?

What but a murmur of gnats in the gloom, or a moment’s anger of bees in their hive?— 35

Peace, let it be! for I loved him, and love him for ever: the dead are not dead but alive.

Dos vídeos de Pound.

Como no he podido, o querido , escribir algo nuevo, me gustaría dejar dos vídeos de Ezra Pound. El primer vídeo es un poema suyo "With usura" y el segundo es una conversación (aunque no completa con Pasolini).
Antes transcribiré el poema que pertence a sus Cantos.

With Usura.

With usura hath no man a house of good stone
each block cut smooth and well fitting
that design might cover their face,
with usura
hath no man a painted paradise on his church wall
harpes et luz
or where virgin receiveth message
and halo projects from incision,
with usura
seeth no man Gonzaga his heirs and his concubines
no picture is made to endure nor to live with
but it is made to sell and sell quickly
with usura, sin against nature,
is thy bread ever more of stale rags
is thy bread dry as paper,
with no mountain wheat, no strong flour
with usura the line grows thick
with usura is no clear demarcation
and no man can find site for his dwelling
Stone cutter is kept from his stone
weaver is kept from his loom
WITH USURA
wool comes not to market
sheep bringeth no grain with usura
Usura is a murrain, usura
blunteth the needle in the the maid's hand
and stoppeth the spinner's cunning.
Pietro Lombardo came not by usura
Duccio came not by usura
nor Pier della Francesca; Zuan Bellin' not by usura
nor was "La Callunia" painted.
Came not by usura Angelico; came not Ambrogio Praedis,
No church of cut stone signed: Adamo me fecit.
Not by usura St. Trophime
Not by usura St. Hilaire,
Usura rusteth the chisel
It rusteth the craft and the craftsman
It gnaweth the thread in the loom
None learneth to weave gold in her pattern;
Azure hath a canker by usura; cramoisi is unbroidered
Emerald findeth no Memling
Usura slayeth the child in the womb
It stayeth the young man's courting
It hath brought palsey to bed, lyeth
between the young bride and her bridegroom
CONTRA NATURAM
They have brought whores for Eleusis
Corpses are set to banquet
at behest of usura.

N.B. Usury: A charge for the use of purchasing power, levied without regard to production; often without regard to the possibilities of production. (ence the failure of the Medici bank.)

Aquí el siguiente vídeo de Pasolini y Pound.



Cabe decir que estoy plenamente de acuerdo con lo que se afirma en ambos vídeos.

Victoria germana

Lo único que me gustaría comentar hoy es mi deseo de que gane Alemania a los españoles.

Inicio

Deseo inauguar el blog mediante un poema que se relaciona directamente con el título del blog.
No es mi poema favorito, pero me agrada bastante puesto que habla de nuestra relación con el habla misma.

La Palabra

Sueño o prodigio de la lejanía
Al borde de mi país traía

Esperando a que la Norna antigua
En su fuente el nombre hallara -

Después denso y fuerte lo pude asir
Ahora florece y por la región reluce...

Un día llegué de viaje feliz
Con joya delicada y rica

Buscó largamente e hízome saber:
«Sobre el profundo fondo nada así descansa».

Entonces de mi mano se escapó
Y nunca el tesoro mi país ganó...

Así aprendí triste la renuncia:
Ninguna cosa sea donde falta la palabra.

Stefan Georg

No pretendo interpretarlo, simplemente lo deseo dejar.

Y agrego otro, ya que es el poema más reciente que he leído y que más me ha agradado.

CANTO DEL SOLITARIO

Armonía es el vuelo de los pájaros. Los verdes bosques
se reúnen al atardecer en las cabañas silenciosas;
los prados cristalinos del corzo.
La oscuridad calma el murmullo del arroyo,
sentimos las sombras húmedas
y las flores del verano que susurran al viento.
Anochece la frente del hombre pensativo.

Y una lámpara de bondad se enciende en su corazón,
en la paz de su cena; pues consagrados el vino y el pan
por la mano de Dios, el hermano quiere descansar
de espinosos senderos
y callado te mira con sus ojos nocturnos.
Ah, morar en el intenso azul de la noche.

El amoroso silencio de la alcoba
envuelve la sombra de los ancianos,
los martirios púrpuras, el llanto de una gran
que en el nieto solitario muere con piedad.

Pues siempre despierta más radiante
de sus negros minutos la locura,
el hombre abatido en los umbrales de piedra
poderosamente es cubierto por el fresco azul
y por el luminoso declinar del otoño,

la casa silenciosa, las leyendas del bosque,
medida y ley y senda lunar de los que mueren.

Versión de Helmut Pfeiffer

Georg Trakl

Ciao