On the shores of Gitchee Gumee, of the shining big-sea-water....

I went hunting for the snark today for a little light relief, the library here has a "Complete Works of Lewis Carroll", and by chance, I found a poem I had never come across before, or, at least if I had, I had forgotten it. It was Carroll's "Hiawatha's Photography". A silly poem about family portrait photography, Carroll was a photographer too, written in the metre of Longfellow's "Song of Hiawatha". (The link is to Carroll's poem, not HWL's.) Now, as Carroll points out, once you have the metre in your head, it's not difficult, if you are poetically inclined, to mimic it. What struck me was not the skill but the conceit of marrying the poem's form, Hiawatha and photography. Hiawatha as a wannabe David Bailey. One of those little side slips by the brain.

I was going to hang a blog about the plight of the native American in the nineteenth century on that but decided that it would be too depressing so instead I thought it might be interesting to put down some poetry. Not necessarily 'great' poetry but things that move, intrigue or humour this penguin instead. Now I will probably run foul of the copyright furies, who will hound me to Hades, but on the basis that some may be unfamilar..........

Where the poem is in a foreign language, I have tried to provide a translation next to it in case the other language is not known

Jorge Luis Borges

Un poeta menor-------------------------------- A minor poet

La meta es el olvido-----------------------------The goal is oblivion

Yo he llegado antes------------------------------I have arrived early

Genesis iv, 8 Genesis iv, 8

Fue en el primer desierto.-----------------It was in the original desert.
Dos brazos arrojaron una gran piedra.-Two arms let loose a great stone.
No hubo un grito. Hubo sangre.---------There was no cry. There was blood.
Hubo por vez primera la muerte.--------For the first time there was death.
Ya no recuerdo si fui Abel o Cain.--------I do not now recall if I was Abel or Cain.

Nor does the penguin know and I, too, have arrived early.

Roger McGough

Defying Gravity

Gravity is one of the oldest tricks in the book.
Let go of the book and it abseils to the ground
As if, at the centre of the earth, spins a giant yo-yo
To which everything is attached by an invisible string.

Tear out a page of the book and make an aeroplane.
Launch it. For an instant it seems that you have fashioned
A shape that can outwit air, that has slipped the knot.
But no. The earth turns, the winch tightens, it is wound in.

One of my closet friends is, at the time of writing,
Attempting to defy gravity, and will surely succeed
Eighteen months ago he was playing rugby,
Now, seven stones lighter, his wife carries him aw-

Kwardly from room to room. Arranges him gently
Upon the sofa for the vistors. 'How are things?'
Asks one, not wanting to know. Pause. 'Not too bad.'
(Open brackets. Condition inoperable. Close brackets)

Soon now, the man that I love (not the armful of bones)
Will defy gravity. Freeing himself from the tackle
He will sidestep the opposition and streak down the wing
Towards a dimension as yet unimagined.

Back where the strings are attached there will be a service
And homage paid to the giant yo-yo. A box of left overs
Will be lowered into a space on loan from the clay.
Then, weighted down, the living will walk, wearily, away.

For Adrian Henri

A nun standing
In a fish and chip shop queue,
Watching as the vinegar runs through,
And thinking
How nice
To buy dinner for two.

The penguin thinks that it is pleasing to know that where he treads, others have trod before. And that the memory of those footsteps can pass through our feet and into our hearts.

John Donne

'TIS true, 'tis day ; what though it be?
O, wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise because 'tis light?
Did we lie down because 'twas night?
Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,
Should in despite of light keep us together.

Light hath no tongue, but is all eye ;
If it could speak as well as spy,
This were the worst that it could say,
That being well I fain would stay,
And that I loved my heart and honour so
That I would not from him, that had them, go.

Must business thee from hence remove?
O ! that's the worst disease of love,
The poor, the foul, the false, love can
Admit, but not the busied man.
He which hath business, and makes love, doth do
Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo.

Oft times has the penguin needed to make such a choice. But Donne is wrong. 'Tis no sin to 'pull a sickie' for love!

Ernst Jandl

Manche meinen -------------------Most peopre think
Lechts und rinks ------------------Reft and light
Kann man nicht velwechsern---Ale nevel confused
Werch ein Illtum!-----------------What an ellol!

Impossible to translate. But worse is 'Der kunstlicher Baum' (The artful tree). Translation is not the problem, getting the translation to conform to the shape of an oak tree is!

Justin Quinn

Terrorism

I would blame no bird
When the slightest twig is snapped,
For its nervousness.
Suspended above it all,
Held by steel and brick,
We live inside their silence,
Years after their acts.

Not about the current situation, not about al Qaida, but the 'troubles' (Northern Ireland). Strange how history inevitably repeats itself, George Santayana notwithstanding.

Jacques Prevert

Dejeuner du matin---------------------Breakfast

Il a mis le cafe-------------------------He poured coffee
Dans la tasse--------------------------Into the cup
Il a mis la lait-------------------------He poured milk
Dans la tasse de cafe------------------Into the coffee cup
Il a mis le sucre-----------------------He added sugar
Dans le cafe au lait--------------------To the milky coffee
Avec la petit cuiller-------------------With the little spoon
Il a tourne------------------------------He stirred
Il a bu le cafe au lait-------------------He drank his milky coffee
Et il a respose la tasse-----------------And put back his cup
Sans me parler------------------------Without a word
Il a allume-----------------------------He lit
Une cigarette--------------------------A cigarette
Il a fait des ronds----------------------He blew rings
Avec la fumee-------------------------With the smoke
Il a mis les cendres--------------------He tipped his ash
Dans le cendrier-----------------------Into the ashtray
Sans me parler------------------------Without a word
Sans me regarder---------------------Without a glance
Il s'est leve-----------------------------He got up
Il a mis---------------------------------He put
Son chapeau sur sa tete-------------His hat on his head
Il a mis---------------------------------He put on
Son manteau de pluie-----------------His raincoat
Parce qu'il pleuvait-------------------Because it was raining
Et il parti-------------------------------And he left
Sous la pluie----------------------------In the rain
Sans une parole------------------------Without a word
Sans me regarder----------------------Without a glance
Et mois j'ai pris-------------------------And me? I hung
Ma tete dans ma main----------------My head in my hands
Et j'ai pleure.---------------------------And I wept.

Ah, have we not all been there?
Bye, bye