酷我-北美枫

[anna]

Must we die?
A lesser philosopher, the most optimist,
raises the question that
has bothered him for so long.

“Hush, Death has sharp ears,
and his horse is treading on the way.”
Crows fly in, their shadows freeze
the man's faint feature.

Yesterday you watched your children
gulp down their milk;
Today, when the bread is still warm,
they are gone, shattered into pieces.

There is no time
to teach them optimism,
The bombs claim their bones-
no time to discuss life after death.
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[[星子安娜]]

Must we die?
A lesser philosopher, the most optimist,
raises the question that
has bothered him for so long.

“Hush, Death has sharp ears,
and his horse is treading on the way.”
Crows fly in, their shadows freeze
the man's faint feature.

Yesterday you watched your children
gulp down their milk;
Today, when the bread is still warm,
they are gone, shattered into pieces.

There is no time
to teach them optimism,
The bombs claim their bones-
no time to discuss life after death.
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[anna]

Comments from M.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A---

often what poets say in response to a crit interests me more than the orignal poem -- that is the case here:


Yes. You are right.
Language is hard
for me to adapt,
anytime if I don't
pay attention,
I will be easily
make mistakes.

the faltering, wistful tone in those lines immediately engages me, leaves me curious about the speaker. i wanted more of that story.



the title, Must we die? does not engage me --- this engages:


The birds are silent in the woods. / Just wait: soon enough / You will be quiet too… Goethe


or Larkin:


Quote:
Aubade

Philip Larkin

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.



but not men on a horse -- religious folks think of Revelations -- the four horsemen of the apocalypse.


as for bombs---more children will die by far today, this week, from disease, neglect and malnutrition than bombs. hate, prejudice. with or without war. boy soldiers, trafficed women.


here is robert haas (a professor and slavic language translator) who has twice won the national book award---here is an excerpt from his anti-war poem published in best american poetry 2008:


Quote:
I frankly admit the syntax
of that sentence, like the intestines slithering from the hands
of the startled boys clutching their belly wounds
at the Somme, has escaped my grip. I step over it
gingerly. Where were we?




Anne Szumigalski, dead now for nine years, married a Pole and worked as a translator during WW II.



when earth leaps up
and heaven descends
and the two meet like lovers
then the question is
could these flowers be stars
and is dust nothing
more than the handful
I sprinkled on your face
as you went down into the dirt




Arlene makes a child personal, but remains objective ---she lives in europe and speaks italian more than english i imagine during her working day.


Quote:
Why My Son Isn't Fit To Go To War

Arlene Ang

Recently, his second wife
left for a serious job
position in Bahamas.
Cherry gives him rashes.
He spots six paper-cut
scars on his right hand.
He never turns down
a green salad or dresses
for anyone's funeral.
Mimetic fatigues bring out
blemishes on his face.
He forgets to write.
In winter, he counts sheep
way past the 1900s, like
aspirins down his throat.
Often he stares into space.
His poems do not use caps
or punctuation marks.
I fill in the blanks.
In our correspondence,
we never talk about
weather or mention love.




less general, make me feel death, if that is your theme. no cliches--and probably no children that often seem added for the immediate pathos they represent.

an unforgetable poem centered on a child during the WW II bombing of London---dylan thomas -- upon a refusal to mourn the death by fire of a child in london.

i believe you have been viewing the Gaza bombings, yes?


for sheer horror ---this 1972 photo of a napalm burned child in viet nam--


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phan_Th%E1%BB%8B_Kim_Ph%C3%BAc


no shoartge, of such sad events.



bernie
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[[星子安娜]]

Comments from M.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A---

often what poets say in response to a crit interests me more than the orignal poem -- that is the case here:


Yes. You are right.
Language is hard
for me to adapt,
anytime if I don't
pay attention,
I will be easily
make mistakes.

the faltering, wistful tone in those lines immediately engages me, leaves me curious about the speaker. i wanted more of that story.



the title, Must we die? does not engage me --- this engages:


The birds are silent in the woods. / Just wait: soon enough / You will be quiet too… Goethe


or Larkin:


Quote:
Aubade

Philip Larkin

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.



but not men on a horse -- religious folks think of Revelations -- the four horsemen of the apocalypse.


as for bombs---more children will die by far today, this week, from disease, neglect and malnutrition than bombs. hate, prejudice. with or without war. boy soldiers, trafficed women.


here is robert haas (a professor and slavic language translator) who has twice won the national book award---here is an excerpt from his anti-war poem published in best american poetry 2008:


Quote:
I frankly admit the syntax
of that sentence, like the intestines slithering from the hands
of the startled boys clutching their belly wounds
at the Somme, has escaped my grip. I step over it
gingerly. Where were we?




Anne Szumigalski, dead now for nine years, married a Pole and worked as a translator during WW II.



when earth leaps up
and heaven descends
and the two meet like lovers
then the question is
could these flowers be stars
and is dust nothing
more than the handful
I sprinkled on your face
as you went down into the dirt




Arlene makes a child personal, but remains objective ---she lives in europe and speaks italian more than english i imagine during her working day.


Quote:
Why My Son Isn't Fit To Go To War

Arlene Ang

Recently, his second wife
left for a serious job
position in Bahamas.
Cherry gives him rashes.
He spots six paper-cut
scars on his right hand.
He never turns down
a green salad or dresses
for anyone's funeral.
Mimetic fatigues bring out
blemishes on his face.
He forgets to write.
In winter, he counts sheep
way past the 1900s, like
aspirins down his throat.
Often he stares into space.
His poems do not use caps
or punctuation marks.
I fill in the blanks.
In our correspondence,
we never talk about
weather or mention love.




less general, make me feel death, if that is your theme. no cliches--and probably no children that often seem added for the immediate pathos they represent.

an unforgetable poem centered on a child during the WW II bombing of London---dylan thomas -- upon a refusal to mourn the death by fire of a child in london.

i believe you have been viewing the Gaza bombings, yes?


for sheer horror ---this 1972 photo of a napalm burned child in viet nam--


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phan_Th%E1%BB%8B_Kim_Ph%C3%BAc


no shoartge, of such sad events.



bernie
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com