FRIENDSHIP POEM

Subject: FRIENDSHIP POEM , by KHALIL GIBRAN   Wed Dec 03, 2008 10:21 pm

FRIENDSHIP POEM , by KHALIL GIBRAN
(1883 /1931)

If I Could...

If I could catch a rainbow
I would do it just for you
And share with you its beauty
On the days you're feeling blue.

If I could build a mountain
You could call your very own
A place to find serenity
A place to be alone.

If I could take your troubles
I would toss them in the sea
But all these things I'm finding
Are impossible for me.

I cannot build a mountain
Or catch a rainbow fair
But let me be what I know best:
A friend who's always there.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

A poem which is a delight in itself but is given added resonance if time is spent reading of the close relationship between poet and poet husband and of how they overcame parental objection to their love by eloping!   How brave they must have been to have done so, especially in the 19th Century.  

This was a relationship tested to it limits and found to be genuine, profound and resilient. Happily, their love grew even stronger and both found contentment in the company of the other.  They were indeed true soul-mates.

How Do I Love Thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

A HAPPY SATURDAY TO YOU ALL!

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Caution in each step.

Stephen Evans 2014

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 This poem from the German, is a wonderful meditation on the power of art.  It is great art itself.  The final line always sends a shudder down my back and a tingle down my neck.

Archaischer Torso Apollos

Wir kannten nicht sein unerhörtes Haupt,
darin die Augenäpfel reiften. Aber
sein Torso glüht noch wie ein Kandelaber,
in dem sein Schauen, nur zurückgeschraubt,

sich hält und glänzt. Sonst könnte nicht der Bug
der Brust dich blenden, und im leisen Drehen
der Lenden könnte nicht ein Lächeln gehen
zu jener Mitte, die die Zeugung trug.

Sonst stünde dieser Stein entstellt und kurz
unter der Schultern durchsichtigem Sturz
und flimmerte nicht so wie Raubtierfelle;

und bräche nicht aus allen seinen Rändern
aus wie ein Stern: denn da ist keine Stelle,
die dich nicht sieht. Du mußt dein Leben ändern.

Apollo's Archaic Torso

We cannot know his incredible head,
where the eyes ripened like apples,
yet his torso still glows like a candelabrum,
from which his gaze, however dimmed,

still persists and gleams. If this were not so,
the bow of his breast could not blind you,
nor could a smile, steered by the gentle curve
of his loins, glide to the centre of procreation.

And this stone would seem disfigured and stunted,
the shoulders descending into nothing,
unable to glisten like a predator's pelt,

or burst out from its confines and radiate
like a star: for there is no angle from which
it cannot see you. You have to change your life.

Rainer Maria Rilke

BITTER-SWEET POEM BY RUPERT BROOKE

THE CHILTERNS 

Your hands, my dear, adorable,
   Your lips of tenderness
-- Oh, I've loved you faithfully and well,
   Three years, or a bit less.
   It wasn't a success.

Thank God, that's done! and I'll take the road,
   Quit of my youth and you,
The Roman road to Wendover
   By Tring and Lilley Hoo,
   As a free man may do.

For youth goes over, the joys that fly,
   The tears that follow fast;
And the dirtiest things we do must lie
   Forgotten at the last;
   Even Love goes past.

What's left behind I shall not find,
   The splendour and the pain;
The splash of sun, the shouting wind,
   And the brave sting of rain,
   I may not meet again.

But the years, that take the best away,
   Give something in the end;
And a better friend than love have they,
   For none to mar or mend,
   That have themselves to friend.

I shall desire and I shall find
   The best of my desires;
The autumn road, the mellow wind
   That soothes the darkening shires.
   And laughter, and inn-fires.

White mist about the black hedgerows,
   The slumbering Midland plain,
The silence where the clover grows,
   And the dead leaves in the lane,
   Certainly, these remain.

And I shall find some girl perhaps,
   And a better one than you,
With eyes as wise, but kindlier,
   And lips as soft, but true.
   And I daresay she will do.

Rupert Brooke, 1913

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HAPPY EASTER!

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