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Longxi was on the northwest frontier of China, where the empire defended itself against barbarian invaders.
Longxi Ballad
They swore to sweep away the Huns, unmindful of danger,
five thousand in fur and brocade, lost in barbarian dust.
Pitiful--the bones beside the Shifting River
still alive in the dreams of the women at home.
--Chen Tao 陳陶 (ca 812-ca 885)
隴西行
誓掃匈奴不顧身，
五千貂錦喪胡塵；
可憐無定河邊骨，
猶是深閨夢裡人。
Pearl is a long poem written probably in the 1300s by a great nameless poet from the west Midlands of England. Although it is a Christian allegory, most people believe it was also written about the death of the poet's daughter, perhaps named Margaret (which means Pearl), who died very young. These are a few verses from the poem, translated into more understandable English by J.R.R. Tolkien, author of Lord of the Rings but also a scholar of old and middle English.
Pearl of delight that a prince doth please...
Her only alone I deemed as dear.
Alas! I lost her in garden near:
Through grass to the ground...
I pine now oppressed...
for that pearl, mine own, without a spot.
Since in that spot it sped from me,
I have looked and longed for that precious thing
... my heart doth hurt now cruelly,
my breast with burning torment sting...
to think that her radiance in clay should rot.
O mould! Thou marrest a lovely thing,
my pearl, mine own, without a spot.
...By that spot my hands I wrung dismayed;
for care full cold that had me caught
a hopeless grief on my heart was laid.
Though reason to reconcile me sought,
for my pearl there prisoned a plaint I made,
in fierce debate unmoved I fought;
be comforted Christ Himself me bade,
but in woe my will ever strove distraught...
[he wanders as in a dream and sees his daughter across a river]
...a child abode there at its base:
she wore a gown of glistening white...
erewhile I had known her well by sight...
She shone in beauty upon the shore;
long did my glance on her alight,
and the longer I looked I knew her more...
In pearls arrayed that maiden free
beyond the stream came down the strand.
From here to Greece none as glad could be
as I on shore to see her stand...
the more did joy my heart expand...
"O Pearl!" said I, "in pearls arrayed,
are you my pearl whose loss I mourn?
Lament alone by night I made,
much longing I have hid for thee forlorn,
since to the grass you from me strayed.
While I pensive waste by weeping worn...
what fate hath hither my jewel born
and made me mourning's prisoner?..."
[His daughter answers]
"...what you lost was but a rose
that by nature failed after flowering brief...
you grudge the healing of your grief....
"But of woe, I deem, and deep distress
you speak,"she said. "Why do you so?..."
[The father says:]
"Both bliss and grief you have been to me,
but of woe far greater hath been my share.
You were caught away from all perils free,
but my pearl was gone, I knew not where;
my sorrow is softened now I it see...
"In bliss you abide and happiness,
and I with woe am worn and grey;
oft searing sorrows I possess..."
[The girl answers]
"Your pearl you know you did resign
when in young and tender years was she;
yet my Lord, the Lamb, through power divine...
crowned me queen in bliss to shine
while days shall endure eternally..."
[He sees her in a vision among many other young girls, in the heavenly city.]
Then saw I there my little queen
that I thought stood by me in the glade!
Lord! great was the merriment she made,
among her peers who was so white.
That vision made me think to wade
for love-longing in great delight....
This chance I met on mound where prone
in grief for my pearl I would repine...
I then to God it did resign....
Even if happiness forgets you, don't you completely forget about it.
--Jacques Prévert (1900-1977)
Même si le bonheur t'oublie, ne l'oublie pas tout à fait.
Good Luck is an easy wench
and does not like to stay in one place;
she strokes the hair back from your forehead,
kisses you quickly and flutters off.
Mrs Bad Luck on the other hand
has lovingly pressed you to her breast;
she says she's not in a hurry,
sits herself down on your bed and knits.
--Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
Das Glück ist eine leichte Dirne
und weilt nicht gern am selben Ort;
sie streicht das Haar dir aus der Stirne
und küsst dich rasch und flattert fort.
Frau Unglück hat im Gegenteile
dich liebefest an Herz gedrückt;
sie sagt, sie habe keine Eile,
setzt sich zu dir ans Bett und strickt.
When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most
to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving ...advice,
solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our
wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with
us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour
of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not
healing, and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a
friend who cares.
--Henri Nouwen (1932-1996) was a Catholic priest from the Netherlands.
Ghazal 911
On the day of my death when my coffin is going by,
don't imagine that I have any pain about leaving this world.
Don't weep for me, and don't say, "How terrible! What a pity!"
For you will fall into the error of being deceived by the Devil,
and that would be a pity!
When you see my funeral, don't say, "Parting and separation!"
For me, that is the time for union and meeting.
When you entrust me to the grave, don't say,
"Goodbye! Farewell!" for the grave is only a curtain for
the gathering in Paradise.
When you see the going down, notice the coming up. Why should
there be loss because of the setting of the sun and moon?
It seems like setting to you, but it is rising. The tomb seems like a
prison, but it is the liberation of the soul.
What seed ever went down into the earth that didn't grow back up?
So, for you, why is there this doubt about the human "seed"?
What bucket ever went down and didn't come up full? Why
should there be any lamenting for the Joseph of the soul
because of the well?
When you have closed your mouth on this side, open it on that side,
for your shouts of joy will be in the Sky beyond place and time.
--Jelal ad Din Rumi (1207-1273) Translated by Ibrahim Gamard on Dar-al-Masnavi
I died as a mineral and became a plant,
I died as plant and rose to animal,
I died as animal and I was Man.
Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?
Yet once more I shall die as Man, to soar
With angels blest; but even from angelhood
I must pass on: all except God doth perish.
When I have sacrificed my angel-soul,
I shall become what no mind e'er conceived.
Oh, let me not exist! for Non-existence
Proclaims in organ tones, 'To Him we shall return.'
--Jalal ed-Din Rumi (1207-1273) Translated by A.J. Arberry
This comes from the webpage http://www.angelfire.com/rnb/bashiri/Poets/Rumi.html
How long
can I lament
with this depressed
heart and soul
how long
can I remain
a sad autumn
ever since my grief
has shed my leaves
the entire space
of my soul
is burning in agony
how long can I
hide the flames
wanting to rise
out of this fire
how long can one suffer
the pain of hatred
of another human
a friend behaving like an enemy
with a broken heart
how much more
can I take the message
from body to soul
I believe in love
I swear by love
believe me my love
how long
like a prisoner of grief
can I beg for mercy
you know I'm not
a piece of rock or steel
but hearing my story
even water will become
as tense as a stone
if I can only recount
the story of my life
right out of my body
flames will grow
--Jalal ed-Din Rumi (1207-1273) Translated by Nader Khalili in Rumi, Fountain of Fire (1994)
Lethe: The River of Forgetfulness
Recently in a dream I saw on the waters
a rowboat floating without oars,
the current and sky shone in dim embers
as when day is coming or flees away.
Boys sat in it with lotus-crowns,
slim girls leaned overboard,
circling through their ranks I saw
a gleaming bowl from which each one drank.
And now a song of sweet wistfulness pealed out
that the flock of crowned companions sang,
I recognized your bent neck,
your voice that rang through the choir.
I dived into the waves. It was so strangely cold
that I shivered to the core.
I reached the lightly gliding boat,
pushed myself into the consecrated troop,
and it was your turn to drink,
and you lifted the full bowl,
you spoke to me with trusting eyes,
"Dear heart, I drink to your forgetting!"
I ripped the bowl away from you
in a rage of defiant love, threw it into the water,
it sank, and see, your cheeks
colored with a flash of blood.
Pleading I kissed you in wild distress,
you gave me your pale mouth willingly,
then you melted away smiling in my arms
and I knew it again-- you are dead.
--Conrad Ferdinand Meyer (1825-1898)
Lethe
Jüngst im Traume sah ich auf den Fluten
einen Nachen ohne Ruder ziehn,
Strom und Himmel stand in matten Gluten
wie bei Tages Nahen oder Fliehn.
Sassen Knaben drin mit Lotoskränzen,
Mädchen beugten über Bord sich schlank,
kreisend durch die Reihe sah ich glänzen
eine Schale, draus ein jedes trank.
Jetzt erscholl ein Lied voll süsser Wehmut,
das di Schar der Kranzgenossen sang--
ich erkannte deines Nackens Demut,
deine Stimme, die den Chor durchdrang.
In die Welle taucht' ich. Bis zum Marke
schaudert' ich, wie seltsam kühl sie war.
Ich erreicht' die leise ziehne Barke,
drängte mich in di geweihte Schar.
Und die Reihe war an dir, zu trinken,
und die volle Schale hobest du,
sprachst zu mir mit trautem Augenwinken:
"Herz, ich trinke dir Vergessen zu!"
Dir entriss in trotz'gem Liebesdrange
ich die Schale, warf sie in die Flut,
sie versank, und siehe, deine Wange
färbte sich mit einem Schein von Blut.
Flehend küsst' ich dich in wildem Harme,
die den bleichen Munch mir willig bot,
da zerrannst du lächelnd mir im Arme
und ich wusst' es wieder-- du bist tot.
Sonnet X
Oh sweet pledges, found to my sadness,
sweet and happy when God wanted them to be!
You are joined in my memory,
and together you conjure up death to me.
Who could have told me, seeing me in past hours,
when I was so glad because of you,
that you would someday mean to me
such a deep sadness?
Since in one single hour you took away from me
all the good you gave me for a while,
take away from me now the pain that you have left me.
If not, I will suspect that you made me
so happy because you wanted
to see me die among sad memories.
--Garcilaso de la Vega (1501-1536)
The poet had just learned of the death of the woman he loved, Isabel de Freire.
Soneto X
Oh dulces prendas, por mi mal halladas,
dulces y alegres cuando Dios quería!
Juntas estáis en la memoria mía,
y con ella en mi muerte conjuradas.
Quién me dijera cuando en las pasadas
horas en tanto bien por vos me vía,
que me habíades de ser en algún día
con tan grave dolor representads?
Pues en un hora junto me llevastes
todo el bien que por términos me distes,
llevadme junto el mal que me dejastes.
Si no, sospecharé que me pusistes
en tantos bienes, porque deseastes
verme morir entre memorias tristes.
