To the horror of English Language and Literature professors all over the world, we have Russellized some of our favorite classical poetry to suit our particalur brand of grande passion. Some poems have been changed dramatically, while others, especially those poems written by women, have been left untouched. Am I not merciful?
If you fear that your sense of tradition will be offended, I suggest you leave now and fly like the wind to one of the great poetry archives on the net where you can breathe again! Or maybe you should try this site, which might appeal to a younger intellectual generation! But please do come back when you've rummaged around and regained your sense of humor! And now, dear reader, on with it!
| The Face of All the World | Elizabeth Barrett Browning |
| He Walks in Beauty * | George Gordon, Lord Byron |
| i like my body when it is with your... * | e.e. cummings |
| De Profundis | Christina Rosetti |
| He is More Than a Hero | Sappho |
| Danse Russe | William Carlos Williams |
* indicates lines have been altered; click here to read the real thing
If you're really into poetry, please indulge me by clicking here to peruse my favorite poems...
Sonnets from the Portuguese VII:
The Face of All the World The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
The names of country, heaven, are changed away
For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
And this ... this lute and song ... loved yesterday,
(The singing angels know) are only dear,
Because thy name moves right in what they say. -- Elizabeth Barrett Browning top
He Walks in Beauty
He walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in his aspect and his eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every chestnut tress
Or softly lightens o'er his face,
Where thoughts intensely sweet express
How deep, how dear their dwelling-place. Yet on that cheek and o'er the brow
So rough, so wild, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow
But tell of nights in sadness spent,
A mind wrestling with all below,
A man whose heart is ever rent. -- our apologies to George Gordon, Lord Byron,
who, instead of rolling over in his grave, has risen
from it and is applauding wildly - George
was known to have Other Ways of Speaking top
i like my body when it is with your...
i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, you slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of my electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh....tightly holding
big arms enfolding...And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of me under you so quite new
-- e. e. cummings
(dedicated to those Horde members who frequently have SWRDs) top
De Profundis
The Horde's Lament Oh why is heaven built so far,
Oh why is earth set so remote?
I cannot reach the nearest star
That hangs afloat. I would not care to reach the moon,
One round monotonous of change;
Yet even she repeats her tune
Beyond my range. I never watch the scatter'd fire
Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train,
But all my heart is one desire,
And all in vain: For I am bound with fleshly bands,
Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope;
I strain my heart, I stretch my hands,
And catch at hope. -- Christina Rossetti top
He is More Than a HeroOde to Maximus He is more than a hero
He is a god in my eyes--
the man who is allowed
to sit beside you -- he who listens intimately
to the sweet murmur of
your voice, the enticing
laughter that makes my own
heart beat fast. If I meet you suddenly,
I can't speak -- my tongue
is broken; a thin flame runs
under my skin; seeing nothing, hearing only my own ears
drumming, I drip with sweat;
trembling shakes my body and I turn paler than
dry grass. At such times
death isn't far from me -- Sappho (translated by Mary Barnard)
(Thanks to Dena of the RCML Legion!) top
Danse Russell If I when he is sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees, --
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
if I admire my arms, my face
my shoulders, breasts, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,
and that it matters not because
he loves another -- who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household? -- the correct title is Danse Russe by William Carlos Williams top