Poor Cleitus, rictus grin, his staring eyes.
Wine, it has been spilt, amphorae shattered.
‘He’s dead my Lord.’ A cry profane.
Dismay, regret, not that it mattered.

For, Alexander, you proclaimed yourself the son of Ammon,
Zeus Ammon, but even so
By doing that you disowned Philip
Who was once our king.
Your father.

And when eunuchs foul make their approach,
They kiss the ground. And Persians you have made
kneel and bow to scrape the floor.
Cleitus did but cry ‘Alexander, no more.’
And you killed him.

“Did but cry” - I hear you say. ‘That is wrong.
Cleitus the Black was furious and fighting drunk.
Since Granicus he has claimed to own my life.
To own the king’s life!
Could any obligation so strong?’

‘He, Lanike’s brother, a childhood friend.
Evoking memories of that Macedon, long ago.
This, the man with whom I played and once whom I admired.
Who, after sharing Thasian, Mendaean, Lesbian wine,
Did threaten that, which others just as bold declare divine.’

“Alexander, brave men have died to put you where you are,” he said.
“And yet, instead of using us you use these Persian Swine.”
And then, would you believe, he poured himself a cup of wine?
This angered me, to the extent that I hurled an apple at his head.
Shouting “would you rather Philip, here; that I was dead?”

I have done more than Philip ever did or planned to do.
And yet, still you all compare me with that man.
Know that what we plan to do, and what we have done, e’en with you,
Is because of me, of what I am.
Done not by Philip but by Alexander; by me - because I can.

Yes, I know, he saved my life.
But did that give him leave to rant, and rave, and roar?
There can be no doubt, the way that he was poised.
It was to attack. And being so, I had no choice
I had to fight him back.

And now he is dead. But let us be clear,
‘Twas not in anger, neither was it fear.
Cleitus, he was mine and I held him dear.
Why then, you say, turn the spear?
Because it was Cleitus. That is why. You hear?

He, whom once I loved disdained my claim:
“That but for Philip I would not be here.
That Parmenion’s death will ever sully my great name.”
And “his death betrayed our dead; that’s to my shame.”
All this he bellowed, and then the sneer.
That is why I turned the spear.

How did Cleitus ever think to call my Nemesis?
Even drunk he had not that right.
And now, such this time of mine I must spend in sorrow.
Talking not with man, nor planning where or when to fight.
And from the daughter of bleak night must look to borrow
Surcease; so, might I once more Alexander show
In all his awful might.

When the paintbrush of the day
is tucked away
and the sunset dipped
in the forest of the night
the moon wanes and waxes
down the hills of stars  
atop that shady wrap.

Who peeps in
where the sleeping beauty wakes
is any one guess
nor it's a amateur's business.

Far from the half lit astral canopy
any bucket lowered  
deep down on the ground
into a barrowed well of colours
comes up with a Joseph of Cannon
the firesome story goes on.
The same fire burner
is also the same fire extinguisher
Alexander the Great intrigued life water
cool serene cup of Ab-e Hayat elixir!

The face of Earth is for no one
King Solomon or the great
Alexander the believers.
Nor for disbeliever
Nebuchadnezzar.

Hell or Paradise neither
is on the face of Earth.
What lives is in the heart!

Is it gone slipped out of the net
the time is on the fly?
Bask in the shadow is not too far,
take a walk down the sun.

Let the firesome stands tall
up the mountain of its colour splendour.
The bumble bees know there are
more on the edges of the spectral.
The moon only dips in the black earth
and scoops a black mole for every star!

The giant beauty in the night is more
it does a matter what a wee hour you eye on!  
Scientists say the star vanishes in the black hole
maybe it doesn’t want to come off the locks
but how did Alexander the Great sniff out
there was elixir on the other side of the pool?

A thought crosses my mind as if a moonlight
passes a sleeping one that promptly wakes up
and feels like showering in the moonlight
the sky isn't big nor the stars are far
but the planet earth by sea is bigger.
Every star loves to slide into the sea in the moonlight
perhaps the glowing moon on its forehead did it first!
Squeezed earth breaks out where it apparently ends
more is in the zero-circle, pi is transcended!
Let's taste, he sets out for the end of the globe.
on the way he goes, walks in chiaroscuro
down the moving planets in light and shadow.

If the seven seas splash out in a lofty billow
sets out on the cloud for the blue sky he won’t stop
because the empty cup is refilled there is a elixir drop!  

Up high the star in the black holes delights in locks
deep down the earth the moon delves in a black mole.
All is dark matter the light is over the burnt Mt.Sinai
the only cool rose Moses down the fire is in an elixir dew,
the watermark, from the untouchable a touching cue.
The secret sauce of life just a glance turns the sun to brew
the whole stars mirroring sea in the night slides into a dew!

Of Civilization and Disenchantment
by Michael R. Burch

Suddenly uncomfortable
to stay at my grandfather's house ―
actually his third new wife's,
in her daughter's bedroom
― one interminable summer
with nothing to do,
all the meals served cold,
even beans and peas...

Lacking the words to describe
ah! , those pearl-luminous estuaries ―
strange omens, incoherent nights.

Seeing the flares of the river barges
illuminating Memphis,
city of bluffs and dying splendors.

Drifting toward Alexandria,
Pharos, Rhakotis, Djoser's fertile delta,
lands at the beginning of a new time and "civilization."

Leaving behind sixty miles of unbroken cemetery,
Alexander's corpse floating seaward,
bobbing, milkwhite, in a jar of honey.

Memphis shall be waste and desolate,
without an inhabitant.
Or so the people dreamed, in chains.

Published by The Centrifugal Eye and The Centrifugal Eye Fifth Anniversary Anthology. Keywords/Tags: Memphis, river, barges, bluffs, Alexandria, Pharos, Rhakotis, Djoser, Alexander, waste, desolate

Я вас любил ("I Loved You")

Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (1799-1837) was a Russian poet, playwright and novelist. He has been called Russia's greatest poet and the founder of modern Russian literature. These are my modern English translations of Pushkin poems, epigrams and quotes …

I Loved You
by Alexander Pushkin
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

1.
I loved you once … perhaps I love you still …
perhaps such erratic flickerings remain.
But please don’t let my feelings trouble you;
I do not wish to cause you further pain.

I loved you … thus the hopelessness I knew …
the jealousy, the shyness and the pain,
resulted in my hope that somehow you
might find the grace to fall in love again.

2.
I loved you … perhaps I love you still …
perhaps for a while such emotions may remain.
But please don’t let my feelings trouble you;
I do not wish to cause you further pain.

I loved you … thus the hopelessness I knew …
The jealousy, the diffidence, the pain
resulted in two hearts so wholly true
the gods might grant us leave to love again.

3.
I loved you once, and love might still be living,
its fading flame concealed within my core,
But please don't let this fill you with misgiving:
I do not want to hurt you anymore.

In hopeless, silent love I nearly perished:
It made me jealous, and it scared me too.
But now I pray that someday you’ll be cherished
By someone who will love you as I do.

The original Russian poem:

Я вас любил: любовь еще, быть может,
В душе моей угасла не совсем;
Но пусть она вас больше не тревожит;
Я не хочу печалить вас ничем.
Я вас любил безмолвно, безнадежно,
То робостью, то ревностью томим;
Я вас любил так искренно, так нежно,
Как дай вам бог любимой быть другим.



Friendship
by Alexander Pushkin
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What's “friendship”? The hangover's daze,
The mild aftermath of outrage,
Exchanges in a wounded ego’s haze,
The humiliation of patronage.



I Outlasted Every Desire
by Alexander Pushkin
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I outlasted every desire;
for I and my dreams had to part.
Now grief alone is left, entire,
from gleanings of a barren heart.
The maelstroms of Fate
have left my erstwhile laurel stripped;
thus I live alone without a mate
and face my end, thus, ill-equipped.
Thus on a naked tree-limb, shorn
by relentless winter's furious chill,
a single leaf, too lately born,
unseasonal, lies trembling still.



Untitled

I've lived to embalm my desires,
for my golden dreams to corrode to rust;
now all that's left are banked fires
that leave my heart ashen dust.
—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Struck down by the cruel winds of Fate,
my quaint springtime blooms disappear.
Now lonely and sad, I await
Winter’s wail that the end-time draws near.
—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Habit is Heaven's tame redress:
it tugs down the skirts of Happiness.
—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Till, conquered by gusts of cold air,
as Winter approaches, I find,
on a branch that is otherwise bare,
trembling, a leaf left behind.
—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Whom to love, to trust and treasure,
who won’t betray us in the end?
Whose kindest thoughts will measure
our words as we intend?
—Alexander Pushkin, Eugene Onegin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Then came a moment of realization:
I looked again and you were there,
a fleeting glimpse of perfection,
of all that’s exquisite and rare.
—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When I want to understand you,
I study your obscurities.
—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Never despise the translator, he's the courier of civilization.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Never despise the translator, he's the courier/connector/relay/conduit/Pony Express of civilization.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My whole life was covenanted to this meeting with you…—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I was not put here to entertain Tsars.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fear no insult, seek no crown, receive flattery and slander with equal indifference, and never argue with a fool.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Better ten thousand unrealized dreams than never to have dreamed at all.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

If only you knew the inferno within, which I attempt to tamp down with reason!—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The less we love women, the easier they are to charm.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As poetry requires inspiration, so does geometry.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Ecstasy is a glass full of tea melting a sugar cube.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Unrequited love is not an affront but an incentive to excel next time.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Moral maxims are most useful when nothing else can excuse our failures.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Write for pleasure, publish for perks.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Write for pleasure, publish for pay/pelf/perks/plenty/plenitude/prosperity.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

An elevating illusion’s more enlightening than innumerable low truths.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Better an exalting illusion than ten thousand truths.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As long as I live in one heart, I remain immortal.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As long as I live in one heart, my memory’s immortal.—Alexander Pushkin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: Russia, Russian, Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin, modern English translation, regret, remorse

Sword of Ishmael, robed in Assyria's mantle,
Consecrated of God, Prince of princes,
A Destroyer: the executioner of judgements.
A thorn driven deep into the heart of Jerusalem,
Tempting violent men, who pride in their strength,
as Excalibur and the Gordian Knot challenged
Arthur and Alexander.