#dante
beyond the heavens, of mere mortal's reach,
in the darkest corners, bloom the portals, which,
nor the light, neither its bringer can out-breach,
it tears off not just souls, time as well, in its stretch,
within, it holds the preys, of lust, gluttony n' treach,
what one of Alighieri's lines, to us, may dare teach -
"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here"
when mortals overcame the divine fear,
and befriended the reason, the devil's dear,
of skeptic sciences, unreal numbers did bear,
cursed parchments that said "it exists there!" ,
when seen from the eight, arachnid, alumen eyes,
with clairvoyance was sighted, that inferno of skies.
Feb 5
Feb 5, 2026 at 11:24 AM UTC
Down
Down,
Through the sulfurous haze,
Dante stumbled,
Lost in a
Fiery
Maze
Is this hell or a hammer film set
He asked himself,
Grinning with regret
A demon
Dressed in tattered lace,
With
Fangs and makeup,
A boneyard
Face
"Welcome to the pit, where
Sin abide
And
Dracula's got a VIP ride
The first circle
Fog and gloom
Looking for a friendly face,
I hope to find one soon
Next the gluttons,
Oh what a feast,
A banquet of souls
That never ceased
The brimstone smoked,
And ghosts of
Sinners,
Just happily joked
"Is this hell or a cryptic comedy?"
Dante laughed, lost in absurdity
The third,
greedy souls did cry,
Stuck in the mud,
Can't buy a thing
To
Satisfy
The Sinners dined in darkness,
Yet they slept
Until Dante shouted
"This is the wrong set"
So down to the deepest depths,
Where bat's flapped
And twisted,
Dante's glasses
Got slightly
Misted
But in the end
Dante found a seat,
In hells own cinema
Complete with a
Treat
A demon with a smile,
Made popcorn pop
And said
"You're in for a shock"
Dante sat back with his eternal snack,
And watched
As the credits rolled
"I'm never coming back"
Apr 26, 2025
Apr 26, 2025 at 6:05 AM UTC
Takaha Shugyo haiku and tanka translations
Takaha Shugyo (1930-) is a Japanese poet. He was born in Japan's mountainous Yamagata Prefecture and began writing haiku at age fifteen. He studied with the renowned Yamaguchi Seishi and Akimoto Fujio, won the Young Poet's Award in 1965, then went on to found the haiku magazine KARI in 1978.
Wild geese pass
leaving the emptiness of heaven
revealed
― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Are the geese flying south?
The candle continues to flicker ...
―Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Oh, fallen camellias,
if I were you,
I'd leap into the torrent!
―Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A single tree
with a heart carved into its trunk
blossoms prematurely
―Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Still clad in its clown's costume—
the dead ladybird.
―Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Inside the cracked shell
of a walnut:
one empty room
― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Such gloom!
Inside the walnut's cracked shell:
one empty room
―Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Bring me an icicle
sparkling with the stars
of the deep north
― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Seen from the skyscraper
the trees' fresh greenery:
parsley sprigs
― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Our life here on earth:
to what shall we compare it?
It is not like a rowboat
departing at daybreak,
leaving no trace of us in its wake?
― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tree crickets chirping—
after I've judged
a thousand verses today!
―Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Crickets chirping discordantly—
how to judge
ten thousand verses?
―Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Original Haiku
Sleepyheads!
I recite my haiku
to the inattentive lilies.
—Michael R. Burch
POEMS ABOUT NIGHTMARES
My nightmare ...
by Michael R. Burch, writing as “The Child Poets of Gaza”
I had a dream of Jesus!
Mama, his eyes were so kind!
But behind him I saw a billion Christians
hissing "You're nothing!," so blind.
Excelsior
by Michael R. Burch
I lift my eyes and laugh, Excelsior . . .
Why do you come, wan spirit, heaven-gowned,
complaining that I am no longer “pure?”
I threw myself before you, and you frowned,
so full of noble chastity, renowned
for leaving maidens maidens. In the dark
I sought love’s bright enchantment, but your lips
were stone; my fiery metal drew no spark
to light the cold dominions of your heart.
What realms were ours? What leasehold? And what claim
upon these territories, cold and dark,
do you seek now, pale phantom? Would you light
my heart in death and leave me ashen-white,
as you are white, extinguished by the Night?
Excerpts from the Journal of Dorian Gray
by Michael R. Burch
It was not so much dream, as error;
I lay and felt the creeping terror
of what I had become take hold . . .
The moon watched, silent, palest gold;
the picture by the mantle watched;
the clock upon the mantle talked,
in halting voice, of minute things . . .
Twelve strokes like lashes and their stings
scored anthems to my loneliness,
but I have dreamed of what is best,
and I have promised to be good . . .
Dismembered limbs in vats of wood,
foul acids, and a strangled cry!
I did not care, I watched him die . . .
Each lovely rose has thorns we miss;
they ***** our lips, should we once kiss
their mangled limbs, or think to clasp
their violent beauty. Dream, aghast,
the flower of my loveliness,
this ageless face (for who could guess?),
and I will kiss you when I rise . . .
The patterns of our lives comprise
strange portraits. Mine, I fear,
proved dear indeed . . . Adieu!
The knife’s for you.
Originally published by Dusk & Shiver Magazine
ROBERT BURNS TRANSLATIONS/MODERNIZATIONS
Comin Thro the Rye
by Robert Burns
Oh, Jenny's all wet, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry;
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.
Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye.
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.
Should a body meet a body
Comin' through the rye,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need anybody cry?
Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye.
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.
Should a body meet a body
Comin' through the glen,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need all the world know, then?
Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye.
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.
A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Oh, my love is like a red, red rose
that's newly sprung in June
and my love is like the melody
that's sweetly played in tune.
And you're so fair, my lovely lass,
and so deep in love am I,
that I will love you still, my dear,
till all the seas run dry.
Till all the seas run dry, my dear,
and the rocks melt with the sun!
And I will love you still, my dear,
while the sands of life shall run.
And fare you well, my only love!
And fare you well, awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
though it were ten thousand miles!
Banks of Doon
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Oh, banks and hills of lovely Doon,
How can you bloom so fresh and fair;
How can you chant, ecstatic birds,
When I'm so weary, full of care!
You'll break my heart, small warblers,
Flittering through the flowering thorn:
Reminding me of long-lost joys,
Departed—never to return!
I've often wandered lovely Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And as the lark sang of its love,
Just as fondly, I sang of mine.
Then gaily-hearted I plucked a rose,
So fragrant upon its thorny tree;
And my false lover stole my rose,
But, ah!, he left the thorn in me.
Auld Lange Syne
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And days for which we pine?
For times we shared, my darling,
Days passed, once yours and mine,
We’ll raise a cup of kindness yet,
To those fond-remembered times!
Have you ever wondered just exactly what you're singing? "Auld lang syne" means something like "times gone by" or "times long since passed" and in the context of the song means something like "times long since passed that we shared together and now remember fondly." In my translation, which is not word-for-word, I try to communicate what I believe Burns was trying to communicate: raising a toast to fond recollections of times shared in the past.
To a Mouse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Sleek, tiny, timorous, cowering beast,
why's such panic in your breast?
Why dash away, so quick, so rash,
in a frenzied flash
when I would be loath to pursue you
with a murderous plowstaff!
I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
has broken Nature's social union,
and justifies that bad opinion
which makes you startle,
when I'm your poor, earth-born companion
and fellow mortal!
I have no doubt you sometimes thieve;
What of it, friend? You too must live!
A random corn-ear in a shock's
a small behest; it-
'll give me a blessing to know such a loss;
I'll never miss it!
Your tiny house lies in a ruin,
its fragile walls wind-rent and strewn!
Now nothing's left to construct you a new one
of mosses green
since bleak December's winds, ensuing,
blow fast and keen!
You saw your fields laid bare and waste
with weary winter closing fast,
and cozy here, beneath the blast,
you thought to dwell,
till crash! the cruel iron ploughshare passed
straight through your cell!
That flimsy heap of leaves and stubble
had cost you many a weary nibble!
Now you're turned out, for all your trouble,
less house and hold,
to endure cold winter's icy dribble
and hoarfrosts cold!
But mouse-friend, you are not alone
in proving foresight may be vain:
the best-laid schemes of Mice and Men
go oft awry,
and leave us only grief and pain,
for promised joy!
Still, friend, you're blessed compared with me!
Only present dangers make you flee:
But, ouch!, behind me I can see
grim prospects drear!
While forward-looking seers, we
humans guess and fear!
To a Louse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly?
Your impudence protects you, barely;
I can only say that you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace.
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely
In such a place.
You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner,
How dare you set your feet upon her—
So fine a lady!
Go somewhere else to seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Off! around some beggar's temple shamble:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now hold you there! You're out of sight,
Below the folderols, snug and tight;
No, faith just yet! You'll not be right,
Till you've got on it:
The very topmost, towering height
Of miss's bonnet.
My word! right bold you root, contrary,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry.
Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or dread red poison;
I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea,
It'd dress your noggin!
I wouldn't be surprised to spy
You on some housewife's flannel tie:
Or maybe on some ragged boy's
Pale undervest;
But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie!
How dare you jest?
Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And lash your lovely braids abroad!
You hardly know what cursed speed
The creature's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice-taking!
O would some Power with vision teach us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notions:
What airs in dress and carriage would leave us,
And even devotion!
#BURNS #MRBURNS
POEMS ABOUT SAINTS AND SINNERS
Of Seabound Saints and Promised Lands
by Michael R. Burch
Judas sat on a wretched rock,
his head still sore from Satan’s gnawing.
Saint Brendan’s curragh caught his eye,
wildly geeing and hawing.
"I’m on parole from Hell today!,"
Pale Judas cried from his lonely perch.
"You’ve fasted forty days, good Saint!
Let this rock by my church,
my baptismal, these icy waves.
O, plead for me now with the One who saves!"
Saint Brendan, full of mercy, stood
at the lurching prow of his flimsy bark,
and mightily prayed for the mangy man
whose flesh flashed pale and stark
in the golden dawn, beneath a sun
that seemed to halo his tonsured dome.
Then Saint Brendan sailed for the Promised Land
and Saint Judas headed Home.
O, behoove yourself, if ever you can,
of the fervent prayer of a righteous man!
In Dante’s "Inferno," Satan gnaws on Judas Iscariot’s head. A curragh is a boat fashioned from wood and ox hides. Saint Brendan of Ireland is the patron saint of sailors and whales. According to legend, he sailed in search of the Promised Land and discovered America centuries before Columbus.
DANTE TRANSLATIONS
Translations of Dante Epigrams and Quotes by Michael R. Burch
Little sparks may ignite great Infernos.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In Beatrice I beheld the outer boundaries of blessedness.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
She made my veins and even the pulses within them tremble.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Her sweetness left me intoxicated.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love commands me by determining my desires.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Follow your own path and let the bystanders gossip.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The devil is not as dark as depicted.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There is no greater sorrow than to recall how we delighted in our own wretchedness.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As he, who with heaving lungs escaped the suffocating sea, turns to regard its perilous waters.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O human race, born to soar heavenward, why do you nosedive in the mildest breeze?—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O human race, born to soar heavenward, why do you quail at the least breath of wind?—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Midway through my life’s journey
I awoke to find myself lost in a trackless wood,
for I had strayed far from the straight path.
—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
INSCRIPTION ON THE GATE OF HELL
Before me nothing existed, to fear.
Eternal I am, and eternal I endure.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
POEMS ABOUT TIME, LOSS AND FADING MEMORIES
Cycles
by Michael R. Burch
I see his eyes caress my daughter’s *******
through her thin cotton dress,
and how an indiscreet strap of her white bra
holds his bald fingers
in fumbling mammalian awe . . .
And I remember long cycles into the bruised dusk
of a distant park,
hot blushes,
wild, disembodied rushes of blood,
portentous intrusions of lips, tongues and fingers . . .
and now in him the memory of me lingers
like something thought rancid,
proved rotten.
I see Another again—hard, staring, and silent—
though long-ago forgotten . . .
And I remember conjectures of ***** lines,
brief flashes of white down bleacher stairs,
coarse patches of hair glimpsed in bathroom mirrors,
all the odd, questioning stares . . .
Yes, I remember it all now,
and I shoo them away,
willing them not to play too long or too hard
in the back yard—
with a long, ineffectual stare
that years from now, he may suddenly remember.
Photographs
by Michael R. Burch
Here are the effects of a life
and they might tell us a tale
(if only we had time to listen)
of how each imperiled tear would glisten,
remembered as brightness in her eyes,
and how each dawn’s dramatic skies
could never match such pale azure.
Like dreams of her, these ghosts endure
and they tell us a tale of impatient glory . . .
till a line appears—a trace of worry?—
or the wayward track of a wandering smile
which even now can charm, beguile?
We might find good cause to wonder
as we see her pause (to frown?, to ponder?):
what vexed her in her loveliness . . .
what weight, what crushing heaviness
turned her auburn hair a frazzled gray,
and stole her youth before her day?
We might ask ourselves: did Time devour
the passion with the ravaged flower?
But here and there a smile will bloom
to light the leaden, shadowed gloom
that always seems to linger near . . .
And here we find a single tear:
it shimmers like translucent dew
and tells us Anguish touched her too,
and did not spare her for her hair's
burnt copper, or her eyes' soft hue.
Published in Tucumcari Literary Review (the first poem in its issue)
POEMS ABOUT DAY AND NIGHT
Day, and Night (I)
by Michael R. Burch
The moon exposes syphilitic craters
and veiled by ghostly willows, palely looms,
while we who rise each day to grind a living,
dream each scented night of such perfumes
as drew us to the window, to the moonlight,
when all the earth was steeped in cobalt blue—
an eerie vase of achromatic flowers
bled silver by pale starlight, losing hue.
The night begins her waltz to waiting sunrise—
adagio, the music she now hears,
while we who in the sunlight slave for succor,
dreaming, seek communion with the spheres.
And all around the night is in crescendo,
and everywhere the stars’ bright legions form,
and here we hear the sweet incriminations
of lovers we had once to keep us warm.
And also here we find, like bled carnations,
red lips that whitened, kisses drawn to lies,
that touched us once with fierce incantations
and taught us love was prettier than wise.
Day, and Night (II)
by Michael R. Burch
The moon exposes pockmarked scars of craters;
her visage, veiled by willows, palely looms.
And we who rise each day to grind a living,
dream each scented night of such perfumes
as drew us to the window, to the moonlight,
when all the earth was steeped in cobalt blue—
an eerie vase of achromatic flowers
bled silver by pale starlight, losing hue.
The night begins her waltz to waiting sunrise—
adagio, the music she now hears;
and we who in the sunlight slave for succor,
dreaming, seek communion with the spheres.
And all around the night is in crescendo,
and everywhere the stars’ bright legions form,
and here we hear the sweet incriminations
of lovers we had once to keep us warm.
And also here we find, like bled carnations,
red lips that whitened, kisses drawn to lies,
that touched us once with fierce incantations
and taught us love was prettier than wise.
POEMS ABOUT ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND ANN RUTLEDGE
Ann Rutledge’s grave marker in Petersburg, Illinois, contains a poem written by Edgar Lee Masters in which she is “Beloved of Abraham Lincoln, / Wedded to him, not through union, / But through separation.”
Ann Rutledge’s Irregular Quilt
by Michael R. Burch
based on “Lincoln the Unknown” by Dale Carnegie
I.
Her fingers “plied the needle” with “unusual swiftness and art”
till Abe knelt down beside her: then her demoralized heart
set Eros’s dart a-quiver; thus a crazy quilt emerged:
strange stitches all a-kilter, all patterns lost. (Her host
kept her vicarious laughter barely submerged.)
II.
Years later she’d show off the quilt with its uncertain stitches
as evidence love undermines men’s plans and women’s strictures
(and a plethora of scriptures.)
III.
But O the sacred tenderness Ann’s reckless stitch contains
and all the world’s felicities: rich cloth, for love’s fine gains,
for sweethearts’ tremulous fingers and their bright, uncertain vows
and all love’s blithe, erratic hopes (like now’s).
IV.
Years later on a pilgrimage, by tenderness obsessed,
Dale Carnegie, drawn to her grave, found weeds in her place of rest
and mowed them back, revealing the spot of the Railsplitter’s joy and grief
(and his hope and his disbelief).
V.
Yes, such is the tenderness of love, and such are its disappointments.
Love is a book of rhapsodic poems. Love is an grab bag of ointments.
Love is the finger poised, the smile, the Question — perhaps the Answer?
Love is the pain of betrayal, the two left feet of the dancer.
VI.
There were ladies of ill repute in his past. Or so he thought. Was it true?
And yet he loved them, Ann (sweet Ann!), as tenderly as he loved you.
Winter Thoughts of Ann Rutledge
by Michael R. Burch
Winter was not easy,
nor would the spring return.
I knew you by your absence,
as men are wont to burn
with strange indwelling fire —
such longings you inspire!
But winter was not easy,
nor would the sun relent
from sculpting ****** images
and how could I repent?
I left quaint offerings in the snow,
more maiden than I care to know.
RISQUE LIMERICKS
Dee Lite Full
by Michael R. Burch
A cross-dressing dancer, “Dee Lite,”
wore gowns luciferously bright
till he washed them one day
the old-fashioned way ...
in bleach. Now he’s “Sister Off-White.”
The ****** Ender Blender
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a bubbly bartender,
a transvestite who went on a ******
“So I cut myself off,”
she cried with a sob,
“There’s the evidence, there in the blender!”
KEYWORDS/TAGS: Takaha Shugyo, haiku translations, tanka translations, Robert Burns, Dante, modern English translations
Jun 6, 2024
Jun 6, 2024 at 12:05 PM UTC
In the middle of the journey of your life
you had wandered from the straight path.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and you took both of them.
You broke on through to the other side
but came back stateside pretty often.
Being lied about, you stopped lying.
From men and women you could sometimes require
the lineaments of gratified desire.
Clouds may wander, lonely,
but you’re pretty good at finding company.
Apr 28, 2024
Apr 28, 2024 at 2:28 AM UTC
I have put the Emerald Green to one side.
Submerged— within the lapping tide!—
Look now! Steadfast!—
Stronger than the Ark's iron mast—
Three angels approach above the water!
Transfixed, I set my gaze beyond the Light.
Shall we reside beyond the hallowed glow?
Feb 26, 2024
Feb 26, 2024 at 7:38 AM UTC
Now we crawl through the dirt, on the forest floor,
Between the stone graveyards, evermore.
Now we are accompanied by those
Who were as they had been below,
As they had been when they were once above.
Aug 12, 2023
Aug 12, 2023 at 7:22 AM UTC
ITALIAN POETRY TRANSLATIONS
These are my modern English translations of the Roman, Latin and Italian poets Anonymous, Marcus Aurelius, Catullus, ***** Cavalcanti, Cicero, Dante Alighieri, Veronica Franco, ***** Guinizelli, Hadrian, Primo Levi, Martial, Michelangelo, Seneca, Seneca the Younger and Leonardo da Vinci. I also have translations of Latin poems by the English poets Aldhelm, Thomas Campion, Gildas and Saint Godric of Finchale.
Wall, I'm astonished that you haven't collapsed,
since you're holding up verses so prolapsed!
—Ancient Roman graffiti, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My objective is not to side with the majority, but to avoid the ranks of the insane.—Marcus Aurelius, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Little sparks ignite great Infernos.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation Michael R. Burch
MARTIAL
I must admit I'm partial
to Martial.
—Michael R. Burch
You ask me why I've sent you no new verses?
There might be reverses.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You ask me to recite my poems to you?
I know how you'll 'recite' them, if I do.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You ask me why I choose to live elsewhere?
You're not there.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You ask me why I love fresh country air?
You're not befouling it there.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You ask me why I love fresh country air?
You're not befouling it, mon frère.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
You’ll find good poems, but mostly poor and worse,
my peers being “diverse” in their verse.
2.
Some good poems here, but most not worth a curse:
such is the crapshoot of a book of verse.
Sunt bona, sunt quaedam mediocria, sunt mala plura
quae legis hic: aliter non fit, Auite, liber.
He undertook to be a doctor
but turned out to be an undertaker.
Chirurgus fuerat, nunc est uispillo Diaulus:
coepit quo poterat clinicus esse modo.
1.
The book you recite from, Fidentinus, was my own,
till your butchering made it yours alone.
2.
The book you recite from I once called my own,
but you read it so badly, it’s now yours alone.
3.
You read my book as if you wrote it,
but you read it so badly I’ve come to hate it.
Quem recitas meus est, o Fidentine, libellus:
sed male *** recitas, incipit esse tuus.
Recite my epigrams? I decline,
for then they’d be yours, not mine.
Ut recitem tibi nostra rogas epigrammata. Nolo:
non audire, Celer, sed recitare cupis.
I do not love you, but cannot say why.
I do not love you: no reason, no lie.
Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare:
hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te.
You’re young and lovely, wealthy too,
but that changes nothing: you’re a shrew.
Bella es, nouimus, et puella, uerum est,
et diues, quis enim potest negare?
Sed *** te nimium, Fabulla, laudas,
nec diues neque bella nec puella es.
You never wrote a poem,
yet criticize mine?
Stop abusing me or write something fine
of your own!
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
He starts everything but finishes nothing;
thus I suspect there's no end to his *******
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You dine in great magnificence
while offering guests a pittance.
Sextus, did you invite
friends to dinner tonight
to impress us with your enormous appetite?
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You alone own prime land, dandy!
Gold, money, the finest porcelain—you alone!
The best wines of the most famous vintages—you alone!
Discrimination, taste and wit—you alone!
You have it all—who can deny that you alone are set for life?
But everyone has had your wife—
she is never alone!
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To you, my departed parents, dear mother and father,
I commend my little lost angel, Erotion, love's daughter,
who died six days short of completing her sixth frigid winter.
Protect her now, I pray, should the chilling dark shades appear;
muzzle hell's three-headed hound, less her heart be dismayed!
Lead her to romp in some sunny Elysian glade,
her devoted patrons. Watch her play childish games
as she excitedly babbles and lisps my name.
Let no hard turf smother her softening bones; and do
rest lightly upon her, earth, she was surely no burden to you!
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To you, my departed parents, with much emotion,
I commend my little lost darling, my much-kissed Erotion,
who died six days short of completing her sixth bitter winter.
Protect her, I pray, from hell's hound and its dark shades a-flitter;
and please don't let fiends leave her maiden heart dismayed!
But lead her to romp in some sunny Elysian glade
with her cherished friends, excitedly lisping my name.
Let no hard turf smother her softening bones; and do
rest lightly upon her, earth, she was such a slight burden to you!
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Epitaph for the Child Erotion
by Marcus Valerius Martial
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lie lightly on her, grass and dew ...
So little weight she placed on you.
I created this translation after the Nashville Covenant school shooting and dedicated it to the victims of the massacre.
CATULLUS
Catullus LXXXV: 'Odi et Amo'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
I hate. I love.
You ask, 'Why not refrain?'
I wish I could explain.
I can't, but feel the pain.
2.
I hate. I love.
Why? Heavens above!
I wish I could explain.
I can't, but feel the pain.
3.
I hate. I love.
How can that be, turtledove?
I wish I could explain.
I can't, but feel the pain.
Catullus CVI: 'That Boy'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
See that young boy, by the auctioneer?
He's so pretty he sells himself, I fear!
Catullus LI: 'That Man'
This is Catullus's translation of a poem by Sappho of ******
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I'd call that man the equal of the gods,
or,
could it be forgiven
in heaven,
their superior,
because to him space is given
to bask in your divine presence,
to gaze upon you, smile, and listen
to your ambrosial laughter
which leaves men senseless
here and hereafter.
Meanwhile, in my misery,
I'm left speechless.
Lesbia, there's nothing left of me
but a voiceless tongue grown thick in my mouth
and a thin flame running south...
My limbs tingle, my ears ring, my eyes water
till they swim in darkness.
Call it leisure, Catullus, or call it idleness,
whatever it is that incapacitates you.
By any other name it's the nemesis
fallen kings, empires and cities rue.
Catullus 1 ('cui dono lepidum novum libellum')
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To whom do I dedicate this novel book
polished drily with a pumice stone?
To you, Cornelius, for you would look
content, as if my scribblings took
the cake, when in truth you alone
unfolded Italian history in three scrolls,
as learned as Jupiter in your labors.
Therefore, this little book is yours,
whatever it is, which, O patron Maiden,
I pray will last more than my lifetime!
Catullus XLIX: 'A Toast to Cicero'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Cicero, please confess:
You're drunk on your success!
All men of good taste attest
That you're the very best—
At making speeches, first class!
While I'm the dregs of the glass.
Catullus CI: 'His Brother's Burial'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
Through many lands and over many seas
I have journeyed, brother, to these wretched rites,
to this final acclamation of the dead...
and to speak — however ineffectually — to your voiceless ashes
now that Fate has wrested you away from me.
Alas, my dear brother, wrenched from my arms so cruelly,
accept these last offerings, these small tributes
blessed by our fathers' traditions, these small gifts for the dead.
Please accept, by custom, these tokens drenched with a brother's tears,
and, for all eternity, brother, 'Hail and Farewell.'
2.
Through many lands and over many seas
I have journeyed, brother, to these wretched rites,
to this final acclamation of the dead...
and to speak — however ineffectually — to your voiceless ashes
now that Fate has wrested you away from me.
Alas, my dear brother, wrenched from my arms so cruelly,
accept these small tributes, these last gifts,
offered in the time-honored manner of our fathers,
these final votives. Please accept, by custom,
these tokens drenched with a brother's tears,
and, for all eternity, brother, 'Hail and Farewell.'
[Here 'offered in the time-honored manner of our fathers' is from another translation by an unknown translator.]
[What do the gods know, with their superior airs,
wiser than a mother's tears
for her lost child?
If they had hearts, surely they would be beguiled,
repeal the sentence of death!
Since they have none,
or only hearts of stone,
believers, save your breath.
—Michael R. Burch, after Catullus]
Catullus IIA: 'Lesbia's Sparrow'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sparrow, my sweetheart's pet,
with whom she plays cradled to her breast,
or in her lap,
giving you her fingertip to peck,
provoking you to nip its nib...
Whenever she's flushed with pleasure
my gorgeous darling plays such dear little games:
to relieve her longings, I suspect,
until her ardour abates.
Oh, if only I could play with you as gaily,
and alleviate my own longings!
Catullus V: 'Let us live, Lesbia, let us love'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let us live, Lesbia, let us love,
and let the judgments of ancient moralists
count less than a farthing to us!
Suns may set then rise again,
but when our brief light sets,
we will sleep through perpetual night.
Give me a thousand kisses, a hundred more,
another thousand, then a second hundred,
yet another thousand, then a third hundred...
Then, once we've tallied the many thousands,
let's jumble the ledger, so that even we
(and certainly no malicious, evil-eyed enemy)
will ever know there were so many kisses!
Catullus VII: 'How Many Kisses'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You ask, Lesbia, how many kisses
are enough, or more than enough, to satisfy me?
As many as the Libyan sands
swirling in incense-bearing Cyrene
between the torrid oracle of Jove
and the sacred tomb of Battiades.
Or as many as the stars observing amorous men
making love furtively on a moonless night.
As many of your kisses are enough,
and more than enough, for mad Catullus,
as long as there are too many to be counted by inquisitors
and by malicious-tongued bewitchers.
Catullus VIII: 'Advice to Himself'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Snap out of it Catullus, stop this foolishness!
It's time to cut losses!
What is dead is gone, accept it.
Once brilliant suns shone on you both,
when you trotted about wherever she led,
and loved her as never another before.
That was a time of such happiness,
when your desire intersected her will.
But now she doesn't want you any more.
Be resolute, weak as you are, stop chasing mirages!
What you need is not love, but a clean break.
Goodbye girl, now Catullus stands firm.
Never again Lesbia! Catullus is clear:
He won't miss you. Won't crave you. Catullus is cold.
Now it's you who will grieve, when nobody calls.
It's you who will weep that you're ruined.
Who'll submit to you now? Admire your beauty?
Whom will you love? Whose girl will you be?
Who will you kiss? Whose lips will you bite?
But you, Catullus, you must break with the past, hold fast.
Catullus LX: 'Lioness'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Did an African mountain lioness
or a howling Scylla beget you from the nether region of her *****
my harsh goddess? Are you so pitiless you would hold in contempt
this supplicant voicing his inconsolable despair?
Are you really that cruel-hearted?
Catullus LXX: 'Marriage Vows'
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My sweetheart says she'd marry no one else but me,
not even Jupiter, if he were to ask her!
But what a girl says to her eager lover
ought to be written on the wind or in running water.
CICERO
The famous Roman orator Cicero employed 'tail rhyme' in this pun:
O Fortunatam natam me consule Romam.
O fortunate natal Rome, to be hatched by me!
—Cicero, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
MICHELANGELO
Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564) is considered by many experts to be the greatest artist and sculptor of all time. He was also a great poet.
Michelangelo Epigram Translations
loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch
I saw the angel in the marble and freed him.
I hewed away the coarse walls imprisoning the lovely apparition.
Each stone contains a statue; it is the sculptor's task to release it.
The danger is not aiming too high and missing, but aiming too low and hitting the mark.
Our greatness is only bounded by our horizons.
Be at peace, for God did not create us to abandon us.
God grant that I always desire more than my capabilities.
My soul's staircase to heaven is earth's loveliness.
I live and love by God's peculiar light.
Trifles create perfection, yet perfection is no trifle.
Genius is infinitely patient, and infinitely painstaking.
I have never found salvation in nature; rather I love cities.
He who follows will never surpass.
Beauty is what lies beneath superfluities.
I criticize via creation, not by fault-finding.
If you knew how hard I worked, you wouldn't call it 'genius.'
SONNET: RAVISHED
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ravished, by all our eyes find fine and fair,
yet starved for virtues pure hearts might confess,
my soul can find no Jacobean stair
that leads to heaven, save earth's loveliness.
The stars above emit such rapturous light
our longing hearts ascend on beams of Love
and seek, indeed, Love at its utmost height.
But where on earth does Love suffice to move
a gentle heart, or ever leave it wise,
save for beauty itself and the starlight in her eyes?
SONNET: TO LUIGI DEL RICCIO, AFTER THE DEATH OF CECCHINO BRACCI
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A pena prima.
I had barely seen the beauty of his eyes
Which unto yours were life itself, and light,
When he closed them fast in death's eternal night
To reopen them on God, in Paradise.
In my tardiness, I wept, too late made wise,
Yet the fault not mine: for death's disgusting ploy
Had robbed me of that deep, unfathomable joy
Which in your loving memory never dies.
Therefore, Luigi, since the task is mine
To make our unique friend smile on, in stone,
Forever brightening what dark earth would dim,
And because the Beloved causes love to shine,
And since the artist cannot work alone,
I must carve you, to tell the world of him!
BEAUTY AND THE ARTIST
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Al cor di zolfo.
A heart aflame; alas, the flesh not so;
Bones brittle wood; the soul without a guide
To curb the will's inferno; the crude pride
Of restless passions' pulsing surge and flow;
A witless mind that - halt, lame, weak - must go
Blind through entrapments scattered far and wide; ...
Why wonder then, when one small spark applied
To such an assemblage, renders it aglow?
Add beauteous Art, which, Heaven-Promethean,
Must exceed nature - so divine a power
Belongs to those who strive with every nerve.
Created for such Art, from childhood given
As prey for her Infernos to devour,
I blame the Mistress I was born to serve.
SONNET XVI: LOVE AND ART
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sì come nella penna.
Just as with pen and ink,
there is a high, a low, and an in-between style;
and, as marble yields its images pure and vile
to excite the fancies artificers might think;
even so, my lord, lodged deep within your heart
are mingled pride and mild humility;
but I draw only what I truly see
when I trust my eyes and otherwise stand apart.
Whoever sows the seeds of tears and sighs
(bright dews that fall from heaven, crystal-clear)
in various pools collects antiquities
and so must reap old griefs through misty eyes;
while the one who dwells on beauty, so painful here,
finds ephemeral hopes and certain miseries.
SONNET XXXI: LOVE'S LORDSHIP, TO TOMMASO DE' CAVALIERI
by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A che più debb' io.
Am I to confess my heart's desire
with copious tears and windy words of grief,
when a merciless heaven offers no relief
to souls consumed by fire?
Why should my aching heart aspire
to life, when all must die? Beyond belief
would be a death delectable and brief,
since in my compound woes all joys expire!
Therefore, because I cannot dodge the blow,
I rather seek whoever rules my breast,
to glide between her gladness and my woe.
If only chains and bonds can make me blessed,
no marvel if alone and bare I go
to face the foe: her captive slave oppressed.
LEONARDO DA VINCI
Once we have flown, we will forever walk the earth with our eyes turned heavenward, for there we were and will always long to return.—Leonardo da Vinci, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The great achievers rarely relaxed and let things happen to them. They set out and kick-started whatever happened.—Leonardo da Vinci, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Nothing enables authority like silence.—Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch
The greatest deceptions spring from men's own opinions.—Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch
There are three classes of people: Those who see by themselves. Those who see only when they are shown. Those who refuse to see.—Leonardo da Vinci, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Blinding ignorance misleads us. Myopic mortals, open your eyes! —Leonardo da Vinci, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It is easier to oppose evil from the beginning than at the end.—Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch
Small minds continue to shrink, but those whose hearts are firm and whose consciences endorse their conduct, will persevere until death.—Leonardo da Vinci, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I am impressed with the urgency of doing. Knowledge is not enough; we must apply ourselves. Wanting and being willing are insufficient; we must act.—Leonardo da Vinci, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Time is sufficient for anyone who uses it wisely.—Leonardo da Vinci, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Where the spirit does not aid and abet the hand there is no art.—Leonardo da Vinci, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Necessity is the mistress of mother nature's inventions.—Leonardo da Vinci, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Nature has no effect without cause, no invention without necessity.—Leonardo da Vinci, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Did Leonardo da Vinci anticipate Darwin with his comments about Nature and necessity being the mistress of her inventions? Yes, and his studies of comparative anatomy, including the intestines, led da Vinci to say explicitly that 'apes, monkeys and the like' are not merely related to humans but are 'almost of the same species.' He was, indeed, a man ahead of his time, by at least 350 years.
Excerpts from 'Paragone of Poetry and Painting' and Other Writings
by Leonardo da Vinci, circa 1500
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sculpture requires light, received from above,
while a painting contains its own light and shade.
Painting is the more beautiful, the more imaginative, the more copious,
while sculpture is merely the more durable.
Painting encompasses infinite possibilities
which sculpture cannot command.
But you, O Painter, unless you can make your figures move,
are like an orator who can't bring his words to life!
While as soon as the Poet abandons nature, he ceases to resemble the Painter;
for if the Poet abandons the natural figure for flowery and flattering speech,
he becomes an orator and is thus neither Poet nor Painter.
Painting is poetry seen but not heard,
while poetry is painting heard but not seen.
And if the Poet calls painting dumb poetry,
the Painter may call poetry blind painting.
Yet poor is the pupil who fails to surpass his master!
Shun those studies in which the work dies with the worker.
Because I find no subject especially useful or pleasing
and because those who preceded me appropriated every useful theme,
I will be like the beggar who comes late to the fair,
who must content himself with other buyers' rejects.
Thus, I will load my humble cart full of despised and rejected merchandise,
the refuse of so many other buyers,
and I will go about distributing it, not in the great cities,
but in the poorer towns,
selling at discounts whatever the wares I offer may be worth.
And what can I do when a woman plucks my heart?
Alas, how she plays me, and yet I must persist!
The Point
by Leonardo da Vinci
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here forms, colors, the character of the entire universe, contract to a point,
and that point is miraculous, marvelous …
O marvelous, O miraculous, O stupendous Necessity!
By your elegant laws you compel every effect to be the direct result of its cause,
by the shortest path possible.
Such are your miracles!
VERONICA FRANCO
Veronica Franco (1546-1591) was a Venetian courtesan who wrote literary-quality poetry and prose.
A Courtesan's Love Lyric (I)
by Veronica Franco
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My rewards will be commensurate with your gifts
if only you give me the one that lifts
me laughing...
And though it costs you nothing,
still it is of immense value to me.
Your reward will be
not just to fly
but to soar, so high
that your joys vastly exceed your desires.
And my beauty, to which your heart aspires
and which you never tire of praising,
I will employ for the raising
of your spirits. Then, lying sweetly at your side,
I will shower you with all the delights of a bride,
which I have more expertly learned.
Then you who so fervently burned
will at last rest, fully content,
fallen even more deeply in love, spent
at my comfortable *****
When I am in bed with a man I blossom,
becoming completely free
with the man who loves and enjoys me.
Here is a second version of the same poem...
I Resolved to Make a Virtue of My Desire (II)
by Veronica Franco
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My rewards will match your gifts
If you give me the one that lifts
Me, laughing. If it comes free,
Still, it is of immense value to me.
Your reward will be—not just to fly,
But to soar—so incredibly high
That your joys eclipse your desires
(As my beauty, to which your heart aspires
And which you never tire of praising,
I employ for your spirit's raising) .
Afterwards, lying docile at your side,
I will grant you all the delights of a bride,
Which I have more expertly learned.
Then you, who so fervently burned,
Will at last rest, fully content,
Fallen even more deeply in love, spent
At my comfortable *****
When I am in bed with a man I blossom,
Becoming completely free
With the man who freely enjoys me.
Capitolo 24
by Veronica Franco
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
(written by Franco to a man who had insulted a woman)
Please try to see with sensible eyes
how grotesque it is for you
to insult and abuse women!
Our unfortunate *** is always subject
to such unjust treatment, because we
are dominated, denied true freedom!
And certainly we are not at fault
because, while not as robust as men,
we have equal hearts, minds and intellects.
Nor does virtue originate in power,
but in the vigor of the heart, mind and soul:
the sources of understanding;
and I am certain that in these regards
women lack nothing,
but, rather, have demonstrated
superiority to men.
If you think us 'inferior' to yourself,
perhaps it's because, being wise,
we outdo you in modesty.
And if you want to know the truth,
the wisest person is the most patient;
she squares herself with reason and with virtue;
while the madman thunders insolence.
The stone the wise man withdraws from the well
was flung there by a fool...
When I bed a man
who—I sense—truly loves and enjoys me,
I become so sweet and so delicious
that the pleasure I bring him surpasses all delight,
till the tight
knot of love,
however slight
it may have seemed before,
is raveled to the core.
—Veronica Franco, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
We danced a youthful jig through that fair city—
Venice, our paradise, so pompous and pretty.
We lived for love, for primal lust and beauty;
to please ourselves became our only duty.
Floating there in a fog between heaven and earth,
We grew drunk on excesses and wild mirth.
We thought ourselves immortal poets then,
Our glory endorsed by God's illustrious pen.
But paradise, we learned, is fraught with error,
and sooner or later love succumbs to terror.
—Veronica Franco, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I wish it were not a sin to have liked it so.
Women have not yet realized the cowardice that resides,
for if they should decide to do so,
they would be able to fight you until death;
and to prove that I speak the truth,
amongst so many women,
I will be the first to act,
setting an example for them to follow.
—Veronica Franco, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
ANONYMOUS
The poem below is based on my teenage misinterpretation of a Latin prayer...
Elegy for a little girl, lost
by Michael R. Burch
for my mother, Christine Ena Burch, who was always a little girl at heart
... qui laetificat juventutem meam...
She was the joy of my youth,
and now she is gone.
... requiescat in pace...
May she rest in peace.
... amen...
Amen
I was touched by this Latin prayer, which I discovered in a novel I read as a teenager. I later decided to incorporate it into a poem, which I started in high school and revised as an adult. From what I now understand, 'ad deum qui laetificat juventutem meam' means 'to the God who gives joy to my youth, ' but I am sticking with my original interpretation: a lament for a little girl at her funeral. The phrase can be traced back to Saint Jerome's translation of Psalm 42 in the Latin Vulgate Bible (circa 385 AD) . I can't remember exactly when I read the novel or wrote the poem, but I believe it was around my junior year of high school, age 17 or thereabouts. This was my first translation. I revised the poem slightly in 2001 after realizing I had 'misremembered' one of the words in the Latin prayer.
The Latin hymn 'Dies Irae' employs end rhyme:
Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla
***** David *** Sybilla
The day of wrath, that day
which will leave the world ash-gray,
was foretold by David and the Sybil fey.
—attributed to Thomas of Celano, St. Gregory the Great, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, and St. Bonaventure; loose translation by Michael R. Burch
HADRIAN
Hadrian's Elegy
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My delicate soul,
now aimlessly fluttering... drifting... unwhole,
former consort of my failing corpse...
Where are we going—from bad to worse?
From jail to a hearse?
Where do we wander now—fraught, pale and frail?
To hell?
To some place devoid of jests, mirth, happiness?
Is the joke on us?
THOMAS CAMPION
NOVELTIES
by Thomas Campion
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as p-mps praise their wh-res for exotic positions.
PRIMO LEVI
These are my translations of poems by the Italian Jewish Holocaust survivor Primo Levi.
Shema
by Primo Levi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You who live secure
in your comfortable houses,
who return each evening to find
warm food,
welcoming faces...
consider whether this is a man:
who toils in the mud,
who knows no peace,
who fights for crusts of bread,
who dies at another man's whim,
at his 'yes' or his 'no.'
Consider whether this is a woman:
bereft of hair,
of a recognizable name
because she lacks the strength to remember,
her eyes as void
and her womb as frigid
as a frog's in winter.
Consider that such horrors have been:
I commend these words to you.
Engrave them in your hearts
when you lounge in your house,
when you walk outside,
when you go to bed,
when you rise.
Repeat them to your children,
or may your house crumble
and disease render you helpless
so that even your offspring avert their faces from you.
Buna
by Primo Levi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Wasted feet, cursed earth,
the interminable gray morning
as Buna smokes corpses through industrious chimneys.
A day like every other day awaits us.
The terrible whistle shrilly announces dawn:
'You, O pale multitudes with your sad, lifeless faces,
welcome the monotonous horror of the mud...
another day of suffering has begun.'
Weary companion, I see you by heart.
I empathize with your dead eyes, my disconsolate friend.
In your breast you carry cold, hunger, nothingness.
Life has broken what's left of the courage within you.
Colorless one, you once were a strong man,
A courageous woman once walked at your side.
But now you, my empty companion, are bereft of a name,
my forsaken friend who can no longer weep,
so poor you can no longer grieve,
so tired you no longer can shiver with fear.
O, spent once-strong man,
if we were to meet again
in some other world, sweet beneath the sun,
with what kind faces would we recognize each other?
Note: Buna was the largest Auschwitz sub-camp.
ALDHELM
'The Leiden Riddle' is an Old English translation of Aldhelm's Latin riddle 'Lorica' or 'Corselet.'
The Leiden Riddle
anonymous Old English riddle poem, circa 700
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The dank earth birthed me from her icy womb.
I know I was not fashioned from woolen fleeces;
nor was I skillfully spun from skeins;
I have neither warp nor weft;
no thread thrums through me in the thrashing loom;
nor do whirring shuttles rattle me;
nor does the weaver's rod assail me;
nor did silkworms spin me like skillfull fates
into curious golden embroidery.
And yet heroes still call me an excellent coat.
Nor do I fear the dread arrows' flights,
however eagerly they leap from their quivers.
Solution: a coat of mail.
SAINT GODRIC OF FINCHALE
The song below is said in the 'Life of Saint Godric' to have come to Godric when he had a vision of his sister Burhcwen, like him a solitary at Finchale, being received into heaven. She was singing a song of thanksgiving, in Latin, and Godric renders her song in English bracketed by a Kyrie eleison.
Led By Christ and Mary
by Saint Godric of Finchale (1065-1170)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
By Christ and Saint Mary I was so graciously led
that the earth never felt my bare foot's tread!
DANTE
Translations of Dante Epigrams and Quotes by Michael R. Burch
Little sparks may ignite great Infernos.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In Beatrice I beheld the outer boundaries of blessedness.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
She made my veins and even the pulses within them tremble.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Her sweetness left me intoxicated.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love commands me by determining my desires.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Follow your own path and let the bystanders gossip.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The devil is not as dark as depicted.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There is no greater sorrow than to recall how we delighted in our own wretchedness.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As he, who with heaving lungs escaped the suffocating sea, turns to regard its perilous waters.—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O human race, born to soar heavenward, why do you nosedive in the mildest breeze? —Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O human race, born to soar heavenward, why do you quail at the least breath of wind? —Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Midway through my life's journey
I awoke to find myself lost in a trackless wood,
for I had strayed far from the straight path.
—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
INSCRIPTION ON THE GATE OF HELL
Before me nothing existed, to fear.
Eternal I am, and eternal I endure.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Excerpts from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
Ecce deus fortior me, qui veniens dominabitur mihi.
Here is a Deity, stronger than myself, who comes to dominate me.
—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra.
Your blessedness has now been manifested unto you.
—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Heu miser! quia frequenter impeditus ero deinceps.
Alas, how often I will be restricted now!
—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fili mi, tempus est ut prætermittantur simulata nostra.
My son, it is time to cease counterfeiting.
—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ego tanquam centrum circuli, cui simili modo se habent circumferentiæ partes: tu autem non sic.
Love said: 'I am as the center of a harmonious circle; everything is equally near me. No so with you.'
—Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Translations of Dante Cantos by Michael R. Burch
Paradiso, Canto III: 1-33, The Revelation of Love and Truth
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
That sun, which had inflamed my breast with love,
Had now revealed to me—as visions move—
The gentle and confounding face of Truth.
Thus I, by her sweet grace and love reproved,
Corrected, and to true confession moved,
Raised my bowed head and found myself behooved
To speak, as true admonishment required,
And thus to bless the One I so desired,
When I was awed to silence! This transpired:
As the outlines of men's faces may amass
In mirrors of transparent, polished glass,
Or in shallow waters through which light beams pass
(Even so our eyes may easily be fooled
By pearls, or our own images, thus pooled) :
I saw a host of faces, pale and lewd,
All poised to speak; but when I glanced around
There suddenly was no one to be found.
A pool, with no Narcissus to astound?
But then I turned my eyes to my sweet Guide.
With holy eyes aglow and smiling wide,
She said, 'They are not here because they lied.'
Excerpt from 'Paradiso'
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O ****** Mother, daughter of your Son,
Humble, and yet held high, above creation,
You are the apex of all Wisdom known!
You are the Pinnacle of human nature,
Your nobility instilled by its Creator
who was not shamed to be born with your features.
Love was engendered in your perfect womb
Where warmth and holy peace were given room
For heaven's Perfect Rose, once sown, to bloom.
Now unto us you are a Torch held high:
Our noonday Sun—the Light of Charity,
Our Wellspring of all Hope, a living Sea.
Madonna, so pure, high and all-availing,
The man who desires Grace of you, though failing,
Despite his grounded state, is given wing!
Your mercy does not fail us, Ever-Blessed!
Indeed, the one who asks may find his wish
Unneeded: you predicted his request!
You are our Mercy; you are our Compassion;
you are Magnificence; in you creation
becomes the sum of Goodness and Salvation.
Translations of Dante Sonnets by Michael R. Burch
Sonnet: 'A Vision of Love' or 'Love's Faithful Ones' from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To every gentle heart true Love may move,
And unto whom my words must now be brought
For wise interpretation's tender thought—
I greet you in our Lord's name, which is Love.
Through night's last watch, as winking stars, above,
Kept their high vigil over men, distraught,
Love came to me, with such dark terrors fraught
As mortals may not casually speak of.
Love seemed a being of pure Joy and held
My heart, pulsating. On his other arm,
My lady, wrapped in thinnest gossamers, slept.
He, having roused her from her sleep, then made
My heart her feast—devoured, with alarm.
Love then departed; as he left, he wept.
Sonnet: 'Love's Thoroughfare' from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
'O voi che par la via'
All those who travel Love's worn tracks,
Pause here awhile, and ask
Has there ever been a grief like mine?
Pause here, from that mad race,
And with patience hear my case:
Is it not a piteous marvel and a sign?
Love, not because I played a part,
But only due to his great heart,
Afforded me a provenance so sweet
That often others, as I went,
Asked what such unfair gladness meant:
They whispered things behind me in the street.
But now that easy gait is gone
Along with all Love proffered me;
And so in time I've come to be
So poor I dread to think thereon.
And thus I have become as one
Who hides his shame of his poverty,
Pretending richness outwardly,
While deep within I moan.
Sonnet: 'Cry for Pity' from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
These thoughts lie shattered in my memory:
When through the past I see your lovely face.
When you are near me, thus, Love fills all Space,
And often whispers, 'Is death better? Fly! '
My face reflects my heart's contentious tide,
Which, ebbing, seeks some shallow resting place;
Till, in the blushing shame of such disgrace,
The very earth seems to be shrieking, 'Die! '
'Twould be a grievous sin, if one should not
Relay some comfort to my harried mind,
If only with some simple pitying thought
For this great anguish which fierce scorn has wrought
Through the faltering sight of eyes grown nearly blind,
Which search for death now, as a blessed thing.
Sonnet: 'Ladies of Modest Countenance' from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You who wear a modest countenance
With eyelids weighted by such heaviness,
How is it, that among you every face
Is haunted by the same pale troubled glance?
Have you seen in my lady's face, perchance,
the grief that Love provokes despite her grace?
Confirm this thing is so, then in her place,
Complete your grave and sorrowful advance.
And if indeed you match her heartfelt sighs
And mourn, as she does, for her heart's relief,
Then tell Love how it fares with her, to him.
Love knows how you have wept, seen in your eyes,
And is so grieved by gazing on your grief,
His courage falters and his sight grows dim.
Translations of Poems by Other Italian Poets
Sonnet IV: ‘S'io prego questa donna che Pietate'
by ***** Cavalcante
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
If I should ask this lady, in her grace,
not to make her heart my enemy,
she'd call me foolish, venturing: 'No man
was ever possessed of such strange vanity! '
Why such harsh judgements, written on a face
where once I'd thought to find humility,
true gentleness, calm wisdom, courtesy?
My soul despairs, unwilling to embrace
the sighs and griefs that flood my drowning heart,
the rains of tears that well my watering eyes,
the miseries to which my soul's condemned...
For through my mind there flows, as rivers part,
the image of a lady, full of thought,
through heartlessness became a thoughtless friend.
***** Guinizelli, also known as ***** di Guinizzello di Magnano, was born in Bologna. He became an esteemed Italian love poet and is considered to be the father of the 'dolce stil nuovo' or 'sweet new style.' Dante called him 'il saggio' or 'the sage.'
Sonetto
by ***** Guinizelli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In truth I sing her honor and her praise:
My lady, with whom flowers can't compare!
Like Diana, she unveils her beauty's rays,
Then makes the dawn unfold here, bright and fair!
She's like the wind and like the leaves they swell:
All hues, all colors, flushed and pale, beside...
Argent and gold and rare stones' brilliant spell;
Even Love, itself, in her, seems glorified.
She moves in ways so tender and so sweet,
Pride fails and falls and flounders at her feet.
The impure heart cannot withstand such light!
Ungentle men must wither, at her sight.
And still this greater virtue I aver:
No man thinks ill once he's been touched by her.
GILDAS TRANSLATIONS
These are my modern English translations of Latin poems by the English monk Gildas. Gildas, also known as Gildas Sapiens (“Gildas the Wise”), was a 6th-century British monk who is one of the first native writers of the British Isles we know by name. Gildas is remembered for his scathing religious polemic De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae (“On the Ruin and Conquest of Britain” or simply “On the Ruin of Britain”). The work has been dated to circa 480-550 AD.
“Alas! The nature of my complaint is the widespread destruction of all that was good, followed by the wild proliferation of evil throughout the land. Normally, I would grieve with my motherland in her travail and rejoice in her revival. But for now I restrict myself to relating the sins of an indolent and slothful race, rather than the feats of heroes. For ten years I kept my silence, I confess, with much mental anguish, guilt and remorse, while I debated these things within myself...” — Gildas, The Ruin of Britain, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Gildas is also remembered for his “Lorica” (“Breastplate”):
“The Lorica of Loding” from the Book of Cerne
by Gildas
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Trinity in Unity, shield and preserve me!
Unity in Trinity, have mercy on me!
Preserve me, I pray, from all dangers:
dangers which threaten to overwhelm me
like surging sea waves;
neither let mortality
nor worldly vanity
sweep me away from the safe harbor of Your embrace!
Furthermore, I respectfully request:
send the exalted, mighty hosts of heaven!
Let them not abandon me
to be destroyed by my enemies,
but let them defend me always
with their mighty shields and bucklers.
Allow Your heavenly host
to advance before me:
Cherubim and Seraphim by the thousands,
led by the Archangels Michael and Gabriel!
Send, I implore, these living thrones,
these principalities, powers and Angels,
so that I may remain strong,
defended against the deluge of enemies
in life’s endless battles!
May Christ, whose righteous Visage frightens away foul throngs,
remain with me in a powerful covenant!
May God the Unconquerable Guardian
defend me on every side with His power!
Free my manacled limbs,
cover them with Your shielding grace,
leaving heaven-hurled demons helpless to hurt me,
to pierce me with their devious darts!
Lord Jesus Christ, be my sure armor, I pray!
Cover me, O God, with Your impenetrable breastplate!
Cover me so that, from head to toe,
no member is exposed, within or without;
so that life is not exorcized from my body
by plague, by fever, by weakness, or by suffering.
Until, with the gift of old age granted by God,
I depart this flesh, free from the stain of sin,
free to fly to those heavenly heights,
where, by the grace of God, I am borne in joy
into the cool retreats of His heavenly kingdom!
Amen
#GILDAS #LATIN #LORICA #RUIN #MRBGILDAS #MRBLATIN #MRBLORICA #MRBRUIN
This is a poem of mine that has been translated into Italian by Comasia Aquaro.
Her Grace Flows Freely
by Michael R. Burch
July 7,2007
Her love is always chaste, and pure.
This I vow. This I aver.
If she shows me her grace, I will honor her.
This I vow. This I aver.
Her grace flows freely, like her hair.
This I vow. This I aver.
For her generousness, I would worship her.
This I vow. This I aver.
I will not **** her for what I bear
This I vow. This I aver.
like a most precious incense-desire for her,
This I vow. This I aver.
nor call her 'whore' where I seek to repair.
This I vow. This I aver.
I will not wink, nor smirk, nor stare
This I vow. This I aver.
like a foolish child at the foot of a stair
This I vow. This I aver.
where I long to go, should another be there.
This I vow. This I aver.
I'll rejoice in her freedom, and always dare
This I vow. This I aver.
the chance that she'll flee me-my starling rare.
This I vow. This I aver.
And then, if she stays, without stays, I swear
This I vow. This I aver.
that I will joy in her grace beyond compare.
This I vow. This I aver.
Her Grace Flows Freely
by Michael R. Burch
Italian translation by Comasia Aquaro
La sua grazia vola libera
7 luglio 2007
Il suo amore è sempre casto, e puro.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Se mi mostra la sua grazia, le farò onore.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
La sua grazia vola libera, come i suoi capelli.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Per la sua generosità, la venererò.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Non la maledirò per ciò che soffro
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
come il più prezioso desiderio d'incenso per lei,
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
non chiamarla 'sgualdrina' laddove io cerco di aggiustare.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Io non strizzerò l'occhio, non riderò soddisfatto, non fisserò lo sguardo
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Come un bambino sciocco ai piedi di una scala
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Laddove io desidero andare, ci sarebbe forse un altro.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Mi rallegrerò nella sua libertà, e sempre sfiderò
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
la sorte che lei mi sfuggirà—il mio raro storno
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
E dopo, se lei resta, senza stare, io lo garantisco
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
Gioirò nella sua grazia al di là del confrontare.
Lo giuro. Lo prometto.
A risqué Latin epigram:
C-nt, while you weep and seep neediness all night,
-ss has claimed what would bring you delight.
—Musa Lapidaria, #100A, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
References to Dante in other Translations by Michael R. Burch
THE MUSE
by Anna Akhmatova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My being hangs by a thread tonight
as I await a Muse no human pen can command.
The desires of my heart — youth, liberty, glory —
now depend on the Maid with the flute in her hand.
Look! Now she arrives; she flings back her veil;
I meet her grave eyes — calm, implacable, pitiless.
'Temptress, confess!
Are you the one who gave Dante hell? '
She answers, 'Yes.'
I have also translated this tribute poem written by Marina Tsvetaeva for Anna Akhmatova:
Excerpt from 'Poems for Akhmatova'
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You outshine everything, even the sun
at its zenith. The stars are yours!
If only I could sweep like the wind
through some unbarred door,
gratefully, to where you are...
to hesitantly stammer, suddenly shy,
lowering my eyes before you, my lovely mistress,
petulant, chastened, overcome by tears,
as a child sobs to receive forgiveness...
Dante-Related Poems and Dante Criticism by Michael R. Burch
Of Seabound Saints and Promised Lands
by Michael R. Burch
Judas sat on a wretched rock,
his head still sore from Satan's gnawing.
Saint Brendan's curragh caught his eye,
wildly geeing and hawing.
'I'm on parole from Hell today!'
Pale Judas cried from his lonely perch.
'You've fasted forty days, good Saint!
Let this rock by my church,
my baptismal, these icy waves.
O, plead for me now with the One who saves!'
Saint Brendan, full of mercy, stood
at the lurching prow of his flimsy bark,
and mightily prayed for the mangy man
whose flesh flashed pale and stark
in the golden dawn, beneath a sun
that seemed to halo his tonsured dome.
Then Saint Brendan sailed for the Promised Land
and Saint Judas headed Home.
O, behoove yourself, if ever your can,
of the fervent prayer of a righteous man!
In Dante's 'Inferno' Satan gnaws on Judas Iscariot's head. A curragh is a boat fashioned from wood and ox hides. Saint Brendan of Ireland is the patron saint of sailors and whales. According to legend, he sailed in search of the Promised Land and discovered America centuries before Columbus.
Dante's was a defensive reflex
against religion's hex.
—Michael R. Burch
Dante, you Dunce!
by Michael R. Burch
The earth is hell, Dante, you Dunce!
Which you should have perceived—since you lived here once.
God is no Beatrice, gentle and clever.
Judas and Satan were wise to dissever
from false 'messiahs' who cannot save.
Why flit like a bat through Plato's cave
believing such shadowy illusions are real?
There is no 'hell' but to live and feel!
How Dante Forgot Christ
by Michael R. Burch
Dante ****** the brightest and the fairest
for having loved—pale Helen, wild Achilles—
agreed with his Accuser in the spell
of hellish visions and eternal torments.
His only savior, Beatrice, was Love.
His only savior, Beatrice, was Love,
the fulcrum of his body's, heart's and mind's
sole triumph, and their altogether conquest.
She led him to those heights where Love, enshrined,
blazed like a star beyond religion's hells.
Once freed from Yahweh, in the arms of Love,
like Blake and Milton, Dante forgot Christ.
The Christian gospel is strangely lacking in Milton's and Dante's epics. Milton gave the 'atonement' one embarrassed enjambed line. Dante ****** the Earth's star-crossed lovers to his grotesque hell, while doing exactly what they did: pursing at all costs his vision of love, Beatrice. Blake made more sense to me, since he called the biblical god Nobodaddy and denied any need to be 'saved' by third parties.
Dante's Antes
by Michael R. Burch
There's something glorious about man,
who lives because he can,
who dies because he must,
and in between's a bust.
No god can reign him in:
he's quite intent on sin
and likes it rather, really.
He likes *** touchy-feely.
He likes to eat too much.
He has the Midas touch
and paves hell's ways with gold.
The things he's bought and sold!
He's sold his soul to Mammon
and also plays backgammon
and poker, with such antes
as still befuddle Dantes.
I wonder—can hell hold him?
His chances seem quite dim
because he's rather puny
and also loopy-looney.
And yet like Evel Knievel
he dances with the Devil
and seems so **** courageous,
good-natured and outrageous
some God might show him mercy
and call religion heresy.
RE: Paradiso, Canto III
by Michael R. Burch
for the most 'Christian' of poets
What did Dante do,
to earn Beatrice's grace
(grace cannot be earned!)
but cast disgrace
on the whole human race,
on his peers and his betters,
as a man who wears cheap rayon suits
might disparage men who wear sweaters?
How conventionally 'Christian' — Poet! — to ****
your fellow man
for being merely human,
then, like a contented clam,
to grandly claim
near-infinite 'grace'
as if your salvation was God's only aim!
What a scam!
And what of the lovely Piccarda,
whom you placed in the lowest sphere of heaven
for neglecting her vows —
She was forced!
Were you chaste?
Intimations V
by Michael R. Burch
We had not meditated upon sound
so much as drowned
in the inhuman ocean
when we imagined it broken
open
like a conch shell
whorled like the spiraling hell
of Dante's 'Inferno.'
Trapped between Nature
and God,
what is man
but an inquisitive,
acquisitive
sod?
And what is Nature
but odd,
or God
but a Clod,
and both of them horribly flawed?
Endgame
by Michael R. Burch
The honey has lost all its sweetness,
the hive—its completeness.
Now ambient dust, the drones lie dead.
The workers weep, their King long fled
(who always had been **** invisible,
his 'kingdom' atomic, divisible,
and pathetically risible) .
The queen has flown,
long Dis-enthroned,
who would have gladly given all she owned
for a promised white stone.
O, Love has fled, has fled, has fled...
Religion is dead, is dead, is dead.
The drones are those who drone on about the love of God in a world full of suffering and death: dead prophets, dead pontiffs, dead preachers. Spewers of dead words and false promises. The queen is disenthroned, as in Dis-enthroned. In Dante's Inferno, the lower regions of hell are enclosed within the walls of Dis, a city surrounded by the Stygian marshes. The river Styx symbolizes death and the journey from life to the afterlife. But in Norse mythology, Dis was a goddess, the sun, and the consort of Heimdal, himself a god of light. DIS is also the stock ticker designation for Disney, creator of the Magic Kingdom. The 'promised white stone' appears in Revelation, which turns Jesus and the Angels into serial killers.
The Final Revelation of a Departed God's Divine Plan
by Michael R. Burch
Here I am, talking to myself again...
****** off at God and bored with humanity.
These insectile mortals keep testing my sanity!
Still, I remember when...
planting odd notions, dark inklings of vanity,
in their peapod heads might elicit an inanity
worth a chuckle or two.
Philosophers, poets... how they all made me laugh!
The things they dreamed up! Sly Odysseus's raft;
Plato's 'Republic'; Dante's strange crew;
Shakespeare's Othello, mad Hamlet, Macbeth;
Cervantes' Quixote; fat, funny Falstaff! ;
Blake's shimmering visions. Those days, though, are through...
for, puling and tedious, their 'poets' now seem
content to write, but not to dream,
and they fill the world with their pale derision
of things they completely fail to understand.
Now, since God has long fled, I am here, in command,
reading this crap. Earth is Hell. We're all ******
Brief Encounters: Other Roman, Italian and Greek Epigrams
No wind is favorable to the man who lacks direction.—Seneca the Younger, translation by Michael R. Burch
Little sparks ignite great Infernos.—Dante, translation by Michael R. Burch
The danger is not aiming too high and missing, but aiming too low and hitting the mark.—Michelangelo, translation by Michael R. Burch
He who follows will never surpass.—Michelangelo, translation by Michael R. Burch
Nothing enables authority like silence.—Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch
My objective is not to side with the majority, but to avoid the ranks of the insane.—Marcus Aurelius, translation by Michael R. Burch
Time is sufficient for anyone who uses it wisely.—Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch
Blinding ignorance misleads us. Myopic mortals, open your eyes! —Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch
It is easier to oppose evil from the beginning than at the end.—Leonardo da Vinci, translation by Michael R. Burch
Fools call wisdom foolishness.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
One true friend is worth ten thousand kin.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
Not to speak one's mind is slavery.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
I would rather die standing than kneel, a slave.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
Fresh tears are wasted on old griefs.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
Improve yourself by other men's writings, attaining less painfully what they gained through great difficulty.—Socrates, translation by Michael R. Burch
Just as I select a ship when it's time to travel, or a house when it's time to change residences, even so I will choose when it's time to depart from life.―Seneca, speaking about the right to euthanasia in the first century AD, translation by Michael R. Burch
Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as p-mps praise their wh-res for exotic positions.
—Thomas Campion, Latin epigram, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#POEMS #POETRY #LATIN #ROMAN #ITALIAN #TRANSLATION #MRB-POEMS #MRB-POETRY #MRBPOEMS #MRBPOETRY #MRBLATIN #MRBROMAN #MRBITALIAN #MRBTRANSLATION
May 19, 2023
May 19, 2023 at 8:54 AM UTC
I never saw the scarp begin
Nor the haunted planes of gold;
Forlorn, I watched the waves move in—
How their snow-laden peaks enfold!
And without the call of tri-formed reefs—
Echoing mosaic-to-mosaic shore—
I would not have seen the heart therein,
Nor the light henceforth bestowed.
May 5, 2023
May 5, 2023 at 2:13 PM UTC
SICVT COMES DE MONTECRISTO VENIT VINDEX SIGNACVLO SVPREMVS IGNEO
TONITRV IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ DRACONIS STAT VLTIONIS PRIMA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX I VELTRVM
VBI DE TERTIA VIGILIA STAT ANTE SPECVLVM PERSONA IGNEVM MEA
FVLMINE IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS SECVNDA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
ΚΑΤOΠΤΡΩ THΣ NYKTOΣ O ANAΞ AYTOΣ
REX II VELTRVM
ILLE SECVTOR QVI ARGENTEA LVNA APPAREAT SICVT CHALYBEIO SCVTO AC FLAMMIS
HIEME IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ DRACONIS STAT VLTIONIS TERTIA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX III VELTRVM
ERIT ASHVR ASSYRIORVM DEI LIVIDVS NINIVES IRA AC MEA REBELLIO
TONITRV IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS QVARTA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
O ΜEΓΑΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕYΣ EΠΙΦAΝΕΙΑ ΕIΣ EΡΕΒΟΣ
REX IV VELTRVM
FODIT DOMINATOR ΞΙΦIΔΙΩ SENNACHERIB DVELLO LEONEM REGNO IGITVR DIGNVS AC DELVBRO
FVLMINE IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ DRACONIS STAT VLTIONIS QVINTA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX V VELTRVM
MARS SIGNO ARIETIS PLANETA IGNEM FERENS SPLENDENDO AC PHÆTHON
HIEME IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS SEXTA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
ΚΑΤOΠΤΡΩ THΣ NYKTOΣ O ANAΞ AYTOΣ
REX VI VELTRVM
VINDICIS SVNT CHARYBDIS IGNEA PRODITVRA NOCTIS VEXILLA
HIEME IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ DRACONIS STAT VLTIONIS SEPTIMA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX VII VELTRVM
HOSTIVM SIT HORA VBI SANGVINEAM TENEO IN VVLNERE LAMINAM
TONITRV IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS OCTAVA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
O ΜEΓΑΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕYΣ EΠΙΦAΝΕΙΑ ΕIΣ EΡΕΒΟΣ
REX VIII VELTRVM
TO ΓAΡ EMON ΕIΔΩΛΟΝ EΠEPXETAI KAI AΛHΘΩΣ O ΟΦΙΣ
FVLMINE IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ DRACONIS STAT VLTIONIS NONA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX IX VELTRVM
SVPREMVS FLAMMÆ MAGISTER AC GERMANICA LINGVA VERÐR NOMINE
HIEME IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS DECIMA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
ΚΑΤOΠΤΡΩ THΣ NYKTOΣ O ANAΞ AYTOΣ
REX X VELTRVM
AVRÆ EIΔΩΛΩ DE VELTRVM IGNE LÆTI REVOLVVNT IGITVR SPIRÆ
PRISTINÆ HΧΩ CAMPANÆ THΣ ΑΠΟΚΑΛΥΨΗΣ AC DOMITORIS
HÆC REGIS HORA VLTIONIS SIVE HISTORIÆ DECENARIVS I
ΔIA ΓAP TO EMON ΚΑΤOΠΤΡON KAI APXAIA ΦΛOΓI O ΔE ΤΙΜΩΡOΣ
ΤO ΕIΝΑΙ ΩΣΠEP H ΔYΝΑΜΙΣ
HENRICI VII SOLE VISENS RVBRO MONIMENTA VICTORIS
TONITRV IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ DRACONIS STAT VLTIONIS VNDECIMA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX XI VELTRVM
VBIQVMQVE BIFRONS NEPTVNI CINXIT NEREA IANVS
FVLMINE IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS DVODECIMA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
O ΜEΓΑΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕYΣ EΠΙΦAΝΕΙΑ ΕIΣ EΡΕΒΟΣ
REX XII VELTRVM
FLAMMA O ANAPXOΣ FVLMEN DONANS COCYTI RVBRA
HIEME IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ DRACONIS STAT VLTIONIS TERTIA DECIMA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX XIII VELTRVM
NVNC TIBI ARES COMMENDO ME TEVCRVS EΠIΦANEIA AC IGNEM
TONITRV IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS QVARTA DECIMA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
ΚΑΤOΠΤΡΩ THΣ NYKTOΣ O ANAΞ AYTOΣ
REX XIV VELTRVM
CVM STATVO VLTIONI ARAM AC VASTO TYRII COLVMNAS
FVLMINE IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ DRACONIS STAT VLTIONIS QVINTA DECIMA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX XV VELTRVM
VALE INIVRIA IAM TEMPESTATE NOCTIS OBDVRAT IMAGO
HIEME IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS SEXTA DECIMA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
O ΜEΓΑΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕYΣ EΠΙΦAΝΕΙΑ ΕIΣ EΡΕΒΟΣ
REX XVI VELTRVM
DOLEBIS CVM SPATHAM DESTRINGAM IGNAVE ANIMO INIMICE
TONITRV IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ DRACONIS STAT VLTIONIS SEPTIMA DECIMA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX XVII VELTRVM
SOLI INVICTO SIVE IN THRACOS AVDACES SAGITTIFEROSVE SCYTHAS
FVLMINE IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS DVODEVIGESIMA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
ΚΑΤOΠΤΡΩ THΣ NYKTOΣ O ANAΞ AYTOΣ
REX XVIII VELTRVM
ÆSTVOSI INCENDIVM REDDE MIHI VICTORIAM TEMPLI SIGILLO
HIEME IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ DRACONIS STAT VLTIONIS VNDEVIGESIMA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX XIX VELTRVM
VBI MEAM ALABASTRI IN RVPE VLTIONEM INSCVLPSI SOLISQVE ANNO MXCVII
TONITRV IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS VIGESIMA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
O ΜEΓΑΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕYΣ EΠΙΦAΝΕΙΑ ΕIΣ EΡΕΒΟΣ
REX ** VELTRVM
AVRÆ DE VELTRVM IMAGINE REVOLVVNT IGITVR IGNE LÆTI SPIRÆ
ANTIQVÆ AD VESPERVM SONO CAMPANÆ APOCALYPSEOS
HOC DOMITORIS DIE VINDICTÆ SIVE HISTORIÆ DECENARIVS II
VELTRVM ILLE NOMINE QVI CHALYBEIO DIXIT MIHI IN SPECVLO
EGO SVM TVVM HVIVS EIΔΩΛON NOCTIS A ET Ω DVM
ΔIA ΓAP TO EMON ΚΑΤOΠΤΡON KAI APXAIA ΦΛOΓI O ΤΙΜΩΡOΣ
O ΔE OVERMAN
VBI FVLGIDAM DEFIXI SICAM AC MIDÆ LIBERAVI FVLGOREM AVRO
FVLMINE IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ VLTIONIS STAT DRACONIS VIGESIMA PRIMA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX XXI VELTRVM
ΚΑΤOΠΤΡΩ H ΤΡΙAΣ THΣ DYNAMEOΣ AC DE HÖÐR EXPVGNATOR SECVRI
HIEME IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS VIGESIMA SECVNDA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
ΚΑΤOΠΤΡΩ THΣ NYKTOΣ O ANAΞ AYTOΣ
REX XXII VELTRVM
VNIVERSALIS INFAMIÆ FVLMINE IN TERRA AC PROPHETIA VLTOR
TONITRV IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ VLTIONIS STAT DRACONIS VIGESIMA TERTIA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX XXIII VELTRVM
TITATVM IN SPECVLO CANO QVI MYSTICIS STYGOS VINCET VNDIS
FVLMINE IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS VIGESIMA QVARTA
VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO SIT HICINE NOMINE MAGNÆ
O ΜEΓΑΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕYΣ EΠΙΦAΝΕΙΑ ΕIΣ EΡΕΒΟΣ
REX XXIV VELTRVM
CÆSAR QVEM FERREO PHRYGIÆ VINDICEM DIXI CALAMO
HIEME IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ VLTIONIS STAT DRACONIS VIGESIMA QVINTA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX XXV VELTRVM
VENIT NERONIS VMBRA DIVI IGNEA MIHI AC LYCAON REGNANS
TONITRV IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS VIGESIMA SEXTA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
ΚΑΤOΠΤΡΩ THΣ NYKTOΣ O ANAΞ AYTOΣ
REX XXVI VELTRVM
VBI THORAX SICVT SPECVLVM CÆCANS REFLEXIT MEVS SPLENDOREM IRÆ
FVLMINE IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ VLTIONIS STAT DRACONIS VIGESIMA SEPTIMA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX XXVII VELTRVM
SPONTE SVA SE MACTAT DE TYR MALLEO IPSE CERBERI INGNISQVE SACERDOS
HIEME IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS VIGESIMA OCTAVA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
O ΜEΓΑΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕYΣ EΠΙΦAΝΕΙΑ ΕIΣ EΡΕΒΟΣ
REX XXVIII VELTRVM
ΦΛΟΓΙ THΣ ΤΙΜΩΡIΑΣ MEO DE CHALYBE HOC SPECVLO AC NOCTIS
TONITRV IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ VLTIONIS STAT DRACONIS VNDETRICESIMA
SIVE VINDICTÆ KOΣMΩ MAGNÆ AC SPATHA
HOC ILLE EX SPECVLO NOCTIS MEO
REX XXIX VELTRVM
ÆGIR QVI NOSTRI INFAMIAM SVBIGET SÆCLI AC OMNIA GERMANICVS
FVLMINE IGNEA H ΣΠΕIΡΑ STAT VINDICTÆ DRACONIS
TRICESIMA
SIVE VLTIONIS DE VNIVERSO MAGNÆ AC TEMPORE
ΚΑΤOΠΤΡΩ THΣ NYKTOΣ O ANAΞ AYTOΣ
REX *** VELTRVM
AVRÆ ΕIΔΩ DE VELTRVM REVOLVVNT IGITVR IGNE LÆTI SPIRÆ
PRISTINÆ HΧΩ CAMPANÆ THΣ ΑΠΟΚΑΛΥΨΗΣ AC CLAMORE AQVILÆ
HÆC REGIS HORA VLTIONIS SIVE HISTORIÆ DECENARIVS III
ΔIA ΓAP TO EMON ΚΑΤOΠΤΡON KAI APXAIA ΦΛOΓI O ΤΙΜΩΡOΣ
TO ΓIΓΝΕΣΘΑΙ ΩΣΠEP H EΠIΔΟΣΙΣ ΔYΝΑΜΙ
ERIT NJÖRÐR QVADORVM IMAGINE MEA VIS CHALYBIS VNA ET HEPHÆSTI IRA
ΩΣ ΑYΤΩΣ EΠΙΣΤΡΟΦH TO ΚYΜΑ THΣ EΜΠΡΗΣΕΩΣ EK TOY EMOY ΕIΣΟΠΤΡΟY
OVERMAN VLTOR SIVE VXD KOΣMΩ POTENTIÆ IN RECVRSV
CVSTOS QVI OYΣIΩΣΘAI LABORE DICITVR ESSE SOLIS
VELTRVM.
Apr 7, 2023
Apr 7, 2023 at 3:21 AM UTC
We all know that life can thrive in the most inhospitable of places.
Plants grow from volcanic soil.
Bioluminescence crawls beneath
immense pressure on the ocean floor.
Microbes most likely thrive below the icy,
radioactive surface of Europa.
We all know that life—love—perseveres.
It’s nothing new.
But we don’t talk about
how ******* hard that actually is.
That’s what the strengths perspective is for.
What resilience gives name to.
But what if I don't want to? What if,
for today,
I’d rather the **** not?
Is that okay? Is that allowed?
That today I'm the vinca vine dying on the ledge?
Withered up and not drinking any more water.
Today, I am every succulent that I’ve ever accidentally killed.
Today, I am excess formaldehyde. I am a brain floating in a bell jar,
undulating in an existence that is an ethical quagmire.
Today, I am in limbo. Purgatory. Stasis and static.
Suspended upside down in a frozen wasteland, Dante style.
Tomorrow, I will thaw.
Rise from the soil fist first.
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 9:48 PM UTC
Bury me alive
In the tomb that I created
Jaded, complacent, frustrated
Substances left my mind
Completely vacant
Mummify my corpse
Lay it with my mistakes
Confined under infinite sand
In a desert that forsakes
Nov 5, 2021
Nov 5, 2021 at 12:09 AM UTC
These are my modern English translations of poems by Dante Alighieri.
Little sparks may ignite great Infernos.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In Beatrice I beheld the outer boundaries of blessedness.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
She made my veins and even the pulses within them tremble.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Her sweetness left me intoxicated.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love commands me by dictating my desires.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Follow your own path and let bystanders gossip.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The devil is not as dark as depicted.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There is no greater sorrow than to recall how we delighted in our own wretchedness.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As he, who with heaving lungs escaped the suffocating sea, turns to regard its perilous waters.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O human race, born to soar heavenward, why do you nosedive in the mildest breeze?
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O human race, born to soar heavenward, why do you quail at the least breath of wind?
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Midway through my life’s journey
I awoke to find myself lost in a trackless wood,
for I had strayed far from the straight path.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
INSCRIPTION ON THE GATE OF HELL
Before me nothing created existed, to fear.
Eternal I am, eternal I endure.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sonnet: “Ladies of Modest Countenance” from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You, who wear a modest countenance,
With eyelids weighed down by such heaviness,
How is it, that among you every face
Is haunted by the same pale troubled glance?
Have you seen in my lady's face, perchance,
the grief that Love provokes despite her grace?
Confirm this thing is so, then in her place,
Complete your grave and sorrowful advance.
And if, indeed, you match her heartfelt sighs
And mourn, as she does, for the heart's relief,
Then tell Love how it fares with her, to him.
Love knows how you have wept, seeing your eyes,
And is so grieved by gazing on your grief
His courage falters and his sight grows dim.
Paradiso, Canto III:1-33, The Revelation of Love and Truth
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
That sun, which had inflamed my breast with love,
Had now revealed to me―as visions move―
The gentle and confounding face of Truth.
Thus I, by her sweet grace and love reproved,
Corrected, and to true confession moved,
Raised my bowed head and found myself behooved
To speak, as true admonishment required,
And thus to bless the One I so desired,
When I was awed to silence! This transpired:
As the outlines of men’s faces may amass
In mirrors of transparent, polished glass,
Or in shallow waters through which light beams pass
(Even so our eyes may easily be fooled
By pearls, or our own images, thus pooled):
I saw a host of faces, pale and lewd,
All poised to speak; but when I glanced around
There suddenly was no one to be found.
A pool, with no Narcissus to astound?
But then I turned my eyes to my sweet Guide.
With holy eyes aglow and smiling wide,
She said, “They are not here because they lied.”
Sonnet: “A Vision of Love” or “Love’s Faithful Ones” from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To every gentle heart true Love may move,
And unto whom my words must now be brought
For wise interpretation’s tender thought,
I greet you in our Lord's name, which is Love.
Through night’s last watch, as winking stars, above,
Kept their high vigil over men, distraught,
Love came to me, with such dark terrors fraught
As mortals may not casually speak of.
Love seemed a being of pure Joy and held
My heart, pulsating. On his other arm
My lady, wrapped in thinnest gossamers, slept.
He, having roused her from her sleep, then made
My heart her feast—devoured with alarm.
He then departed; as he left, he wept.
Excerpts from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
Ecce deus fortior me, qui veniens dominabitur mihi.
Here is a Deity, stronger than myself, who comes to dominate me.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra.
Your blessedness has now been manifested unto you.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Heu miser! quia frequenter impeditus ero deinceps.
Alas, how often I will be restricted now!
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fili mi, tempus est ut prætermittantur simulata nostra.
My son, it is time to cease counterfeiting.
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ego tanquam centrum circuli, cui simili modo se habent circumferentiæ partes: tu autem non sic.
Love said: “I am as the center of a harmonious circle; everything is equally near me. No so with you.”
―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sonnet: “Love’s Thoroughfare” from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
“O voi che par la via”
All those who travel Love's worn tracks,
Pause here, awhile, and ask
Has there ever been a grief like mine?
Pause here, from that mad race;
Patiently hear my case:
Is it not a piteous marvel and a sign?
Love, not because I played a part,
But only due to his great heart,
Afforded me a provenance so sweet
That often others, as I went,
Asked what such unfair gladness meant:
They whispered things behind me in the street.
But now that easy gait is gone
Along with the wealth Love afforded me;
And so in time I’ve come to be
So poor that I dread to ponder thereon.
And thus I have become as one
Who hides his shame of his poverty
By pretending happiness outwardly,
While within I travail and moan.
Sonnet: “Cry for Pity” from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
These thoughts lie shattered in my memory:
When through the past I see your lovely face.
When you are near me, thus, Love fills all Space,
And often whispers, “Is death better? Flee!”
My face reflects my heart's blood-red dammed tide,
Which, fainting, seeks some shallow resting place;
Till, in the blushing shame of such disgrace,
The very earth seems to be shrieking, “Die!”
’Twould be a grievous sin, if one should not
Relay some comfort to my harried mind,
If only with some simple pitying
For this great anguish which fierce scorn has wrought
Through faltering sights of eyes grown nearly blind,
Which search for death now, like a blessed thing.
Excerpt from Paradiso
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
****** Mother, daughter of your Son,
Humble, yet exalted above creation,
And the eternal counsel’s apex shown,
You are the Pinnacle of human nature,
Your nobility instilled by its Creator,
Who did not, having you, disdain his creature.
Love was rekindled in your perfect womb
Where warmth and holy peace were given room
For this, Perfection’s Rose, once sown, to bloom.
Now unto us you are a Torch held high
Our noonday sun―the light of Charity,
Our wellspring of all Hope, a living sea.
Madonna, so pure, high and all-availing,
The man who desires grace of you, though failing,
Despite his grounded state, is given wing!
Your mercy does not fail, but, Ever-Blessed,
The one who asks finds oftentimes his quest
Unneeded: you foresaw his first request!
You are our Mercy; you are our Compassion;
you are Magnificence; in you creation
Unites whatever Goodness deems Salvation.
THE MUSE
by Anna Akhmatova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My being hangs by a thread tonight
as I await a Muse no human pen can command.
The desires of my heart ― youth, liberty, glory ―
now depend on the Maid with the flute in her hand.
Look! Now she arrives; she flings back her veil;
I meet her grave eyes ― calm, implacable, pitiless.
“Temptress, confess!
Are you the one who gave Dante hell?”
She answers, “Yes.”
I have also translated this poem written by Marina Tsvetaeva for Anna Akhmatova:
Excerpt from “Poems for Akhmatova”
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You outshine everything, even the sun
at its zenith. The stars are yours!
If only I could sweep like the wind
through some unbarred door,
gratefully, to where you are ...
to hesitantly stammer, suddenly shy,
lowering my eyes before you, my lovely mistress,
petulant, chastened, overcome by tears,
as a child sobs to receive forgiveness ...
Dante Criticism by Michael R. Burch
Dante’s was a defensive reflex
against religion’s hex.
―Michael R. Burch
Dante, you Dunce!
by Michael R. Burch
The earth is hell, Dante, you Dunce!
Which you should have perceived―since you lived here once.
God is no Beatrice, gentle and clever.
Judas and Satan were wise to dissever
from false “messiahs” who cannot save.
Why flit like a bat through Plato’s cave
believing such shadowy illusions are real?
There is no "hell" but to live and feel!
How Dante Forgot Christ
by Michael R. Burch
Dante ****** the brightest and the fairest
for having loved―pale Helen, wild Achilles―
agreed with his Accuser in the spell
of hellish visions and eternal torments.
His only savior, Beatrice, was Love.
His only savior, Beatrice, was Love,
the fulcrum of his body’s, heart’s and mind’s
sole triumph, and their altogether conquest.
She led him to those heights where Love, enshrined,
blazed like a star beyond religion’s hells.
Once freed from Yahweh, in the arms of Love,
like Blake and Milton, Dante forgot Christ.
The Christian gospel is strangely lacking in Milton’s and Dante’s epics. Milton gave the “atonement” one embarrassed enjambed line. Dante ****** the Earth’s star-crossed lovers to his grotesque hell, while doing exactly what they did: pursing at all costs his vision of love, Beatrice. Blake made more sense to me, since he called the biblical god Nobodaddy and denied any need to be “saved” by third parties.
Dante’s Antes
by Michael R. Burch
There’s something glorious about man,
who lives because he can,
who dies because he must,
and in between’s a bust.
No god can reign him in:
he’s quite intent on sin
and likes it rather, really.
He likes *** touchy-feely.
He likes to eat too much.
He has the Midas touch
and paves hell’s ways with gold.
The things he’s bought and sold!
He’s sold his soul to Mammon
and also plays backgammon
and poker, with such antes
as still befuddle Dantes.
I wonder―can hell hold him?
His chances seem quite dim
because he’s rather puny
and also loopy-looney.
And yet like Evel Knievel
he dances with the Devil
and seems so **** courageous,
good-natured and outrageous
some God might show him mercy
and call religion heresy.
Of Seabound Saints and Promised Lands
by Michael R. Burch
Judas sat on a wretched rock,
his head still sore from Satan’s gnawing.
Saint Brendan’s curragh caught his eye,
wildly geeing and hawing.
I’m on parole from Hell today!
Pale Judas cried from his lonely perch.
You’ve fasted forty days, good Saint!
Let this rock by my church,
my baptismal, these icy waves.
O, plead for me now with the One who saves!
Saint Brendan, full of mercy, stood
at the lurching prow of his flimsy bark,
and mightily prayed for the mangy man
whose flesh flashed pale and stark
in the golden dawn, beneath a sun
that seemed to halo his tonsured dome.
Then Saint Brendan sailed for the Promised Land
and Saint Judas headed Home.
O, behoove yourself, if ever your can,
of the fervent prayer of a righteous man!
In Dante’s Inferno, Satan gnaws on Judas Iscariot’s head. A curragh is a boat fashioned from wood and ox hides. Saint Brendan of Ireland is the patron saint of sailors and whales. According to legend, he sailed in search of the Promised Land and discovered America centuries before Columbus.
RE: Paradiso, Canto III
by Michael R. Burch
for the most “Christian” of poets
What did Dante do,
to earn Beatrice’s grace
(grace cannot be earned!)
but cast disgrace
on the whole human race,
on his peers and his betters,
as a man who wears cheap rayon suits
might disparage men who wear sweaters?
How conventionally “Christian” ― Poet! ― to ****
your fellow man
for being merely human,
then, like a contented clam,
to grandly claim
near-infinite “grace,”
as if your salvation was God’s only aim!
What a scam!
And what of the lovely Piccarda,
whom you placed in the lowest sphere of heaven
for neglecting her vows ―
She was forced!
Were you chaste?
Intimations V
by Michael R. Burch
We had not meditated upon sound
so much as drowned
in the inhuman ocean
when we imagined it broken
open
like a conch shell
whorled like the spiraling hell
of Dante’s Inferno.
Trapped between Nature
and God,
what is man
but an inquisitive,
acquisitive
sod?
And what is Nature
but odd,
or God
but a Clod,
and both of them horribly flawed?
Endgame
by Michael R. Burch
The honey has lost all its sweetness,
the hive―its completeness.
Now ambient dust, the drones lie dead.
The workers weep, their King long fled
(who always had been **** invisible,
his “kingdom” atomic, divisible,
and pathetically risible).
The queen has flown,
long Dis-enthroned,
who would have given all she owned
for a promised white stone.
O, Love has fled, has fled, has fled ...
Religion is dead, is dead, is dead.
The Final Revelation of a Departed God’s Divine Plan
by Michael R. Burch
Here I am, talking to myself again . . .
****** off at God and bored with humanity.
These insectile mortals keep testing my sanity!
Still, I remember when . . .
planting odd notions, dark inklings of vanity,
in their peapod heads might elicit an inanity
worth a chuckle or two.
Philosophers, poets . . . how they all made me laugh!
The things they dreamed up! Sly Odysseus’s raft;
Plato’s Republic; Dante’s strange crew;
Shakespeare’s Othello, mad Hamlet, Macbeth;
Cervantes’ Quixote; fat, funny Falstaff!;
Blake’s shimmering visions. Those days, though, are through . . .
for, puling and tedious, their “poets” now seem
content to write, but not to dream,
and they fill the world with their pale derision
of things they completely fail to understand.
Now, since God has long fled, I am here, in command,
reading this crap. Earth is Hell. We’re all ******
Keyword/Tags: Dante, Italian, translation, sonnet, Italian sonnet, crown of sonnets, rhyme, love, affinity and love, Rome, Italy, Florence, terza rima
Aug 7, 2021
Aug 7, 2021 at 6:27 AM UTC
He peeled away time, like dead skin on fingertips
An irritant needing of disposal like all wasted things
Each layer increasingly painful to touch, but demanding an attention too strong to protest
Not knowing what exactly lies at the end, but tightly grasping the edges of his mind’s ferry as it lurched deeper in
Scraping into the recesses of inferno, past showy flames
Stopping only at the bottom, hitting solid ground, still and cold
A modest ghost land, non-boasting
Completely justified by its own barrenness
Indisputably, the first instance
There he laid himself to rest a while
Coddled in the dirt
A sense of security reminiscent of the womb where it started, back to the beginning
And while lying there, seeking comfort through this fever chill of a journey, looking up he saw it
What it must have been all along
A childhood memory, living only in the mind, but living all the same
A defining moment
Something simple, whose significance couldn’t be challenged, but whose existence was something uncertain
A mystery only partially figured out
But enough to know when to stop
Just a reverie, he reassured himself
And with that piled on each layer again and again until he reached the surface once more
Back to a familiar setting, cool and breathable
Maybe suggestive of a lower level
But probably not.
May 8, 2021
May 8, 2021 at 9:08 PM UTC
Demons build their nest in your throat
Strangulating
Led by a black eyed goat
Baphomet
You sin then renounce your sins
Hypocrisy
And lay down your arms to the battle within
Damnation
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
Why is it,
the best of mankind’s minds all dwell
on the tortured side of hell?
For those within their high ivory towers,
far from the tortured toiling
of the boiling broth below
hold the keys to change
but fail to unlock that
which the doors of hope bestow.
Granted,
not all those that survive the swell of the Devils ****** spell
become patron Saints
through their pain,
but the very act of survival
means that their miraculous revival
can put life into those long dead
with that earned wisdom
birthed from the dungeons within their heads.
For Dantes rocky road
is for those alone
whose abodes
are bestowed
within the land of no mans code,
who bare the weight of tomorrow’s load,
until they don’t
Oct 8, 2020
Oct 8, 2020 at 3:32 AM UTC
Love borne in briers of a lonely heart
May bloom eternally on heaven's stage
So sweet the lustre that lovers impart
Like ink from a poet's pen on a page
When eternity comes bouquets decay
And letters of love fade into the night
Then mourning comes like a worn out cliche
Uncertainty grow to strangle you tight
Shudder not now my friend the end of love
When its curtains fall; take your final bow
free it of corpus chains to fly above
the empty trails of bards feet left on snow
When the last sonnet can't mend love's sorrow
Toss in Dante's burning heart your arrow
May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 8:56 PM UTC
Quiet in my velvet dreams
gleaming with beauty queens
ultraviolet veneers
under crystal clear chandeliers
Awake. Never quite getting the reckoning.
Instead you're beckoning
me to your charade of promise
but I'm stuck in the forest
where you're my Charon
following me to the limestone,
dragging me back to the gates
and I know you mean well, but it doesn't resonate.
I've abandoned all hope and entered
Feeling like I've surrendered
What is it I will remember
when we get to November?
Biting my arm
in moments of harm
or
braiding my hair
with you just being unaware?
It all seems silly
like a grand facade really
where I can't see why anyone
can buy into becoming a chameleon.
Why take it so serious
when it just feels delirious?
What is it we're racing to
at the end, it's the same view.
Who is it for?
I really must make sure.
Waiting for my Virgil
To guide me through the hurdles.
He's no where to be seen
as I choke on my amphetamines.
May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 4:12 PM UTC
Epigrams I - Translations
Religion is the ****** of the people.—Karl Marx
Religion is the dopiate of the sheeple.—Michael R. Burch
Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, translation by Michael R. Burch
To write an epigram, cram.
If you lack wit, scram!
—Michael R. Burch, original epigram
Once fanaticism has gangrened brains
the incurable malady invariably remains.
—Voltaire, translation by Michael R. Burch
Little sparks ignite great flames.
—Dante, translation by Michael R. Burch
Hypocrisy may deceive the most perceptive adult, but the dullest child recognizes and is revolted by it, however ingeniously disguised.
—Leo Tolstoy, translation by Michael R. Burch
Just as I select a ship when it's time to travel,
or a house when it's time to change residences,
even so I will choose when it's time to depart from life.
—Seneca, speaking about the right to euthanasia in the first century AD, translation by Michael R. Burch
The imbecile constructs cages for everyone he knows,
while the sage (who has to duck his head whenever the moon glows)
keeps dispensing keys all night long
to the beautiful, rowdy, prison gang.
—Hafiz loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
An unbending tree
breaks easily.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their ****** for exotic positions.
—Thomas Campion, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
No wind is favorable to the man who lacks direction.
—Seneca the Younger, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Improve yourself through others' writings, thus attaining more easily what they acquired through great difficulty.
—Socrates, translation by Michael R. Burch
Fools call wisdom foolishness.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
One true friend is worth ten thousand kin.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
Not to speak one’s mind is slavery.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
I would rather die standing than kneel, a slave.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
Fresh tears are wasted on old griefs.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!
Native American Proverb
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Before you judge
a man for his sins
be sure to trudge
many moons in his moccasins.
Native American Proverb
by Crazy Horse, Oglala Lakota Sioux (circa 1840-1877)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A man must pursue his Vision
as the eagle explores
the sky's deepest blues.
Native American Proverb
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let us walk respectfully here
among earth's creatures, great and small,
remembering, our footsteps light,
that one wise God created all.
Cherokee Travelers' Blessing I
translation by Michael R. Burch
I will extract the thorns from your feet.
For yet a little while, we will walk life's sunlit paths together.
I will love you like my own brother, my own blood.
When you are disconsolate, I will wipe the tears from your eyes.
And when you are too sad to live, I will put your aching heart to rest.
Cherokee Travelers' Blessing II
translation by Michael R. Burch
Happily may you walk
in the paths of the Rainbow.
Oh,
and may it always be beautiful before you,
beautiful behind you,
beautiful below you,
beautiful above you,
and beautiful all around you
where in Perfection beauty is finished.
Cherokee Travelers' Blessing III
translation by Michael R. Burch
May Heaven’s warming winds blow gently there,
where you reside,
and may the Great Spirit bless all those you love,
this side of the farthest tide.
And wherever you go,
whether the journey is fast or slow,
may your moccasins leave many cunning footprints in the snow.
And when you look over your shoulder, may you always find the Rainbow.
The Least of These...
What you
do
to
the refugee
(the least of these)
you
do
unto
Me!
—Jesus Christ, translation/paraphrase by Michael R. Burch
Hell has been hellishly overdone
since Jehovah and his prophets never mentioned it once.
—Michael R. Burch
(Bible scholars agree: the word "hell" has been removed from the Old Testaments of the more accurate modern Bible translations. And the few New Testament verses that mention "hell" are obvious mistranslations.)
Earthbound
by Michael R. Burch
Tashunka Witko, better known as Crazy Horse, had a vision of a red-tailed hawk at Sylvan Lake, South Dakota. In his vision he saw himself riding a spirit horse, flying through a storm, as the hawk flew above him, shrieking. When he awoke, a red-tailed hawk was perched near his horse.
Earthbound,
and yet I now fly
through the clouds that are aimlessly drifting ...
so high
that no sound
echoing by
below where the mountains are lifting
the sky
can be heard.
Like a bird,
but not meek,
like a hawk from a distance regarding its prey,
I will shriek,
not a word,
but a screech,
and my terrible clamor will turn them to clay—
the sheep,
the earthbound.
In October 1838 the Cherokees began to walk the "Trail of Tears." Most of them made the thousand mile journey west to Oklahoma on foot. An estimated 4,000 people, or a quarter of the tribe, died en route. The soldiers "escorting" the Cherokees at bayonet point refused permission for the dead to be buried, threatening to shoot anyone who disobeyed. So the living were forced to carry the corpses of the dead until camp was made for the night.
When Pigs Fly
by Michael R. Burch
On the Trail of Tears,
my Cherokee brothers,
why hang your heads?
Why shame your mothers?
Laugh wildly instead!
We will soon be dead.
When we lie in our graves,
let the white-eyes take
the woodlands we loved
for the *** and the rake.
It is better to die
than to live out a lie
in so narrow a sty.
Years after the Cherokees had been rounded up and driven down the Trail of Tears, John G. Burnett reflected on what he and his fellow soldiers had done, saying, "Schoolchildren of today do not know that we are living on lands that were taken from a helpless race at the bayonet point, to satisfy the white man's greed ... ****** is ****** and somebody must answer, somebody must explain the streams of blood that flowed in the Indian country ... Somebody must explain the four thousand silent graves that mark the trail of the Cherokees to their exile."
In the same year, 1830, that Stonewall Jackson consigned Native Americans to the ash-heap of history, Georgia Governor George Gilmer said, "Treaties are expedients by which ignorant, intractable, and savage people are induced ... to yield up what civilized people have the right to possess." By "civilized" he apparently meant people willing to brutally dispossess and **** women and children in order to derive economic benefits for themselves.
These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh . . .
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
―Michael R. Burch, from "Mongrel Dreams"
After Jackson was re-elected with an overwhelming majority in 1832, he strenuously pursued his policy of removing Native Americans, even refusing to accept a Supreme Court ruling which invalidated Georgia's planned annexation of Cherokee land. But in the double-dealing logic of the white supremacists, they had to make the illegal resettlement of the Indians appear to be "legal," so a small group of Cherokees were persuaded to sign the "Treaty of New Echota," which swapped Cherokee land for land in the Oklahoma territory. The Cherokee ringleaders of this infamous plot were later assassinated as traitors. ****** was similarly obsessed with the "legalities" of the **** Holocaust; isn't it strange how mass murderers of women and children can seek to justify their crimes?)
Native Americans understood the "circle of life" better than their white oppressors ...
When we sit in the Circle of the People,
we must be responsible because all Creation is related
and the suffering of one is the suffering of all
and the joy of one is the joy of all
and whatever we do affects everything in the universe.
—"Lakota Instructions for Living" by White Buffalo Calf Woman, translated by Michael R. Burch
Shattered
by Vera Pavlova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.
Keywords/Tags: epigram, epigrams, translation, marx, rumi, voltaire, dante, tolstoy, seneca, pavlova, religion, words, mrbepi, mrbepig, mrbepigram
Published as the collection "Epigrams I"
Feb 24, 2020
Feb 24, 2020 at 1:16 AM UTC
Please don’t mind me,
I’m just a splinter of the past.
Wandering blindly,
and hands are tied so I can’t grasp.
Just like the thought,
of giving up after giving all I’ve got,
I admit that it wasn’t a lot.
Now it’s too late to pretend
that I’m not broken; could be so easy to mend,
I’ll hide the shatter point where you made me bend.
I’ll return to my other fix,
it succeeds in dulling my heart with it’s mind tricks,
a perfect combination just mix and blend.
Nightly I lay awake
sketching scenarios involving us,
where you give and I take,
I return equal amounts; a benefit of respect & trust.
When it’s time to fill in each word,
I admit I’m aware I’m not what she deserves,
someone better who won’t lose their nerve.
‘Cause it’s too late to pretend
that it’s not plagued in every thought I spend,
should be thankful that I’m important enough to still be called friend.
And there’ll always be somebody else,
completely oblivious to a heart’s wealth,
and too focused on their self to ever expend.
We can’t fix the mistake
but we can make a new one;
drain each ocean and lake,
and completely block out the sun.
Yes it’s too late too pretend
that you’re not draped in every word I’ve penned,
even with the lowest odds I’ll still contend.
And do you see each blow and broken bone,
wishing that I’d just leave and find a home?
On me you can depend to not be alone,
do you think the same you could lend?
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 2:12 AM UTC
Gharsheeelish to hell
Where everything is dark
And seems like an endless halloween
The flames are everywhere
Making candles out of pots and trees talk
This will be emotional young Dante
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 10:07 AM UTC
In the Ninth circle
Of Hell
I ealk
The frozen path of
The ****** until I see a cold
Yes cold pit of flames
Where the resttry to
Get warm
With no success
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 9:59 AM UTC
No fiery fate awaits my ****** soul
In Dante’s infernal inferno, on Level Five
I will swim beneath the wrathful
To permanently drown, with bulging eyes
Gasping for a breath I can never take
The River Styx, the embodiment of my sorrow
Liquified unhappiness, stagnant sadness
My sin? To live my life with a glass half empty
Having found no joy in man, nor God, nor the world
Which has already left me feeling punished.
I wonder if I’ll get a break down there,
Or will I still have to work my ******* lunch hour!
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 7:34 AM UTC
"Stop yelling at me," I tell the walls,
as if they were the culprit.
Stop keeping time with my fingernails,
tracing squares in chalkboard wallpaper.
I have forgotten you.
If only you would forget me.
You trace lines on my skin,
Like a cartography of forgotten myth.
"Don't tell me what to think."
You don't own me.
"Don't tell me how to feel."
That is a priviledge you no longer possess.
"Leave me alone,
Old friend."
Leave me be.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 6:34 PM UTC