Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Winter Wonder

Winterscapes by Uriy Ivukin






Winter morning

by Alexander Pushkin
Translated into English by Mikhail Kneller

Cold frost and sunshine: a day of wonder!
     But you, my friend, are still in slumber--
Wake up, my beauty, time belies:
You dormant eyes, I beg you, broaden
Toward the northerly Aurora,
As though a northern star arise!

Recall last night, the snow was whirling,
Across the sky, the haze was twirling,
The moon, as though a pale dye,
Emerged with yellow through faint clouds.
And there you sat, immersed in doubts,
And now, -- just take a look outside:

The snow below the bluish skies,
Like a majestic carpet lies,
And in the light of day it shimmers.
The woods are dusky. Through the frost
The greenish fir-trees are exposed;
And under ice, a river glitters.

The room is lit with amber light.
And bursting, popping in delight
Hot stove still rattles in a fray.
While it is nice to hear its clatter,
Perhaps, we should command to saddle
A fervent mare into the sleight?

And sliding on the morning snow
Dear friend, we'll let our worries go,
And with the zealous mare we'll flee.
We'll visit empty ranges, thence,
The woods, which used to be so dense
And then the shore, so dear to me.

Aleksander Repin

Vladimir Krulov

Vladimir Zhdanov

Monday, March 17, 2008

Mermaids

For centuries Mermaids have fascinated, inspired and mystified in legends and lore.

Garrido Leandro Ramon

Loreley


I do not know what haunts me, What saddened my mind all day; An age-old tale confounds me, A spell I cannot allay.

The air is cool and in twilight The Rhine's dark waters flow; The peak of the mountain in highlight Reflects the evening glow.

There sits a lovely maiden Above so wondrous fair, With shining jewels laden, She combs her golden hair.

It falls through her comb in a shower, And over the valley rings A song of mysterious power That lovely maiden sings.

The boatman in his small skiff is Seized by a turbulent love, No longer he marks where the cliff is, He looks to the mountain above.

I think the waves must fling him Against the reefs nearby, And that did with her singing The lovely Loreley.

- Heinrich Heine

Waterhouse


Hyward Pyle


Leighton


Dulac

Alice B. Woodward


The sea maid

from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream

by Arthur Rackham

To where I watch on the yellow sands,
and they pluck sweet music with sea-cold hands.

They bring me coral and amber clear.
But when the stars in heaven appear,

their music ceases, they glide away.
They swim for their grottos across the bay.

Then listen only to my shrill tune,
the surfy tide, and the wondering moon.