Posts Tagged ‘love among the ruins’

Posterity

June 17, 2017

O heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns!
     Earth’s returns
For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin!
     Shut them in,
With their triumphs and their glories and the rest!
     Love is best

Robert Browing, Love Among the Ruins

What has posterity ever done for me?
Groucho Marx

You did it
For the People
Is what you
Told yourself

You thought
You were
Bigger than
Everybody else

You ruled
You conquered
You told people
What to do

Now you’re just
As dead
As everyone
You knew

Time
Gurgles on

It’s gonna
Wash away

Everything
We ever do
And everything
We say

Existence
Is a gift
Will you squander
Your ration?

Or will you
Live your life
For love
And compassion?

by Richard W. Bray

Stanzas in My Head: Hayden, Raleigh, and Browning

August 18, 2013
Robert Browning

Robert Browning

Robert Hayden

Robert Hayden

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
   Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten–
   In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

(In other words, “I’ll choose my own life, Mister.” Marlowe’s shepherd painted a lovely portrait of a life for two, but he didn’t ask the nymph for her input until he was finished. That’s why I find the feminism of Raleigh’s nymph so appealing.)

No one has ever asked me to recite the fourth stanza of “The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd” by Sir Walter Raleigh. But my brain is constantly preparing itself for the task. Often I’m riding my bicycle when those twenty-seven marvelously collocated words decide to flow across my consciousness.

How long do I stretch out the three soons? (Listen to how Nancy Wickwire does it) How long do I pause after break and wither? How much sarcasm can I pack into the first syllable of reason? How long do I pause after reason and how hard do I hit the first syllable of rotten?

In one year they sent a million fighters forth
   South and North,

And they built their gods a brazen pillar high
   As the sky,

Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force–
   Gold, of course.

Oh HEART! oh blood that freezes, blood that BURNS!
   Earth’s returns

For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin!
   Shut them in,

With their triumphs and their glories and the rest!
   Love is best.

Love or war, which is better? It seems like such an easy question. So why do we waste so much of ourselves making war when we could be making love? The final stanza of Robert Browning’s “Love Among the Ruins” reminds us how absurd our priorities can be.

I love the way Steven Pacey reads “Love Among the Ruins.” He emphasizes the word heart as a hinge upon which the entire poem turns. He also emphasizes burns at the end of the line. Browning’s exclamation points suggests this reading is correct.

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
WHAT did I know, what did I KNOW
of love’s AUStere and LONEly offices?

So e.e.cummings isn’t the only poet whose father moved through dooms of love.

In marked contrast to Pacey’s reading of “Love Among the Ruins,” Robert Hayden’s rendition of “Those Winter Sundays” is subtle. In the penultimate line he emphasizes What a little bit and know even less. Hayden also breathes a little extra heart into the first syllables of austere and lonely in the last line.

by Richard W. Bray

Dreamers of Dead

March 4, 2013

love among ruin

So many now have joined the hapless dead
As though a contest—how many can we kill
By sending others’ children off to war
The health of the state is unchecked power
Which feeds on frustration and unmet desire
This lust for blood that we confuse with love

Catenations bind us by our love
In webs of hate that recollect our dead
Murder machine fulfills the group desire
To locate people God wants us to kill
In fear a people shall relinquish power
To cowards who will always answer: War

The terrified succumb to endless war
It’s easier than proffering our love
In times of doubt the people will trust power
No matter if million end up dead
If you look and sound like those who kill
Killing you is what our dead desire

Humans have a basic born desire
To eliminate our enemies with war
Enemies exist for us to kill
Who’s the Fool who said they must be loved?
Enemies are only good when dead
Enemies embrace in lust for power

Millions murdered in pursuit of power
Pelf and power propagate desire
Desires undeterred beget more dead
The dead are mere ingredients of war
Death is all the tyrant knows of love
And Thanatos consummates the kill

Words enliven hearts we send to kill
Empty words engender frightful power
Some died for freedom, others died for love
Zombies march in cadence of desire
When unleashed the platitudes of war
Sing a dreary song of walking dead

Among the ruins, love decries our kill
Dreamers of dead are quick to kill for power
Unchecked desire is the seed of war

Richard W. Bray