We poets are made of silver...

We poets are made of silver. Silver of the moon,
And gems of great worth; brought from the depths of earth,
To adorn our golden collars, and our long stately limbs.

Not out of cold clay were we made, nor cast in common mould -
Let the earth keep its silence; we will still hear it sing
And praise and eulogise us, just as we praise and eulogise it.

Nor out of bronze nor iron were we made; for not in wrath
Were the Gods when they wrought us, not as vessels of wrath were we made;
To some they poured fury, but to us only the song that can not be sung.

Nor out of gold fashioned, and neither with diamonds studded,
For what could we hope to do, who are less than butterflies,
Or songbirds and dragonflies? To lie, and hope it endured time.

No, for we were the intricacies of silver, whose eternal love-song
Is a breath over water; who were tailored with much love,
To verse, for wit and fury, and hope that wit and fury endure.

Ode on reading Borges

O' Sage! O' Borges! Poet of twilight,
Philosopher of twilight, your voice is cold,
As is the memory of snow; warm, as is daylight;
You've brought us sight, and deep dreams of old.

I'd vow adoration, or speak of my illumination,
But words are insufficient, and would fail me;
So allow me relate a picture, a sudden elation,
Which once, unexpected, did appear to me.

I'd closed the covers of labyrinths, when in the sky,
At that moment, among the vast white clouds,
A rift was opened, whence forms unknown to eye
Poured forth, in an unruly and unending crowd.

Some spoke in languages long dead, and others,
Were singing like sirens, in that sweet voice,
That though unheard of, we all recognised as brothers;
And they jeered at me, in signs of strange rejoice.

Then came the images; an exaggerated man
Was chased by a tiger, and then the form of compass,
Which showed time, and all the course it since had ran,
And finally, a gallery of abstractions made of glass.

The colours were many; I could not recognise all,
And so were sounds: screeches and harmonies,
Which brought fear and awe and signs of thrall,
And lingered long after the procession had ceased.

Then the gate was closed; but who could tell,
Whether it had spanned the sky, or some puny site,
Where he had located this heaven and hell,
And which was but magnified by some unknown rite?

I do not know; truthfully, it is of no importance;
I promised elation, but like any feeling of skin,
It has faded, as are the memories of that circumstance,
Only doubt remains, unplacated. I attribute it to him.

Extempore

Every age has its monsters,
Dragon-like or hydra-headed

Draped in human skin,
In guise of a man or a woman

Falsehoods in common mind,
Sweet favours and promises

Sugar-tongued and transparent,
Not hunch-backed nor ugly

But Chimera-like,
Carried on shoulders of the wise

Able to withstand sunlight,
With a genuine mirror image

There is no shame nor doubt,
Neither in the carried nor carriers

Yet shattered and broken,
In the presence of moonlight

Though replicate like men,
In broods and in great number

In successive generations
They bear no resemblance to their elders

Nor quite genuine in hindsight,
But like chameoleons on their day

Though every age has had its laugh,
It's always been bit too late.

Interlude

There are some times, moments of fleeting worth,
As when one blinks, and discerns his place on earth;
When twitching his finger, flexing his long arms,
One's vision clears, and pierces the earhly charms;
And when in the dew on morning blossoms he sees,
The sense that has eluded him, and as it flees,
He grasps its peacock-tail, and wonders for a while,
How such innocence has come to have such guile?
Such are those times, as though without dreams,
Freed of beguiling mist, and cleared of false sense,
We are still fog-filled, and enamoured with pretence,
So that few nights after, that same man must deem,
Though ungainly with a new love, that some days past,
He saw a fairer dream- a shame though it could not last.

Kullervo's Dream

1.
Behold! How all that is great, and strong, and fair
Has gathered in a single state, and with confident flair
Plays the play of life. As in the house of life, youth
Stages the show of passion; children, the show of innocence;
And elderly, the common code of peerless pretence!
These are the dreams of childhood, scenes of happiness,
And niches for righteous man, and yet who there goes,
Amongst the innocent, as if all were his foes?
Behold! Clad in regal cloak and in ragged attire,
In blue and crimson stockings, awokes before the fire;
Kullervo! With his hand on hilt, with confused gaze,
Stands forth, and blinks his eyes before the blaze!

2.
Behold! As among the gleeful, giddy crowd he goes,
With no familiar face in sight, no friend he knows;
None smiles at him, none laughs; In the house of merry
He alone is lone, bereft of company all should have,
And when the pairs in the center do whirl and round,
And dance for love - for him alone no pair is found.
Behold! As not all jeweled riches, nor his princely suit
Can mask this: lonely in the house of life he is,
And when before him dance all these shapes of bliss,
He shall wait - patientily for his many friends,
Whose names, one by one, from his memory he fends.
For so is Kullervo, emotionless the sullen child!

3.
And oh to be so! that once to have tasted brotherhood,
And then, soon companionless in the house of men,
Joined with but memories! And soon to him it comes again,
The senseless, sullen sight - of a child, who once
Had lost his mother, father; lost his brother and sister,
And just as faceless as the blurry youth he flees,
To where in some quiet corner, a balcony he sees.
Past the open, gilded merry-halls, past the bar;
Past all the fever and sweat of the dance-hall,
Past delight and past love, leaves behind it all,
Till where no screeching guitar nor violin
Shall him reach, he grasps for air and sweeps his brow.

4.
Darkness his only friend, night his only mother,
Kullervo scans the sky for impartial air,
And from all company removed, like a fox in its lair,
Kullervo finds his peace in the halls of silence.
And now, as the doors open to the states of night,
Behind him heave and wave the merry fire-light,
And before him, we see a misty garden in dark woods,
Whose savage silence well suits his sullen moods!
Kullervo! Forget the feasts and the jubilant inns,
Give no thought to dance-halls or manlier sport,
Yours are the wild expanses, misty mornings,
And the elation and peace from icy springs!

5.
Yet even for happiest man such are words in vain,
To him they are mockery; medicine that brings but pain;
And so he laments, recites a mourning song:
"Of my brotherly flock only one feather is left,
Of friendly feats, sisterly love am bereft;
I alone am lone, ashes are my homely hearth,
Empty roads bring me home; woe, woe me,
All I am is smoke; nothing lives in my memory!"
Yet though he would say more, will not, cannot,
For his silent lament now floods a reply;
From its sheat, devil sings from beside his thigh:
"You are the son of nature, storm wind of excellence,
Why do you trifle, and from trifles take offence?"

6.
"You are the scion of spring, my master,
Champion in wicked wiles, forest-fire of dry season,
Others have their shame, but your will is reason!"
Such is the voice of the sword, gift of godly powers,
Song of the song-mouthed, and Kullervo listens
In confusion. Thousand of disagreeing voices,
Disagree in his head, and none knows his choices;
How will he answer? Hear now, he speaks, speaks,
Yet no voice is heard; now pain floods his heart,
Mind and body scream, and rob him of his vocal art,
And as the voice of his brand blurs and fades,
So does the scenery, and disperses in dreamy waves!

7.
His vision swims, his face grows deathly pale,
In haste and hurry he now does inhale
His panicked air. Yet this is no mansion, no palace;
Kullervo sleeps in woods, back beside a pine,
Atop dry, rustling leaves, alone does recline.
Yet not all is dark, from above a leafy canopy,
Shines the light of moon and stars, onto his face
Where it find objects of adoration, tormented grace,
And sickly beauty, dual shrines of love and hate,
And such splendour as no words could recreate.
In silence and light he sits; whilst his mind
Aligns, and wonders the circumstances it now finds.

8.
And here we leave him, as is most fitting,
As to not reveal all; most, yet not too much.
Kullervo sleeps not, yet all the same, his state
Is silence, and but one thing is left to narrate,
And that is peace, for it is all right and good,
That when one sleeps, or wakes from a stragest sleep,
He should be none, and none of his worries keep.
And so we leave Kullervo in peace, yet not in full silence,
As when leaning his back against the piny height,
Eyes unblinking, caressed by sweetest moon-light,
We hear a quiet sound, the purr of a feline reply;
The sword in his lap, slowly saps blood from his thigh.

Tuhannen yön uni

Runoilija lipoo kaksihaaraisella kielellään.

"Hei Veli, kerroppa kerran,
Jos vierestä veljen en heräisi,
Ystävän luona en yöpyisi,
Luota lammen en läksisi,
Vaan istuisin yksin koivikossa,
Päätä pitelisin pajukoissa;
Metsämailla mä määrättä,
Soilla ilman sanelematta,
Vuorilla veljettä vaeltaisin,
Vailla kotoa ma kaukomailla.
Jos perheettä mä pahoilla mailla;
Toivotta tyynyyn laskisin,
Pääni sanaakaan sanomatta,
Vailla toivoa tulevasta,
Enkä menneitä muistelesi,
Huoletta nukkuisin huomeniin;
Niin nukkuisinko silloin heräämättä,
Nukkuisinko nälkää näkemättä,
Tuhannen toivotonta yötä,
Uneksisin unetonta yötä?"
"Sit' heräisin mä öiden unista,
Nukuksista ma nousisin,
Katselisin kaukomailla,
Kotimaille sit' läksisin;
Vaan veliseni, sanoppas sitten,
Oisko mulle paremmat paikat,
Viisaat vuodet vierineet,
Oisko mulle kadonneet kodot,
Takaisin tulleet kadoksista?
Josko ois kansa karaistunut,
Vanhat käävät viisastuneet?
Oisko vedet vaan vuolaammat,
Metsämaat vaan kauniimmat,
Tulleet takaisin tuhoksista,
Ajaneet vuodet ajattelemaan?"
"Vaan äläpäs vastaa, tiedän kyllä,
Ei kuusta löydy kadonneet,
Halikoilta ei hukkuneet,
Ei mies muutu vuodessa,
Ei laiva käänny hetkessä,
Historiaa haasta ei sadassa,
Eikä tähdet aukee tuhannessa.
Paremmin tekisin mä nukkumatta,
Päätä pitelemättä pajukoissa,
En kauaa koisisi koivikoissa,
Vaan pois läksisin huomenissa,
Toimeen kävisin mä hämärissä!
Oi veliseni! Jos vuoden voisin nukkua,
Silmät paremmat ois sulkematta,
Päät paremmat ois laskematta!
Näin haastoin mä hämärissä,
Aamulla yksin pimeässä,
Näkemättä mä yöllä haastoin,
Vailla aamua odottellessa."

Interlude

Say,
Not much my love will miss,
If one day it'll idle away,
Nor much delay its bliss,
If it sleeps some summer day.

Today,
Neither lenghty love nor loss,
Nor nature's worthy art,
Will bring its point across,
To dreams that hold my heart.

So,
Let Paris defend Troy for day,
Let Romulus find Rome alone,
Fair company shan't spell away,
The courts of inertia in my bone.

Today,
Endeavor shan't hold its spell,
Nor duty retain its haste,
Yet that is all I will tell,
For I dreamt and dreamt for waste.