Brahma...

[fajrdrako]

It's the third stanza that makes this one for me.

Brahma by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.

Far or forgot to me is near,
Shadow and sunlight are the same,
The vanished gods to me appear,
And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.

Comments

[dejla.livejournal.com]

Yes, I love the third stanza. It's one of those chills up the spine quatrains.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

I don't know how Emerson managed to do that - but I'm glad he did.

[walkingowl.livejournal.com]

Are you saving it for the final day of the month, I wonder? I await the poem that Theoden King recited as he donned his armor. I was thinking it over in my head last night as I drove home from work, as something that had come to my attention that day had taken me to the point of feeling precisely as those words ("How had it come to this?") stated. Tell you later about that. No way to verbalize it right now. Fully overwhelming, nonsensical, yet still real and part of my universe. Gad. How could it have come to this?

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

That is certainly a magnificent piece of poetry - Tolkien's translation, and another translation I have. I'm not saving anything for anything.... and don't necessarily have to stop posting favourite poems at the end of the month.

Thanks for reminding me. There's such wonderful poetry out there, it's hard to remember all of it, even the best of the best.

[walkingowl.livejournal.com]

For several years, in early school, I used a daily study hall to memorize poems out of my English book. This was when I was in the mode of trying to make myself be verbally-minded like everyone else seemed to be. I have since stopped trying to make myself be what I'm not; at the same time, I remember very few of those poems, which intrigues me. (And it speaks towards why I could not recall many of this poem's lines, too, when I mentioned it to you. I can remember only "Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?" and the final line.)

I'm pretty sure that I read this poem in translation early on, and also read it in a Middle English class as an undergraduate, at which time I greeted it in happy surprise at seeing an old friend.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

I just memorized poetry for the fun of it. Life was boring, at least when I had to be in school; poetry wasn't. So I memorized vast piles of poems. It was easy. I don't have the knack any more, because I didn't keep it up, but as a teen I could memorize just about anything, poetry or prose. (I got through grade 13 math because I memorized the text book. I gave up on trying to understand it.)

This store of poems and prose in my head has kept me amused at bus stops all my life.

[filkferengi]

It was Alcott who turned me on to Emerson [she used to babysit his kids]. I haven't read much by him, but enjoyed what I have, especially the transparent eyeball:

http://library.thinkquest.org/3721/poems/famous/emerson.html

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

I hadn't read that before - I like it. "I am nothing; I see all." Excellent!

[filkferengi]

It was easy to feel that way, especially during adolescence.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

And depending on temperament, at other times.