Poetry

Media

Part of The Carolinian

Title: Poetry
Language: English
Year: 1959
Rights
Fulltext: POEMS by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS Heaven-Haven A nun takes the veil I HAVE desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow. And I have asked to be Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea. Spring and Fall to a young child MARGARET, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? Ah! as the heart grows older It will come to such sights colder By and by, nor spare a sigh Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; And yet you will weep and knoiv xvhy. Now no matter, child, the name: Sorrow’s springs are the same. Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed What heart heard of, ghost guessed; It is the blight man was born for, It is Margaret you mourn for. Peace When will you ever, Peace, wild tvooddove, shy ivings shut, Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs? When, when Peace, will you, Peace? I’ll not play hypocrite To own my heart; I yield you do come sometimes; but That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it? 0 surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite, That plumes to Peace thereafter. And when Peace here does house He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo, He comes to brood and sit. ^41 CODE 1. love is a rainbow love is a rainbow arching the firmament of the heart and this is the meaning of tears: if there must be a rainbow there must be a curtain of rain with sun shining through. 2. love is a red rose i saw you once a red rose in your hair and my heart wondered whether love is born in every red-rosed moment. UJT-tETl when i can think of yesterday without whispering your name when i can see a crowd without searching for your face when i can hear music tvithoul reaching for your hand when i can walk alone without longing for you then i shall have forgotten you but then i shall be without a heart, without a memory, without life. a roEcn EO<R OCCO'BET. when the last centimeter of beige September, shall have been consumed, shall have been woven into a robe clothing an aching flesh sunburnt by a merciless sun October will come rainbows will arch the skies bowing a prelude to the rain. the grasses will grow and wave their blades defiant to the skies. the pools will fill again and frogs will once more sing their stereotyped staccato thanking their gods for an answered prayer, but no, not i — the raylings of a star ricocheting from the puddles blind my eyes though rains will come to hide the merciless sun and ease sunburnt flesh the same will wash away my castles of sand erected on rocks of river banks while my cerebrum vainly tries to grasp the meaning of the overtures of rains, the prelude of rainbows and grasses growing blades. Pa g e 11 SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER, 1959 ‘Poetry > MEMO 1. A FEELING OF WHITE Roque was a machine-gunner, the best; he received medals. Upon learning that he had steady fingers, the captain sent for him; later, the former discovered that the latter had a weak stomach. He could not stand the sight of blood, of bones broken, of helpless men carried on stretchers. When the captain would say "Fire," Roque would faller, so that the former had to slap the latter's shoulder. Roque grasped his Baby. Baby was a misnomer. The right term was Devil. What a noi. could ma And while his captain was murmuring J “Hood, G he watched his victims fall down. He [hoti^hl of their sweethearts—they'd never m their mothers who bore the pains o\J&tli; of fathers; their wives; their lilt vdfl ones, all asking aloud ivhy he did it. He never had an ansi To say he had to was unreasonable. He knew. To know was easy; one had only to be in their pla So when nobody was looking at him, he cried. Roque has promised not to touch a machine-gun a even if a Napoleon should blow out his brain. s report? tobody could be more serious than I. , Rudy said to the waitress. Hello, Frankie! there were hailing 2. FIRST ZERO-AIRPLANE ZOOMED We were then gathering firewood by the river ban when suddenly the first zero-airplane zoomed and bombed the sugar central nearby. C.haos followed. Parents were calling their children, and running here and there in search for shelter. LeTs go to Mandi Anas' concrete staircase, it's safer there!" One did not lose his mind. The old women began praying the rosary, while we, boys, surmised how destroyed the sugar mill must have been. When the airplanes had gone away, tve went home to eat dinner. The food seemed to without grace, spiced and flavored thought it However, at the table we all gay. That night, the you men gathered aroundJoan the moonlight, each one bragging that he was not afraid of the war, and that he was going to be in it. he has lost tra Qjuunne, (Zatuiiated. 3. AN UNIDENTIFIED IMPRESSION TO AN UNKNOWN Here was the auditorium. And there, the Ferris wheel; the cirn^unid the fruit vendors. I haven't forgotten yet thos\dnelong glances, and the nice words I would have s^^en to her. 1 watched her get inside the car, and ef^t followed it along the street blocked up by Ijfhday-celebrants. Then, the car gained speed, and hed in the distance. In the moonlight, as well he sunshine, I still go keep those moments alive remembering. EARTBURNING and the lover faced each other he jukebox nigh, Frank Sinatra was girl named Laura, and her only being d your letter, the lover said. You kid culous. Have you written your Md^fig asked. When is the deadline? saiff: I'm not joking. Pm sorry. Things go. But, I love you, the lover said, realize how much I adore you. other. It's not reasonable, the loved said. When a thing dies—. You see, when a thing dies, it ceases to live. I mean. O Pm sorry, I'm sorry. Don't kill yourself, the lover said. I understand: what is no longer mine, an't be mine! It's funny, isn't it? He chuckled ped his fingers on the table and walked out. road, he kicked an empty can of milk; it went, tg, clattering. TIMENTALISM: THE QUALITY OF 0 TENDER f Time. All is, for him, a fixed single occasion. And growth is stayed. And there is an immobility, that which we often see Only the old men remembered the harvest which was, at that very time, arriving. in canvases of birds flying. And he is still there, asking her; the answer is: No. Pa g e 12 THE CAROLINIAN To.... by D. M. drain the seas beloved drop by drop of their gleaming waters and strip all the skies of their countless stars and when you do then i will wait no longer, ah time is but a plaything we can toss away the days and the minutes to yesterday's winds but isn't there a tomorrow? tomorrow will always be the now is ever now and my waiting shall fly on their unmoving wings can you ask for more? but the seas shall never dry so shall my voice ride on their waves singing with the waves the song of the endless wait nor the skies be ever dim so shall I cling to the light of their stars tasting of their fire warming ever the cold of the endless wait! An After-Song by R. M. ACAPULCO Summer past And soon the rains will come. Fruits I can no longer gather, For birds I can no longer hunt. I still remember: the hut aslant, The guitar and country songs, The stream and seldom trodden lanes, And the peace. Summer is past And soon the rains will come. To Love You by WILLIAM GONZALES I love you, I love you because you are my Reason. Yet I do not love you enough because I am me and you are you and I am not you and you are not me. But when I will be no more, and you will be no more; and the million me and the million you become only us, then I will have loved you enough. Tell Me by RENATO M. RANCES In this hour I wonder why I still can see you with the moon; Why I still suffer the pinch Of one dead moment. That was long ago, but ah You still exist amidst The whiz and crash and sssh of time. Wounded desire. Interrupted by A. R. M. Blame me for having said What is to be said as much as I blame myself for having seen What is there to see. Hate me for confessing what is true As much as I hate myself For telling it to you. If the stars are not with us Forgive me, Melvita And forget......... A Stanza by DEMOCRITO BRIONES, JR. With a handful of sand in the hollow Of my hand, with frantic trumpet tones And smell of ashes in the air, I beg the memories to live again And let me die with them. SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER, 1959 Pa g e 13