Poems that break you

Creative Forums Creative Writing
1

Here is a poem that coincidentally captured my exact travails at the moment which I was undergoing them. It broke my twenty-three year old heart into tears, which has not happened in many years. It was just able to capture precisely my situation, conflict and moment. If anyone has a poem that managed to do the same to them, please share it in this thread. And I assure you I’m not as sappy as I make myself out to be.

Oh, dark-browed Maryshka,
my dove. . .

Kastuś Kalinoŭski

Oh, dark-browed Maryshka, my dove,
Where have your happiness and your bright fate disappeared?
Everything is gone as if it had never existed.
Only a horrible bitterness remains in the breast.

If God started punishing us for our truth.
And condemned us to perish by the Eternal Garden,
We will perish in vain rather than abandon our truth,
Rather give up Heaven and happiness than forego the truth.

Don’t complain, Maryshka, about your misery,
But accept your heavy punishment–the will of the Almighty.
Should you remember me, pray sincerely
And I shall respond to you from the world beyond.

Farewell, my peasant people,
Live in happiness, live in freedom,
And recall from time to time your Jaśko
Who perished for the truth that you might prosper.

But when the word turns into action,
Stand up courageously for the truth,
For only with the truth in common counsel
Will you, my people, live the length of your days in freedom.

2

The Pear

BY JANE HIRSHFIELD

November. One pear
sways on the tree past leaves, past reason.
In the nursing home, my friend has fallen.
Chased, he said, from the freckled woods
by angry Thoreau, Coleridge, and Beaumarchais.
Delusion too, it seems, can be well read.
He is courteous, well-spoken even in dread.
The old fineness in him hangs on
for dear life. “My mind now?
A small ship under the wake of a large.
They force you to walk on your heels here,
the angles matter. Four or five degrees,
and you’re lost.” Life is dear to him yet,
though he believes it his own fault he grieves,
his own fault his old friends have turned against him
like crows against an injured of their kind.
There is no kindness here, no flint of mercy.
Descend, descend,
some voice must urge, inside the pear stem.
The argument goes on, he cannot outrun it.
Dawnlight to dawnlight, I look: it is still there.

3

It’s a timely poem and lofty at that, but I almost cried at the end of this, certianly my soul cried. I often obssess over the lost generation’s of WW1 and wonder, futilely, what kind of world we would have had if all those men (and women) had not been invovled in a war and had lived to create fresh generations. Tragic par excellence.

The Parable of the Old Man and the Young

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps
and builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretchèd forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him, thy son.
Behold! Caught in a thicket by its horns,
A Ram. Offer the Ram of Pride instead.
But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

4

Is he Polish? :-k

“Remember”
Christina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

-----     ------     ------

Not exactly a poem, per se, but…

“Fastidious Horses”
Vladimir Vysotski

By the cliff, along the precipice, right over deadly ground,
With the whip, I strike my steeds; strike them hard to urge them forward.
I am getting short on air, gulp the haze, drink the wind, yet
With a fatal rapture, sensing: I am done for, I am done for!

Slow down a bit my horses, slow down, please!
Don’t you listen to my stinging thong!
But the horses – just my luck! – are so hard to please!
Neither lived I so long, nor will I finish this song…
I will let horses drink, I’ll complete this refrain,
Just a little bit more I will stay on the brink…

I will vanish from the Earth, swept by a storm like fluffy feather;
At a gallop, in the morning by the snow they’ll drag me over
Can’t you please prolong my journey to the end of my tether?
Can’t you ease your dash, my horses, carry on a little slower?

Slow down a bit my horses, slow down, please!
Don’t take orders from my whip and thong!
But the horses – just my luck! – are so hard to please!
Neither lived I so long, nor will I finish this song…
I will let horses drink, I’ll complete this refrain,
Just a little bit more I will stay on the brink…

Just on time - one can’t be late arriving at God’s quarters!
Why do the angels over there sound like some nasty mortals?
Or, perhaps, it’s just a sleigh-bell that’s gone mad and burst out sobbing,
Or it’s me shouting at my steeds to slow down my sled from dashing.

Slow down a bit my horses, slow down, please!
I am begging you, don’t rush along!
But the horses – just my luck! – are so hard to please!
Since I haven’t lived long, let me finish this song…
I will let horses drink, I’ll complete this refrain,
Just a little bit more I will stay on the brink…

(this author died of alcoholism at 42)

5

He’s Belorussian Pandora. Though there are many poles and polish influences in Belarus. The poem dates back to somewhere around 1850s-60s. http://www.belarus-misc.org/writer/kalinouski.htm#top

All the poems posted here are very powerful. I hope more people continue to share.

6

Portrait of my Father as a Young Man
Rainer Maria Rilke

In the eyes: dream. The brow as if it could feel
something far off. Around the lips, a great
freshness–seductive, though there is no smile.
Under the rows of ornamental braid
on the slim Imperial officer’s uniform:
the saber’s basket-hilt. Both hands stay
folded upon it, going nowhere, calm
and now almost invisible, as if they
were the first to grasp the distance and dissolve.
And all the rest so curtained within itself,
so cloudy, that I cannot understand
this figure as it fades into the background–.

Oh quickly disappearing photograph
in my more slowly disappearing hand.

7

Love it. Love Rilke.

8

One of my favorite childhood poems:

“The Beggar and His Dog”
Adelbert von Chamisso

“Three dollars, three, for my dog to pay!”
Lightning strike me this moment I pray!
What can they mean, these tyrant police?
Where will their grinding of poor men cease?

"I am broken, weary old man;
And earn a penny I never can;
I have no bread, no money, no dole,
Hunger and want are my portion sole.

"And when I sickened, and fever shook me,
Who pitied me when all else forsook me?
When alone in God’s wide world I stood,
Who was it bore me companionhood?

"When my woes were sorest, whose love was unflinching?
Who warmed my limbs when the frost was pinching?
And when I was hungry and surly, who
Growled not, but patiently hungered, too?

"Our wretched life we have both, old friend,
Drained to the dregs; it must have an end;
Old and sickly thou 'rt grown like me;
I must drown thee; - and this is my thanks to thee!

"This is my thanks for thy love unswerving!
'Tis the way of the world with all deserving.
Though my part in many a fight I have played,
'Sdeath! I am new at the hangman’s trade.

“Here’s the cord, here is the stone,
There is the water, - it must be done.
Come hither poor cur, not a look at me cast;
One push with my foot, and all is past.”

As he tied on his neck the fatal band,
The dog fawned on him and licked his hand, -
He tore back the cord in trembling haste,
And round his own neck he bound it fast.

And wildly he uttered a fearful curse,
And wildly he gathered his latest force,
And he plunged in the flood; white eddies rushed,
Recoiled, chafed, bubbled, - and all was hushed!

In vain sprain the dog to his rescue then,
Howled to the ships for the aid of men,
Whining and tugging he gathered them round, -
'Twas the corpse of the beggar they laid on the ground.

To the grave in silence the beggar was borne,
With the dog alone to follow and mourn;
And over the turf that wrapped his clay,
The fond brute stretched him, and died where he lay.

9

Well, Leonard Cohen is a poet, isn’t he?

Since I have just recently discovered his wonderful music, his words are the only ones that are really ‘breaking’ me nowadays:

This song comes from his third album, Songs of Love and Hate (1971). The lyrics are really moving and the melody is almost unbelievably beautiful:

Famous Blue Raincoat

Its four in the morning, the end of december
Im writing you now just to see if youre better
New york is cold, but I like where Im living
Theres music on clinton street all through the evening.

I hear that your building your little house deep in the desert
You’re living for nothing now, I hope youre keeping some kind of record.

Yes, and jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?

Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
Youd been to the station to meet every train
And you came home without lili marlene

And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody’s wife.

Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see jane’s awake –

She sends her regards.
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
Im glad you stood in my way.

If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free.

Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried.

And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear

– sincerely, l. cohen

10

Leonard Cohen is amazing.

This one is it for me. The elegant poetry of John Donne. As with the best poetry, it can be interpreted in a multitude of ways, but in reading it today, for me it addresses the excruciating rift between faith and reason:

HOLY SONNETS
XIV
Batter my heart, three-person’d God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp’d town to’another due,
Labor to’admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv’d, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly’I love you, and would be lov’d fain,
But am betroth’d unto your enemy;
Divorce me,'untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you’enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

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Anita, I don’t see the rift in his poem. I just see that reason only goes so far… takes you to intellectual acceptance, but still leaves you on the edge. Faith takes you the rest of the way… into love. Reason is God’s viceroy in him… not enemy. But even his reason, he wants to be overwhelmed by God. Unlearn to relearn, break to fix. Completely. Reason in service to overwhelming faith (love). Beautiful. I’m no Donne (or poetry) expert, so no doubt someone will come in behind me and make me feel totally ignorant… and maybe teach me a thing or two, with my gratitude.

The poem that broke me … I read it now, and… a pin could’ve dropped and broken me at that point. So, I won’t post it.

<><

<Anita, it would be cool if you would join my book discussion in the Religion forum. It goes in to faith and reason.>

12

Ichthus,
Thanks, I appreciate your comments.

I think what one sees in any poem is partly a result of what one brings to the poem. I understand what you’re saying, and it’s very plausible that your reading is what Donne intended (I’m no expert either) and it is a beautiful and profound interpretation.

The schism that I see is likely a reflection of my own conflicting notions and an ongoing search for answers. Those first four lines are absolutely brilliant poetry, in my humble opinion. But it’s the next four that resonate with me. That’s where I can feel the seemingly impossible struggle to embrace Faith sanctioned by Reason – Reason, which, as God’s gift, should enable us to justify His existence, but instead betrays Him. Because God cannot be understood through reason or logic.

Again, this is my own personal explication and I could be straying from the actual meaning.

Thanks, too, for letting me know about your book discussion. I don’t know that I would have anything worthwhile to contribute, but I will check in on it.

[I hope you’ll reconsider and share your poem.]

13

Anita. :slight_smile:

How much is our relationship with Mom dependent on reason/logic? And yet, it is so much more than reason/logic. Same deal with our relationship with God. I don’t think of reason as being the opposite wall of a canyon from the wall of … faith. I see reason as more of an air-strip. Faith as flight. The canyon is that little snake-looking thing way down there.

The poem is not mine, and not worthy of this thread. It wasn’t a particularly great poem (though the poet has, in my opinion, written particularly great poetry). Didn’t strike me as poetic. Prob’ly one reason I paid more attention to it than was necessary. I was busy reading things into stuff, that were never there. Still slip into that from time to time. I have great appreciation for the obvious nowadays, and great aversion to veils. Honesty and authenticity… like a [insert juicy, flavorful, fully ripened adjectives] nectarine you can’t buy in the supermarket these days. Eden. If you join the discussion, please read my testimony.

I don’t want to distract from the point of this thread anymore. Carry on.