lyrics

Ten Poems by Emily Dickinson (2015)

 

1) She dealt her pretty words like Blades

She dealt her pretty words like Blades —
How glittering they shone —
And every One unbared a Nerve
Or wantoned with a Bone —

She never deemed — she hurt —
That — is not Steel’s Affair —
A vulgar grimace in the Flesh —
How ill the Creatures bear —

To Ache is human — not polite —
The Film upon the eye
Mortality’s old Custom —
Just locking up — to Die.

2) I know some lonely Houses off the Road

I know some lonely Houses off the Road
A Robber’d like the look of—
Wooden barred,
And Windows hanging low,
Inviting to—
A Portico,
Where two could creep—
One—hand the Tools—
The other peep—
To make sure All’s Asleep—
Old fashioned eyes—
Not easy to surprise!

How orderly the Kitchen’d look, by night,
With just a Clock—
But they could gag the Tick—
And Mice won’t bark—
And so the Walls—don’t tell—
None—will—

A pair of Spectacles ajar just stir—
An Almanac’s aware—
Was it the Mat—winked,
Or a Nervous Star?
The Moon—slides down the stair,
To see who’s there!

There’s plunder—where—
Tankard, or Spoon—
Earring—or Stone—
A Watch—Some Ancient Brooch
To match the Grandmama—
Staid sleeping—there—

Day—rattles—too
Stealth’s—slow—
The Sun has got as far
As the third Sycamore—
Screams Chanticleer
« Who’s there »?

And Echoes—Trains away,
Sneer— »Where »!
While the old Couple, just astir,
Fancy the Sunrise—left the door ajar!

3) « Hope » is the thing with feathers

‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

 

4) The Doomed-regard the sunrise

The Doomed—regard the Sunrise
With different Delight—
Because—when next it burns abroad
They doubt to witness it—

The Man—to die—tomorrow—
Harks for the Meadow Bird—
Because its Music stirs the Axe
That clamors for his head—

Joyful—to whom the Sunrise
Precedes Enamored—Day—
Joyful—for whom the Meadow Bird
Has ought but Elegy!

 

5) She Lay as if at play

She lay as if at play
Her life had leaped away —
Intending to return —
But not so soon —

Her merry Arms, half dropt —
As if for lull of sport —
An instant had forgot —
The Trick to start —

Her dancing Eyes — ajar —
As if their Owner were
Still sparkling through
For fun — at you —

Her Morning at the door —
Devising, I am sure —
To force her sleep —
So light — so deep —

 

6) It was not Death, for I stood up

It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down —
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos — crawl —
Nor Fire — for just my Marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool —

And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine —

As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And ’twas like Midnight, some –

When everything that ticked — has stopped —
And Space stares all around —
Or Grisly frosts — first Autumn morns,
Repeal the Beating Ground —

But, most, like Chaos – Stopless — cool —
Without a Chance, or Spar —
Or even a Report of Land —
To justify — Despair.

7) Pigmy seraphs gone astray

Pigmy seraphs—gone astray—
Velvet people from Vevay—
Balles from some lost summer day—
Bees exclusive Coterie—
Paris could not lay the fold
Belted down with Emerald—
Venice could not show a check
Of a tint so lustrous meek—
Never such an Ambuscade
As of briar and leaf displayed
For my little damask maid—

I had rather wear her grace
Than an Earl’s distinguished face—
I had rather dwell like her
Than be « Duke of Exeter »—
Royalty enough for me
To subdue the Bumblebee.

 

8) I cried at Pity not at Pain

I cried at Pity—not at Pain—
I heard a Woman say
« Poor Child »—and something in her voice
Convicted me—of me—

So long I fainted, to myself
It seemed the common way,
And Health, and Laughter, Curious things—
To look at, like a Toy—

To sometimes hear « Rich people » buy
And see the Parcel rolled—
And carried, I supposed—to Heaven,
For children, made of Gold—

But not to touch, or wish for,
Or think of, with a sigh—
And so and so—had been to me,
Had God willed differently.

I wish I knew that Woman’s name—
So when she comes this way,
To hold my life, and hold my ears
For fear I hear her say

She’s « sorry I am dead »—again—
Just when the Grave and I—
Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep,
Our only Lullaby—

 

9) There’s a certain Slant of light

There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons—
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes—

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are—

None may teach it—Any—
‘Tis the Seal Despair—
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air—

When it comes, the Landscape listens—
Shadows—hold their breath—
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death—

 

10) Split the Lark-and you’ll find the Music-

Split the Lark—and you’ll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.

Loose the Flood—you shall find it patent—
Gush after Gush, reserved for you—
Scarlet Experiment! Sceptic Thomas!
Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true?

Source:

Emily Dickinson poésie complètes (bilingue), éditions Flammarion

http://www.Poemhunter.com

 

 

A folk tribute to William Blake (2011)

 

1) A Dream

Once a dream did weave a shade
O’er my angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangle spray,
All heart-broke, I heard her say:

‘Oh my children! do they cry,
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see,
Now return and weep for me.’

Pitying, I dropped a tear:
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied, ‘What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night ?
‘I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round:
Follow now the beetle’s hum;
Little wanderer, hie thee home!’

 

2) The Sick Rose

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

 

3) I laid me down upon a Bank

I laid me down upon a bank,
Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank
Weeping, weeping.
Then I went to the heath and the wild,
To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
And they told me how they were beguil’d,
Driven out, and compell’d to be chaste.

 

4) Why Was Cupid a Boy

Why was Cupid a boy,
And why a boy was he?
He should have been a girl,
For aught that I can see.

For he shoots with his bow,
And the girl shoots with her eye,
And they both are merry and glad,
And laugh when we do cry.

And to make Cupid a boy
Was the Cupid girl’s mocking plan;
For a boy can’t interpret the thing
Till he is become a man.

And then he’s so pierc’d with cares,
And wounded with arrowy smarts,
That the whole business of his life
Is to pick out the heads of the darts.

‘Twas the Greeks’ love of war
Turn’d Love into a boy,
And woman into a statue of stone–
And away fled every joy.

 

5) I askéd a Thief

I askéd a thief to steal me a peach,
He turned up his eyes.
I ask’d a lithe lady to lie her down,
Holy & meek, she cries.

As soon as I went
An Angel came:
He wink’d at the thief,
And smil’d at the dame;

And without one word said
Had a peach from the tree,
And still as a maid
Enjoy’d the lady.

6) A Divine Image

Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secresy the human dress.

The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.

 

source:

« William Blake selected Poem’s » dover thrift éditions

William Blake Songs of innocence and of experience editions oxford

Publicités