share the same earth
With other mortal beings.
Lyrical was my turn of mind
And though so often deceptive
It gave me happiness
Abounding life and warmth
Whatever the eye took in
Was rich in beauty,
The palace of my love
A nest appeared to me
A cheap cretonne dress
The one she used to wear
I swear when first I saw it
Seemed of the finest silk
The two cheap bracelets
She wore on her wrists
Seemed to me precious stones
Adorning some great lady
On her head she wore
Mountain flowersâ
The loveliest of all bouquets
They seemed to me.
Smooth the walks we took
Together arm in arm,
Nor thorn or brambles there,
Or if there were earth hid them
Today the orator and the sage
Cannot move me half as much
As a single sign from her did
In those old days
My friends when I was in love
It was many years ago
I did not share the same earth
With other mortal beings.
FLOWERS OF MAY
All the Yearâs flowers blossom in May,
But of them all Youth is the loveliest,
But how soon it fades, never to come back;
Only the flowers always adorn the ground.
All the Yearâs flowers blossom in May,
The same ones, but my eyes donât see them,
And other hands put them in other bosoms,
Spring comes and ebbs, but no two springs alike
The sweets of each are different.
All the Yearâs flowers blossom in May,
But they do not always wait upon our happiness,
The same flowers give joy and bitterness,
Growing on graves we mourn for,
Adorning the scented fields.
Again May comes, and the flowers rise,
But it is difficult to see her from the window,
And the pane dwindles, diminishes, disappears.
The mournful eye grows dim and cannot see,
Our tired limbs can no longer hold us up.
This year the flowers are not for us,
Other springs now crown us with their blossoms;
The past comes surging back,
Beloved shades stoop down and beckon us
Lull the starved heart asleep.
DOUNYA GOUZELI
( The loveliest woman in the world )
The mirror does not lie: what I see is true
There is no one lovelier anywhere than I.
Glittering diamonds of eyes,
Lips verging on corals,
A double line of pearls for teeth,
My body is graceful, my legs admired,
Hands and neck of milk, and hair of spun silk,
But alas what is the good of it all?
Inside this loathed enclosed harem
Who on earth can look upon my beauty?
Only hostile rivals or horrible eunuchs
Poisoning me with looks, my blood freezes
When my terrible husband comes to me.
My prophet, my Lord forgive me if
My sad heart cries âIf only I were a Christian.â
If I became a Christian I should be free
Show myself freely to one and all,
For men to admire and girls to envy.
All would agree that Nature could not make
Another like me; passing in my coach
The streets of Istanbul would fill
With crowds admiring me.
Eternal Contemporaries
Richard Aldington
1965
ALDINGTONâS WORK meant a great deal to me as a young man and I was heartily glad to have the opportunity of trying to repay my debt to him by friendship and literary support during the last few years of his life when his fortunes had failed him and his career had virtually come to an end. I owed him much. Long before I could limp in French, his fine translations gave me a passport to French literature; his own war poetry and vivid satirical novels delighted me; it was in his pages that I first read serious praise of Eliot, Proust, and Joyce as the true creative spirits of our time. He had not waited until Lady Chatterley set the world by the ears to acclaim Lawrence; but had long since defended The Rainbow and Sons and Lovers in brilliant fashion. Pound and Lewis and Campbell also benefitted by his strong sword-arm at a time when the general public looked upon them as noisy freaks or intellectual perverts, or worse.
All this was of the greatest importance to a writer in the bud. His lively and compassionate views on literature were expressed in admirably fashioned prose, full of a fierce generosity
With other mortal beings.
Lyrical was my turn of mind
And though so often deceptive
It gave me happiness
Abounding life and warmth
Whatever the eye took in
Was rich in beauty,
The palace of my love
A nest appeared to me
A cheap cretonne dress
The one she used to wear
I swear when first I saw it
Seemed of the finest silk
The two cheap bracelets
She wore on her wrists
Seemed to me precious stones
Adorning some great lady
On her head she wore
Mountain flowersâ
The loveliest of all bouquets
They seemed to me.
Smooth the walks we took
Together arm in arm,
Nor thorn or brambles there,
Or if there were earth hid them
Today the orator and the sage
Cannot move me half as much
As a single sign from her did
In those old days
My friends when I was in love
It was many years ago
I did not share the same earth
With other mortal beings.
FLOWERS OF MAY
All the Yearâs flowers blossom in May,
But of them all Youth is the loveliest,
But how soon it fades, never to come back;
Only the flowers always adorn the ground.
All the Yearâs flowers blossom in May,
The same ones, but my eyes donât see them,
And other hands put them in other bosoms,
Spring comes and ebbs, but no two springs alike
The sweets of each are different.
All the Yearâs flowers blossom in May,
But they do not always wait upon our happiness,
The same flowers give joy and bitterness,
Growing on graves we mourn for,
Adorning the scented fields.
Again May comes, and the flowers rise,
But it is difficult to see her from the window,
And the pane dwindles, diminishes, disappears.
The mournful eye grows dim and cannot see,
Our tired limbs can no longer hold us up.
This year the flowers are not for us,
Other springs now crown us with their blossoms;
The past comes surging back,
Beloved shades stoop down and beckon us
Lull the starved heart asleep.
DOUNYA GOUZELI
( The loveliest woman in the world )
The mirror does not lie: what I see is true
There is no one lovelier anywhere than I.
Glittering diamonds of eyes,
Lips verging on corals,
A double line of pearls for teeth,
My body is graceful, my legs admired,
Hands and neck of milk, and hair of spun silk,
But alas what is the good of it all?
Inside this loathed enclosed harem
Who on earth can look upon my beauty?
Only hostile rivals or horrible eunuchs
Poisoning me with looks, my blood freezes
When my terrible husband comes to me.
My prophet, my Lord forgive me if
My sad heart cries âIf only I were a Christian.â
If I became a Christian I should be free
Show myself freely to one and all,
For men to admire and girls to envy.
All would agree that Nature could not make
Another like me; passing in my coach
The streets of Istanbul would fill
With crowds admiring me.
Eternal Contemporaries
Richard Aldington
1965
ALDINGTONâS WORK meant a great deal to me as a young man and I was heartily glad to have the opportunity of trying to repay my debt to him by friendship and literary support during the last few years of his life when his fortunes had failed him and his career had virtually come to an end. I owed him much. Long before I could limp in French, his fine translations gave me a passport to French literature; his own war poetry and vivid satirical novels delighted me; it was in his pages that I first read serious praise of Eliot, Proust, and Joyce as the true creative spirits of our time. He had not waited until Lady Chatterley set the world by the ears to acclaim Lawrence; but had long since defended The Rainbow and Sons and Lovers in brilliant fashion. Pound and Lewis and Campbell also benefitted by his strong sword-arm at a time when the general public looked upon them as noisy freaks or intellectual perverts, or worse.
All this was of the greatest importance to a writer in the bud. His lively and compassionate views on literature were expressed in admirably fashioned prose, full of a fierce generosity
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