Do not Stand at my Grave and Weep -- Mary Frye

Guest poem sent in by Vijay

(Poem #1704) Do not Stand at my Grave and Weep Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow. I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain. I am in the morning hush, I am in the graceful rush Of beautiful birds in circling flight. I am the starshine of the night. I am in the flowers that bloom, I am in a quiet room. I am in the birds that sing, I am in each lovely thing. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there -- I do not die. -- Mary Frye

         (1932)

Last night, having watered the plants, my Swiss flatmate and I were standing
in our terrace garden looking at the stars, with Zurich shimmering on one
side and a mountain on the other. He amazed me completely by reciting this
poem. The poem was written on a tombstone in the cemetry he used to pass
everyday on his way to primary school. He (and apparently quite a few other
kids from his school) unconsciously memorised the poem. Some poems you
memorise somehow become yours, so here's me submitting his poem to your
brilliant theme!

Vijay.

[Notes]

Representative Poetry Online notes that there are two distinct versions of the
poem floating around, and explains:
    Version 1 may be what the Federal Printing Press produced as a postcard
    for Margaret Scharzkopf's parents' friends. It differs from Version 2,
    claimed by Frye in 2000 as her original, to judge by what she read from
    that for Kelly Ryan on the Ideas interview, lines 11-14 and the present
    tense "do" in line 16.

You can see both versions up at
  http://eir.library.utoronto.ca/rpo/display/poem2670.html

Ode to Joy -- Friedrich Schiller

Guest poem submitted by Vijay:

(Poem #1509) Ode to Joy Joy, thou beauteous godly lightning Daughter of Elysium, Fire drunken we are ent'ring Heavenly, thy holy home! Thy enchantments bind together, What did custom stern divide, Every man becomes a brother, Where thy gentle wings abide. Who the noble prize achieveth, Good friend of a friend to be; Who a lovely wife attaineth, Join us in his jubilee! Yes--he too who but {one} being On this earth can call {his} own! He who ne'er was able, weeping Stealeth from this league alone! Joy is drunk by every being From kind nature's flowing breasts, Every evil, every good thing For her rosy footprint quests. Gave she {us} both {vines} and kisses, In the face of death a friend, To the worm were given blisses And the Cherubs God attend. As the suns are flying, happy Through the heaven's glorious plane, Travel, brothers, down your lane, Joyful as in hero's vict'ry. Be embrac'd, ye millions yonder! Take this kiss throughout the world! Brothers--o'er the stars unfurl'd Must reside a loving Father. He who in the great ring dwelleth, Homage pays to sympathy! To the stars above leads she, Where on high the {Unknown} reigneth. -- Friedrich Schiller

        Translated by William F. Wertz

Like most others, I came across the Ode to Joy, or "An die Freude" while
listening to Beethoven's 9th Symphony. It is such an absolutely wonderful
piece of music which makes you see fireworks and want to burst into song
with the choir. It's spectacular, spectacular! I looked up the English
translation only to find out what it meant.

The first verse, in German from Beethoven's 9th Symphony is:

    Freude, schvner Gvtterfunken
    Tochter aus Elysium,
    Wir betreten feuertrunken,
    Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!
    Deine Zauber binden wieder
    Was die Mode streng geteilt;
    Alle Menschen werden Br|der,
    Wo dein sanfter Fl|gel weilt.

Beethoven revised the two lines starting "Was die Mode..", which in
Schiller's poem were:

    Was der Mode Schwert geteilt;
    Bettler werden F|rstenbr|der,

Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ode_to_Joy) says:

The ode "To Joy" (Ode "An die Freude" in German) is an ode written in 1785
by the German poet and historian Friedrich Schiller, and known especially
for its musical setting by Beethoven in the fourth and final movement of his
Ninth Symphony, for four solo voices, chorus, and orchestra. In this
symphonic version it is often referred to popularly as the "Ode to Joy".

The Ode to Joy was adopted as Europe's anthem by the Council of Europe in
1972, with an official arrangement for orchestra written by Herbert von
Karajan. [1]

In 2003, the European Union chose Beethoven's music for the poem as the EU
anthem, without German lyrics, because of the many different languages used
within the European Union. Therefore, the EU anthem is in effect the
Beethoven theme (or melody) rather than Schiller's poem, although its
connection with the ideal of human brotherhood in the text is understood.
This ideal is stated in much more universal terms in Beethoven's adaptation
("All human beings become brothers") than in Schiller's original, which
states that "beggars become the brothers of princes."

Beethoven's theme is also the setting for the Christian hymn, Joyful, Joyful
We Adore Thee (or Hymn to Joy), a poem written in 1908 by Henry van Dyke
(1852-1933).

Vijay.

Lucile: Part 1, Canto 2 -- Owen Meredith

Guest poem submitted by Vijay:

(Poem #1461) Lucile: Part 1, Canto 2 We may live without poetry, music and art; We may live without conscience and live without heart; We may live without friends; we may live without books; But civilized man can not live without cooks. He may live without books, -- what is knowledge but grieving? He may live without hope, -- what is hope but deceiving? He may live without love, -- what is passion but pining? But where is the man that can live without dining? -- Owen Meredith

The next time I am confronted with a "Do you eat to live or live to
eat?" debate/lecture, I know what I am going to say!

Owen Meredith is the pseudonym of Edward Robert Bulwer-Lytton, son of
Edward George Bulwer-Lytton the novelist. The son was a diplomat and a
poet. The father was a novelist, author of the novel "Paul Clifford",
famous for its opening line:

"It was a dark and stormy night and the rain fell in torrents -- except
at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind
which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies),
rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of
the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

Check out http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/ for the Bulwer-Lytton fiction
contest.

Vijay.