Poems of April

Haiku for April
Some Haiku for Spring


crescent moon lighting
fir boughs of evergreen tree
robin feeding young


pond ice cracks open
emerging in green dresses
lily pads and spring


sunlight heralding
blooming of flowers, bird song
springtime rhapsody


serene April pond
mother swan bends graceful neck
spring signet nuzzles



These are Tanka poems, which are the completion of the Haiku poem...



garden lilac tree
dressed in spring dewdrop mirrors
purple gems, diamond clusters
royal crowns to celebrate
new beginnings, new journeys



spring splendor arrives
cherry blossoms announcing
birth of baby boy
even his cries bring wide smiles
to faces of proud parents



Graciously donated by Judith A.Lindberg

William Shakespeare, born on April 23, 1564, was not immune from the glory of April's beauties.


Sonnet III

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.




Sonnet XCVIII

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

From the Divine Miss Emily Dickinson...

Poems, Series 2
III. Nature
IX. April.

An altered look about the hills;
A Tyrian light the village fills;
A wider sunrise in the dawn;
A deeper twilight on the lawn;
A print of a vermilion foot;
A purple finger on the slope;
A flippant fly upon the pane;
A spider at his trade again;
An added strut in chanticleer;
A flower expected everywhere;
An axe shrill singing in the woods;
Fern-odors on untravelled roads, --
All this, and more I cannot tell,
A furtive look you know as well,
And Nicodemus' mystery
Receives its annual reply.

William Wordsworth

And a Happy April Morning to you, Piffka. As a result of your earlier poetry thread and Bree's posting, I am now the proud owner of two beautiful anthologies, "Now the Green Blade Rises" by Elizabeth Spires and "The Last Uncle" by Linda Pastan.

April
by Linda Pastan

In the pastel blur
of the garden,
the cherry
and redbud

shake rain
from their delicate
shoulders, as petals
of pink.

dogwood
wash down the ditches
in dreamlike
rivers of color.

It is very nice it's April! Someone reminded me that
APRIL is POETRY MONTH!

Hi RaggedyAggie! -- I hope Bree sees your comment, I'm sure she'll be pleased. The titles of your new books of poetry are intriguing. Were those on the list she gave us in verse?

I love the poem you found by Linda Pastan, it has an amazing lilt and seems so full of joy, though I admit to being fully prejudiced in favor of the fall of pink petals! On another thread, about visiting San Francisco, someone provided a link to JapanTown. When you open it, pink cyber-cherry blossoms begin to fall. It is not dramatic, but if you want to check it out ~ click on the link ~

pink petals falling softly on your screen



Let's see, here is a list of sonnets by ESVM entitled...

SECOND APRIL

I "We talk of taxes, and I call you friend;"
II "Into the golden vessel of great song"
III "Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter"
IV "Only until this cigarette is ended,"
V "Once more into my arid days like dew, Like wind from an oasis,"
VI "No rose that in a garden ever grew,"
VII "When I too long have looked upon your face,"
VIII "And you as well must die, beloved dust,"
IX "Let you not say of me when I am old,"
X "Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this:"
XI " As to some lovely temple, tenantless Long since,"
XII "Cherish you then the hope I shall forget"

Piffka: The poetry books I mentioned above are indeed the ones Bree referenced in your earlier poetry thread. I found it interesting that the title of Elizabeth Spires' book and poem, "Now the Green Blade Rises" is an excerpt from a carol by John M. C. Crum:

Now the green blade rises from the buried grain,
Wheat that in the dark earth many days has lain;
Love lives again that with the dead has been;
Love is come again like wheat arising green.

(Thank you for the cherry blossoms that fell ever so softly.)

Raggedy, I'm so glad you're enjoying the Spires and Pastan books -- and what an appropriate poem for this thread you found in the Pastan!

Here in NYC, things aren't looking very spring-like at the moment, what with the three or four inches of snow that fell today. All those lovely daffodils that bloomed last week, and that I was admiring just yesterday, as I took my Sunday afternoon walk in Riverside Park, are now weighed down by a blanket of heavy, wet snow. Oh, well -- at least we know they'll be back next year, just like the cherry trees that A. E. Housman wrote about in this poem (which may not contain the word "April", but which is one of my favorite spring poems anyway):

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

RaggedyAggie -- Glad you liked the petals!

That is interesting about the title, Now the Green Blade Rises, and it is a lovely set of lyrics... I've been off researching them. Frequently used for Easter, it was said. The words are perfect for that celebration whether you are Christian or Pagan; both are celebrating the resurrection. I look forward to your sharing more of these poems!

Bree -- Great poem, and so apt with the snowfall you're experiencing. Amazing that Housman must not have been much more than twenty when he wrote it. (Could that be... I'm not very good at math!) It is funny, today I was looking at our own flowering cherry tree and wondering to myself whether it might be my most favorite flower. The cherry tree in bloom is so beautiful -- it is nearly overwhelming. Despite the rain, the blossoms are staying for now. Our tree has grown quite large, easily thirty feet in diameter, thirty feet tall. By next week, it will have lost all the blossoms and be a pale green. Sometime this week I hope it will be reasonably dry and I can spread a blanket below. I've learned this from a Japanese custom -- live in the moment and enjoy a little rain of pink petals.

A Spring View
Du Fu

As ever are hills and rills while my country crumbles;
When springtime comes over the Capital the grass scrambles.
Blossoms invite my tears as in wild times they bloom;
The flitting birds stir my heart as I'm parted from home.
For three months the beacon fires soar and burn the skies,
A family letter is worth ten thousand gold in price.
I scratch my head, and my grey hair has grown too thin,
It seems, to bear the weight of the jade clasp and pin.1)


1) In ancient China, men wore long hair bound together on the top of head with clasp and pin.

(I could have posted this in "Poetry and/against War" thread.
The original is written in ancient chinese. I am stupid to post a translation.)

Hi folks,

Just learned of this thread.

Lots of great poems here.

I'll be back.

-jjorge

I was interested in Du Fu and have been looking on the 'net. I found this, which described itself as his thatched cottage. It is so small, so open. Could this be right??



China travel -- Du Fu Cottage

Piffka..
I am pleased to know you were interested in Du Fu, who was one of the greatest poets of ancient china where poetry was flourishing to the utmost.
(And his poems are my most favorites.)

Here is one more, which was probably written at the cottage which was referred to in the link you added, and at this time of the season:



Receiving a Guest
Du Fu

To the south and north of my cottage there're spring waters;
The groups of gulls only are my daily visitors.
The floral path hasn't been swept as no one happens
To come, but now for you the wicket door opens.
Far from the market, on frugal meal to dine,
A needy household can offer but home-brewed wine.
Would you care to drink with my venerable neighbour,
Toasting the last cups, across the fence of bamboo?

(To repeat, I am stupid to post a translation.)

Well, thanks, Satt, I am enjoying Du Fu very much and have taken a little cyber "excursion" into China. I was so surprised to find out the Chengdu was a large city of over 9 million people that I've been reading a little more. Somewhere I found and have just posted (on the Poetry and War topic) a poem called Nefarious War by Li Po, who was Du Fu's friend. He addressed these lines to him, it was said. I love his tongue-in-cheek comment about "suffering from Poetry"!

Here! is this you on the top of Fan-kuo Mountain,
Wearing a huge hat in the noon-day sun?
How thin, how wretchedly thin, you have grown!
You must have been suffering from poetry again.
________

I apologize to all the poetry readers as I think this is probably NOT a poem of April, since he needs a hat in the noon-day sun. :wink:

So here is a poem by Du Fu that refers to flowers falling and, I feel sure, must therefore be a poem of April! (And a nice love poem, too.)

Meeting Li GuiNian in the South

A t the home of the Prince of Qi
I have often seen you,
and in the hall of Cui Jiu,
I have heard you sing.
Truly these southlands
boast unrivalled scenery-
to see you once again
when the flowers are falling.

I could locate the originals in publications at hand. It took some time.
Thanks.
The poets both gave poems each other. I could not find a springtime poem among them. :wink:

Satt -- I am so pleased to be introduced to these friends! What a story and history they have. I think we may need to start a new topic just for them. I am very impressed that you are reading these poems in their original language. Does that mean that Chinese has scarcely changed in more than a thousand years?

Hi Piffka
So, you're responsible for another nice poetry thread!
As you know ESVM is one of my favorite poets. What you didn't know is that, as you keep reminding me of these great poems of hers, I am liking her more and more.
I especially like 'Spring' and 'Song of a Second Spring' . . . I guess I'm hooked.

Raggedyaggie
I love the Pastan poem.

bree
'Lovliest of Trees' is my favorite Housman poem. It's a great poem to read aloud.

Satt
Thanks for introducing us to Du Fu!


My offering today is one that I've previously posted, 'Two Tramps In Mud Time'.
There is much that I love about this poem but for this thread, stanzas 3 - 5 are especially apt and wonderfully descriptive of April, particularly in Northern New England:


"TWO TRAMPS IN MUD TIME"

Out of the mud two strangers came
And caught me splitting wood in the yard,
And one of them put me off my aim
By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!"
I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind
And let the other go on a way.
I knew pretty well what he had in mind:
He wanted to take my job for pay.

Good blocks of oak it was I split,
As large around as the chopping block;
And every piece I squarely hit
Fell splinterless as a cloven rock.
The blows that a life of self-control
Spares to strike for the common good,
That day, giving a loose my soul,
I spent on the unimportant wood.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.

A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight
And turns to the wind to unruffle a plume,
His song so pitched as not to excite
A single flower as yet to bloom.
It is snowing a flake; and he half knew
Winter was only playing possum.
Except in color he isn't blue,
But he wouldn't advise a thing to blossom.

The water for which we may have to look
In summertime with a witching wand,
In every wheelrut's now a brook,
In every print of a hoof a pond.
Be glad of water, but don't forget
The lurking frost in the earth beneath
That will steal forth after the sun is set
And show on the water its crystal teeth.

The time when most I loved my task
The two must make me love it more
By coming with what they came to ask.
You'd think I never had felt before
The weight of an ax-head poised aloft,
The grip of earth on outspread feet,
The life of muscles rocking soft
And smooth and moist in vernal heat.

Out of the wood two hulking tramps
(From sleeping God knows where last night,
But not long since in the lumber camps).
They thought all chopping was theirs of right.
Men of the woods and lumberjacks,
They judged me by their appropriate tool.
Except as a fellow handled an ax
They had no way of knowing a fool.

Nothing on either side was said.
They knew they had but to stay their stay
And all their logic would fill my head:
As that I had no right to play
With what was another man's work for gain.
My right might be love but theirs was need.
And where the two exist in twain
Theirs was the better right--agreed.

But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future's sakes.
(Robert Frost)

Chinese language has been changing through its history. Archaic chinese (~ 3th c. BCE) is different from ancient chinese (~10th c. CE), and ancient chinese is very different from modern chinese, in phonetics, pronunciation or in grammar. However basic structure of rhyming has not changed much, and the rhymes of ancient poems can be appreciated today. Chinese characters have not changed in their formation either, and they can transmit ancient or archaic poems to us today.

Reproduction and transcription of archaic and ancient chinese pronunciation have been done to some extent. Full reproduction of old pronunciation is very difficult, as chinese characters are not phonograms but ideograms.
Chinese have an intensive wealth of studies of rhyming of words from ancient times, and it serves to reproduction of the old pronunciation.

Satt -- It seems very complicated, but interesting. These Tang poems are from "antique Chinese" I think... still different, but not as different as archaic must be from modern Chinese. So very hard for western folk to grasp, these ideograms. The clue to their pronunciation is only through tradition, I suppose, and some old dictionaries? Thanks for sharing with us and being so patient with my questions!

Jjorge -- I remember this poem from somewhere; I'm so pleased to read it again. The concept of wood chopping being the tramps' work and his play... I like it, though I like best, the idea of taking care of oneself... joining avocation and vocation. And the mud... oh, if only you could see my pasture. Yes, the hoof prints are always at least partially full! Everybody I know with animals has special "mud boots" that are left outside and only used when tromping through the muck.

And here is another poem of Spring...


DOUBT NO MORE THAT OBERON

Doubt no more that Oberon--
Never doubt that Pan
Lived, and played a reed, and ran
After nymphs in a dark forest,
In the merry, credulous days,--
Lived, and led a fairy band
Over the indulgent land!
Ah, for in this dourest, sorest
Age man's eye has looked upon,
Death to fauns and death to fays,
Still the dog-wood dares to raise--
Healthy tree, with trunk and root--
Ivory bowls that bear no fruit,
And the starlings and the jays--
Birds that cannot even sing--
Dare to come again in spring!
ESVM