Untitled Sonnet

To seize the day to me did Goethe bid,
And fix in rhymes today's fugacious time,
So as to snag in this sonorous grid
Chaotic present−discord made to chime.
Inform experience in the poetic
Line: thus a man may mold his self without
Himself, and make his life, from notes so hectic,
Into a song−by concord rendered stout.
The truth is that I have no knack to be maestro;
Ten thousand tunes I have so tried to lead,
Yet failed every time. So now I know: though
In shaping me I never will succeed,
   I write such poems from my inner shelf
   So they can be the poets of myself.

The Ballad of Roger Brown

I once met a man named Roger Brown, Who came from lands afar: He brought to me the secrets of life Concealed inside a jar. "Hello there, young man," he spelled out loud− A sound of curious shade− And mocked me with a sinister smile While with the jar he played. "Would you like to see what I have here, Here brought to your delight?" "You take nothing from a stranger," said I "My mother taught me right". "No stranger am I," he cried; "in truth Your kin, and dear, dear friend". He held out the jar to me in vain: I would not condescend. "Just answer, and from you I will take The jar: just who are you?" He grinned, then I knew; those ruddy eyes Their objects they were two. "My name, my friend, is Roger Brown; I have come from lands afar And bring the secrets of this life To reveal from out this jar." "Your name, my friend, is, I know, Old Nick; To me you are no friend, Go away, down to the lands afar: Your venom do not spend." Still he grinned a broad and rotten grin, He raised his arm, and spang on the ground the jar threw down, and thus The jar, it burst with a bang. From the shards came sounds of varied sorts, A spate of sounds pell-mell That stemmed from sundry strata of earth From heaven through to hell.

The shards then started to melt and thaw And I, all while he laughed And laughed, got one of the shatters up And hid it very daft. He laughed, and then was gone in a flash. I saw myself so clearer In the piece of jar remaining here: Inside there was a mirror! I once met a man named Roger Brown Who came in mists of steam: He tried to fool me, but I fooled him−  He came to me in a dream. Yet he did change my life, for the shard He left me was a gem: For in that little shiny fragment I found out who I am.

A Vicious Cycle

The flitting firefly once again complained:
"Would that I was that torch-like, big blond star,
In ever blue to burn, and never waned!"
And yet the star, moon-jealous from afar:

"That the translucent shine I could so mime,
That saw with sighs the sweet and cherished sight
Of Grecian column and of Gothic time!"
But, gazing at the sun, the moon wants light:

"Alack! if I could have that great, oh, that
Immortal blaze, that all of light subsumes!"
Yet said the sun, heeling that rutilant hat:

 
"This halo, light of numen, weighs, consumes…
    This boundless blue umbrella, wearisome sky…
    Oh, why was I not born a simple firefly?"

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This is a translation of a sonnet by Machado de Assis:


Círculo Vicioso

Bailando no ar, gemia inquieto vaga-lume:
"Quem me dera que fosse aquela loura estrela,
Que arde no eterno azul, como uma eterna vela!"
Mas a estrela, fitando a lua, com ciúme:

"Pudesse eu copiar o transparente lume,
Que, da grega coluna à gótica janela,
Contemplou, suspirosa, a fronte amada e bela!"
Mas a lua, fitando o sol, com azedume:

"Mísera! tivesse eu aquela enorme, aquela
Claridade imortal, que toda a luz resume!"
Mas o sol, inclinando a rútila capela:

"Pesa-me esta brilhante auréola de nume...
Enfara-me esta azul e desmedida umbela...
Por que não nasci eu um simples vaga-lume?"

A Poet's Heart

To Plato I give all my pause.
My cause to contemplate,
In awe, the great philosopher,
Is his power−to narrate.