Octopodial Chrome

Stuff that Made Sense at the Time

The Personal Weblog of Bob Uhl


Friday, 13 May 2011

The Definition of Love

Caught a reference to this on a blog today:

My Love is of a birth as rare
As ’tis, for object, strange and high;
It was begotten by Despair,
Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing,
Where feeble hope could ne’er have flown,
But vainly flapped its tinsel wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended soul is fixed;
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds itself betwixt.

For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect loves, nor lets them close;
Their union would her ruin be,
And her tyrannic power depose.

And therefore her decrees of steel
Us as the distant poles have placed,
[Though Love’s whole world on us doth wheel],
Not by themselves to be embraced,

Unless the giddy heaven fall,
And earth some new convulsion tear.
And, us to join, the world should all
Be cramp’d into a planisphere.

As lines, so love’s oblique, may well
Themselves in every angle greet:
But ours, so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.

Therefore the love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the mind,
And opposition of the stars.

—Andrew Marvell, 1892

I particularly like the seventh stanza.

Monday, 28 December 2009

Die Beiden

John Derbyshire wrote a nice little article on Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s Die Beiden, a pretty little poem which I’m glad now to know. Here it is in the original and in a translation:

Die Beiden

Sie trug den Becher in der Hand
—Ihr Kinn und Mund glich seinem Rand—,
So leicht und sicher war ihr Gang,
Kein Tropfen aus dem Becher sprang.

So leicht und fest war seine Hand:
Er ritt auf einem jungen Pferde,
Und mit nachlässiger Gebärde
Erzwang er, daß es zitternd stand.

Jedoch, wenn er aus ihrer Hand
Den leichten Becher nehmen sollte,
So war es beiden allzuschwer;
Denn beide bebten sie so sehr,
Daß keine Hand die andre fand
Und dunkler Wein am Boden rollte.

The Two

She carried the cup in her hand
—her chin and mouth were like its rim—
her gait was so light and assured,
not a drop spilled out of the cup.

His hand was equally light and firm;
he rode on a young horse,
and with a careless movement
he made it stand still, quivering.

But when he was to take
the light cup from her hand,
it was too heavy for both of them:
for both trembled so much
that no hand found the other hand,
and dark wine flowed on the ground.

Translation by Leonard Forster

I think it’s kind of sweet.


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