Justice Souter and Poetry by Algernon Swinburne

Earlier this month Justice David Souter stepped down as a 3rd Circuit Court Appeals Judge (each Supreme Court Associate Justice also is a member of a Circuit Court) earlier this month. At a farewell speech he decided to give lawyers and judges for that Circuit a bit of wisdom. Quoting from Algernon Charles Swinburne that “Such fruit as men reap from spent hours and wear.” From the Article, Souter said he asked himself, “What are the fruits that I have reaped?”

It is now the eve of Justice Souter’s planned retirement from the Supreme Court. President Obama is expected to nominate his replacement sometime later this week. More from the poetry mentioned in his speech below.

Such fruit as men reap from spent hours and wear,
Few men, but happy; of whom be thou, O son,
Happiest, if thou submit thy soul to fate,
And set thine eyes and heart on hopes high-born
And divine deeds and abstinence divine.
So shalt thou be toward all men all thy days
As light and might communicable, and burn
From heaven among the stars above the hours,
And break not as a man breaks nor burn down:
For to whom other of all heroic names
Have the gods given his life in hand as thine?
And gloriously hast thou lived, and made thy life
To me that bare thee and to all men born
Thankworthy, a praise for ever; and hast won fame
When wild wars broke all round thy father’s house,
And the mad people of windy mountain ways
Laid spears against us like a sea, and all
Aetolia thundered with Thessalian hoofs;
Yet these, as wind baffles the foam, and beats
Straight back the relaxed ripple, didst thou break
And loosen all their lances, till undone
And man from man they fell; for ye twain stood
God against god, Ares and Artemis,
And thou the mightier; wherefore she unleashed
A sharp-toothed curse thou too shalt overcome;
For in the greener blossom of thy life
Ere the full blade caught flower, and when time gave
Respite, thou didst not slacken soul nor sleep,
But with great hand and heart seek praise of men
Out of sharp straits and many a grievous thing,
Seeing the strange foam of undivided seas
On channels never sailed in, and by shores
Where the old winds cease not blowing, and all the night
Thunders, and day is no delight to men.

Excerpt from Atalanta in Calydon published in 1865.

Empty Streets

Bad Dream Part 2

by Masha Danevasha

Wind blowing papers through empty grey streets
Cement maw of an alley is gaped in a shout
Broken glass and spent bullets crunch under my feet
Every cell of the body is screaming – get out

YOU! the reason I find myself in this zone
Abandoned amidst the decrepit concrete,
Used up and subverted – YOU left me, alone
Shrinking from shadows that lurk in the streets

Let me break out from this desolate town
From the cold blind stares of its windows and roofs
I run through the streets and clutch in my hand
A daring prize – that which means most to you.

Its shape is unclear, its purpose is flawed
Its value is measured with memories and sighs
Yet one thing is certain – you’ll grieve for its loss
Like I grieved once, when you said goodbye

A ghost on the corner breathes out “It’s not yours”
Still I gather the courage and hasten my step
“I have taken what’s due, and if he wants it back
He can find me and face me – and take it himself”

Escape is somewhere in the tangle of rails
Amid tentacles running in every which way
Salvation is close, I may even get out
at last… if I find the one outbound train.

Highwayman – Alfred Noyes

The Highwayman

by Alfred Noyes

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding–
Riding–riding–
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He’d a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He’d a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle–
His rapier hilt a-twinkle–
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter–
Bess, the landlord’s daughter–
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened–his face was white and peaked–
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter–
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I’m after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o’er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching–
Marching–marching–
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
“Now keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
“Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way.”

(more…)

Scotty – Star Trek Poem

Scotty

by Tosca (Maria Quinn)

Who will beam me up
now that you have gone?
Who can I rely on
to keep me safe,
as my particles
disintegrate?

Now when I board
with my pass
to fly business class,
it won’t be the same.

I’ll still whisper your name
and close my eyes.
But…surprise, surprise;
all my parts will remain
on the aeroplane.

And my wish won’t come true
Because you
have beamed yourself up,
Scotty.

Featured as a first place prize winner in a Writing.Com’s Star Trek Writing Contest in 2007. Maria Quinn an Australian just released a book this year titled Gene Thieves, and is avaiable here.

In Love Made Visible

photo by:  H. Armstrong Roberts/ClassicStock/Corbis (1955)

In Love Made Visible

by May Swenson

In love are we made visible
As in a magic bath
are unpeeled
to the sharp pit
so long concealed

With love’s alertness
we recognize
the soundless whimper
of the soul
behind the eyes
A shaft opens
and the timid thing
at least leaps to surface
with full-spread wing

The fingertips of love discover
more than the body’s smoothness
They uncover a hidden conduit
for the transfusion
of empathies that circumvent
the mind’s intrusion

In love we are set free
Objective bone
and flesh no longer insulate us
to ourselves alone
We are released
and flow into each other’s cup
Our two frail vials pierced
drink each other up

Silhouette – Langston Hughes

painting by: Aaron Douglas

Silhouette

by Langston Hughes

Southern gentle lady,
Do not swoon.
They’ve just hung a black man
In the dark of the moon.