2024.11.17.
The ballad of Charles IV
King Charles, with Bushek of Vilhart,
Sat down beside an oaken board.
Together many a cup they’d drunk
And many a hearty wassail roared.
“Come set out cups of gold, good page,”
In merry mood proclaims the king,
“And pour out wine—nay fuller yet,
Today, Bushek, thou’lt see a thing.”
“Hear me, Bushek, on these grapes
Last year our sun of home did shine.
Come, raise your glass and drink today
Of this, the first Bohemian wine.”
They drank—the king in fury spat.
“I called it wine? This bitter froth!
This killing stuff! It twists the mouth.”
And down he dashed his hand in wrath.
“I bring here vines from Burgundy,”
In rising anger spoke the king,
“And from Bohemia’s noble land
I see such bitter wormwood spring.
For sure I’d tartest aloes reap
If I should sweetest peaches sow,
And here, if one would roses plant,
Hollow mockery would grow.”
“Sure, but the folk are like the land.
If all the saints, to teach you, came,
(Should Czechs pay heed) be thankful, saints,
If blows at you they would not aim.
As well to thresh a sheaf of straw.
Try what I will—a day or two,
And all is turned about again.
Such rank return I have of you.”
Yet raised he to his lips the cup
And drank: his fine wide eyes now gave
A stealthy glance towards his friend:
Bushek sat silent as the grave.
And, but to find a thing to do,
He wet his lip the cup along
And to his palate pressed the wine,
And rolled it slowly round his tongue.
“Aye, wretched,” said the king, and quick
He helped himself to wine the while,
So quick, as barring argument,
But round his lips now played a smile.
“Shall I then die of thirst? By heaven
Thou’rt blind, good page. Dost thou not see
An empty glass before me lies?
And let thy measure generous be!”
“Come, Bushek, drink. Be no more sad!
Thy king’s wise words now savour.
My tongue discerning (as ’tis known)
Has found this wine’s own flavour.
It hath its own peculiar charm,
One needs must try, dear Bushek, see—
First harsh perhaps, yet sweeter then,
Its taste by now is come to me.”
“Why, see, my lord, just so our folk—
With temper strange and seeming rude—
Yet flowers in beauty all its own.”
Vilhart, at once in merry mood,
Thus suddenly his silence broke.
“Look close upon that folk, I pray,
And thou to them wilt press thy lips,
Nor ever take thy lips away.”
commented
2024.11.17.
Life Goes On
On which ship will you let me sail?
Which star will you choose to trust
While life
Goes on?
Which book will you tell me about?
With which hand will you reach out to touch me
While life
Goes on?
For which dream will you betray me?
Which side will you lean on
While life
Goes on?
This is our time
And it will go with the wind
We don’t know where
We don’t know how
It’s just a game
That lasts so little
It’s only love
And it breaks your heart
In which memory will you lock me away?
With which song will you sing me out
While life
Goes on?
This is our time
And it will go with the wind
We don’t know where
We don’t know how
It’s just a game
That lasts so little
It’s only love
And it breaks your heart
How many fears will you take away?
And how many doubts will you give me
While life
Goes on?
While life
Goes on?
2024.11.17.
Mountain Ballad
“Say what salve can close a wound
(Nanny, speak to me),
Heal and save from death a man
Wounded grievously?”
“To heal a mortal’s open wounds
In a body ailing,
The spring juice of the plantain herb
Is alone availing.”
“What is there can bring relief
(Nanny, speak to me),
When a head is hot with pain,
Throbbing ceaselessly?”
“To heal a head so feverish hot
Nothing else is good
Save the strawberry plant’s young leaves,
Gathered in the wood.”
From the cottage ran the child
Into the near-by field.
“Plantain herb, give me your juice,
That pain of man be healed.”
From field to woods through thorns, through briars,
Onwards ran the child.
“Give me of your tender leaves,
Blessed strawberry wild.”
She quickly gained what she had asked,
To church then sped away:
Jesus, stretched upon the cross,
Before the altar lay.
“See, I bathe Thy holy side,
Thy breast with ointment smear,
Thy dear wounds will heal again,
Jesu sweet, my dear.
Fresh leaves from the woods I lay
Upon Thy forehead sore,
The piercing fever’s heat shall burn
Thy dear head no more.”
The great bells on the church’s top
Their summons loud are pealing.
The people gather, strike their breasts,
Before the wonder kneeling.
What her childish dream had willed
By the grace of God fulfilled.
That village still an image keeps
Of the Saviour born.
There are no wounds upon His side,
Upon His brow no thorn.
On all His body lilies white
Shining, as at dawn.
commented
2024.11.17.
Summer is Ending
[Verse 1]
I turn off the television
Pick up my ink and quill
Writing words with blurry vision
‘Bout the shit that I can’t stand
Telling you I’ve fallen weak
Telling you ‘bout my defeat
Telling how I let you down
Voices scream from the radio
Rings loud from the telephone
Sorrow doesn’t sink with pints
I just lay there, sick and blind
Told me to go, leave all behind
But it tingles down my spine
Every moon’s a sleepless night
[Chorus]
I'm still awaiting the answer...
There lingers hope no more...
Summer will soon be over…
This...
[Verse 2]
They say the sun’s up in the sky
Blazing in the blue, so bright
In the radio, they claim:
The weather’s boiling in flames
Yet I’m sitting in the shades
Coldness swarms, warmth fades
Breezes wrapping ‘round me
Seasons come, seasons go
Million times you I owe
How’d I repay? I don’t know
I’m only hitting new lows
Life’s no more, so mundane
I sit by the remains
And feel the pour of autumn rain
[Chorus]
I'm still awaiting the answer...
There lingers hope no more...
Summer will soon be over…
This...
[Verse 3]
Been decades since the fall
Crumbled the brick walls tall
But now all that’s left to see
Is the withering poppy
In the jar by the window
From the restaurant long-gone
That flourished years ago
The clock keeps ticking on
With the ripples of the pond
Year by year into the wind
Away the dried leaves blow
I toss and flip the coin
Always landing on the tails
But one day, we might prevail
[Chorus]
I'm still awaiting the answer...
There lingers hope no more...
Summer will soon be over…
This...
[Outro]
(I'm still awaiting the answer...)
(Summer comes to an end…)
(I’m awaiting the answer….)
(Summer will soon be over…)
(This...)
poetic