Michael Newman — two poems

Winter Colour

Blush-shy,
The flower rises
From the soil,
Then opens into white apparition,
Helleborous niger,
The Christmas Rose.

On such a grey and rain-rotten day,
I welcome this affirmation

Of unbridled joy:

 

Paradise where least expected

A Measure of Dusk
A delinquent moon slinks past Shetcombe Hill.
The dead-branch antlers of an oak
Defy the onset of dusk.
Clouds misappropriate the treasures of sunset.

I have seen daylight fade
A dozen dozen times
(This year alone)
And yet only now

See it in its mystery.
I taste the colours,
Breathe-in the perfumed voices
Of women.
A sprinkle of stars

Senses the senses.
No truth but in the senses.

 

Emmaline O’Dowd

O, meine Herren!

This lady’s a rare plant, an exotic parasitic – oh but the
flowers,
meine Herren, the adornments –

the plunging back, the swaying hips,
the cigarette holder at her lips,
the cocktail glass where the cherry dips…

She follows fashion to the letter,
but she’ll always go one better,
out-Harlow Jean, out-Garbo Greta…

O, meine Herren!

This lady’s made of steel and gemstone – oh but the
sparkle,
meine Herren, the enticements –

the challenge of that painted pout,
the languorous lids that leave no doubt
she knows for sure what she’s about…

So much glamour, so much glitz –
the way she stands, the way she sits,
the way that clinging bodice fits…

O, meine Herren!

This lady’s a risker, a chancer, dancing close to the brink –
oh but the poise,
meine Herren, the deportment –

there’s just nothing you can tell this
mistress of the tilted pelvis –
her assets are what she herself is…

Though you might do your best to lure her,
don’t imagine you’ll secure her –
she won’t stop till she’s reached the Führer…

O, meine Herren!

Emmaline O’Dowd, former violin and piano teacher, is a member of Derby City Poets and has had work in various magazines over the years, as well as in the Quaker anthology ‘A speaking silence’.

 

Nikolay Gumilev

War

Like a dog on a chain the machine-gun
Barks out from beyond the wood;
Splinters of shrapnel are buzzing
Like bees as they forage for food.

And that distant ‘Hurrah’, like the song of
The reapers, might tempt you to say
That this is some peaceful village
At the end of a fruitful day.

And in truth, the majestic work of
War is so holy and good
You’d think that behind each warrior
A bright-winged angel stood.

Then bless this day the labourers
As they slowly proceed, oh Lord,
To reap a harvest of glory
From fields which they’ve soaked with blood.

Before you, like those who labour
In sorrow and prayer at the plough,
As luminous as waxen candles,
The hearts of the soldiers glow.

But remember, oh Lord, to grant victory
To the one who before the end
Says to the fallen enemy:
‘Receive this kiss from a friend.’
1914

Translated from the Russian by Stephen Capus

Nikolay Stepanovich Gumilyov was an influential Russian poet, literary critic, traveler, and military officer. He was a cofounder of the Acmeist movement. He was arrested and executed by the Cheka, the secret Soviet police force, in 1921.

Stephen Capus studied Russian at the University of Birmingham and the School of Slavonic and East European Studies in London. He has published poems, translations and articles in various magazines. A number of his translations were featured in the Penguin Book of Russian Poetry, published in 2015.

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