The Wide Ocean – Poem by Pablo Neruda<\/strong><\/p>\n ~<\/strong> <\/p>\n The Stars Go Over The Lonely Ocean – Poem by Robinson Jeffers<\/strong><\/p>\n ~<\/strong> <\/p>\n An Ocean Within – Poem by Sameer Ahmed<\/strong><\/p>\n ~<\/strong> <\/p>\n Had Ocean Been My Confidant – Poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir<\/strong><\/p>\n ~<\/strong> <\/p>\n As I Ebb’D With The Ocean Of Life – Poem by Walt Whitman<\/strong><\/p>\n ~<\/strong> The Wide Ocean – Poem by Pablo Neruda ~ Ocean, if you were to give, a measure, a ferment, a fruit of your gifts and destructions, into my hand, I would choose your far-off repose, your contour of steel, your vigilant spaces of air and darkness, and the power of your white tongue, that shatters […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":13622,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1345],"tags":[37],"class_list":["post-9467","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poems","tag-featured"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9467","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9467"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9467\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/13622"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9467"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9467"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9467"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nOcean, if you were to give, a measure, a ferment, a fruit
\nof your gifts and destructions, into my hand,
\nI would choose your far-off repose, your contour of steel,
\nyour vigilant spaces of air and darkness,
\nand the power of your white tongue,
\nthat shatters and overthrows columns,
\nbreaking them down to your proper purity.
\nNot the final breaker, heavy with brine,
\nthat thunders onshore, and creates
\nthe silence of sand, that encircles the world,
\nbut the inner spaces of force,
\nthe naked power of the waters,
\nthe immoveable solitude, brimming with lives.
\nIt is Time perhaps, or the vessel filled
\nwith all motion, pure Oneness,
\nthat death cannot touch, the visceral green
\nof consuming totality.
\nOnly a salt kiss remains of the drowned arm,
\nthat lifts a spray: a humid scent,
\nof the damp flower, is left,
\nfrom the bodies of men. Your energies
\nform, in a trickle that is not spent,
\nform, in retreat into silence.
\nThe falling wave,
\narch of identity, shattering feathers,
\nis only spume when it clears,
\nand returns to its source, unconsumed.
\nYour whole force heads for its origin.
\nThe husks that your load threshes,
\nare only the crushed, plundered, deliveries,
\nthat your act of abundance expelled,
\nall those that take life from your branches.
\nYour form extends beyond breakers,
\nvibrant, and rhythmic, like the chest, cloaking
\na single being, and its breathings,
\nthat lift into the content of light,
\nplains raised above waves,
\nforming the naked surface of earth.
\nYou fill your true self with your substance.
\nYou overflow curve with silence.
\nThe vessel trembles with your salt and sweetness,
\nthe universal cavern of waters,
\nand nothing is lost from you, as it is
\nfrom the desolate crater, or the bay of a hill,
\nthose empty heights, signs, scars,
\nguarding the wounded air.
\nYour petals throbbing against the Earth,
\ntrembling your submarine harvests,
\nyour menace thickening the smooth swell,
\nwith pulsations and swarming of schools,
\nand only the thread of the net raises
\nthe dead lightning of fish-scale,
\none wounded millimetre, in the space
\nof your crystal completeness.<\/p>\n
\nUnhappy about some far off things
\nThat are not my affair, wandering
\nAlong the coast and up the lean ridges,
\nI saw in the evening
\nThe stars go over the lonely ocean,
\nAnd a black-maned wild boar
\nPlowing with his snout on Mal Paso Mountain.
\nThe old monster snuffled, “Here are sweet roots,
\nFat grubs, slick beetles and sprouted acorns.
\nThe best nation in Europe has fallen,
\nAnd that is Finland,
\nBut the stars go over the lonely ocean,”
\nThe old black-bristled boar,
\nTearing the sod on Mal Paso Mountain.
\n“The world’s in a bad way, my man,
\nAnd bound to be worse before it mends;
\nBetter lie up in the mountain here
\nFour or five centuries,
\nWhile the stars go over the lonely ocean,”
\nSaid the old father of wild pigs,
\nPlowing the fallow on Mal Paso Mountain.
\n“Keep clear of the dupes that talk democracy
\nAnd the dogs that talk revolution,
\nDrunk with talk, liars and believers.
\nI believe in my tusks.
\nLong live freedom and damn the ideologies,”
\nSaid the gamey black-maned boar
\nTusking the turf on Mal Paso Mountain.<\/p>\n
\nFlourishing on
\nNatural contours of land,
\nVariegating with rainbows,
\nA continuous river
\nFlows into his own depths,
\nAn ocean within.
\nThis wordsmith, creator
\nOf enduring friendship
\nThroughout the seasons
\nWith insects and birds,
\nFoliage and flowers, his co-creators
\nFamed among the constellations.
\nHe – an Alpha Arietis – shines
\nWith his art, evergreen.
\nNostalgic melodies
\nMoisten his eyes.
\nThe smile of a child
\nMakes him burst into laughter.
\nHe soaks up
\nThe sorrows unsaid
\nAnd faces unread.
\nA self-contained emotional being.
\nHe puts his signature
\nOn the tablet of wind
\nWhispering through apertures
\nOf doors, of cores.
\nSpreading the magic of affection,
\nErasing hatreds from
\nThe slates of mind
\nAnd healing wounds
\nWith his balmy libretto,
\nHe consoles the heart.
\nThough a maverick in
\nThe herds of social climbers,
\nHis deep silence evokes
\nWise thoughts.
\nA translucent rain
\nWiping the mist of pain,
\nHe grows
\nThe creepers of camaraderie
\nIn his poetry yards.
\nHis ailing heart,
\nVaricose legs,
\nOlden heels
\nAnd clay bound feet,
\nAll laborious episodes of
\nA lifetime drama serial.
\nOpening new ways
\nBetween conscious and subconscious
\nMy mentor,
\nEven with increasing age
\nHolds a bundle of dreams
\nFor me, for all
\nDeath’s arrow is aiming at him – He knows
\nBut, still inscribing
\nThe lively poem of existence
\nBy camouflaging himself in words
\nbeautiful and strong.
\nI know, he will live
\nAnd live long.<\/p>\n
\nHad ocean been my confidant
\nI’d have given it
\nAll of my truths for safekeeping
\nTales i would have written
\nOf seashells picking girls on beaches
\nWhose golden bodies were
\nLike isles of dreamland
\nBut whose fates were
\nLike lines drawn in sand.
\nHad ocean been my confidant
\nI’d have given it
\nAll my loneliness
\nI’d have walked with the wind
\nClasping its finger in my fist
\nOn distant paths
\nFrom whence no one comes back!
\nHad ocean been my confidant
\nI’d have given it all my depths
\nStepping into its limitless
\nBlue bosom
\nI’d have made earth into my bark
\nSky into my sails
\nI’d have made the woeful moment
\nOf separation
\nA connecting link between you and me.
\nHad ocean been my confidant!<\/p>\n
\n1
\nAs I ebb’d with the ocean of life,
\nAs I wended the shores I know,
\nAs I walk’d where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok,
\nWhere they rustle up hoarse and sibilant,
\nWhere the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways,
\nI musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward,
\nHeld by this electric self out of the pride of which I utter poems,
\nWas seiz’d by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot,
\nThe rim, the sediment that stands for all the water and all the
\nland of the globe.
\nFascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow
\nthose slender windrows,
\nChaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds, and the sea-gluten,
\nScum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt-lettuce, left by the
\ntide,
\nMiles walking, the sound of breaking waves the other side of me,
\nPaumanok there and then as I thought the old thought of likenesses,
\nThese you presented to me you fish-shaped island,
\nAs I wended the shores I know,
\nAs I walk’d with that electric self seeking types.
\n2
\nAs I wend to the shores I know not,
\nAs I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women wreck’d,
\nAs I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me,
\nAs the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer,
\nI too but signify at the utmost a little wash’d-up drift,
\nA few sands and dead leaves to gather,
\nGather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift.
\nO baffled, balk’d, bent to the very earth,
\nOppress’d with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,
\nAware now that amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon me I
\nhave not once had the least idea who or what I am,
\nBut that before all my arrogant poems the real Me stands yet
\nuntouch’d, untold, altogether unreach’d,
\nWithdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs and
\nbows,
\nWith peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written,
\nPointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand beneath.
\nI perceive I have not really understood any thing, not a single
\n&nb sp;\u00a0object, and that no man ever can,
\nNature here in sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart
\n;\u00a0upon me and sting me,
\nBecause I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all.
\n3
\nYou oceans both, I close with you,
\nWe murmur alike reproachfully rolling sands and drift, knowing \u00a0not why,
\nThese little shreds indeed standing for you and me and all.
\nYou friable shore with trails of debris,
\nYou fish-shaped island, I take what is underfoot,
\nWhat is yours is mine my father.
\nI too Paumanok,
\nI too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float, and been
\n;\u00a0wash’d on your shores,
\nI too am but a trail of drift and debris,
\nI too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped island.
\nI throw myself upon your breast my father,
\nI cling to you so that you cannot unloose me,
\nI hold you so firm till you answer me something.
\nKiss me my father,
\nTouch me with your lips as I touch those I love,
\nBreathe to me while I hold you close the secret of the murmuring
\nI envy.
\n4
\nEbb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,)
\nCease not your moaning you fierce old mother,
\nEndlessly cry for your castaways, but fear not, deny not me,
\nRustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet as I touch you
\nor gather from you.
\nI mean tenderly by you and all,
\nI gather for myself and for this phantom looking down where we
\nlead, and following me and mine.
\nMe and mine, loose windrows, little corpses,
\nFroth, snowy white, and bubbles,
\n(See, from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last,
\nSee, the prismatic colors glistening and rolling,)
\nTufts of straw, sands, fragments,
\nBuoy’d hither from many moods, one contradicting another,
\nFrom the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell,
\nMusing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of liquid or soil,
\nUp just as much out of fathomless workings fermented and thrown,
\nA limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves floating,
\ndrifted at random,
\nJust as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature,
\nJust as much whence we come that blare of the cloud-trumpets,
\nWe, capricious, brought hither we know not whence, spread out
\nbefore you,
\nYou up there walking or sitting,
\nWhoever you are, we too lie in drifts at your feet.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"