Tuesday Poem: (Song) "New Test Leper" by R.E.M.

 

I can't say that I love Jesus
That would be a hollow claim
He did make some observations
And I'm quoting them today

"Judge not lest ye be judged"
What a beautiful refrain
The studio audience disagrees
Have His lambs all gone astray?

Call me a leper
Call me a leper
Call me a leper

"You are lost and disillusioned"
What an awful thing to say
I know this show doesn't flatter
It means nothing to me

I thought I might help them understand
What an ugly thing to see
"I am not an animal"
Subtitled under the screen

Call me a leper
Call me a leper
Call me a leper

When I tried to tell my story
They cut me off to take a break
I sat silent five commercials
I had nothing left to say

Talk show host was index-carded
All organized and blank
The other guests were scared and hardened
What a sad parade
What a sad parade

Call me a leper
Call me a leper
Call me a leper

by R.E.M.

For more information about R.E.M. see:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R.E.M.

Tuesday Poem: "Late Song" by Lauris Edmond

It's a still morning, quiet and cloudy
the kind of grey day I like best;
they'll be here soon, the little kids first,
creeping up to try and frighten me,
then the tall young men, the slim boy
with the marvellous smile, the dark girl
subtle and secret; and the others,

the parents, my children, my friends --

and I think: these truly are my weather
my grey mornings and my rain at night,
my sparkling afternoons and my birdcall at daylight;
they are my game of hide and seek, my song
that flies from a high window. They are

my dragonflies dancing on silver water.

Without them I cannot move forward, I am
a broken signpost, a train fetched up on
a small siding, a dry voice buzzing in the ears;
for they are also my blunders
and my forgiveness for blundering,
my road to the stars and my seagrass chair

in the sun. They fly where I cannot follow

and I -- I am their branch, their tree.
My song is of the generations, it echoes
the old dialogue of the years; it is the tribal

chorus that no one may sing alone. 

by Lauris Edmond

For more information about poet, Lauris Edmond, see:

https://teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/6e1/edmond-lauris-dorothy

Tuesday Poem: (Song) "Down in Splendour" by Andrew Brough

 

Hey, down in splendour
Join the slide
Standing on the seashore
And the tide
Comes rolling through your eyes
You've got no place to go
Comes rolling through your mind
You've got no one to know

Hey, down in splendour
Take a bow
Blinded in the white light
And the crowd
Die slowly in your arms
You're left to lie alone

And save your face of changing colour
And your smile of fading colour
'Cause you'll never know another
Who will give you ever after

And you shouldn't have to say goodbye
And wonder if this way is how
It's gonna be
And you shouldn't have to say goodbye
And wonder if this way is how
It's gonna be

And save your face of changing colour
And your smile of fading colour
'Cause you'll never know another
Who will give you ever after

And you shouldn't have to say goodbye
And wonder if this way is how
It's gonna be
And you shouldn't have to say goodbye
And wonder if this way is how
It's gonna be
And you shouldn't have to say goodbye
And wonder if this way is how
It's gonna be.

by Andrew Brough

For more information about songwriter, Andrew Brough, see:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Brough

Tuesday Poem: "The Hand that Signed the Paper" by Dylan Thomas

The hand that signed the paper felled a city;
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country;
These five kings did a king to death.

The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The fingers’ joints are cramped with chalk;
A goose’s quill has put an end to murder
That put an end to talk.

The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,
And famine grew, and locusts came;
Great is the hand that holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name.

The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor stroke the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.

by Dylan Thomas

For more information about the poet, Dylan Thomas, see:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dylan_Thomas

Tuesday Poem: "Alcohol" by Serhiy Zhadan

 

The green river water
slows in warm bends
fish zeppelins
scatter the plankton
and tired bird catchers
attempt to catch
every word.

Hold on to
the brightly colored rags and scotch tape
that bind the slashed wrists
of these heroic times.
One day you will turn off this radio,
you'll get used to her,
to her breathing
and, dressed in your T-shirt,
she'll bring you water in the middle of the night.

On the terrace the left-over cups of tea
are filling up with rain water
and cigarette butts,
you and I share a cold
you and I share long conversations --
you don't notice the morning rain
you go to sleep late
and you wake up late
I write poems about how I love
this woman, and I invent
newer and newer words
to avoid
telling her.

by Serhiy Zhadan (translated from the Ukrainian by Virlana Tkacz and Wanda Phipps)

For more information about poet, Serhiy Zhadan, see:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serhiy_Zhadan

Tuesday Poem: "Behind the Wall" by Tracy Chapman

Last night I heard the screaming
Loud voices behind the wall

Another sleepless night for me

It won't do no good to call

The police always come late

If they come at all

And when they arrive
They say they can't interfere
With domestic affairs
Between a man and his wife
And as they walk out the door
The tears well up in her eyes

Last night I heard the screaming
Then a silence that chilled my soul
I prayed that I was dreaming
When I saw the ambulance in the road
And the policeman said
"I'm here to keep the peace
Will the crowd disperse
I think we all could use some sleep"

by Tracy Chapman

For more information about Tracy Chapman, see:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tracy_Chapman

Tuesday Poem: "The Mower" by Philip Larkin

 

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found  
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,  
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.  
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world  
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence  
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind  
While there is still time.

by Philip Larkin

For more information about poet, Philip Larkin, see:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philip_Larkin