Featured Post

Dreams are Confused

Dreams are confused, yet men seek clarity there Oracles speak with twisted tongues; men trust them and do not despair From confusion--do...

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Masefield's Quevedo: not too shabby is it?



I saw the ramparts of my native land,
One time so strong, now dropping in decay,
Their strength destroyed by this new age's way
That has worn out and rotted what was grand.
I went into the fields: there I could see
The sun drink up the waters newly thawed,
And on the hills the moaning cattle pawed;
Their miseries robbed the day of light for me.

I went into my house: I saw how spotted,
Decaying things made that old home their prize.
My withered walking-staff had come to bend;
I felt the age had won; my sword was rotted,
And there was nothing on which I set my eyes
That was not a reminder of the end.


2 comments:

Vance Maverick said...

While I see what you mean, and I don't know the original, this seems hampered by the effort of maintaining its dignified technical consistency. For a reader who counts strongly on that (such as I imagine Masefield's public to have been), it would be different -- the reward of Masefield's effort would have been that it read like poetry.

Jonathan said...

It's not perfect and has a bit of metrical padding. But it is about as good as his own poems.