Saturday, May 05, 2012

Happy Birthday Karl Marx !

Today is the birthday of a German philosopher, economist, sociologist, historian, journalist, and revolutionary socialist Karl Heinrich Marx. The ideas of Karl Marx (5 May 1818 – 14 March 1883) played a significant role in the development of social science and the socialist political movement. He published various books during his lifetime, with the most notable being The Communist Manifesto (1848) and Capital (1867–1894); some of his works were co-written with his friend and fellow German revolutionary socialist, Friedrich Engels. Presenting some poems : Being Poet
A ROMANCE
"Why sighs your breast, why glows your gaze,
Why are your veins all burning,
As if Night weighs, as if Fate flays
Down into storm your yearning?"
"Show me the eyes, like ringing bells,
That glow in rainbows high,
Where brightness streams, where music swells,
Where stars go swimming by.
"I dreamed this dream, so troublesome,
Past all elucidating.
My head is void, my heart is numb,
My grave shall soon be waiting."
"What dream you here, what dream you there,
What lures to distant lands?
Here booms the Tide, here Hope rides fair,
Here’s fire in True Love’s bonds."
"Here naught rides fair, here is no fire,
But see what glimmers yonder,
I’m blinded, burning with desire,
And I would fain sink under."
He stares aloft, his eyes shine bright,
He shakes in every limb.
His sinews swell, his heart’s alight,
His soul departs from him.
CREATION
Creator Spirit uncreated
Sails on fleet waves far away,
Worlds heave, Lives are generated,
His Eye spans Eternity.
All inspiriting reigns his Countenance,
In its burning magic, Forms condense.
Voids pulsate and Ages roll,
Deep in prayer before his Face;
Spheres resound and Sea-Floods swell,
Golden Stars ride on apace.
Fatherhead in blessing gives the sign,
And the All is bathed in Light divine.
In bounds self-perceived, the Eternal
Silent moves, reflectively,
Until holy Thought primordial
Dons Forms, Words of Poetry.
Then, like Thunder-lyres from far away
Like prescient Creation’s Jubilee:
"Gentler shine the floating stars,
Worlds in primal Rock now rest;
O my Spirit’s images,
Be by Spirit new embraced;
When to you the heaving bosoms move,
Be revealed in piety and love.
"Be unlocked only to Love;
Eternity’s eternal seat,
As to you I gently gave,
Hurl you my Soul’s lightning out.
’Harmony alone its like may find,
Only Soul another Soul may bind.’
Out of me your Spirits burn
Into Forms of lofty meaning;
To the Maker you return,
Images no more remaining,
By Man’s look of Love ringed burningly,
You in him dissolved, and he in me."
POETRY
Flames Creator-like once poured
Streaming to me from your breast,
Clashing up on high they soared,
And I nursed them in my breast.
Shone your form like Aeolus-strains above,
Shielded soft the fire with wings of Love.
I saw glow and I heard sound,
Heavens onward sweeping far,
Rising up and sinking down,
Sinking but to soar the higher.
Then, when inner strife at last was quelled,
Grief and Joy made music I beheld.
Nestling close to forms so soft
Stands the Soul, by spells enchained,
From me images sailed aloft
By your very Love inflamed.
Limbs of Love, by Spirit once released,
Shine again within their Maker’s breast.
THE FOREST SPRING
In flowery grove I lost my way
Where forest spring showers silver spray
In murmuring fall, o’erhead
The lofty bay trees spread.
They see it ever rushing fleet,
They see it flowing at their feet,
Burn in sweet shadows there
To mate with Sea and Air.
But when it flees the hard land’s thrall,
Loud thundering smites the rocky wall.
Dizzy the flood spins round
In mist-rings with no sound.
Through flowery groves it roams again,
Swallowing deep draughts of Death’s pain,
And then the tall bay trees
Waft down sweet reveries.
THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE WATER
A Ballad
The waters rush with an eerie sound,
The waves are swirling round and round.
They seem to feel no pain at all,
As they break and fall,
Cold of heart, cold of mind,
Rushing, rushing all the time.
But down in the depths where the waters rage
Sits a manikin, white with age.
He dances about when the Moon appears,
When little star through cloudlet peers.
Eerily hopping and skipping, he’d try
To drink the little streamlet dry.
Waves are his murderers, every one,
They gnaw his ancient skeleton,
It cuts through his marrow and limb like ice
To see them gambol in this wise;
His face is a grimace of sorrow and gloom
Till sunshine stops the dance of the Moon.
The waters then rush with an eerie sound,
The waves are swirling round and round.
They seem to feel no pain at all,
As they break and fall,
Cold of heart, cold of mind,
Rushing, rushing all the time.