Death by John Dunne

DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go--
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!


Came across this beautiful poem recently, in Fortunes of War; Guy Pringle reading it aloud to Harriet as their ship leaves Athens for Cairo.

Of courage, conviction and fortitude

Two of my favourite poems by Rabindranath Tagore. Lines which impart strength and courage. Here are the English translated versions of the originals in Bangla:

Where the mind is without fear
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my father, let my country awake.

Walk alone
If they answer not to thy call, walk alone
If they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall
O thou of evil luck, open thy mind and speak out alone.
If they turn away, and desert you when crossing the wilderness
O thou of evil luck, trample the thorns under thy tread
And along the blood-lined track travel alone.
If they do not hold up the light when the night is troubled with storm
O thou of evil luck, with the thunder flame of pain ignite thy own heart and let it burn alone.

Sailing to Byzantium

Lines for the Tuesday gone.
And the Wednesday which started.


"That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,...

....A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing...

..And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium."


My favourite lines from the W.B.Yeats poem. Other lines I choose to ignore.

Of poets

"Thousands of poets wrote poetry
And were forgotten
Only one was remembered
I would rather be forgotten
With thousands of companions
Than be the lone immortal"


K. Satchidanandan, quoted in 'Life, Sweet and Sour', The Hindu, 27 Dec 2007