Thank you very much Garik (not sure if that is correct) I'm so glad you enjoyed this verse. It is one of my favorites. I'm not good with love poems and so I keep rewriting this one in different forms every year. I have a poetry site myself and we are having a contest and will be publishing the top ten poets and their sonnets in my new book "The Feather Bridge" that will be out in the fall of the year. Anyway, I thought, why not make this a couplet sonnet. I wasn't sure if this was too long to be considered a sonnet and then researched it and there just so happens to be in existence a 21 line sonnet. haha ... I appreciate your comments and hope to come and read some of your poetry as well.

Love and light
Sue

Мэтти Дубоис   25.03.2011 06:43   Заявить о нарушении

No, I wish I did have music for this one. The first year I wrote it in tetrameter:
To my beloved Valentine ...

Should I this day with Cupid plot,
to write you Valentine or not?
A million roses’ petals spent,
a symbol of love's sacrament…
he loves me, O! he loves me not
oh No! ‘tis I that Cupid shot!

Be gone from me, capricious brat,
how dare you pierce my heart like that!
A million miles we are apart,
a symbol of love’s lonely heart...
he loves me, O! he loves me not
another rose’s petals shot!

Don’t torture me, reveal my fate
O! this undying love—I hate!
A million tears I’m sure to cry,
a symbol of love’s hope awry…
he loves me, O! he loves me not
which final petal have I got?

And last year it was contemporary (which I can't find right now) I do hope I saved it though.

I am having a Sonnet War on my website poetsview.com and so I thought, Ok this year it shall be an extremely long couplet sonnet.
Who knows what it will be next year. But, now that it is a tradition to rewrite it in a new form every year, then I'm sure it will be something.

Thank you for your most kind review.

Sue

Мэтти Дубоис   28.01.2011 22:36   Заявить о нарушении

For some reason https://poetsview.com/ loads a blank page for me. No content :(

Дарья Вольная   17.02.2011 14:17   Заявить о нарушении

Sorry -What kind of drugs did they take?

Юрий Лазирко   01.04.2009 18:13   Заявить о нарушении

Theories about what caused berserker behavior include ingestion of materials with psychoactive properties, psychological processes, and medical conditions.

A Horizon Book on Vikings claims[citation needed] that some chieftains would hold their berserkers in reserve during a battle. Once a portion of the enemy line appeared to tire or weaken, the chieftains would send the berserkers charging into the enemy ranks to hopefully open a break and even panic the enemy. The book also claimed that while on sea voyages close to land, berserkers were sometimes asked to go ashore to find objects on land to wrestle or bash to give vent to their fury.

According to a theory of spirit possession, the berserk rage was achieved through possession by the animal spirit of either a bear or a wolf. Berserkers would cultivate an ability to allow the animal's spirit to take over their body during a fight. This is seen as a somewhat peculiar application of animal totemism.

Botanists have suggested the behavior might be tied to ingestion of bog myrtle (Myrica gale syn: Gale palustris), a plant that was one of the main spices in alcoholic beverages in Scandinavia. The drawback is that it increases the hangover headache afterwards. Drinking alcoholic beverages spiced with bog myrtle the night before going to battle might have resulted in unusually aggressive behavior.

The notion that Nordic Vikings used the fly agaric mushroom to produce their berserker rages was first suggested by the Swedish professor Samuel Цdman in 1784. Цdman based his theory on reports about the use of fly agaric among Siberian shamans. The notion has become widespread since the 19th century, but no contemporary sources mention this use or anything similar in their description of berserkers. In addition, the injection of bufotenine from Bufo marinus toad skin into humans was shown to produce similar symptoms to the "Berserker" descriptions. These findings, first examined by Howard Fabing in 1956, were later linked to the induction of zombie characteristics by ethnobotanists in 1983.

A simpler theory attributes the behavior to drunken rage. It is also possible that berserkers worked themselves into their frenzy through purely psychological processes, perhaps using frenzied rituals and dances. According to Saxo Grammaticus they also drank bear or wolf blood.

Modern scholars believe certain examples of berserker rage to have been induced voluntarily by the consumption of drugs such as the hallucinogenic mushroom Amanita muscaria (Howard D. Fabing. "On Going Berserk: A Neurochemical Inquiry." Scientific Monthly. 83 [Nov. 1956] p. 232), or massive quantities of alcohol (Robert Wernick. The Vikings. Alexandria VA: Time-Life Books. 1979. p. 285). While such practices would fit in with ritual usages, other explanations for the berserker's madness have been put forward, including self-induced hysteria, epilepsy, mental illness or genetic flaws (Peter G. Foote and David m. Wilson. the Viking Achievement. London: Sidgewick & Jackson. 1970. p. 285).

The actual fit or madness the berserk experienced was known as berserkergang ("berserker-going"). This condition is described as follows:

"This fury, which was called berserkergang, occurred not only in the heat of battle, but also during laborious work. Men who were thus seized performed things which otherwise seemed impossible for human power. This condition is said to have begun with shivering, chattering of the teeth, and chill in the body, and then the face swelled and changed its color. With this was connected a great hot-headedness, which at last gave over into a great rage, under which they howled as wild animals, bit the edge of their shields, and cut down everything they met without discriminating between friend or foe. When this condition ceased, a great dulling of the mind and feebleness followed, which could last for one or several days" (Fabing, p. 234).

Sorry, I did not respond sooner. I have been working non-stop on a new website. I hope you all will come and join us. It is multi-lingual site of individuals and groups from various linguistic, professional, and cultural environments, which takes an interdisciplinary approach in such fields as poetry, literature, philosophy, mathematics, music, classics, visual and dramatic arts, embracing the humanistic and Renaissance idea of synthesis, which means the coming together of artists, mathematicians, philosophers and scientists as it was in the Renaissance time and classical tradition. the site is (https://) musenmie (.) com....(of course you would need to remove the parenthesis and leave no spaces in that address, but it is the only way I can leave it here in this message box, as this site does not support these links. We are about a week and a half away from opening. The programmers are working on the writers section of the site now. We have a few languages that you don't typically find, such as, Ukranian and Polish, Russian etc...The site is free to everyone.

Thanks for stopping by and I do hope you enjoyed the poem.

Hugs Sue

Мэтти Дубоис   22.04.2009 15:37   Заявить о нарушении

Thank you Sue,
That was quiet educational. Thank you for the invitation as well – I will look at the site soon.
With appreciation,
Iouri

Юрий Лазирко   22.04.2009 22:57   Заявить о нарушении

Hi Igor!! My verses are still here they are just not posted for comment since I have not been here much this past year. I do hope to be writing more though and I look forward to visiting your site again. Hugs Sue

Мэтти Дубоис   14.02.2009 17:39   Заявить о нарушении

Hi Sue, you are OK and that's good! Needless to visit my page, you'd better publish more verses of yours. I do like reading them. They are like a sweet strong Port.
Have a good mod and Good Luck to you and all your relatives.

Игорь Евтишенков   23.01.2010 12:30   Заявить о нарушении

I'm so glad you enjoyed this bit of humor. If I can inspire, then that is the greatest thing. I hope you have been doing well. It is good to have you visit me. I had removed my poetry as I have not been writing much and I am back in college. Also, because I still cannot write verses in the Russian language. I have visited your page and as every your poetry is inspiring as well. I hope you have a wonderful Valentines Day, full of love and hope. I will be putting my verses back and hope to be here more. Hugs Sue

Мэтти Дубоис   14.02.2009 17:37   Заявить о нарушении

Hi Sue, what are you doing in college? Teaching? What? I wonder if this is a kind of inspiration that made you go over there. A day comes when nothing leaves to you but choose this way.
All the best to you and your family!

Игорь Евтишенков   14.02.2009 22:15   Заявить о нарушении

No, I am still in college taking classes. The foundation that published the book I am in is starting a web site for poets. I hope you and Michael will come and share verses with us. I will let you know when it is up and running. They are good people to get to know and we are now on our third published book for the 'Cole Foundation for the Arts' out of New York....Anyway I will let you know when they have the site ready. All the best to you and your family.

Hugs Sue

Мэтти Дубоис   16.02.2009 02:54   Заявить о нарушении

Taking courses?.. Does it mean, you keep learning? What's that?
Thanks a lot for your warm words. As soon as the web-site is ready, I'll visis it with great pleasure.

Igor

Игорь Евтишенков   21.02.2009 18:56   Заявить о нарушении

yes, I am still learning. But, that is a process we undergo our entire lives, so perhpas I'm just trying to rush that along...:))

Hugs Sue

Мэтти Дубоис   22.02.2009 05:11   Заявить о нарушении

ушла
тихо
на цыпочках
(очень понравилось..............(шёпотом).................

(было сказано напечатать глупой программе публикаций рецензий)

Хозяйка Иньского Заповедника   06.08.2008 12:10   Заявить о нарушении

Thank you for your comments. It was my first attempt at translating English verse to Russian.

Sue

Мэтти Дубоис   08.08.2008 06:26   Заявить о нарушении

Были и другие?
Я бы прочла.В английском я - 0.

Хозяйка Иньского Заповедника   08.08.2008 13:50   Заявить о нарушении

The original poem is by the poet Anne Michaels and I thought I would try to work on my Russian by translating it. I must say though my Russian is not good at all. Here is the verse by Anne Michaels. You might enjoy it:

A Lesson from the Earth
"God ... began to play the game of signatures,
signing His likeness on to the world;
therefore I chance to think that all nature
and the graceful sky are symbolized in the art
of geometry."

"Mine is the task of the mathematician."

-- Johannes Kepler
I begged scraps from the Rudolphine Table -
the rinds of orbits, stars scattering like pips spat
from Tycho's chewing mouth.
His servants hovered the meal, poured wine
into everyone's glass
but mine. I was angrier than an incomplete equation!
Until Tycho gave me Mars. A feast
of numbers. Starved so long,
my eyes were bigger than my belly;
I'll have the answer in eight days, I cried,
leaning into my plate. But it took eight years
to lick it, clean.

We were sent to each other, Tycho and I;
nothing is casually
causal: all motion the result of invisible force.
We were sent for a reason,
like cutains blown in from an open window
to knock over a cup.
Everything fell.
Even the beloved circles of planetary paths
spiralled down,
empty as a swirl of apple skin.
My Martian obsession: I was a dog
prowling the dark, stars stuck in my fur like burrs.

Tycho's house was a box of noise,
numbers shook in my head like seeds in a melon.
No escape from the stamping and shouting
of masons and cooks, the hunters home with dinner,
and above all, Tycho's interfering howls.
So I worked at night, straining to hear
the sacred chant of geometric love!
I sharpened my compasses on the window ledge
and felt the breeze of planets in their nightly procession;
all night I tramped the sky, wearied by gravity,
tidal forces pulled my hair! Naturally,
I slept in. At lunch
there was a sneer under Tycho's moustache,
a look to remind me he'd stayed up late
every night of his life. Tycho,
who'd even fought a duel in the dark
and forever after rubbed metal polish
where his nose used to be. Every servant had a joke
about tarnished cutlery.
A true nobleman, Tycho smelled of silver.
Sometimes, during the day, I hid outside,
my favourite place behind a pile of broken dishes
that seemed always shiny with blisters of rain;
or else any place quiet enough
for the effort of turning chaos into cosmos.

Prague crumbles around us.
The Church turned its children against each other,
set fires in its own house.
Over the city smoke hung purple, rippled with sunlight;
ravens sewed up the sky with their black stitches.
An eleven-year-old- girl prophesied the end of the world -
we had every reason to believe her.
Wounded shapes leaned against walls;
daughters and sons slipped between cannons and
through the fumes, to steal horse meat from the mud.
Amid all this - the problem
of Mars, god of war.
In the early hours I believed
only when I'd found the patterns of its orbit,
the hidden sense of it,
would the horrors end.

Priest point to sparrows, to rain,
to fruit falling from the trees,
in order to prove the earth stands still.
In the name of faith they only proclaim their doubt
by refusing to look through the telescope.
They say the truth is at stake; yes,
the truth seems nowhere else.
In Rome's Piazza dei Fiori
they burned Bruno for believing in infinity.

We must learn at least this lesson from the earth,
that the greater must make room for the small,
just as the earth attracts even the smallest stone.
Just as the entire planetary system
rests on the plainest pattern.
As cathedrals replaced cross-beams and pillars
with a single arch,
so the Church must someday give up
hundreds of perfect circles
for the simple, blasphemous ellipse.
In error begins truth.
I spent my life in dogged computation
to prove a sun-centred heaven. For years
my reasoning was a ball circling the curve of a hole,
but I believed I'd find an equation simple enough
to move the earth.
For twenty-two years I looked for ratios -
in sizes of the planets, in solar distances
and lengths of orbits - until God whispered:
measure not from the earth but from the sun.
And the heavens opened.

I now know why sailors sing.
The sea is so big it swallows geometry,
but not time.
Heaving and hauling with one voice,
they shift the sky on their backs.
So it is with the planets; dancing,
their skirts flare out behind them -
harmony of the spheres.

I used to think we escape time
by disappearing into beauty.
Now I see it's the opposite.
Beauty reveals time.

I saw my first eclipse when I was nine, above Emmendingen,
the moon rising from the clouds like an infant's head
in its web of blood; the last time
I held my father's hand.

Everything human and broken
depends on perfection.
Imperfect man, left unfinished
with the purpose of becoming whole.

A prisoner moon, I'm caught between papal earth and
Lutheran sun, heretic to both.
I've been pushed from Tubingen, Graz and Prague.
In Linz they took away my books
until Paul Guldin got them back -
he may be a Jesuit, but first
he's a mathematician.

They asked for me in every town; they'd be happy
with even false confession.

From Linz we travelled upriver
until the Danube froze, and I had to leave
Susannah and my daughters in Regensberg.
My head banged like a turnip against the back of the wagon
all the way to Ulm. But in my arms
the only copy of the Rudolphine Tables,
including a map of the world, a chronology of history, and
the positions of one thousand
one hundred and thirty-six stars.
Two lifetimes of devotion,
one spent bent over paper,
the other - Tycho alone in the dark,
his face red from leaning back, hand in his pocket
around a fist-sized globe of the sky
he carried with him since he was a boy.

Now Tycho's gone. His instruments -
the finest, none to match them anywhere -
rust in Tengnagel's cellar.
Gone, Tycho's Castle of the Stars,
the printing press and paper mill,
his forest, fish ponds and flower gardens,
his compass-makers and measurement-takers.

And Emperor Rudolph - gone;
with his imperial library and mechanical treasures,
the singing fountains and glass orchestras.

Tonight, arriving in Ulm,
I remembered a night as cold as this,
years ago, when the recognizable sky saved me
from the unrecognizable world.
From a bridge over the Moldau, all mystery poured up
and complex Prague fell away.
The sudden gift of the comet -
like a word mouthed, a sign,
a rock thrown across a lake without a sound -
and looking down, I saw the whole sky floating in the river:
"as above; so below."

Looking up again, I saw what has always been,
suspended since time began, for anyone to discover -
God's eternal clue:
the moon in its wet skin of light,
the moon not less in its halfness.

What I learned then sustains me
through every sorrow:
it's the believer who keeps looking for proof.
By Anne Michaels

Мэтти Дубоис   09.08.2008 03:18   Заявить о нарушении

А можно сюда прикрепить удалённое произведение?
Так жалко...Оно - изумительно...
(шепотом...)

Хозяйка Иньского Заповедника   22.08.2008 07:51   Заявить о нарушении