BURYING friends is not a pomp,
Not, indeed, Roman:
Lacking the monument,
Heroic stone;
Nor is it an obscuring parasol,
The pad of customary gloves and cries
And a black leather mourning-carriage
Hung between death and the beholder's eyes.
This little bin of cancelled flesh
Strode the earth once,
Rubbed against men—
But that's all done.
A gentle elegy, a tear or two,
May charm the grave-diggers, no doubt,
But nothing can count to these incongrous ruins.
Their commercial value is not worth speaking about.
Only it seems not a burial
Of irrelevant sods,
But a lopped member
From this my body;
Almost, in fact, a tiny amputation,
A paring of biography, thrown in there.
And he has thieved his own life away
And something from mine. Farewell, thou pilferer!
he has thieved his own life away And something from mine. Farewell, thou pilferer! ~ indeed lovely poem
5 Stars for this profound poem, CONGRATS on being chosen by Poem Hunter and Team as The Modern Poem Of The Day!
This poem poignantly explores themes of loss, anonymity, impermanence, and the profound impact of death on both the living and the departed. Slessor's skillful use of language and imagery invites readers to contemplate the complexities of mortality and memory.
Their commercial value is not worth speaking about. Only it seems not a burial Of irrelevant sods, But a lopped member From this my body; ~ great poetic expression
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
___ _________ ____ ___ _ _____ _________ _____ ____ ______ ____ ____________ ^decode