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    Poems and Stanzas
    Poems and Stanzas
    Poems and Stanzas
    Ebook250 pages1 hour

    Poems and Stanzas

    By George Lysloff

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    The book is a collection of compositions arranged in three groups: Poems I, with 25 poems; Stanzas with 28 poems, and Poems II with another 35 poems. The items are either love poems involving his feelings toward girls he knew as a youth, as well as introspective or philosophical stanzas dealing with his views on reality and the nature of Man. Hedi, the young woman he fell in love with in 1945, plays a primary role in his lyrical inspiration. Their parting led to somber thoughts he translated into a number of philosophical verse sequences. He calls his writing as belonging to the free verse variety, emphasizing cadence and meter, with less weight accorded to riming.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherXlibris US
    Release dateAug 22, 2005
    ISBN9781462838004
    Poems and Stanzas
    Author

    George Lysloff

    "The world should know and learn to accept the fact that life and fantasy (read "inner experience") co-exist in any person's existence. Subjectivity is the primary motor to anyone's being. My stories illustrate the point, I hope, and give the reader the chance to review his own personal life, placing its events in an acceptable and worthwhile perspective and allowing him to retain (or maybe regain) a proper distance from the fallacies of 'what's real." This is most certainly "existentialistic" and, from a philosophical viewpoint, an "idealistic" attitude. It offers a powerful alternative to the current evolution of society toward a strictly materialistic and utilitarian mode of living" - George Lysloff Lysloff was born in Paris, France of a Russian emigré father and a Baltic-German mother. He went through is primary and secondary education in various French schools. He studied medicine in Germany and Belguim, obtaining his diploma in 1951. He immigrated to the United States in 1954, and took his specialty training in the field of Psychiatry. He received his Board Certification in 1963. He was employed in various mental hospitals in the Midwest, and then moved back to Europe in 1972. He remained active in his profession until his retirement in 1993. George was married in 1950, and the couple had four children. After his wife fell ill with Alzheimer's disease and had to move to a care home, he lives close to his children in Wisconsin. His writing career began with poetry, initially written in the French, which he later translated to English. Other books by George Lysloff: Life and Fantasy: Pilgrimage, Life and Fantasy: On that side of Awakening, Life and Fantasy: Growing Up, Life and Fantasy: New World Rhapsody, Life and Fantasy: Andernach on the Rhein, Letters to my Beloved Ghost, Poems and Stanzas, Reaching Out, Poems and Stanzas II, Poems and Stanzas III, Poems and Stanzas IV, Poems Visions Reflections, Impressions in Verse and Prose, and Visions and Reflections II

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      Book preview

      Poems and Stanzas - George Lysloff

      P O E M S

      - 1 -

       -

      1 - TORN AWAY

      For Irina P.

      Where have they gone, my days of unconcern

      That rushed by as light and as fast as the wind.

      I dwelt in my reality, disdainfully

      Oblivious of the brewing storms

      That, suddenly unleashed, ended the quietude

      Of the moment; I felt entranced, filled with the bliss

      Of an adorable smile, with the pulchritude

      Of the girl I cherished and yearned to kiss.

      Behind the snow-covered and dormant plains,

      Beyond the distant hills and drowsy villages,

      I abandoned, forsook the one I idolized.

      I seek in vain to find, retrieve those images.

      I whisper in my mind: Why to weep and despair?

      The fogs have cleared, the sun shines bright and the black fields

      Will soon commence to green: All is well, sorrow yields;

      Yet my soul is lonely and my heart cold and bare.

      Ebern, March 20 1945

      (That is the fifth day after I arrived in the little Bavarian town of Ebern)

       -

      2 - MELANCHOLY

      February. 16 1945

      Ruedersdorf by Berlin

      Welcome, my memories,

      Heavy, puffy incense,

      Perfume rising

      Toward the crests of the morrow

      In the sanctuary

      Of my longing.

      How far it lies

      The Earth I knew . . . Fairy

      Land of evocations, far, strange,

      Disparate . . . Up above,

      In the soft penumbra,

      The scents, in small ringlets,

      Gracious volutes

      And subtle curves,

      Lightly rise and flower;

      They disappear,

      Disperse into the dark.

      I look for an image

      That relates to my heart,

      To my soul, a visage,

      Dreamy eyed,

      Veiled in thoughts,

      A visage?

      A mirage!

      The incense rose

      And vanished

      In the vagueness

      Of the vaulted

      Heights, vast,

      Fathomless.

      My love,

      What was

      Actually

      The color

      Of your eyes?

      The past has grown

      So dim, unreal . . .

      For Ira

       -

      3 - FATHERLAND

      I

      Nostalgia is like a longing

      That lacks object and goal.

      It will conjure tantalizing

      Memories of a lost homeland.

      An exile, I languish

      And I grieve in silence.

      In my thoughts I return

      To my native country.

      I see myself resting

      Beneath a friendly oak,

      The firmament stretching

      Into my inner space,

      Gently curving within

      The sumptuous chalice,

      The expanded skyline.

      Its broad azure unfolds

      And turns to silver threads,

      Its blueness is brighter

      Than any ever seen.

      Amid the pure, ethereal veil.

      Enraptured, I now lie

      Where the Gods at one time

      Tried to hide their Elysium

      Jealously protecting

      Their frolicking capers.

      Glittering waves of loveliness

      Spread on the countryside,

      Its meadows, brooks and glens;

      They shudder with delight.

      The streams twinkle

      As the sun begins to drop toward

      The rim of the horizon.

      II

      In fullest glory, the heavens

      Supercilious, mocking,

      Smiling derisively

      At my humble verses,

      Allow their splendid drapery

      To cover up the Universe

      As Nature, terse, prudish,

      Hides human misery.

      Its decors are too sumptuous

      In the context

      Of perpetuity

      With somber recesses.

      There is too much splendor,

      Too much brightness

      Reflecting the infinity.

      The night is still,

      Cold, cruel and stark.

      Bare and pitiless as is Death

      Leaving a bitter aftertaste

      Of wasted hope.

      Night is Death’s precursor.

      But the resurrection

      Arrives always in time

      For escaping

      From the graveyards

      Of oblivion.

      I exist, but to what purpose?

      A sky beckons,

      I perceive a city’s echoes;

      I listen to its sounds,

      Ghostly, foreign and strange.

      Consciousness betrays me!

      Where am I? Should I know?

      I recall of a place

      Where I once felt

      Safe, young in years,

      Where I enjoyed

      Country and Home,

      Closer to the light of the sun.

      Destiny spoke, I had to go.

      What does it matter though?

      Only evasions and laments

      Respond to my query.

      Illusions, gossamer

      Fragments are what is left,

      Disconnected moments

      Remain, nothing but dreamy

      Thoughts and figments.

      May 29 1944

       -

      4 - PUSCHKAU

      Summer of 1944

      Free verses

      (Puschkau is a small town near Posen. With a group of friends, I took the train and we reached that lovely place in less than a half hour. We walked in the long and waving grass of the banks of the river Wartha, bordered by cooling woods. It was high summer and blond Lilia was of the party).

      Lilia is a lovely,

      Alluring, graceful child;

      She looks up, smiles at me,

      And I smile back.

      Often when she rests her eyes

      On me questing for her,

      They turn pensive and vague,

      With passion unaware

      And girlish dreaminess.

      She speaks, I hear her voice

      And listen not to her words;

      Her expression reflects

      Juvenile gentleness,

      Radiates the luminous

      Cobalt of her eyes,

      Clear as the summer skies.

      I cling to her nearness;

      And her youth resonates

      In my soul, reminds me

      Of my own. Her silky

      And golden locks caress

      My cheek. I catch her voice

      And her sweet breath, along

      With a treasured vision

      I carry in my heart,

      Later on in the eve, reclining

      Under the stars, my fancies start

      To relive my wishful thinking.

      Does this mean love?

      I wish it did!

      It surrounds me like a story,

      A soulful fairy tale!

      It cajoles my senses

      Like a warm day of lent,

      And confuses my mind.

      I nurture and sustain it,

      Ideal, a perfumed sentiment.

      Is this just another

      One of the imponderables

      Floating in the spring air,

      Reflecting volatile

      Imaginings evoked

      By sweet and cherished memories?

      Is it what God

      Meant when he invented

      Love? He created it

      So miraculously

      And marvelously beautiful,

      So weighty to the soul

      Of the lover. I hope

      She cares for me as much

      As I for her.

      Lilia, alluring, lovely

      Apparition;

      She smiles, glances at me,

      Or else, wistful, she seems

      To gaze into my soul,

      Her face reflects

      A pensive mood, vague desires

      Nurtured by unconscious

      And well contained passion.

      June 18 1944

       -

      5 - SAPPHIRE

      Free verses

      I

      Little girl with your golden hair,

      Your clear forehead, your skin so fair,

      Your lithe figure, your eyes of fire

      A color-flush of sapphire,

      Smiling, laughing; tell me indeed

      What is it that caused you

      To decide, adorable child,

      And make me so glad,

      So pleased, and then so sad?

      The breeze scatters my thoughts,

      Yet my every word sings

      Forth toward the soaring vaults

      Of the firmament, rings

      Like a front of profound

      And resonating sound.

      The sprites in the forest,

      Souls of the woods and trees

      Have told me a secret.

      That gladdens

      My heart,

      Revealing,

      And whispering

      To me words

      Of magic

      And mysticism.

      Discreet, the stream

      Flows by, reflects

      Back the words

      And loses them

      Among the trees

      Of the forest,

      Silent backdrop

      Of the clearing

      Where we play,

      The riverbank

      Where we hide,

      Seeking,

      Finding

      Each other.

       -

      6 - ECSTASIS

      Entranced by life and youngish love. I feel so rich

      As I taste the pleasure of your bewitching charm.

      Need I dream any more, for everything I feel

      Is elfish reverie: our woods, our stream.

      Sapphire: Lilia’s lips are a cascade of smiles,

      Her eyes hide desire and constant wondering.

      They never cease to awaken in me the wish

      To have her glance at me and make me smile in turn.

      Fate gave of its purest azure-blue to her gaze

      When she emerged into this world, maybe adding

      In each pupil a tiny star, a fiery gem

      Shining resplendently in her eyes’ limpid depth.

      Why daydream of passion: Our friendship binds us,

      As the adolescent that I am, I love her;

      Her wistfulness meets mine as we gently commune . . .

      A thunderstorm is near. Our world grows quiet.

      The sky turns menacing, growling its booms, throwing

      Its bolts, pouring its strings densely, its liquid sheets,

      Its drops are streams of pearls and glimmering jewels.

      What do I care of rain, of tempest and thunder?

      What concern are they to me? For I am enamored

      In Lilia’s charming self, and her voice sounds as clear

      As the radiant brightness of this clear August day;

      I simply stop thinking when I am close to her . . .

      Summer of 1944

       -

      7 - CHILDHOOD LOVE

      I

      Thousand marvels flow together,

      Met with timid reserve,

      In the fervent mind of the child

      Walking the early labyrinths,

      Facing the ever receding

      Horizons and stretches

      Infinite, as he sees

      Thousand and one dreams arising,

      Unfolding, dissolving,

      To disappear into

      The recesses of his psyche,

      Whence thoughts will later rise!

      This unique genesis

      Serves as the early guide

      To the emerging self

      Of the child, with

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