May 26, 1828 by Alexander Pushkin

Gift haphazard, unavailing,

Life, why wert thou given to me?

Why art thou to death unfailing

Sentencing by dark destiny?

 

Who in harsh despotic fashion

Once from Nothing called me out,

Filled my soul with burning passion

Vexed and shook my mind with doubt?

 

I can see no goal before me:

Empty heart and idle mind.

life monotonously o’er me

Roars, and leaves a wound behind.

 

by Александр Сергеевич Пушкин (Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin)

translated by C. M. Bowra

This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you.

 

But they were fucked up in their turn

By fools in old-style hats and coats,

Who half the time were soppy-stern

And half at one another’s throats.

 

Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

And don’t have any kids yourself.

 

by Philip Larkin ( 1922 – 1980)

The Sunlight On The Garden by Louis MacNeice

The sunlight on the garden

Hardens and grows cold,

We cannot cage the minute

Within its nets of gold,

When all is told

We cannot beg for pardon.

 

Our freedom as free lances

Advances towards its end;

The earth compels, upon it

Sonnets and birds descend;

And soon, my friend,

We shall have no time for dances.

 

The sky was good for flying

Defying the church bells

And every evil iron

Siren and what it tells:

The earth compels,

We are dying, Egypt, dying

 

And not expecting pardon,

Hardened in heart anew,

But glad to have sat under

Thunder and rain with you,

And grateful too

For sunlight on the garden.

 

by Louis MacNeice (1907 – 1963)

Eyes Look Into The Well by W. H. Auden

Eyes look into the well

Tears run down from the eye;

The tower cracked and fell

From the quiet winter sky.

 

Under a midnight stone

Love was buried by thieves;

The robbed heart begs for a bone,

The damned rustle like leaves.

 

Face down in the flooded brook

With nothing more to say,

Lies One the soldiers took,

And spoiled and threw away.

 

by W.H. Auden (1940)

In The Gardens In The Rhondda by Idris Davies

In the gardens in the Rhondda

The daffodils dance and shine

When tired men trudge homeward

From factory and mine.

 

The daffodils dance in the gardens

Behind the grim brown row

Built amongst the slagheaps

In a hurry long ago.

 

They dance as though in passion

To shame and to indict

The brutes who built so basely

In the long Victorian night.

 

by Idris Davies

The Land Of The Bumbley Boo by Spike Milligan

In the Land of the Bumbley Boo

The people are red white and blue,

They never blow noses,

Or ever wear closes,

What a sensible thing to do!

 

In the Land of the Bumbley Boo

You can buy Lemon pie at the Zoo;

They give away Foxes

In little Pink Boxes

And Bottles of Dandylion Stew.

 

In the Land of the Bumbley Boo

You never see a Gnu,

But thousands of cats

Wearing trousers and hats

Made of Pumpkins and Pelican Glue!

 

Chorus

Oh, the Bumbley Boo! the Bumbley Boo!

That’s the place for me and you!

So hurry! Let’s run!

The train leaves at one!

For the Land of the Bumbley Boo!

The wonderful Bumbley Boo-Boo-Boo!

The Wonderful Beumbley Boo!!!

 

by Spike Milligan

Just Supposing by Eric Finney

Supposing…

A sinister spacecraft came down on the field,

And a hatch in the saucer slid back and revealed –

A nightmare of Martians, all grey and green streaks,

And they each had three legs and three eyes and three beaks!

Then, wobbling weirdly, one came right across

And in Martian demanded to speak to the boss.

So we led him in school, to the headmaster’s door,

And we knocked, and he opened, and then when he saw –

His eyeballs fell out with a plop on the floor!

 

Or supposing…

A crack opened up in the soccer field grass,

And rapidly grew to a yawning crevasse,

And the school was engulfed in the awful abyss:

The goalposts, the classrooms, the teachers – all this

Went helplessly into that opening jaw,

All hurting down towards earth’s fiery core,

And everything burned to a crisp – except me,

I escaped from the furnace. But how? Let me see…

I felt the inferno; came close to heart-failure!

But I fell through the world and came out in Australia!

 

by Eric Finney