Hyperion

Joakim Bergen

Must you walk up on so high,

Hyperion, fatherly titan? Up

There, in wuthering heights,

Which leave me, a mere mortal,

Breathless and hopelessly blind?

Oh, to catch a glimpse of your

Cape, honey-gold, and the sight

Of your waving gilded hair! You

Carry on your godly duties, holy

Son of the Sun, as you've for

Millenia. Dost thou tire, Sun-Son?

Doth thine fire ever wane? And

Your love for Man, ever-burning;

Will it, extinguished, leave us

In eternal night? Father! Of ages

Ancient I have learned, of olden

Ways have I heard in song and

Prose; the golden Athens, brave

Sparta and the Olympus, godly

Mountain, Sun-kissed kingdom

Of Divinity! Yet, oft we forget

Our forefathers' glory and woe;

In ignorance we repeat misdeeds

Foretold by history, thinking

Ourselves better, greater, wiser.

What fools we are, to forsake

Your guiding hand, Holy Father!

And the Spirit, which once walked

Among us, all-animating, heavenly

Vigour; dead! No more doth forests

Echo life, no more do seas foam with

Love; and the sky, holy ground of gods,

Shakes no more in thunderous roars!

Oh Life, son of Love; your flowers

Wilt. Shall I fashion a funerary garland

Out of these roses, last kisses of Heaven?

Hyperion! The day bleeds black, the night

Envelops us; forever dead, forever sad.

  • Author: Joakim Bergen (Offline Offline)
  • Published: October 6th, 2023 02:59
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 0
  • Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
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Comments1

  • L. B. Mek

    Thank you! What a brilliant poem
    an ode that does justice
    To one of my favourite poems
    from my absolute favourite Poet
    (forgive me
    if I'm mistaken and you're not
    referring to Keats' great!)
    'Deep in the shady sadness of a vale
    Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
    Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
    Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
    Still as the silence round about his lair;
    Forest on forest hung about his head
    Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
    Not so much life as on a summer's day
    Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
    But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
    A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
    By reason of his fallen divinity
    Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds
    Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.'

    'She laid, and to the level of his ear
    Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake
    In solemn tenour and deep organ tone:
    Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue
    Would come in these like accents; O how frail
    To that large utterance of the early Gods!
    "Saturn, look up!—though wherefore, poor old King?
    I have no comfort for thee, no not one:
    I cannot say, "O wherefore sleepest thou?"
    For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth
    Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God;
    And ocean too, with all its solemn noise,
    Has from thy sceptre pass'd; and all the air
    Is emptied of thine hoary majesty.
    Thy thunder, conscious of the new command,
    Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house;
    And thy sharp lightning in unpractis'd hands
    Scorches and burns our once serene domain.
    O aching time! O moments big as years!
    All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth,
    And press it so upon our weary griefs
    That unbelief has not a space to breathe.'

    • Joakim Bergen

      I know of Keats' poetry, and have read most of it, but when I was writing this one, Keats wasn't on my mind. Still, I am glad my poem reminds you of one of the greatest poets of English language. It's a huge compliment. Thank you!



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