The Accademia di Melioria held its first open poetry reading today. The experiment proved quite successful, with a diverse group of literary enthusiasts sharing poems (both in chat and in Voice), written by authors from a variety of time periods and nations.

The small group of friends who attended enjoyed themselves reading and discussing pieces they had brought. In addition to some poems from outside the time period of the Enlightenment (Petrarch and Beaudelaire), a number of 17th and 18th century works were shared among the group.

Below are are some of those that were read:

The Tarentina Girl, by Andre' Chenier (France, late 18th century)

Weep, sweet halcyons, O you sweet holy birds,

You love birds of Thetis, sweet halcyons, do weep.

She was alive, Myrto, the Tarentina girl,

A board a ship to Camarina shores:

There a wedding, songs and flutes , slowly

Were to lead her back to her lovers threshold.

A careful key for this journey had locked

In a cedar box her wedding dress,

and gold she was to wear for the ceremony,

and perfumes meant for her blond locks.

But alone at the prow, wishing on the stars,

An ill wind blowing in the sails wrapped her up.

Abashed, and afar from sailors,

She cries, she falls, she lays within the waves.

She lays within the waves, the Tarentina girl.

Her body so fair has rolled under the surf,

Thetis, eyes in tears, took care to hide her

From devouring sea monsters, in a caves shelter .

Soon, by her order, the dainty Nereids

Lift her above these damp hollows,

Carry her to the shore, at Zephyr cape,

And there gently lay her by this burial mound.

Then shouting loud in the distance, calling their friends

And the Nymphs of the woods, and springs, and mountains,

All beating their own breasts in long mourning,

Go repeating Alas! around her grave.

Alas! To your lover no one brought you back,

You ll never wear your wedding dress,

Gold jewels were not fastened around your arms,

And sweet perfumes did not embalm your hair

Weep, sweet halcyons, O you sweet holy birds,

You love birds of Thetis, sweet halcyons, do weep.

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Stellas Birthday 1718, by Jonathan Swift (Ireland, early 18th century)

Stella this day is thirty-four
(We shan't dispute a year or more)
However, Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy size and years are doubled
Since first I saw thee at sixteen,
The brightest virgin on the green.
So little is thy form declined;
Made up so largely in thy mind.
Oh, would it please the gods to split
Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit,
No age could furnish out a pair
Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair:
With half the lustre of your eyes,
With half your wit, your years, and size.
And then, before it grew too late,
How should I beg of gentle fate,
(That either nymph might lack her swain),
To split my worship too in twain.

******************

Green Grow the Rashes, Robert Burns, (Scotland, 18th century)

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Take the name of the swain a forlorn witless elf
Who was chang'd to a flow'r for admiring himself.
A part deem'd essential in each lady's dress:
With what maidens cry, when they wish to say yes.
A lullabye carriage soft cozy & light:
With the name of the poet who sang on the night.
The queen of Cairo, all lovely and winning
Whose blandishments ever kept Antony grinning.
The flow'r whose odours unremittingly please:
With the glory of forests, the king of the trees.
To the prince of the fairies, a jealous old knave,
Put the name of the tree that undid mother Eve.
To finish the whole add that period of day,
When the linnet & thrush to repose hie away.

The initials of these, if adjusted with care,
Will show you the fairest where thousands are fair.
The sweet, pretty graces still hover about her,
And Cupid would die with vexation without her.

When she swims in the dance or wherever she goes
She's crowded by witlings, plain-fellows & beaux
Who throng at her elbow & tread on her toes.

If a pin or a hankerchief happen to fall
To seize on the prise fills with uproar the hall:
Such pulling and hawling & shoving & pushing
As rivals the racket of 'key & the cushion;'
And happy- thrice happy! too happy! the swain
Who can replace the pin or bandana again.

Tho the fellows surround & so humbly adore her
The girls on the contrary cannot endure her;
Her beauty their beauty forever disgraces
And her sweeter face still eclipses their faces.
For no lov'ly girl can a lov'ly girl bear
And fair-ones are ever at war with the fair.