#Hugh Mearns

[geekpopnews]

Dia Mundial da Poesia | Conheça poesias que inspiraram músicas

No Dia Mundial da Poesia, selecionamos alguns artistas que transformaram poesia em músicas. Confira:

No Dia Mundial da Poesia, celebrado em 21 de março, mergulhamos no universo da música para explorar como as poesias influenciam e inspiram composições inesquecíveis. Das baladas melancólicas aos ritmos vibrantes, a junção entre poesia e música revela-se como uma fonte infinita de arte. Por isso, elaboramos essa lista com músicas que inspiradas em versos poéticos, com artistas nacionais e…

[liminalflares]

Yesterday upon the stair I met a man who wasn’t there He wasn’t there again today I wish, I wish he’d go away… When I came home last night at three, The man was waiting there for me But when I looked around the hall, I couldn’t see him there at all! Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more! Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door… Last night I saw upon the stair, A little man who wasn’t there, He wasn’t there again today Oh, how I wish he’d go away…

—William Hughes Mearns, “Antigonish”

[unapologticallyqueer]

Yesterday, upon the stair,

I met a man who wasn't there

He wasn't there again today

I wish, I wish he'd go away...

When I came home last night at three

The man was waiting there for me

But when I looked around the hall

I couldn't see him there at all!

Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!

Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door... (slam!)

Last night I saw upon the stair

A little man who wasn't there

He wasn't there again today

Oh, how I wish he'd go away...

- Antigonish, Hughes Mearns

[onebluebookworm]

31 Days of Literary Spookiness: Poetry Edition - October 12

Image Source

“Antigonish” by William Hughes Mearns

As I was going up the stair I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!

[rh35211]

Yesterday, upon the stair/I met a man who wasn’t there/He wasn’t there again today/I wish, I wish he’d go away…

[mustfindcreativeusername]

You know that poem with "Yesterday upon the stair/ I met a man who wasn't there" ?

It's called "Antigonish". Written by Hughes Mearns.

You can read it here

Anyway, here it is translated in Romanian:

Antigonish (un om ce nu era)

Ieri pe scară-n casa mea

Văzui un om ce nu era.

Azi nu era acolo iară

Mă rog, mă rog ca să dispară.

Când m-am întors la trei noaptea

Omul pe mine m-aștepta

Dar când prin jur l-am căutat

Nu l-am văzut, cât m-am uitat!

Vreau să pleci, vreau să pleci, nu-ți mai face apariția!

Vreau să pleci, vreau să pleci, și nu-mi trânti ușița...

Noaptea văzui pe scara mea

Un omuleț ce nu era.

Azi nu era acolo iară

Oh cât mă rog ca să dispară...

[ask-a-gotham-mortician]

[bustedbeing]

"The Vinegar Saint" , by Hughes Mearns Illustrated by Ralph L. Boyer, Copyright 1919

[thetidemice]

Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there He wasn't there again today I wish, I wish he'd go away... When I came home last night at three The man was waiting there for me But when I looked around the hall I couldn't see him there at all!

text from Antigonish [I met a man who wasn't there] by William Hughes Mearnes, monotype print w digital touch-ups

textless versions under the cut

[dragonymango]

Antigonish - by Hughes Mearns

[uraniumdaydreams]

I Met A Man

This one was inspired by Antigonish by Hughes Mearns.

I met a man upon the stair,

He spoke to me with ashen hair.

I did not know that he was there,

Oh, who am I to care?

I met a man who spoke of the weather,

Or of the fields and the thresher,

He told me of the starlight lesser,

While I wondered how I ever?

I met a man who spoke of wine,

How the red liquor shimmers and shines.

Out in the fields and among the vines,

Drowning in a lake of brine.

I met a man with gemstones fine,

He told me of the river Rhine.

Oh how was this great design,

Ever one to become mine?

I met a man with ruby eyes,

As he spoke his sweet and sickly lies.

As we walked between the pines,

And the heavens fell from the skies.

I met a man of two and one,

Who told me of his long-lost son.

The boy who could sing and run,

The boy who sang the world undone.

I met a man of fire and ice,

And he told me of the heights.

A windy place of valor and knights,

And I must say that he looked nice.

I met a man upon the stair,

He spoke to me with ashen hair.

I ask myself was he really there?

Or was he merely a false prayer?

[sophiathesorceress]

Antigonish- A poem by Hughes Mearns

As I was going up the stair

I met a man who wasn't there

He wasn't there again today

Oh, how I wish he'd go away-

Hugh Mearns

[shh-the-artist-is-sleeping]

MAG 85 - Upon the Stair

I started this a year ago, and I finally decided to finish it.

The poem used in the episode is Antagonish by Hughes Mearne

[helloliriels]

ANTAGONISH

"As I was walking up the stair,

. I met a man who wasn't there.

He wasn't there again today.

. I wish, I wish ... he'd go away."

. - William a Hughes Mearns

.

John had stepped into the flat only a handful of times since Sherlock's demise.

The pain of memories ... happy, whole, perfect memories ... too much to bear.

It was empty now. Their flat.

. Theirs.

. And it had been.

Once.

.

John steeled himself for what he was to face - going up those seventeen steps ...

The unshakable feeling that if he was just to turn around ... ?

Sherlock would be right behind him.

Coming up the stairs.

That if he turned back around ... Sherlock would be before him.

Beckoning him home.

.

John huffed a laugh.

Foolish.

His childish imagination.

But the last time he had been here, he could have sworn ...

.

He took one last look around to confirm that the hall and the landing were, in fact, empty.

Then he took a firm step forward. One.

Then two. Three.

.

He paused.

The hair on the back of his neck rising.

Shaking his head against the urge to look.

.

Don't turn around ...

. Don't turn around ...

. Don't turn.

.

He took another step.

Willing himself to keep moving.

.

A creak on a stair below him.

He isn't there ...

.

The echo of a step ...

Stop it!

.

John froze. Willing his eyes to stay downcast on his own shoes. He studied them. As worn and haphazard as his hope ...

Then forced himself once more, to move.

.

Three more steps. Two more steps. One.

His hand reached out for the door to 221B.

He took a deep breath.

.

This time the step behind him on the stair, was unmistakable ...

As was the fall of a large hand onto the wooden railing below.

.

"Sherlock?"

.

John spoke the name aloud before he could stop himself.

The stairwell was silent.

John's grip on the door handle tightened.

The tears stinging at the corners of his eyes ...

.

He took another deep breath.

His imagination.

Just his imagination ...

A wild, hopeful, god damned wishful and desperately-longing-for-all-of-this-to-be-just-a-magic-trick imagination ... begging the universe not for an empty stairwell ...

... but for an empty grave.

.

"I asked you for one more miracle," John told the air.

Oddly. The confession seemed to help quiet his nerves.

He looked up. Pinpointing the light of the setting sun.

"I asked you not to be dead."

He knew the words were final. Closure.

.

Somehow ... the air in the hall itself, held its breath ...

.

Then he heard a gasp.

And a heavy step below him.

Accompanied by the very real feeling ... Unmistakable.

That of a warm hand moving along a polished wooden rail. The slightest friction echoing up the stairs ...

.

John tried to steady his heart rate. His pulse thrumming in his ears, nearly drowning out the sound ... If it even had been real ...?

Sherlock's voice broke the silence next, barely a whisper ...

. "I heard you."

.

It sounded unsteady ... shaky ...

. fragile ... ?

Like a ghost.

.

But the next thing he heard was a very real hiss of pain, shattering his illusions ... even as he felt the thud of a body collapsing onto the stairs below.

John was down the stairs in seconds.

Gathering the long-missing detective into his arms. Every sense taking in and cataloguing what his eyes could not yet believe ...

(... continued below the cut)

"Sherlock? Oh, God - Sherlock!" John cradled his friend closer, rocking him into a better position where he could check him for wounds ... for anything he could do to help alleviate his pain ...?

He couldn't make out was cause of Sherlock's distress, but the man was fading into unconsciousness.

"Just ... hold on, Sherlock!" John commanded hauling Sherlock up into his arms.

Despite Sherlock's thin stature, he had been almost pure muscle before, but now ... John didn't want to think about how Sherlock could have lost this much weight in the time he had been away?

He was real. He was here. That was all that mattered.

John found the strength to carry whatever weight Sherlock had, gladly.

.

Upstairs, he tucked Sherlock into a bed that lay fitted and ready for use as if he had never left it ... and then stared at the sight in wonder.

Sherlock was alive. Sherlock was home.

John felt Sherlock shift and those crystal blue eyes blinked open for a moment. He could see Sherlock fought against the sleep that desperately wanted to overtake him.

How tired was he ... ?

John shushed him and managed to settle him back down. Watching as his friend's demeanor relaxed. His eyes closed, and his breathing evened out ...

Seconds passed. Minutes.

Maybe hours.

When John felt Sherlock's hand reach out in his sleep ... and grasp for his hand.

"... John, I ..."

The baritone voice poured into John's veins. Hot liquid. More valuable than blood. More heady than pure oxygen. Speeding up his heart rate again ...

"... I heard you," Sherlock sighed with relief, "I heard you ..."

.

John sighed too.

. Sherlock was dreaming.

This time ... John knew he wasn't the only one wishing for an empty grave. A successful magic trick.

They were both experiencing a miracle.

John gripped Sherlock's hand firmly, caressing the knuckles as he watched his miracle ...

. Sleep.

.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @whumptober

@johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @totallysilvergirl @gregorovitchworld @lisbeth-kk @john-smiths-jawline @chinike @rhasima @calaisreno @discordantwords @raina-at @kettykika78 @khorazir @hasenkind687 @iwlyanmw @missdeliadili @safedistancefrombeingsmart @iamjustreading @jobooksncoffee @topsyturvy-turtely @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear @amyreadsandstresses @shiplocks-of-love @caffeinatedanxiouscucumber @timberva @colourfulwatson @arwamachine @peageetibbs @meetinginsamarra @whatnext2020 @purplevatican @ineffableuser @estrella-creek @k2ntwo @kaursblog11 @mrb488 @justanobsessedpan @gaylilsherlock @sarahthecoat @7-percent @lillysliterature @ninasnakie @the-reading-lemon @a-victorian-girl @wizama @jawnscoffee @13monkton ... I'm getting back into writing, go easy on me!

[thislittleguylikes]

SPOILERS FOR ISAT ACT 5! The poem is Antagonish by Hughes Mearns, and it's what I started thinking about come Act 5 in ISAT. soooo I drew'd it.