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Forums - General Discussion - Let's talk poetry

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1. 2 May 2012 09:33

Radrook

Anything about poetry can be posted here.
Your favorite poem
A poem you wrote and want our opinion on.
Discuss a favorite poet.
Limerick challenges
You decide.

BTW
Regardless of lack response which I alread anticlipate, I will keep this thread active by posting poetry material once a day.

That is a promise.

Why? I enjoy it. : )

2. 2 May 2012 09:39

Radrook

The Road Not Taken


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

3. 2 May 2012 18:56

Chrissyjoy

Think draw is a brilliant site,
But sadly, try hard as I might
I'm struggling to find the time,
So will have to make do with this rhyme.

4. 2 May 2012 19:30

Radrook

Acquainted with the night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain --and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Robert Frost

5. 3 May 2012 09:21

Radrook



A narrow Fellow in the Grass by Emily Dickinson



A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides --
You may have met Him -- did you not
His notice sudden is --

The Grass divides as with a Comb --
A spotted shaft is seen --
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on --

He likes a Boggy Acre
A Floor too cool for Corn --
Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot --
I more than once at Noon
Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled, and was gone --

Several of Nature's People
I know, and they know me --
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality --

But never met this Fellow
Attended, or alone
Without a tighter breathing
And Zero at the Bone --
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6. 4 May 2012 02:48

Radrook

Alfred Tennyson, 1809-1892
"Mariana"
from Poems, Chiefly Lyrical (London: Effingham Wilson, 1830).



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


& quot;Mariana in the moated Grange."--Measure for Measure.

WITH blackest moss the flowerplots
Were thickly crusted, one and all,
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the peach to the gardenwall.
The broken sheds looked sad and strange,
Unlifted was the clinking latch,
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said; 10
She said, "I am aweary, aweary;
I would that I were dead!"

II.
Her tears fell with the dews at even,
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried,
She could not look on the sweet heaven,
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casementcurtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats. 20
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said:
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

III.
Upon the middle of the night,
Waking she heard the nightfowl crow:
The cock sung out an hour ere light:
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her: without hope of change,
In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn, 30
Till cold winds woke the grey-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "The day is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

IV.
About a stonecast from the wall,
A sluice with blackened waters slept,
And o'er it many, round and small,
The clustered marishmosses crept. 40
Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silvergreen with gnarled bark,
For leagues no other tree did dark
The level waste, the rounding grey.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

V.
And ever when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up an' away, 50
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the gusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low,
And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!" 60

VI.
All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creaked;
The blue fly sung i' the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked,
Or from the crevice peer'd about.
Old faces glimmered through the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices called her from without.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said; 70
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

VII.
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound
Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thickmoted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Downsloped was westering in his bower. 80
Then, said she, "I am very dreary,
He will not come," she said;
She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,
Oh God, that I were dead!"

7. 4 May 2012 04:17

chelydra

Hi Chrissy - I actually did see your poem and enjoyed it very much thank you!
It was so perfect it didn't seem to call for any commentary. Here's one I wrote at 13 or 14 - not exactly a poem, but it's all i can remember that I've written, and I fear my poetizing days are behind me:

That's it,
Blame it on the Eskimos.
Or are you an Eskimo?


It has a story behind it but I only noticed the connection many years later... The head of the school I was attending had, a couple of years previously, asked me what I liked to read, and I answered Uncle Scrooge comics. He looked disappointed if not disgusted and replied: if you act like an Eskimo and eat like and Eskimo etc etc eventually you will be an Eskimo. I had no idea what the #@&* he was talking about, not sure I do now. (It would have made a little more sense if he'd said I'd turn into a duck.) But anyway I think that not-exactly-poem must have been my reply... My very best (and second-saddest) real-life story also involves an Eskimo, who I met many years ago, but I should save it for another time.

8. 4 May 2012 04:31

chelydra

Just noticed Tennyson above... I had a grandmother who would recite The Charge of the Light Brigade (hundreds of lines it seemed) at the drop of a hat: Onward, onward, rode the Four hundred / Ours is not to question why / Ours is but to do or die...

I haven't tried to compose an original poem in I don't know how long, but I just remembered some very free translations (with lots of cheating to figure out all the German) from Frederich Holderlin who sometimes signed his poems Savinelli and sometimes gave them dates in the 1960s, although he was born in 1770... Mine are only tenuously connected to the originals, but most of truly bizarre bits are Holderlin's...

Summer

Clouds drift quietly. A brook glides,
Splashing softly, through
A meadow’s wavering radiance.
The days go wandering into the hills
Where their hot golden anthem
Fades to lavender, cools to silence,
Erased by haze.


Autumn

Harvest time: Time harvested.
Time devours itself.
Old gods scurry off in a stiff breeze.
Spirit becomes human,
And the earth does not get lost at night


Winter

Wet gales in pale grass
through winter’s duration:
An empty canvas,
an unanswered question.
Spring
Out of the depths,
The spring comes leaping
Into life, in joy, in song rising.
Life comes to itself
through the circle of seasons.
Nature takes walks with your mind.

9. 4 May 2012 05:00

chelydra

Curses! Now if we only had an edit option, like Radrook suggested, I could just put int he spaces I left out instead of hogging all this extra space here... Can't tolerate having them jammed together like that, sorry.



Winter

Wet gales in pale grass
through winter’s duration:
An empty canvas,
an unanswered question.




Spring

Out of the depths,
The spring comes leaping
Into life, in joy, in song rising.
Life comes to itself
through the circle of seasons.
Nature takes walks with your mind.




-------------------

This is another Holderlin below. I came across it at 16 (in a great translation in an obscure magazine, my only copy long since lost) and it haunted me for years. First the original, then three different translations. The first translation is my effort to offer a sort of lowest-common-denominator of standard translations (none of which are all that great, except the one I lost), and then there are two by James Dalgleish, who unlike me is a serious and respected poet, and does know German—he wrote his without having seen any other translations. (His are copyright 2004 by JD, reprinted here with author's permission, but don't take them beyond this point please.)



Hälfte des Lebens

Mit gelben Birnen haenget
Und voll mit wilden Rosen
Das Land in den See,
Ihr holden Schwaene,
Und trunken von Kuessen
Tunkt ihr das Haupt
Ins heilignuchterne Wasser.
Weh mir, wo nehm ich, wenn
Es Winter ist, die Blumen, und wo
Den Sonnenschein,
Und Schatten der Erde?
Die Mauern stehn
Sprachlos und kalt, im Winde
Klirren die Fahnen.


Midlife Crisis

Golden pears hang heavy
Roses grow wild
Land slides into the lake.
Sensuous swans, drunk with kisses,
dip lightly into this holy, sobering water.
Bloody hell, when winter comes, what then?
Where then to find these flowers, this sunlight and
these shadows?
Where will this Earth hide?
Stone walls stand mute
and cold in the wind
the banners clatter.


Half-Life (version 1 by JD)

With yellow pearen hangeth
And full with wild rosen
The land into the mere,
Ye fair swanen,
And y-drunk of kissen
Dip ye the head
In the holy maiden water.
Ah me, where take I, if
It winter is, the flowers,
and where
The sunshine,
And shadow of the earth?
The walls standen
Wordless and cold, in the wind
The flag[ges] clink, tinkle, rattle,
clash, jangle, crackle or crunch.



Half-Life (version 2 by JD)

Dogroses throng
And heavy yellow pears
Overhang the lake.
Orgy-drunken swans
Dip at last beneath
The virgin surface.
Vae mihi, ubi fero
Si hiems est, flora haec,
Et ubi
Lucem solis
Et tenebras terrae?
Muti stant muri
Et f r i g i d i. In ventu
Rumor tufarum.

10. 4 May 2012 05:12

chelydra

It would be unfair to Dalgleish not to mention that (a) his translations were done as an assignment in a college course several years back, (b) he didn't actually like the assigned poem all that much, and (c) these translations should not be mistaken for representative samples of his own poetry. (Maybe I wrangle permission to post one of his real poems here at some point.)

11. 4 May 2012 05:38

Radrook

Thanks for the contributions of the beautiful poems Chel. Please feel free to post any that you wish. Also, thanks for the interesting backround info you provide with the poetry!

Kind Regards Radrook.

12. 4 May 2012 12:55

chelydra

You're welcome, Mr Radrook.

I left out an important bit - I think it's important anyway - which is that the author/translator of "Half-Life Version 2 by JD" informs me that one must be read aloud. Once I did that, I felt it really was on the level of JD's own fine poetry. You shouldn't have any trouble seeing what his words mean. Some like "f r i g i d i" (the extra spaces are JD's) are obvious, and the rest you can figure out. Interesting to see that "rumor" seems to be the whispering and flapping of windblown flags. And since this piece now has the status of JD's "real" poetry, please be sure to respect that too-informal copyright notice I tucked into one of the messages above. It should apply to my seasonal semi-translations too, at least until someone convinces me they're rubbish.

13. 5 May 2012 04:39

Radrook

So how do you interpret the poem's imagery in relation to a mid-life crisis Chel? I was tempted to but wanted your view first.

14. 5 May 2012 15:00

Radrook

This is dedicated to all those at life's late evening who are contemplating the what they might view as an approaching, infinite, everlasting night. It also brings memory of my father who recently passed on.


Do not go gentle into that good night
by Dylan Thomas



Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

15. 5 May 2012 15:01

Radrook

Edit: This is dedicated to all those at life's late evening who are contemplating what they might view as an approaching, infinite, everlasting night

16. 27 May 2012 08:04

Bertie

Hi there .... I hope I've posted this in the right place?

The Green Eyed Monster

It raises up its ugly head
Disfigured and distorted
Narrow eyes grow larger
And bitter mouth contorted
Snarls and sneers at everyone
That dares get in its way
Closing mind as well as ears
To what others have to say
Its face becomes twisted
Like a gargoyle of stone
“Nobody likes me”
It’s often heard to moan
Convinced that others lives
Are far richer than its own
A gnarled finger pointing
And resentment has grown
It isolates itself from everyone
A grotesque image sad but true
Wondering why it sits all alone
Pernicious ideas permeating through
Negativity eating at its very soul
The green eyed monster’s jaundiced view

©Marian Barker

17. 14 Oct 2013 07:08

Radrook

Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms - Thomas Moore


Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,

Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;

No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.





------------------------------------------------------------------------------ --





18. 14 Oct 2013 07:32

Radrook

A Red, Red Rose - Robert Burns








O MY Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June!
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune!

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry—

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

19. 14 Oct 2013 17:39

Radrook

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

1.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

2.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

3.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

4.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

5.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

6.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.


Copied from Poems of Alfred Tennyson,
J. E. Tilton and Company, Boston, 1870

20. 23 Oct 2013 10:33

Radrook

Hi there .... I hope I've posted this in the right place?

The Green Eyed Monster

It raises up its ugly head
Disfigured and distorted
Narrow eyes grow larger
And bitter mouth contorted
Snarls and sneers at everyone
That dares get in its way
Closing mind as well as ears
To what others have to say
Its face becomes twisted
Like a gargoyle of stone
“Nobody likes me”
It’s often heard to moan
Convinced that others lives
Are far richer than its own
A gnarled finger pointing
And resentment has grown
It isolates itself from everyone
A grotesque image sad but true
Wondering why it sits all alone
Pernicious ideas permeating through
Negativity eating at its very soul
The green eyed monster’s jaundiced view

©Marian Barker




Judging Others

Matthew 7:1-5 ESV / 2,412 helpful votes

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Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment.”

James 4:11-12 ESV / 1,026 helpful votes

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Matthew 7:5 ESV / 449 helpful votes

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John 8:7 ESV / 357 helpful votes

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Matthew 7:1-29 ESV / 222 helpful votes

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