Favorite Poet?

[poppy]

The NZ poet Hone Tuwhare died this week aged 85. I love this poem by him.

 

Rain

I can hear you

making small holes

in the silence

rain

 

If I were deaf

the pores of my skin

would open to you

and shut

 

And I

should know you

by the lick of you

if I were blind

 

the something

special smell of you

when the sun cakes

the ground

 

the steady

drum-roll sound

you make

when the wind drops

 

But if I

should not hear

smell or feel or see

you

 

you would still

define me

disperse me

wash over me

rain

 

Hone Tuwhare

[shadow]

I love the poem 'Hope is the Thing With Feathers' by Emily Dickinson. Its a beautiful poem.

 

 

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune--without the words,

And never stops at all,

 

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

[Brandy79]

Pablo Neruda

 

I do not love you-except because i love you;

I go from loving to not loving you,

from waiting to not waiting for you

my heart moves from the cold into

 

the fire. I love you only because it's you

I love; I hate you on end, and hating you

bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you

is that i do not see you but love you

 

blindly. Maybe the January light will consume

my heart with its cruel

ray, stealing my key to true

 

calm. In this part of the story i am the one who

dies, the only one, and i will die of love because i love you,

because i love you, Love, in fire and in blood.

[Janet]

Does anyone know of a short poem - or even a few lines from a longer one - that might be appropriate to text to a friend who is feeling very depressed at the moment? Thanks in advance.

[Guest ii]

It's not a poem, and I don't know if this is quite what you're looking for, but someone once sent me the following lines when I was feeling down: Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain.

 

Then again, that's the same friend who wore a shirt with "'Gnome kicking says a lot about a man's character" written on it to a coctail party!

[Janet]

It's not a poem, and I don't know if this is quite what you're looking for, but someone once sent me the following lines when I was feeling down: Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain.

 

Then again, that's the same friend who wore a shirt with "'Gnome kicking says a lot about a man's character" written on it to a coctail party!

LOL @ the gnome shirt!

 

Thanks - I think those lines are perfect for one of her 'down' LJ entries. I will save them for future use (which will probably be very soon as she's very down at the moment. Thanks.

[~Andrea~]

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain.

 

Ooh I like that one ii.

 

Janet have you heard of the Desiderata (I think it's anonymous with Max Ehrman credited as recording it)

 

It's a bit long for a text message but you may get some good quotes from it, especially towards the end.

 

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain and bitter;

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

 

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

 

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

it is as perennial as the grass.

 

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,

be gentle with yourself.

 

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

[Janet]

Oh, that is absolutely perfect - thank you so much. I will PM her the following verses, I think. Thanks.

 

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

[~Andrea~]

You're welcome I hope it helps your friend.

[Guest]

Absolutely, without question, beyond all measure, Wilfred Owen.

[NiceguyEddie]

Auden, Eliot, Yeats, Larkin.

 

I think that this is possibly my favourite poem:

 

As I Walked Out One Evening by W. H. Auden

As I walked out one evening,

 

Walking down Bristol Street,

 

The crowds upon the pavement

 

Were fields of harvest wheat.

 

 

 

And down by the brimming river

 

I heard a lover sing

 

Under an arch of the railway:

 

'Love has no ending.

 

 

 

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you

 

Till China and Africa meet,

 

And the river jumps over the mountain

 

And the salmon sing in the street,

 

 

 

'I'll love you till the ocean

 

Is folded and hung up to dry

 

And the seven stars go squawking

 

Like geese about the sky.

 

 

 

'The years shall run like rabbits,

 

For in my arms I hold

 

The Flower of the Ages,

 

And the first love of the world.'

 

 

 

But all the clocks in the city

 

Began to whirr and chime:

 

'O let not Time deceive you,

 

You cannot conquer Time.

 

 

 

'In the burrows of the Nightmare

 

Where Justice naked is,

 

Time watches from the shadow

 

And coughs when you would kiss.

 

 

 

'In headaches and in worry

 

Vaguely life leaks away,

 

And Time will have his fancy

 

To-morrow or to-day.

 

 

 

'Into many a green valley

 

Drifts the appalling snow;

 

Time breaks the threaded dances

 

And the diver's brilliant bow.

 

 

 

'O plunge your hands in water,

 

Plunge them in up to the wrist;

 

Stare, stare in the basin

 

And wonder what you've missed.

 

 

 

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,

 

The desert sighs in the bed,

 

And the crack in the tea-cup opens

 

A lane to the land of the dead.

 

 

 

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes

 

And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,

 

And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,

 

And Jill goes down on her back.

 

 

 

'O look, look in the mirror,

 

O look in your distress:

 

Life remains a blessing

 

Although you cannot bless.

 

 

 

'O stand, stand at the window

 

As the tears scald and start;

 

You shall love your crooked neighbour

 

With your crooked heart.'

 

 

 

It was late, late in the evening,

 

The lovers they were gone;

 

The clocks had ceased their chiming,

 

And the deep river ran on.

[NiceguyEddie]

Or possibly this one:

 

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

 

S

[poppy]

I came across this war poem which really appeals to me.

 

NAMING OF PARTS by Henry Reed

 

To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,

We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,

We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,

To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica

Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,

And to-day we have naming of parts.

 

This is the lower sling swivel. And this

Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,

When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,

Which in your case you have not got. The branches

Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,

Which in our case we have not got.

 

This is the safety-catch, which is always released

With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me

See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy

If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms

Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see

Any of them using their finger.

 

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this

Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it

Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this

Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards

The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:

They call it easing the Spring.

 

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy

If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,

And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,

Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom

Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,

For to-day we have naming of parts.

[Guest Tiresias]

T. S. Eliot, S. T. Coleridge, Matthew Arnold, Keats, Pound (I try to remain cheerfully ignorant of his questionable politics), and of course Shakespeare.

[poppy]

One of my favourite poems is The River Merchant's Wife by Ezra Pound ( I know nothing about his questionable politics )

[Guest Tiresias]

Some people, poppy, have used the word, "anti-Semitism" in connection with Pound (not to mention Louis-Ferdinand Celine and T. S. Eliot!)

[poppy]

Ah, I see. It's surprising how often anti-Semitic attitudes show up in older writing. Must admit, it lowers my opinion of the author, as does any form of rascist writing.

[Val on the road]

I love Beat Poets such as Ginsberg and Kerouac, and of course French poets : Rimbaud, Apolinaire... I've read their works in original language and it's fabulous to read...

[shelbel]

Song writer and poet Leonard Cohen.

[Stephanie2008]

I did William Blake's Song's of Innocence and Experience for A Level last year and really enjoyed analysing them. I don't know why but I liked trying to make sense out of the simpleness of the poems. For GCSE I looked at Carol Ann Duffy and Simon Armitage and can remember really enjoying them too.

[Chrissy]

Carol Ann Duffy's 'Words, Wide Night' has got to be one of my favourite poems, it really had an impact on me at the first read, and still does.

 

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.

The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

 

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say it is sad?

In one of the tenses I am singing an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

 

La la la la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross to reach you,

 

For I am in love with you and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.

[MDR124]

Italian poets such as Dante or Petrarca are absoltely among my favourites.

[rach.at.the.disco]

I love that poem too Chrissy, I'm not really into poetry but that has to be one of my favourites. She was the first poet we studied at uni and the only one that I liked . Another of hers I really like is Valentine:

 

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

 

I give you an onion.

It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.

It promises light

like the careful undressing of love.

 

Here.

It will blind you with tears

like a lover.

It will make your reflection

a wobbling photo of grief.

 

I am trying to be truthful.

 

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

 

I give you an onion.

Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,

possessive and faithful

as we are,

for as long as we are.

 

Take it.

Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,

if you like.

 

Lethal.

Its scent will cling to your fingers,

cling to your knife.

[Chrissy]

There's something strangely unsentimental about her writing. The two here have a realism and rough edge to them, that makes them more passionate, more knowing somehow. I do like her work!

[BookJumper]

There's too many to pick just the one. Am I allowed four? If so they'd be William Shakespeare, John Milton, Lord Byron, Walt Whitman.