Author Topic: Poetry Page  (Read 457498 times)

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4960 on: November 25, 2017, 04:36:42 PM »
Welcome to our Poetry Page.

Our haven for those who listen to words that open our heart, imagination, and our feelings about the poems we share.
 This is our continuing tradition. Please join us!



Winter Afternoon ~ John Nash
“What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why”
By Edna St. Vincent Millay

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

A Few Winter Poems


Discussion Leader: BarbStAubrey

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4961 on: November 25, 2017, 05:10:43 PM »

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4962 on: November 26, 2017, 11:31:47 PM »
The Edna St. Vincent Millay poem is beautiful. Lately or for the last couple of years I have thought often of "ghosts." I don't think "ghosts" follow us in our early years. Well, maybe... It's just the fact that now so many family and friends are gone for one reason or another reason. Some people believe ghosts should go behind a locked door in the basement. I can't decide whether to befriend them or go away from them.  :-\

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4963 on: November 30, 2017, 01:47:11 PM »

the wood between: Rostislav Popsky
The Roof
By Cathal McCabe

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BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4964 on: December 01, 2017, 12:40:00 PM »

Moon Winter Woolies ~ Lisa Graa Jensen
winter moon

Descending December
the sun fades to its last burning ember
distant days of August we vaguely remember
with food running low from the harvests in September
can we hunt enough to feed each and every member

how many will we lose within our little commune
and to think there's still two months until the Hunger Moon

Magnificent May
I ask for you and begin to pray
bring to us your warmth and lengthen the day
for I fear we can no longer survive in this way
we've already lost great numbers leaving my people in dismay

The howls roll in from the hills and I feel like a complete buffoon
did I truly believe this prayer could hold off the Wolf's Moon

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4965 on: December 01, 2017, 04:07:32 PM »




. Learn from the Pine ! .
       by Matsuo Basho

To do that you must leave behind you all subjective prejudice.
Otherwise you will force your own self onto the object
and can learn nothing from it.

Your poem will well-up of its own accord
when you and the object become one,
when you dive deep enough into the object,
to discover something of its hidden glimmer.

PatH

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4966 on: December 01, 2017, 09:37:50 PM »
Barb, who is the artist of the picture accompanying Winter Moon?  I really like it.

And Basho is a favorite of mine.  I mostly know his haiku, and Learn from the Pine perfectly says the way he surely must construct them.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4967 on: December 02, 2017, 01:28:05 AM »
Whoops thanks for asking Pat, the last two I put a space where there should not have been one and neither artist showed - fixed now. 

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4968 on: December 07, 2017, 03:17:19 AM »
To become one with an object means you completely understand its properties and feel you are similar with it in many ways, right? I've never experienced such closeness with a piece of driftwood, a Japanese fan or a rolling pin in the kitchen. Of all the times my family and I have visited beaches, I didn't take time to just sway with the ocean, sit on the sand and admire it. Instead, I walked quickly down the beach. Looked at other people on their beach towels and admired sand castles. Time wasted. There is a definite desire within me to experience what Basho experienced time after time in his life and spoke about in this poem. How did he do it? If you have done it, how did you do it? How long does it take to get to that change, back and forth identity with a Christmas Cactus?

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4969 on: December 07, 2017, 05:21:53 AM »
Hats it is interesting isn't it what grabs our attention - your post had me thinking - on my desk is an empty cup, or mug but, it is a pretty mug so, not sure that the word 'mug' fits - I looked at it and thought of how I am similar - some observations came up - I realized it is made of clay, a mud, that was formed by someone with intelligence, who purposefully molded with their hands a container to hold liquid that would benefit us. Regardless it was made into a mold so that many could be produced, the original was hand made.

More - the cup/mug was decorated to please the eye - it is a Christmas mug with gold on the rim and a stripe of gold on the handle - it was painted or had a decal applied that was originally hand painted of a Santa with his finger to his lips, a decorated pine tree behind him and a sack of toys slung over his shoulder - on the other side of the cup painted are two candy canes tied with a red ribbon to more decorated pine.

How do I forget this is a cup made for my benefit but rather, think how the cup and I are similar - My first reaction was that I am made of atoms just as the cup is made of atoms and the gold is a precious metal that came to earth by a meteor shower during or right after the formation of the earth - metals are electrons that i had to look up and did learn the electrons are like an outer casing of an atom and so the gold trim, the paint the mud the glaze are all atoms as I am atoms -

A quick thought had me aware that all this beauty was applied to please and even the cup itself has a use - I thought, am I like the cup that holds abilities and my reason for being is to please? It felt too singular for me - I thought I am more than the cup - the cup needed someone to decorate it while I decorate myself and make the choice how I will decorate myself.

Then I realized I am still seeing the cup as separate from myself - as a useful object and so next I imagined the cup could talk -

Talking it had more to share than how it came to be and how it was decorated - it shared who used the cup and who admired the cup and how the cup fit into my home and then, how the cup fit my hand and what I liked about the feel of the cup and how I took care of the cup, never putting it in the dishwasher. I hand washed the cup to preserve the gold - then thought, if I care for my own container, my body, with the same care as the cup - did the cup have a lesson for me?

Was I reaching too far thinking I should be more than a container to please - granted, an active container that could please with my actions - Does pleasing mean making other's happy or does pleasing mean doing what I do best, just as the cup was designed out of mud to do a job different than a bowl or a plate or a lamp base. In doing what I do best I am not only happy but I bring others happiness not just by my sharing my skills but they feel the warmth of my happiness.

On and on I go - the suggestion about meditation is to mediate for at least an hour and those who are experienced, meditate for a full day and night - who knows how long the mediation on anything will take to bring up the essence of the 'thing/event' that can be put into a few words - It also strikes me that Basho was practiced mediating and may have found more quickly the essence and similarities between himself and the world around him.

I also think we all apply different questions and different understanding of the world to our thinking/meditaing on an object and so I am now thinking we could look at the same cup and each find a different essence that would take in the similarity between the cup and ourselves since we are all different. We each have had different life experiences and so we will see something another may not see and thus, the difference in our poetry, our words, our viewpoint, our choice of decorating and caring for ourselves.

Thanks hats - your thoughts and questioning opened up my looking at what surrounds me - once looking that closely at an object it is easier to realize why Japanese homes are so simple to stark - there are too many things to look at in my home - this new phase of simplifying makes sense in a way I never thought about till now.

If things are useful, then the more convenience or the more beauty we can surround ourselves with, the better. Where as, if things are objects to learn from and find their hidden glimmer, we have to limit our surroundings because it takes time to become one with an object. The tea ceremony now makes sense - become one with tea being poured into cups - wow that could take days and days and still there would be nuances to learn. Wow... thanks again hats - your post opened my eyes to a deeper understanding of what Basho was saying.     

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4970 on: December 07, 2017, 05:55:07 AM »
Well Barb,you've done it again. You've written a fully beautiful and useful post. Plus, you answered my question with no sidestepping. Certainly today, I will look at objects or an object with the use of meditation. My husband has agreed to putting up our Christmas tree. If I do, I will handle the ornaments more slowly and think about my memories: memories about a sled, a pup or snow flakes. This is such a special place.

Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4971 on: December 07, 2017, 06:29:14 AM »
I know that on occasion I have looked at objects and tried to take everything in, to remember every bit I saw, but I don't think I ever strived to become one with the object. The closest I come to that is when I am out on a beautiful day and just absorb the sight and sound and sometimes touch, breathing the crisp air and just being without analyzing any of it. I then feel a part of a whole greater than me - a wondrous and joyful oneness. SWWWWWWEz  Oops! Shan typing again.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4972 on: December 11, 2017, 10:25:57 PM »
Song, On Parachutes Of Crystal Snowflakes
               Transl.(Rus.) - Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

On parachutes of crystal snowflakes
The Winter flied from sky to earth.
And if the life has turned for other way,
If the life has gone the other way,
Don't ask and search your inner fault,
Don't ask and search your inner fault.

The trees were shaking branches slightly
In frosty and fantastic haze.
And if we all the way were silent
If we all the way were silent,
Then had we anything to say?
But had we anything to say?

Among the snowpiles sank the town,
The snowdrift was trimming lace,
And if I loved, alas, the other,
If I loved, alas, the other one,
Then Love choose everything itself.
The Love choose everything itself.

On parachutes of crystal snowflakes
The Winter flied from sky to earth.
And if the life had turned for other way,
If the life had gone the other way,
Was my decision, and not your's,
Was my decision, but not Your's.

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4973 on: December 16, 2017, 04:15:20 AM »
The photograph of the icy, frosty branches is beautiful. I've never heard of the poet. Is he/she from a very icy climate? This morning the poem woke me up. I could hear an echo of lines in my head. There is a repetition of questions, sentences in the poem. There is a need to go to self and analyze inner feelings and deeds. Winter is a good time for analysis. We're closed up in homes or other buildings. We walk alone with our coats and scarves tightly hugged against the brutal air. Suddenly, spring enters my thoughts. It is a time of release, coming out, a time to open the doors.

I do admit for me, self analysis is painful. There is a desire to get away from the mirror's eyes. There is a desire to call back time. Then, there is a realization that as a human I am limited. You can't go back to last spring or that other winter. It's gone. Is  correct? You can't go home again. It's not there! Change takes over and spreads over the branches breaking what was. :'(

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4974 on: December 16, 2017, 01:13:33 PM »
Your post hats - so beautifully said - a poem in itself - this poem, like the photo, is beautiful in its painful sadness.

It was the second stanza - about having anything to say that touched me - the two branches with all of the loose connecting twigs, looking like wires, reminds me of the connection we have with another - I have a couple of close family members that the 'winter frost has trimmed' and yes, I did end up thinking 'what have I done' and did not know how to respond.

For my own preservation and keeping the peace, because I do not want to ever be the cause of someone unleashing their anger or angry words, like the poem, I am silent not having anything to say. Actually, I do not know what to say and so it is my decision how often I do and don't make contact.

My hope is represented by the sun, in time will not only illuminate the connection, the frozen state of the connection but, will warm the air so that the frozen state of the connections between the two branches will come back to life and grow again.

To me the poem is sad but beautiful because there is hope - or maybe it is hope in the photos - Hope to me is what Christmas is all about - Hope - Hope for the new - This child was born and lived as his parents, following one way of celebrating God and then created a new way that kept some of the traditions of the old way but had its 'reason-for-being' less focused on a judgemental God and centered more in the love from a powerful God.  Dwelling on that major shift in something as intimate and powerful in our lives as religion, my hope has energy. It's then I wonder if my hope is for something I recognize which is in the old way or is it true hope - the hope in the unknown.  Does the frost, as beautiful as it is, kill the connecting twigs or simply cover them in silence.