Author Topic: Poetry Page  (Read 419565 times)

Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4920 on: August 02, 2017, 12:48:49 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!

Birds and Wind


Bird on the Wind / Wind on the Bird
The aim of Symbolism in art is to capture more absolute truths which could only be accessed by indirect methods. It is what a thing means or symbolizes for us that is often what we are judging.

Rising and soaring through the skies, birds in myth and legend are the symbols of power and freedom. Throughout the ages, birds link the human world to the divine, to forces beyond the normal world; magical or miraculous realms that lie beyond ordinary experience.

The wind is stronger then all, but is blind and lost. It's sad and in pain, but it doesn't know why. It carries thousands of years with it, countless knowledge and wisdom fly with it, but it has nowhere and nobody to bring it to.

The wind comes and goes, it is soft and strong, it represents freedom but also misdirection, it defines a sense of self and purpose but with no confirmation aside from what you leave in your wake. A key with no hole.

The wind as a god is a power that is capable of communicating a larger-than-life language to those who would hear it


Discussion Leader: BarbStAubrey




I'm going to look up Elizabeth Maua Taylor. I am hoping she did one for each month, this one is really lovely. It is short but says a lot.

Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4921 on: August 02, 2017, 01:13:25 PM »
Huh. The only thing I can find on Ms. Taylor, besides plenty of repeats of her poem, is a page on The Steampunk Writers & Artists Guild.

Oh, and there is a link on Google to the Poetry Page already.

Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4922 on: August 18, 2017, 06:41:27 AM »
I just found this interesting book called Pre-Raphaelite and Other Poets which are lectures given by Lafcadio (what a name) Hearn to his Japanese students of English Literature between 1896 and 1902. John Erskine edited and wrote the introduction. http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55377/55377-h/55377-h.htm The intro is sufficient for me to read further into the book.

Hearn himself was not a poet, but a writer, teacher, and translator whose life was rather eventful. He spent 10 years in New Orleans before moving on to Japan. Humanaties magazine published this interesting article about his life there. https://www.neh.gov/humanities/2012/mayjune/feature/lafcadio-hearn-in-new-orleans He was, however, best known for his books about Japan.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4923 on: August 18, 2017, 11:31:27 AM »
Interesting stuff Frybabe - in the book there is the fable, Shaving of Shagpat and the end of the essay he says,

"Men think that because the world has made one step forward in their time, all illusions are presently going to fade away. This is the greatest of social mistakes that a human being can possibly make. The great sea of error immediately closes again behind the forms that find strength to break out of it. It is just the same as before. One illusion may indeed be eventually destroyed, but another illusion quickly forms behind it. The real truth is that wisdom will be reached when human individuals as well as human society shall have become infinitely more perfect than they now are; and such perfection can scarcely be brought about before another million of years at least."

That is something to contemplate that one illusion destroyed will be replaced by another... hmmm

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4924 on: September 01, 2017, 09:52:02 AM »

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4925 on: September 01, 2017, 10:18:19 AM »
After Apple-Picking
By Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.













Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4926 on: September 01, 2017, 11:08:39 AM »
That is not a Frost poem I've read before, Barb. The photos that go with it are gorgeous.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4927 on: September 01, 2017, 11:28:33 AM »
here it is Frybabe in his book of Rural Life... https://tinyurl.com/y9awobcd

Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4928 on: September 01, 2017, 05:02:34 PM »
I found it, Barb. I have it in The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. It is in the Chapter titled "North of Boston".

Here is another apple related poem I found in his volume Mountain Interval (also published in the above with a chapter of the same name) which was published in 1931.

THE COW IN APPLE TIME

Something inspires the only cow of late
To make no more of a wall than an open gate,
And think no more of wall-builders than fools.
Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools
A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit,
She scorns a pasture withering to the root.
She runs from tree to tree where lie and sweeten
The windfalls spiked with stubble and worm-eaten.
She leaves them bitten when she has to fly.
She bellows on a knoll against the sky.
Her udder shrivels and the milk goes dry.

Well, picture that one in your mind's eye.

Project Gutenberg has several of his volumes listed, three of which are on audio.


BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4929 on: September 01, 2017, 06:51:26 PM »
ohhh audio - need to find it - this one has some humor - so looking forward this year to autumn - we really do not get a proper autumn as folks living north or even the upper south but there are more northers (weather that cools and comes down from the north) and for us football takes over an entire community with band practice and tailgate suppers before the game and moms baking treats for after the game and the girls wearing the most outrageous corsages that some moms go into high production to make and others are purchased at the local florist - and then later Halloween which always brings in the day before or after a big rain storm that is the start of cool weather.

In the fall the lantana is blooming that reminds you of chrysanthemums - the deer do not eat lantana where as, chrysanthemums are candy for them. There are lots of concerts in churches as well as the new symphony events - all that before Thanksgiving - tra la. Waiting with baited breath this year. Too much vitriol on TV on Facebook and among those in my own family all over politics - grrrr.

I want to feel joy and grateful for life and do the things that make me feel good and say the things that are uplifting and hope against hope others will respond in kind. Haha my rant for the day...  ;)   

Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4930 on: September 02, 2017, 08:09:21 AM »
I grew Lantana one year. It was a bit spindly. My Mom was fond of geraniums and thought she kept hers very well, that is until her first visit to Florida. She was astounded by the size and lushness of the ones growing in neighborhood gardens everywhere - made hers look a bit puny.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4931 on: October 01, 2017, 06:18:24 PM »
   October - Robert Frost

        O hushed October morning mild,
        Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
        Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
        Should waste them all.
        The crows above the forest call;
        Tomorrow they may form and go.
        O hushed October morning mild,
        Begin the hours of this day slow.
        Make the day seem to us less brief.
        Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
        Beguile us in the way you know.
        Release one leaf at break of day;
        At noon release another leaf;
        One from our trees, one far away.
        Retard the sun with gentle mist;
        Enchant the land with amethyst.
        Slow, slow!
        For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
        Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
        Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
        For the grapes’ sake along the wall.






PatH

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4932 on: October 02, 2017, 07:32:35 PM »
Frost was incredibly good at capturing the feel of the New England scene.  Nice picture pairing, Barb.  You always manage to find good ones.

PatH

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4933 on: October 02, 2017, 08:24:01 PM »
Here's a minimalist fall poem, with a nice sound effect.

Splinter - Carl Sandberg

The voice of the last cricket
across the first frost
is one kind of good-by.
It is so thin a splinter of singing.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4934 on: October 03, 2017, 04:21:59 PM »
This is really nice isn't it...

PatH

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4935 on: October 04, 2017, 10:15:26 AM »
I've had some yesterdays that really could have used that poem.  ;)

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4936 on: October 04, 2017, 11:06:06 AM »
Ah yes, Pat it seems to be the stuff of life - I'm thinking the idea of a fairyland life just does not happen so that half of our reaction is based on the idea is should not be this way...

Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #4937 on: October 10, 2017, 07:00:53 AM »
I found this rather intriguing poem in a book called Death the Knight and the Lady: A Ghost Story, by H. De Vere Stacpoole

BALLAD OF THE ARRAS

Lo! where are now these armoured hosts
Mailed for the tourney câp-a-pie,
These dames and damozelles whose ghosts
Make of the past this pagentry?

O sanguine book of History!
Romance with perfume cloaks thy must,
But he who shakes the page may see
—Dust.

Stiff hangs the arras in the gloom;
I turn my head awhile to gaze:
Here lordly stallions fret and fume,
Here streams o'er briar and brake the chase.

Here sounds a horn, here turns a face,
How filled with fires of life and lust!
Wind shakes the arras and betrays
—Dust.

Ephemeral hand inditing this
Great hound that lolls against my knee,
Lips pursed in thought as if to kiss
Regret—full soon the time must be.

When one shall search, but find not ye,
For that dim moth whose labours rust
All forms in time or tapestry
—Dust.

Forth offspring to the perch and then
Clap wings—or fall, if find you must
This saddest fate of books or men
—Dust.


Arras is a rich tapestry designed to hang on a wall. It is also a town in France which was known for its textile arts. The term eventually became rather widely applied to tapestries even though they may not have been loomed there.

The author's name deceives; he was Irish, not Dutch, Belgian or French as I supposed. He was also the author of the popular Blue Lagoon. I believe this is the movie that made Brooke Shields a star.  "Knight/Lady" was one of his early books.