Poetry Page

[BarbStAubrey]

A Winter Myth Join Us! It's the Season for Winter Poetry Famous Poets and Poems about Winter Link to: Winter Poems Discussion Leaders: Barb & fairanna

High From The Earth I Heard A Bird ~ Emily Dickinson ~   High from the earth I heard a bird; He trod upon the trees As he esteemed them trifles, And then he spied a breeze, And situated softly Upon a pile of wind Which in a perturbation Nature had left behind. A joyous-going fellow I gathered from his talk, Which both of benediction And badinage partook, Without apparent burden, I learned, in leafy wood He was the faithful father Of a dependent brood; And this untoward transport His remedy for care, -- A contrast to our respites. How different we are!

[Babi]

 I found "Lasca", and I think it is well worth presenting.  It is long, but I think you'll find it well
worth the time.

  LASCA, by Frank Desprez

I want free life and I want fresh air;
And I sigh for the canter after the cattle,
The crack of the whips like shots in a battle,
The medley of horns and hoofs and heads
That wars and wrangles and scatters and spreads;
The green beneath and the blue above,
And dash and danger, and life and love —
And Lasca!
Lasca used to ride
On a mouse-gray mustang close by my side,
With blue serape and bright-belled spur;
I laughed with joy as I looked at her!
Little knew she of books or of creeds;
An Ave Maria sufficed her needs;
Little she cared, save to be by my side,
To ride with me, and ever to ride,
From San Saba's shore to LaVaca's tide.
She was as bold as the billows that beat,
She was as wild as the breezes that blow;
From her little head to her little feet
She was swayed in her suppleness to and fro
By each gust of passion; a sapling pine
That grows on the edge of a Kansas bluff
And wars with the wind when the weather is rough
Is like this Lasca, this love of mine.

She would hunger that I might eat,
Would take the bitter and leave me the sweet;
But once, when I made her jealous for fun,
At something I'd whispered, or looked, or done,
One Sunday, in San Antonio,
To a glorious girl in the Alamo,
She drew from her garter a dear little dagger,
And — sting of a wasp! — it made me stagger!
An inch to the left, or an inch to the right,
And I shouldn't be maundering here tonight;
But she sobbed, and, sobbing, so swiftly bound
Her torn reboso about the wound,
That I quite forgave her. Scratches don't count
In Texas, down by the Rio Grande.

Her eye was brown — a deep, deep brown;
Her hair was darker than her eye;
And something in her smile and frown,
Curled crimson lip and instep high,
Showed that there ran in each blue vein,
Mixed with the milder Aztec strain,
The vigorous vintage of Old Spain.
She was alive in every limb
With feeling to the finger tips;
And when the sun is like a fire,
And sky one shining, soft sapphire,
One does not drink in little sips.

The air was heavy, and the night was hot,
I sat by her side, and forgot - forgot;
Forgot the herd that were taking their rest,
Forgot that the air was close opprest,
That the Texas norther comes sudden and soon,
In the dead of night or the blaze of noon;
That, once let the herd at its breath take fright,
Nothing on earth can stop the flight;
And woe to the rider, and woe to the steed,
Who falls in front of their mad stampede!

Was that thunder? I grasped the cord
Of my swift mustang without a word.
I sprang to the saddle, and she clung behind.
Away! On a hot chase down the wind!
But never was fox hunt half so hard,
And never was steed so little spared,
For we rode for our lives, You shall hear how we fared
In Texas, down by the Rio Grande.

The mustang flew, and we urged him on;
There was one chance left, and you have but one;
Halt, jump to ground, and shoot your horse;
Crouch under his carcass and take your chance;
And, if the steers in their frantic course
Don't batter you both to pieces at once,
You may thank your star; if not, goodby
To the quickening kiss and the long-drawn sigh,
And the open air and the open sky,
In Texas, down by the Rio Grande.

The cattle gained on us, and just as I felt
For my old six-shooter behind in my belt,
Down came the mustang, and down came we,
Clinging together — and, what was the rest?
A body that spread itself on my brest,
Two arms that shielded my dizzy head,
Two lips that hard on my lips were prest;
Then came thunder in my ears,
As over us surged the sea of steers,
Blows that beat blood into my eyes,
And when I could rise—
Lasca was dead!

I gouged out a grave a few feet deep,
And there in Earth's arms I laid her to sleep;
And there she is lying, and no one knows;
And the summer shines and the winter snows;
For many a day the flowers have spread
A pall of petals over her head;
And the little gray hawk hangs aloft in the air,
And the sly coyote trots here and there,
And the black snake glides and glitters and slides
Into a rift in a cottonwood tree;
And the buzzard sails on,
And comes and is gone,
Stately and still like a ship at sea.
And I wonder why I do not care
For the things that are like the things that were.
Does half my heart lie buried there
In Texas, down by the Rio Grande?

[BarbStAubrey]

Oh, oh,  oh Babi  wonderful - how did  you know about this poem? The last stanza sums up the animals that are so much a part of every day - the buzzards circling overhead - the cottonwood trees in a draw where a dry creek flows in Spring - and his girl, Lasco captures the personality of so  many of the TexMex women.

We do not have many poets that speak to the land, describing it as a good friend. There are a couple of Australian poet whose work we have included in the past that write about the land - I need to find them again. This poet is of the same genera.

Thanks Babi for bringing us this poet.   You know, the comments on our weather by those posting in the Holiday discussion suggests to me everyone is proud of where they live and the specialness of their area - I think those who are snowbound are sharing as if 'me oh my' but are really saying look how intrepid we are and how creative with our lives since the weather has stopped us in our tracks.

OH I just remembered - our Robert Service is another who writes of the raw land and about those who live off the land - yes, here is one of his winter weather poems that is about his typical love, Alaska.

   The Call of the Wild
            ~ Robert William Service

    Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,
    Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
    Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
    Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
    Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it,
    Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
    Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God's sake go and do it;
    Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.

    Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush desolation,
    The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?
    Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation,
    And learned to know the desert's little ways?
    Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o'er the ranges,
    Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?
    Have you chummed up with the mesa? Do you know its moods and changes?
    Then listen to the Wild -- it's calling you.

    Have you known the Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver?
    (Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies).
    Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river,
    Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?
    Have you marked the map's void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races,
    Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?
    And though grim as hell the worst is, can you round it off with curses?
    Then hearken to the Wild -- it's wanting you.

    Have you suffered, starved and triumphed, groveled down, yet grasped at glory,
    Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?
    "Done things" just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,
    Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?
    Have you seen God in His splendors, heard the text that nature renders?
    (You'll never hear it in the family pew).
    The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things --
    Then listen to the Wild -- it's calling you.

    They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their preaching,
    They have soaked you in convention through and through;
    They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching --
    But can't you hear the Wild? -- it's calling you.
    Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
    Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
    There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,
    And the Wild is calling, calling. . .let us go.
 
 

[fairanna]

Lasca I AM SO  GLAD you found it because a very long time ago I read it and loved it Any young girl or an imaginative person would feel the same so it was so special to find it here ...Robert Service I read a very long time ago and loved his poems  My husband and I planned a trip to Alaska but he didnt live long enough for us to take it..I suppose I have could have gone later but I knew I would never enjoy as much as if he had been with me,,,,,We did read Service for a month when we were doing a poet  a month and there are times when I need to read it again Each time I  enjoy as much as the first ////

Merry Christmas everyone ....anna

[Babi]

 I enjoy Robert Service too, BARB, and he was a favorite of my Dad's. I love his line: " (Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies)." He does reveal an attitude that wouldn't be acceptable today, tho', when he refers to 'mongrel races'.

 MERRY CHRISTMAS to you both.

[BarbStAubrey]

The Snow Fairy
          ~ by Claude McKay
I
Throughout the afternoon I watched them there,
Snow-fairies falling, falling from the sky,
Whirling fantastic in the misty air,
Contending fierce for space supremacy.
And they flew down a mightier force at night,
As though in heaven there was revolt and riot,
And they, frail things had taken panic flight
Down to the calm earth seeking peace and quiet.
I went to bed and rose at early dawn
To see them huddled together in a heap,
Each merged into the other upon the lawn,
Worn out by the sharp struggle, fast asleep.
The sun shone brightly on them half the day,
By night they stealthily had stol'n away.

II
And suddenly my thoughts then turned to you
Who came to me upon a winter's night,
When snow-sprites round my attic window flew,
Your hair disheveled, eyes aglow with light.
My heart was like the weather when you came,
The wanton winds were blowing loud and long;
But you, with joy and passion all aflame,
You danced and sang a lilting summer song.
I made room for you in my little bed,
Took covers from the closet fresh and warm,
A downful pillow for your scented head,
And lay down with you resting in my arm.
You went with Dawn. You left me ere the day,
The lonely actor of a dreamy play.

[BarbStAubrey]

A little Snow was here and there
          ~ by Emily Dickinson

A little Snow was here and there
Disseminated in her Hair --
Since she and I had met and played
Decade had gathered to Decade --

But Time had added not obtained
Impregnable the Rose
For summer too indelible
Too obdurate for Snows --

[roshanarose]

Not a poem, but a song to match my melancholy mood this morning.

THE ROSE (Bette Midler)

Some say love, it is a river that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower, and you it's only seed.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance.
It's the dream, afraid of waking, that never takes a chance.
It's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give.
And the soul, afraid of dyin', that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long,
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong,
Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows,
Lies the seed, that with the sun's love, in the spring becomes The Rose

[Babi]

 All three of those are new to me.  I try to imagine what the melody must
be for the song, but without much success. 

  Here's one:
Minstrels a Christmas Poem 
   by William Wordsworth

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,
The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings:
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;
So stout and hardy were the band
That scraped the chords with strenuous hand.

And who but listened?--till was paid
Respect to every inmate's claim,
The greeting given, the music played
In honour of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And "Merry Christmas" wished to all.
   

[BarbStAubrey]

Babi I especially love the first 5 lines

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,
The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,

Oh dear Rosemary - I hope your melancholy mood has passed or at least you found a comfort that allows it to be OK. The holiday season is funny that way - isn't it - there are so many memories, hopes and dreams attached to the special days throughout the year with the Christmas and New Year's season culminating them all. Auld Lang Syne may be hackneyed to many but it really runs true doesn't it.

Here is an 11th century Irish poem that the photos accompanying the poetry are just too perfect and so best is to view the page - here is the link...
http://permaculturecottage.wordpress.com/2010/11/16/notes-from-a-cottage-celtic-poetry-winter-cold/

[BarbStAubrey]

Christmas Trees
         ~ Robert Frost (1920)

(A Christmas Circular Letter)

The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look for something it had left behind
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
I hadn’t thought of them as Christmas Trees.
I doubt if I was tempted for a moment
To sell them off their feet to go in cars
And leave the slope behind the house all bare,
Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.
I’d hate to have them know it if I was.
Yet more I’d hate to hold my trees except
As others hold theirs or refuse for them,
Beyond the time of profitable growth,
The trial by market everything must come to.
I dallied so much with the thought of selling.
Then whether from mistaken courtesy
And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether
From hope of hearing good of what was mine, I said,
“There aren’t enough to be worth while.”
“I could soon tell how many they would cut,
You let me look them over.”

“You could look.
But don’t expect I’m going to let you have them.”
Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close
That lop each other of boughs, but not a few
Quite solitary and having equal boughs
All round and round. The latter he nodded “Yes” to,
Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one,
With a buyer’s moderation, “That would do.”
I thought so too, but wasn’t there to say so.
We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over,
And came down on the north. He said, “A thousand.”

“A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?”

He felt some need of softening that to me:
“A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars.”

Then I was certain I had never meant
To let him have them. Never show surprise!
But thirty dollars seemed so small beside
The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents
(For that was all they figured out apiece),
Three cents so small beside the dollar friends
I should be writing to within the hour
Would pay in cities for good trees like those,
Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools
Could hang enough on to pick off enough.
A thousand Christmas trees I didn’t know I had!
Worth three cents more to give away than sell,
As may be shown by a simple calculation.
Too bad I couldn’t lay one in a letter.
I can’t help wishing I could send you one,
In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.

[Babi]

  A letter from Robert Frost!  He makes even a letter sound like poetry.
But $30. offered for a thousand trees?!  Did the man really expect him to
accept that?  But if one tree could sell for a dollar this must have been
during the depression, don't you think?  Amazing what a dollar would buy
back then.

[fairanna]

Christmas came and went but left a foot of snow to be spent
It covered the ground and covered the trees
Changed everything into  white magic toys
A nothern breeze really had an imense sneeze
Hope tomorrow the snow will have  a huge HICCUP
And give us a NEW YEAR a warmer, snowless place to cheer
So hope you had a great CHRISTMAS 
And a wonderful NEW YEAR!

Meant to just say I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas (  I did when family and friends gathered here and were able to get home BEFORE the snow appeared!

Can hardly believe the temperture is supposed to be 54 this weekend  !
LOVE AND GOD BLESS YOU EVERYONE     anna

[BarbStAubrey]

My memory of the 1930s is that a dollar would buy ten trees and if you waited till Christmas eve late the lots would be stripped bare by the guy selling the trees as he would throw them at the kids hanging around just waiting for a free tree.

Glad you had a good family Christmas Anna - we are still snowed in here at my daughter's and it looks like it will be a trick to get out of here tomorrow however, by Wednesday we are expecting it to warm up enough to allow us to drive out onto the paved road.

We have another house full again tonight as the older grandson was towed out late this afternoon and drove to Hendersonville to meet some of his friends who all came back here and they cannot get out so 5 guys and one girl are camping out downstairs.

The weather played a trick on us this year so that many a holiday plan was affected - good for you that your Christmas was on schedule and I bet Babi your Christmas was maybe wet but you were able to go forward.

Snow Fall
          ~ Brady McCrary

       Snow snow wonderful snow. Snowman, snow forts, snow igloos, snow mobiles, snow boarding. All my favorite in the snow, all right, and all white. I hope it snows all night.

 

[Babi]

 Christmas Eve and Christmas were both jut fine.  I got to spend Christmas Eve with a sister-in-law that I haven't seen for a couple of years.  Went a bit early so we could have time to visit.
All my nieces, nephews and their kids were there.  Met 5-yr. old Tyler, whom I had not seen since
he was a baby, and immediately fell in love.  A smart, curly-headed little dynamo.  Every one was
doing well, and it was such a pleasure.
   Christmas morning was just me and my daughters, with a traditional Christmas dinner, movie
and games.

[roshanarose]

I recall not long ago, I think it was Gum who added "My Country" to these hallowed halls of verse.  Dorothea McKellar was a woman who knew and loved the extremes of our beautiful country, Australia.

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me!

"Of droughts and flooding rains" has particular relevance just now.  Queensland, my state, is vast and varied in its geography.  The North west has been having record floods.  People are being evacuated from their homes, knowing that when they return they will return to heartbreak and destruction.  Deadly snakes are seeking shelter, and the occasional crocodile swims by, perhaps looking for her eggs.  The people - well they have lost everything.  One town, called Theodore, has been completely evacuated.  An unusual event.  A city, Bundaberg, has been cut in two by a swollen river; the old-timers say the flood is the worst they have seen for at least 45 years.  Even the children are concerned, and cease their play, they can see the pain and anxiety in their parents' eyes.  

I know you are a long way away and have experienced many natural and unnatural events in your own lives.  But, please spare those here a thought, or if so inclined, a prayer.  McKellar's poem IS Australia.

[Babi]

 Of course, ROSHANA.  Consider it done.  We have had so many people
lose their homes due to hurricanes over here.  We can understand the
loss and the needs.

[BarbStAubrey]

roshanarose the flood was on the news here last night with a camera panning the region - when the said Queensland it did not hit till they said close to the coast then I wondered and worried about you - it sounds like though you are OK for now and it is hitting hard further north than where your house is located.

And yes, I too will remember them in my prayers - it is devastating to have all you own destroyed by any disaster - it is like loosing a part of your identity - they will have a long climb back.

[Gumtree]

Roshanarose - glad to see you posting here and presumably not in the flooded area. Like others I have been worried about you and whether you are in the path of the water but if my memory still works I think you are in Brisbane - yes?

The flood is truly immense - the area under water is at least as large as all of France and Germany combined - and in some parts the water is up to the eaves of the houses. It's a horrible thing to be in a flood. I was in Wagga Wagga in 1951 or 52? when the Murrumbidgee River broke its banks for the worst flood then in living memory - the 1956 flood there was even worse. Heartbreaking for my parents.

Do take care Roshanarose - I worry also about Octavia who hasn't been on SL for some time but who lives in Rockhampton which is in the flooded zone.

The only good thing I can think of about the flooding is that the rivers and dams are well and truly filled and the long long drought is truly at an end. It also ensures the health of the land once again - hopefully much of it can now recover from the ravages of drought and with that so will the people.

[Gumtree]

Couldn't resist posting this one - it's rather long but in the light of the current flooding in Queensland I think it's justified.

SAID HANRAHAN by John O'Brien

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
  In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
  One frosty Sunday morn.

The congregation stood about,
  Coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,
  As it had done for years.

"It's looking crook," said Daniel Croke;
  "Bedad, it's cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke
  Has seasons been so bad."

"It's dry, all right," said young O'Neil,
  With which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel
  And chewed a piece of bark.

And so around the chorus ran
  "It's keepin' dry, no doubt."
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
  "Before the year is out."

"The crops are done; ye'll have your work
  To save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-o'-Bourke
  They're singin' out for rain.

"They're singin' out for rain," he said,
  "And all the tanks are dry."
The congregation scratched its head,
  And gazed around the sky.

"There won't be grass, in any case,
  Enough to feed an ass;
There's not a blade on Casey's place
  As I came down to Mass."

"If rain don't come this month," said Dan,
  And cleared his throat to speak -
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
  "If rain don't come this week."

A heavy silence seemed to steal
  On all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel,
  And chewed a piece of bark.

"We want an inch of rain, we do,"
  O'Neil observed at last;
But Croke "maintained" we wanted two
  To put the danger past.

"If we don't get three inches, man,
  Or four to break this drought,
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
  "Before the year is out."

In God's good time down came the rain;
  And all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane
  It drummed a homely tune.

And through the night it pattered still,
  And lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill
  Kept talking to themselves.

It pelted, pelted all day long,
  A-singing at its work,
Till every heart took up the song
  Way out to Back-o'-Bourke.

And every creek a banker ran,
  And dams filled overtop;
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
  "If this rain doesn't stop."

And stop it did, in God's good time;
  And spring came in to fold
A mantle o'er the hills sublime
  Of green and pink and gold.

And days went by on dancing feet,
  With harvest-hopes immense,
And laughing eyes beheld the wheat
  Nid-nodding o'er the fence.

And, oh, the smiles on every face,
  As happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep on Casey's place
  Went riding down to Mass.

While round the church in clothes genteel
  Discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel,
  And chewed his piece of bark.

"There'll be bush-fires for sure, me man,
  There will, without a doubt;
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
  "Before the year is out."

From - Around the Boree Log and Other Verses, 1921

John O'Brien was the pseudonym of Rev Patrick Hartigan. Said Hanrahan is legendary.

[BarbStAubrey]

Whoops just saw your contribution - yes, a good one Gumtree especially considering the flooding.

New Year: A Dialogue
          ~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1909)

MORTAL:
    “The night is cold, the hour is late, the world is bleak and drear;
    Who is it knocking at my door?”

THE NEW YEAR:
    “I am Good Cheer.”

MORTAL:
    “Your voice is strange; I know you not; in shadows dark I grope.
    What seek you here?”

THE NEW YEAR:
    “Friend, let me in; my name is Hope.”

MORTAL:
    “And mine is Failure; you but mock the life you seek to bless. Pass on.”

THE NEW YEAR:
    “Nay, open wide the door; I am Success.”

MORTAL:
    “But I am ill and spent with pain; too late has come your wealth. I cannot use it.”

THE NEW YEAR:
    “Listen, friend; I am Good Health.”

MORTAL:
    “Now, wide I fling my door. Come in, and your fair statements prove.”

THE NEW YEAR:
    “But you must open, too, your heart, for I am Love.”

[BarbStAubrey]

Ring Out, Wild Bells
From In Memoriam A.H.H.
          ~ by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1849)

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
   The flying cloud, the frosty light;
   The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
   Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
   The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
   For those that here we see no more,
   Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
   And ancient forms of party strife;
   Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care the sin,
   The faithless coldness of the times;
   Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
   The civic slander and the spite;
   Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
   Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
   Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
   The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
   Ring out the darkenss of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

[BarbStAubrey]

Emily Dickinson

One Year ago — jots what?
God — spell the word! I — can’t —
Was’t Grace? Not that —
Was’t Glory? That — will do —
Spell slower — Glory —

Such Anniversary shall be —
Sometimes — not often — in Eternity —
When farther Parted, than the Common Woe —
Look — feed upon each other’s faces — so —
In doubtful meal, if it be possible
Their Banquet’s true —

I tasted — careless — then —
I did not know the Wine
Came once a World — Did you?
Oh, had you told me so —
This Thirst would blister — easier — now —
You said it hurt you — most —
Mine — was an Acorn’s Breast —
And could not know how fondness grew
In Shaggier Vest —
Perhaps — I couldn’t —
But, had you looked in —
A Giant — eye to eye with you, had been —
No Acorn — then —

So — Twelve months ago —
We breathed —
Then dropped the Air —
Which bore it best?
Was this — the patientest —
Because it was a Child, you know —
And could not value — Air?

If to be “Elder” — mean most pain —
I’m old enough, today, I’m certain — then —
As old as thee — how soon?
One — Birthday more — or Ten?
Let me — choose!
Ah, Sir, None!

[roshanarose]

Thank you for your concern about me, but I am well out of the danger zone.  I live in Brisbane on a slope.  I am afraid to say that Rockhampton has had considerable flooding - I hope your friend Octavia is OK.  Also thanks for your kind thoughts and prayers to those who are suffering.  I remember "We'll all be rooned, said Hanrahan".  I heard it in the dim dark past and my parents had a copy of "Around the Boree Log".  Thanks for the memory, Gum.

[Babi]

 I know this is a silly remark to make at such a time, but I have always
loved to read such names as 'Murrumbidgee River'. I always want to know more about such places, how they got their names and what they mean.
  I love the poem, GUM. Poor Hanrahan. Niver a day's joy could he find
in anything.

[Gumtree]

I know it's off topic but it is New Year's Eve - for another few minutes ...

Babi - I love the odd names we have for places in Australia - they're generally full of meaning and are usually of aboriginal origin eg Murrumbidgee simply means 'big water' in the language of the Waradjuri tribe who have always lived in the area.
The Murrumbidgee is a major river and drains all of the Aust Capital Territory and southern New South Wales' Riverina districts - it's about 600 miles long and joins the confluence of the Murray River so it's really part of the Murray Darling Basin which is the major river system in the country. The upper reaches are nothing to what they were before the Snowy Hydro was built which takes the snow melt as well as several major dams.
The river systems have been under enormous stress due to years and years of drought - the flood will help rejuvenate the river and the land as well.

Murrumbidgee is a big river and flows very strongly and in parts is quite wide ... not to brag or anything but I have swum across it and back many times -but must say I was always glad to reach one shore or the other before being swept away by the current or being caught in a snag. It was something of a dare for young players....


It's now 12.01am  on the 1st January 2011 and I can hear the fireworks....

Happy New Year to all.

[BarbStAubrey]

Back home this afternoon - Picked up my car - repaired while I was visiting my daughter - shopped for groceries, visited my neighbor and paid their 14 year old son who kept things going in my house  including watering plants and bringing in mail and packages while I was gone - showered, and slept till now - just in time to wish everyone a Happy New Year.

Of course we need Robbie Burns to let out the old and bring in the new... hope all of  you have a prosperous  year in 2011.

Auld Lang Syne
          ~ New year poem by Robert Burns

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;
But we've wandered mony a weary fit
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i' the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine!
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

[roshanarose]

Babi - this is pretty silly too, but I thoughtthatyou might like it. 

"Thesong"I've Been Everywhere" was written by Geoff Mack in 1959 and made popular by the singer Lucky Starr in 1962. It listed Australian towns. It was later adapted for North American (primarily United States) place names and by John Hore (later known as John Grenell) with New Zealand place names (1966). The song was a number 1 hit in Country Music in November 1962 in the United States for the recording artist Hank Snow. The song was also recorded by Lynn Anderson (USA 1970); Asleep At The Wheel (USA 1973); Johnny Cash (USA 1996); the Countdown Singers; Chip Dockery; Ted Egan; the Farrelly Brothers; from the television series The Aunty Jack Show (Australia 1974 (parody)); John Grenell (NZ 1966); Mike Ford (Canada, 2005); Rolf Harris (UK 1963); Clifton Jansky; Willie Nelson; and The Statler Brothers. Original singer Lucky Starr released an EP called "Lucky's Been Everywhere," which contained 4 different versions: Great Britain, U.S.A., New Zealand, and Australia (Festival Records FX-10.485 (Australia)).
 
"I've Been Everywhere" the Australian version :


Well, I was humpin' my bluey on the dusty Oodnadatta road,
When along came a semi with a high and canvas-covered load.
(Spoken) "If you’re goin’ to Oodnadatta, mate, um, with me you can ride."
So I climbed in the cabin and I settled down inside.
He asked me if I’d seen a road with so much dust and sand, I said
"Listen, mate, I’ve travelled ev’ry road in this here land."

Chorus:
Cos “I’ve been everywhere, man,
I’ve been everywhere, man.
‘Cross the deserts bare, man;
I’ve breathed the mountain air, man.
Of travel I’ve had my share, man.
I’ve been ev’rywhere.

Been to:
Tullamore, Seymour, Lismore, Mooloolaba, Nambour, Maroochydore, Kilmore, Murwillumbah, Birdsville, Emmaville, Wallaville, Cunnamulla, Condamine, Strathpine, Proserpine, Ulladulla, Darwin, Gin Gin, Deniliquin, Muckadilla, Wallumbilla, Boggabilla, Kumbarilla I’m a killer.

Chorus

(Spoken) "Yeah but listen here, mate, have you been to…"

I’ve been to Moree, Taree, Jerilderie, Bambaroo, Toowoomba, Gunnedah, Caringbah, Woolloomooloo, Dalveen, Tamborine, Engadine, Jindabyne, Lithgow, Casino, Brigalow and Narromine, Megalong, Wyong, Tuggerawong, Wanganella, Morella, Augathella, Brindabella I’m the feller.

Chorus

(Spoken) "Yeah, I know that, but have you been to.."

I’ve been to Wollongong, Geelong, Kurrajong, Mullumbimby, Mittagong, Molong, Grong Grong, Goondiwindi, Yarra Yarra, Bouindarra, Wallangarra, Turramurra, Boggabri, Gundagai, Narrabri, Tibooburra, Gulgong, Adelong, Billabong, Cabramatta, Parramatta, Wangaratta, Coolangatta, what’s it matter?

Chorus

(Spoken) "Yeah, look that’s fine, but how about…"

I’ve been to Ettalong, Dandenong, Woodenbong, Ballarat, Canberra, Milperra, Unanderra, Captains Flat, Cloncurry, River Murray, Kurri Kurri, Girraween, Terrigal, Fingal, Stockinbingal, Collaroy and Narrabeen, Bendigo, Dorrigo, Bangalow, Indooroopilly, Kirribilli, Yeerongpilly, Wollondilly, don’t be silly.

Chorus

I’ve been here, there, ev’rywhere, I’ve been ev’rywhere."

Most of the town names are Aboriginal.

Auld Lang Syne always makes me want to weep.
 

[Gumtree]

Yeah Roshanarose - but he aint been to Western Australia.    

[Babi]

 GUM, that is so much like our 'Rio Grande' on the Texas/Mexico border.
Rio Grande is Spanish for 'big river', of course.

 I don't remember hearing a song listing towns, ROSE. Surprising, since
there were so many. It reminds me of Danny Kaye's challenging, and
funny, race to finish a song filled with the names of composers. You
know what a 'mouthful' some of those names can be.  How did the singers possibly remember all those names?!!

 I found this rather challenging poem...

LIFE I AM THE NEW YEAR

Life I am the new year.
I am an unspoiled page in your book of time.
I am your next chance at the art of living.
I am your opportunity to practice what you have learned about life during the last twelve months.
All that you sought and didn't find is hidden in me,
waiting for you to search it out with more determination.
All the good that you tried for and didn't achieve
is mine to grant when you have fewer conflicting desires.
All that you dreamed but didn't dare to do, all that you hoped but did not will,
all the faith that you claimed but did not have --
these slumber lightly, waiting to be awakened
by the touch of a strong purpose.
I am your opportunity
to renew your allegiance to Him who said, "behold, I make all things new."
I am the new year.
-- Author Unknown--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[BarbStAubrey]

Hank Snow - boy that is going back in time isn't it Rosemary - that song is fun - there is something that fills us up hearing the names of obscure towns we know

Babi what a find - I am sending the New Year poem out to all my family and a few friends - wonderful...

The Past The Present The New Year
          ~ Cynthia Martin

Yesterday's memories fondled the edges of my mind
as I sat in the presence of a new day and trying to
grasp what the coming year may bring.
Some of it will be my own choices I make.

I can't stop the silent dawn as it breaks way from
the darkness of night.
I know I will make some great memories this year.
However, inside me is this selfish fear, that
soon, I may lose someone close, someone dear.
Is this the time? Is this the year?

I remember the past list of things to do
now, it is someone else's newspaper.
The endless war in Irag,
We can't seem to get this monkey off our back.
We can sit and try to plan out our days,
Or we can start laughing and dancing in the sun's rays

[fairanna]

It is always such a joy to come here and read the poems posted as well as the comments...I feel so alone since an illness is sapping my strength and spending time having varied tests done to see what is wrong.......I have no idea when I read some stories about Australia but I do know the names captured me and made me want to know more....I know Pennslyvania was settled by the Amish and some of thier town names were quite interesting ie Intercourse  ...and towns that were named after Indian tribes and sayngs I used to be sad that I was an only girl but now I realize how varied my interests have been because I had no sister to share my room or my life with so I turned to literature and am so much richer for that....And I was fortunater to have 5 brothers who cared about me and a family that made me feel special and encouraged my education...

Of course we had 12 inched of snow here for Christmas and although the days are warm the nights have dropped and kept the ground cold so there are still patches of snow 3-4 inches thick in the shadows of trees and shrubs....I cam across a poem I wrote in Dec 96 ..My husband had passed away in the spring of 94 and winter was always sort of lonely and sad ''so I share with you

Musings in a gray day....

The sky a heavy blanket--
old and dark and grim
pushed against the earth--
suffocating the sun--
brought too soon ,dim
darkness to the land---
headlights pierced the early gloom---
darkness groped across the floor ---
'til with hand I reached,
switched on the lamp.
Warme beams bathed the room---
flowing over boxes abandoned there---
poking fingers of light
into the cornered night--
now backed against the ropes --
gave up without a fight>
A book, a tender fire, some wine
in a crystal goblet-
a snuggley spot and I am
off to sunny climes--
sandy shores---in my mind.
Leave the early darkness
far, far behind---
bask beneath a blue ,blue sky --
and dream of Spring!

anna alexander dec 96

A HAPPY AND BLESSED NEW YEAR TO ALL   

love ...anna

[Babi]

 I'm sorry to hear you are ill, ANNA. I'm sure they'll figure it out soon
and be able to tell you what to do. Meanwhile, turn on a light and send that
darkness back into the corners.

[BarbStAubrey]

Here is a good January poem that sounds like the author is experiencing the gray day of your poem Anna only Kathleen sees it for a whole month...

In January
          ~ Kathleen M. Tenpas

The house becomes my skin,
I shrug from room to room
a chameleon slipping
one color aside for the next.
Losing track of where I started,
looking for lost notebooks
finding scraps of poems
leggy and straggling like seedlings
yearning for the sun,
I pause for a moment
to consider them
but move on, restless
as a caged cat, hungry
for wilderness and winter stars.

[roshanarose]

FairAnna - You are right, there is so much comfort to be found in the written word.  I am looking at one of my bookcases and thinking of you.  I can see Cavafy waiting to be translated; Henry VIII and his eight wives; a thick Harry Potter; a small Latin dictionary (to try and keep up with ginny); a whole shelf and a half devoted to Greek books; Vanity Fair's Hollywood; a book of Symbols; The Novels of Thomas Hardy; Surrealism and a particular favourite, "The Lost Treasures of Troy".  It is similar to looking back on all the loves of my life, but the books stay with me, tangible and hopeful of being held again.  If I were clever enough I could write a poem about them.  I will do the next best thing and send you with love a poem from Cavafy.  It's called ITHAKA.

Ithaca

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
 
Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.
 
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
 
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
 
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

 
 
Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard

 
(C.P. Cavafy, Collected Poems. Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Edited by George Savidis. Revised Edition. Princeton University Press, 1992)  

[Babi]

 Have you ever seen live coral in an aquarium. I wish I could remember which one had that display. It was so gorgeous, I could have sat for an hour just watching the shifting colors of the living corals. And amber is such a beautiful stone. Ah, I'm dreaming.

[BarbStAubrey]

ah the romanticized journey of life - thanks roshanarose for bringing Cavafy to our Poetry -

Although this may be how folks in Queensland view the sea as if Poseidon was on a rampage however only lines of the poem I could not come to terms with are:
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,

Sometimes bad things happen to good people as well as, the lines omit the concept of shock beyond your imagination therefore is so traumatic it can take years and years to move on - but then this poem was written before trauma was explored and books written like "Too Scared to Cry"

Interesting how the bazaars filled with silks and gems are the imagined pleasures on earth as some use the same riches to describe their heavenly kingdom. Is it "Jerusalem My Happy Home" that includes; 'twelve gates of pearl, houses of gold, jeweled pavement'?

Babi there is a wonderful Aquarium in Corpus Christi that has tanks of not only live coral but what fascinated me were the tanks of various kinds of Jelly fish. they really are beautiful to see but oh dear not to meet in the water are they. Thank goodness for meat tenderizer.

Here is short poem by Cavafy where he only sees the loveliness of the seaside...

The Morning Sea
          ~ C.P.Cavafy

Let me stop here. Let me, too, look at nature awhile.
The brilliant blue of the morning sea, of the cloudless sky,
the yellow shore; all lovely,
all bathed in light.
 
Let me stand here. And let me pretend I see all this
(I really did see it for a minute when I first stopped)
and not my usual day-dreams here too,
my memories, those images of sensual pleasure.

[BarbStAubrey]

Oh and I love this one by Cavafy called 'Gray' -  the poem is such a lovely metaphor describing aging.

Gray
          ~ C.P.Cavafy

While looking at a half-gray opal
I remembered two lovely gray eyes—
it must be twenty years ago I saw them...
........................................
We were lovers for a month.
Then he went away to work, I think in Smyrna,
and we never met again.
 
Those gray eyes will have lost their beauty—if he’s still alive;
that lovely face will have spoiled.

Memory, keep them the way they were.
And, memory, whatever of that love you can bring back,
whatever you can, bring back tonight.

[BarbStAubrey]

Here is another where the imagery is so much as we expect from the Middle East and the Mediterranean area of the world

For The Shop
          ~ C.P.Cavafy

He wrapped them up carefully, neatly,
in expensive green silk.
Roses of rubies, lilies of pearl
violets of amethyst: beautiful according to his taste,
to his desire, his vision—not as he saw them in nature
or studied them. He’ll leave them in the safe,
examples of his bold, his skillful work.
Whenever a customer comes into the shop,
he brings out other things to sell—first class ornaments:
bracelets, chains, necklaces, rings.

[BarbStAubrey]

Ah always to remember to be content with...

The First Step
          ~ C.P.Cavafy

The young poet Evmenis
complained one day to Theocritos:
“I have been writing for two years now
and I have composed just one idyll.
It’s my only completed work.
I see, sadly, that the ladder of Poetry
is tall, extremely tall;
and from this first step I now stand on
I will never climb any higher.”
Theocritos replied: “Words like that
are improper, blasphemous.
Just to be on the first step
should make you happy and proud.
To have come this far is no small achievement:
what you have done is a glorious thing.
Even this first step
is a long way above the ordinary world.
To stand on this step
you must be in your own right
a member of the city of ideas.
And it is a hard, unusual thing
to be enrolled as a citizen of that city.
Its councils are full of Legislators
no charlatan can fool.
To have come this far is no small achievement:
what you have done already is a glorious thing.”