Poetry Page

[BarbStAubrey]

Summer Sadness
          ~ Stéphane Mallarmé

 
The sun, on the sand, O sleeping wrestler,
Warms a languid bath in the gold of your hair,
Melting the incense on your hostile features,
Mixing an amorous liquid with the tears.
 

The immutable calm of this white burning,
O my fearful kisses, makes you say, sadly,
‘Will we ever be one mummified winding,
Under the ancient sands and palms so happy?’
 

But your tresses are a tepid river,
Where the soul that haunts us drowns, without a shiver
And finds the Nothingness you cannot know!
 

I’ll taste the unguent of your eyelids’ shore,
To see if it can grant to the heart, at your blow,
The insensibility of stones and the azure.

[Babi]

OCTAVIA, I really enjoyed the visit to Herrick and Byron. So restful, somehow.

 I am astounded. I never would have thought germs would be a topic for poetry! It
it apparent that ANYTHING is grist for the poet's mill. (My cliche for the day.)

[Tomereader1]

Sounds like those "germs" poems could have been written by Howie Mandel.  LOL

[BarbStAubrey]

Well it was an effort to pay tribute to the experience that the horses in Australia are going through - however, what amazed me is how today the word Germ brings up all these nasty self-protective thoughts where as, in Whitman's day - a man who assisted the wounded in the Civil War and would have seen the damage to open wounds although, the information may not yet have been discovered how to protect a wound or surgery from germs - in any event his concept of germs was more the wonderment of the browsing mind as if from the heavens new ideas became the germ of a new wonderment allowing our lives to be more - more beautiful, safer, healthier, profitable - the nineteenth century changed our world from the land to ideas and machines didn't it.

Walking last night I looked up at the sky and was uplifted remembering Whitman and others who could bring to us the astonishing wonderment of the universe.

Babi brings up the point though - do we want our poets to write about the wondrous and glorify its beauty or is our everyday bumping against life something we expect poets to make a statement that we can all agree with their viewpoint. Haha sounds like the question being explored in this month's Book Club selection - The Novel Bookstore...

[BarbStAubrey]

Wondrous Moment
by Alexander Pushkin

The wondrous moment of our meeting...
I well remember you appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In hopeless ennui surrounding
The worldly bustle, to my ear
For long your tender voice kept sounding,
For long in dreams came features dear.

Time passed. Unruly storms confounded
Old dreams, and I from year to year
Forgot how tender you had sounded,
Your heavenly features once so dear.

My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet-
Dull fence around, dark vault above-
Devoid of God and uninspired,
Devoid of tears, of fire, of love.

Sleep from my soul began retreating,
And here you once again appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In ecstasy the heart is beating,
Old joys for it anew revive;
Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting
The fire, and tears, and love alive.

[BarbStAubrey]

When I heard the Learn’d Astronomer
           ~ By Walt Whitman

WHEN I heard the learn’d astronomer;   
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;   
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;   
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,   
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;          
Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself,   
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,   
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

[rosemarykaye]

Barb - I loved the Walt Whitman.  He summed up just what I sometimes think about all this science (I am surrounded - all my husband's family are scientists or mathematicians).  Sometimes you just want to look at the stars.

Rosemary

[Babi]

 Well put, ROSEMARY.

 Our 4th is now past, but I think this deserves to be said.
  "You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4th, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness.  You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism." -  Erma Bombeck

 And arund here, this poem for summer is particularly apt.
"In lang, lang days o' simmer,
When the clear and cloudless sky
Refuses ae weep drap o' rain
To Nature parched and dry,
The genial night, wi' balmy breath,
Gars verdue, spring anew,
An' ilka blade o' grass
Keps its ain drap o' dew." -  James Ballantine   


 

   

[BarbStAubrey]

Perfect Babi  

[BarbStAubrey]

If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain

Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain.

Emily Dickinson

How do you do that - stop a heart from breaking - too often I feel helpless - I can comfort and nurture but, to stop a heart from breaking - I do not know - I can offer my view point but that may not be what a breaking heart needs to hear - I can listen but to stop a heart from breaking I have no answers and to just listen - is that enough?

I can even turn it around as we learn all of life is a mirror for us to see within ourselves - can I stop my heart from breaking - I have no clue what is involved to stop a heart from breaking. Maybe that is the answer - it is not up to us to stop a heart from breaking - some of life breaks the heart and to ward off the breaking is to not live a full life. It hurts yes, but then as the old song goes we were never promised a rose garden.

Maybe, for me anyhow, what would allow me not to live in vein is to give courage to someone whose heart is breaking so they can feel the pain of their broken heart rather than hide the pain with all sorts of obsessions like drugs, blame, drink, self-destruction, winning, eating, isolating... on and on with too many ways we 'use' to hide from our pain.

[Babi]

 True, BARB.  Pain and heartbreak are a part of life.  There are some kinds of
heartbreak that might be avoided, though.  To help someone attain their dream
when losing it would mean heartbreak, ..that's possible.  To warn someone of
a danger before they get badly hurt.   But once the dream is lost or the hurt
is given, there is no help for it but to live through it.

[BarbStAubrey]

short and pithy but says a lot...

Risk
          ~ by Anais Nin

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom.

[Babi]

 Indeed,...and true time and time again.

[BarbStAubrey]

Blyton cum Laughton Church of England Primary School Students


Georgia - A River's Life

Lashing and splashing
As the water descends
Rushing and gliding
As it hits the rocks

Bashing and crashing
Getting nearer and nearer
Thudding and crunching
As it hits the rocks

Dancing and prancing
As it meanders through the land
Flowing and colliding
Getting slower and slower

Steady and friendly
Getting to the end of its life
Gracefully and lazily
Dying slower and slower.

 
Darrion - Rivers

Racing, speeding down the hill
Splashing, crashing,
Gushing and rushing
Meandering through every bend
Picking up speed
Lashing and smashing its way through the valley.

Hurdling its way down the river
Travelling through all the mountains at high speed,
Dying as the day disappears through the week
Delicately getting weaker as it travels
Getting more and more lazy carrying on until ...

Until it faces the end of its journey heading for the sea
As it glides gracefully until it slows down
And then faces its death trickling into the sea to its Doom!


Elizabeth - Rivers

Bubbling up and out of the ground
Gurgling and giggling as it starts its journey down the hill.
Rushing and raging rapidly down the mountain
As wild as it could be.
It's so strong it can pull you under.
It channels through the land
Snaking through the hills
Skating round the mountains.
As the currents glide into each other
Slowly dying towards the sea it goes.

Splitting from its family and friends,
Never to see them again.
Slowly flowing into the sea.


Eleanor - 'A River's Life

Fast running down the hilltops
Crashing, hitting the river bed
Jumping from rock to rock
Diving into the river
Cutting and splashing all the way down.

Speedily flowing around the jagged rocks
Dangerous and deadly
as it throws itself down mini waterfalls.
Powerful, rough and bubbly as it gets older.

As it meanders downwards the roughness
slowly leaves as it gets older it gets wider and …
Slower forcing itself to carry on
dancing carefully along the seabed.

As it flows delicately
all tired and drowsy
so peaceful and caring
steadily flowing down
an elderly river.


Imran - 'Rivers'

It races down the hills that rock smasher
going faster and faster
taking treasures with her
flowing elegantly through
the scenery of the countryside
going from town to town
city to city
Eventually ends her journey in the glittering blue sea.

[Babi]

 Remarkable.  I wonder if any of our schools are encouraging young students to write poetry.
Who knws what gems they might find and what hidden springs might be opened.

[Octavia]

That's an awful lot of water Barbara
I must admit I've never thought of a river's entry into the sea as a death before.
I liked the last paragraph of A River's Life,"so tired and drowsy', it was soothing and gentle.
Sadly, many of the descriptions would be painful for Australians who suffered in the floods. I don't think they will ever recover all the bodies, but the human spirit is very resilient and towns are slowly rebuilding.

[Babi]

 Remember "Old Man River", from "Showboat"?  It's longer than I realized, but it does express
it's time and people most poignantly.

   
Ol' man river,
Dat ol' man river
He mus'know sumpin'
But don't say nuthin',
He jes'keeps rollin'
He keeps on rollin' along.

He don' plant taters/tators,
He don't plant cotton,
An' dem dat plants'em
is soon forgotten,
But ol'man river,
He jes keeps rollin'along.

You an'me, we sweat an' strain,
Body all achin' an' racket wid pain,
Tote dat barge!
Lif' dat bale!
Git a little drunk
An' you land in jail.

Ah gits weary
An' sick of tryin'
Ah'm tired of livin'
An' skeered of dyin',
But ol' man river,
He jes'keeps rolling' along.

[Colored folks work on de Mississippi,
Colored folks work while de white folks play,
Pullin' dose boats from de dawn to sunset,
Gittin' no rest till de judgement day.

Don't look up
An' don't look down,
You don' dast make
De white boss frown.
Bend your knees
An'bow your head,
An' pull date rope
Until you' dead.)

Let me go 'way from the Mississippi,
Let me go 'way from de white man boss;
Show me dat stream called de river Jordan,
Dat's de ol' stream dat I long to cross.

O' man river,
Dat ol' man river,
He mus'know sumpin'
But don't say nuthin'
He jes' keeps rollin'
He keeps on rollin' along.

Long ol' river forever keeps rollin' on...

He don' plant tater,
He don' plant cotton,
An' dem dat plants 'em
Is soon forgotten,
but ol' man river,
He jes' keeps rollin' along.

Long ol' river keeps hearing dat song.
You an' me, we sweat an' strain,
Body all achin an' racked wid pain.
Tote dat barge!
Lif' dat bale!
Git a little drunk
An' you land in jail.

Ah, gits weary
An' sick of tryin'
Ah'm tired of livin'
An' skeered of dyin',
But ol' man river,
He jes'keeps rollin' along!

[BarbStAubrey]

Thanks Babi - that was a wonderful song sung by many a deep voice whose rendition brought them to fame - that whole score is one wonderful song after the other isn't it.

Octavia I loved the concept of old age being the widening of the river before it mixes into the larger body of water - I like that idea of death that we mix into some larger firmament.

We do not associate Poe with poems of nature but he wrote about the river as a metaphor to one of the daughter's of his adoptive parents.

To the River
          ~ Edgar Allan Poe

FAIR river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty - the unhidden heart -
The playful maziness of art
In old Alberto's daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks -
Which glistens then, and trembles -
Why, then, the prettiest of brooks
Her worshipper resembles;
For in my heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies -
His heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul-searching eyes.

[roshanarose]

A little coincidence here.  I have asked my daughter to have inscribed on my gravestone "Like a River to the Sea".  I asked her to do that for me 10 years ago.  Obviously, I love the concept too.

My inspiration not a poem, but a song.

U2
The Joshua Tree (1987)
One Tree Hill

We turn away to face the cold, enduring chill
As the day begs the night for mercy
Your sun so bright it leaves no shadows, only scars
Carved into stone on the face of earth
The moon is up and over One Tree Hill
We see the sun go down in your eyes
You ran like river to the sea
Like a river to the sea
And in our world a heart of darkness, a firezone
Where poets speak their hearts, then bleed for it
Jara sang, his song a weapon, in the hands of love
You know his blood still cries from the ground
It runs like a river to the sea
Like a river to the sea
I don't believe in painted roses or bleeding hearts
While bullets rape the night of the merciful
I'll see you again when the stars fall from the sky
And the moon has turned red over One Tree Hill
We run like a river to the sea
Like a river to the sea

[rosemarykaye]

I know this is not a poem, but yesterday I went for a long walk along the Waters of Leith - the river that rises in the Pentlands and meanders through Edinburgh to join the sea at Leith

http://www.edinburghspotlight.com/2010/04/photo-walk-water-of-leith-balerno-to-slateford/

 I usually walk the part from the city to Leith (because my favourite coffee shop is at the other end...) but this time I walked inland.  The river passes through Dean Village, a lovely old part of Edinburgh and quite unlike anywhere else in the city - it was baking hot, the sky was blue, and I felt as if I was in one of those French or Italian villages, in the afternoon when everywhere is closed and everyone is eating or sleeping

http://www.stuckonscotland.co.uk/pictures/edinburgh/dean_village_10.jpg

http://www.stuckonscotland.co.uk/pictures/edinburgh/dean_village_03.jpg

  The river then goes through some not particularly lovely housing estates - children had climbed down the banks and were having a great time splashing in the water or trying to fish.  After a while, the river goes through Craiglockhart and Colinton Dells, two beautifully wooded areas with grassy bits by the water where people were having picnics or just enjoying the day.  All along the walk I saw a heron fishing, a song thrush catching a worm, and several tiny white butterflies, and met lots of happy dogs who'd been for a dip to cool down.  Last year someone spotted an otter and her baby on the river - it was the first time otters had been seen for many years owing to pollution, but it seems they are now back.  

In Colinton Village, which is very smart and home to JK Rowling, Ian Rankin and Alexander McCall Smith, I took the bus back to the city.  The river gives so much pleasure to so many people.  Here is one of my favourite chapters from The Wind In The Willows, which is of course all about a river:

http://www.cleavebooks.co.uk/grol/grahame/wind07.htm

Rosemary

[Babi]

 What a lovely walk, ROSEMARY. I took the time to enjoy my visual stroll. I'm delighted to hear otters may be returning. They are such playful animal and a joy to watch.

[BarbStAubrey]

Oh Rosemary thanks - what a gift to read first thing this morning - one of my very favorite's is the Wind in the Willows and the follow-up Willow series written by William Harwood with permission from the Grahame family - The description of the river in Chapter seven is the best - can you imagine being a young child and having this story read to you with all the wonder of it wrapped in the voice of the adult reader.

And to celebrate the Leith is nineteenth century poet, William McGonagall considered the 'worst poet' but beloved for the devotion he puts into his poems about things held tight in Scotland.

The River of Leith
            ~ William McGonagall

As I stood upon the Dean Bridge and viewed the beautiful scenery,
I felt fascinated and my heart was full of glee,
And I exclaimed in an ecstasy of delight,
In all my travels I never saw such a sight.

The scenery is so enchanting to look upon
That all tourists will say, "Dull care, be gone."
'Tis certainly a most lovely spot,
And once seen it can never be forgot.

Then away! away! to the River of Leith,
That springs from the land of heather and heath,
And view the gorgeous scenery on a fine summer day.
I'm sure it will drive dull care away.

The water-fall near the Bridge is most beautiful to be seen,
As it falls and shines like crystal in the sunsheen;
And the sound can be heard all day long,
While the innocent trouts sing an aquatic song.

The glen is a cool spot in the summer time.
There the people can be shaded from the sunshine
Under the spreading branches of the big trees,
And there's seats there to rest on if they please.

Then near St. Bernard's Well there's a shady bower,
Where the lovers, if they like, can spend an hour;
And while they rest there at their ease
They can make love to each other if they please.

The water of St. Bernard's Well is very nice,
But to get a drink of it one penny is the price.
I think in justice the price is rather high,
To give a penny for a drink when one feels dry.

The braes of the River Leith is most charming to be seen,
With its beautiful trees and shrubberies green,
And as the tourist gazes on the river in the valley below,
His heart with joy feels all aglow.

There the little trouts do sport and play
During the live-long summer day,
While the bee and butterfly is on the wing,
And with the singing of birds the glen doth ring.

The walk underneath the Dean Bridge is lovely to see.
And as ye view the scenery it will fill your heart with glee.
It is good for the people's health to be walking there
As they gaze on the beauties of Nature and inhale pure air.

The Dean Bridge is a very magnificent sight,
Because from the basement it is a great height.
And it seems most attractive to the eye,
And arrests the attention of strangers as they pass by.

The braes of Belgrave Crescent is lovely to see,
With its beautiful walks and green shrubbery.
'Tis health for the people that lives near by there
To walk along the bonny walks and breathe the sweet air.

Therefore all lovers of the picturesque, bo advised by me
And the beautiful scenery of the River Leith go and see,
And I am sure you will get a very great treat,
Because the River of Leith scenery cannot be beat.

[rosemarykaye]

Barb - that is hilarious, and sounds just like the language of Oswald, the schoolboy narrator of The Wouldbegoods (and The Treasure Seekers), by EE Nesbit, which I am currently reading and which is laugh out loud funny.

Thanks for that,

Rosemary

PS -  I've always loved the chapter about Portly, the lost little otter, and the Piper - apparently some people think it's too whimsical and doesn't sit well with the rest of the book, but for me it's one of the best bits.

[Babi]

Terrible poet, Mr. McGonagall, but a lovely river.  River does sometimes seem a
misnomer, tho'.  There seem to be spots where it's little more than a stream.

 Here's a poem by a new poet, to me.  Brooks Haxton,  from Tennessee.
The last bit was a surprise.
 
Deaf

Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy
waterspouts. Psalm 42


The waterfall in sunlight is God
talking to herself. Her voice
poured into the trees asks
nothing, to prove nothing,
and her way of asking
says by overflowing what
may not be said. The stream
unbroken at the rock’s
edge bursts with downflung
beads where daylight bursts
and drops. Though deaf, I listen
through my shoesoles, through
the stone ledge, into the water,
thrumming, into the spray and light.

[BarbStAubrey]

Interesting Babi - this poem with these lines is the first I have a real glimps into the world of the deaf - I realize this is not about memory - the memory of sounds but I could almost at first a muffled silence than I could get to a real silence where senses send messages - I could feel the vibration in my feet and what it would be like to feel the water and warm light on my face - I often take a walk at night and can tell that it is night by the difference in sounds - I need to take a night walk and feel the air - I do like looking at the moon and stars but what else am I missing. .

Though deaf, I listen
through my shoesoles, through
the stone ledge, into the water,
thrumming, into the spray and light.

Rosemary not to be-labor children's stories but the Brambly Hedge stories and art work is another delight - not as deep and filling as the Willows but a delight - I've the tea pot, cups, desert dishes, collector plates and two mugs for my coffee that feature the art work from the Brambly Hedge - Haven't pulled them out in awhile - need to do that...

But back to the willows -

The narrator, Kenneth Grahame, emerges from darkness into the attic.
He is elderly, tweedy, and has a copy of The Wind in the Willows in one hand.
He looks around him, then out at the audience.

I thought you'd come. I've been expecting you.
You'll want to know first what I'm doing here,
And who I am. That's fair. That's reasonable -
Although I warn you, reason's not the only thing
I look for in this world... Where was I now?
Yes, that right. Here I am. Just here. Awake
But dreaming. In the attic of my home -
As I am often when the evening falls,
And nothing is quite certain any more.
Is this grey twilight or the dusty air?
You see? You can't be sure. And nothing's sure
Inside my head. I'm like a ghost that floats
Between two worlds: one real and definite,
The other... Well, let's call the other
Opposite: a dream-world. That will do.
You don't believe me? Let me prove it then.
I wrote this book. I wrote it years ago,
And when I tell you that its characters
Are not a man and woman but a Mole
A Water-rat, a Badger, and so on,
You might suppose it's nothing but a lie.
And that's my point. It is a lie. A lie.
A most delicious lie and full of truth.

The narrator starts to read, then looks up.

If I can't make you understand I'm sure
The creatures I invented will oblige.
So let them rise again! Let time roll back
And sunlight, not this graveyard-attic-light,
But silken early sunlight ripple down!
Let Mole peep from his burrow
At the sudden brazenness, and Otter
And the whole quick rabbit-clan!
Let Ratty paddle into view, and let
His river-currents play at fast and loose!
Let Toad Hall stand there on its eminence!
Yes let all this return! Return, and live
As new and easy as the warming wind
Which - listen! - strikes the willow-wands and draws
A shower of music from their silver strings.

[rosemarykaye]

Barb - my daughters loved Bramley Hedge when they were little - we still have the books and I agree, the artwork is a joy to behold.  I'm looking forward to seeing all these old books of mine when we get our boxes out of storage.

Rosemary

[Babi]

 BARB, what a pleasure reading Graham Greene's introduction of his book to his audience.  You
have to love the man!

[roshanarose]

babi - Not all Graham's are the same  

[Babi]

Oh, blast!   My brain pulled another switch on me!   Kenneth Grahame, of course.  My own
brand of 'free association', I suppose. 

[roshanarose]

Babi - Luv u, babe!

[BarbStAubrey]

well quite a weekend - I would get up do a bit - maybe post here or there and back to bed - It was headache, tummy upset, and some ache and pain with heavy breathing - turned out had in infection that went to my lungs - sheesh - I realize now, all that walking last week was in the driest, dust covered and ceder filled parks that are simply bits of land left in their native condition which here means, Ceder, Prickly Pear cactus, Yucca and Spanish Daggers with maybe a Live Oak struggling amidst all the acid rain that flows after the rain hits the Ceder - Ceder and I have never been friends so I bet that was the culprit.

Pray to What Earth Does This Sweet Cold Belong
          ~ Henry David Thoreau

Pray to what earth does this sweet cold belong,
Which asks no duties and no conscience?
The moon goes up by leaps, her cheerful path
In some far summer stratum of the sky,
While stars with their cold shine bedot her way.
The fields gleam mildly back upon the sky,
And far and near upon the leafless shrubs
The snow dust still emits a silver light.
Under the hedge, where drift banks are their screen,
The titmice now pursue their downy dreams,
As often in the sweltering summer nights
The bee doth drop asleep in the flower cup,
When evening overtakes him with his load.
By the brooksides, in the still, genial night,
The more adventurous wanderer may hear
The crystals shoot and form, and winter slow
Increase his rule by gentlest summer means.

[BarbStAubrey]

Elegance
          ~ By Linda Gregg

All that is uncared for.
Left alone in the stillness
in that pure silence married
to the stillness of nature.
A door off its hinges,
shade and shadows in an empty room.
Leaks for light. Raw where
the tin roof rusted through.
The rustle of weeds in their
different kinds of air in the mornings,
year after year.
A pecan tree, and the house
made out of mud bricks. Accurate
and unexpected beauty, rattling
and singing. If not to the sun,
then to nothing and to no one.

[BarbStAubrey]

~ by Abbot Henjo:

    “If the winds of heaven
    Would only blow shut the doors
    Of the corridors
    Of the clouds, I could
    Keep these beautiful girls
    For a little while.”

[rosemarykaye]

Hope you are feeling better Barb - I never knew you could catch something like that from cedar trees!

Rosemary

[BarbStAubrey]

Thanks for your good wishes - Rosemary it is called allergies - my lungs have been my weak spot - when 6 months old I had whooping cough and that led to Bronchitis which when aggravated by allergies have a field day... an allergy attack leads to the infection and so it goes...had it under control for years and then three years ago I neglected to get my flu shot and of course got the flu - ever since my chest rattles and rolls like it did when I was a kid which means these allergy bell ringing field days are more frequent - mold, cat dander, cedar (actually Mexican Juniper but locally called cedar}, spruce, lilies, strawberries, penicillin, and processed cheese are the big ones.

[Octavia]

I hope you're feeling a little better, Barb. Have plenty of rest and indulge yourself.
I liked Elegance,
'In that pure silence, married to the stillness of nature'.
I've experienced that silence, it's a lovely feeling.

[Babi]

Sorry to hear you're not well, BARB. Bed is definitely the best place to be.
Take care of yourself; we can always muddle about while you get well.

[roshanarose]

Barb - Please take care of yourself.

[Octavia]

Yes Barb, remember what happened the last time you were absent. The Australians invaded

[BarbStAubrey]

Join Us! For a Summer of Poetry Flowers ~ Jessi Lane Adams   Have you ever seen a flower down Sometimes angels skip around And in their blissful state of glee Bump into a daisy or sweet pea. Famous Poets and Poems about Summer Link to: Summer Poems   ~~~   Discussion Leaders: Barb &Fairanna