Author Topic: Poetry Page  (Read 724034 times)

Babi

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3040 on: October 13, 2011, 08:55:43 AM »
 Oh, that Hardy poem is powerful. I've never seen it before.  Thank you so much.   Should I dare
hope this means you are finally getting the rain you need, BARB?

   Here are two Autumn poems I like. 

  Autumn Song by Katherine Mansfield
Now's the time when children's noses
All become as red as roses
And the colour of their faces
Makes me think of orchard places
Where the juicy apples grow,
And tomatoes in a row.

And to-day the hardened sinner
Never could be late for dinner,
But will jump up to the table
Just as soon as he is able,
Ask for three times hot roast mutton--
Oh! the shocking little glutton.

Come then, find your ball and racket,
Pop into your winter jacket,
With the lovely bear-skin lining.
While the sun is brightly shining,
Let us run and play together
And just love the autumn weather.



 
     Autumn Movement by Carl Sandburg
I CRIED over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
 The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one
lasts.
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3041 on: October 13, 2011, 02:54:48 PM »
Yes Babi this past weekend we had two good days of solid rain coming down like a Texas rain does, in sheets that come so fast and furious there is no place for the water to go - as dry as we had been and still the water piled up overflowing curbs and making lakes out of low areas - then we had two more days of dark gray overcaste with a sprinkle now and then in various parts of town - this week the sun is a weakened yellow orange and I noticed last night the moon is full high in the sky - the season has finally changed and we are safe with no more 100+ days - the rain didn't do much for the lakes - it will take a month of downpours west of us where the Colorado is at its beginning so that the LCRA dams along the way will open and let the water into the lakes near Austin.

This summer wore me out so that I am still reeling and cannot seem to settle into an autumn mood - with Bastrop having gone up in flames there is no place nearby that I could get out into the woods and feel the season's change - everything is so dry there is no joy in being out of doors. The temp in the lakes is still 78 degrees and so maybe I need to simply take myself out for a swim and wipe the cobwebs out of my spirit system. Except the Springs would be so cold maybe a ride out to Krause's Springs would be better, because after a swim at the lake I would still have that dry long rocky shoreline with a creek size river to look at.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

Babi

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3042 on: October 14, 2011, 09:09:14 AM »
 You do have my sympathies, BARB.  The other day, watching the news about a hurrican turning into
a storm as it came inland, my daughter got up and was mentally 'pushing' the rain further inland,
shoving at it with her hands.  Well, it relieved her feelings somewhat.  ::)
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3043 on: October 15, 2011, 02:00:25 PM »
Here we go Babi - most of her stuff is nasty - finding one that is cleaned up is like finding a needle in a haystack

the sheep lady from algiers
            ~ By Patti Smith b. 1946 Patti Smith

nodding tho' the lamps lit low
nodding for passers underground
to and fro she's darning and
the yarn is weeping red and pale
marking the train stops from algiers

sleeping tho' the eyes are pale
hums in rhythum w/a bonnet on
lullaby a broken song
the sifting-cloth is bleeding red
weeping yarn from algiers

lullaby tho' baby's gone
the cradle rocks a barren song
she's rocking w/her ribbons on
she's rocking yarn and needles oh
it's long coming from algiers

“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

roshanarose

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3044 on: October 16, 2011, 12:59:57 AM »
Good one Barb  :)
How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?  - Plato

Babi

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3045 on: October 16, 2011, 09:01:54 AM »
 That would explain why she isn't known to me, BARB.  I never did get into 'nasty', in music,
film, or anything else.  I tried to find some of her art, but all I could find were videos about her
'art exhibit', which apparently was art she had selected...not necessarily hers
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3046 on: October 16, 2011, 10:03:00 AM »
Good morning Barbara and all,

The autumn flower is so pretty in the header. I have a few containers of pansies and mums. What kind of flower is that in the header?

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3047 on: October 16, 2011, 12:02:52 PM »
Glad you like the poem roshanarose

Hi hats - glad to see you posting again - it appears to me the flower is a zinnia but I am not certain - it could be a wild flower and although the coloring makes it almost looks like a Painted Blanket however, I cannot see the Painted Blanket having the strength of stem that so easily blows in the wind to hold a Katydid that is the size of half the width of this flower - granted this is all magnified but it is still a large bug as compared to the flowerhead. The outer petals are too broad for it to be any kind of a chrysanthemum - I guess it is time to pull down the book with photos and sketches identifying flowers.

Yes, Babi - I know it is considered avant guard to be comfortable with language and body functions described, explored and explained as a way to make a point but I still come from the mind set taught to me as a kid that if that is the level of your conversation you do not have much rattling around in your head. In Patti's case, given her time in history I would guess it was about rebelling against the community norms - fine in my mind for a 16 year old or even a 21 year old but older than that I want to say the old cliché, 'get a life' ---  

This way of expressing ourselves has become so common that we are loosing the impact of so many wonderful words that took hundreds of years to develop and that can express just about every emotion we can imagine.  Have you ever had the opportunity to read a McGuffey reader - I own one that is around here someplace - as I recall it is a 5th grade reader and the spelling words and paragraphs that kids read in the early 1900s would test the skill of most 8th grade students today.

Here is one of many poems that seems appropriate to the Autumn season - all the stories and poems starts with a paragraph about the author, and other spots of information. All the work ends with the newer words listed with instructions to find the definition. In addition there are notes about places or people mentioned in the story or poem. Many more poems than are read today in our classrooms.

The Death of the Flowers
 
          ~ By William Cullen Bryant
 
THE MELANCHOLY days are come, the saddest of the year,   
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.   
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;   
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit’s tread.   
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,           
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.   
 
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood   
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?   
Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers   
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.           
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain   
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.   
 
The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,   
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;   
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,           
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood,   
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,   
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.   
 
And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,   
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home;           
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,   
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,   
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,   
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.   
 
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,           
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side.   
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf,   
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief:   
Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of ours,   
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.


This started with...
Quote
XXXIV. THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.

William Cullen Bryant (b. 1794, d. 1878) was born in Cummington, Mass. He
entered Williams College at the age of sixteen, but was honorably
dismissed at the end of two years. At the age of twenty-one he was
admitted to the bar, and practiced his profession successfully for nine
years. In 1826 he removed to New York, and became connected with the
"Evening Post"--a connection which continued to the time of his death. His
residence for more than thirty of the last years of his life was at
Roslyn, Long Island. He visited Europe several times; and in 1849 he
continued his travels into Egypt and Syria, In all his poems, Mr. Bryant
exhibits a remarkable love for, and a careful study of, nature. His
language, both in prose and verse, is always chaste, correct, and elegant.
"Thanatopsis," perhaps the best known of all his poems, was written when
he was but nineteen. His excellent translations of the "Iliad" and the
"Odyssey" of Homer and some of his best poems, were written after he had
passed the age of seventy. He retained his powers and his activity till
the close of his life.

The Fifth Grade folks ---
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3048 on: October 16, 2011, 12:32:49 PM »
OH my look at this - from the 5th grade McGuffey - what a wonderful way to learn descriptive words...and more amazing - this is a lesson to simply learn 'ing' words!

XXXVIII. THE CATARACT OF LODORE.

1. "How does the water
   Come down at Lodore?"
   My little boy asked me
     Thus once on a time;
   And, moreover, he tasked me
     To tell him in rhyme.

2. Anon at the word,
   There first came one daughter,
   And then came another,
     To second and third
   The request of their brother,
   And to hear how the water
     Comes down at Lodore,
     With its rush and its roar,
       As many a time
    They had seen it before.

3. So I told them in rhyme,
   For of rhymes I had store,
     And 't was in my vocation
     For their recreation
   That so I should sing;
   Because I was Laureate
   To them and the King.

4. From its sources which well
   In the tarn on the fell;
   From its fountains
   In the mountains,
Its rills and its gills;
  Through moss and through brake,
    It runs and it creeps
    For a while, till it sleeps
  In its own little lake.

5. And thence at departing,
   Awakening and starting,
   It runs through the reeds,
   And away it proceeds,
   Through meadow and glade,
   In sun and in shade,
   And through the wood shelter,
     Among crags in its flurry,
   Helter-skelter,
     Hurry-skurry.

6. Here it comes sparkling,
   And there it lies darkling;
   Now smoking and frothing
   Its tumult and wrath in,
   Till, in this rapid race
     On which it is bent,
   It reaches the place
     Of its steep descent.

7. The cataract strong
   Then plunges along,
   Striking and raging
   As if a war waging
Its caverns and rocks among;

8. Rising and leaping,
   Sinking and creeping,
   Swelling and sweeping,
   Showering and springing,
   Flying and flinging,
   Writhing and ringing,
   Eddying and whisking,
   Spouting and frisking,
   Turning and twisting,
   Around and around
   With endless rebound;
   Smiting and fighting,
   A sight to delight in;
   Confounding, astounding,
Dizzying, and deafening the ear with its sound

9. Collecting, projecting,
  Receding and speeding,
  And shocking and rocking,
  And darting and parting,
  And threading and spreading,
  And whizzing and hissing,
  And dripping and skipping,
  And hitting and splitting,
  And shining and twining,
  And rattling and battling,
  And shaking and quaking,
  And pouring and roaring,
  And waving and raving,
  And tossing and crossing,
  And guggling and struggling,
  And heaving and cleaving,
  And moaning and groaning,
  And glittering and frittering,
  And gathering and feathering,
  And whitening and brightening,
  And quivering and shivering,
  And hurrying and skurrying,
  And thundering and floundering;

10. Dividing and gliding and sliding,
    And falling and brawling and sprawling,
    And driving and riving and striving,
    And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling;

11. And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
    And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;
    And so never ending, but always descending,
    Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending,
      All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,
      And this way the water comes down at Lodore.
                                      --Abridged from Southey.


DEFINITIONS.--4. Tarn, a small lake among the mountains. Fell (provincial
English), a stony hill. Gills (provincial English), brooks. 10. Brawl'ing,
roaring. Riv'ing, splitting.


NOTES.--1. Lodore is a cascade on the banks of Lake Derwentwater, in
Cumberland, England, near where Southey lived.

3. Laureate. The term probably arose from a custom in the English
universities of presenting a laurel wreath to graduates in rhetoric and
versification. In England the poet laureate's office is filled by
appointment of the lord chamberlain. The salary is quite small, and the
office is valued chiefly as one of honor.

This lesson is peculiarly adapted for practice on the difficult sound
"ing".

“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

roshanarose

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3049 on: October 16, 2011, 08:26:05 PM »

Barb - Re Patti.  It seems to me that the lyrics you picked out to read were only the naughty ones  ;D  Have you heard her voice, actually singing a song?  Listen to "Dream of Life" and "Redondo Beach".  No.  Now I think of it, don't.  I am sure that you do not wish to hear anything nasty or 'avant garde'.  I do not consider Patti as needing to "get a life".  I daresay, in fact I know, that the life that she has had is a whole lot more interesting and full than those who choose to criticise her.  Some people I know on here can appreciate and enjoy Mozart's "Requiem" and Patti's "Dream of Life" equally.  Does that mean that they need to "Get a Life"too?
How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?  - Plato

Babi

  • Posts: 6732
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3050 on: October 17, 2011, 09:18:32 AM »
  How marvelous! I love the Bryant poems, BARB, both of them. And I've always thought
our young people could learn more if more was expected of them. "No child left behind"
sounds wonderful until you understand how it was actually applied.    Not every child's
gift is in scholarship; planning one's entire curriculum to help them is unjust to
the child who could..and desires..to do more, IMO.

 It's been impressed on my more than once, BARB, that with those using alcohol and/or
drugs on a regular basis, maturing pretty well stops at that point. Many older adults
are still stuck in their rebellious, shock-the-elders stage.
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3051 on: October 17, 2011, 03:06:27 PM »
roshanarose - we all have our opinion of what is art - I am expressing mine as you express yours - we may not agree and that is fine - we are not in this discussion having either a contest or an agreement on what we admire as art.

As you can see my opinion of folks who use base language to express themselves is they are either rebellious or falling back on a lazy man's way of going through the world - obviously there are many who see value in this form of art - and yes, there are many who we consider mainstream who were every bit as addicted to drugs and alcohol as Patti and Robert.

I prefer to surround myself with ideas and visuals that uplift, provide me with a reason to think deeply, that encourages my better self and if possible, exalt me to a place of wonder. Art that is like that spark that Meister Eckhart speaks of that touches the godhead in our soul for which, if nothing else in life, we only have to say in our prayer-life, Thank You.

Maybe a tall order but that is what I look for in art- print medium or three dimensional - Patti expressing her time of writing at her desk as a time to "wet her pants and come" does not exalt me to a place of wonder - much of her and Robert's art falls into this bracket that scoots me and others into a baseness - There may be some who see something other than either, rebellion or pushing the snake section of our brain without the added education of 8 thousand years of various cultures adding to our development of language, space, line, color, value, form and movement.   

Now both you and Babi express your likes and dislikes differently and personally however, please we all have our view points and no one is trying to caste stones at each other because we do not agree. Again, this is not a contest - if you see something worthy, of value in a poet, an artist that others in this discussion do not see - great, please share your insight - we may learn to look from another angle - but because we all come from our own experiences we see things through the eyes of our experience.

Remember roshanarose, in this discussion we have folks from various cultural differences as well as, you have the wonderful personal history of living and studying in another country from your home and the study put you in touch with ancient wonders many of us will never see. Where as, many of us have only been a couple of hundred miles from our birth home to maybe a short visit or two, either out of the country or to another part of this country.

Therefore, please, we are interested in each other’s viewpoints, as we are interested in yours - we may not agree - and we may have a viewpoint we each think is silly, backward, too liberal or too conservative. The big thing we have going for us is that, where we come from different view points and have different values and taste in art, we do care about each other. In this Discussion, we use the values set out by Fairanna - we may disagree with the art, not each other.

Added is - regardless of our opinion Senior Learn, as SeniorNet before it, does not want to see the web site drain away as many have because of nasty language in our posts - yes, there are all sorts of ways that a fine line can be wiggled, bantered and pushed however, we have for so long been comfortable with this choice of behavior that we prefer not having to tackle the issue that has pulled many a web site into oblivion. Therefore, I can only see that the group on Senior Learn does not see the value in 'nasty'.

It sounds to me roshanarose, you see other aspects of the work of this artist that is not filled with a 'nasty' image - please, bring to our attention those aspects of Patti Smith - They would be a lovely gift to us - however, some of us just prefer to go on to explore the work of other artists who will not gross us out on a regular basis in order for us to sort through and find the jewels - and some of us scratch our heads trying to understand what is behind the thinking of an artist who does not bring us closer to our better nature.


Although Our 'Differences' Are Researched
          ~ Lawrence S. Pertillar

You and I...
And all that have come to know life,
Are connected.
Just as a tree is rooted to the Earth,
From its birth.
Although our 'differences' are researched.

You and I...
And all that have come to know life,
Are related.
Just as every element associated,
Comes together and does not separate...
To make us what and who we are.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3052 on: October 17, 2011, 03:08:14 PM »
Common Difference
          ~ by Eddie Thompson; (Even in the discovering of our differences, we are linked in our core being as humans.)

two sides of the same coin
or distant evolutions
of divers paths
     one calculates coldly,
precisely, the root of facade,
deception, and hypocrisy
     the other’s passion burns
with naked lust and wild abandonment

romanticism is a device we use to disguise cynicism
cynicism a shell we use to protect our romantic heart

shells growing hard and strong,
     hiding cynical minds
from those who would love them
     despite their slime
thorns surrounding a lovely rose,
     protecting romantic hearts
from those who would pick them
     before their time

the ado we much display,
the dust we kick up,
     speaks the truth about us
our search for identity
frustrates our desire for unity
we share a common difference
     that links us apart
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

roshanarose

  • Posts: 1344
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3053 on: October 18, 2011, 12:23:45 AM »
Barb - Well written and diplomatic - I think you know me well enough to know that I am not "base".

As I also pointed out there is another side to Patti, as there is to most people, if they are willing to admit it.  My interests and tastes are extremely varied.  My life experiences have made me bitter to some extent, but mostly I am humble, particularly in the face of brilliance, whatever mask she prefers to wear.

I was in the company of friends a couple of nights ago and we were having a drink in a bar we had not visited before.  A lounge bar type of place.  Three men came in and starting using very bad language.  I turned around and asked them to remember that they were in mixed company.  They skulked out.  A side of me that perhaps you didn't think existed.  As I said human are not so simple that they always display the good and sweet, or the base and reptilian.  I don't recall ever using bad language anywhere on this site, and neither would I.
How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?  - Plato

Babi

  • Posts: 6732
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3054 on: October 18, 2011, 08:22:11 AM »
 To both of you,  well said.  That's what I love about this place.

 What do you think of this young lady?  I think we have a great poet budding here.

Pure Happiness

Just four hours prior noon
The sun complained to wake so soon.
He gazed upon children hurrying for school

And one child, standing in the cool,
Who greeted every kid, his face so bright

That Sun turned and said to Mr. Night,
"Of all the children way down there

It's that boy's life I'd like to share."

Elizabeth walked down the hall,
Her golden hair a waterfall,
All she could think about were her hands,
"Such ugly fingers," she demands.
John-Michael glared at his math test,
"I hate my life; I'll never pass!"

Suzanna cringed into the mirror,
Where sat a pimple, red and clear,
"Why should I go through this?
When others' lives are perfect bliss!"

Every kid found something wrong

Except the boy, courageous and strong.
"I'm glad to be me," he said to himself.
"I'm happy and would rather be nobody else."

He walked out of the school, his head held in pride,
For his jacket read "Special Olympics" down the side.



by Alexandra Harten, 6th grade, The Community School, Sun Valley, Idaho


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------




"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

bellemere

  • Posts: 862
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3055 on: October 19, 2011, 08:15:10 PM »
Last Days

Things are changing, things are starting to
Spin, snap, fly off into
the blue sleeve of the long afternoon. Oh and ooh
come whistling out of the perished mouth
of the grass, as things boil back
into substance and hue,  As everything
forgetting its own enchantment, whispers
I too love oblivion, why not, it is full
of second chances. NOW ,
hiss the bright curls of the leaves. NOW!
booms the muscle of the wind.

            Mary Oliver

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3056 on: October 20, 2011, 05:45:12 PM »
Oh yes, wonderful - just what I needed to read - my little Fawn had its last days and was either killed by the herd last night or injured and the vultures took care of the rest... Poor thing had a terrible life - it was dropped last May 2 weeks after that doe had given birth to twins and the doe did not want it - kicked it all over the backyard - it curled up and less than an hour old got itself into the woodpile - later another doe had to wait for the mother to leave with her twins and fight her on the way so that 3 days later it finally got to this poor thing and allowed it to nurse - it nursed sporadically and spent most of the first few weeks curled up under the Jasmin - then mid-summer it was on the patio nestled behind the big flowerpots badly injured - but I had water nearby and so again it healed itself as they all do - then it came with its leg a problem - then it came with half its lower jaw gone - drooling and its tongue exposed -

I have no idea if the herd was inflicting some of these injuries or because of its very slow growth rate and inability to run quickly because of what happened right after birth if dogs or whatever were getting to it. I do know there is a guy on the next street who hates the deer and lets his two dogs out every so often to chase them down - I came in one night and panting the came right up to me but did not go into the garage - called the police but of course they were gone even though they did a good job of being there is less than 5 minutes.

Anyhow back to the fawn - it came in the yard about a month ago really looking bad and because of lack of public funds couldn't get any help - the service that would pick them up to rehabilitate will now not take them if they can walk - and the game wardens are down to 2 wardens for the entire county so they cannot dispatch someone on a dime to come and put it down and the police are not allowed to use firearms in the county any longer to put any animal down - so I started to feed it and it was so used to me it came right up to me while I put the food out - then when ever it got stronger it would go back to the herd and then after a few days was back in the yard again by itself looking less bad but not healthy and strong.

I was really concerned about how it would get through the winter and was looking for a hunter who would be available when I called to come and put it down with a knife. Then in the last two weeks it brought part of the herd with it to get the food I put out as if buying itself some status - I would not put out the food unless it was by itself.

Well last night, late - around 10: I put the patio light on to check the yard and there it was - coming toward the light - went and got food - deer pellets and some corn - I know the corn is not good for them - like candy but it needs calories so I mix both - and when I put it out there it turns out the whole herd was back there - so now I had to get a bunch out or they would be knocking each other and anything on the patio fighting for food - the drought it hard on them but they are all looking better with fewer ribs showing after that rain two weeks ago.

Well I have no idea what happened but around 11:30 this morning I go for more coffee and look out and near the back fence it looks like a turkey - go out on the patio and there are two huge turkey vultures - and sure enough there was the little one with half its rib cage already exposed. I clapped them away and then after feeling bad realized if I brought it out to the curb and called for it to be picked up it would end up in the dump - bad enough it had such a bad life and I had no idea if the herd did it or if it was injured and a Turkey Vulture finished it off - but at least allowing them to dispose of it as nature intended it had some dignity for its birth as a wild animal.

OK now I have on my roof 5 Turkey Vultures - in my trees 2 - feeding 3 - on my neighbor's roof 4 and in my neighbor's tree 2 more. Had to quick call my son to verify that they will go away once the deer is finished and not stay around pecking holes in my roof and nesting in my trees causing more damage - the other birds are in a dither singing and screeching and calling to each other and the squirrels are quickly running and hiding - quite a show - now if that pesky raccoon would only show up maybe it would be taken since it is doing damage to my roof - so with mixed emotions and yet for the better my dear little fawn is gone and these awful looking birds are bringing its life and death full circle.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3057 on: October 20, 2011, 05:45:50 PM »
Ode to a Turkey Vulture

        “The other world is to be found, as usual,
        inside this one.” ~ Susan Sontag


    O companion of my heart,
    I am kneeling at the long
    window, hushed with you,
    statuesque
    gargoyle grotesque
    on the cathedral barn.

    In this, the attentiveness
    of longing, you wait
    in your placid eye,
    onyx bead embedded
    in the corrugated heart
    of your featherless head.
    You hunger, like me, taciturn
    in a violent world. You lift

    off into the blue
    without sound, to travel
    like John in the wilderness.
    O calm and golden remiges,
    soft oars stippled with sun,
    my love, my inspiration,
    my ferryman to the flowing sky,

    your peaceful floating
    a surrender to what rises,
    the kitely sails of your wings
    tilting, lilting on tides of heat
    that carry fragrance
    of decay. In this air,
    what is death is your joy.

    All the suffering in these little
    ones who bring you sustenance
    you did not wield with talon
    or tooth. The pink and gray
    fleshes gurgle over the gullet
    stones of your hearted throat, all
    their silenced cries,
    their chests opened, every
    disappointed beat and falling
    enveloped in your beak,
    lifted up, a mercy
    in this fractured air.

    And long
    in the shadow of the tree
    you clean yourself. Through you
    all is purified. Tonight the moon shines cool
    in a black No Man's Land, and we sleep.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3058 on: October 20, 2011, 05:47:19 PM »
Fawn
          ~ By Mary Barnard 1909–2001

Out of a high meadow where flowers  
bloom above cloud, come down;
pursue me with reasons for smiling without malice.

Bring mimic pride like that of the seedling fir,  
surprise in the perfect leg-stems
and queries unstirred by recognition or fear  
pooled in the deep eyes.

Come down by regions where rocks  
lift through the hot haze of pain;  
down landscapes darkened, crossed  
by the rift of death-shock; place print  
of a neat hoof on trampled ground  
where not one leaf or root
remains unbitten; but come down  
always, accompany me to the morass  
of the decaying mind. There
we’ll share one rotted stump between us.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3059 on: October 20, 2011, 05:50:53 PM »
The Fawn
          ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

     There it was I saw what I shall never forget
And never retrieve.
Monstrous and beautiful to human eyes, hard to
believe,
He lay, yet there he lay,
Asleep on the moss, his head on his polished cleft
small ebony hoves,
The child of the doe, the dappled child of the deer.

Surely his mother had never said, "Lie here
Till I return," so spotty and plain to see
On the green moss lay he.
His eyes had opened; he considered me.

I would have given more than I care to say
To thrifty ears, might I have had him for my friend
One moment only of that forest day:


Might I have had the acceptance, not the love
Of those clear eyes;
Might I have been for him in the bough above
Or the root beneath his forest bed,
A part of the forest, seen without surprise.

Was it alarm, or was it the wind of my fear lest he
depart
That jerked him to his jointy knees,
And sent him crashing off, leaping and stumbling
On his new legs, between the stems of the white
trees?
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

Babi

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3060 on: October 21, 2011, 08:31:23 AM »
     So sad about the fawn.  Nature can be brutal, as well as beautiful.

    "I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less
time proving tht he can outwit nature and mre time tasting her sweetness and
respecting her seniority."
E. B. White
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

roshanarose

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3061 on: October 23, 2011, 10:36:44 PM »


This one is for our mate, Gum. 

Egrets 
 
Once as I travelled through a quiet evening,
I saw a pool, jet-black and mirror-still.
Beyond, the slender paperbarks stood crowding;
each on its own white image looked its fill,
and nothing moved but thirty egrets wading -
thirty egrets in a quiet evening.

Once in a lifetime, lovely past believing,
your lucky eyes may light on such a pool.
As though for many years I had been waiting,
I watched in silence, till my heart was full
of clear dark water, and white trees unmoving,
and, whiter yet, those thirty egrets wading.

Judith Wright

 
 
How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?  - Plato

Babi

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3062 on: October 24, 2011, 09:12:42 AM »
 What do you think of this one? Rough, but strong?

deaths adventure by nathan
 
im ready 2 die
but please dont shead a tear for this guy
ive had a full life but ppl say its just begun
my lil sista myt aswell be my daugther all though i would hve preferd a son
ive known tru luv and ive lost it to
so ive tasted dispair and not knoing what 2 do
i can look death in the face an say in ready
heart beat normal voice steady
if was to go i dnt need remebrance
ive known different culture lyk people from japan or france
hhmmm i wish i cuda learnt the salsa that looks lyk a sexy dance
lifes been gud i dnt need a second chance
so ill get ready and take my stance
strike me down coz i seak adventure
so i guess deaths my next venture 


 



 


   
 

 
       
 
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

roshanarose

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3063 on: October 24, 2011, 10:48:29 AM »
I like it Babi.
How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?  - Plato

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3064 on: October 24, 2011, 01:39:22 PM »
I am still in such a state of shock over Gum's passing - Then I look at the cookbook I ordered at her recommendation and teasing about Kangaroo tail soup and the feeling of helplessness washes over me. I guess I have turned what happened into a weekend to re-access what the heck I am doing with the life I do have.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

JoanK

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3065 on: October 24, 2011, 06:15:16 PM »
I was looking through old post, and came on this Barb posted a few days ago, before we knew we'd lost out Gum:

The Rain, It Streams On Stone And Hillock
          ~  A. E. Housman

The rain, it streams on stone and hillock,
The boot clings to the clay.
Since all is done that's due and right
Let's home; and now, my lad, good-night,
For I must turn away.

Good-night, my lad, for nought's eternal;
No league of ours, for sure.
Tomorrow I shall miss you less,
And ache of heart and heaviness
Are things that time should cure.

Over the hill the highway marches
And what's beyond is wide:
Oh soon enough will pine to nought
Remembrance and the faithful thought
That sits the grave beside.

The skies, they are not always raining
Nor grey the twelvemonth through;
And I shall meet good days and mirth,
And range the lovely lands of earth
With friends no worse than you.

But oh, my man, the house is fallen
That none can build again;
My man, how full of joy and woe
Your mother bore you years ago
To-night to lie in the rain.

Tomereader1

  • Posts: 1868
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3066 on: October 24, 2011, 08:21:51 PM »
A friend sent this to me before I found out about Gum's passing.  It seems so fitting.

A few weeks ago a woman was killed in an auto accident. She was very well liked, so the office shut down for her funeral and it was on the news.

On the day the workers came back to work, they found this poem in their e-mail that the deceased woman had sent on Friday before she left for home.

IF TOMORROW STARTS WITHOUT ME

If tomorrow starts without me,
And I'm not there to see,
If the sun should rise and find your eyes
All filled with tears for me;
I wish so much you wouldn't cry
The way you did today,
While thinking of the many things,
We didn't get to say.


I know how much you love me,
As much as I love  you,
And each time that you think of me,
I know you'll miss me too;


But when tomorrow starts without me,
Please try to understand,
That an angel came and called my name,
And took me by the hand,


And said my place was ready,
In heaven far above,
And that I'd have to leave behind
All those I dearly love.


But as I turned to walk away,
A tear fell from my eye,
For all my life, I'd always thought,
I didn't want to die.


I had so much to live for,
So much left yet to do,
It seemed almost impossible,
That I was leaving you.


I thought of all the yesterdays,
The good ones and the bad,
I thought of all that we shared,
And all the fun we had.


If I could relive yesterday,
Just even for a while,
I'd say good-bye and hug you
And maybe see you smile.


But then I fully realized,
That this could never be,
For emptiness and memories,
Would take the place of me.


And when I thought of worldly things
I might miss some tomorrow,
I thought of you, and when I did,
My heart was filled with sorrow.


But when I walked through heaven's gates,
I felt so much at home.
When God looked down and smiled at me,
From His great golden throne,


He said, "This is eternity,
And all I've promised you.
Today your life on earth is past,
But here life starts anew.


I promise no tomorrow,
But today will always last,
And since each day is the same way,
There's no longing for the past. "


So when tomorrow starts without me,
Don't think we're far apart,
For every time you think of me,
I'm right there, in your heart.


Send this to all those you care about...
 
Show them how you care, before it's too late....



May God watch over you and your family now and always.



There is no right time to do the wrong thing....


There is no wrong time to tell someone you care.

The reading of a fine book is an uninterrupted dialogue in which the book speaks and our soul replies.


André Maurois

rosemarykaye

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3067 on: October 25, 2011, 03:00:48 AM »
Barb - you above almost everyone on here seem to do masses with every minute of your life - so don't get too despondent.  You are interested in so many things - and still working as well - so don't do yourself down, as we say.  I have a tendency to do exactly the same thing, but I am trying to fight it as it drives my elder daughter nuts - I think it impinges on her teenage right to wallow in gloom about her own life  ;D

Have a good day - remember that poem you posted a while ago, "this day will not come again"?  I have thought about that often.

Best wishes,

Rosemary


Babi

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3068 on: October 25, 2011, 08:58:48 AM »
I love the Housman poem, JOAN. I'm glad you found it and let me read it again.
I can't but feel that these lines are an appropriate goodbye for all of us when
our time comes.
 "Since all is done that's due and right
 Let's home; and now, may lad, good-night,
For I must turn away."


 BARB, may I just say I echo what Rosemary has just said about you.  I think of all that
you do, and how you share it with others, and I am simply amazed.  You have nothing to
berate yourself over. Peace, friend.
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3069 on: October 25, 2011, 01:28:48 PM »
Oh thanks - something about the unexamined life creeps in when ever I feel at a loss - at heart, I am still that Catholic School kid who is always unconsciously trying to measure up to the gift of life and that silent quest shouted out with the speechlessness I felt upon hearing of Gum's passing.

Other's we have loved over the years were ill giving us cues that their life was ebbing - but Gum called us up short - in keeping with her life she sure has an impact.  I am so thankful I knew her - what a banner she held high for good humor, curiosity, pride, adventure in mind and spirit, history of place and good will.

Someplace in the backroom of my mind there is a quote that I only can remember around the edges - something about 'Don't grieve the loss - smile with having known' - not an exact quote but it hits on a direction that acknowledges the gift that folks are in our lives -

Fervor (1969), Borges said he had “moderated its baroque excesses” and “eliminated sentimentality and haziness.” He declined to renounce his younger self, however, and said: “At the time, I was seeking out late afternoons, drab outskirts, and unhappiness; now I seek mornings, the center of town, peace.” The poem, “The Forging,” is taken from Fervor de Buenos Aires. Here is Christopher Maurer’s English version:

Like the blind man whose hands are precursors
that push aside walls and glimpse heavens
slowly, flustered, I feel
in the crack of night
the verses that are to come.
I must burn the abominable darkness
in their limpid bonfire:
the purple of words
on the flagellated shoulder of time.
I must enclose the tears of evening
in the hard diamond of the poem.
No matter if the soul
walks naked and lonely as the wind
if the universe of a glorious kiss
still embraces my life.
The night is good fertile ground
for a sower of verses.


And for Gum - this poem written by W H Auden when Yeats died seems so right...

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message (S)He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policeman wear black cotton gloves.

(S)He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I though that love would last for ever : I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now : put out ever one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


Oh I am sure we will see more good but forever more my clock of time when it hits the 10th hour as the 10th month, October there will be a minutes silence, just long enough to catch my attention that will remind me of the blaze that Gum was in our lives. She really had to go when nature is at its busiest - for those of us north of the equator it is a blaze of autumn color and for those in her beloved Australia as in all the lands south of the equator it had to be the pushing up of early Spring.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3070 on: October 25, 2011, 02:00:10 PM »
Became curious about the symbolism of the 'Egrets' - it is wonderful and a great choice for Gum...

In Egypt the Heron/Egret is honored as the creator of light - Most Native American tribes took note of the heron’s inquisitiveness, curiosity and determination.  Therefore, the heron/Egret as a symbol of wisdom in that this creature seemed to have good judgment skills especially as an expert fisher/hunter - As a Chinese symbol the Egret represents strength, purity, patience and long life - and as a water creature, going with the flow, and working with the elements of Mother nature rather than struggling against her.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

roshanarose

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3071 on: October 26, 2011, 12:22:43 AM »
Barb - Thanks.  I only looked a two poems of Judith Wright's, and the second was "Egrets".  I had no idea of their symbolism, but your research fits our Gumtree to a tee.

A link with a lovely pic of a heron/egret from Egyptian Mythology and some more universal meanings of the heron/egret.

www.dallasegrets.org/EgretArt/symbolism.html
How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?  - Plato

Octavia

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3072 on: October 26, 2011, 04:20:20 AM »
There are some lovely lines on this page.
 My shoulder is fickle, so Im catching up in degrees. If only arms didn't hang down, my pain would probably disappear, or certainly ease up a lot.
I think the Auden poem is the one from Four Weddings and a Funeral, am I right?
What a pity Gum is missing all the excitement of the Queen's visit to Perth for CHOGGM(spelling?).
They say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but it's not one half so bad as a lot of ignorance. Sir Terry Pratchett.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3073 on: October 26, 2011, 05:39:01 AM »
I think you may be right Octavia - I forgot about that movie and I remember at the time everyone was caught up with the Auden poem quoted at the Funeral - do not remember if the funeral took place in Scotland or just one of the weddings although, I think it was during that Scottish wedding that he dies. It is a great poem that gets at death that comes unexpected and how flat out it feels so that you end up questioning even the sun, moon and stars.

All the typing is hard on our arms and shoulders since we seem to have replaced communicating from the phone to the computer. I have a neck vibrator that I have used for years to help when I am starting with a migraine but I noticed I can drape it over my shoulder and it gets just the spots I need after a day online - also, I am finding the Bach flower rescue cream to be helpful. What are you using to ease the pain in your arms and shoulder?
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

rosemarykaye

  • Posts: 3055
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3074 on: October 26, 2011, 06:53:48 AM »
Yes it was the one read by John Hannah's character at Simon Callow's funeral in Four Weddings, but I think the funeral itself takes place in some rather grotty part of Essex - it's the death that occurs at the ceilidh after the doomed Scottish wedding.

Barb, my understanding was that it was written on the death of Auden's (male) partner, but I just had a look at Wikipedia (sorry), which says that it is unclear for whom (or indeed what) the poem was written.

In any event, it's brilliant.

Babi

  • Posts: 6732
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3075 on: October 26, 2011, 09:22:19 AM »
 I did enjoy reading about the egrets, and seeing the ancient Egyptian depiction of the Ra symbol.
Such things have always appealed to me.
 
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

bellemere

  • Posts: 862
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3076 on: October 26, 2011, 09:34:57 AM »
I recently joined a "low vision" support group, and like most members, I have macular degeneration.  These lines from Intimations of Immortality by William Wordsworth really speak to us.

What though the radiance which was so bright
Be taken now forever from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the graqss, of glory in the flower,
We will not grieve,but rather find
Strength in what remains behind.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3077 on: October 26, 2011, 03:13:17 PM »
Thanks Rosemary for straightening out who and where in the movie and yes, this poem was NOT the one written when Yeats died. I found it and it is long but as I read so familiar - the Eulogy for Yeats has wolves in an evergreen forest rather than, dogs barking. Both Auden poems reach inside us in a way some of the early eulogies written by poets a hundred or more year ago do not.

Ah bellemere - a quote from the poem is such the reminder of the movie Splendor in the Grass - so filled with tension and what had been unspeakable in public was up there on the screen - I doubt there were many at the time though that understood the concept of therapy and so it was a challenging movie on more than one level - bottom line so many of us saw the movie as a love story with Natalie Wood and Warren Beatty who ended up having his come-up-pence.

Though nothing can bring back the hour is a line that will rattle in my head for awhile - so often there are experiences that we would like to repeat and some we could just as well do without and yet, all the circumstances will never be the same to bring back a similar experience or response. It was easy to conclude the line's truth from a positive memory but now I can see it as well for all past experiences. hmmm

Babi those Egyptian images are with us aren't they and they often pop up in unexpected ways.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3078 on: October 26, 2011, 03:17:22 PM »
In Memory of W. B. Yeats    
          ~ by W. H. Auden

               I

He disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
And snow disfigured the public statues;
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.

Far from his illness
The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,
The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;
By mourning tongues
The death of the poet was kept from his poems.

But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,
An afternoon of nurses and rumours;
The provinces of his body revolted,
The squares of his mind were empty,
Silence invaded the suburbs,
The current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers.

Now he is scattered among a hundred cities
And wholly given over to unfamiliar affections,
To find his happiness in another kind of wood
And be punished under a foreign code of conscience.
The words of a dead man
Are modified in the guts of the living.

But in the importance and noise of to-morrow
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,
And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly accustomed,
And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom,
A few thousand will think of this day
As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual.

What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.

               II

     You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
     The parish of rich women, physical decay,
     Yourself. Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
     Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,
     For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
     In the valley of its making where executives
     Would never want to tamper, flows on south
     From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
     Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
     A way of happening, a mouth.

               III

          Earth, receive an honoured guest:
          William Yeats is laid to rest.
          Let the Irish vessel lie
          Emptied of its poetry.

          In the nightmare of the dark
          All the dogs of Europe bark,
          And the living nations wait,
          Each sequestered in its hate;

          Intellectual disgrace
          Stares from every human face,
          And the seas of pity lie
          Locked and frozen in each eye.

          Follow, poet, follow right
          To the bottom of the night,
          With your unconstraining voice
          Still persuade us to rejoice;

          With the farming of a verse
          Make a vineyard of the curse,
          Sing of human unsuccess
          In a rapture of distress;

          In the deserts of the heart
          Let the healing fountain start,
          In the prison of his days
          Teach the free man how to praise.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

Babi

  • Posts: 6732
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #3079 on: October 27, 2011, 09:01:44 AM »
 


Autumn Poetry


~ Author Unknown
 
"Just before the death of flowers,
And before they are buried in snow,
There comes a festival season
When nature is all aglow."



  ~~   Discussion Leaders: Barb




BARB, do you know what was meant by the line, "he is scattered among a hundred
cities"?  I can feel wrinkles forming on my brow (new ones) trying to figure
that out.
  I particularly love the last eight lines.
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs