Author Topic: Poetry Page  (Read 725076 times)

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5120 on: January 21, 2019, 01:05:55 PM »
Welcome to our Poetry Page.

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


Ode To Martin Luther King Jr. - I Have A Dream
by Supratik

Fifty years ago on this very special day,
You shared your dream; you had your say;
The two colorful worlds stood and listened to you,
Your speech of love and peace had blended them anew;
The bond was always there you tapped them on the spot,
With ‘humanhood’ that flew from the heart of your thought;
We are done with it, that meaningless dissent,
Black and white came close to every word you meant.

Down the time pipeline the issues though have changed,
People tired fight they are not engaged,
I’m hopeful men women, if the colour magic worked,
Fifty years hence we’d have a peaceful world.

For this to be true, we need the August man,
To unite the world into a happy caravan.


Winter Poems


Discussion Leader: BarbStAubrey
“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

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5121 on: January 21, 2019, 09:01:18 PM »
It's a kind poem. Memorable of the fact that the man loved peace. Happy Martin Luther King Day.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5122 on: January 21, 2019, 11:17:16 PM »
thinking back he was a man of infinite courage. His message of love, respect and peace would never be heard if he was not so courageous.
“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 #5123 on: February 20, 2019, 03:44:42 AM »
This Poem commemorates the Jews who were forced to leave Tunisia after Independence 1956. 

Au Café des Délices

Your memories are veiled
It's like an eclipse
A night full of stars
On the port of Tunis
The wind of the fan
From your grandfather sitting
At the Café des Délices

Your memories are veiled
You see the train
And the whiteness of the sails
Women holding a son
And the smell of jasmine
That he held in his hands
At the Café des Délices

Yalil yalil abibi yalil yalil yalil abibi yalil

Your memories are veiled
You see her again
The kiss that hurts
At El Kantaoui harbor
The first words of love
On velvet songs
Abibi Abibi

Your memories are veiled
You loved them these fruits
The apricot kernels
For you, they were balls
And party nights
What were we doing in our heads
At the beaches of Hammamet

Yalil yalil abibi yalil yalil yalil abibi yalil

Your memories are veiled
At the front of the boat
And this wharf is moving away
Towards a new world
A life that stops
For a day that begins
Maybe it's a chance

Yalil yalil you will not forget
Yalil yalil these scents of yesteryear
Yalil yalil you will not forget
Yalil yalil even if you go

Yalil yalil abibi yalil yalil yalil abibi yalil

A night full of stars
On the port of Tunis
And the whiteness of the sails
Women holding a son
The wind of the fan
From your grandfather sitting
And the smell of jasmine
That he held in his hands
At the Café des Délices
“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 #5124 on: February 20, 2019, 04:35:09 AM »
The conquest of France by the Germans in 1940 led to the establishment of the pro-German puppet regime of Vichy whose
anti-Semitic race laws were incorporated into the Statute Books of France and its protectorates, including Tunisia.

In October 1942, German forces were ordered to occupy Tunisia and in doing so brought under their control a population of 90,000 Jews. The Germans immediately abolished all the communal organizations and mandated all Jews to wear the yellow Star of David. 5,000 young Jews were taken into forced labour camps; bank accounts were expropriated and valuables confiscated. Fortunately, the Germans were forced to evacuate the country in March 1943 before they could annihilate the Jewish population.

With the ending of the German occupation, the rights of the Jews were restored. After 1945, the Jewish population of Tunisia reached a peak of 105,000 (65,000 in Tunis alone), along with hundreds of rabbis and synagogues. Jewish newspapers appeared in abundance, Jewish students were graduating from the universities in significant numbers and successfully entering all professions.

It was a false dawn. The revival of the Jewish community coincided with an intensification of the struggle of the Muslim population for independence. The struggle escalated until, in 1954, the French Prime Minister, Pierre Mendès-France, himself a Jew, granted Tunisia home rule as a first step to full sovereignty, which was achieved in March 1956.

Despite the apparent warm and tolerant attitude towards Tunisia's Jews, Jewish organizations were ordered into one body known as the Jewish Religious Council, the members of which were appointed by the President. The existence of a multitude of Jewish organizations was held to be in conflict with the Government's aiming of equality for all citizens as guaranteed by the new constitution.

Under an order for slum clearance, the ancient Jewish quarter was razed to the ground, thereby demolishing the oldest and most historic synagogue in Tunis. Jews became prime targets for attack, particularly in the wake of occurrences such as the Suez crisis of 1956. Mob violence broke out in Tunis on 5 June 1967, the day Israel attacked its neighbors. One hundred shops were systematically looted and burnt; cars belonging to Jews were overturned and set ablaze; forty scrolls of the Law were taken out of the main synagogue and were desecrated before they were burnt; the main synagogue was set on fire until it lay a smouldering ruin, the police stood by and watched.

The President made an impassioned plea on radio and television to stop the rioting, apologizing to the Jewish community and promising to punish the perpetrators. The Jews of Tunisia found little comfort from the Government's expressions of regret and abandoned any idea that there could be a future in remaining in the country.

From the peak Jewish population of 105,000, the community declined to 23,000 by the end of 1967 and to 9,000 by 1990.  About 60,000 chose to go to France, which allowed unrestricted immigration, while the remaining 45,000 emigrated predominantly to Israel. The Jewish population today numbers about 3,000, most of whom live mainly in Tunis and on the island of Djerba in the south of the country. The security of this very small community has been guaranteed by the Government, which has restored to the community a number of communal buildings (synagogues) that had been confiscated at the time of the riots.

“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

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5125 on: February 22, 2019, 04:43:47 AM »
Hi Barb, Tunisia is not familiar to me. However, the plight of the Jews is a situation I try to stay in touch with often. I'm thinking if the Germans held 90,000 Jews under their power there must have been many, many of them. It's an explosion of the conquerors over the conquered. Most days I feel more conquered than conqueror. This is why I feel a connection to those that were labeled, taken from their homes and murdered in many, different diabolical ways. Also, my racial background as an African American person whose ancestors have been lynched and falsely blamed during slavery and the present day enables a feeling of empathy. All of this leads to two questions:  Why is it easy for humans to hate and carry out their hatred in such diabolical ways? Secondly, why is it not possible to stop this brutality against the persons who live on the same planet with you?

It's all gloomy. Still it must remain in our memories, in our books, in our mouths until change comes or History repeats its self. Sadly, as you write, "False Dawns" continue to overtake us leaving our nerves painfully atop our skins and our teeth jittery. Never really able to relax in the amount of peace we have gained.

PatH

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5126 on: February 22, 2019, 10:00:10 AM »
Oh, hats, you're so right.  Why is it so hard for the good in people to win out over the evil?

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5127 on: February 22, 2019, 11:00:58 AM »
My thinking is the scenario of the 12 apostles tells us the story of how the behavior of a few destroy what is good - we had one apostle sell out the good - three who could not guard or even stay with the good and after the good was crucified we have one who could not believe good rose again. That is 5 out of 12 - multiply each of the 5 roles as well as multiply the good in human nature and we can see that even the Christian Bible told us how evil is part of a community. 
“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 #5128 on: February 24, 2019, 01:25:24 PM »

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
 
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
“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 #5129 on: February 24, 2019, 01:34:36 PM »
Saw the photo and immediately the Yeat's poem popped into my head - The Wild Swans of Coole - he wrote while staying at the home of his friend  Lady Gregory. This was a time of melancholy if not depression for him.  He was reflecting on his advancing age, romantic rejections by both Maud Gonne and her daughter Iseult Gonne, and the ongoing Irish rebellion against the British. The poem is searching for a lasting beauty in a changing world where beauty is mortal and temporary.
“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 #5130 on: February 27, 2019, 01:19:42 PM »
Mist
Henry David Thoreau, 1817 - 1862

Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain-head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,
And napkin spread by fays;
Drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,
And in whose fenny labyrinth
The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,—
Bear only perfumes and the scent
Of healing herbs to just men’s fields.
“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

Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5131 on: February 27, 2019, 04:18:00 PM »
This is at the beginning of a Gothic supernatural mystery that I pulled off Project Gutenberg. The book is titled Death, the Knight and the Lady by H. De Vere Stacpoole. Arras is city in France once known for its' rich wall tapestries in the 14th and 15th centuries. These tapestries were referred to as Arras tapestries, or simply Arras.

Ballad of the Arras

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Interesting, easy read, story set in the 19th century, I think. There are two other poems in the book, but not as compelling  as this. (The spelling is as in the poem.)

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5132 on: February 27, 2019, 04:57:18 PM »
Two Tapestries from Arras
“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

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5133 on: March 01, 2019, 05:20:41 AM »
Barb and Frybabe, so much good stuff!! I especially love the tapestries. Beautiful. The Yeats poem is one I've read, not often just a few times. Fifty-nine swans is hard to imagine. That's quite a few for one lake. On my Kindle I have a Yeats poetry e-book. I don't know how many pages are there. I haven't counted them. Surely, this poem is among them. Frybabe, is that the wrong name for you? Every time I write it a red line appears. Your poem is much harder for me to grasp. Help! Still, it's beautiful too. This weekend it will bring much enjoyment.

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5134 on: March 01, 2019, 11:45:18 AM »
Have come back again. This time I'm attracted again to the beautiful blue door. I never can read a poem once. So, I read the Au Cafe des delices again. For some reason, I wondered whether the cafe really existed. Yes! What a great surprise. I like this poem because it seems like a memory.
Hi Path, I'm glad we are in agreement. I needed those positive vibes this morning. I also wanted to write how horrible it is to read about any synagogue burning.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5135 on: March 01, 2019, 01:49:42 PM »
Hats here is a treat for you Au café des délices set to song and sung by Patrick Bruel, a Frensh singer whose family went to France during the purge of 1956. This video was made when he was much younger - he is now in his late 50s.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nlw4jOOEgIo&list=RDroy5PIonrPc&index=17
“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 #5136 on: March 01, 2019, 08:07:52 PM »
The Pounding of Hoes

The pounding of hoes — don’t you hear them?
Behind high stone walls,
unceasing, yet slow,
beyond the folds of time.

They tore out the vines. They burned the fresh shoots.
Desert spread across the good earth.
Our old and anxious feet dragged
along the snaking dust-choked riverbed.

Wisdom cried out to fallow fields
and dry, wind-blown reeds:
Look at yourself in me as you approach
the death that waits for you.

Squatting in shadows, hired men
uproot the naked winter vines.
There is not enough light to fill the sky’s vast emptiness.
Just the pounding of hoes in the deepening cold.
“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 #5137 on: March 04, 2019, 07:16:01 PM »
this is long but so beautiful and profound

POEM IN OCTOBER
Dylan Thomas


        It was my thirtieth year to heaven
     Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
        And the mussel pooled and the heron
                Priested shore
           The morning beckon
     With water praying and call of seagull and rook
     And the knock of sailing boats on the webbed wall
           Myself to set foot
                That second
        In the still sleeping town and set forth.

        My birthday began with the water-
     Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
        Above the farms and the white horses
                And I rose
            In a rainy autumn
     And walked abroad in shower of all my days
     High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
            Over the border
                And the gates
        Of the town closed as the town awoke.

        A springful of larks in a rolling
     Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
        Blackbirds and the sun of October
                Summery
            On the hill's shoulder,
     Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
     Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
            To the rain wringing
                Wind blow cold
        In the wood faraway under me.

        Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
     And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
        With its horns through mist and the castle
                Brown as owls
             But all the gardens
     Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
     Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
             There could I marvel
                My birthday
        Away but the weather turned around.

        It turned away from the blithe country
     And down the other air and the blue altered sky
        Streamed again a wonder of summer
                With apples
             Pears and red currants
     And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
     Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
             Through the parables
                Of sunlight
        And the legends of the green chapels

        And the twice told fields of infancy
     That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
        These were the woods the river and the sea
                Where a boy
             In the listening
     Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
     To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
             And the mystery
                Sang alive
        Still in the water and singing birds.

        And there could I marvel my birthday
     Away but the weather turned around. And the true
        Joy of the long dead child sang burning
                In the sun.
             It was my thirtieth
        Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
        Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
             O may my heart's truth
                Still be sung
        On this high hill in a year's turning.
“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

Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5138 on: March 05, 2019, 06:50:45 AM »
Thomas was born October 27, 1914.

Here he is reading "Poem in October" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnoHCSU5yn8
An analysis and background of the poem which I found interesting: https://www.enotes.com/topics/poem-october

PatH

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5139 on: March 05, 2019, 11:42:20 AM »
Well, before I get the poem analysed, Barb, thanks for posting it.  I've always liked it, haven't reread it for years.

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5140 on: March 05, 2019, 01:00:20 PM »
Barb, thank you for the link. The music is lovely. Tried hard to go from short film to the music while also thinking of the poem. The singer has a beautiful voice. Each foreign language, I think, must have its own beauty. The bother is that some languages seem more difficult than other ones.

Frybabe, glad to see the link for Dylan Thomas. Have not read the poem yet.


BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5141 on: March 05, 2019, 04:46:42 PM »
hats I do like to listen to Patrick Bruel while I am checking my email and while working on the computer - he has many links on Youtube - listening so much and it is fun to recapture some of my High School French - a phrase here and there and then I can put together what the song is all about.

Great links frybabe - thanks - he is my favorite poet - even if Kate says he was like soft bread in your hand rather than having any crust - evidently both of them were heavy drinkers from the time they were in their teens. However, he had such fondness for his mother and his boyhood that was the topic of so many of his poems. When he wrote this one he was not even living any longer in the boat house where he could see and walk what he is describing. I love how the second link you gave us breaks down his use of the compound adjective. Usually I prefer reading a poem for the pictures that come to mind or how it stirs something inside and very seldom look at the structure but this was terrific to have words to associate with his practice of making a short phrase so moving... thanks for the link.

It is a wonderful evocative poem that gives nature a whole different glory doesn't it Pat - I had to stop and think of the trees and such in my own yard, one in particular that I planted the first year we moved in the house and the symbolism I saw in the growth and damage of that tree.

Well it appears Dylan Thomas lived a messy life however, he left us with some glorious poetry.

I thought this interview with Kate/Caitlin more telling about her and the man - evidently his poems were not created in a slip of a day but took work. She is very forthcoming even if she was rutching in her chair during the entire interview - she was being brutally honest about some very difficult life experiences.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQzcQ1KVFaM   
“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

Frybabe

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5142 on: March 05, 2019, 04:54:09 PM »
Wonderful interview, Barb.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5143 on: March 07, 2019, 12:59:18 PM »
“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 #5144 on: March 07, 2019, 01:13:56 PM »
In honor of Mary Oliver

WHEN I AM AMONG TREES
by Mary Oliver

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks, and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.

I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”

The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,”
they say, “and you, too, have come
into the world to do this, to go easy,
to be filled with light, and to shine.”
“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

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5145 on: March 07, 2019, 05:29:04 PM »
Barb, the poem is very inspiring, hopeful and optimistic. I am looking forward to spring. A time when the dogwoods will bloom and the other trees. I might sneeze once or twice, but so what? The beauty and shade are so worth it.

For so long the trees have been bare. Now they are beginning to look lonely. I am not familiar with the honey locust. I might look for photos of each tree. Not familiar with the beech tree either. That's sad. We collected leaves in school often. Then, we traced and colored them. Teachers gave us such treasures to use later in life. Mary Oliver might have been a school teacher. She left so much for us to use for the rest of our days.

Yes, I had heard about Mary Oliver's death. I felt sad to hear about her leaving us forever. All of her poems speak directly to something inside of us that needs feeding. It's like she wants us to gain a bit of her wisdom. Thank you for the link.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5146 on: March 07, 2019, 06:43:20 PM »
Not from Mary Oliver but about the Beech Tree -

"Beech trees may have been sacred to Zeus, king of the Greek gods. They have also been a symbol of prosperity. The trees may also have represented the goddess Diana, who presided over forests and woodlands. In ancient Gaul and the Pyrennees, Fagus may have been a tree god. In England, the iconic bluebell woods, filled in spring with bluebells (Hyacinthoides non scripta) are beech woods."


The Beech-Wood
Andrew Young

When the long, varnished buds of beech
Point out beyond their reach,
And tanned by summer suns
Leaves of black bryony turn bronze,
And gossamer floats bright and wet
From trees that are their own sunset,
Spring, summer, autumn I come here,
And what is there to fear?
And yet I never lose the feeling
That someone close behind is stealing
Or else in front has disappeared;
Though nothing I have seen or heard ,
The fear of what I might have met
Makes me still walk beneath these boughs
With cautious steps as in a haunted house.
“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 #5147 on: March 07, 2019, 08:11:35 PM »


Last Night the Rain Spoke To Me
By Mary Oliver

Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,

what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again

in a new way
on the earth!
That’s what it said
as it dropped,

smelling of iron,
and vanished
like a dream of the ocean
into the branches

and the grass below.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing

under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,

and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment,
at which moment

my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars

and the soft rain—
imagine! imagine!
the wild and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.
“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 #5148 on: March 07, 2019, 08:15:57 PM »


Such Singing in the Wild Branches
-Mary Oliver

It was spring
and I finally heard him
among the first leaves––
then I saw him clutching the limb
in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still

and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness––
and that's when it happened,

when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree––
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing––
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfect blue sky–––all of them

were singing.
And, of course, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last

For more than a few moments.
It's one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you've been there,
you're there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then––open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.
“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 #5149 on: March 07, 2019, 08:17:42 PM »

A Dream of Trees
Mary Oliver

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company,
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.

There is a thing in me still dreams of trees.
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.

I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?
“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 #5150 on: March 07, 2019, 08:17:58 PM »
Daily Poem... Mary Oliver, Tree

https://vimeo.com/188417527
“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

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5151 on: March 09, 2019, 06:30:56 AM »
 Barb,I have only just begun to read these beautiful Nature poems by Mary Oliver. What a feast!

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5152 on: April 02, 2019, 02:39:08 AM »
April is not only National Poetry Month but has been designated as First Step Act Month, which includes cutting prison sentences for thousands of federal inmates. Since Etheridge Knight had been in prison for a time it seems fitting to honor both designations for the month of April with one of his poems.

He Sees Through Stone
By Etheridge Knight

He sees through stone
he has the secret eyes
this old black one
who under prison skies
sits pressed by the sun
against the western wall
his pipe between purple gums
 
the years fall
like overripe plums
bursting red flesh
on the dark earth
 
his time is not my time
but I have known him
in a time gone
 
he led me trembling cold
into the dark forest
taught me the secret rites
to make it with a woman
to be true to my brothers
to make my spear drink
the blood of my enemies
 
now black cats circle him
flash white teeth
snarl at the air
mashing green grass beneath
shining muscles
ears peeling his words
he smiles
he knows
the hunt    the enemy
he has the secret eyes
he sees through stone
“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

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5153 on: April 02, 2019, 11:34:03 AM »
I just finished a novella by H. Beam Piper and John J. McGuire called Null ABC. It is a SciFi, or future history if you will, about literacy. Literates against Illiterates. Anyway in this book was a stanza from Swinburne's called "The Garden of Proserpine". Not having read Swinburne before I checked out that poem and several others listed in the article from the Poetry Foundation. No matter what of the six poems I read (except for "To A Cat", which I like), Swinburne managed to get death, and often the juxtaposition of life and death, or an allusion to death in there somewhere.  https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/algernon-charles-swinburne

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5154 on: April 02, 2019, 01:38:30 PM »
Now I do not think I can ever hear thunder and see lightening without thinking of these lines and seeing the storm as if hunting. Lines from his poem, from Anactoria

Lightning, with thunder for a hound behind
Hunting through fields unfurrowed and unsown,
“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 #5155 on: April 02, 2019, 02:43:32 PM »
I know Shelley wrote a short poem that I was memorizing some 30 years ago and now have forgotten that had to do with waves kissing each other- It was not Shelley's Love's Philosophy where he has mountains kiss high heaven, and moonbeams kiss the sea-- It was a short, if I remember correctly 4 line poem. All to say I'm thinking the idea of kissing in nature must have been a popular image in the nineteenth century because we have Swinburne in his Ave Atque Vale saying, The barren kiss of piteous wave to wave
“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

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5156 on: April 02, 2019, 04:55:15 PM »
I am appreciating all the poems and reading them more than once and slowly.

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5157 on: April 02, 2019, 07:16:43 PM »
hats sorry I missed your earlier post about Mary Oliver's book of nature poems - yes, I too love her poems - in her poems she does not include waves, or trees kissing but she does write lovingly and intimately about nature doesn't she .

I Happened to Be Standing
Mary Oliver

I don't know where prayers go,
     or what they do.
Do cats pray, while they sleep
     half-asleep in the sun?
Does the opossum pray as it
     crosses the street?
The sunflowers? The old black oak
     growing older every year?
I know I can walk through the world,
     along the shore or under the trees,
with my mind filled with things
     of little importance, in full
self-attendance. A condition I can't really
     call being alive
Is a prayer a gift, or a petition,
     or does it matter?
The sunflowers blaze, maybe that's their way.
Maybe the cats are sound asleep. Maybe not.

While I was thinking this I happened to be standing
just outside my door, with my notebook open,
which is the way I begin every morning.
Then a wren in the privet began to sing.
He was positively drenched in enthusiasm,
I don't know why. And yet, why not.
I wouldn't persuade you from whatever you believe
or whatever you don't. That's your business.
But I thought, of the wren's singing, what could this be
     if it isn't a prayer?
So I just listened, my pen in the air.
“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

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5158 on: April 03, 2019, 08:08:08 AM »
I did not know about First Step Up Month. Thank you Barb for sharing The Secret Stone by Etheridge Knight. Each time I read the poem I fall deeper into its meaning. Secret is the word that speaks loudly. Also,  I believe the narrator changes in two major ways. The second one is more difficult and perhaps more treacherous. No matter, living behind stone with special eyes to see and understand have brought him wisdom.

Good morning~

hats

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #5159 on: April 04, 2019, 12:55:12 PM »
Barb, it is good to think about even the animals praying with their voices. I am not a Prayer Warrior. Because of you I want to go pray immediately. Change my sinful ways.  I should write because of you and Mary Oliver. In this poem, nature is friendly. So often if it is not a tree or flower I feel fear. For example, the opossom  is not on my menu nor is he a fellow I would bend down to pet.

By the way,  I am sure my present cat prays. She is often quiet. She walks with reverence in her step. She does not gobble her food. It is a special ritual. Today I see a wren and a sunflower in her paws and a petition of prayer.