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Carpal Tunnel
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Hi...haven't been around these parts in awhile. But in days of yore we used to get some pretty good poetry threads going from time to time where folks posted some of their favorite poems, or whatever happened to catch their fancy at the time as per emotional or seasonal relevance. So I had a hankerin' to kick one off again...and with hope lookin' towards Spring after too many blizzards I'd like to start it off with one of my all-time favorite works (note: Hyla is a breed of frog that inhabited the brook):
HYLA BROOK
by Robert Frost
BY June our brook’s run out of song and speed.
Sought for much after that, it will be found
Either to have gone groping underground
(And taken with it all the Hyla breed
That shouted in the mist a month ago,
Like ghost of sleigh-bells in a ghost of snow)—
Or flourished and come up in jewel-weed,
Weak foliage that is blown upon and bent
Even against the way its waters went.
Its bed is left a faded paper sheet
Of dead leaves stuck together by the heat—
A brook to none but who remember long.
This as it will be seen is other far
Than with brooks taken otherwhere in song.
We love the things we love for what they are.
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Carpal Tunnel
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Hello,
We've had too many blizzards here too: 100 days of continual
snow, so I appreciated your poem contribution. Thanks.
----please, draw me a sheep----
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Carpal Tunnel
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A Ceremonie in Glocester
Robert Herrick
Ile to thee a simnell bring,
'Gainst thou go'st a mothering;
Si that, when she blesseth thee,
Half that blessing thou'lt give me.
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Carpal Tunnel
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From: Words on the window-pane
by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Spring
SOFT-LITTERED is the new-year's lambing-fold
And in the hollowed haystack at its side
The shepherd lies o'nights now, wakeful-eyed
At the ewes' travailing call through dark and cold
The young rooks cheep 'mid the thick caw o'the old:
And near unpeopled stream-sides, on the ground,
By her spring-cry the moorhen's nest is found,
Where the drained flood-lands flaunt their marigold.
Chill are the gusts to which the pastures cower,
And chill the current where the young reeds stand
As green and close as the young wheat on land:
Yet there the cuckoo and the cuckoo-flower
Plight to the heart Spring's perfect imminent hour
Whose breath shall soothe you like your dear one's hand.
@Father Steve, I wish I understood the second line of your poem and simnell is a sort of fruitbread special for Easter?
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old hand
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old hand
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I took gost thout mothering to mean when you go looking for your mother...
In the above poem 'plight' is used as a verb?
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Carpal Tunnel
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as in (the idiomatic) plight (one's) troth.
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old hand
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old hand
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as in (the idiomatic) plight (one's) troth. Tsorry tsu - I did not understand this. ETA: Okay now I do. I just looked up the dictionary.
Last edited by Avy; 03/15/2010 4:57 AM.
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Carpal Tunnel
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From OE plihtan, 'to imperil, compromise'.
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old hand
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old hand
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Okay now I don't understand it all over again. The dictionary says plight as a verb means to pledge... and risk and danger. I think in poem it means pledge.
Last edited by Avy; 03/15/2010 10:16 AM.
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I see it now I think, Father Steve.
Someone gives a simnell to another one to take it to a or maybe their mother. And asks for a half of the blessing she will give.
Never heard of Robert Herrick before, but I found some more in an anthology I have. Nice poem called: To Daffodils.
@Avvy. In the Rossetti poem plight means promise, not compromise.
Anyone else for poems related to lent/spring that are to your liking and might please others?
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Carpal Tunnel
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A Ceremonie in Glocester
Robert Herrick
Ile to thee a simnell bring,
'Gainst thou go'st a mothering;
Si that, when she blesseth thee,
Half that blessing thou'lt give me.
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Pooh-Bah
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Pooh-Bah
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Already -
by Piet Hein
We now approach the season
when hope, in spite of reason,
.. proclaims that Spring is on the way
.... and Winter almost past;
when expectations flower
with every passing shower,
.. and anxious hearts begin to say:
.... already! and: at last!
edited so it looks like the original spacing
Last edited by Zed; 03/17/2010 4:50 AM.
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journeyman
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journeyman
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My wife and I write Love letters to each other everyday. Ocsionally I try to write them as poems.
May Day
by Myself 2008
Oh! How sweet
The smell
Of the clean spring air.
The scent of tulips
Pansies and forsythia
Is intoxicating,
Like the bouquet of
New spring wine.
Oh so filling
To my senses,
The rising sunlight
Shimmers on the morning dew
Making a thousand tiny rainbows dance
On top of the blades of new mown grass.
Oh how beautiful,
Oh how great,
Oh how wonderful,
This day, oh this day
So like the one, now many years past,
My lover, my lady, my joy
Entered my life
Changing it forever.
She is all the sweetness of springtime,
The sweetness of the new blooms;
The aroma of new life she is.
Her kisses so sweet,
Sweeter than wine,
Awe me.
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Carpal Tunnel
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An Anti-Limerickby W S Gilbert ( attributed) There was an old man of St. Bees, Who was stung in the arm by a wasp; When they asked, "Does it hurt?" He replied, "No, it doesn't, But I thought all the while 't was a Hornet."
Ceci n'est pas un seing.
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formerly known as etaoin...
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Carpal Tunnel
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This here aint' limericks. That's Spartye's sin. This is big P poetry.
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Carpal Tunnel
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Here, this ain't no stinking limerick ... Todesfuge
by Paul Celan
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends
wir trinken sie mittags und morgens wir trinken sie nachts
wir trinken und trinken
wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er schreibt es und tritt vor das Haus und es blitzen die Sterne er pfeift seine Rüden herbei
er pfeift seine Juden hervor läßt schaufeln ein Grab in der Erde
er befiehlt uns spielt auf nun zum Tanz
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich morgens und mittags wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
Dein aschenes Haar Sulamith wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern singet und spielt
[Vortrag: Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf]
er greift nach dem Eisen im Gurt er schwingts seine Augen sind blau
stecht tiefer die Spaten ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags und morgens wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith er spielt mit den Schlangen
Er ruft spielt süßer den Tod der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
er ruft streicht dunkler die Geigen dann steigt ihr als Rauch in die Luft
dann habt ihr ein Grab in den Wolken da liegt man nicht eng
Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
wir trinken dich abends und morgens wir trinken und trinken
der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland sein Auge ist blau
er trifft dich mit bleierner Kugel er trifft dich genau
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er hetzt seine Rüden auf uns er schenkt uns ein Grab in der Luft
er spielt mit den Schlangen und träumet der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith
Ceci n'est pas un seing.
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would Magritte agree? ç:¬ )
Last edited by Buffalo Shrdlu; 03/17/2010 7:00 PM.
formerly known as etaoin...
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journeyman
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journeyman
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No certainly not a limerick. I would like to get the translation of this. I'm not sure english would get all the imagery. This is very dark.
There is a lot to this poem.
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Carpal Tunnel
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get the the translation of thisTry this; the site has some translations into other languages and commentary. Celan was one of the great 20th century poets. He was a German-speaking Romanian Jew.
Ceci n'est pas un seing.
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Carpal Tunnel
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And in the spirit of the day:
THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE
by William Butler Yeats
I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
Last edited by WhitmanO'Neill; 03/18/2010 12:37 AM.
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By Broad Potomac's Shore
by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
By broad Potomac's shore, again old tongue,
(Still uttering, still ejaculating, canst never cease this babble?)
Again old heart so gay, again to you, your sense, the full flush
spring returning,
Again the freshness and the odors, again Virginia's summer sky,
pellucid blue and silver,
Again the forenoon purple of the hills,
Again the deathless grass, so noiseless soft and green,
Again the blood-red roses blooming.
Perfume this book of mine O blood-red roses!
Lave subtly with your waters every line Potomac!
Give me of you O spring, before I close, to put between its pages!
O forenoon purple of the hills, before I close, of you!
O deathless grass, of you!
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By Broad Potomac's Shore
I have always loved how Whitman gave up strict meter and rhyme and went for something else in his poetry. His Leaves of Grass was roundly attacked by the supposed guardians of poetry and morality of the day. This shortly before our great social experiment, the Civil War.
Ceci n'est pas un seing.
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old hand
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Evergreen Yeats. Thanks for posting the lake. I can never read it too many times. He writes magic.
Nice poem Kah. Lucky wife. Lucky you.
ETA: I wonder why nine bean rows.
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old hand
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old hand
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In the limerick, above the rhyming of lines 3 and 4 does not fit in with the scheme of lines 1, 2, and 5.
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Pooh-Bah
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Hence the title An Anti-Limerick.
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old hand
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Be 'anti', but be consistent.
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addict
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I think there's a dual element in the "anti-" of the title. Not just "opposed to" but also "the opposite of," as in "antipode." By superficially preserving the limerick structure but totally ignoring the 1-2-5 rhyming requirement, I think the Anti-Limerick meets both definitions, and does so very well. I like it (although I disagree with the man.)
"I don't know which is worse: ignorance or apathy. And, frankly, I don't care." - Anonymous
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get the the translation of thisTry this; These are really good translations as far as I can follow.
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In the limerick, above the rhyming of lines 3 and 4 does not fit in with the scheme of lines 1, 2, and 5.
Not quite sure I understand you. None of the lines in the poem rhyme: Bees, wasp, hurt, doesn't, or hornet. The number of syllables per line does vary a bit: 9 or 10 and 6 or 7.
Ceci n'est pas un seing.
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e.e.cummings
a pretty a day
(and every fades)
is here and away
(but born are maids
to flower an hour
in all,all)
o eyes to flower
until so blithe
a doer a wooer
some limber and lithe
some very fine mower
a tall;tall
some jerry so very
(and nellie and fan)
some handsomest harry
(and sally and nan
they tremble and cower
so pale:pale)
for betty was born
to never say nay
but lucy could learn
and lily could pray
and fewer were shyer
than doll. .. doll
( flowers and pretty scenery?)
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old hand
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@ Z: if the writer/poet has used bees, wasp, and hornet for a, he should have used hurt and stung (or something similar) for b. Alternatively, he could have kept doesn't and hurt as b, but then used totally unconnected words for a ---
IM(not so in this case)HO
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Carpal Tunnel
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that seems to me like over-analysis for what was surely intended as a joke, on what is already a joke poetry form. in fact, it reminds me of those folks who 'workshop' limericks in an attempt to perfect the form. 8-)
-joe (reactionary? who says I'm reactionary?) friday
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old hand
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I reacted not to the post, but the 'making fun of a form' sense of the limerick. Maybe I came on a bit too strong, but... Over analysis? Is the pot calling the saucepan names, I ask you? ":)" not a single person on this board can be accused of over analysis.
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Carpal Tunnel
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It is amazing how many people will find something to pick at.
I am really enjoying the poetry. Keep it up despite the
criticism.
Anhedonic comes to mind.
Last edited by LukeJavan8; 03/18/2010 3:15 PM. Reason: typo
----please, draw me a sheep----
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old hand
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I'm sorry if my analysis bothered people. That was not my aim. Again apologies.
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Carpal Tunnel
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It does not bother me.
It shows interest and caring, and I actually sort of enjoyed
following your process. Don't apologize for what you post
on this site, others don't.
----please, draw me a sheep----
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addict
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I think I dated her in high school.
"I don't know which is worse: ignorance or apathy. And, frankly, I don't care." - Anonymous
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