Happy Easter:
The Donkey
By GK Chesterton
When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil’s walking parody
On all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.
Poetry here.
Re: Poetry here.
Hejira
Joni Mitchell
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3V6Qq1Q ... 7R&index=5
Well I looked at the granite markers
Those tributes to finality to eternity
And then I looked at myself here
Chicken scratching for my immortality
In the church they light the candles
And the wax rolls down like tears
There is the hope and the hopelessness
I've witnessed thirty years
We're only particles of change I know I know
Orbiting around the sun
But how can I have that point of view
When I'm always bound and tied to someone
White flags of winter chimneys
Waving truce against the moon
In the mirrors of a modern bank
From the window of a hotel room
Joni Mitchell
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3V6Qq1Q ... 7R&index=5
Well I looked at the granite markers
Those tributes to finality to eternity
And then I looked at myself here
Chicken scratching for my immortality
In the church they light the candles
And the wax rolls down like tears
There is the hope and the hopelessness
I've witnessed thirty years
We're only particles of change I know I know
Orbiting around the sun
But how can I have that point of view
When I'm always bound and tied to someone
White flags of winter chimneys
Waving truce against the moon
In the mirrors of a modern bank
From the window of a hotel room
Re: Poetry here.
personal rainbow ('22)
-
a museum -
adorned with an
everglowing campfire
crystallised memories
litter shelves:
the library of me
i need only breathe among the embers,
and my troubles become as light as i
my spirit warmed,
by a personal rainbow
-
a museum -
adorned with an
everglowing campfire
crystallised memories
litter shelves:
the library of me
i need only breathe among the embers,
and my troubles become as light as i
my spirit warmed,
by a personal rainbow
Re: Poetry here.
Samurai Song
BY ROBERT PINSKY
When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.
When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.
When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.
When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no
Enemy I opposed my body.
When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
No priest, my tongue is my choir.
When I have no means fortune
Is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.
Need is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.
*
Comment:
The form:
When I had (ten examples)
When I have (three examples)
How (one sentence)
When I had (one example)
BY ROBERT PINSKY
When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.
When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.
When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.
When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no
Enemy I opposed my body.
When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
No priest, my tongue is my choir.
When I have no means fortune
Is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.
Need is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.
*
Comment:
The form:
When I had (ten examples)
When I have (three examples)
How (one sentence)
When I had (one example)
Re: Poetry here.
Forgetfulness
By Billy Collins
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue
or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
*
Comment:
I recollect posting this before, now it also bears the weight of repetition.
*
Moon at the Window
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOOjU3O ... rt_radio=1
By Billy Collins
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue
or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
*
Comment:
I recollect posting this before, now it also bears the weight of repetition.
*
Moon at the Window
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOOjU3O ... rt_radio=1
Re: Poetry here.
Silence answers all questions.
In silence everything you ever wanted to know becomes crystal clear, and pure perfect clarity is all that remains.
In silence everything you ever wanted to know becomes crystal clear, and pure perfect clarity is all that remains.
Re: Poetry here.
Here's an excellent critique of s Gwendolyn Brooks poem (you might not be able to read it if you don't subscribe to the NY Times).
https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/...-android-share
Here are two of my favorites:
We Real Cool
By Gwendolyn Brooks
The Pool Players.
Seven at the Golden Shovel.
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
The pool players are rebels; they won’t submit to the man’s system. They live for the moment, careless of the future. Do they represent rebellious courage or foolish pride? The reader is left to determine that.
..............................
The Preacher: Ruminates behind the Sermon
I think it must be lonely to be God.
Nobody loves a master. No. Despite
The bright hosannas, bright dear-Lords, and bright
Determined reverence of Sunday eyes.
Picture Jehovah striding through the hall
Of His importance, creatures running out
From servant-corners to acclaim, to shout
Appreciation of His merit's glare.
But who walks with Him?—dares to take His arm,
To clap Him on the shoulder, tweak His ear,
Buy Him a Coca-Cola or a beer,
Pooh-pooh His politics, call Him a fool?
Perhaps—who knows?—He tires of looking down.
Those eyes are never lifted. Never straight.
Perhaps sometimes He tires of being great
In solitude. Without a hand to hold.
It seems to me there are two Christian Gods: Jesus (or the Trinity) and Yaweh. Yaweh, the God of the old testament, resembles the older Gods – the Gods of Greek and Babylonian mythology. He is a “jealous God” (He says so himself). He is often bitter (maybe tired of his solitude).
The Pauline God (He was invented by Paul – who ignored the historical Jesus and concentrated on Christ, thus warring with James the Just , Jesus’ brother and apostle) is unknowable. In the Gospel of Mark, only the demons he casts out see and recognize His divinity. The Trinity has baffled Jews, Moslems and some Christians for millenia.
https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/...-android-share
Here are two of my favorites:
We Real Cool
By Gwendolyn Brooks
The Pool Players.
Seven at the Golden Shovel.
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
The pool players are rebels; they won’t submit to the man’s system. They live for the moment, careless of the future. Do they represent rebellious courage or foolish pride? The reader is left to determine that.
..............................
The Preacher: Ruminates behind the Sermon
I think it must be lonely to be God.
Nobody loves a master. No. Despite
The bright hosannas, bright dear-Lords, and bright
Determined reverence of Sunday eyes.
Picture Jehovah striding through the hall
Of His importance, creatures running out
From servant-corners to acclaim, to shout
Appreciation of His merit's glare.
But who walks with Him?—dares to take His arm,
To clap Him on the shoulder, tweak His ear,
Buy Him a Coca-Cola or a beer,
Pooh-pooh His politics, call Him a fool?
Perhaps—who knows?—He tires of looking down.
Those eyes are never lifted. Never straight.
Perhaps sometimes He tires of being great
In solitude. Without a hand to hold.
It seems to me there are two Christian Gods: Jesus (or the Trinity) and Yaweh. Yaweh, the God of the old testament, resembles the older Gods – the Gods of Greek and Babylonian mythology. He is a “jealous God” (He says so himself). He is often bitter (maybe tired of his solitude).
The Pauline God (He was invented by Paul – who ignored the historical Jesus and concentrated on Christ, thus warring with James the Just , Jesus’ brother and apostle) is unknowable. In the Gospel of Mark, only the demons he casts out see and recognize His divinity. The Trinity has baffled Jews, Moslems and some Christians for millenia.