Your favorite famous poem

[Political Lurker]

Heres a sad poem my Mother used to Recite for me at bedtime.... sob!
Looking back...... what was she doing hehe??

The Sands Of Dee
Charles Kingsley

‘O Mary, go and call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
Across the sands of Dee.’
The western wind was wild and dark with foam,
And all alone went she.

The western tide crept up along the sand,
And o’er and o’er the sand,
And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see.
The rolling mist came down and hid the land:
And never home came she.

‘O is it weed, or fish, or floating hair—
A tress of golden hair,
A drownèd maiden’s hair,
Above the nets at sea?’
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes of Dee.

They row’d her in across the rolling foam,
The cruel crawling foam,
The cruel hungry foam,
To her grave beside the sea.
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,
Across the sands of Dee.
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Any day you wake up on "the right side of the dirt" is a good day.

[Hoadong]

Ralf, thank you.
Can you explain the phrase "free lance writer", please.
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Hoadong

[Hoadong]

Hello Claudia,

Thank you. I enjoyed reading your message. I liked the way you compare words are to the poets similar to paints are to the painters. It recalled me about a saying “In a poem there is a painting and a painting there is always a poem.” And sometimes some people have used the word “poetic” to praise a painting and on the contrary the word “painting” was used to congratulate a poem.

You were right that there have been different decisions about poetry. I have a book that is a collection of quotes by famous poets about poetry, but it was written in Vietnamese. In the book each poet has his own perspective about poetry and it was fascinating to read them.

In your message you have expressed your ideas well. You put forth an idea that you enjoy poems that evoke pictures or even go so far as to create a movie in the mind and you like them best if the meaning or meanings are only hinted or expressed symbolically. In my opinion, the essential qualities of poetry are “musical”, “associate” and “rhyme”, and words are presented aesthetically so that they are able to awake the readers' feelings, emotions. The more images and feelings have been roused, evoked from the words in the poems, the more valuable the poem is.
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Hoadong

[Cgk]

Hello Hoado,

you have addressed the musical aspects of a poem, which is something that I had completely forgotten about. Yes, I agree that rhythm/meter is also very important. The rhythm may not be obvious in many poems, but it is present in just about all of them, and I suppose that's what also helps to make a poem "a poem". Thank you so much for mentioning that!

Claudia

P.S. Perhaps you would like to share a poem with us that has touched you in one way or another?
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In the land of the ignorant, the biggest fool is king.

[Hoadong]

Good morning Claudia,

Last week. when I was searching the Forum I came across the lesson "Autumn" by Alan. The literary quotation, which are the opening lines of a poem by the Romantic poet John Keats (1795-1821) in Alan's essay attracted my attention:
"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun…"
Then I searched on the Internet to find the poem and the author's biography to read. The poem described the tastes, sights, and sounds of autumn perfectly.

To Autumn
by John Keats

I

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

II

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

III

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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Hoadong

[Bergdeutscher]

Sometimes i read poems from the great William Wordsworth.
http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Wordsworth
But not only this writer ^_^

A Tale

Edward Thomas

There once the walls
Of the ruined cottage stood.
The Periwinkle crawls
With flowers in its hair into the wood.

In flowerless hours
Never will the bank fail,
With everlasting flowers
On fragments of blue plates, to tell the tale.

from Edward Thomas
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Thomas_%28poet%29

[Cgk]

Hello Bergdeutscher and Jamie,

thank you for your contributions!

Jamie, I like old traditional song lyrics. These were new to me. Thank you for posting Charles Kingsley's song.

Bergdeutscher, welcome to the forum. That was a nice poem you've posted. You said you like more writers. Now I'm intrigued.

Claudia
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In the land of the ignorant, the biggest fool is king.

[Cgk]

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Hello Hoado,

since you are so interested in the Middle Ages, I am dedicating this post to you.

I've chosen an English ballad from circa 1400 called "The Unquiet Grave". The band Faith and the Muse has done a very nice rendition of it, and I hope the recording via the voice recorder will be audible well enough to understand the lyrics and to enjoy the song. Perhaps it's not the kind of music you like, but it does introduce you to a tiny part of medieval history.

Claudia


The Unquiet Grave
(English Ballad, circa 1400)

The wind doth howl today m'love
And a winter's worth of rain
I never had but one true love
In cold grave she was lain
Oh I adored my sweetest love
As any young man may
So I'll sit and weep upon her grave
For twelve-month and a day

One true love is eternity for two
Three four nevermore
Will I see my love true
So I'll sit and weep upon her grave
For twelve-month and a day

The twelve-month and a day foregone
The dead began to speak
"Oh who sits weeping on my grave
And will not let me sleep?"
"'Tis I, m'love, upon thy grave
Who will not let you sleep
For I crave one kiss of your lips
And that is all I seek"

One true love is eternity for two
Three four nevermore
Will I see my love true
For I crave one kiss of your lips
And that is all I seek

"You crave one kiss of my cold lips
But I am one year gone
If you have one kiss of my lips
Your time will not be long
Let me remind thee, dearest one
A patient heart to keep
For we professed eternal love
That lives though I may sleep

There down in yonder garden grove
Love, where we once did walk
The finest flower that ever was seen
Has withered to a stalk
The stalk is withered dry, my love
Though our hearts shan't decay
So make yourself content, my love
Till god calls you away

One true love is eternity for two
Three four nevermore
Will I see my love true
So make yourself content, my love
Till god calls you away"
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In the land of the ignorant, the biggest fool is king.

[Hoadong]

Hello Claudia,

Thank you.
I believe that you chose the good one to introduce here. Let me have time to read and think about the poem.
It is the Lunar New Year time, in my country, so I am a bit busy in these days with cleaning, shopping, cooking and many other things.

Have a good day!
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Hoadong

[Hoadong]

Claudia, I am so sorry.
It was a song, but I thought it was a poem. Maybe because it was a threat of poem and I read your message in a hurry. Few minutes ago, I thought I should listen to your voice message and it was really a nice surprise for me. Thank you so much. And again, my apologies.
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Hoadong

[Cgk]

Hello Hoado,

don't worry about it. There is no need to apologize. Actually, I'm happy that the song turned out to be a surprise for you! Were you able to understand the lyrics?

Claudia
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In the land of the ignorant, the biggest fool is king.

[Prezbucky]

"The Road Not Taken"
Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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Billie Jean is not my lover. Hee.

[Prezbucky]

"I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud"
William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth to me the show had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
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Billie Jean is not my lover. Hee.