Poem of the Day

[Scheherazade]

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Encouraged by the popularity of the 'Poem of the Week' thread, I would like to start another one. Every day one of us will post a poem and we will discuss/share our thoughts on it till a new poem is posted:

1. Please, to prevent any confusions, clearly indicate for which day you are posting.

2. Post only after it is the mentioned date in your part of the world.

3. The same person cannot post another poem within 5 days.

I will post the first poem for April 24th:


my sweet old etcetera...

my sweet old etcetera
aunt lucy during the recent

war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting

for,
my sister

isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds) of socks not to
mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers

etcetera wristers etcetera, my

mother hoped that

i would die etcetera
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my
..............
e.e. cummings

[Grumbleguts]

Is this e.e.cummings by any chance? You forgot to post the author. The format looks like his.

[Scheherazade]

Oh, sorry! Must have slipped when I was highlighting. Yes, it is by cummings.

[Xamonas Chegwe]

Cute poem.

I'm not too sure about Cummings myself. He seems a bit clever-clever and lacking in real emotional depth. Although I haven't read a lot of his work, just odd poems in anthologies. I know you like him a lot Scher, perhaps you could recommend some titles that would prove me wrong.

[Petrarch's Love]

Wow, I was just thinking last night of maybe starting a thread for a poem of the day. There's so many that just don't seem like they'd take up a week's worth of discussion. I'm not usually a huge cummings fan. I tend to side with Xamonas that he sometimes seems a bit "clever-clever" but not always enlightening (something the way I feel about deconstructionist criticism). That said, I actually enjoyed this poem quite a bit. The last line made me smile. The "etcetera" is quite effective in creating the feeling of the people at home going about their lives doing lots of things that sort of blend together as a lot of "and other stuff." I love, "my/ mother hoped that/ i would die etcetera/ bravely of course." It really encapsulates a certain kind of conversation you can hear his mother having across tea with the neighbor or something: "Oh, yes, my brave son, off at the war and I'm sure he's willing to sacrifice everything for our cause and die bravely...." etcetera. There's a shock in the expression that his mother hopes he'll die, but then the etcetera fills something in for us, makes us suspect it isn't a real wish but one taken out of the context of a lot of other things. Then the next line confirms that safe reading for us, that she's not really wishing her son dead, but putting out a lot of rhetoric of him dying bravely and all that. Across all the lines he's keeping us on our toes about how we view his mother, him, the attitudes of our society etcetera.

[Chinaski]

Like she said... I like e.e.

[Xamonas Chegwe]

My favourite Etcetera is the capitalised one at the end. But that's probably because I'm a stereotypically macho and insensitve, sexually obsessed male.

[Chinaski]

I think the seventh stanza is fantastic. I love the structure.

[Scheherazade]

I'm not too sure about Cummings myself. He seems a bit clever-clever and lacking in real emotional depth. Although I haven't read a lot of his work, just odd poems in anthologies. I know you like him a lot Scher, perhaps you could recommend some titles that would prove me wrong.

Probably my liking of Cummings stems from the fact that I don't understand him enough to dislike!

I enjoy reading his poems because, once I manage to understand them, they say the deepest things with minimum number of seemingly 'simple' words. I love the 'cleverness' of his poetry. I think poetry is about being able to use words in the most efficient way to create the most pleasant effect and Cummings seems to achieve this very humbly. He does not run away with big words, does not interject confusing, pretentious references or ideas.

As for lacking in real emotional depth... I really disagree with this. I wonder if you think so because he does not strip his soul with unheard of adjectives and verbs. Otherwise, I believe, he does a marvellous point of sharing what he had in his mind. Like in the poem I have posted. Even though his folks at home, safe with their ideals, are proud of him and wouldn't mind even his heroic death, the fact is that he is sitting in mud (how becoming of a hero! ) and only thing he can think of is not his own bravery but his beloved. I find it ironic, funny and cruelly realistic.

More Cummings discussion on the Forum: http://www.online-literature.com/for...light=cummings

[Xamonas Chegwe]

You're probably right Scher - I could have got sidetracked by the weird structure - all the short lines and brackets - and not looked any deeper. I promise to give him more of a chance next time I see some of his work. I like this poem at least.

[Jay]

John Keats - La Belle Dame sans Merci

I.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

II.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

III.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

IV.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

V.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

VI.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.

VII.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
“I love thee true.”

VIII.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

IX.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill’s side.

X.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

XI.

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

[Virgil]

A gorgeous poem. One of my favorites of all time. Unfortunately the current Poem of the Week, with it's double entrendres has warped me a little and today I pick up the sexual references here. But here, while I'm sure Keats intended the sexual references, it's only a small part of the poem. I love the way the poem circles back on itself. And of course, this is Keats' voice fully developed into the great poet. The poem "hath me in thrall."

[IrishCanadian]

I wonder what was happening in Keats' life that made him write this. Its so beautiful, and so depressing.

[Xamonas Chegwe]

"Do you know 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci'"?
"Know her? I married her!"

Something a friend said once.

I've always loved this one too. The shortened last line in every stanza really works with the subject matter somehow - there's bound to be a name for this meter but it escapes me.

[Scheherazade]

How likely is it that Keats was under the influence while writing this?