Favourite first stanza?

[kandaurov]

Patience isn't definitely my forte. When I see a poem, if it doesn't grab me almost immediately, I'm very prone to give it up before it even had a chance to amaze me. I just thought it would be a good idea to make you share a first stanza that really caught your eye and made you want to devour the rest of the poem.

I'm torn between two. There's Rainer Maria Rilke's famous Der Panther

Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe
so müd geworden, dass er nichts mehr hält.
Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe
und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.

His gaze has from the pasing of the bars
grown so tired, that it holds nothing anymore.
It seems to him there are a thousand bars
and behind a thousand bars no world.


And O Tejo é mais Belo, by Portugal's finest Fernando Pessoa, under the heteronym Alberto Caeiro.

O Tejo é mais belo que o rio que corre pela minha aldeia,
Mas o Tejo não é mais belo que o rio que corre pela minha aldeia
Porque o Tejo não é o rio que corre pela minha aldeia.

The Tejo* is more beautiful than the river that goes through my village
But the Tejo is not more beautiful than the river that goes through my village
Because the Tejo is not the river that goes through my village

(* Tejo is to Portugal what the Thames is to England, or what the Seine is to Paris)


These are my choices. How about yours?

[Quark]

My favorite opening to a poem is in Wordsworth's sonnet "The world is too much with us; late and soon". The first three lines are perhaps the best in poetry.


The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 10
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

[CountingSheep]

My favorite opening to a poem is in Wordsworth's sonnet "The world is too much with us; late and soon". The first three lines are perhaps the best in poetry.


The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 10
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.



I vote for the above. I just read it class, and I think my jaw may have dropped.

[aemy]

Can't do it all - but one of Donne's "Holy Sonnets" is a real attention-grabber - and good poetry as well:

"Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you/ as yet ...

(Sorry, I haven't got the whole text here,) but it ends:

"For I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except thou ravish me."

[kandaurov]

Thanks, I've just printed Wordsworth's out, will read it more carefully tomorrow!

And the 'batter my heart, three-personed God' is indeed an attention-grabber! I'll check that one too, thanks!

[Dante Wodehouse]

I haven't read a lot of poetry, but The Tyger (I am probably proving my low status by selecting such a common work) has a very cool first stanza. However, for something slightly (ever so slightly) less overused, I like Byron's "She Walks in Beauty".

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

[Scheherazade]

My favorite opening to a poem is in Wordsworth's sonnet "The world is too much with us; late and soon". The first three lines are perhaps the best in poetry.


The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
Quark,

These lines are one of my favorites too! Love it! :)

[weepingforloman]

Patience isn't definitely my forte. When I see a poem, if it doesn't grab me almost immediately, I'm very prone to give it up before it even had a chance to amaze me. I just thought it would be a good idea to make you share a first stanza that really caught your eye and made you want to devour the rest of the poem.

I'm torn between two. There's Rainer Maria Rilke's famous Der Panther

Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe
so müd geworden, dass er nichts mehr hält.
Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe
und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.

His gaze has from the pasing of the bars
grown so tired, that it holds nothing anymore.
It seems to him there are a thousand bars
and behind a thousand bars no world.


And O Tejo é mais Belo, by Portugal's finest Fernando Pessoa, under the heteronym Alberto Caeiro.

O Tejo é mais belo que o rio que corre pela minha aldeia,
Mas o Tejo não é mais belo que o rio que corre pela minha aldeia
Porque o Tejo não é o rio que corre pela minha aldeia.

The Tejo* is more beautiful than the river that goes through my village
But the Tejo is not more beautiful than the river that goes through my village
Because the Tejo is not the river that goes through my village

(* Tejo is to Portugal what the Thames is to England, or what the Seine is to Paris)


These are my choices. How about yours?

How many languages do you speak?!?!
I don't think I've heard of anyone else who speaks both German and Portuguese, they're very different languages (I'm taking German now, and I used to go to a church where about three quarters of the people were Brazilian).

[Quark]

Quark,

These lines are one of my favorites too! Love it! :)

If you like the theme of the poem, you might want to read some of the Victorian poets. They suffered a similar--but more poignant--division from nature. Much like how Christianity failed to satisfy Wordsworth, physical science made the world seem souless. You can see the kind of pain it caused in poems like "In Memoriam" by Tennyson. Also, the rise of industrial capitalism replaced the immediate meaningful work people had with pointless wage labor. The Victorian's relation to nature and to society became problematic, and the poetry is filled with Wordsworth-like lament. Mathew Arnold and Tennyson may be the best examples of this.

If you like the poetry itself, just read more Wordsworth. You can't miss.

[Nossa]

John Donne's Valediction : Forbidding Mourning

AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."
It might not make sense to you till you read the rest of the poem, but these lines just caught my attention.

Shakespeare's 55th sonnet as well, "Not Marble Not The Gilded Monuments", the first four lines:

Not marble nor the gilded monuments,
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents,
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.
The whole sonnet bring me to tears sometimes when I read it actually!

[kandaurov]

Nossa, Shakespeare's opening of that sonnet is powerful indeed. There had to be a reason his face is also that of English Literature's :)

Weeping, I speak fluent Portuguese (homeland), near-fluent Englsih (11 years studying it, and taking exams) and very bad German (just a beginner!). I know a good deal of people who know more; in the process of learning German, I completely forgot all the basic stuff of French, which is a pity...

Dante, there' nothing wrong with mentioning The Tyger opening, I find it great myself! I just don't understand the "What the hammer? What the chain?" line... I know it has to do with his contempt for industrialization, still I don't think I grasp the line's meaning :|

People, another opening: e. e. cumming's 'My sweet old etcetera'. I had to read the whole thing, the first line is terrific!

[JCamilo]

She walks in beauty, like the night is probally one of the most sublime first lines of poetry ever... Perhaps only Keats "Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art" can be equal...
Anyways, Seeing Pessoa around there is a few stanzas in portuguese that are wonderfull...

Gonçalves Dias's Canção do Exílio (Exile Song) which is probally the most well-know brazilian poem:

Minha terra tem palmeiras,
Onde canta o Sabiá;
As aves, que aqui gorjeiam,
Não gorjeiam como lá.

(My country have palm trees
where sings the Sabia
The birds that here chant
do not chant like there.) - Sabia is a very commun singing bird of Brazil, because of this poem mainly, they have the status of the Nightingale in brazilian poetry.

Or Camões's first stanza of Lusiadas, which I dare not provide any of my ridiculous translations.

As armas e os barões assinalados
Que da Ocidental praia Lusitana,
Por mares nunca dantes navegados
Passaram ainda além da Taprobana,
Em perigos e guerras esforçados
Mais do que prometia a força humana
E entre gente remota edificaram
Novo Reino, que tanto sublimaram;

About Pessoa, I also like this one (and to not make it too big, the first in Ela canta, probre Ceifadeira)

O poeta é um fingidor.
Finge tão completamente
Que chega a fingir que é dor
A dor que deveras sente.


One of the big reasons why I like Elliot's Hollow Man is because the first stanza

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

and Walt Whitman

POETS to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me, and answer what I am for;
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than
before known,
Arouse! Arouse--for you must justify me--you must answer.


and and and

[kandaurov]

Camilo, I think that the stanza that you quoted from Pessoa is 'autopsicografia'. Whitman's and Eliot's stanzas are indeed quite striking! And it's a good thing you didn't attempt to translate Camões; not only is it impossible, it is also a crime punishable by three years of prison in some states ;)

[Scheherazade]

If you like the theme of the poem, you might want to read some of the Victorian poets. I am familiar with the theme of the poem and some of Wordsworth's works but the opening lines of this particular poem has a different affect on me. Read by themselves, they mean so much more to me personally (my interpretation is a little different from the usual) but that is crazy, old Literature lady talk... Let's not hijack the thread ;)
People, another opening: e. e. cumming's 'My sweet old etcetera'. I had to read the whole thing, the first line is terrific!Kandaurov,

I love cumming's poetry. They are mysterious, engaging and strong. My favorite opening would be (though 'My sweet old etcetera' is excellent too) is :

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

This is one of the most beautiful, breath-taking love poems, I think.

[kandaurov]

My God, what a coincidence! The only two poems I have ever read by cummings were precisely 'my sweet old etcetera' and 'somewhere I have never travelled'! And precisely for the reason that I was flipping through a massive poetry anthology, and only the ones which caught my eye deserved a more careful read :)

Only wish I could understand him better, though. Them modernist folks are too dang hard to understand :p

[JCamilo]

Camilo, I think that the stanza that you quoted from Pessoa is 'autopsicografia'. Whitman's and Eliot's stanzas are indeed quite striking! And it's a good thing you didn't attempt to translate Camões; not only is it impossible, it is also a crime punishable by three years of prison in some states ;)

Yes, it is Autopsicografia - Pessoa work is a bit vast and he have many great momments like those.

The funny thing, is that the site where i quickly looked for the first stanza of Lusiadas to copy/paste I found an english translation. The third line turned in something "for seas never described before by italian poets" ...from where they got italian poets there???
I would post Gonçalves Dias I-Juca-Pirama too, but it would be too big and most people would not understand...

[Nightshade]

hummm one of my favurite openings has got to be :

If women could be fair and yet not fond
Or their love were firm, not fickle still
I would not marvel that they keep men bond
By service long to perchase their good will;
But when I see how frail those creatures are,
I laugh that men forget themselves so far.

By edward Vere

I know its not particually flattering to women but it does make me grin.

Another favouirte at the momment is : shakespears sonnet 130
CXXX.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Oh and the opening of daffodils. and ode on melancholy humm

[Scheherazade]

My God, what a coincidence! The only two poems I have ever read by cummings were precisely 'my sweet old etcetera' and 'somewhere I have never travelled'! And precisely for the reason that I was flipping through a massive poetry anthology, and only the ones which caught my eye deserved a more careful read :)

Only wish I could understand him better, though. Them modernist folks are too dang hard to understand :pHave a look at our Cummings thread here:

http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=1413


'1(a' is a very good one as well :)

[troubidour]

Hi these are my two favourite first stanzas

Beat! Beat! Drums!
Poem lyrics of Beat! Beat! Drums! by Walt Whitman.
Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows--through doors--burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet--no happiness must he have now with
his bride;
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his
grain;
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums--so shrill you bugles blow.


And Death Shall Have No Dominion by Dylan Thomas
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.


Sorry 1 more, Leonard Cohen from Lorca

Now in Vienna there are ten pretty women.
There's a shoulder where death comes to cry.
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows.
There's a tree where the doves go to die.
There's a piece that was torn from the morning,
and it hangs in the Gallery of Frost --
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws.

[troubidour]

have you read cummings In Just. Small poem but is great!! Innocence versus experience..careful experience will take you in, who is full of hot air.

[Behemoth]

The first 4 lines of Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 are possibly my favourites, I guess I really am a romantic at heart :D

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments, love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his highth be taken.
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

:) :) :) :) :) :)

[MaryLupin]

The first poem that came to mind when asked what is your favorite opening differs according to the day. Today, reading this thread, Gottfried Benn came to mind. In English:

A Fine Childhood

The mouth of a girl who had long lain in the reeds
looked so chewed up.
When we broke open the torso, the esophagus was so full of holes.
Finally in a bower under the diaphragm
we found a nest of young rats.
One little sister rat lay dead.
The others were living off liver and kidney,
drinking the cold blood and enjoying
a fine childhood.
And fine and fast was their death too:
we threw the whole bunch into water.
Oh, how those little snouts squeaked!

[Visionary3]

Not like
A lone beautiful bird
These poems now rise in great white flocks

I know the idiot's warehouse
Is always full.
I know each of us
Could run back and forth from there
All day long

Fear is the cheapest room in the house.
I would like to see you living
In better conditions,
For your mother and my mother
Were friends.

I am
A hole in a flute
That the Christ's breath moves through---
Listen to this
Music.

These first lines of 4 poems were written by the persian poet Hafiz, translated by Kadindky. He is my favorite poet.

[firefangled]

It was so startling for the time ( as much as Sylvia Plath in hers) in every aspect of its structure, imagery, and syntax. And who, even to this day where decay has become a cliche of pop culture, who has ever painted a more sophisticated picture of cultural and personal bleakness as the "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot?


Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of Restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells;
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .
Oh do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.