Favorite poem?

T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land has always been a personal favorite.

I love John Milton's Lycidas for its sound and rhythm, though its multiple references to Greek myths and Christain symbols has left me a bit overwhelmed the first or second time reading.

Anything by Wallace Stevens mezmorizes me.

Lets see. . . . .

Recently I've discovered Tennyson's Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal which I find so elegant and natural:

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

This one...from Emily Dickinson:


There's a certain Slant of light
Winter Afternoons -
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes -

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us -
We can find no scar
But internal difference
Where the Meanings, are -

None may teach it - Any -
'T is the Seal Despair -
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air -

When it comes, the Landscape listens -
Shadows - hold their breath -
When it goes, 't is like the Distance
On the look of Death -

Quote:

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Originally Posted by white camellia

This one...from Emily Dickinson:


There's a certain Slant of light
Winter Afternoons -
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes -

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us -
We can find no scar
But internal difference
Where the Meanings, are -

None may teach it - Any -
'T is the Seal Despair -
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air -

When it comes, the Landscape listens -
Shadows - hold their breath -
When it goes, 't is like the Distance
On the look of Death -

---

That is a great one Camelia.

I came across this little poem by Denise Levertov that just sparkeled:

The Avowal
by Denise Levertov

As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit's deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace.

Glad you like it, Virgil.

As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,


How beautiful. : --)

its difficult to pick one facourite poem...but Death of a Poet by rainer Marial Rilke is one of them for sure...this is how it starts..

He Lay.
His high-propped face could only peer
in pale rejection at the silent cover,
now that the world an all this knowledge of her,
torn from the senses of her lover,
had fallen back to the unfeeling year.

I am reminded of the pianist, Arthur Rubinstein's, reply to a journalist who asked him to name his favourite piece. "Favourites are for amateurs", he replied dismissively.

One ought to be reticent in blazoning any particular poet or writer because ones knowledge, even in today's literate society, cannot embrace the totality of all literature. Furthermore, one may choose a poet or writer as one's favourite but one should not necessarily assume that he or she wrote one's favourite work. It is possible that a minor poet or writer has, exceptionally, written a work exceeding any of those in the favourite's canon.

Nonetheless, I confess to being an unrepentant amateur and have my favourites. In poetry, it is Tennyson, whose 200th anniversary it is this year, 2009. Unfortunately, with such a huge output as his, I cannot maintain that I like all his works; but I admire him for his facility with words and his ability to conjure mood and atmosphere from imagination. However, my favourite poem must be Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind". What lyrical flights does that portray! What limitations to mankind!

My favourite author is George Eliot. I am reasonably well read (but only in European literature and with many gaps) but consider even Tolstoy's "War and Peace", often proclaimed as the worlds greatest novel, inferior to her "Middlemarch" (a case of my favourite author writing my favourite book). This is a novel weaving at least four stories into one with deep psychological insight together with love, death and resolution.

I would also like to nominate Richard Wagner. He is known as one of the greatest composers but the fact that he set texts written by himself is often overlooked. Many disparage his efforts but I suspect they have not read his works as poetry. Each music drama offers huge lengths of great poetic text far beyond the achievement of most poets. Even great playwrights such as Shakespeare (another favourite) were not always able to write poetry throughout their plays; and Wagner not only wrote consistently throughout a particular work but also varied his style to suit each piece.

These are personal choices which may be disparaged by others, particularly since I prefer 19th century works to any others. But, in accordance with my observation above, I do not claim that other periods or continents cannot offer better examples. Indeed, I recommend absorbing modern writers: we cannot live constantly in the past but should look forward to new creations. In particular, we cannot be forever immersed in 19th century music, much as I love it: but that is matter for another forum.

Thanks for this fantastic idea , it makes me read several poems for the first time .
Really my favorite poem is " There is a certain slant of light " by Emilly Dickinson :

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That opresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us--
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the meanings are--

None may teach it--Any--
'Tis the Seal Despair--
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air--

When it comes, the Landscape listens--
Shadows--hold their breath--
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death--

-- Emily Dickinson

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Natalia Andria

Thanks for this fantastic idea , it makes me read several poems for the first time .
Really my favorite poem is " There is a certain slant of light " by Emilly Dickinson :

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That opresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us--
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the meanings are--

None may teach it--Any--
'Tis the Seal Despair--
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air--

When it comes, the Landscape listens--
Shadows--hold their breath--
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death--

-- Emily Dickinson

---

WOW. That is inspirational, not to mention wonderful. Dickinson is just the best for these kinds of poems.

I listen to Edward Hirsch's "Wild Gratitude" almost daily, like a favorite song, on my way to work.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by JuniperWoolf

Ophelia by Rimbaud made me cry and stare into space for a good long while the first time that I ever read it, but you have to get the right English translation which I can't find on the internet and I can't find my book to copy it right now. I remember that the one that I like starts off:

Where the stars sleep in the calm black stream,
like some great lily, pale Ophelia floats,
slowly floats, wrapped in her veils like a dream.
Half heard from the woods, halloo's from distant throats.

---

i love that one, it's definitely one of my favorites
also you can find every poem by Rimbaud on www.mag4.net in both english and french

I confess myself far more interested in "that Latin stuff" than in Pound.

Browning "My Last Duchess" and "Porphyria's Lover" are definitely up there as well as anything by William Blake and am currently studying Dante in the original tongue and terza rima. Good stuff.

personally Ill always be a fan of Arthur Rimbaud:

Departure

Enough seen. The vision has been met in every air.
Enough had. Distant sounds of cities, in the evening,
and in the sun, and always.
Enough known. Life's injunctions. O sounds and visions!
Departure in new affection and new noise.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

-William Ernest Henley

Simple, but says it all.

I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

:nod:Thank you for the reminder of this wonderful poem; a favorite of mine since childhood.

Do not go gentle into that good night by. Dylan Thomas

The first time I encountered this poem was while listening to a radio program. The program was a live to air from Toronto a day or so after the assassination of John Lennon. It was a candlelight vigil. One of the readers was Long John Baldry and he read the best version that I have ever heard of Do not go gentle into that good night. It was fantastic! I wish I could get a copy of that.


Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I also loved Ode to a mouse by Robbie Burns. My grandfather use to recite it to me when I was a wee lad . I thought it was a horror story! I guess I was too young to understand the language e.g Wee sleekit cowrin tim'rous beastie. Too funny!!!