Poem of the Day

[quasimodo1]

TO A YOUNG CHILD
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
by Gerald Manley Hopkins

[blp]

Great great choice, q. I'm becoming more and more aware of just how interesting this poet is.

I should let you know, though, it's Gerard, not Gerald.

[quasimodo1]

To blp: Thank's for alerting me on typo (partially result of miniscule dyslexia) and Hopkins is great, underread and poetically unigue in the extreme. quasimodo1

[quasimodo1]

The Brain -- is wider than the Sky --
The Brain -- is wider than the Sky --
For -- put them side by side --
The one the other will contain
With ease -- and You -- beside --

The Brain is deeper than the sea --
For -- hold them -- Blue to Blue --
The one the other will absorb --
As Sponges -- Buckets -- do --

The Brain is just the weight of God --
For -- Heft them -- Pound for Pound --
And they will differ -- if they do --
As Syllable from Sound --
..................Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

[quasimodo1]

(Famous Poems Rewritten as Limericks)
Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening
There once was a horse-riding chap
Who took a trip in a cold snap
He stopped in the snow
But he soon had to go
He was miles away from a nap. }
The Raven
There once was a girl named Lenore
And a bird and a bust and a door
And a guy with depression
And a whole lot of questions
And the bird always says "Nevermore." }
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
There was an old father of Dylan
Who was seriously, mortally illin'
"I want," Dylan said
"You to ***** till you're dead.
"I'll be cheesed if you kick it while chillin'." }
I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud
There once was a poet named Will
Who tramped his way over a hill
And was speechless for hours
Over some stupid flowers
This was years before TV, but still. }
Footprints in the Sand
There was a man who, at low tide
Would walk with the Lord by his side
Jesus said "Now look back;
You'll see one set of tracks.
That's when you got a piggy-back ride."
*************************************five limericks/no disrespect intended

[Virgil]

(Famous Poems Rewritten as Limericks)
Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening
There once was a horse-riding chap
Who took a trip in a cold snap
He stopped in the snow
But he soon had to go
He was miles away from a nap. }
The Raven
There once was a girl named Lenore
And a bird and a bust and a door
And a guy with depression
And a whole lot of questions
And the bird always says "Nevermore." }
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
There was an old father of Dylan
Who was seriously, mortally illin'
"I want," Dylan said
"You to ***** till you're dead.
"I'll be cheesed if you kick it while chillin'." }
I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud
There once was a poet named Will
Who tramped his way over a hill
And was speechless for hours
Over some stupid flowers
This was years before TV, but still. }
Footprints in the Sand
There was a man who, at low tide
Would walk with the Lord by his side
Jesus said "Now look back;
You'll see one set of tracks.
That's when you got a piggy-back ride."
*************************************five limericks/no disrespect intended

Did you write them yourself Quasi? Very good

[quasimodo1]

To Virgil: Be advised i didn't write them and hope i didn't give that impression. Make sure the credit is not mine, all I did was discover that they exist. BTW, did you see the latest by Nightshade. Niamh said the poem belongs in the "best loved poems by litneters" and it does. As for the limericks; just tried to bring a little levity into this forum. They are neet though. quasi

[Nightshade]

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
There was an old father of Dylan
Who was seriously, mortally illin'
"I want," Dylan said
"You to ***** till you're dead.
"I'll be cheesed if you kick it while chillin'." }

I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud
There once was a poet named Will
Who tramped his way over a hill
And was speechless for hours
Over some stupid flowers
This was years before TV, but still. }

I think lonely as a cloud is my fav. IN DNGG is it **** in the limmerick or did the litnet censor it ( its just I cant figure out the word and its bugging me, plus the orignal version is one of all time favs. *sigh*

[quasimodo1]

To Nightshade: You did read the post before yours, yes? They are neat and I just intended to put a bit of levity into the mix. I guess they did get censored a bit so if that blank space is bothering you, I can PM the original text. Sometimes it's important to stand back and realize that from a geological point of view, we are way ephemeral. Hence the attempt at humor. BTW (see, I can use these hip abreviations) your poem from yesterdays post really is quality stuff. I have reems of stuff I wrote back in the day, but my daughter's have them and won't give them up. Sooner or later though... I was going to tell you to keep on writing your poetry and that is a sound idea but I also think it's possible to let poetry kind of subconsciously stew and when the time is right, they seem to jump onto the page. Just a theory. quasi

[Nightshade]

To Nightshade: You did read the post before yours, yes? They are neat and I just intended to put a bit of levity into the mix. I guess they did get censored a bit so if that blank space is bothering you, I can PM the original text. Sometimes it's important to stand back and realize that from a geological point of view, we are way ephemeral. Hence the attempt at humor. BTW (see, I can use these hip abreviations) your poem from yesterdays post really is quality stuff. I have reems of stuff I wrote back in the day, but my daughter's have them and won't give them up. Sooner or later though... I was going to tell you to keep on writing your poetry and that is a sound idea but I also think it's possible to let poetry kind of subconsciously stew and when the time is right, they seem to jump onto the page. Just a theory. quasi

Ah no the censoring would happen anywhere thats ok I was just wondering if the authour put ****** to begin with how would it read aloud. But thats OK. huh...thanks id probably appreciate this more if I actually took my poetry as anything except me messing about and excorcising lines and phrases that can haunt me for weeks, but Thanks anyway.

[quasimodo1]

"My poet-child, I want you to sing with Me:
I barter nothing with time and deeds.
My cosmic Play is done.
The One Transcendental I was.
The Many Universal I am.
I am the Soul-Flower of My Eternity.
I am the Heart-Fragrance of My Infinity."


By: Sri Chinmoy http://www.srichinmoypoetry.com/sri_chinmoy

[quasimodo1]

"for her lyric poetry which, inspired by powerful emotions,
has made her name a symbol of the idealistic aspirations of the entire Latin American world"





– Nobel Citation

[quasimodo1]

Creed


I believe in my heart that when

The wounded heart sunk within the depth of God sings

It rises from the pond alive

As if new-born. (first stanza)

[Mrs. Dalloway]

September 11th,

today is the national day of Catalonia, so I post a poem written by Salvador Espriu (I also post the original poem). The page I've read the poem is: http://proxy.cwe.es/folch/poesia/espriu_.htm#XLVI

I hope you enjoy it. I really like this poet

English translation:

[XLVI] from La pell de brau (Literal translation by Magda Bogin)

Sometimes it is necessary and right
for a man to die for a people.
But a whole people must never die
for a single man:
remember this, Sepharad.
Keep the bridge of dialogue secured
and try to understand and love
the different minds and tongues of all your children.
Let the rain fall drop by drop on the fields
and the air cross the ample fields
like a soft, benevolent hand.
Let Sepharad live forever
in order and in peace, in work,
and in difficult, hard_won
liberty.

In Catalan:

[XLVI]

A vegades és necessari i forçós
que un home mori per un poble,
però mai no ha de morir tot un poble
per un home sol:
recorda sempre això, Sepharad.
Fes que siguin segurs els ponts del diàleg
i mira de comprendre i estimar
les raons i les parles diverses dels teus fills.
Que la pluja caigui a poc a poc en els sembrats
i l'aire passi com una estesa mà
suau i molt benigna damunt els amples camps.
Que Sepharad visqui eternament
en l'ordre i en la pau, en el treball,
en la difícil i merescuda
llibertat.

Salvador Espriu

[AuntShecky]

Robert Lowell (b. 1917) died on this day, September 12, in 1977. Love his poems, but they're too long, SO:

Given the short attention span of yours truly and heraffection for "tiny" poems, here presented in its entirety is a poem by the author of The Red Badge of Courage Stephen Crane ( 1871-1900)-- years conveniently outside the 1923 copyright restrictions:


A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
“A sense of obligation.”