Wisdom in poetry.

[prendrelemick]

Sometimes you find a verse, or even a line, in a poem that seems so wise and pertinent that you want to show it to everyone.
Well here's your chance! You can post it here.

Last night I came across this;

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall move it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor shall all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

Also,
My mother would chunter in exasperation;

"Was it for this the clay grew tall?"

When I'd done something particularly stupid.

[JBI]

I'm not going to lie, I loathe 18th century verse. Alexander Pope rehashed the same poem over and over again in the most monotonous lines, with the silliest subjects. I think the aristocratic wig wearing of the 18th century was perhaps the most boring period we've had in English literature

That being said, wisdom, if such a thing exists, exists in many forms of poetry. Eliot's Four Quartets, for instance, throw some interesting philosophical questions out there:

From East Coker 3

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing façade are all being rolled away—
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing—
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.

[quasimodo1]

How can anybody not love T.S. Eliot. And JBI, if you're going to slam the dead spots of English Lit. ..........you wouldn't want to leave out Restoration Literature.

[Pecksie]

But love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning.
- Anonymous, 16th century

[Guinivere]

But love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning.
- Anonymous, 16th century

That's just beautiful. Where did you find it ?

[Pecksie]

That's just beautiful. Where did you find it ?

In a beloved anthology, 'The Viking Book of English Verse', printed in the early '40s. The complete poem begins 'As you came from the holy land / Of Walsinghame / Met you not with my true love / By the way as you came?' I've also found it elsewhere attributed to Sir Walter Ralegh.

[ChinaRose]

All that's beautiful drifts away Like the waters

[Gustavo L.]

LXVI
If like desire, and if an equal flame
Move one and the other sex, who warmly press
To that soft end of love (their goal the same)
Which to the witless crowd seems rank excess;
Say why shall woman -- merit scathe or blame,
Though lovers, one or more, she may caress;
While man to sin with whom he will is free,
And meets with praise, not mere impunity?

Ariosto, "Orlando Furioso", canto IV

[tinustijger]

here's what i find about compromise
don't do it if it hurts inside
cause either way you're screwed
eventually you'll find that you may as well feel good
you may as well have some pride

~ Amy Ray (half of Indigo Girls)

How's that for wisdom?:P

[Saladin]

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall move it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor shall all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

That`s from Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam by Omar Khayyam. A 11th century sufi scholar and persian poet.

[Cat_Brenners]

I liked the first poetry quoted. It means a lot to me too.
Worth quoting.
Cat

[Neo_Sephiroth]

Sometimes you find a verse, or even a line, in a poem that seems so wise and pertinent that you want to show it to everyone.
Well here's your chance! You can post it here.

Last night I came across this;

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall move it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor shall all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

Also,
My mother would chunter in exasperation;

"Was it for this the clay grew tall?"

When I'd done something particularly stupid.

Nice...I like.