Poem of the Week

[Virgil]

Of Many Worlds in This World

Just like as in a nest of boxes round,
Degrees of sizes in each box are found:
So, in this world, may many others be
Thinner and less, and less still by degree:
Although they are not subject to our sense,
A world may be no bigger than two-pence.
Nature is curious, and such works may shape,
Which our dull senses easily escape:
For creatures, small as atoms, may there be,
If every one a creature’s figure bear.
If atoms four, a world can make, then see
What several worlds might in an ear-ring be:
For, millions of those atoms may be in
The head of one small, little, single pin.
And if thus small, then ladies may well wear
A world of worlds, as pendents in each ear.

by Margaret Cavendish

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19742

Nice find Scher. I had never read her before. This poem seems way ahead of its time. Love that concluding couplet:

And if thus small, then ladies may well wear
A world of worlds, as pendents in each ear.

[Scheherazade]

I haven't read any other poems by her either and really liked the "sound" of this one but I am not sure if I grasp it all clearly.

Sentence structure is interesting, to say the least.

And the concluding couplet makes me wonder if the poem is about something else...

[soundofmusic]

Wonderful post! I would have loved to sit at the table of Duchess Cavendish and hear the conversations. This poem leaves off where another begins. It seems to consider man as somewhat egocentric, living in a relatively small space and judging everything by what we ourselves control. Meanwhile, smaller creatures and constellations continue life around us, totally unaware of our existence.

[Virgil]

Not sure if I can post a new poem for the week, but I came across this today at lunchtime while i was surfing the net and thoroughly enjoyed it.

As I Walked Out One Evening
by W. H. Auden


As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
"Love has no ending.

"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

"I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

"The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world."

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

"In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

"In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

"Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

"O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

"The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

"Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

"O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

"O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart."

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

[soundofmusic]

Not sure if I can post a new poem for the week, but I came across this today at lunchtime while i was surfing the net and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Thank you for posting. What a wonderful poem

[rimbaud]

What Nina answered by Arthur Rimbaud



He: Just the two of us together,
Okay? We could go
Through the fresh and pleasant weather
In the cool glow

Of the blue morning, washed in
The wine of day…
When all the love-struck forest
Quivers, bleeds

From each branch; clear drops tremble,
Bright buds blow,
Everything opens and vibrates;
All things grow.

You rush about, and alfalfa
Stains your white gown,
As the shadows beneath your eyelids
Fade in the clear dawn.

Madly in love with the country,
You sprinkle about
Like shining champagne bubbles
Your crazy laugh:

Laughing at me, and I’d be brutal
And I’d grab your hair
Like this—how beautiful,
Oh!—In the air

Your strawberry-raspberry taste,
Your flowery flesh!
Laughing at the wind that kissed
You like a thief,

At the eglantine you stumble in
(It loves you, too!)
Laughing most of all, little dummy,
At me with you!

Just the two of us together,
Our voices joined,
Slowly we’d wander farther
Into the wood…

Then, like the girl in the fairy tale
You’d start to faint;
You’d tell me to carry you
With half a wink…

I’d carry you quivering
Beneath a tree;
A bird nearby is whistling:
“Who loves to lie with me…”

I’d whisper into your mouth,
Put you to bed,
Your body curled like a baby’s
Drunk on the blood

That flows, blue, beneath the softness
Of skin like snow;
Whispering about those shameless
Things… you know…

Our woods smell of springtime,
And the sun
Powders with gold their vision
Vermilion and green.

At night? We’ll return on the shining
White road that goes
Idly along, like a flock browsing;
Around us grows

The blue grass of lovely orchards,
Their bending trees;
For miles around as you wander
You smell their scent!

We’ll get back to the village
Just at duck,
And smell the odor of milking
On the evening air,

And the warm smell of stables
Full of manure,
Of a calm rhythm of breathing
And of broad backs

Pale in the light of a lantern;
And there below
A cow drops dung, dignified
And slow.

Grandmother’s eyeglasses sparkle
As she peers
In her prayerbook; a tin bucket
Of beer

Foams in the front of long pipes
That happily expel
Clouds of smoke; the flapping faces,
Smoking still,

Shove in ham by forkfuls:
Lots, then more;
The fire lights the cupboards
And beds on the floor.

The fat shiny bottom
Of a husky kid
Crawling to lick the dishes,
His tow head

Tousled by a huge hound dog
With a soft growl,
Who licks the round features
Of the dear child…

Dark, on the edge of her chair,
An arrogant profile—
An old woman spinning
By the fire.

What things we’ll see, my darling,
In those farms,
By those bright fires sparkling
In dark windowpanes!

Then, tiny, hidden under
A lilac bush, fresh
And shady: a little window
Just for us…

I love you! Come! Come for
A beautiful walk!
You will come, won’t your? What’s more…

She: And be late for work?

[Virgil]

Lovely Rimbaud. Thanks.

[Maryd.]

^^ Wow, Rimi, you've been busy... Lovely.

[rimbaud]

yeah, It's one of my fav by Rimbaud, I love his work!

[Maryd.]

yeah, It's one of my fav by Rimbaud, I love his work!

I noticied...

[rimbaud]

does my nick gives me out?


how did you guessed?

[Maryd.]

Gee I don't know, Oh, that's it, your nick is a dead giveaway.

[metamorphoser]

You Who Never Arrived
Rainer Maria Rilke

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me-- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house--, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, seperate, in the evening...

[rimbaud]

nice one metamorphoser
I found one last night, but will wait for monday to come, have to obey the rules

[rimbaud]

Ok, technically by my time, I'm an hour early, it's 11:01 pm Sunday here, but still, I hope you enjoy


Song: How sweet I roamed from field to field

HOW sweet I roam'd from field to field
And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the Prince of Love beheld
Who in the sunny beams did glide.

He shew'd me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me thro' his gardens fair
Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May-dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fired my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing
And mocks my loss of liberty.

William Blake