I sort of agree with Johnny here, or at least I prefer the version by Golden Bough. You can hear part of it here*. It’s a nicer melody, and doesn’t break any spines.
- (And also “The Wandering Aengus”, another Yeats poem put to music.)
I sort of agree with Johnny here, or at least I prefer the version by Golden Bough. You can hear part of it here*. It’s a nicer melody, and doesn’t break any spines.
For that matter - I like the version of An Irish Airman Foresees His Death by Shane MacGowan. Though he more or less simply recites it.
Excellent advice.
Just finished “Talking Dirty to the Gods” by Yusef Komunyakaa-wonderful read.
All this and no Seamus Heaney The Follower just for starters.
Hell, dude, no one’s even mentioned Shakespeare yet.
I’d like to second the recommendation to get a big, fat anthology or two. Read through it at your leisure, with a big pile of sticky tabs beside you. When ever you find a poet who speaks to you, put a sticky on him or her and read further works.
Anthologies I’d recommend - The Norton Anthology of Poetry
15 Canadian Poets X 3
Open Wide a Wilderness
and there are lots more…
A couple of individual poets no one else is likely to mention - Michael Ondaatje and Don McKay.
I find it almost hypnotic in its effect.
Yeah; for an “an example of what not to do”, it is surprisingly effective and memorable.
Tadeusz Borowski’s “Night on Birkenau” originally written in Polish. One of the very greatest holocaust poems. Translation below. (and the translation I’m posting is by yours truly, so no worries as to copyright.)
**Night on Birkenau
**Tadeusz Borowski
Tr. from Polish by Yours Truly
*Again the night. Again the nightly land.
The sky is gyring like a bird of prey,
Like some grim beast about the calm-struck camp.
The corpse-pale moon is down where it must stay.
And like a shield cast to the ground in battle
Airy Orion lies among the stars.
The crematoria’s eyes glint. Then the clatter
Of motors in the dark. The loaded cars.
Scalding and stifling. Slumber like a stone.
Breath is choked out. The throat is split and red.
Only a heavy boot on the breast-bone
Cracks through the silence of three million dead.
Night, endless night. And no light on the land.
Drowsiness stuns the eye and numbs the brow.
Here like God’s Judgment on the world of man
The fog must now come down on Birkenau.*