What's your favourite poem?

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
21

ALONE/december/night

it’s been so long
speaking to people
who think it all
too complex
stupidity in their eyes
&
it’s been so long
so far from the truth
so far from a roof
to talk to
or a hand to touch
or anything to really
love

it’s been so long
talking to myself
alone
in the night
listening to a music
that is me.
-Victor Cruz

ALONE

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were - I have not seen
As others saw - I could not bring
My passions from a common spring-
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow - I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone-
And all I lov’d - I lov’d alone-
Then - in my childhood - in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still-
From the torrent, or the fountain-
From the red cliff of the mountain-
From the sun that 'round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold-
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by-
From the thunder, and the storm-
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
-Edgar Allan Poe

22

It’s hard to choose one. Since someone already mentioned The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,'' I'll offer a poem by William Carlos Williams called This Is Just to Say.’’

23

Here’s my favorite: anyone lived in a pretty how town* by e.e. cummings.

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did.

Women and men (both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed (but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then) they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men (both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

24

The Unified Field Theory of Creation.
by Tim Joseph
In the beginning there was Aristotle,
And objects at rest tended to remain at rest,
And objects in motion tended to come to rest,
And soon everything was at rest,
And God saw that it was boring.
Then God created Newton,
And objects at rest tended to remain at rest,
But objects in motion tended to remain in motion,
And energy was conserved and momentum was
conserved and matter was conserved,
And God saw that it was conservative.
Then God created Einstein,
And everything was relative,
And fast things became short,
And straight things became curved,
And the universe was filled with inertial frames,
And God saw that it was relatively general,
but some of it was especially relative.
Then God created Bohr,
And there was the principle,
And the principle was quantum,
And all things were quantified,
But somethings were still relative,
And God saw that it was confusing.
Then God was going to create Furgeson,
And Furgeson would have unified,
And he would have fielded a theory,
And all would have been one,
But it was the seventh day,
So God rested,
And objects at rest
Tend to remain at rest.

25

Damn, I was going to post the Raven, but someone beat me to it.
Instead, this is from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate factory

On the Paddle Boat
There’s no earthly way of knowing,
Which direction we are going,
There’s no knowing where we’re rowing,
Or which way the river’s flowing,
Is it raining? Is it snowing? Is a hurricane a blowing?
There’s not a speck of light a showing,
So the danger must be growing,
Are the fires of hell a glowing?
Is the grizzly reaper mowing?
Yes, the danger must be growing,
For the rowers keep on rowing,
and they’re certainly not showing,
Any signs that they are slowing.

THIS HAS GONE FAR ENOUGH!!!
STOP!
or, from WB Yeats grave in Co. Sligo,
Cast a cold eye o’er life, o’er death,
Horseman, ride by.

26

Dirge without Music
Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, — but the best is lost.

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

27

I am so glad to hear that someone else reads it the way I do (when I’m being serious, that is). When first tasked with reading it aloud to a class, I read it just the way you recommend. When I finished, the teacher was just sitting there gaping at me. She spent the rest of the class period staring at the text, as if she’d never seen it properly before.

Unfortunately, this lead her to make me read Rime of the Ancient Mariner aloud at a later date–damn, my throat was sore after that one!

28

The Eyeball by Henry Gibson

The eyeball is a friend to you
It is a friend to me
But every time I blink my eye
My eyeball cannot see.

I guess a distance second would be:

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

In a high school English class, we had to write a parody, with a beginning of:

Whose feet these are I think I know
Her head is in the pillows, though

It was a hoot!

Shaky Jake

29

So you lit a candle in the darkness! Really, as a teacher who requires the reading of The Raven, she should have understood it before you dramatized it for her. I’m sure you illuminated the text for many in the class as well.

People I work with say I should be a teacher. I really get into history and literature.

Okay, keeping with the theme of the OP, I also like High Flight by John Gillespie Magee, Jr. I have to. I’m a pilot.

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds-and done a hundred things
You have dreamed of-wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the windswept heights with Easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand,
and touched the face of God.

30

I wrote a parody once. I’ll try to remember to post it when I get home. It started:

Tubby, or not tubby?
Fat is the question.
Whether 'tis globular in the hind to cushion the seats and benches of outrageous hardness, or in a chin that’s doubled.
'Tis a consommé devoutly to be dish’d! …

31

Mine is “The Bells” by E. A. Poe

I

Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II

Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III

Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now- now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV

Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron Bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people- ah, the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All Alone
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells-
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells:
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
rjk - you’re not the only one who liked that poem:



And one for Falcon:

32

Zy -

I’ve seen that one…Waterhouse did 3 paintings of that poem. Have them all saved on my hard drive. :slight_smile:

33

When Mr. Apollinax visited the United States
His laughter tinkled among the teacups.
I thought of Fragilion, that shy figure among the birch-trees,
And of Priapus in the shrubbery
Gaping at the lady in the swing.
In the palace of Mrs. Phlaccus, at Professor Channing-Cheetah’s
He laughed like an irresponsible foetus.
His laughter was submarine and profound
Like the old man of the sea’s
Hidden under coral islands
Where worried bodies of drowned men drift down in the green silence,
Dropping from fingers of surf.

I looked for the head of Mr. Apollinax rolling under a chair
Or grinning over a screen
With seaweed in its hair.
I heard the beat of centaur’s hoofs over the hard turf
As his dry and passionate talk devoured the afternoon.
“He is a charming man”—“But after all what did he mean?”—
“His pointed ears… He must be unbalanced,”—
“There was something he said that I might have challenged.”
Of dowager Mrs. Phlaccus, and Professor and Mrs. Cheetah
I remember a slice of lemon, and a bitten macaroon.

– T.S. Eliot
(I love this poem because I’ve always identified with Mr. Apollinax.

Okay, not really. Just say that I aspire to Apollinaxhood.)

34

Zyada, I read The Bells in my speech class. I should have done The Raven, but someone else was already doing it… badly.

I started out softly, like the silver bells. Then I grew maniacal at the brazen bells, and ominous at the iron bells.

The prof said I was too quiet at the beginning, but was more audible at the end. He didn’t get it. I think he was used to people “just reading” dramatic readings instead of reading them. When I had finished, I did see some awed faces in the class, and at the break a couple of my classmates told me they were “blown away” (hey, it was the 80s!) by my reading of The Bells.

But I still regret not doing The Raven.

35

My favorite poem, among many, is “The Buried Life”, by Matthew Arnold, which is too long to quote here. A close second is the following:

36

In looking through two or three poets I wanted to quote (Tennyson and Poe, mainly) I found the poem I was looking for. In addition to being one of my favorite westerns, it’s also a poem that one of the characters quotes. So, without further ado… old Edgar Allen himself.

 ELDORADO.

    ~~~~~~~~~~
    GAILY bedight,
    A gallant knight,

In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

    But he grew old —
    This knight so bold —

And o’er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

    And, as his strength
    Failed him at length,

He met a pilgrim shadow —
“Shadow,” said he,
“Where can it be —
This land of Eldorado ?”

    "Over the Mountains
    Of the Moon,

Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied, —
“If you seek for Eldorado !”

37

My favorites are epics – The Iliad, The Odyssey, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. But they’re too damn long to post here.

I liker the Robert Fitzgerald translations, although Fagles is beginning to grow on me. Richmond Lattimore’s translations remind me of the ones I did in high school. And if you want weird look up Christopher Logue’s translation of one of the books of the Iliad (“The Patrocleia”).

38

This one always gives me goosebumps. I have a poster of this on my wall in my classroom.

If
~~

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And - which is more - you’ll be a Man my son!

Rudyard Kipling

39

Oh wow; This one is definitely in my top ten, even if the story of Magee is tragic. He got to touch the face of God sooner than he probably would have liked. A certain painting of a Spitfire always brings this poem to mind, and vice versa.

Thanks to all who have posted! This is wonderful! Keep it up.

40

Tsk! Blasted codes!