So, on another group I saw a thread for people to post their favorite poems. I thought it was a great idea! Here is one of my favorite poems (linked with my favorite Shakespeare play).

Lines on Retirement, After Reading Lear by David Wright

Avoid storms. And retirement parties.
You can’t trust the sweetnesses your friends will
offer, when they really want your office,
which they’ll redecorate. Beware the still
untested pension plan. Keep your keys. Ask
for more troops than you think you’ll need. Listen
more to fools and less to colleagues. Love your
youngest child the most, regardless. Back to
storms: dress warm, take a friend, don’t eat the grass,
don’t stand near tall trees, and keep the yelling
down—the winds won’t listen, and no one will
see you in the dark. It’s too hard to hear
you over all the thunder. But you’re not
Lear, except that we can’t stop you from what
you’ve planned to do. In the end, no one leaves
the stage in character—we never see
the feather, the mirror held to our lips.
So don’t wait for skies to crack with sun. Feel
the storm’s sweet sting invade you to the skin,
the strange, sore comforts of the wind. Embrace
your children’s ragged praise and that of friends.
Go ahead, take it off, take it all off.
Run naked into tempests. Weave flowers
into your hair. Bellow at cataracts.
If you dare, scream at the gods. Babble as
if you thought words could save. Drink rain like cold
beer. So much better than making theories.
We’d all come with you, laughing, if we could.

Love it! Thanks! I have so many "favorite" poems...I have to think about it & narrow it down. I'll be back.

This is one of my favorites:

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Pablo Neruda

Both beautiful poems. I will definitely be back to post mine later! Great thread, Emily.

Wow, Annette. That's beautiful! And it translates so beautifully...I should go read it in Spanish.

My favorite poet is Mary Oliver and I love ALL of her poems! It was very hard to narrow it down to just one. I am going to share the first poem that really touched me and made me feel...encouraged at a time in my life when I really needed it!

The Journey by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

That is a nice one by her, Cindy, one I've never seen before. She is my favorite poet also! I love her poems about nature the best.

Which of her books is this one from?

The Journey was originally published in Dream Work c 1986 but is also in "New and Selected Poems" c 1992. Her nature poems are fabulous! The book "Why I Wake Early" c 2004; poems Song of the Builders, Mindful, and of course Why I Wake Early are great. Now she has a brand new volume out called "Red Bird" just published this year. Excited to learn she is also your favorite!

Yeah, when I was in my teens, e e cummings was my favorite. But once I discovered Oliver - it was all over! I love nature poems, prob. because most all my poems are about nature. She is so incredible at it - her poems are almost as beautiful as the beauty she's writing about. Sometimes more.

I love "Song of Myself" by Whitman. Here's my favorite section, an excerpt from Part 32:


I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and
self-contain'd,
I stand and look at them long and long.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of
owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of
years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.

*

And one more, this one by Sharon Olds:



I Go Back to May 1937 (from The Gold Cell)

I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks with the
wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips black in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don't do it--she's the wrong woman,
he's the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you never heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty blank face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome blind face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don't do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips like chips of flint as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.

Gosh, what a great topic, and there are so many poems that I love. My favorite of all times is "Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allan Poe:

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.


I used to know this one by heart with I was a teenager. Yes, I was a dark and morbid girl!

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock ~ T.S. Elliot

(kind of long to print all of it here but my favorite part)

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

I love the poem "La madre" (The Mother) by G. Ungaretti. The last two lines are a perfect expression of love and they gave me shivers any time I read or even remember them.

Ricorderai d'avermi atteso tanto
E avrai negli occhi un rapido sospiro.

(You will remember having waited for me for so long
And you'll have a fast sigh in your eyes.)

Good choice Tera! That's definitely one of my faves although Annabel Lee is great too. God, this is hard. I'll have to think about it and come back later.

Oh, so many beautiful ones! Kate, I love that Sharon Olds also, it just grabs your gut, doesn't it?? Wow.

Annette:

I knew within a few lines that was Neruda! He is at this time my absolute favourite! I can hardly pick a favourite of his as there are so many that are exquisite really. I'm always surprised that the English translation is so lovely, makes me wish i could read Spanish.

I have some others i will have to dig up...hmmm.

I think this is one of those that brought me closer to teaching:

The Absent-Minded Professor
By Howard Nemeroff

This lonely figure of not much fun
Strayed out of folklore fifteen years ago
Forever. Now on an autumn afternoon
While the leaves drift past the office window
His bright replacement, present-minded, stays
At the desk, correcting papers, nor ever grieves
For the silly scholar of the bad old days
Who’d burn the papers and correct the leaves.

I'm loving this thread. I treasure poems in much the same way that I do books, and it's so interesting to see which ones are your gems. It says so much about each of us and also has given me several to add to my "favorites" folder.

Kate - that poems is so moving - what is she writing about? What did they do?

Tera - I love Prufrock, too! I particularly love the part of the poem about measuring life in coffee spoons.

Marsha - my dad had to memorize Annabelle Lee when he was a little boy and still remembered it when he was an old man. He used to make us all laugh by reciting it with accompanying hand motions (hand over brow looking out over the ocean, hands fluttering like a bird, etc) When he passed away last year at 90, we had someone recite this poem in his honor. Not the same without those hand motions, but done for dad nonetheless!

> The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock ~ T.S. Elliot

Yes, Tera, that's a great poem. There was an episode of the wonderful tv series "The Paper Chase" titled "Not Prince Hamlet," in which a law student committed suicide, and left "I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be" as his suicide note. And now that's what I always think of first when I hear that poem.

Tee hee, I bet I was in eighth grade when I memorized "Annabel Lee" as well. I guess it suits the young teenaged-girl's tempestuous temperament!

Hi, Teri,

That sounds like a great tribute to your dad and a happy way to remember him. It's a great poem to hear out loud, for sure. Hmmm, now that I've brought it up, I know I bought a copy of "Annabel Lee" on parchment paper years ago when I went to hear John Astin do a reading for Poe's birthday celebration in Baltimore, and I never did get the thing framed. I wonder where it is now... (off to search through the mess that I laughingly call an office)

What a great thread to stumble across! T.S. Elliot, Neruda...how nice to take a moment and read through such lilting, evocative words. One of my favorite poems is by Sarah Teasdale. It's called, Barter.

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things;
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up,

Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell;
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And, for the Spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Give all you have for loveliness;
Buy it, and never count the cost!
For one white, singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost;
And for a breath of ecstasy,
Give all you have been, or could be.

What a neat memory of your dad, Teri. I'm glad you shared that. It put a memory in my mind of my grandmother, thanks to you. She used to recite The Highwayman, and I still recall the tremble in her aged voice as she spoke the words as spookily as she could, while I sat frozen in front of her, listening, waiting for the next part.

...The Highwayman came riding, riding, riding!

Karey - I really love yours. I might have to pick up a book by Teasdale - beautiful.

I've always loved this poem.

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

OMG My first boyfriend gave me that poem when we started going out. It's what drew me to ee cummings. I had forgotten all about that one. He did give me the key to interpreting it, though...he told me that anyone is a guy and noone is a girl.

Karey, I like Sara Teasdale as well. A beautiful poem of hers (now I forget the name) is quoted in the story "There Will Come Soft Rains" by Ray Bradbury. It's a lovely story.

Robert Frost has always been a favorite of mine. Poems of his, such as Mending Wall; The Road Not Taken; The Pasture; The Death of the Hired Man; Out, Out--; Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening; Fire and Ice; and Nothing Gold Can Stay.

Other favorites include The Raven by Poe, The Highwayman by Alfred Noyles, and Little Orphant Annie by James Whitcomb Riley.

One of my favorite books is the book of poems that tells a story of a small town and the hidden secrets of its people, Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters. And, I can't leave out two favorite poets of younger (maybe not so much younger) age poetry, Shel Silverstein and Jack Prelutsky.

I know that I've left out many favorites--poems and poets(such as Emily Dickinson)--but this is a good sampling of my favorites. I love this topic, as it is a chance to revisit poetry.

Karey,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

The oral tradition of reciting poems is rather a lost art today. I miss it.

There are some great Robt. Frost sites in New England that we saw - his house, there's a path through the woods with various stands of his poetry throughout - they were neat to see when we went.

Laura, I'd love to see those Frost sites in New England. I toured the Key West house and grounds (he actually stayed in a cottage in the back which isn't open) where he spent a lot of time after his wife died. I love visiting places like that.

Oh, I love Frost as well! "The Road Not Taken" is magical for me. Thanks for the info!

Kathy,

I've loved "Nothing Gold Can Stay" since I read "The Outsiders" waaaaay back in junior high. I very nearly posted it here, but went with Poe instead.

Since e.e. cummings seems to be popular, here's another one of his, suitable for the season.

hist whist
by e.e. cummings

hist whist
little ghostthings
tip-toe
twinkle-toe

little twitchy
witches and tingling
goblins
hob-a-nob hob-a-nob

little hoppy happy
toad in tweeds
tweeds
little itchy mousies

with scuttling
eyes rustle and run and
hidehidehide
whisk

whisk look out for the old woman
with the wart on her nose
what she'll do to yer
nobody knows

for she knows the devil ooch
the devil ouch
the devil
ach the great

green
dancing
devil
devil

devil
devil

wheeEEE

Marsha, The Outsiders prompted my love of the poem, too.

Okay, with all the mention of Frost, I couldn't help but give him some space. Here's "The Road Not Taken";

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Yeah! Love that one. At the Robert Frost path, that poem is posted where the path forks, and if I remember right, when you come back, you are on the other side of the fork. It was neat.

I'm enjoying the e e cummings all over again...

Here is my favorite Emily Dickinson poem........

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Very pretty.

Emily-I too love that Robert Frost poem! Rings so true, don't you sometimes wonder how your life would be had you chosen a different road at certain times? And Laura, the Robert Frost path sounds so cool!
And Holli, Emily Dickinson is awesome! Thanks for sharing this one!!

There's a YA book named Feathers that takes the name from the poem. I don't think I had ever read the entire poem. Thanks, Holli! (And I thought Emily Dickinson was always so gloomy :)

I'm going to check that book out right now Emily. I read that poem for the first time when I was 14 and it was the first poem I dissected line by line to find the meaning of it. I love Emily Dickinson :)

Hey Laura, funny an ex-boyfriend of mine introduced me to that poem too! He had a BS in English and pretty much everything else, I mean the BS part anyway... lol. It took me awhile to enjoy all the poetry he introduced me too, as i had such a bad taste left in my mouth for awhile. Ha, sorry for the history, but since we were on the topic...

Glad to see there are so many EE Cummings fans. I've been introduced to some new stuff, I'll have to try to share some it...

Holli, if you can't find it, I can send you the copy in my classroom library.

I would love that Emily...thank you!

It's almost Halloween. I had to.

The Raven - by Egdar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

I should post the modern language version I wrote for my students.

ooh...i am loving this.