Q&A with Josh Lanyon discussion
JUST FOR FUN
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Read Me a Poem Sing Me a Song
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Amy Lowell
The garden is steeped in moonlight,
Full to its high edges with brimming silver,
And the fish-ponds brim and darken
And run in little serpent lights soon extinguished.
Lily-pads lie upon the surface, beautiful as the tarnishings on frail old silver,
And the Harvest moon droops heavily out of the sky,
A ripe, white melon, intensely, magnificently, shining.
Your window is orange in the moonlight,
It glows like a lamp behind the branches of the old wistaria,
It burns like a lamp before a shrine,
The small, intimate, familiar shrine
Placed reverently among the bricks
Of a much-loved garden wall.
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Amy Lowell
The garden is steeped in moonlight,
Full to its high edges with brimming silver,
And the fish-ponds brim and darken
And run in little serpent lights soon extin..."
Simply lovely.
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In unvanquishable number!
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you:
Ye are many, they are few.
Percy Bysshe Shelly (quoted by the politic..."
Talk about an all-star line up!
Mtsnow13 wrote: "Bed In SummerIn winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the t..."
This is totally cute and so absolutely what I felt as a child when you had to go to bed and it was still light outside. :-D
Thank you for posting!
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BY ROBERT FITZGERALD
The adolescent night, breath of the town,
Porchswings and whispers, maple leaves unseen
Deploying moonlight quieter than a man dead
After the locust’s song. These homes were mine
And are not now forever, these on the steps
Children I think removed to many places,
Lost among hushed years, and so strangely known.
This business is well ended. If in the dark
The firefly made his gleam and sank therefrom,
Yet someone’s hand would have him, the wet grass
Bed him no more. From corners of the lawn
The dusk-white dresses flutter and are past.
Before our bed time there were things to say,
Remembering tree-bark, crickets, and the first star…
After, and as the sullenness of time
Went on from summer, here in a land alien
Made I my perfect fears and flower of thought:
Sleep being no longer swift in the arms of pain,
Revisitations are convenient with a cough,
And there is something I would say again
If I had not forever, if there were time.
Josh wrote: "MidsummerBY ROBERT FITZGERALD
The adolescent night, breath of the town,
Porchswings and whispers, maple leaves unseen
Deploying moonlight quieter than a man dead
After the locust’s song. These..."
Thank you. I had never heard of him and I found this interview from 1983, or at least a part of the interview ;-), one can read it all only with a subscription: http://www.theparisreview.org/intervi...
Tonino Guerra, the screenwriter who worked with Fellini, Antonioni or Tarkovsky, started writing poetry as he was prisoner in Germany, after being rounded up as antifascist. Here a short poem in the dialect of his Romagna region in his own writing: La Farfala, and the translation:The Butterfly
Happy, really happy
I have been many times in my life,
but most of all when I was released
in Germany,
when I started looking at a butterfly
without the urge to eat it.
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Wow. That's... effective. Lovely and sad at the same time.
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WARNING by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Thank you, dear Johanna. I had just seen Young by Anne Sexton (1962)
A thousand doors ago
when I was a lonely kid
in a big house with four
garages and it was summer
as long as I could remember,
I lay on the lawn at night,
clover wrinkling over me,
the wise stars bedding over me,
my mother's window a funnel
of yellow heat running out,
my father's window, half shut,
an eye where sleepers pass,
and the boards of the house
were smooth and white as wax
and probably a million leaves
sailed on their strange stalks
as the crickets ticked together
and I, in my brand new body,
which was not a woman's yet,
told the stars my questions
and thought God could really see
the heat and the painted light,
elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
Johanna wrote: "Just because. :-DWARNING by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves..."
Thanks for sharing. I love this one and I hadn't read it in ages, so it made me smile to read it today. :)
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Young by Anne Sexton (1962)
A thousand doors ago
when I was a lonely kid
in a big house with four
garages and it was summer
as long as I could remember,
..."
Nice! Also — this is a new-to-me poem. Thank you for sharing!
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You are beautiful and faded
Like an old opera tune
Played upon a harpsichord;
Or like the sun-flooded silks
Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.
In your eyes
Smoulder the fallen roses of out-lived minutes,
And the perfume of your soul
Is vague and suffusing,
With the pungence of sealed spice-jars.
Your half-tones delight me,
And I grow mad with gazing
At your blent colours.
My vigour is a new-minted penny,
Which I cast at your feet.
Gather it up from the dust,
That its sparkle may amuse you.
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You are beautiful and faded
Like an old opera tune
Played upon a harpsichord;
Or like the sun-flooded silks
Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.
In your eyes
Smould..."
Oooh! This is truly wonderful!
My favorite line: Your half-tones delight me. :-D
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You are beautiful and faded
Like an old opera tune
Played upon a harpsichord;
Or like the sun-flooded silks
Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.
In your ..."
My favorite line: Your half-tones delight me. :-D
"...And I grow mad with gazing
At your blent colours."
Just wow.
Montenegro by Alfred TennysonThey rose to where their sovran eagle sails,
They kept their faith, their freedom, on the height,
Chaste, frugal, savage, arm’d by day and night
Against the Turk; whose inroad nowhere scales
Their headlong passes, but his footstep fails,
And red with blood the Crescent reels from fight
Before their dauntless hundreds, in prone flight
By thousands down the crags and thro’ the vales.
O smallest among peoples! rough rock-throne
Of Freedom! warriors beating back the swarm
Of Turkish Islam for five hundred years,
Great Tsernogora! never since thine own
Black ridges drew the cloud and brake the storm
Has breathed a race of mightier mountaineers.
Published in 1877, quite political in praising the bravery of Montenegrins who were then fighting against the Turks beside Russia. Tennyson would have liked an English intervention. Anyway Montenegro became independent in 1878.
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Pablo Neruda
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.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=neUwX...
https://www.newyorker.com/culture/ric...
Josh wrote: "If You Forget MePablo Neruda"
This poem did not play out the way I assumed it would go, but lovely and intriguing nevertheless. Thanks, Josh.
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Pablo Neruda"
This poem did not play out the way I assumed it would go, but lovely and intriguing nevertheless. Thanks, Josh."
Isn't it fascinating? I love his work.
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I thought of this as soon as Trump weighed in to the Sports/Hernandez/BLM debate yesterday.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the ..."
Ugh. Painfully accurate.
I came across this one this morning, and I think it is quite appropriate for the situation in Spain right now :(Sé todos los cuentos por León Felipe.
Yo no sé muchas cosas, es verdad.
Digo tan sólo lo que he visto.
Y he visto:
que la cuna del hombre la mecen con cuentos,
que los gritos de angustia del hombre los ahogan con cuentos,
que el llanto del hombre lo taponan con cuentos,
que los huesos del hombre los entierran con cuentos,
y que el miedo del hombre...
ha inventado todos los cuentos.
Yo no sé muchas cosas, es verdad,
pero me han dormido con todos los cuentos...
y sé todos los cuentos.
I've translated it, I hope it's accurate enough, because I haven't found it translated into English...
I know all tales by Leon Felipe.
I do not know many things, it's true.
I'm just saying what I've seen.
And I have seen:
That man's craddle is shaken by tales
that man's anguish cries are suffocated with tales,
that man's cry is plugged with tales,
that man's bones are buried with tales,
and the man's fear...
has invented all tales.
I don't know a lot of things, it's true,
but I've been put to sleep with all tales...
and I know all tales.
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Sé todos los cuentos por León Felipe.
Yo no sé muchas cosas, es verdad.
Digo tan s..."
Thank you for sharing (and translating!) this, Rosa.
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Sé todos los cuentos por León Felipe.
Yo no sé muchas cosas, es verdad.
Digo tan s..."
A lot of depth in simple words, that aren't so simple at all. I'd love to hear this one read aloud.
Karen wrote: "A lot of depth in simple words, that aren't so simple at all. I'd love to hear this one read aloud."Voilà ;-): two versions of it, one sung by Paco Ibáñez, one read.
Antonella wrote: "Karen wrote: "A lot of depth in simple words, that aren't so simple at all. I'd love to hear this one read aloud."Voilà ;-): two versions of it, one sung by Paco Ibáñez, one read."
Thank you, Antonella! I didn't know there was a version by Paco Ibañez.
Rosa wrote: "Thank you, Antonella! I didn't know there was a version by Paco Ibañez.''Thank *you* for letting me discover a poet previously unknown to me.
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Voilà ;-): two versions of it, one sung by Paco Ibáñez, one read."
Beautiful, both of these. Thank you, Antonella!
I'm very pleased with the feminist revival of these days, even though it happens for sad reasons. Here a by-product, I'd say. In my opinion it is not important to know who is the author (really an 8 years old?), but that it is a great poem with a great message and that's why it went viral.The True Feminine by an unknown 8 years old girl
I am not sugar and spice and everything nice.
I am music, I am art, I am a story.
I am a church bell, gonging out wrongs and rights and normal nights.
I was a baby. I was a child. I will be a mother.
I don't mind being considered beautiful, I do not allow that to be my definition.
I am a rich pie strong with knowledge. I will not be eaten.
Note for the non-native speakers: the reference is to a 19th century nursery rhyme What Are Little Boys Made Of?, here the part about girls: What are little girls made of? / What are little girls made of? / Sugar and spice / And everything nice / That's what little girls are made of.
Jordan wrote: "Wow! That's an awesome poem!"Indeed.
And I forgot to quote my source: http://www.distractify.com/trending/2...
Love the poem! Thank you Antonella!! :)
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Sé todos los cuentos por León Felipe.
Yo no sé muchas cosas, es verdad.
Digo tan s..."
Food for thought with that one!
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This makes me smile.
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BY BARBARA HOWES
All the great voyagers return
Homeward as on an arc of thought;
Home like a ruby beacon burns
As they crest wind, scale wave, soar air;
All the great voyagers return,
Though we who wait never have done
Fearing the piteous accidents,
The coral reef sharp as the bones
It has betrayed, fate’s cormorant
Unleashed, whose diving’s never done.
Even the voyager of mind
May fail beneath behemoth’s weight;
Oh, the world’s bawdy carcass blinds
All but the boldest, rots the sails
And swamps the voyaging of the mind.
But all the great voyagers return
Home like the hunter, like the hare
To its burrow; below, earth’s axle turns
To speed their coming, the following fair
Winds bless their voyage, blow their safe return.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem...
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Nice! Adorable, powerful and true.
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BY BARBARA HOWES
All the great voyagers return
Homeward as on an arc of thought;
Home like a ruby beacon burns
As they crest wind, scale wave, soar air;
All the great voyagers..."
Wow. That's beautiful and brilliant.
Josh wrote: "The HomecomingBY BARBARA HOWES
All the great voyagers return
Homeward as on an arc of thought;
Home like a ruby beacon burns
As they crest wind, scale wave, soar air;
All the great voyagers..."
Loved that one, Josh! Thank you :)
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IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Everywhere you go
Take a look in the five and ten glistening once again
With candy canes and silver lanes aglow
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Toys in every store
But the prettiest sight to see, is the holly that will be
On your own front door.
A pair of hop-along boots and a pistol that shoots
Is the wish of Barney and Ben
Dolls that will talk and will go for a walk
Is the hope of Janice and Jen
And Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again,
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Everywhere you go
There's a tree in the Grand Hotel, one in the park as well
The sturdy kind that doesn't mind the snow
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Soon the bells will start
And the thing that will make them ring, is the carol that you sing
Right within your heart
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Soon the bells will start
And the thing that will make them ring, is the carol that you sing
Right within your heart
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, Christmas, Christmas, Christmas, Christmas
Songwriters: Jeff Cook / Mark Herndon / Randy Owen / Teddy Gentry
Josh wrote: "Okay. Cheating just a little. ;-) But I thought maybe it would be fun to post come Christmas and holiday lyrics here over the coming weeks. A lot of the words to these songs are really lovely..."Why cheating?
Anyway I often thought about posting poetic song texts in the past, now I have the official permission from The Boss ;-).
Here an old and a new version of the song:
Perry Como and The Fontane Sisters
Michael Bublé
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Well, really, good question! :-D
I like the old and new versions.
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Oooh, I like this idea!
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Sleigh bells ring, are you listening
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland
Gone away is the bluebird
Here to stay is a new bird
He sings a love song, as we go along
Walking in a winter wonderland
In the meadow we can build a snowman
Then pretend that he is Parson Brown
He'll say, "Are you married?"
We'll say, "No man"
But you can do the job, when you're in town
Later on, we'll conspire
As we dream by the fire
To face unafraid, the plans that we've made
Walking in a winter wonderland
Sleigh bells ring, are you listening
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland
Gone away is the bluebird
Here to stay is a new bird
He sings a love song, as we go along
Walking in a winter wonderland
In the meadow we can build a snowman
And pretend that he's a circus clown
We'll have lots of fun with Mister Snowman
Yes, until the all the kids knock him down
And later on, we'll conspire
As we dream by the fire
To face unafraid, the plans that we've made
Walking in a winter wonderland
Walking in a winter wonderland
Songwriters: Felix Bernard / Richard B Smith
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Frosted windowpanes
Candles gleaming inside
Painted candy canes on the tree
Santa's on his way
He's filled his sleigh with things
Things for you and for me
It's that time of year
When the world falls in love
Every song you hear seems to say
"Merry Christmas
May your new year's dreams come true"
And this song of mine
In three quarter time
Wishes you and yours
The same thing, too
It's that time of year
When the world falls in love
Every song you hear
Seems to say
"Merry Christmas
May your new year dreams come true"
And this song of mine
In three quarter time
Wishes you and yours
The same thing, too
Songwriter: Sammy Cahn
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Frosted windowpanes
Candles gleaming inside
Painted candy canes on the tree
Santa's on his way
He's filled his sleigh with things
Things for you and for me
It's that time of ..."
This one is a new favorite of mine -- and can I say, for the record, it's a difficult song to sing. :-D
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Sleigh bells ring, are you listening
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland
Gone away is the bluebird
Here to stay..."
There's something so cozy and old-fashioned about this one. I picture walking along wide, country roads past deep woods. And hot sandwiches and drinks waiting by the fire at home. :-)
Johanna wrote: "WINTER WONDERLANDSleigh bells ring, are you listening
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland
Gone away is the bluebird
Here to stay..."
This is one of my favorites!
Q&A with Josh Lanyon
Books mentioned in this topic
Mr. Cogito (other topics)Don't Mention the Children (other topics)
Writing Haiku: A Beginner's Guide to Composing Japanese Poetry (other topics)
Dear Writer: Pep Talks & Practical Advice for the Creative Life (other topics)
The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World (other topics)
More...
Authors mentioned in this topic
Zbigniew Herbert (other topics)Vanni Bianconi (other topics)
Pablo Neruda (other topics)
Michael Rosen (other topics)
Michael Rosen (other topics)
More...
And thank you for the two poems you posted earlier. I realize now that I hadn't commented on them, but I did really enjoy them. Especially Claude McKay's poem fascinates me — I keep going back and rereading it.