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My Favorite Poems II, the Sequel
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Mod
Do you like sonnets?I wrote this years ago about the sea.... or life on the sea.....
The Mariner’s Creed
To fail the call of this mariner’s whim
When the stores are in order, the sails trim
To tack along these Easterly Winds
Would boil the blood of Poseidon
To keep to the charts they have plotted for me
To lay to the coast for the spices and tea
To never strike out for the uncharted sea
Is to tempt the Queen’s Luck we rely on
For if laughter is laughter when only intended
And drink good and merry when only befriended
Then I as a man have only pretended
And would rather lie dead in the ground
All hands to the sails! Look lively there, mate!
We’ll leave to the gales what we don’t to our fate!
Mod
BY JOHN MASEFIELD
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
Mod
The Silken Tent
Robert Frost
She is as in a field of silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To every thing on earth the compass round,
And only by one’s going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.
Newengland wrote: "On balance, the sonnet is a lovely form:The Silken Tent
Robert Frost
She is as in a field of silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
..."
Thank you.
This is a very nice sonnet by Frost that I had not read.
The imagery is wonderful.
Mod
by Billy Collins
Sonnet
All we need is fourteen lines, well, thirteen now,
and after this one just a dozen
to launch a little ship on love's storm-tossed seas,
then only ten more left like rows of beans.
How easily it goes unless you get Elizabethan
and insist the iambic bongos must be played
and rhymes positioned at the ends of lines,
one for every station of the cross.
But hang on here while we make the turn
into the final six where all will be resolved,
where longing and heartache will find an end,
where Laura will tell Petrarch to put down his pen,
take off those crazy medieval tights,
blow out the lights, and come at last to bed.
The God Abandons Antony - C.P. CavafyWhen suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive—don’t mourn them uselessly.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all, don’t fool yourself, don’t say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don’t degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
as is right for you who proved worthy of this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion, but not
with the whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen—your final delectation—to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.
Subtle, tragic love.
The New Yorker / September 15 / 2014 Issue
JAPANESE MAPLE
by Clive James
Your death, near now, is of an
easy sort.
So slow a fading out brings no
real pain.
Breath growing short
Is just uncomfortable. You feel
the drain
Of energy, but thought and sight remain:
Enhanced, in fact. When did you
ever see
So much sweet beauty as when
fine rain falls
On that small tree
And saturates your brick back
garden walls,
So any Amber Rooms and
mirror halls?
Ever more lavish as the dusk
descends
This glistening illuminates the
air.
It never ends.
Whenever the rain comes it will
be there,
Beyond my time, but now I take
my share.
My daughter's choice, the maple
tree is new.
Come autumn and its leaves will
turn to flame.
What I must do
Is live to see that. That will end
the game
For me, though life continues all
the same.
Filling the double doors to bathe
my eyes,
A final flood of colours will live
on.
As my mind dies,
Burned by my vision of a world
that shone
So brightly at the last, and then
was gone.
(Painting by Bentley)
Mod
Gabi -- the maple is a nice final image to take with you, I imagine. And where have I heard the name "Clive James" before? Was he famous for something else?
Educated at the University of Sydney; Pembroke College, Cambridge and the University of Cambridge, he has written many books and novels. Quite a few were Poems; others were collections of Essays; in the 80's he was TV critic for the London newspaper "The Observer" He published several anthologies from that; the first being called "the Crystal Bucket"!He drove me mad with the words he used. I always had to have a dictionary and/or Roget's Thesaurus to hand.
He has written a 4 part Memoir of his life, both in Australia and in London: to where he sailed at the age of 21. The first was called "Unreliable memoirs" His face is plain and his public voice is dry and rather monotone, but reading his books put the whole scene in your brain and can cause small accidents, unless you have your legs crossed!
(Conversely, an Australian actor, named William McInnes, usually seen in various TV series has written a couple of books of his own, which I have tried to read but couldnt feel the nuances. Had he read them in front of you, his dry, laconic humor got you every time! Isn't it strange how these things work?)
See if you can get those 2 books from the library - worth reading, truly! Thats if you can get to the library or you have an eReader? Keep you entertained while you are snowed in!
Love,
Gabi
Clive has leukemia and his writing is all that is keeping him going, I think. Stubborn old Cuss!
Invictus by William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Mod
Mod
Not here.
My favorite anti-war poem.The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
Randall Jarrell
From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
Turning to what's important in life.The Red Wheelbarrow
William Carlos Williams
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
"Neither Out Far Nor in Deep"
The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.
As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull.
The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be---
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?