Poetry ...love it or hate it?

I've loved reading all the poems. Wendy Cope is my favourite and I have all her books.

I thought you might enjoy this poem. My Grandchildren love it but I have no idea who wrote it.

The computer swallowed Grandma.
Yes, honestly it's true!
She pressed 'controle' and 'enter'
And disappeared from view.

It devoured her completely,
The thought just made me squirm.
She must have caught a virus
Or been eaten by a worm.

I've searched through the recycle bin
And files of every kind;
I've even searched the Internet,
But nothing could I find.

In desperation I asked Jeeves
My searches to refine.
The reply from him was negative,
Not a thing was found 'online.'

So if inside your 'Inbox'
My Grandma you should see,
Please 'copy,' 'Scan'and 'Post' her
And send her back to me.

Thank you nanaval. Not only have I e-mailed this to my elder grandson who I think will laugh his socks off, but because I have recently been writing about the value of grandmothers, I have sent it to my editor – who will also laugh but be rather worried that my copy won't arrive.

nanaval ...that made me on what has been a day

Think this is the poet nanaval

Valerie Waite


joyofsix.typepad.com/joyofsix/2006/07/the_computer_sw.html

It comes with a lovely cartoon!

This is a line from one of my favourite poems. (It's not online so I can't copy and paste. So you are not getting all of it)

"Between the things I do I like to pause,
I like the tiger to relax his claws."

Good philosophy that.

Do you know the poet jingle?

Charlotte Mitchell, jacey. From her book "I want to go home. Poems through a day".

I heard about her on Woman's Hour some time ago now. She was a well-known actress, and wrote poems in later life.

...the trigger for me was the tiger ...a creature that I would love to see in the wild ...after all ...dreams are what keep us all going!!

nanaval - .

This is a lovely thread, how did I miss it?
Apart from "If" and "Desiderata", the only poetry that`s ever really registered with me is the stuff that John Masefield wrote, all of it. But I must also admit to liking Pam Ayres little ditties, especially "I Wish I`d Looked After Me Teeth"!

Hopkins is my favourite poet - not only 'Inversnaid' but also 'Binsey Poplars' and 'The windhover'. I don't think it matters if you don't understand every line - just say them aloud and listen to the cadences. Luckily for me, his collected works were part of the syllabus for my Eng. Lit. degree.
I used to receite poems to my grandchildren when they were far to young to understand the meaning - just to give them a feel for the flow of the words.

Here is one of my own that won the annual prize in the Civil Service Authors' competition, written after sitting up all night with a measly toddler!

Vigil.

I hold you in my arms and stroke your hair
Your head is on my shoulder, heavy with slumber.
Lightly with my lips I touch your cheek
And the shadow of your lashes as you dream.
When you sleep at last I will not stir,
Lest you should wake before the dawn.

No poem that I know, or symphony,
Could hold me so, my little one.
The years will fly away, you will be gone,
But I have held you here, all night long.

That was written over 40 years ago, and since then I have dropped the affectation of using words in 'poetic' order, so I would say 'I touch your cheek gently with my lips'.

I used to be able to write a poem at will and often belted out something for a friend to use as part of a wedding speech or even to put on a Valentine Card.

If I had to choose one book for Desert Island Discs, it would be the Complete Oxford Book of English Verse.

That is just so beautiful.

But you can keep Gerald Manley Hopkins.

Actually, there was just one of his I liked. Perhaps I'll look it up.

Oh yes, it's Gerard isn't it. (just found me book)

This is the one I like. God's Grandeur.

THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; 5
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; 10
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings

Greatnan, I love your poem. So tender and intimate. Thank you for sharing it with us.

Of Hopkins's poetry, I like Pied Beauty best:

Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spáre, strange;
Whatever is fickle, frecklèd (who knows how?)
With swíft, slów; sweet, sóur; adázzle, dím;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is pást change:

Práise hím.

Hopkins was a Jesuit priest who struggled with his religion and his poetry - I don't know why he thought the god in which he believed would give him that wonderful gift and not want him to use it. In many of his sonnets, the first eight lines are full of the wonder of nature but the last six lines revert to religion.

I am an atheist, but I find much of the language of the bible very beautful especially the Song of Solomon.

Oh Quiltinggran, this is one of my favourite poems. I have it pinned up on my kitchen wall and when I think I can solve the problems of the world (or even the problems of my own family) I read it and remember that there is only one person I can save!

I am new to this so realise I should probably have said I was talking about The Journey by Mary Oliver.

Julie Andrews is supposed to have sung this when for her 70th birthday she made a special appearance at Manhattan bsp;'s Radio City Music Hall for the benefit of the AARP, and received a standing ovation from the crowd
that lasted over four minutes and repeated encores.

Don't know how true that is, as she lost the power to sing a lot time ago. However, that was the claim when it was forwarded to me.

Botox and nose drops and needles for knitting,
Walkers and handrails and new dental fittings,
Bundles of magazines tied up in string,
These are a few of my favourite things.

Cadillacs and cataracts, hearing aids and glasses,
Polident and Fixodent and false teeth in glasses,
Pacemakers, golf carts and porches with swings,
These are a few of my favourite things.

When the pipes leak, When the bones creak,
When the knees go bad,
I simply remember my favourite things,
And then I don’t feel so bad.

Hot tea and crumpets and corn pads for bunions,
No spicy hot food or food cooked with onions,
Bathrobes and heating pads and hot meals they bring,
These are a few of my favourite things..

Back pain, confused brains and no need for sinnin’,
Thin bones and fractures and hair that is thinnin’,
And we won’t mention our short shrunken frames,
When we remember our favourite things.

When the joints ache, When the hips break,
When the eyes grow dim,
Then I remember the great life I’ve had,
And then I don’t feel so bad.

Just sung it through, it`s brilliant!

Thanks, wisewoman. 'The Journey' is certainly one of my favourites too and I re-read it when I feel I need to - that's quite often at the moment. I've passed it on to quite a few friends but you're the first person who's said they already knew it!

I have passed 'The journey' to many friends too - usually mums and grans who are responsibilityholics like myself. I think there are a lot of us around!

Great thread! I have loved poetry all my life, favourites are Masefield, Yeats, Eliot and lots more, but this is one that I came across recently in 52 Ways of Looking at a Poem by Ruth Padel. It speaks to me of my life, but is also mysterious and I think can have a personal meaning for those who read it.

Swineherd

When all this is over, said the swineherd,
I mean to retire, where
Nobody will have heard of my special skills
And conversation is mainly about the weather.

I intend to learn how to make coffee, at least as well
As the Portuguese lay-sister in the kitchen
And polish the brass fenders every day.
I want to lie awake at night
Listening to the cream crawling to the top of the jug
And the water lying soft in the cistern.

I want to see an orchard where the trees grow in straight lines
And the yellow fox finds shelter between the navy-blue trunks,
Where it gets dark early in summer
And the apple-blossom is allowed to wither on the bough.

Eilean Ni Chuilleanain

Great thread! I have loved poetry all my life, favourites are Masefield, Yeats, Eliot and lots more, but this is one that I came across recently in 52 Ways of Looking at a Poem by Ruth Padel. It speaks to me of my life, but is also mysterious and I think can have a personal meaning for those who read it.

Swineherd

When all this is over, said the swineherd,
I mean to retire, where
Nobody will have heard of my special skills
And conversation is mainly about the weather.

I intend to learn how to make coffee, at least as well
As the Portuguese lay-sister in the kitchen
And polish the brass fenders every day.
I want to lie awake at night
Listening to the cream crawling to the top of the jug
And the water lying soft in the cistern.

I want to see an orchard where the trees grow in straight lines
And the yellow fox finds shelter between the navy-blue trunks,
Where it gets dark early in summer
And the apple-blossom is allowed to wither on the bough.

Eilean Ni Chuilleanain