Poetry ...love it or hate it?

Very interesting poem - I do not know Mary Oliver and will look her up. Thanks for posting that.

I love this thread!

I've had to read through that poem a couple of times, quiltinggran. I think it could apply to a good few of us on GN. Best wishes.

...and a new one for me, too, quiltinggran

That was a new one for me quiltinggran ...thanx for sharing

The following poem resonates with me probably because of questions I'm trying to resolve in my life at the moment.
The Journey

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.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(Dream Work)

For Crimson re another thread ...thanx for reminding me

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy

1927 prose poem by American writer Max Ehrmann (1872-1945)

diva

And here is one of my all-time favourite poems about someone old:

      William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
                    When You Are Old

    WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep,
    And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
    And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
    Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

    How many loved your moments of glad grace,
    And loved your beauty with love false or true,
    But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
    And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

    And bending down beside the glowing bars,
    Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
    And paced upon the mountains overhead
    And hid his face among a crowd of stars.

 

Diva - love it!

and of course there is always

I must go down to the sea again
to the lonely sea and the sky
I left my vest and knickers there
I wonder if they're dry!

The wonderful Spike Milligan

I love the poetry of Maya Angelou but on a more frivolous note how about:

When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope is gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on.

I'd forgotten "Phenomenal Woman" Diva! It was in a GCSE anthology a few years ago and we loved it. Thank you for reminding me.

Phenomenal!!

Well that made me ...thanx Divawithattitude

and my other favourite poem

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 impostors 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 worn-out 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 breathe 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

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Love this thread, love poetry, but not good at memorising it. mishap and*quillting gran* those are so moving, and GA I really like Yeats. Keep them coming, they are brightening up a grey day.

I've thoroughly enjoyed some of the poems I've seen on this thread. bagitha, I didn't know the one you posted, but it 'sang' so well.

and Mishap - a very touching poem. My husband is a Papa, too.

I hesitated to include this poem. I don't know why, but perhaps it's because I think it sometimes tells of a grandmother's heartache.

Anyway, here it is ......

MOTHEROOT

Creation often
needs two hearts
one to root
and one to flower
One to sustain
in time of drouth
and hold fast
against the winds of pain
the fragile bloom
that is the glory
of its hour
affirms a heart unsung, unseen.

...Marilou Awiaka -
- Abiding Appalachia

Love your poem, mishap. Tears to my eyes, so lovely!

annobel, I haven't heard the Britten Serenade. I'll try and get it on iTunes.

Thank you Quiltinggran and Mishap ...both beautiful poems

Actually grannyactivist ...I came across the war poets in secondary school ...I must have had an enlightened teacher, as we didn't dissect them ...many of the images they created I can still recall.

Mishap that's really lovely.

Lovely! xxx

Love it, Mishap - so simple and so moving, but says such a lot. Just what poetry should do.

Hello Jacey - it is sweet of you to ask to see one of my poems. It is difficult to know what to pick as I have so many and in so many different styles: serious, humourous, rhyming or not. In fact this poem is a bit out of my usual style, but I have picked this one, as it is relevant to our age group. My husband has Parkinsons Disease and his considerable skill as a violinist has been severely eroded, but my wee grandson aged 2 loves him to play. OH always says he cannot any more and little Sam insists - he calls his grandpa Papa.....

Grandpa’s Violin

Take your violin Papa
And play a tune for me
Fetch your violin Papa
I want to dance, you see

I cannot play the tunes my child
The way I used to play
In these shaking hands my child
The notes will go astray

But I am very small Papa
And love the notes I hear
I treasure simple things Papa
So you need have no fear

So take your violin Papa
And play a tune for me
Please, fetch your violin Papa
And come and dance with me

Yes I agree baggy it's another favourite we learnt at school. Thanks to this thread I've been recalling many of the first poems I learnt at junior school. Happily our teacher didn't dissect them, just encouraged us to engage with them and say why we did or didn't like them, what emotions, if any were stirred etc.

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
by William Butler Yeats

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

And, bags, have you heard Britten's haunting setting of this poem as Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings? The recording made with Peter Pears is the seminal one. Lovely.