Poetry

[ardcarp]

Fabulous! Love the bell allusion especially.

[johncorrigan]

I'm still enjoying the great doc that was on about Seamus last weekend.

Song

A rowan like a lipsticked girl.
Between the by-road and the main road
Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance
Stand off among the rushes.

There are the mud-flowers of dialect
And the immortelles of perfect pitch
And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens.

Seamus Heaney

[Padraig]

John, that was one of the poems that I missed noticing first time around, so it was particularly exciting to discover it on a random ramble later on. I think I posted it on that occasion, but it was nice to see it come up in the documentary and again in your post.

At the moment I'm skirting around the poems of Emily Dickinson. I find them difficult, but I get a great kick out of deciphering some of what she says. Of course I'm reading around a bit, and I'm open to suggestions from other explorers. I'm on my own here - never heard of her until quite recently - in my late seventies at the earliest; but I find that I'm becoming very taken with her and with the story of her life as I understand it. She's a sassy kind of woman, I think, not conventional for her time of evangelistic zeal - she would not be saved. She does not do titles either. Here is a poem of 1861:


Some - keep the Sabbath - going to church-
I - keep it - staying at Home -
With a Bobolink - for a Chorister -
And an Orchard - for a Dome -

Some - keep the Sabbath, in Surplice -
I - just wear my wings -
And instead of tolling the bell, for church -
Our little Sexton - sings -

"God" - preaches - a noted Clergyman -
And the sermon is never long,
So - instead of getting to Heaven - at last -
I'm - going - all along!

[Padraig]

Emily Dickinson, born 10 December, 1830.

Essential Oils - are wrung -
The Attar from the Rose
Be not expressed by Suns - alone -
It is the gift of Screws -

The General Rose - decay -
But this - in Lady's Drawer
Make Summer - When the Lady lie
In Ceaseless Rosemary -

1863 (Published 1891)

[johncorrigan]

Picked up a Billy Collins book, 'The rain in Portugal' in a charity shop while trying to buy for other people. The book opens with this delight.


1960

In the old joke,
the marriage counselor
tells the couple who never talks anymore
to go to a jazz club because at a jazz club
everyone talks during the bass solo.

But of course, no one starts talking
just because of a bass solo
or any other solo for that matter.

The quieter bass solo just reveals
the people in the club
who have been talking all along,
the same ones you can hear
on some well-known recordings.

Bill Evans, for example,
who is opening a new door into the piano
while some guy chats up his date
at one of the little tables in the back.

I have listened to that album
so many times I can anticipate the moment
of his drunken laugh
as if it were a strange note in the tune.

And so, anonymous man,
you have become part of my listening,
your romance a romance lost in the past

and a reminder somehow
that each member of that trio has died since then
and maybe so have you and, sadly, maybe she.

Billy Collins


When I looked a bit further, this might be the Bill Evans Trio track he was talking about, it would appear.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=368&v=ip7h6uHOeLU&feature=emb_logo

[ferneyhoughgeliebte]

- many thanks, jc.

[Padraig]

- many thanks, jc.

Me too, John - to misuse a phrase. Another marvellous poem and the Jazz was great as well.

[Padraig]

Happy New Year, from Emily Dickinson.

The Robin's my Criterion for Tune -
Because I grow - where Robins do -
But, were I Cuckoo born -
I'd swear by him -
The ode familiar - rules the Noon -
The Buttercup's, my whim for Bloom -
Because, we're Orchard sprung -
But, were I Britain born,
I'd Daisies spurn -

None but the Nut - October fit -
Because - through dropping it,
The Seasons flit - I'm taught -
Without the Snow's Tableau -
Winter were lie - to me -
Because I see - New Englandly -
The Queen, discerns like me -
Provincially -

1861 (Published 1935)

[ferneyhoughgeliebte]

From The Eve of St Agnes:

St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.

His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:
The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze,
Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:
Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,
He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails
To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.

Northward he turneth through a little door,
And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue
Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor;
But no—already had his deathbell rung;
The joys of all his life were said and sung:
His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve:
Another way he went, and soon among
Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve,
And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.


John Keats

[DracoM]

[Padraig]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEPmkCkN5RQ

[Andy Freude]

An die Freude

Friedrich Schiller

Freude, schöner Götterfunken,
Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken,
Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!
Deine Zauber binden wieder
Was die Mode streng geteilt;
Alle Menschen werden Brüder
Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.

Wem der große Wurf gelungen
Eines Freundes Freund zu sein;
Wer ein holdes Weib errungen
Mische seinen Jubel ein!
Ja, wer auch nur eine Seele
Sein nennt auf dem Erdenrund!
Und wer's nie gekonnt, der stehle
Weinend sich aus diesem Bund!

Ja, wer auch nur eine Seele
Sein nennt auf dem Erdenrund!
Und wer's nie gekonnt, der stehle
Weinend sich aus diesem Bund!

[vinteuil]

.

London,
1802

Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour :
England hath need of thee : she is a fen
Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ;
Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart :
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea ;
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

[Ein Heldenleben]

.

London,
1802

Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour :
England hath need of thee : she is a fen
Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ;
Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart :
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea ;
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

In youth Wordsworth was a passionate European ( possibly over passionate ) and in old age a profound conservative ..

[vinteuil]

In youth Wordsworth was a passionate European ( possibly over passionate ) and in old age a profound conservative ..

... and there is a marked deterioration in his work after c. 1805.

.