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IambicMess


Member

Posted Fri Feb 27th, 2009 12:40am Post subject: Favorite Poem
We Are Seven

Wordsworth

A simple child--
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
--Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."

Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."

"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."

"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"

I know I'm being a big 'ol softie with this one, but the lovely, logical meter and sing-song swing make it quite memorable: really sticks in y'head. It's not the best poem ever written; bit quaint, bit twee, some of the rhyme choices are kinda cliche; but I like it a lot.

On another day, I may also have posted The Wasteland (or at least part of it), which, really, couldn't be more different in every respect to We Are Seven. Funny ain't it?

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PamJH


Member

Posted Fri Feb 27th, 2009 2:36am Post subject: Favorite Poem
PamJH

You have no idea how lovely it is to know another soul appreciates ' Invictus '

It's wonderful isn't it? There is something quite uplifting within the poem, every time I read it it strikes some chord. The power of poetry, eh?

The poem tells me I'm responsible for what happens to me. I am capable of directing my life. Sometimes it's very easy for me to forget that, especially when times aren't great. I'm glad you posted this poem.

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Jimmy1669


Member

Posted Sat Mar 7th, 2009 12:46am Post subject: Favorite Poem
Ah, now that's just not fair. I shall regale you with a few titles, because I'm self-effacing enough to do so, and it will take up substantially less room...

Evening Song, by Kenneth Fearing
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-song-2

Elegy XVIII: Love's Progress, by John Donne
http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/elegy18.php

Four Quartets (Particularly Burnt Norton) by TS Eliot
http://www.tristan.icom43.net/quartets/

Howl, by Alan Ginsberg
http://www.pangloss.com/seidel/Ramble/howl_text.html

And a few more which I cannot be buggered to link to.
At Last the Secret is Out, by W H Auden
Gooseberry Season, by Simon Armitage
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, by Thomas Gray
The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, by William Blake

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SheepSleepSoundly


Member

Posted Thu Apr 9th, 2009 6:45am Post subject: Favorite Poem
The first poem I ever truely read, funnily enough directed to by a Ricky Gervais podcast.

Whenever I think poetry I think of this poem and the emotion it brings out.

I find it strange that it took Stephen Fry and Ricky Gervais to make me appreciate art more than I thought I would. So thank you for a new world I had sadly denied myself for too long.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

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CornishPixie


Member

Posted Thu Apr 9th, 2009 4:13pm Post subject: Favorite Poem
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth

That one always strikes me hard, for when my grandmother passed away this is the poem she had my mom look up on the internet so she could hear it being read.

But then, there's Louis MacNeice...

September has come, it is hers
Whose vitality leaps in the autumn,
Whose nature prefers
Trees without leaves and a fire in the fire-place;
So I give her this month and the next
Though the whole of my year should be hers who has rendered already
So many of its days intolerable or perplexed
But so many more so happy;
Who has left a scent on my life and left my walls
Dancing over and over with her shadow,
Whose hair is twined in all my waterfalls,
And all of London littered with remembered kisses.
- Louis MacNeice, "Autumn Journal"

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PamJH


Member

Posted Thu Apr 9th, 2009 4:27pm Post subject: Favorite Poem
The first poem I ever truely read, funnily enough directed to by a Ricky Gervais podcast.

Whenever I think poetry I think of this poem and the emotion it brings out.

I find it strange that it took Stephen Fry and Ricky Gervais to make me appreciate art more than I thought I would. So thank you for a new world I had sadly denied myself for too long.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
.

This reminds me of the WWI poetry I had my daughter read for history and literature. All of it written by young men, several of whom died in combat. Their poetry is terrible, beautiful and horrifying all at once and provides scope for a war that doesn't get mentioned too much anymore.

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Julia from Bristol


Member

Posted Thu Apr 9th, 2009 5:02pm Post subject: Favorite Poem
We had a resurgence of WW1 poems around the 90th anniversary.

I think 'In Flanders Fields' is so 'all-encompassing' particularly if you are in Flanders looking at the war graves. So moving particularly if you go on a wonderful still sunny day. Such waste.

I have a cunning plan!

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PamJH


Member

Posted Thu Apr 9th, 2009 7:47pm Post subject: Favorite Poem
We had a resurgence of WW1 poems around the 90th anniversary.

I think 'In Flanders Fields' is so 'all-encompassing' particularly if you are in Flanders looking at the war graves. So moving particularly if you go on a wonderful still sunny day. Such waste.

I would like to visit the battlefield and graves from WWI even though it hurts to think of the shattered lives and the generation of young men lost to their families and to the world.

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