Your Favourite Poem

[Whistlin' Dixie]

Poetry, schmoetry.

 

[summerisle]

Poetry, schmoetry.

Is that Yiddish for Poetry, poetry ?

 

[Whistlin' Dixie]

Is that Yiddish for Poetry, poetry ?

Buggered if I know, already.

 

[Spocks-a-Blue]

Ha! Not me mate, the poet.

 

[Donald Twain]

Charles Baudelaire

Beauty

I'm fair, O mortals, as a dream of stone;
My breasts whereon, in turn, your wrecks you shatter,
Were made to wake in poets' hearts alone
A love as indestructible as matter.

A sky-throned sphinx, unknown yet, I combine
The cygnet's whiteness with a heart of snow.
I loathe all movement that displaces line,
And neither tears nor laughter do I know.

Poets before my postures, which I seem
To learn from masterpieces, love to dream
And there in austere thought consume their days.

I have, these docile lovers to subject,
Mirrors that glorify all they reflect —
These eyes, great eyes, eternal in their blaze!

 

[summerisle]

Charles Baudelaire

Beauty

I'm fair, O mortals, as a dream of stone;
My breasts whereon, in turn, your wrecks you shatter,
Were made to wake in poets' hearts alone
A love as indestructible as matter.

A sky-throned sphinx, unknown yet, I combine
The cygnet's whiteness with a heart of snow.
I loathe all movement that displaces line,
And neither tears nor laughter do I know.

Poets before my postures, which I seem
To learn from masterpieces, love to dream
And there in austere thought consume their days.

I have, these docile lovers to subject,
Mirrors that glorify all they reflect —
These eyes, great eyes, eternal in their blaze!

D'you want salt 'n vinegar with your chips love ?

 

[Donald Twain]

Now Winter Nights Enlarge by Thomas Campion 1617



Now winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours,
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze,
And cups o’erflow with wine;
Let well-tuned words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey love,
While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
Sleep’s leaden spells remove.

This time doth well dispense
With lovers’ long discourse;
Much speech hath some defence,
Though beauty no remorse.
All do not all things well;
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted riddles tell,
Some poems smoothly read.
The summer hath his joys
And winter his delights;
Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,
They shorten tedious nights.

 

[summerisle]

William Shakespeare
Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind

Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky,
That does not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As a friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

 

[Donald Twain]

While he was a deeply spiritual man Blake loathed organised religion and the church. Here he attacks child labour and its acceptance by the church the authorities and society.


The Chimney Sweeper: When my mother died I was very young

1757–1827 William Blake
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said,
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."

And so he was quiet, & that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight!
That thousands of sweepers, Dik, Joe, Ned, & Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black;

And by came an Angel who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins & set them all free;
Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run,
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm;
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

 

[summerisle]

While he was a deeply spiritual man Blake loathed organised religion and the church. Here he attacks child labour and its acceptance by the church the authorities and society.


The Chimney Sweeper: When my mother died I was very young

1757–1827 William Blake
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said,
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."

And so he was quiet, & that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight!
That thousands of sweepers, [Poor language removed], Joe, Ned, & Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black;

And by came an Angel who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins & set them all free;
Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run,
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm;
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

Won't somebody think of the water babies

 

[Donald Twain]

Listened to a performance of Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti on Radio 4 read by Shirley Henderson ( moaning Myrtle I think) last night. I forgot just how saucy it is and its shocking sexual imagery! I wont post it as its too long but try to check it out or listen to Poetry please on the iplayer if you're too lazy to read it.
Here's a taster , 'come buy come buy'

I have no copper in my purse,
I have no silver either,
And all my gold is on the furze
That shakes in windy weather
Above the rusty heather.”
“You have much gold upon your head,”
They answer’d all together:
“Buy from us with a golden curl.”
She clipp’d a precious golden lock,
She dropp’d a tear more rare than pearl,
Then suck’d their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flow’d that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She suck’d and suck’d and suck’d the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore;
She suck’d until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away
But gather’d up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turn’d home alone.

 

[Donald Twain]

Another one from R. Frost . I still quote the last line now.

Mending Wall
Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.'
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say ‘Elves’ to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.'

 

[summerisle]

It was Christmas Day in the workhouse
The merriest day of the year
The paupers and the prisoners
Were all assembled there

In came the Christmas pudding
When a voice that shattered glass
Said, "We don't want your Christmas pudding
So stick it
there with the rest of the unwanted presents"

The workhouse master then arose
And prepared to carve the duck
He said "Who wants the parson's nose
And the prisoners shouted
"you have it yourself sir"

The vicar brought his bible
And read out little bits
Said one old crone at the back of the hall
"This man gets on
very well with everybody"

The workhouse mistress then began
To hand out Christmas parcels
The paupers tore the wrappers off
And began to wipe their
eyes, which were full of tears

The master rose to make a speech
But just before he started
The mistress, who was fifteen stone
Gave three loud cheers and
nearly choked herself

And all the paupers then began
To pull their Christmas crackers
One pauper held his too low down
And blew off both his
paper hat and the man's next to him

A steaming bowl of white bread sauce
Was handed round to some
An aged gourmet called aloud
"This bread sauce tastes like
it was made by a continental chef"

Mince pie with custard sauce was next
And each received a bit
One pauper said "The mince pie's nice
But the custard tastes like
the bread sauce we had in the last verse !"

The mistress dishing out the food
Dropped custard down her front
She cried "Aren't I a silly girl"
And they answered "You're a
perfect picture as always ma'am !"

"This pudding ", said the master
"It's solid, hard and thick
how am I going to cut it ?"
And a man cried "Use your
penknife sir, the one with the pearl handle"

The mistress asked the vicar
To entertain his flock
He said "What would you like to see ?"
And they cried "Let's see your
conjuring tricks, they're always worth watching"

"Your reverence may I be excused ?"
Said one benign old chap
"I don't like conjuring tricks
I'd sooner have a
carol or two around the fire"

So then they all began to sing
Which shook the workhouse walls
"Merry Christmas!" cried the master
And the inmates shouted
"Best of luck to you as well sir !"

 

[Whistlin' Dixie]

There was a young man from leeds
who swallowed a packet of seeds
In half an hour his arse grew a flower.....Oh, it's not a limericks.

Best not do the one about the woman called jill then...

 

[summerisle]

There was a young man from leeds
who swallowed a packet of seeds
In half an hour his arse grew a flower.....Oh, it's not a limericks.

Best not do the one about the woman called jill then...

So near, yet so far.