PDA

View Full Version : Poetry 101



wolfdancer
01-06-2006, 12:08 AM
The first poem, I ever learned....
not to be confused with Bin Laden

Abou Ben Adhem

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel writing in a book of gold:

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?" The Vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men."

The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And shoed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

Leigh Hunt (1784-1859)

and my favorite:

Richard Cory
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Ever lost a close friend:
STRANGE that I did not know him then,
That friend of mine!
I did not even show him then
One friendly sign;

But cursed him for the ways he had
To make me see
My envy of the praise he had
For praising me.

I would have rid the earth of him
Once, in my pride!...
I never knew the worth of him
Until he died
Edwin Robinson

Well it ain't Charles Simic.........

SPetty
01-06-2006, 08:46 AM
<blockquote><font class="small">Quote wolfdancer:</font><hr>and my favorite:

Richard Cory
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.<hr /></blockquote>Interesting - this is the Richard Cory poetry with which I'm familiar...

They say that Richard Cory owns one half of this whole town,
With political connections to spread his wealth around.
Born into society, a banker's only child,
He had everything a man could want: power, grace, and style.

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

The papers print his picture almost everywhere he goes:
Richard Cory at the opera, Richard Cory at a show.
And the rumor of his parties and the orgies on his yacht!
Oh, he surely must be happy with everything he's got.

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

He freely gave to charity, he had the common touch,
And they were grateful for his patronage and thanked him very much,
So my mind was filled with wonder when the evening headlines read:
"Richard Cory went home last night and put a bullet through his head."

But I work in his factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.

wolfdancer
01-06-2006, 11:09 AM
It's not a coincidence: web page (http://www.ckk.chalmers.se/guitar/richard.cory.html)
[ QUOTE ]
The other new
song is "Richard Cory" which is given to us with "Apologies to EARobinson". ... <hr /></blockquote>
EA= (Edwin Arlington)
(Paul Simon, live performance...1968).....I don't think I was cognizant that whole year....there was this thing called yellow sunshine which took you to never land "all you needed was faith and trust, and a little bit of pixie dust"

Drop1
01-06-2006, 12:31 PM
I enjoyed the poem. It always amuses me,when people don't know the French form of the sonnet from the English. The rules of english grammer were really not formalized until the 19th century,and so we can forgive Shakespere when he has Ophelia cry "Woe is me",instead of "Woe is I",as would be the correct subject and verb combination. Even though my spelling leaves something to be desired,I will leave you with a poem I wrote for my wife Maria.
For one instant,
I want your kiss,
your naked strained
embrace,
to see the pain
of love marked
on your face,
to feel your breath
warm in the night,
and know:
Iam birth
Iam youth
Iam age
Iam death
Iam the envious stars,
locked in the circle
of night,
knowing one instant
is eternity.

wolfdancer
01-06-2006, 01:07 PM
Stephen, your poem is excellent.....!!!!
My brother is the poet in our family....
It's a dichotomy of sorts
He was/is a street fighter....it once took four cops
to subdue him, and he's been arrested a few times for
bar room brawls.
Even though he's "uneducated", he has given readings of
his poetry before poetry groups, and before University students, invited there by the Professor.He has had many poems published in the local sunday paper, commanding the princely sum of $25 per poem (no wonder the term starving artists)
I'm afraid though his "work" is above my head.
My poetry is more on this level:
Sheldon in a fit insane
thrust his head beneath a train
All were much surprised to find
how much it broadened Shelden's mind
That and Ogden Nash maybe...I lose interest
after four or five lines...(of poetry)

Drop1
01-06-2006, 05:40 PM
Your brother and I have a lot in common. As regards your poem,it would appear you like meter,and rhyme. One stanza from a sonnet again to my wife of thirty eight years.
Hair;black obsidian flashing on the wing,
now silver in the dying autumn's light,
reminds how short the time we have to sing,
how long the silence of the coming night.

Did you ever read Wilfred Owens?