Today's poet

Fell poets at the Olympics?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-11674308

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Originally Posted by dominion

Fell poets at the Olympics?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-11674308

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I will be taking part in the 20 km Ode http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...gebit/grin.gif

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Originally Posted by L.F.F.

This afternoon in the office there was a bit of commotion, a rumbling sort of sound as if a heavy trolley was being pushed down the ailse. It turned out someone had had a fit and an ambulance was on its way.

A while later, I was coming back from the toilet and I looked over at where it'd happened. I couldn't see the man, he was laying at the end of a bank of desks, but I could see the paramedic lady leaning over him.

It brought to mind the poem below. Strange that he was lying there while all around him people got on with the mundane things we do here.

Musée des Beaux Arts

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on

W.H. Auden

ps, maybe google the painting, The Fall of Icarus by Breughel. It helped me to understand and enjoy the poem.

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Auden rocks doesn't he? Brilliant choice LFF with an interesting preamble :-)

The Promise of Trees
by Lucy Berry

In flaming colour and umber murmur
of terracotta-rusted glamour
we speak our sunset-streaked vermilion valour
of wordless dying.

In city streets and ducal parkland,
on urban squares and heath and moor
we make again the promise which we pledged each year before:
that dying is…. nothing

Trust us.
This mere one fire failing, solely, one greenness-ailing
is the great-cycle, grand-sadness of one season’s farewell bidding
phoenix foliage ridding
our sturdy selves of another verdant year
the sloughing, shrugging, shedding of the necessary tear

Trust us;
this amber-plumed, ochre pyre
is heart to the promise we give;
that we die and are mourned and are lost.
But that next year we live.

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

The Promise of Trees
by Lucy Berry

In flaming colour and umber murmur
of terracotta-rusted glamour
we speak our sunset-streaked vermilion valour
of wordless dying.

In city streets and ducal parkland,
on urban squares and heath and moor
we make again the promise which we pledged each year before:
that dying is…. nothing

Trust us.
This mere one fire failing, solely, one greenness-ailing
is the great-cycle, grand-sadness of one season’s farewell bidding
phoenix foliage ridding
our sturdy selves of another verdant year
the sloughing, shrugging, shedding of the necessary tear

Trust us;
this amber-plumed, ochre pyre
is heart to the promise we give;
that we die and are mourned and are lost.
But that next year we live.

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Thats a great poem Mossy, really enjoyed it http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...ebit/Cool2.gif

I have a couple of Silver Birch trees in my garden I can see through my front window and they track my year as I look forward to bud break, leaf break and then their green canopies as I follow them through to leaf fall when I always feel a bit of a sense of loss
(and a bit of a pain when I have to clean up the leaves :D )

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Originally Posted by freckle

Auden rocks doesn't he? Brilliant choice LFF with an interesting preamble :-)

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Glad you and Alf enjoyed it. Yes, I do think W.H. Auden wrote some amazing poems.

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Originally Posted by Alf

How to Die

Dark clouds are smouldering into red
While down the craters morning burns.
The dying soldier shifts his head
To watch the glory that returns;
He lifts his fingers toward the skies
Where holy brightness breaks in flame;
Radiance reflected in his eyes,
And on his lips a whispered name.

You’d think, to hear some people talk,
That lads go West with sobs and curses,
And sullen faces white as chalk,
Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.
But they’ve been taught the way to do it
Like Christian soldiers; not with haste
And shuddering groans; but passing through it
With due regard for decent taste.

Siegfried Sassoon

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I'm not that familiar with anything by Siegfried Sassoon, but if you like his poetry, and Wilfred Owen's, I can definitely recommend a good film called Regeneration about them. Maybe that's for the Tonight's Film thread, but it's sort of half and half! Really good film.

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Originally Posted by dominion

Fell poets at the Olympics?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-11674308

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I loved his quote...

"I've always believed in aiming high and attempting the impossible - otherwise I wouldn't have gone into poetry."

I didn't get him until I found out he had a wonderful sense of humour.

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Originally Posted by L.F.F.

I'm not that familiar with anything by Siegfried Sassoon, but if you like his poetry, and Wilfred Owen's, I can definitely recommend a good film called Regeneration about them. Maybe that's for the Tonight's Film thread, but it's sort of half and half! Really good film.

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Yes I have seen that I think L.F.F. they are in the same hospital aren't they?

This is one of Sassoon's most famous poems and when I searched the poetry thread I found that Hanneke had posted it last November :cool:

Suicide in the Trenches (1917)

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Siegfried Sassoon

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Originally Posted by freckle

Er Harry I have a bone to pick with you!...you neglected to mention that you have only gone and won the BOFRA championships again! You are way too modest for your own good, but then, thats probably what we love about you!

Well done Harry! :thumbup:

our little star!

x

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Hey! Really well done Triple H - FANTASTIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Hey! Really well done Triple H - FANTASTIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Thanks Mossy. I couldn't have done it without all the Fell Poets! :-)

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Thanks Mossy. I couldn't have done it without all the Fell Poets! :-)

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I know ...well i didn't want to mention that it was all my coaching that got you there! he he !

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Originally Posted by Alf

Yes I have seen that I think L.F.F. they are in the same hospital aren't they?

This is one of Sassoon's most famous poems and when I searched the poetry thread I found that Hanneke had posted it last November :cool:

Suicide in the Trenches (1917)

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Siegfried Sassoon

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Great choice...i haven't seen regeneration the film but it is one of my favourite books, it tells the tell of sassoon and owen and their relationship with their shrink who is treating them for something aproximating to what we now know as PTSD (then shell shock) but it is a lot more complicated and multi layered than that too. There is a political slant to the book which is interesting and it is written in a sensitive and moving manner, well worth a read.

I didn't realise it was a book to be honest so will have to look that up!

Interesting that the poem Alf posted and the one I posted by Wilfred Owen both seem to focus on youth to a great extent. Tragic, but great poems.

My first Crapsey cinquain:

Local,
Copper beech tree,
Standing in nearby field,
Sheds its golden leaves, overnight,
Naked

Quote:

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Originally Posted by L.F.F.

I didn't realise it was a book to be honest so will have to look that up!

Interesting that the poem Alf posted and the one I posted by Wilfred Owen both seem to focus on youth to a great extent. Tragic, but great poems.

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It's a trilogy - I found them a bit hard work, but that's probably my lack of culture!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regeneration_Trilogy

Quote:

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Originally Posted by dominion

It's a trilogy - I found them a bit hard work, but that's probably my lack of culture!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regeneration_Trilogy

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Thanks for that. Will have a look.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by dominion

It's a trilogy - I found them a bit hard work, but that's probably my lack of culture!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regeneration_Trilogy

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I saw the first film at the cinema when it was first released. Don't watch it if you're having a bad time in your life ;)

If you're looking for a (factual) book about the Somme then read Bloody Victory. It actually blows away an awful lot of the perceived futility of the battle (and yes thats despite 50,000 British casualties on the first day of which unbelievably 20,000 were killed) and demonstrates, kind of like Stalingrad in WWII, that the Somme was a crucial (but awful) step towards us actually winning the war.

Also at the time most of the British, South African, Anzac and Canadians and French that fought in the battle (and the rest of the war come to that) were extremely proud of their accomplishments, whilst also rueing the huge sacrifices involved. I think that this though flies in the face of conventional wisdom - brave soldiers being butchered needlessly by Colonel Melchett type baffoons. Even Sassoon, who almost became a pacifist on the back of his first hand experiences on the Somme, finally realised that the only real alternative was to see it out and win. Although I like Blackadder Goes Forth and really like Birdsong and films like Oh What a Lovely War I think they have actually provided people nowadays with a very warped and one sided view of the Great War.

Here endeth the miltary history lesson :)

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

My first Crapsey cinquain:

Local,
Copper beech tree,
Standing in nearby field,
Sheds its golden leaves, overnight,
Naked

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Darn; I missed it in its full glory :boohoo:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Stef F

Darn; I missed it in its full glory :boohoo:

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I noticed just this morning how bare it was looking Stef

Such modesty DT. I thought it was a rather good cinquain!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

My first Crapsey cinquain:

Local,
Copper beech tree,
Standing in nearby field,
Sheds its golden leaves, overnight,
Naked

---

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Old Whippet

Such modesty DT. I thought it was a rather good cinquain!

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Haha :o:D thanks Old Whippet

REMEMBER, REMEMBER THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER

(Traditional English Rhyme - 17th Century)

Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent
To blow up the King and the Parliament
Three score barrels of powder below
Poor old England to overthrow
By God's providence he was catched
With a dark lantern and burning match
Holloa boys, holloa boys
God save the King!
Hip hip hooray!
Hip hip hooray!

A penny loaf to feed ol' Pope
A farthing cheese to choke him
A pint of beer to rinse it down
A faggot of sticks to burn him
Burn him in a tub of tar
Burn him like a blazing star
Burn his body from his head
Then we'll say ol' Pope is dead.
Hip hip hooray!
Hip hip hooray!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by IanDarkpeak

REMEMBER, REMEMBER THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER

(Traditional English Rhyme - 17th Century)

Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent
To blow up the King and the Parliament
Three score barrels of powder below
Poor old England to overthrow
By God's providence he was catched
With a dark lantern and burning match
Holloa boys, holloa boys
God save the King!
Hip hip hooray!
Hip hip hooray!

A penny loaf to feed ol' Pope
A farthing cheese to choke him
A pint of beer to rinse it down
A faggot of sticks to burn him
Burn him in a tub of tar
Burn him like a blazing star
Burn his body from his head
Then we'll say ol' Pope is dead.
Hip hip hooray!
Hip hip hooray!

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thanks for posting this IDP, my kids have been reciting the first verse all day so its nice to see the rest of it!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Stolly

If you're looking for a (factual) book about the Somme then read Bloody Victory. It actually blows away an awful lot of the perceived futility of the battle (and yes thats despite 50,000 British casualties on the first day of which unbelievably 20,000 were killed) and demonstrates, kind of like Stalingrad in WWII, that the Somme was a crucial (but awful) step towards us actually winning the war.

Also at the time most of the British, South African, Anzac and Canadians and French that fought in the battle (and the rest of the war come to that) were extremely proud of their accomplishments, whilst also rueing the huge sacrifices involved. I think that this though flies in the face of conventional wisdom - brave soldiers being butchered needlessly by Colonel Melchett type baffoons. Even Sassoon, who almost became a pacifist on the back of his first hand experiences on the Somme, finally realised that the only real alternative was to see it out and win. Although I like Blackadder Goes Forth and really like Birdsong and films like Oh What a Lovely War I think they have actually provided people nowadays with a very warped and one sided view of the Great War.

Here endeth the miltary history lesson :)

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THanks for this stolly very informative and interesting.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Old Whippet

Such modesty DT. I thought it was a rather good cinquain!

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I agree it was real good...anyhoo your up late! :-/

Well, its late...

but I have had such a good night...

went to see the new Mike Leigh film "Another Year" which was so good on so many different levels....

anyhoo here is one from pablo...always a good choice on a friday night/ saturday morning....

Morning (Love Sonnet XXVII) by Pablo Neruda

Naked you are simple as one of your hands;
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round.
You've moon-lines, apple pathways
Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.

Naked you are blue as a night in Cuba;
You've vines and stars in your hair.
Naked you are spacious and yellow
As summer in a golden church.

Naked you are tiny as one of your nails;
Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
And you withdraw to the underground world.

As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores;
Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,
And becomes a naked hand again

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Originally Posted by freckle

THanks for this stolly very informative and interesting.

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You great big fibber ;) :)

In my defence I sort of thought it vaguely relevant to the thread because the Great War poets, most of whom were in at the thick end, and indeed the war itself are kind of looked on with 21st century goggles and sensibilities. Nowadays a lot of their poetry is deemed anti war, which in a way it was of course but not at all in a pacifisty, bring our troops home modern day way. Most of them became terribly disillusioned on home visits because the every day British bod hadn't a clue what things were like in the trenches and I think most of the great poems were inspired by a desperate need to tell people exactly how it was really and not at all as anti the then war statements.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Stolly

You great big fibber ;) :)

In my defence I sort of thought it vaguely relevant to the thread because the Great War poets, most of whom were in at the thick end, and indeed the war itself are kind of looked on with 21st century goggles and sensibilities. Nowadays a lot of their poetry is deemed anti war, which in a way it was of course but not at all in a pacifisty, bring our troops home modern day way. Most of them became terribly disillusioned on home visits because the every day British bod hadn't a clue what things were like in the trenches and I think most of the great poems were inspired by a desperate need to tell people exactly how it was really and not at all as anti the then war statements.

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i fib not my dear...and this further bit of analysis is also interesting :closed:

Sun shines,
On Calderdale,
Happy runners smiling,
At the Shepherds Skyline race,
Quads hurt

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

Sun shines,
On Calderdale,
Happy runners smiling,
At the Shepherds Skyline race,
Quads hurt

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lovely DT! sounds like a great day :-)

From the Guardian's saturday poem:

Hamlet

By Boris Pasternak, tranlsated by Ann Pasternak Slater


The murmurs ebb; onto the stage I enter.
I am trying, standing in the door,
To discover in the distant echoes
What the coming years may hold in store.


The nocturnal darkness with a thousand
Binoculars is focused onto me.
Take away this cup, O Abba, Father,
Everything is possible to thee.


I am fond of this thy stubborn project,
And to play my part I am content.
But another drama is in progress,
And, this once, O let me be exempt.


But the plan of action is determined,
And the end irrevocably sealed.
I am alone; all round me drowns in falsehood:
Life is not a walk across a field.

Eternal night.

A fragile shell splinters,
Memories spill out,
Crushed,dissipating,
Like a butterfly on a wheel,
His soul leaves him,
One final rush of life,
All is quiet.

By Leonidas.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Leonidas

Eternal night.

A fragile shell splinters,
Memories spill out,
Crushed,dissipating,
Like a butterfly on a wheel,
His soul leaves him,
One final rush of life,
All is quiet.

By Leonidas.

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wow......amazing imagery, nice one matt

Top of the morning to ya! been a while since i have been up this early for a run so here goes...

IT IS TIME TO TIDY UP YOUR LIFE

It is time to tidy up your life!
Into your body has leaked this message.
No conscious actions, no broodings
Have brought the thought upon you.
It is time to take into account
What has gone and what has replaced it.
Living your life according to no plan
The decisions were numerous and
The ways to go were one.

You stand between trees this evening;
The cigarette in your cupped hand
Glows like a flower.
The drizzle falling seems
To wash away all ambition
There are scattered through your life
Too many dreams to entirely gather.

Through the soaked leaves, the soaked grass,
The earth-scents and distant noises
This one thought is re-occurring.:
It is time to take Into account what has gone,
To cherish and replace it.
You learnt early that celebrations
Do not last forever,
So what use now the sorrows that mount up ?

You must withdraw your love from that
Which would kill your love.
There is nothing flawless anywhere,
Nothing that has not the power to hurt.
As much as hate, tenderness is the weapon of one
Whose love is neither perfect nor complete.

- Brian Patten

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

My first Crapsey cinquain:

Local,
Copper beech tree,
Standing in nearby field,
Sheds its golden leaves, overnight,
Naked

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Hadn't a clue what one of these was until I checked out this website:

/www.newman.ac.uk/students_websites/~h.k.shuthar/cinquain.htm

Given the formal shape of the poems, is there a festive theme emerging here? Think x-mas tree!

This thread is such an 'hedgucation'....:D

Good starter by the way DT - I like it

Taken from this weeks Private Eye


Ding dong bell.
Pussy's in the bin.
Who put her in?
Mrs Mary Bale.
What should happen to this woman?
She should be strung up,
Says the Daily Mail.

Foiled
Dinner for Two
It wasn't meant to be
So it's baked beans on toast for tea
Again

The Lesson

I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.

Maya Angelou