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Tree Hung with Fairy Lights
It's not additions but extensions give
A thing it's further self,
Changed from within:
Blossom's a sort of leaf, as nail is skin.
But decoration contradicts the tree.
I love you best (and know
It's love, not lust)
When clothed in nothing but your altered dust.
Norman McCaig.
I may have been guilty of playing to the gallery with that one :sneaky:Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
I loved the MacCaig poems Hes so as I was watching some waxwings on Winterwatch the other night here is another MacCaig poem which suits them nicely.
Waxwing
Waxwing, smart gentleman, gaudy bank manager
in your leafy bank, your swept-back crest
is the only thing about you that looks wind blown
Do you never face down-wind
or fly across the grain of a breeze?
Do you look with hauteur
when the grebe’s crest frays sideways
and the lapwing’s top-knot unravels?
I watch you choking down
plump, crimson berries – and the bank manager becomes
a lorry driver in a hurry
gobbling and gulping
in the wayside café of this branchy cotoneaster
So many colours being busy at once!
Such a dandified gluttony!
You flirt to another branch:
and the wax blob berry on your either side
winks among the clusters.
Norman MacCaig
Poetry causing problems again:
Click on the V for the poem, the forum censor prevents the posting on this thread (here is a sample)
V by Tony Harrison
This graveyard on the brink of Beeston Hill's
the place I may well rest if there's a spot
under the rose roots and the daffodils
by which dad dignified the family plot.
If buried ashes saw then I'd survey
the places I learned Latin, and learned Greek,
and left, the ground where Leeds United play
but disappoint their fans week after week,
which makes them lose their sense of self-esteem
and taking a short cut home through these graves here
they reassert the glory of their team
by spraying words on tombstones, pissed on beer.
This graveyard stands above a worked-out pit.
Subsidence makes the obelisks all list.
One leaning left's marked ****, one right's marked SHIT
sprayed by some peeved supporter who was pissed.
Quote:
Originally Posted by XRunner
I hadn't realised the poem was that long, I must have only read snippets of it before. Obviously a lot of anger and pity, not just about the desecration of the graves but the lives of the people that did the desecration. I think I have posted his poem about his father's death before but here it is.
Turns
I thought it made me look more 'working class'
(as if a bit of chequered cloth could bridge that gap!)
I did a turn in it before the glass.
My mother said: It suits you, your dad's cap.
(She preferred me to wear suits and part my hair:
You're every bit as good as that lot are!)
All the pension queue came out to stare.
Dad was sprawled beside the postbox (still VR) ,
his cap turned inside up beside his head,
smudged H A H in purple Indian ink
and Brylcreem slicks displayed so folks might think
he wanted charity for dropping dead.
He never begged. For nowt! Death's reticence
crowns his life, and me, I'm opening my trap
to busk the class that broke him for the pence
that splash like brackish tears into our cap.
Tony Harrison
Getting prepared for Burns night XRunner ? :D
That's lovely Alf! I really do like his bird poems and I'm desperate to see some waxwings. I've been looking out for them. Saw some last year on rosehips at the end of a friend's lane, such gorgeous exotic looking birds.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Apparently the berry crop in Scandinavia is a lot less this year so more Waxwings have been coming over to Britain to eat ours.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
TRUE WAYS OF KNOWING
Not an ounce excessive, not an inch too little,
Our easy reciprocations. You let me know
The way a boat would feel, if it could feel,
The intimate support of water.
The news you bring me has been news forever,
So that I understand what a stone would say
If only a stone could speak. Is it sad a grassblade
Can't know how it is lovely?
Is it sad that you can't know, except by hearsay
(My gossiping failing words) that you are the way
A water is that can clench its palm and crumple
A boat's confiding timbers?
But that's excessive, and too little. Knowing
The way a circle would describe its roundness,
We touch two selves and feel, complete and gentle,
The intimate support of being.
The way that flight would feel a bird flying
(If it could feel) is the way a space that's in
A stone that's in water would know itself
If it had our way of knowing.
Norman MacCaig
thats just uber cool..."the intimate support of water" such a visceral and elegant line ...nice one mossyQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
~ Mary Oliver ~
spring is just a couple of snowy fell runs away...
Begin
Brendan Kennerly
Begin again to the summoning birds
to the sight of light at the window,
begin to the roar of morning traffic
all along Pembroke Road.
Every beginning is a promise
born in light and dying in dark
determination and exaltation of springtime
flowering the way to work.
Begin to the pageant of queuing girls
the arrogant loneliness of swans in the canal
bridges linking the past and the future
old friends passing through with us still.
Begin to the loneliness that cannot end
since it perhaps is what makes us begin,
begin to wonder at unknown faces
at crying birds in the sudden rain
at branches stark in the willing sunlight
at seagulls foraging for bread
at couples sharing a sunny secret
alone together while making good.
Though we live in a world that dreams of ending
that always seems about to give in
something that will not acknowledge conclusion
insists that we forever begin
Hello all again, long time no post, but not so much of a long time no lurk.... Just recovering from reading V. An epic on a number of levels!
As usual, no inclination to write until something happens. THis time, i noticed my local market town is dying. The cinema has gone, there are no places to eat of note anymore, the library is gone and the list grows. We don't look after High Street and town centres in the UK, so a growing gamble on people's need for stuff have made high streets into shopping centres now, not places to buy things, eat, read, be. This is a real shame. Noone seems to think about what high streets should have on them. Well i do, probably too much. SO here's the resultant offering (and sorry about the German!)
High Street Blues
Putting the sell into gesellschaft
Took the own right out of town
Leaving us, ironically
With nowhere nice to have our t
It isn’t our place to be anymore
No variation, just ‘shop’ or ‘store’
An illuminated faceless place
Just visible from outer space
Time was you’d shop, eat, catch a flick
The town is gone, is derelict
Gemeinschaft could have worked so well
A place to nurse, protect and dwell
My town is shadows, boarded up dreams
Distant landlords, aft of the scenes
Cut their losses, cut and run
How’d we get here? What have we done?
Those two lines grabbed me as well freckle. Good choice Mossy, I hadn't read that one despite it being in my Norman MacCaig book.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Nice to have you back OOP and I enjoyed your poem. Town centres can be very depressing places these days. Not only have a lot of shops closed but many have been replaced with pawn shops. The only new shops are usually mobile phone shops, we have loads of them !Quote:
Originally Posted by OneOffPoet
Great ending to that one freckle. I don't usually suffer from SAD but this winter is getting to me a bit at the moment, only the sanctuary of the hills is stopping me getting depressed. Roll on Spring :thumbup:Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
I'm in the same boat Alf. Getting up in the mornings is really flipping hard and as soon as it gets dark, all I want to do is snuggle up and hide away! I'm really enjoying my running and that's giving me a lift and work is good but its amazing how much I've slowed down. I always think I'll do loads of new artwork in January/February because I have less commitments and deadlines but the reality is that I struggle with the winter so I just slow down and get half as much done as I would if it was summer. I'm not depressed but can feel that delicate line is very close. Nevermind, it also means that I'm reading more and am actually just sorting and editing some of my haiku to enter in a competition.
I quite like this one:
the silent blackbird
feathers plumped against the cold
saves his song for spring
Hope you feel better soon!
Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
That is such a wonderful haiku Hes. Keep em coming.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Chin up, laces tight
Anticipating freshness
Head up to those fells
;)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Very positive that one Mossy and good of course :thumbup:
The Call of the Open
Which yet joined not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Thanks Mossy. This is great, had a fab run on Saturday through my favourite woods and up onto moors. Saw a gorgeous hare and fell about in the snow a lot. Really enjoyed it.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Very nice! Could do with some universal sun!:)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
He's pretty good that Percy bloke. First line is a bit confusing though (well for me at least!).Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Well done Mossy I was wondering who would spot that :oQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Its an extract from a bigger piece of work 'To Jane: The Invitation' (his friend Jane Williams) and I was a bit clumsy where I cut it. I wanted the Pale Year line in but it needed a rhyming line with it, unfortunately that rhyming line was linked to an earlier one which I had missed. :D Here it is in full anyway.
The Invitation
Best and brightest, come away!
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Spring,
Through the winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn
To hoar February born.
Bending from heaven, in azure mirth,
It kiss'd the forehead of the Earth;
And smiled upon the silent sea;
And bade the frozen streams be free;
And waked to music all their fountains;
And breathed upon the frozen mountains;
And like a prophetess of May
Strew'd flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.
Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs-
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music lest it should not find
An echo in another's mind,
While the touch of Nature's art
Harmonizes heart to heart.
I leave this notice on my door
For each accustom'd visitor:-
'I am gone into the fields
To take what this sweet hour yields.
Reflection, you may come to-morrow;
Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.
You with the unpaid bill, Despair,-
You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care,-
I will pay you in the grave,-
Death will listen to your stave.
Expectation too, be off!
To-day is for itself enough.
Hope, in pity mock not Woe
With smiles, nor follow where I go;
Long having lived on your sweet food,
At length I find one moment's good
After long pain: with all your love,
This you never told me of.'
Radiant Sister of the Day,
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains;
And the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves;
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green and ivy dun
Round stems that never kiss the sun;
Where the lawns and pastures be,
And the sandhills of the sea;
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers, and violets
Which yet join not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.
That's a relief, I didn't get the first line but liked the rest so I just pretended the bit I was struggling with wasn't there...wish I was able to do that in life generally!;)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
May as well give one of his more famous poems another airing on this thread. I only found out recently that Ozymandias is another name for Ramesses II :cool:
Ozymandias
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Hi all
I am still very much enjoying the thread but having started a major bit of training am struggling to keep up at times! Hes I thought your verse was great.
I read this poem today and it made the hairs on my back stand up....
Nothing
Cynthia Huntington
These days practising how to be
without a body. Most often after love
on hot summer nights, when I feel
most alone-not sad, but luminous,
my soul glowing cool as radium-then
when I feel most brave, I start to climb
the night air, like treading water and
think about nothing substantial,
losing everything but still secured
in this darkfull world. Doing without
all that, beat upon beat, I practice
not hearing my heart, not breathing.
And there are still long grasses,
the tides folding and unfolding, still
the ocean, day and night, and leaves
opening, dinners at a small table with
white candles, fruit and meat.
There is still living and dying and I
have not left you or gone away. I am still
beside you in the dark when you ask
"What are you thinking?" and I tell you:
"Nothing".
"what are you thinking?" always best not to ask. Lush poem.
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Quote:
Originally Posted by Old Whippet
not as bad as ..." how are you?.....in yourself....?" :-) x
Really love the poem Freckle! (also the comments after :wink: )
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Always time for Poetry freckle :D Lovely poem that :cool:
“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more”
― George Gordon Byron
Love it!! Just in from a run and its like spring is in the air. The birds are singing, the snowdrops are beginning to flower, the river is no longer a fierce torrent and the sun is shining. So much happier today:)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Just been reading The River's Voice anthology and I love this. It really sums up the sound of a chattering mountain stream.
Lothian Burn
Up here, scarcely
birdsong even: only
the labials and gutturals
of this burn as it gurgles
downhill, locality of accent
in vowel and consonant,
each circumlocution
through heather and sandstone
traced by inflection
and sharp interjection
until, in a mossy outcrop,
it comes to a glottal stop.
Stewart Conn
Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Yes its really well written to give that effect :cool:
My Soul is Dark
My soul is dark - Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again:
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence, long;
And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once - or yield to song.
Lord Byron
Such an elegant articulation of aching solitude ....beautiful ....i also enjoyed the more spring like contributions, I too went for a run this morning and there was something rather lovely about the suprise of sunshine ;-)Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Blimey Alf, that's a bit strong. Nearly got me reaching for the Sylvia Plath - but not quite!Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Try this for a snigger instead...
How freakin Zeitgeist are you?
Are you local, organic, animal friendly?
Fairly traded, into bondage and Pilates, are you bendy?
Near the juice bar, with your iPad?
In your high tops, are you cool Dad?
Aiawaskaor Iboga?
Shivananda for your Yoga?
Are you Linked in, are you Beebo?
On your blog spot, drinking Miso?
Are you fluid, are you flexi?
Is your lifestyle well connected?
Are you posting, multi platform?
Is it Beijing that you’re back from?
Are you aware of cultural demographic shifts?
And interconnected network trends?
Yet aware of the difference in the new catagorisations?
In the world of us and those whom we call followers and friends?
Are you aware of mass customization and the 121 future?
And how black cabbage and Spanish cider fit with these developmental rules?
And that: 360 record deals
iPods as DJ decks
And rappers rapping about premium alcohol brands
Is now considered passé and deeply uncool?
Do you have an allotment?
And a bell tent, have you got one?
At a festi, set in parkland?
With a recycled wristband?
Are you surfing the eclectic?
Are you solar and electric?
Funky lifestyle, do you live one?
Or a monky's, could you give one?
So I guess what I’m kinda asking
While I’m kinda multi tasking
Is how feakin Zeitgeist are you?
Murray Lachlan Young
Yes! It's really marvellous - great find Hes.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Not a lorra laughs in Byron's poems Mossy :rolleyes: and I'm not very feakin Zeitgeist but I enjoyed the poem :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
I am old enough to remember the licorice sticks they used to sell in sweet shops and apparently they are being grown again in Pontefract :thumbup:
The licorice fields of Pontefract
In the licorice fields at Pontefract
My love and I did meet
And many a burdened licorice bush
Was blooming round our feet;
Red hair she had and golden skin,
Her sulky lips were shaped for sin,
Her sturdy legs were flannel-slack'd
The strongest legs in Pontefract.
The light and dangling licorice flowers
Gave off the sweetest smells;
From various black Victorian towers
The Sunday evening bells
Came pealing over dales and hills
And tanneries and silent mills
And lowly streets where country stops
And little shuttered corner shops.
She cast her blazing eyes on me
And plucked a licorice leaf;
I was her captive slave and she
My red-haired robber chief.
Oh love! for love I could not speak,
It left me winded, wilting, weak,
And held in brown arms strong and bare
And wound with flaming ropes of hair.
John Betjeman