Favorite lines of poetry

[RoyalBlueNotebooks]

  On 9/16/2018 at 8:23 AM, PaulS said:

Have to say I lack the stamina to read some of the longer poems in this Medieval vein, such as 'Lancelot and Elaine', Guinevere' and 'The Coming of Arthur', plus similar tales in the twelve books which form the 'Idylls of the King'

Oddly, perhaps, he has been given an airing in a recent popular English dialogue film (The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel), where part of his 'Ulysses' is offered up in support of meeting life's problems etc. - part of which runs:-

 

Forgot to answer this. I also admit freely that I don't have the force of will to tackle the likes of Idylls of the King.

Most narrative lyrics of the 19th century I just can't. I'd love to read all Aurora Leigh by Browning but it's.So.Long. I read passages of it.

[PaulS]

without going back through previous posts, I've no idea of exactly who and what has been submitted already, so apologies if this piece from Mr. E. A. P. - one of my all-time favourites - has been aired before. I've refrained from his 'birdie' ditty, for which he quite rightly won a prize, and which everyone knows - there are so many that show his quirky and unique style, equally as good - Annabel Lee and The Bells - I always smile when I read the word 'tintinabulation' - sounds like a cue for Herge:-)

 

FROM ULALUME (wot does the word mean?):-)

 

"The skies they were ashen and sober;

The leaves they were crisped and sere --

The leaves they were withering and sere;

It was night in the lonesome October

Of my most immemorial year;

It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,

In the misty mid region of Weir --

It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

[Carrau]

Very nice, Paul. I’m not familiar with those lines from Poe. Try this lovely fragment from Spenser, THE FAERIE QUEEN:

 

What though the sea with waves continuall

Doe eate the earth? it is no more at all:

Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought:

For whatsoever from one place doth fall

Is with the tide unto another brought:

For there is nothing lost, that may be found if sought.

 

And here it is being read by Alan Rickman:

[JerseyGirl0807]

“Invictus” is a short Victorian poem by the English poet William Ernest Henley, written in 1875 and published in 1888. It has always been one of my favorites.

 

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

 

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

 

It matters not how strait the gate,

Nor charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

[PaulS]

thanks for the Spenser though I must be honest and admit that despite what seems like universal acclaim for the Faerie Queen, for some reason it doesn't quite float my boat. The late and very great Alan Rickman (think of the original 'Die Hard' and his Sheriff of Nottingham in 'Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves'), was indeed a loss to the world of thespians.

 

However, I do like the Henley despite not being aware of his work - 'Invictus' has almost a ring of the Victorian Gothic about it, which is possibly why I like Poe - so thanks for posting this one.

[Carrau]

Invictus is a strong poem indeed, and it’s sentiments of self-reliance, stoicism/Victorian stiff upper lip have appealed to many. Like John Donne’s Meditations (“No man is an island...”), if I remember correctly, Henley wrote it after surviving a protracted illness which ended with a medical amputation of his leg or legs. Speaking of Donne, his Meditation XVII seems to me to echo the style of those lines from Spenser I quoted above. He was a young man when Spenser wrote his epic, so it’s possible he was influenced by Spenser’s style (Donne is writing in prose, so kindly accept my apologies for including it in a poetry thread)

 

 

Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world? ...if by this consideration of another's danger I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.

-John Donne, Meditation XVII

[inkstainedruth]

  On 9/19/2018 at 1:09 PM, PaulS said:

thanks for the Spenser though I must be honest and admit that despite what seems like universal acclaim for the Faerie Queen, for some reason it doesn't quite float my boat.

 

When I was a kid, we had this gradated series of books (which I think my mom grew up on) called "Bookhouse". Volume I was nursery rhymes and volume VI was biographies of various people. One of the stories in volume V was "Una and the Red Cross Knight" (a prose retelling of I guess part of The Faerie Queen. Wanted to to read the entire thing for years....

Then I got to college.

My last semester I took an English lit class called "King Arthur". Went from Geoffrey of Monmouth to Mary Stewart (and yes, we read Malory of course, and some of the French Vulgate, and Tennyson -- but as a counterpoint to the Tennyson we ALSO read William Morris' "The Defense of Guinevere" ). And one of the things we read was Book I of The Faerie Queen. I was so excited. Until I actually read it....

And all the time I ground through it (and the only way I GOT through it was to go to an off-campus bar and sit at the bar having a beer and a burger and using the video games and jukebox as white noise...). It was, if anything, WORSE than the French Vulgate stuff. And worse than Idyls of the King (which is VERY "Victorian"). But Spenser? Truly wretched. All the time I ground through it I was going "So -- lessee. The guy writes this dreck and dedicates it to Elizabeth I in the hopes that he will get to come home from Ireland.... And it didn't work. Gee, wonder why? Oh, clearly it's because Liz thought it was boring dreck too, since she was a smart cookie!"

At least we also got to read Wulfram von Eschenbach's Parsifal (which is a lot of fun, even when he breaks the "fourth wall" and laments about how he wishes someone would love him...). Spenser and Tennyson? Not so much fun.

Ruth Morrisson aka inkstainedruth

[PaulS]

so you don't like it then

 

Something unusually lighthearted for fans of Thomas Hardy - first three verses plus final verse, from 'The Ruined Maid' - published/written c. 1866 ………

 

'O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!

Who could have supposed I should meet you in town?

And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?' -

'O didn't you know I'd been ruined', said she.

 

- 'You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,

Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;

And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!' -

'Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined,' said she.

 

- 'At home in the barton you said "thee" and "thou",

and "thick oon", and theas oon", and "t other"; but now

Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!'

'Some polish is gained with one's ruin', said she.

 

obviously envy gets the better of the un-ruined lass, and so she says …...

 

- 'I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,

And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!' -

'My dear - a raw country girl, such as you be,

Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined,' said she.

[RoyalBlueNotebooks]

RIP Mr. Rickman...

 

 

Here's a random stanza from the Hymn to Prosperpine. Powerful lines, loved the tone.

Faber-Castell Loom M,

Diamine 150th Dark Forest.

[Carrau]

I wouldn’t say I’m a fan of The Faerie Queen either, although parts are very well written. Based on Ruth’s response, though, I’d say we need a thread entitled Least Favorite Lines of Poetry. How about it?

[PaulS]

you might just get away with posting a least favourite verse, with a preface to that effect - rather than starting a separate thread.

You might say ………… "not really my cup of tea, so I'll give it one out of ten - does anyone actually like this, apart from its author?".

[PaulS]

Could be just me, but perhaps Miss. Emily Dickinson needs to be taken in small doses - there is a sense of a lack of variety, and generally there's no real sense of monumentalism in the tone.

This, as most will know, is arguably her best known - the first three verses only, and I've just realized that none of her scribblings has a title. This is taken from the complete works edited by Thomas H. Johnson (No. 712 in the book) - he dates this offering to c. 1863) ………

 

Because I could not stop for Death -

He kindly stopped for me -

The Carriage held but just Ourselves -

And Immortality.

 

We slowly drove - He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too

For His Civility -

 

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess - in the Ring -

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain -

We passed the Setting Sun -

 

For someone who's grammar was good, usually, I always feel that 'slowly drove' should be 'drove slowly' - but perhaps it's my grammar that's at fault, or else her method suits poetry better

Edited September 20, 2018 by PaulS

[RoyalBlueNotebooks]

  On 9/20/2018 at 6:22 PM, PaulS said:

For someone who's grammar was good, usually, I always feel that 'slowly drove' should be 'drove slowly' - but perhaps it's my grammar that's at fault, or else her method suits poetry better

One of my Professors of English said that this can be used in both ways, depending on what you want to emphasize. 'slowly drove' 'drove' is emphasized, the action itself, in 'drove slowly' 'slowly' is emphasized.

 

Again, riding on one of my Professors' claim that song lyrics can be considered poetry too, here are some lyrics.

Faber-Castell Loom M,

Diamine 150th Dark Forest.

[PaulS]

you're probably correct about using the words either way round - maybe that's why we have the expression 'poetic licence' . I had perhaps mistakenly thought that slowly was an adverb, and I seem to remember being taught to put such words at the end. Must stop taking it too seriously.

 

reminds me of the addage/dictum - 'give me the child till he is seven, and I will give you the man'. Polictially incorrect now, I suppose. Graham's words are poignant indeed.

Edited September 20, 2018 by PaulS

[inkstainedruth]

  On 9/20/2018 at 6:22 PM, PaulS said:

For someone who's grammar was good, usually, I always feel that 'slowly drove' should be 'drove slowly' - but perhaps it's my grammar that's at fault, or else her method suits poetry better

 

She might have said it that way because it suits the meter better; i.e.:

"SLOW-ly drove" vs. "drove SLOW-ly"

It's may not be as good for purposes of grammar, but it has better flow when you're reading it aloud. Sort of like how the group "Crosby, Stills and Nash" got named the way it did -- I don't remember which one of them came up with the name, but said "This way *flows* better..." and the other two said "Hey -- you know, you're right!"

Ruth Morrisson aka inkstainedruth

[inkstainedruth]

  On 9/20/2018 at 1:37 AM, Herrjaeger said:

I wouldn’t say I’m a fan of The Faerie Queen either, although parts are very well written. Based on Ruth’s response, though, I’d say we need a thread entitled Least Favorite Lines of Poetry. How about it?

I've actually considered taking another stab at reading FQ (in my copious amounts of free time -- of course it would be AFTER The Iliad, The Odyssey and whichever of the Orlando ones I ended up with a copy of a number of years ago (don't remember offhand if it's Furioso or Innamorato). And maybe taking another stab at Moby Dick. Read that as a kid, but of course this time around I'd be reading critically....

Ruth Morrisson aka inkstainedruth

[RoyalBlueNotebooks]

  On 9/20/2018 at 9:13 PM, PaulS said:

you're probably correct about using the words either way round - maybe that's why we have the expression 'poetic licence' . I had perhaps mistakenly thought that slowly was an adverb, and I seem to remember being taught to put such words at the end. Must stop taking it too seriously.

 

reminds me of the addage/dictum - 'give me the child till he is seven, and I will give you the man'. Polictially incorrect now, I suppose. Graham's words are poignant indeed.

Poetic licence, that's what I forgot to say. We should also consider the eccentric word order from the point of view of poetic licence.

Also, I wouldn't be surprised if Graham's song referred to that same idiom. Sounds like Sparta, where children up to a certain age, no older than 10 but I don't remember precisely the age, were raised by their mothers, then they were taken away to start combat training, to become adults.

[PaulS]

I think Ruth is probably correct, and it is indeed the case that Dickinson's choice of word order suits that particular emphasis better.

 

Don't think I want to live in Sparta - sounds dangerous

[RoyalBlueNotebooks]

I'll be back home the day after tomorrow, so here's an early poem for today and tomorrow.

My Anthology calls John Clare a prodigious peasant poet. He wrote beautiful verses with little to no formal education, his school was the conversations of the other villagers. He started suffering from delusions and was admitted to a lunatic asylum and apparently the doctors said that the cause of his madness was the years of poetical writing. Can you believe that. I had to listen to that passage of the documentary twice because the first time I was sure I had misheard.

Anyways.

 

 

Sailor Pro Gear Slim 14K H-FM,

R&K Salix.

[GreyPix]

'Elergy Written in a Country Church Yard' - Thomas Gray

 

 

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,

And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,

Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:

He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,

He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,

(There they alike in trembling hope repose)

The bosom of his Father and his God.