Eratosphere Forums - Metrical Poetry, Free Verse, Fiction, Art, Critique, Discussions Able Muse - a review of poetry, prose and art

Forum Left Top

Reply
Thread Tools Display Modes
  #11  
Unread 09-27-2001, 05:24 PM
David Anthony David Anthony is offline
Distinguished Guest Host
 
Join Date: Feb 2000
Location: Stoke Poges, Bucks, UK
Posts: 5,081
Post

Vitai Lampada
There’s a breathless hush at the Close tonight--
Ten to make and the match to win--
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play, and the last man in.
And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame,
But his captain’s hand on his shoulder smote:
“Play up, play up and play the game.”

The sand of the desert is sodden red,
Red with the wreck of the square that broke:
The Gatling’s jammed and the Colonel dead
And the Regiment blind with blood and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed its banks
And England’s far, and honour a name.
The voice of the schoolboy rallies the ranks:
“Play up, play up and play the game.”

This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the school is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dares forget:
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame;
And falling fling to the host behind:
“Play up, play up and play the game.”

Sir Henry Newbolt
(from memory—e & o e)
Reply With Quote
  #12  
Unread 09-28-2001, 02:27 AM
A. E. Stallings A. E. Stallings is offline
Member
 
Join Date: Jul 2000
Location: Athens, Greece
Posts: 3,205
Post

Dear David,

Thanks for posting that one--I haven't seen it in ages.

Where are the Kipling fans? Isn't someone going to post "If"?

Reply With Quote
  #13  
Unread 09-28-2001, 07:17 AM
Terese Coe Terese Coe is offline
Member
 
Join Date: Jan 2001
Location: New York, NY
Posts: 7,489
Post

Alicia

Another reason "Annabel Lee" is so enduringly loved: its rhythms sound like the surf it describes. Whether or not it's "respectable" or pc to like/love the poem is irrelevant, ultimately, isn't it? Mere fashion.

You know, a case could be made for the notion that all emotions are gothic in one way or another.

One is reminded of a recent remark by a psychiatrist in the print media (sorry, can't recall who it was, though I think it was in the NYTimes): many men never feel deeply until they have experienced grief.

Lilith, I love the last line of cummings' poem:

"For love are in you am in i are in we"

Terese
Reply With Quote
  #14  
Unread 09-28-2001, 09:16 AM
Tim Murphy Tim Murphy is offline
Lariat Emeritus
 
Join Date: Oct 2000
Location: Fargo ND, USA
Posts: 13,816
Post

Stephen Vincent Benet's "The Ballad of William Sycamore," and I'm with Roger on "Casey at the Bat." The only one that really embarasses me though is Vachel Lindsay's "The Congo." In 1970 Yale agreed to the black students' demand for segreagated entryways in the residential colleges. Our black bros had huge stereo systems, so a godawful cacophony poured from that entryway day and night. Finally some of us honkies wired a bunch of amps and an awesome array of speakers together, and one Friday at midnight I recited "The Congo" at 130 decibels. The all-night cacophony ceased once and for all.
Reply With Quote
  #15  
Unread 09-28-2001, 10:38 AM
Tony Tony is offline
Member
 
Join Date: Jul 2000
Location: Queens, NY , USA
Posts: 544
Post

I know "Casey at the Bat" by heart, and I've acted it out in public many times.

Tony
Reply With Quote
  #16  
Unread 09-28-2001, 12:51 PM
nyctom nyctom is offline
Member
 
Join Date: Aug 2001
Location: New York, NY USA
Posts: 3,699
Post

I don't know Tim, "The Congo" is a dreadful poem, but it is rather fun to mutter "Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you" followed by "Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom" at someone pissing you off.

Lilith--I'm with you. I love e.e.'s work, even though in so many of them the fun is figuring out what the typography is supposed to be representing or inverting.

Re: Kipling. Alicia, there are limits.

[This message has been edited by nyctom (edited September 28, 2001).]
Reply With Quote
  #17  
Unread 09-28-2001, 03:52 PM
robert mezey robert mezey is offline
Master of Memory
 
Join Date: Jan 2001
Location: Claremont CA USA
Posts: 570
Post

Kipling beyond some limit? What can you be thinking?
He's a great poet, as poets as different as Hardy and
Eliot and Borges and Auden thought. And I don't think
anyone needs to be embarrassed about liking "If"---it
isn't to the contemporary taste, but neither is all the
rest of Kipling: which is in itself an indictment of
contemporary taste. Horace said one of poetry's functions
is docere, to teach, (and Auden would question the
poetic sense of any writer or reader who disliked verses
like "Thirty days hath September"), but our age is scorn-
ful of didactic poetry. You could give a young person
a whole lot worse advice than one finds in "If" and a
whole lot worse verse---by the ton.
Reply With Quote
  #18  
Unread 09-29-2001, 01:13 AM
nyctom nyctom is offline
Member
 
Join Date: Aug 2001
Location: New York, NY USA
Posts: 3,699
Post

The Kipling remark was meant ironically. I actually like "If" (well that last line is a bit anachronistic). Perhaps I should have used another emoticon.

A complete collection of Kipling's poems can be found at
http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poet...pling_ind.html

Sorry, I am not good with html and don't know how to turn that into a link.

Here is the poem itself. It has real resonance after the events of September 11th:

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
Reply With Quote
  #19  
Unread 09-29-2001, 04:09 PM
momdebomb momdebomb is offline
Member
 
Join Date: Feb 2001
Location: San Diego
Posts: 423
Post

Yes "If" rocks, so does "Anabelle Lee". Here's one I almost have down. It's one my grandmother and I used to recite together.


The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.


The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"


The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead--
There were no birds to fly.


The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"


"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.


"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."


The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.


But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.


Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.


The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.


"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."


"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.


"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."


"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?


"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"


"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"


"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.


"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

Lewis Carroll
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)


"Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet."
Will delight me till the day I die.




------------------
Sharon P.
http://www.fischerpassmoredesign.com
Reply With Quote
  #20  
Unread 09-30-2001, 01:43 AM
Clive's Avatar
Clive Clive is offline
Member
 
Join Date: Feb 2001
Location: London, UK
Posts: 554
Post

Ooo, that was lovely Sharon - do it again!

My guilty pleasures would have to be really filthy limericks, which decency prevents me from posting here!
Reply With Quote
Reply

Bookmarks


Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off
Forum Jump



Forum Right Top
Forum Left Bottom Forum Right Bottom
 
Right Left
Member Login
Forgot password?
Forum LeftForum Right


Forum Statistics:
Forum Members: 8,535
Total Threads: 22,222
Total Posts: 273,079
There are 3267 users
currently browsing forums.
Forum LeftForum Right


Forum Sponsor:
Donate & Support Able Muse / Eratosphere
Forum LeftForum Right
Right Right
Right Bottom Left Right Bottom Right

Hosted by ApplauZ Online