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  1. #6
    Join Date
    Apr 2010
    Location
    Canada
    Posts
    15,500
    @oiseau - thanks for the Emily Brontë poem. It's lovely. The first grader poem is sweet too!

    @handsallover - I'm going to have to brush up on my Russian poetry. The Lermontov poem makes me think of my boating vacations as a child.

    @r_j - your sad poem reminded my of my late father. He used to get up early on Sindays and wake up the whole house. We would often hop in the car and go for country drives. I miss those drives
    All the best,
    Mischa.

  2. #8
    Join Date
    Dec 2012
    Location
    England
    Posts
    996
    What a great thread! I'll be watching this with interest. My own favourite poem is quite long, so I shall only write the third verse below:

    "Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae" by Ernest Dowson

    "I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
    Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
    Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind,
    But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
    Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
    I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion."

    I cried when I first read this poem (and the second and third time...) Interesting fact: the title is a quotation from Horace's Odes, and Gone With The Wind was named after the second part of the first line of this verse.

    GIRLS: Carlotta Miriam BenedikteMarguerite Airlie SusannahElisabet Ruth Frederica

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  3. #10
    Join Date
    Apr 2011
    Location
    Pensacola, Florida
    Posts
    1,240
    I have been reading, over the past year, The Collected Poems of Louise Gluck (apparently I can't type an umlaut in this box). She has long been a favourite poet of mine, along with Adrienne Rich, Marge Piercy, Richard Howard, and May Sarton, of the 20th century poets. This is one of my many favourites of hers, and is the introduction to my novel The Mortal Part:

    The Triumph of Achilles

    In the story of Patroclus
    no one survives, not even Achilles
    who was nearly a god.
    Patroclus resembled him; they wore
    the same armor.

    Always in these friendships
    one serves the other, one is less than the other:
    the hierarchy
    is always apparent, though the legends
    cannot be trusted –
    their source is the survivor,
    the one who has been abandoned.

    What were the Greek ships on fire
    compared to this loss?

    In his tent, Achilles
    grieved with his whole being
    and the gods saw

    he was a man already dead, a victim
    of the part that loved,
    the part that was mortal.

  4. #12
    Join Date
    Dec 2009
    Location
    New England, USA
    Posts
    6,289
    I love this thread! I'll share with you one of my favorites from New England's own Robert Frost:

    A Prayer in Spring

    Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
    And give us not to think so far away
    As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
    All simply in the springing of the year.

    Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
    Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
    And make us happy in the happy bees,
    The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

    And make us happy in the darting bird
    That suddenly above the bees is heard,
    The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
    And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

    For this is love and nothing else is love,
    The which it is reserved for God above
    To sanctify to what far ends He will,
    But which it only needs that we fulfill.
    From our ancestors come our names, but from our virtues our honors. ~ Proverb

    Caroline Pearl & Patrick Elliot, Catherine Maeve & Luke Donovan,
    Claire Elizabeth & Liam David, Grace Annabel & Jack Andrew

  5. #14
    My ultimate favourite is one that is far too long to post as it is extremely long: "The Lovesong of J.Alfred Prufrock" by T.S.Eliot.

    I also love Glasgow, 5 March 1971 by Edwin Morgan:
    With a ragged diamond
    of shattered plate-glass
    a young man and his girl
    are falling backwards into a shop-window.
    The young man's face
    is bristling with fragments of glass
    and the girl's leg has caught
    on the broken window
    and spurts arterial blood
    over her wet-look white coat.
    Their arms are starfished out
    braced for impact,
    their faces show surprise, shock,
    and the beginning of pain.
    The two youths who have pushed them
    are about to complete the operation
    reaching into the window
    to loot what they can smartly.
    Their faces show no expression.
    It is a sharp clear night
    in Sauchiehall Street.
    In the background two drivers
    keep their eyes on the road.

    I guess I like sinister poems...
    Molly: mummy, wife, vintage lover, and teacher!
    Married to Simon with a beautiful baby girl who changed our world: Nettie Claudia Appleby ~ 25th of July 2014



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