[Thigmaswams]

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Suga raagam sogam thanE!!?!! Why?

Is it always because of 'other sides of coin' concept?

Belief! Faith! (which keeps the world rotating)

Always on wait for the next cycle, like those leaves waiting for another season with hope.

[sabbixsweraco]

I have taken my share of poetry classes and there are days (like when we did P.B. Shelley...you could hear the silent groans as students waited out prof and profs quietly challenged students to speak up! And oddly enough it was simply amazing how when the first courageous person said something...as simple as I think this poem means or....i liked the part where...and this is why or how...anyway to explain rather than just appreciate is a welcome courtesy to poem...many times we admitted to not knowing at all what the poem or part of the poem was about....but the important thing was....everyone's contribution small or in depth became crucial to everyone's understanding of the poem...

that all said I will just like to show what I always love about poems...the verbage is just rich....look at how many times colour and colour related words are used to express a colourless wind....

Furthermore look at all the rich coloured images that he uses...all are being charged and invigorated by the winds power..these i have hi lighted in red....as simple as saying fire brings to mind all these crackling, ferocious crimsons, yellows, whites, fiery oranges....see how many times leaves is mentioned..and specifically autumn leaves...the most colourful leaves of all...and then see how the colours and colour images fade into gray and ash to the bleakness of winter...see how much death imagery is associated with winter (highlighted in brown)

NOW someone else (as inexperienced as you may declare yourself to be)...please find and highlight all the words that have to do with the five senses...see how a wind that we can neither see or hear or smell can be all these things...

PP Maam it would really help us if you could point out the imagery that you really like....i know as anyone else just the sheer length of a poem can be scary but when broken up into bits of pictures....it is more kinder to every reader

P. B. Shelley

Ode to the West Wind

O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being
Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes!-O thou
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her *clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill-
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere-
**Destroyer and Preserver-hear, O hear!
*clarion is a trumpet
** did you know /shelley was really into eastern religions? destroyer/preserver ring any bells???

Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning! they are spread
On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce Maenad, ev'n from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height-
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge*
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre*,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst-O hear!

*dirge is a mourning song
*sepulchre is a tomb

Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear
And tremble and despoil themselves:-O hear!

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable!-if even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seem'd a vision,-I would ne'er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
O lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd
One too like thee—tameless, and swift, and proud.

Make me thy *lyre, ev'n as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe,
Like wither'd leaves, to quicken a new birth;
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
[/quote]

lyre is an instrument resembling a guitar

[Flikemommoilt]

Wibha,

Start of with who ever you want.

[papadopul]

PR

My suggestion is, Lets take one poet per week and post some of their good works. Lets try to appreciate /analyse them.

[Bobobsdo]

Poetry is quite widely acknowledged as the Queen of Literature.
Like all queens are mysterious, misunderstood and they take your breath away. However, who is a good queen and who is not here is a matter of intense subjectivity.

Let us use this thread to share with each other who, in our opinon, are poets who attracted us and what is it about their works that makes them special to us.

[Buhoutsoupfap]

interesting ... :P

there was a poem in my 5th grade English book...somebody's mother. That was the first english poem I read/ liked


Somebody's mother - Mary Dow Brine (1816-1913)

"The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter's day.

The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eyes.

Down the street, with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of "school let out,"

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.

Nor offered a helping hand to her -
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group;

He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."

Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.

"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow,

"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,

"If ever she's poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away."

And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was "God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody's son, and pride and joy!"

courtesy http://www.potw.org/archive/potw135.html

cant really think of many poems

[infinkPoode]

PR

My suggestion is, Lets take one poet per week and post some of their good works. Lets try to appreciate /analyse them.

Yup ! That is why I titled it Poet of the Week.

I invite you to start.

[Aaron757]

Thanks pr. I shall do the next week. Now that crazy has started u can change ur title to 'Mary dow brine'. And lets share if we have any works of hers which we love to share.

[pharmaclid]

oh no akka ....i havent ready any of her poems .... except for this one

u go ahead akka

[rikdpola]

My thoughts on this poem

When I was newly wed, there was an uncle who stayed opposite to our house. He voluntarily used to come home and take me out to post office, banks and other important places (within 10 days of my shifting).

When I thanked him he said

"You are like my daughter, when I help someone's child, I take the role of her father, I feel I am helping my daughter. I am sure somewhere...someone would take my place and help my daughter too"

"ஊரார் பிள்ளையை ஊட்டி வளர்த்தால் தன் பிள்ளை தானே வளரும்"

[crazuMovies]

Exactly! Generally in all our altruistic acts there is this subconscious desire/expectation that we will be paid back in our own coin.

The poem quoted by Crazy is beautifully simple & sincere, silently spreading a message of aiming to be a good samaritan.

[finnmontserrat]

can i digress a little and kind of change the poet for a while

i have a research paper due for my literature class.

[Lhtfajba]

Ok. Let's have it this way. Someone can start off with proposing a poet and proceed to quote the impressive poems. Each poem can be followed by an analysis - we'll try and stop short of the regular academic post-morterm but need not hesitate to paraphrase/interpret and what not. After all, the aim of the thread is to share. Hubbers are encouraged to go off on tangents of nostalgia and anecdotes as sparked by the poets.

We shall proceed this way till we move on to the next poem of the poet or even the poet. With obeisance to the patron saints of indiscipline I would like to assure that we need not take the 'week' very seriously. We could go on as long as the contents demands and permit. I think history has never had a short-supply souls who have made it a point to churn out poems in numbers such that it would we'd have enough cud to chew for a week.One can expect as inevitable cross references and re-opening of 'past'-discussed poets.

Start ....

[avaiftBoara]

Dear PR,

Great start Good to see people making their posts. SP, Crazy & Wibha - pls keep going.

As I told you, my knowledge about poems are very meagre....hence don't take my contributions seriously. But, I will always be there to encourage you guys and at the same time learn a lot from everyone. At times, if I come across a familiar poem / poet, will definitely share it with you all.

ALL THE VERY BEST.

[omaculer]

As I told you, my knowledge about poems are very meager....hence don't take my contributions seriously.

same here.....

thanks PR and SP

i would like to start with Langston Hughes'

Mother to Son

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

[johnstylet]

VW, we had this poem in 5th (or maybe 6th) grade in india

[nilliraq]

OOh..if you can remember can you pour your thoughts on it?

it'll be of great help

i'm very bad at poetry

[vansVoish]

cant remember ...of course like every other poem we had in our books ...we wrote an essay about it


go on coz u never knew what u will get

[en-druzhba]

hmmm yea

ll write later

[Tamawaipsemek]

Thats about him

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