I like the line from Prufrock too. Here is one of my favorites, it is from Mary Oliver's Wild Geese -

You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Well, Penny, I couldn't NOT post this. It is quite erotic. Of course, 'erotic' is contextual, a matter of time and place and culture, and of course this is the Old Testament not some cheap romance novel of that era ... I guess a woman would like to be compared to a company of horses back then, especially Pharoah's horses! Sorry, the formatting is less than perfect ...

The Song of Solomon

The Daughters of Jerusalem

1 The Song of songs, which is Solomon's.

2 Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth:
for thy love is better than wine.

3 Because of the savor of thy good ointments
thy name is as ointment poured forth,
therefore do the virgins love thee.


4 Draw me, we will run after thee:
the King hath brought me into his chambers:
we will be glad and rejoice in thee,
we will remember thy love more than wine:
the upright love thee.


5 I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem,
as the tents of Kedar,
as the curtains of Solomon.


6 Look not upon me, because I am black,
because the sun hath looked upon me:
my mother's children were angry with me;
they made me the keeper of the vineyards;
but mine own vineyard have I not kept.


7 Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest,
where thou makest thy flock to rest at noon:
for why should I be as one that turneth aside
by the flocks of thy companions?


8 If thou know not, O thou fairest among women,
go thy way forth by the footsteps of the flock,
and feed thy kids beside the shepherds' tents.


The Bride and the Bridegroom

9 I have compared thee, O my love,
to a company of horses in Pharaoh's chariots.

10 Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels,
thy neck with chains of gold.

11 We will make thee borders of gold
with studs of silver.

12 While the King sitteth at his table,
my spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof.

13 A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me;
he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.

14 My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire
in the vineyards of Enge'di.

15 Behold, thou art fair, my love;
behold, thou art fair;
thou hast doves' eyes.

16 Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant:
also our bed is green.

17 The beams of our house are cedar,
and our rafters of fir.


The Holy Bible: King James Version. 2000.

And a line of poetry that conveys a lot of meaning in a few words .. Robert Frost - Birches:

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

It's not inconceivable that my eyes were open.
It's possible I fell facing the city.

I wonder about the word 'fell' in the last line - possible double meaning, so is it 'fell from grace' rather than the simple physical meaning of 'fell'?

Apart from poetry, i love to read tales... one of the best book is Tales of the Dervishes by Idries Shah... With nice stories he has given the valuable pieces of advice. This one of the best line from the story "Never believe anything which is contrary to sense, without proof."

Do read it, if you haven't.

Are we not to pity her? I think this is implying that a strictly orthodox preacher would say that we should judge her and not be like her because she disobeyed God's and her husbands instructions, not to look back. But the poetess is asking 'Why should we not have pity on her?'

The possibility that her eyes were open - does that imply volition? If she was turning away from the wind, in a sand storm say, she would have her eyes closed and would not be looking back at all just facing that way. If her eyes were open, does that mean she was deliberately looking?

Falling toward the city, does that imply she belongs with the city?
I'm wondering if something is lost in translation here. If it read, Facing toward, instead of Falling toward, it means the poet is asking a legitimate question, just because she was facing the city, does it mean that she was corrupt and belonged there?

If it really is the word 'Falling' perhaps it is implying that she is a fallen woman. If they had turned her into a pillar of salt, they would say that wouldn't they?

I have heard it said that the fact that she became salt was significant, in that salt is purifying and Christians are taught to be 'the salt of the earth'.

You are the salt of the earth
You are the salt of the earth
But if that salt has lost it's flavor
It ain't got much in its favor
You can't have that fault and be the salt of the earth!

(chorus):
So let your light so shine before men
Let your light so shine
So that they might know some kindness again
We all need help to feel fine (let's have some wine!)

Godspell


readnsurf, I will look out for Idries Shah. I have recently been reading about the poet/sage Rumi.


giselle wrote:

One person's erotic is another person's pornographic. I think it is just sexy, delightful poetry. And 'Comfort me with apples for I am sick of love' is one of those lines which says a lot in a few words.

This is not a seasonal poem at all, but I just read it and liked it, especially the ending.

Robinson’s Telephone Rings

the Tuesday after he was last seen.

A policeman is there to pick the shrill thing up.

Who is it? the couple of friends present ask as he cups it to his ear.

Then hangs up. There was no one there.

They have come to recon a vacant property—a mise en scéne:

Knoll butterfly chairs—a pair of them—

two red socks soaking in the white bathroom sink,

a saucer of milk for the cat to drink,

a stack of reel-to-reel tapes,

a matchbook from the Italian Village where he ate his last spaghetti
dinner,

& two books he’d been re-reading, or wanted someone to think he
had:

The Devils & The Tragic Sense of Life.

Preoccupation & a certain mode of self-presentation.

Even when absent, Robinson has a style.

No wallet, though. No watch, no sleeping bag, no bankbook.

The apartment looks the way it feels to read a newspaper that’s one
day old.

The policeman wants to go back outside, among the lemons & fog &
barking dogs.

Out where the sun can copper their faces.

Writing takes space, recordings take time.

The place puts the policeman in mind of something he read recently,
about the collapse of a dead star.

About how it takes ages for the light to become motionless.

Seven years after a disappearance, a person can be pronounced dead.

But that’s nothing compared to the size of the ocean.


By Kathleen Rooney

New Year's Poem

The Christmas twigs crispen and needles rattle
Along the window-ledge.

A solitary pearl
Shed from the necklace spilled at last week’s party
Lies in the suety, snow-luminous plainness
Of morning, on the window-ledge beside them.

And all the furniture that circled stately
And hospitable when these rooms were brimmed
With perfumes, furs, and black-and-silver
Crisscross of seasonal conversation, lapses
Into its previous largeness.

I remember
Anne’s rose-sweet gravity, and the stiff grave
Where cold so little can contain;
I mark the queer delightful skull and crossbones
Starlings and sparrows left, taking the crust,
And the long loop of winter wind
Smoothing its arc from dark Arcturus down
To the bricked corner of the drifted courtyard,
And the still window-ledge.

Gentle and just pleasure
It is, being human, to have won from space
This unchill, habitable interior
Which mirrors quietly the light
Of the snow, and the new year.

Margaret Avison

Thank you giselle that is a nice thought provoking one to start the new year with

For anyone who appreciates the magic of the winter sun ...

Winter Sun

How valuable it is in these short days,
threading through empty maple branches,
the lacy-needled sugar pines.

Its glint off sheets of ice tells the story
of Death’s brightness, her bitter cold.

We can make do with so little, just the hint
of warmth, the slanted light.

The way we stand there, soaking in it,
mittened fingers reaching.

And how carefully we gather what we can
to offer later, in darkness, one body to another.

Molly Fisk

This is one sexy poem and by an Edwardian childrens' writer to boot. I knew she led an unorthodox life and I love this poem, although it did surprise me when I stumbled upon it this afternoon:-

Lays and Legends (1886)
II. The Depths of the Sea
By Edith (Nesbit) Bland (1858–1924)


She deemed her soulless life was almost fair,
Yet ever dreamed that in the upper air
Lay happiness—supreme in mystery;
Then saw him—out of reach as you I see— 5
Worshipped his strength, the brown breast broad and bare,
The arms that bent the oar, and grew aware
Of what life means, and why it is good to be;
And yearned for him with all her body sweet,
Her lithe cold arms, and chill wet bosom’s beat, 10
Vowed him her beauty’s unillumined shrine:
So I—seeing you above me—turn and tire,
Sick with an empty ache of long desire
To drag you down, to hold you, make you mine!

II.
Attained at last—the lifelong longing’s prize! 15
Raped from the world of air where warm loves glow
She bears him through her water-world below;
Yet in those strange, glad, fair, mysterious eyes
The shadow of the after-sorrow lies,
And of the coming hour, when she shall know 20
What she has lost in having gained him so,
And whether death life’s longing satisfies.
She shall find out the meaning of despair,
And know the anguish of a granted prayer,
And how, all ended, all is yet undone. 25
So I—I long for what, far off, you shine,
Not what you must be ere you could be mine,
That which would crown despair if it were won.

A lovely poem for New Year's Eve:-

Ithaca

When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - do not fear them:
such as these you will never find
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare
emotion touch your spirit and your body.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - you will not meet them
unless you carry them in your soul,
unless your soul raise them up before you.

Ask that your way be long.
At many a Summer dawn to enter
with what gratitude, what joy -
ports seen for the first time;
to stop at Phoenician trading centres,
and to buy good merchandise,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensuous perfumes of every kind,
sensuous perfumes as lavishly as you can;
to visit many Egyptian cities,
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned.

Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But don't in the least hurry the journey.
Better it last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you a splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She hasn't anything else to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka hasn't deceived you.
So wise you have become, of such experience,
that already you'll have understood what these Ithakas mean.

Constantine P. Cavafy

Mr.Lionel Fortague said he would settle down on
Innisfree, the home of iridescent chitchat.
He said he would a small cabin build there, of clay and
wattles made.
Everyone said did he mean he would build a small
cabin there, made of clay and wattles?
Mr.Lionel Fortague said yes,but his way of putting it
was more poetic.
Everyone said maybe, but they were all out of wattles…
He a fierce-looking dog at an annual clearance sale
bought, and it the people of Innisfree one by one
to bite he instructed.
My, he was disappointed:
He had forgotten that a bargain dog never bites.

Ogden Nash

I’m having difficulty replying via the new phone ap. but I am enjoying reading them. I got a lovely new big iPhone for my recent birthday so it does make things easier.

Pen