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Daily Poem
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Re: Daily Poem
The Mask of Anarchy
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
"Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms and looks which are
Weapons of unvanquished war.
And if then the tyrants dare,
Let them ride among you there;
Slash, and stab, and maim and hew;
What they like, that let them do.
With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear, and less surprise,
Look upon them as they slay,
Till their rage has died away:
Then they will return with shame,
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hot blushes on their cheek:
Rise, like lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number!
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you:
Ye are many—they are few!"[3]
Last edited by youkrst on Wed Mar 04, 2015 8:09 am, edited 1 time in total.
- Saffron
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Re: Daily Poem
Youkrst, I am so glad that you've been posting on the Daily Poem thread. I have one favor to ask, include the name of the poet - credit where credit is due. It also makes it easier to look up if one wants to find out more information about the poet or the poemyoukrst wrote:"Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms....
Rise, like lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number!
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you:
Ye are many—they are few!"[3]
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Re: Daily Poem
Oh silly me
I was thinking if you just paste a stanza into Google you'll get the author.
I'll do an edit to include his sublimnity.
Though I regret the loss of the thrill of the detectives joy in uncovering the mystery.
Still, time is the enemy.
I was thinking if you just paste a stanza into Google you'll get the author.
I'll do an edit to include his sublimnity.
Though I regret the loss of the thrill of the detectives joy in uncovering the mystery.
Still, time is the enemy.
- Saffron
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Re: Daily Poem
March is a month for poetry. Today I wanted to post a poem that featured March and while looking on the web I came across the following article from The Guardian.
'March many-weathers' can be both a spring and a winter month. Will your poems look back on the cold or ahead to the sun?
http://www.theguardian.com/books/2012/m ... illy-mills
Several poems are mentioned and it conveniently links to the poems. The poem that captured my attention and will be my project for the day is The Shepheardes Calender.
'March many-weathers' can be both a spring and a winter month. Will your poems look back on the cold or ahead to the sun?
http://www.theguardian.com/books/2012/m ... illy-mills
Several poems are mentioned and it conveniently links to the poems. The poem that captured my attention and will be my project for the day is The Shepheardes Calender.
The dialogue between the two shepherd boys follows. Thank goodness the poem is followed by an extensive Gloss.
March.
Ægloga Tertia.
A R G V M E N T.
IN this Æglogue two shepheards boyes taking occasion of the season, beginne to make purpose of loue and other pleasaunce, which to springtime is most agreeable. The speciall meaning hereof is, to giue certaine markes and tokens, to know Cupide the Poets God of Loue. But more particularlye I thinke, in the person of Thomalin is meant some secrete freend, who scorned Loue and his knights so long, till at length him selfe was entangled, and unwares wounded with the dart of some beautifull regard, which is Cupides arrowe.
- Penelope
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Re: Daily Poem
Nun on a bicycle
by Jonathan Edwards
Now here she comes, rattling over cobbles,
powered by her sandals, the gentle downhill
and the grace of God. Now here she comes, her habit
what it was always waiting to become:
a slipstream. Past stop signs, the pedestrian
traffic at rush hour, the humdrum mopeds,
on a day already thirty in the shade:
with her robe fluttering like solid air,
she makes her own weather. Who could blame her,
as the hill sharpens, she picks up speed and smiles
into her future, if she interrupted
the Our Fathers she’s saying in her head,
to say Whee, a gentle Whee, under her breath?
O cycle, Sister! Look at you now, freewheeling
through the air conditioning of the morning –
who’s to say the God who isn’t there
isn’t looking down on you and grinning?
I posted this because it just gave me a lift when I need one. Had to leave my poorly cat at the vet last evening, overnight, and both puss and I are distressed........we've had her for sixteen years......we're waiting for the prognosis.....but all I want to do is bring her home whatever.
by Jonathan Edwards
Now here she comes, rattling over cobbles,
powered by her sandals, the gentle downhill
and the grace of God. Now here she comes, her habit
what it was always waiting to become:
a slipstream. Past stop signs, the pedestrian
traffic at rush hour, the humdrum mopeds,
on a day already thirty in the shade:
with her robe fluttering like solid air,
she makes her own weather. Who could blame her,
as the hill sharpens, she picks up speed and smiles
into her future, if she interrupted
the Our Fathers she’s saying in her head,
to say Whee, a gentle Whee, under her breath?
O cycle, Sister! Look at you now, freewheeling
through the air conditioning of the morning –
who’s to say the God who isn’t there
isn’t looking down on you and grinning?
I posted this because it just gave me a lift when I need one. Had to leave my poorly cat at the vet last evening, overnight, and both puss and I are distressed........we've had her for sixteen years......we're waiting for the prognosis.....but all I want to do is bring her home whatever.
Only those become weary of angling who bring nothing to it but the idea of catching fish.
He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world is mad....
Rafael Sabatini
He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world is mad....
Rafael Sabatini
- Penelope
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Re: Daily Poem
Silentium
by Fyodor Tyutchev
Be silent, hide away and let
your thoughts and longings rise and set
in the deep places of your heart.
Let dreams move silently as stars,
in wonder more than you can tell.
Let them fulfil you – and be still.
What heart can ever speak its mind?
How can some other understand
the hidden pole that turns your life?
A thought, once spoken, is a lie.
Don’t cloud the water in your well;
drink from this wellspring – and be still.
Live in yourself. There is a whole
deep world of being in your soul,
burdened with mystery and thought.
The noise outside will snuff it out.
Day’s clear light can break the spell.
Hear your own singing – and be still.
You can tell he is a Russian poet can't you?
by Fyodor Tyutchev
Be silent, hide away and let
your thoughts and longings rise and set
in the deep places of your heart.
Let dreams move silently as stars,
in wonder more than you can tell.
Let them fulfil you – and be still.
What heart can ever speak its mind?
How can some other understand
the hidden pole that turns your life?
A thought, once spoken, is a lie.
Don’t cloud the water in your well;
drink from this wellspring – and be still.
Live in yourself. There is a whole
deep world of being in your soul,
burdened with mystery and thought.
The noise outside will snuff it out.
Day’s clear light can break the spell.
Hear your own singing – and be still.
You can tell he is a Russian poet can't you?
Only those become weary of angling who bring nothing to it but the idea of catching fish.
He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world is mad....
Rafael Sabatini
He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world is mad....
Rafael Sabatini
- DWill
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Re: Daily Poem
I'm not that familiar with Russian poetry. What, to you, is typical about it? I was thinking that Russian poetry might have a directness to it, that it might grab you by the shirtfront to tell you something important, that it doesn't waste time with subtleties no one will understand. Whatever it might be, I really like this poem. Let's see some more Russian. Not true that translating poetry isn't successful, judging by this one. I like "Nun on a Bicycle" too! I agree that bikes lead to religious experiencePenelope wrote:Silentium
by Fyodor Tyutchev
Be silent, hide away and let
your thoughts and longings rise and set
in the deep places of your heart.
Let dreams move silently as stars,
in wonder more than you can tell.
Let them fulfil you – and be still.
What heart can ever speak its mind?
How can some other understand
the hidden pole that turns your life?
A thought, once spoken, is a lie.
Don’t cloud the water in your well;
drink from this wellspring – and be still.
Live in yourself. There is a whole
deep world of being in your soul,
burdened with mystery and thought.
The noise outside will snuff it out.
Day’s clear light can break the spell.
Hear your own singing – and be still.
You can tell he is a Russian poet can't you?
- Saffron
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Re: Daily Poem
Sorry to hear your kitty is at the vet. I hope she is back home with you by now. And thanks for the poem, it gave me a lift too.Penelope wrote: I posted this because it just gave me a lift when I need one. Had to leave my poorly cat at the vet last evening, overnight, and both puss and I are distressed........we've had her for sixteen years......we're waiting for the prognosis.....but all I want to do is bring her home whatever.
- Penelope
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Re: Daily Poem
Maddy, my cat is coming home tonight. The vet wants to keep her until 7.00pm our time just to top up her fluids intravenously as she was dehydrated. She has pancreatitis, it transpires. So we must give her antibiotics and painkillers. But I feel jubilant because I thought I'd lost her......I didn't for one minute think I'd be bringing her home......She is a Siamese so a bit special. She has always been such a talkative and companionable creature. So, looks like we can enjoy each others company for another year or so.
I'm glad you enjoyed the poems. I love that Russian one. I think the thing about Russian poets must be that they feed the soul. Many years ago I read a biography called, 'Into the Whirlwind' by Eugenia Ginzburg. It is one of the finest human documents I have ever read. She was sent to Siberia during the Stalinist purges and placed into solitary confinement for disdemeanors twice. Whilst she was in solitary - she remembered the Russian Poetry she had read. Didn't always know how she could recollect some of them....but she claims it kept her strong and sane. So that made me want to read Russian poets. She was a committed communist and I thought that when she came back to Moscow after many years - having lost contact with her son and husband....didn't find them again....I thought she wouldn't be a communist any more.....but she was still as committed.....
Funny that, because I read the book because I heard that there was a passage about Seventh Day Adventists who refused to work on a Sunday, and stood in the snow all day, rather than work on the sabbath. Anyway, I got diverted from biblical literature onto Russian Poetry instead.
DW, you are right, I think that everything depends on the translator, otherwise it doesn't work. That poem I posted was translated by Robert Chandler. The poems are different when translated by him, I think. My book is just 'The Penguin book of Russian Poetry' all translated by Robert Chandler. If you find Russian poems on line they are not the same at all, especially if translated by a Russian.
I'm glad you enjoyed the poems. I love that Russian one. I think the thing about Russian poets must be that they feed the soul. Many years ago I read a biography called, 'Into the Whirlwind' by Eugenia Ginzburg. It is one of the finest human documents I have ever read. She was sent to Siberia during the Stalinist purges and placed into solitary confinement for disdemeanors twice. Whilst she was in solitary - she remembered the Russian Poetry she had read. Didn't always know how she could recollect some of them....but she claims it kept her strong and sane. So that made me want to read Russian poets. She was a committed communist and I thought that when she came back to Moscow after many years - having lost contact with her son and husband....didn't find them again....I thought she wouldn't be a communist any more.....but she was still as committed.....
Funny that, because I read the book because I heard that there was a passage about Seventh Day Adventists who refused to work on a Sunday, and stood in the snow all day, rather than work on the sabbath. Anyway, I got diverted from biblical literature onto Russian Poetry instead.
DW, you are right, I think that everything depends on the translator, otherwise it doesn't work. That poem I posted was translated by Robert Chandler. The poems are different when translated by him, I think. My book is just 'The Penguin book of Russian Poetry' all translated by Robert Chandler. If you find Russian poems on line they are not the same at all, especially if translated by a Russian.
Only those become weary of angling who bring nothing to it but the idea of catching fish.
He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world is mad....
Rafael Sabatini
He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world is mad....
Rafael Sabatini