You would not believe how many words there are for the repetition of words depending on where in the sentence and in what form of writing the repete! Here is the closes I could find to the repetion in the Yeats poem.

Epistrophe is the repetition of a word or phrase at the end of every clause.
"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny compared to what lies within us." (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

And the link to the wiki page I found it on, along with the rest of the terms.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Repetition ... al_device)

New book, new book -- at least to me! Posthumous Keats: A Personal Biography.

A Los Angeles Times Favorite Book and a Washington Post Best of 2008: “A book worthy of Keats—full of feeling and drama and those fleeting moments we call genius.”—Ted Genoways, Washington Post Book World John Keats’s famous epitaph—”Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water”—helped cement his reputation as the archetype of the genius cut off before his time. In this close narrative study, Stanley Plumly meditates on the chances for poetic immortality, an idea that finds its purest expression in Keats. Incisive in its observations and beautifully written, Posthumous Keats is an ode to an unsuspecting young poet—a man who, against the odds of his culture and critics, managed to achieve the unthinkable: the elevation of the lyric poem to sublime and tragic status. 7 illustrations.

http://astore.amazon.com/wapo-trial-rec ... 0393337723

I have another 'Must Share' for the New Year:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1pks0D2xBfI

Love from Penny
xx

Penelope wrote:I have another 'Must Share' for the New Year
Love from Penny
xx

Thanks, Penny. It is lovely!

As some of you might have noticed, I have been reading and posting about Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. At the end of Chapter 10 she quotes the first line of Dylan Thomas' The Force that Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower. What a day I am having! The temps outside are under 30, the wind howls and I am warm and my mind well fed! Here is the poem.


The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

oblivion wrote:Don Marquis:

I am mine own priest, and I shrive myself
Of all my wasted yesterdays. Though sin
And sloth and foolishness, and all ill weeds
Of error, evil, and neglect grow rank
And ugly there, I dare forgive myself
That error, sin, and sloth and foolishness.
God knows that yesterday I played the fool;
God knows that yesterday I played the knave;
But shall I therefore cloud this new dawn o’er
With fog of futile sighs and vain regrets?

This is another day! And flushed Hope walks
Adown the sunward slopes with golden shoon.
This is another day; and its young strength
Is laid upon the quivering hills until,
Like Egypt’s Memnon, they grow quick with song.
This is another day, and the bold world
Leaps up and grasps its light, and laughs, as leapt
Prometheus up and wrenched the fire from Zeus.

This is another day—are its eyes blurred
With maudlin grief for any wasted past?
A thousand thousand failures shall not daunt!
Let dust clasp dust; death, death—I am alive!
And out of all the dust and death of mine
Old selves I dare to lift a singing heart
And living faith; my spirit dares drink deep
Of the red mirth mantling in the cup of morn.

I loved this poem - it was definitely what I needed to read at the start of the New Year!

__________ Sun Jan 03, 2010 3:56 pm __________

If it's alright, I wanted to share a piece from Auden:

"As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement,
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river,
I heard a lover sing,
Under an arch of the railway;
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you dear, I'll love you,
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain,
And the salmon sing in the street.

'I'll love you till the ocean,
Is folded and hung up to dry,
And the seven stars go squawking,
Like geese about the sky.

The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold,
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world."

There's more, but I just wanted to "throw" that part in to the discussion. I know it's probably been read so many times - but it's one of my favorites.

Truly beautiful poem...

Some of my favorites are Poe's Annabel Lee, Pippa Passes, and The Rubaiyat.

Ah, my Belov'ed fill the Cup that clears
To-day Past Regrets and Future Fears:
To-morrow!--why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

leah_girl wrote:
If it's alright, I wanted to share a piece from Auden:

"As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement,
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river,
I heard a lover sing,
Under an arch of the railway;
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you dear, I'll love you,
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain,
And the salmon sing in the street.

'I'll love you till the ocean,
Is folded and hung up to dry,
And the seven stars go squawking,
Like geese about the sky.

The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold,
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world."

There's more, but I just wanted to "throw" that part in to the discussion. I know it's probably been read so many times - but it's one of my favorites.

leah_girl, Why don't you get us started by stating what you like about the poem. What pulls you in?

My daughter is having a second go at Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island. She read me the dedication and then this little gem --

To The Hesitating Purchaser:

If sailor tales to sailor tunes,
Storm and adventure, heat and cold,
If schooners, islands, and maroons,
And buccaneers, and buried gold,
And all the old romance,
retold Exactly in the ancient way,
Can please, as me they pleased of old,
The wiser youngsters of today:

--So be it, and fall on! If not,
If studious youth no longer crave,
His ancient appetites forgot,
Kingston, or Ballantyne the brave,
Or Cooper of the wood and wave:

So be it, also! And may I
And all my pirates share the grave
Where these and their creations lie!

A gung-Ho poem! I enjoyed it.
Here's my response:

A Note From The Pipes

Leonora Speyer

Pan, blow your pipes and I will be
Your fern, your pool, your dream, your tree!

I heard you play, caught your swift eye,
“A pretty melody!” called I,
“Hail, Pan!” And sought to pass you by.

Now blow your pipes and I will sing
To your sure lips’ accompanying!

Wild God, who lifted me from earth,
Who taught me freedom, wisdom, mirth,
Immortalized my body’s worth,—

Blow, blow your pipes! And from afar
I’ll come—I’ll be your bird, your star,
Your wood, your nymph, your kiss, your rhyme,
And all your godlike summer-time!



From The Second Book of Modern Verse | 1919 (Online text © 1998-2010 Poetry X)