BookTalk.org

I have scanned the list of topics, and have not found this one. So I thought I would ask, who is your favorite poet. You can say why, or simply give a name.

I will start with mine: Rudyard Kipling. I 'found' him while reading a literature book in junior high school; the poem was his "The Ballad of East and West," and I was hooked.

Yes, I like other poets, and other poetry, but Kipling is my overall favorite. How about you?

Well, I would have to pick among my favorite poets: Sara Teasdale, Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson.

Sara Teasdale.

e. e. cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

Well... when I posted my last message, e. e. cummings *was* my favorite poet. Later in the morning, I was reminded of "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver and she became my favorite poet.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

http://www.panhala.net/archive/wild_geese.html

No telling when I'll think of another favorite poem and poet. Oooh! It's happening! "The Walrus and the Carpenter" by Lewis Carroll! Or "Jabberwocky".