Bright Star! Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art

Bright Star! Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art

John Keats

Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art-

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round the earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors-

No - yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,

Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever - or else swoon to death.

My Triumphant Return!

I'm back! I know that most folks probably didn't notice that I was gone... because no one reads poetry, anyway. Which sucks. :(

I am back from my very long and unintentional hiatus, though. I had some interesting things going on, and while these unnamed things are continuing to transpire I have become a bit better with time management. At least, just a little bit better. I'm going to do my best to get back to posting a poem a day for you, and I'm working on a real treat for you all as well. :D

I should have today's poem up in a few minutes.

O Western Wind

O Western Wind

Anonymous

O western wind, when wilt thou blow,

That the small rain down can rain?

Christ, if my love were in my arms

And I in my bed again!

I thought I'd post another light and simple poem to give anyone reading this blog a nice break. It's a quick read, and enjoyable at that. I think it expresses an idea that likely quite a lot of people, if not everyone, can understand. :)

Song

Song

Esther Mathews

I can't be talkin' of love, dear,

I can't be talkin' of love.

If there be one thing I can't talk of

That one thing do be love.

But that't not sayin' that I'm not lovin' --

Still water, you know, runs deep,

An' I do be lovin' so deep, dear,

I be lovin' you in my sleep.

But I can't be talkin' of love, dear,

I can't be talkin' of love,

If there be one thing I can't talk of

That one thing do be love.

((If you have any further questions, would like to make a suggestion for a future poem/topic of discussion, or would like an analysis of this poem to be done, please inform me by leaving a comment below. I will address any and all comments in the order they are received, as quickly as I can.))

The End of the World

The End of the World

Archibald MacLeish

Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot

The armless ambidextrian was lighting

A match between his great and second toe,

And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting

The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum

Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough

In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb --

Quite unexpectedly the top blew off:

And there, there overhead, there, there hung over

Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes,

There in the starless dark, the poise, the hover,

There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,

There in the sudden blackness the black pall

Of nothing, nothing, nothing -- nothing at all.

((If you have any further questions, would like to make a suggestion for a future poem/topic of discussion, or would like an analysis of this poem to be done, please inform me by leaving a comment below. I will address any and all comments in the order they are received, as quickly as I can.))

Of One Dead

Of One Dead

Lord Alfred Tennyson

If one should bring me this report,
That thou hadst touched the land to-day,
And I went down unto the quay,

And found thee lying in the port;

And standing, muffled round with woe,
Should see thy passengers in rank
Come stepping lightly down the plank,

And beckoning unto those they know;

And if along with these should come
The man I held as half-divine;
Should strike a sudden hand in mine,

And ask a thousand things of home;

And I should tell him all my pain,
And how my life had droop'd of late,
And he should sorrow o'er my state

And marvel what possess'd my brain;

And I perceived no touch of change,
No hint of death in all his frame,
But found him all in all the same,

I should not feel it to be strange.

((If you have any further questions, would like to make a suggestion for a future poem/topic of discussion, or would like an analysis of this poem to be done, please inform me by leaving a comment below. I will address any and all comments in the order they are received, as quickly as I can.))

The Leaden-Eyed

The Leaden-Eyed

Vachel Lindsay

Let not the young souls be smothered out before

They do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride.

It is the world's one great crime its babes grow dull,

Its poor are ox-like, limp and leaden-eyed.

Not that they starve, but starve so dreamlessly;

Not that they sow, but that they seldom reap;

Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve;

Not that they die, but that they die like sheep.

-from The Congo

Vachel Lindsay is one of my favorite poets. Much of his work is intended to be sung or chanted, similar to the manner in which such poems were performed in ancient Greece. Lindsay hailed from Springfield, Illinois & was a particularly talented performing artist in the Midwest. He went on to become one of the most famous poets in the United States, and was mentor to several other famed writers, the genius that was Langston Hughes being particularly noteworthy. He is no longer so well known, and I find that to be a terrible shame. You'll definitely be seeing more of his work here in the future, though! :)

((If you have any further questions, would like to make a suggestion for a future poem/topic of discussion, or would like an analysis of this poem to be done, please inform me by leaving a comment below. I will address any and all comments in the order they are received, as quickly as I can.))

Jabberwocky

Jabberwocky

Lewis Carroll

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought --

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh, Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

-from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There

A very common favorite, this poem definitely makes for a conversation piece. Carroll, as we all know, was quite the character himself. There are quite a few words he is credited as having coined. This can lead to some confusion in understanding some of his works, but rest assured that the answers are out there.

((If you have trouble locating anything and would like a further explanation of any parts of the poem or specific words, let me know with a comment and I'll add a post to assist you as soon as I am able to.))

Young and Old

Young and Old

Charles Kingsley

When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;

And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;

Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away;

Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,
And all the trees are brown;

And all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down;

Creep home, and take your place there,
The spent and maimed among:

God grant you find one face there,
You loved when all was young.

Now, let's break the poem down just a bit. If memory serves, this poem originally appeared as a song sung by a character in the Reverend's book entitled, "The Water-Babies". The gravity of the song, in my opinion, is best understood when you read the book and are able to understand the full context as a result. For the purposes of this blog, however, we'll just be doing a basic analysis using only the connotation and symbolism.

Before we get into the specifics of symbols (which, in the case of this poem, shouldn't be a particularly difficult explanation), I'd like to touch on the meter and rhyme scheme. If you are familiar with the concepts of  meter, you may have noticed that this poem is set to what would seem to be an altered iambic trimeter. The alteration is very slight: a substitution of a single tribrach in place of the last iambic metra of  every odd line. ((If you're unfamiliar with meter and would like the concept explained, then please let me know by leaving a comment, and I will make a post explaining the basics as soon as I can.))  The easy sort of bounce and obvious beat that the song has is provided by the rising stress of each disyllabic unit. The simple rhyme scheme (ABABCDCD EFEFGHGH) also contributes to the easiness of the song and prevents the subject from feeling overly forced by use of other unnecessarily more intricate schemes.

Alright, now that I've successfully melted your brain out your ears with all that technical nonsense, we can move on to the easy part! The analysis of this poem is simple. Even before shattering the poem and picking out connotation/symbolism of keywords, I'm sure that you can wager a guess towards the overall intent of this poem.

This poem is, very clearly, about the dissimilarities of youth and old age. There is a certain sentimental connotation to be further explored, of course, but the basis of the poem is rooted in the differences.

In the first stanza we address youth. A spry horse to carry along the boot, and the idea that "every dog [has] his day" paired alongside the comments of a young world and queenly lasses provide us with a clear idea that the topic we broach is that of youth. The lines "young blood must have its course, lad, and every dog his day" come across as a call to action, demanding perhaps a busier and more productive youth, one in which much is seen and accomplished because in you "every dog [has] his day". Additionally,  we are treated to a slue of natural imagery in the form of green trees, geese, swans, the horse, etc. The allusion to a simple, natural order is a compelling one. This is continued in the second stanza, though the trees are marked as being brown, the sport of the previously accelerated and youthful life has gone stale, the cart wheels are run down, and the lad is forced to "creep home" and take his place among the "spent" and "maimed" (read: world weary) occupants. The point is driven home particularly well by the continued use of "lad" at the end of the first and third lines in the second stanza, creating a marked contrast in the youthful audience (the "lad" and the discussed topic: age). The final lines provide the wish that, God willing, you are alongside the one that you love (likely one who was found in your youth).

Despite being a very short and simple poem, there is quite a lot which can be pulled from it and analyzed. Because this is a very tedious process for me, I will only be posting analyses of certain poems in the future. I will, however, go back and post analyses of past poems upon request.

((If you have any further questions, would like to make a suggestion for a future poem/topic of discussion, or would like a deeper analysis of this poem, please inform me by leaving a comment below. I will address any and all comments in the order they are received, as quickly as I can.))

My Love in Her Attire

My Love in Her Attire

(Anonymous)

My love in her attire doth show her wit,
It doth so well become her:

For every season she doth have dressings fit,
For winter, spring, and summer.
No beauty she doth miss,
When all her robes are on:
But beauty's self she is,
When all her robes are gone.

I thought we'd start with something that was very simple and a little bit fun. There isn't much to be analyzed here, but it's an enjoyable little rhyme. It makes for interesting flirting, too... if your audience is paying attention at the end. ;) Oddly enough, not a lot of people notice it. Huh... weird.

Seeking Poetry

TO LOVE,
TO SUFFER,
TO THINK...
is to seek poetry.

- Oscar Williams, "Immortal Poems of the English Language"

I've recently discovered that when I make references to poetry, people tend not to get it. I have a problem with that...

I'm not am English teacher, an English major, a writer, a poet, or anyone with any special knowledge about the topic of writing outside what I learned from high school. I understand the basis of rhetorical analysis, I know when I like the sound of something, and I know when something rolls off of the tongue.

I am in no way an expert, but I read and enjoy poetry all the time. I reference it. I read it to other people. I read it to strangers, actually. Poetry is an interesting and potentially powerful thing. It is something to be appreciated. Sadly, a lot of people do not tend to read poetry, and a lot of people have trouble understanding it. Some people enjoy poetry, but they have no idea where to start to get back into the old hobby.

That's the beautiful thing about poetry. There is no specific starting point, and there is no specific ending point. You can read whatever you want to read, and you can keep going on to other topics. There need not be any cohesion between one poem and another, or you can pick two pieces of similar topics and keep on going from there. Poetry is supposed to be a beautiful, appreciated, and, in my opinion, accessible thing.

So, given that I have an appreciation for poetry, and given that I own a lot of poetry books as a result, I would like to share these marvels of the written word with you one day at a time.

Let's make it an adventure. What's life without a little culture, anyway? :)