Announcement: Saturdays of Scrutiny

To get things flowing on this blog once more, I'll be attempting to infuse a bit of education here. I wonder, though.... perhaps opinion is a better word? Really, I just want to break down whatever wall it is that keeps this blog from becoming its own little forum of literary discussion.

I digress; I tend to have just a bit more free time on Saturdays, and as such I would like to use that time to provide my readers (few as there may be...) with a full rhetorical analysis of a work. I will, of course, continue taking requests as I mention at the end of each poetry post, but I would like to guarantee an analyzed work for you all to think about during your weekend.

Tomorrow will be my first Saturday of Scrutiny. Pretentious as the name sounds, keep in mind that I am more than willing to hear your thoughts and opinions on a work; I am well aware that mine is only one take on the meaning of whatever poem I post, and I love finding new ways to interpret a piece.

All that in mind, let's try this out and hopefully grow together as readers and poetry lovers. :)

Tears, Idle Tears

Tears, Idle Tears

Lord Alfred Tennyson

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,

In looking on the happy autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,

That brings our friends up from the under-world,

Sad as the last which reddens over one

That sinks with all we love below the verge;

So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns

The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds

To dying ears, when unto dying eyes

The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;

So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,

And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned

On lips that are for others; deep as love,

Deep as first love, and wild with regret;

O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

((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.))

Back Again

I'm back, once more, my lovely readers. I have this terrible habit of popping in and out, posting only a poem or two before I disappear again. I am trying to rectify this, but life inevitably finds a means to get in the way of the things that I would like to do. I've taken the liberty of typing up a few extra poems, so I should be able to update consistently for at least a few days, even if I am unable to find the time to type up a piece for you all.

I hope you enjoy today's post, a work by Keats entitled On the Grasshopper and the Cricket. It's a lovely, little sonnet that shows us quite a nice look at nature and the beautiful music inherent in it.

On the Grasshopper and the Cricket

On the Grasshopper and the Cricket

John Keats

The poetry of earth is never dead:

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,

And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run

From hedge about the new-mown mead;

That is the Grasshopper's - he takes the lead

In summer luxury, - he has never done

With his delights; for when tired out with fun

He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.

The poetry of earth is ceasing never:

On a lone winter evening, when the frost

Has wrought a silence, from the stove where shrills

The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,

And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,

The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

((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.))