Welcome to GUBU.ie - if you're new here check out Housekeeping for more info. Any queries contact us.

Poem of the Day

Light hearted chat. Don't ash on the floor.
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Poem of the Day

#1

Post by isha »

let it go
let it go – the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise – let it go it
was sworn to
go
let them go – the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers – you must let them go they
were born
to go
let all go – the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things – let all go
dear
so comes love”
- ee cummings
Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#2

Post by isha »

This may seem melancholy but this is one of my favourite poems - I think it is a call to gratitude. Written in Russia. 1915.

We had thought we were beggars,

with nothing at all,

but as loss followed loss

and each day

became a day of memorial,

we began to make songs

about the Lord’s generosity

and our bygone wealth.



by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova)
Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#3

Post by isha »

This one is exquisite. Chokes me up every time. By Michael Hartnett. It is a Utopian vision of when us humans will not see everything through the lens of grubby commerce but we will be a noble species who know the true value of everything.

There will be a talking of lovely things,
there will be cognizance of the seasons,
there will be men who know the flights of birds.
In new days there will be love for women:
we will walk the balance of artistry,
and things will have a middle and an end,
and be loved because they are beautiful.
Who in a walk will find a lasting vase
depicting dance and hold it in his hands
and sell it then? No man on the new earth
will barter with malice nor make of stone
a hollowed riddle; for art will be art,
the freak, the rare no longer commonplace.
There will be a going back to the laws.
Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
765489

Re: Poem of the Day

#4

Post by 765489 »

One of my favourite poems. Remember I was lying in bed one night half asleep with the radio on in the background. Was RTE1 Extra so had a lot of documentaries on it. But this poem was read out and being half conscience I had very vivid imagery in my head as it was being read. I couldn't remember who the poem was by or most of the words to it. Took me a few years to find it.

An Interlude

Algernon Charles Swinburne

IN the greenest growth of the Maytime,
I rode where the woods were wet,
Between the dawn and the daytime;
The spring was glad that we met.

There was something the season wanted,
Though the ways and the woods smelt sweet;
The breath at your lips that panted,
The pulse of the grass at your feet.

You came, and the sun came after,
And the green grew golden above;
And the flag-flowers lightened with laughter,
And the meadow-sweet shook with love.

Your feet in the full-grown grasses
Moved soft as a weak wind blows;
You passed me as April passes,
With face made out of a rose.

By the stream where the stems were slender,
Your bright foot paused at the sedge;
It might be to watch the tender
Light leaves in the springtime hedge,

On boughs that the sweet month blanches
With flowery frost of May:
It might be a bird in the branches,
It might be a thorn in the way.

I waited to watch you linger
With foot drawn back from the dew,
Till a sunbeam straight like a finger
Struck sharp through the leaves at you.

And a bird overhead sang Follow,
And a bird to the right sang Here;
And the arch of the leaves was hollow,
And the meaning of May was clear.

I saw where the sun’s hand pointed,
I knew what the bird’s note said;
By the dawn and the dewfall anointed,
You were queen by the gold on your head.

As the glimpse of a burnt-out ember
Recalls a regret of the sun,
I remember, forget, and remember
What Love saw done and undone.

I remember the way we parted,
The day and the way we met;
You hoped we were both broken-hearted,
And knew we should both forget.

And May with her world in flower
Seemed still to murmur and smile
As you murmured and smiled for an hour;
I saw you turn at the stile.

A hand like a white wood-blossom
You lifted, and waved, and passed,
With head hung down to the bosom,
And pale, as it seemed, at last.

And the best and the worst of this is
That neither is most to blame
If you’ve forgotten my kisses
And I’ve forgotten your name
95438756
Posts: 1749
Joined: Tue Jul 27, 2021 4:33 pm
Contact:

Re: Poem of the Day

#5

Post by 95438756 »

By gugleguy 13 11 21

All is fair in love and war
To be regaled in bits of lore
Take heed of soon impending danger
Or suffer it in lingering anger.

😁
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#6

Post by isha »

What Is The Word
Samuel Beckett

folly -
folly for to -
for to -
what is the word -
folly from this -
all this -
folly from all this -
given -
folly given all this -
seeing -
folly seeing all this -
this -
what is the word -
this this -
this this here -
all this this here -
folly given all this -
seeing -
folly seeing all this this here -
for to -
what is the word -
see -
glimpse -
seem to glimpse -
need to seem to glimpse -
folly for to need to seem to glimpse -
what -
what is the word -
and where -
folly for to need to seem to glimpse what where -
where -
what is the word -
there -
over there -
away over there -
afar -
afar away over there -
afaint -
afaint afar away over there what -
what -
what is the word -
seeing all this -
all this this -
all this this here -
folly for to see what -
glimpse -
seem to glimpse -
need to seem to glimpse -
afaint afar away over there what -
folly for to need to seem to glimpse afaint afar away over there what -
what -
what is the word -
what is the word
Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#7

Post by isha »

Robert Bly, poet from Minnesota, has died at aged 94. He wrote some very well known and lovely poems.
He also wrote Iron John, which started a man's movement. He wrote about the paths diverging in a Yellow Wood, and Stopping by a Snowy Woods. And Mending Wall.



Keeping Our Small Boat Afloat

So many blessings have been given to us
During the first distribution of light, that we are
Admired in a thousand galaxies for our grief.

Don't expect us to appreciate creation or to
Avoid mistakes. Each of us is a latecomer
To the earth, picking up wood for the fire.

Every night another beam of light slips out
From the oyster's closed eye. So don't give up hope
that the door of mercy may still be open.

Seth and Shem, tell me, are you still grieving
Over the spark of light that descended with no
Defender near into the Egypt of Mary's womb?

It's hard to grasp how much generosity
Is involved in letting us go on breathing,
When we contribute nothing valuable but our grief.

Each of us deserves to be forgiven, if only for
Our persistence in keeping our small boat afloat
When so many have gone down in the storm.
Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#8

Post by isha »

Strangely I am still on a boat theme...

1st century Broighter hoard boat, reminds me of this poem

Image

Lightenings viii

The annals say: when the monks of Clonmacnoise
Were all at prayers inside the oratory
A ship appeared above them in the air.

The anchor dragged along behind so deep
It hooked itself into the altar rails
And then, as the big hull rocked to a standstill,

A crewman shinned and grappled down the rope
And struggled to release it. But in vain.
‘This man can’t bear our life here and will drown,’

The abbot said, ‘unless we help him.’ So
They did, the freed ship sailed, and the man climbed back
Out of the marvellous as he had known it.

Seamus Heaney
Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#9

Post by isha »

"The first warp-spasm seized Cúchulainn, and made him into a monstrous thing, hideous and shapeless, unheard of. His shanks and his joints, every knuckle and angle and organ from head to foot, shook like a tree in the flood or a reed in the stream. His body made a furious twist inside his skin, so that his feet and shins and knees switched to the rear and his heels and calves switched to the front. The balled sinews of his calves switched to the front of his shins, each big knot the size of a warrior’s bunched fist. On his head the temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child. His face and features became a red bowl: he sucked one eye so deep into his head that a wild crane couldn’t probe it onto his cheek out of the depths of his skull; the other eye fell out along his cheek. His mouth weirdly distorted: his cheek peeled back from his jaws until the gullet appeared, his lungs and liver flapped in his mouth and throat, his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow, and fiery flakes large as a ram’s fleece reached his mouth from his throat."

From the translation of The Táin by Thomas Kinella, Irish poet, who died today, aged 93.
Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
User avatar
Del.Monte
Verified Username
Posts: 4930
Joined: Sun Jul 18, 2021 10:11 pm
Location: The Sunny South East

Re: Poem of the Day

#10

Post by Del.Monte »

Jaysus, glad I didn't do English in the Leaving. RIP all the same but he had a good innings. :D
'no more blah blah blah'
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#11

Post by isha »

Del.Monte wrote: Wed Dec 22, 2021 6:26 pm Jaysus, glad I didn't do English in the Leaving. RIP all the same but he had a good innings. :D
It's a powerful piece.
I remember being in wonder of the tales of Cúchulain's warp spasms as a youngster, how the women were sent out and had to bare their breasts to him to calm him down enough to be grabbed by men and put into cold water. Fascinating stories, all of them.
Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#12

Post by isha »

Air and Light and Time and Space
By Charles Bukowski

"– you know, I’ve either had a family, a job,
something has always been in the
way
but now
I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I’m going to have
a place and the time to
create.”

no baby, if you’re going to create
you’re going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you’re on
welfare,
you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown
away,
you’re going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment,
flood and fire.

baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don’t create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for."

Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
nlgbbbblth
Posts: 608
Joined: Sat Oct 02, 2021 10:35 am
Contact:

Re: Poem of the Day

#13

Post by nlgbbbblth »

As far as I recall, Thomas Kinsella was the only living poet in Soundings. Mirror In February was great. RIP.
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#14

Post by isha »

One of my absolute favourites among poems and especially apt for this time of the year. One of the things that preoccupies me in life is how different is the often stale, automatic, adult apprehension of reality from the perpetual astonishment and shivering thrill about ordinary things that I recall from childhood.

Advent
By Patrick Kavanagh

We have tested and tasted too much, lover-
Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.
But here in the Advent-darkened room
Where the dry black bread and the sugarless tea
Of penance will charm back the luxury
Of a child's soul, we'll return to Doom
The knowledge we stole but could not use.

And the newness that was in every stale thing
When we looked at it as children: the spirit-shocking
Wonder in a black slanting Ulster hill
Or the prophetic astonishment in the tedious talking
Of an old fool will awake for us and bring
You and me to the yard gate to watch the whins
And the bog-holes, cart-tracks, old stables where Time begins.

O after Christmas we'll have no need to go searching
For the difference that sets an old phrase burning-
We'll hear it in the whispered argument of a churning
Or in the streets where the village boys are lurching.
And we'll hear it among decent men too
Who barrow dung in gardens under trees,
Wherever life pours ordinary plenty.
Won't we be rich, my love and I, and
God we shall not ask for reason's payment,
The why of heart-breaking strangeness in dreeping hedges
Nor analyse God's breath in common statement.
We have thrown into the dust-bin the clay-minted wages
Of pleasure, knowledge and the conscious hour-
And Christ comes with a January flower.
Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
95438756
Posts: 1749
Joined: Tue Jul 27, 2021 4:33 pm
Contact:

Re: Poem of the Day

#15

Post by 95438756 »

I have passed over Christmas
into cold wet dull January
Wrapped up in my ulster
All set for the drudgery

The best new year solution for me
Is always the same
All intractable problems are solved
Over a simple bespoke cup of tea.
765489

Re: Poem of the Day

#16

Post by 765489 »

Look what you started Isha.. 😀

Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
765489

Re: Poem of the Day

#17

Post by 765489 »

I heard another Skylark yesterday, but couldn't spot it due to the sun. A skylark's song always brings much joy to my heart.

The Skylark by John Clare.

Above the russet clods the corn is seen
Sprouting its spiry points of tender green,
Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake,
Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break.
Opening their golden caskets to the sun,
The buttercups make schoolboys eager run,
To see who shall be first to pluck the prize –
Up from their hurry see the Skylark flies,
And oer her half-formed nest, with happy wings,
Winnows the air till in the cloud she sings,
Then hangs a dust spot in the sunny skies,
And drops and drops till in her nest she lies,
Which they unheeded passed – not dreaming then
That birds, which flew so high, would drop again
To nests upon the ground, which anything
May come at to destroy. Had they the wing
Like such a bird, themselves would be too proud
And build on nothing but a passing cloud!
As free from danger as the heavens are free
From pain and toil, there would they build and be,
And sail about the world to scenes unheard
Of and unseen, – O were they but a bird!
So think they, while they listen to its song,
And smile and fancy and so pass along;
While its low nest, moist with the dews of morn,
Lies safely, with the leveret, in the corn.
765489

Re: Poem of the Day

#18

Post by 765489 »

The Gift of India - Sarojini Naidu

Is there aught you need that my hands withhold,
Rich gifts of raiment or grain or gold?
Lo! I have flung to the East and West
Priceless treasures torn from my breast,
And yielded the sons of my stricken womb
To the drum-beats of duty, the sabres of doom.

Gathered like pearls in their alien graves
Silent they sleep by the Persian waves,
Scattered like shells on Egyptian sands,
They lie with pale brows and brave, broken hands,
They are strewn like blossoms mown down by chance
On the blood-brown meadows of Flanders and France.

Can ye measure the grief of the tears I weep
Or compass the woe of the watch I keep?
Or the pride that thrills thro’ my heart’s despair
And the hope that comforts the anguish of prayer?
And the far sad glorious vision I see
Of the torn red banners of Victory?

When the terror and tumult of hate shall cease
And life be refashioned on anvils of peace,
And your love shall offer memorial thanks
To the comrades who fought in your dauntless ranks,
And you honour the deeds of the deathless ones,
Remember the blood of my martyred sons!
User avatar
isha
Verified Username
Posts: 4768
Joined: Mon Jul 19, 2021 12:15 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#19

Post by isha »

Base Details by Siegfried Sassoon

If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath
I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base,
And speed glum heroes up the line to death.
You'd see me with my puffy petulant face,
Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel,
Reading the Roll of Honour. "Poor young chap,"
I'd say — "I used to know his father well;
Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap."
And when the war is done and youth stone dead,
I'd toddle safely home and die — in bed.
Thinking out loud, and trying to be occasionally less wrong...
967543

Re: Poem of the Day

#20

Post by 967543 »

There was a young man named Sprocket
Who one day stepped over a rocket
the rocket went bang
his dick went twang
and his balls ended up in his pocket.
KHD
Posts: 807
Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2022 9:13 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#21

Post by KHD »

Anthem for Doomed Youth - Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
— Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
95438756
Posts: 1749
Joined: Tue Jul 27, 2021 4:33 pm
Contact:

Re: Poem of the Day

#22

Post by 95438756 »

USB with Wifi
Video Tape and Hi Fi
It goes with the Age
Don't get all consumed with rage
Finally there's only death and tax
Like old bone and flax
User avatar
Bishop_Brennan
Posts: 389
Joined: Mon Oct 03, 2022 9:42 am

Re: Poem of the Day

#23

Post by Bishop_Brennan »

In the Garden of Eden lay Adam,
Complacently stroking his madam,
And loud was his mirth
For on all of the earth
There were only two balls -- and he had 'em.
95438756
Posts: 1749
Joined: Tue Jul 27, 2021 4:33 pm
Contact:

Re: Poem of the Day

#24

Post by 95438756 »

One Christmas jonnie got Ludo board
Next one he got Tigerzord
Then he got a flying kite
It flew off and out of site
He then got Dad a dj drone
Dad lost it quick and went on moan.
Realized his fears
Big toys will often end in tears
User avatar
Diamonds of Frost
Verified Username
Posts: 559
Joined: Tue Jul 20, 2021 2:06 pm

Re: Poem of the Day

#25

Post by Diamonds of Frost »

I do it to myself I do
Even though I really knew
That come today I'd be so tired
Decisions made when feeling wired
Are never good or wise or clever
And now it seems that sleep will never
Happen for me long enough
Oh Gods above this life is tough.
Post Reply