Gratuitous poetry post
Dec. 31st, 2003 02:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doyleMy layout's still very basic, but now has poetry running down the right hand side.
But since I could only squash so much onto the page, some other stuff I like will have to go here, so I can put it in my memories. (I really hope I lj-cut everything right; if not, it'll be fixed in a minute, and sorry for the huge space taken up on friendslist)
He Tells Her
by Wendy Cope
He tells her that the Earth is flat -
He knows the facts and that is that.
In altercations fierce and long
She tries her best to prove him wrong.
But he has learned to argue well.
He calls her arguments unsound
And often asks her not to yell.
She cannot win. He stands his ground.
The planet goes on being round.
Gifts
by Oodgeroo of the Tribe Noonuccal
"I will bring you love," said the young lover,
"A glad light to dance in your dark eye.
Pendants I will bring of the white bone,
And gay parrot feathers to deck your hair."
But she only shook her head.
"I will put a child in your arms," he said,
"Will be a great headman, great rain-maker.
I will make remembered songs about you
That all the tribes in all the wandering camps
Will sing forever."
But she was not impressed.
"I will bring you the still moonlight on the lagoon,
And steal for you the singing of all the birds;
I will bring down the stars of heaven to you,
And put the bright rainbow into your hand."
"No," she said, "bring me tree-grubs."
Burning Genius
by Brian Patten
He fell in love with a lady violinist.
It was absurd the lengths he went to to win her affection.
He gave up his job in the Civil Service.
He followed her from concert hall to concert hall,
bought every available biography of Beethoven,
learnt German fluently
brooded over the exact nature of inhuman suffering,
but all to no avail -
Day and night she sat in her attic room,
she sat playing day and night,
oblivious of him,
and even the sparrows that perched on her skylight
mistaking her music for food.
To impress her, he began to study music in earnest
Soon he was dismissing Vivaldi and praising Wagner.
He wrote concertos in his spare time,
wrote operas about doomed astronauts and about monsters who,
when kissed,
became even more furious and ugly.
He wrote eight symphonies taking care to leave several unfinished.
It was exhausting.
And he found no time to return to that attic room.
In fact, he grew old and utterly famous.
And when asked to what he owed
his burning genius,
he shrugged and said little.
But his mind gaped back until he saw before him
the image of a tiny room,
and perched on the skylight the timid
skeletons of sparrows still listened on.
Man in Space
by Billy Collins
All you have to do is listen to the way a man
sometimes talks to his wife at a table of people
and notice how intent he is on making his point
even though her lower lip is beginning to quiver,
and you will know why the women in science
fiction movies who inhabit a planet of their own
are not pictured making a salad or reading a magazine
when the men from space arrive in their rocket,
why they are always standing in a semicircle
with their arms folded, their bare legs set apart,
their breasts protected by hard metal disks.
Words, Wide Night
by Carol Ann Duffy
Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine
the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you and this
is what it is like, or what it is like in words.
She Tells her Love
by Robert Graves
She tells her love while half asleep
In the dark hours,
With half-wods whispered low.
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.
Two Small Boys and an Elephant
by Fred Sedgwick
That was hopeless love, when the brothers gazed
at elephants at the zoo.
One turned great grey legs and back on them
as elephants do.
Brothers gazed after elephants with love
and then, on cue,
returned to loving ice-creams
as small boys do.
The Once that Never Was
by Barbara Giles
The Once that Never Was may be
sooner than dreamed of. Suddenly
we'll find ourselves about to land
on coasts of fabled Samarkand.
There Doctor Who, quite settled down,
will show us all the sights of town
and Lancelot and Guinevere
will take us hunting polar bear.
Luke Skywalker will tell his story
of star wars and galactic glory,
and Eve shall pick us apples which
make people happy, lucky, rich.
There Sleeping Beauty, wide awake,
lives in her castle by the lake.
The towers of Troy, all sunlit, rise
and simple Simon has grown wise.
For everything that ever was
is found in Once that Never Was,
all things pleasant, all things good.
What is that roaring in the wood?
it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another's, and your strong dear fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
i this should be so, i say if this should be -
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
- e.e.cummings
The Choosing
by Liz Lochhead
We were first equal, Mary and I
with same coloured ribbons in mouse-coloured hair
and with equal shyness,
we curtseyed to the lady councillor
for copies of Collins' Children's Classics.
First equal, equally proud.
Best friends too Mary and I
a common bond in being cleverest
(equal)
in our small school's small class.
I remember
the competition for top desk
at school service.
And my terrible fear
of her superiority at sums.
I remember the housing scheme
where we both stayed.
The same houses, different homes,
where the choices were made.
I don't know exactly why they moved,
but anyway they went.
Something about a three-apartment
and a cheaper rent.
But from the top deck of the high-school bus
I'd glimpse among the others on the corner
Mary's father, mufflered, contrasting strangely
with the elegant greyhounds by his side.
He didn't believe in high school education,
especially for girls,
or in forking out for uniforms.
Ten years later on a Saturday-
I am coming from the library-
sitting near me on the bus,
Mary
with a husband who is tall,
curly haired, has eyes
for no one else but Mary.
Her arms are round the full-shaped vase
that is her body.
Oh, you can see where the attraction lies
in Mary's life-
not that I envy her, really.
And I am coming from the library
with my arms full of books.
I think of those prizes that were ours for the taking
and wonder when the choices got made
we don't remember making.
But since I could only squash so much onto the page, some other stuff I like will have to go here, so I can put it in my memories. (I really hope I lj-cut everything right; if not, it'll be fixed in a minute, and sorry for the huge space taken up on friendslist)
He Tells Her
by Wendy Cope
He tells her that the Earth is flat -
He knows the facts and that is that.
In altercations fierce and long
She tries her best to prove him wrong.
But he has learned to argue well.
He calls her arguments unsound
And often asks her not to yell.
She cannot win. He stands his ground.
The planet goes on being round.
Gifts
by Oodgeroo of the Tribe Noonuccal
"I will bring you love," said the young lover,
"A glad light to dance in your dark eye.
Pendants I will bring of the white bone,
And gay parrot feathers to deck your hair."
But she only shook her head.
"I will put a child in your arms," he said,
"Will be a great headman, great rain-maker.
I will make remembered songs about you
That all the tribes in all the wandering camps
Will sing forever."
But she was not impressed.
"I will bring you the still moonlight on the lagoon,
And steal for you the singing of all the birds;
I will bring down the stars of heaven to you,
And put the bright rainbow into your hand."
"No," she said, "bring me tree-grubs."
Burning Genius
by Brian Patten
He fell in love with a lady violinist.
It was absurd the lengths he went to to win her affection.
He gave up his job in the Civil Service.
He followed her from concert hall to concert hall,
bought every available biography of Beethoven,
learnt German fluently
brooded over the exact nature of inhuman suffering,
but all to no avail -
Day and night she sat in her attic room,
she sat playing day and night,
oblivious of him,
and even the sparrows that perched on her skylight
mistaking her music for food.
To impress her, he began to study music in earnest
Soon he was dismissing Vivaldi and praising Wagner.
He wrote concertos in his spare time,
wrote operas about doomed astronauts and about monsters who,
when kissed,
became even more furious and ugly.
He wrote eight symphonies taking care to leave several unfinished.
It was exhausting.
And he found no time to return to that attic room.
In fact, he grew old and utterly famous.
And when asked to what he owed
his burning genius,
he shrugged and said little.
But his mind gaped back until he saw before him
the image of a tiny room,
and perched on the skylight the timid
skeletons of sparrows still listened on.
Man in Space
by Billy Collins
All you have to do is listen to the way a man
sometimes talks to his wife at a table of people
and notice how intent he is on making his point
even though her lower lip is beginning to quiver,
and you will know why the women in science
fiction movies who inhabit a planet of their own
are not pictured making a salad or reading a magazine
when the men from space arrive in their rocket,
why they are always standing in a semicircle
with their arms folded, their bare legs set apart,
their breasts protected by hard metal disks.
Words, Wide Night
by Carol Ann Duffy
Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine
the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you and this
is what it is like, or what it is like in words.
She Tells her Love
by Robert Graves
She tells her love while half asleep
In the dark hours,
With half-wods whispered low.
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.
Two Small Boys and an Elephant
by Fred Sedgwick
That was hopeless love, when the brothers gazed
at elephants at the zoo.
One turned great grey legs and back on them
as elephants do.
Brothers gazed after elephants with love
and then, on cue,
returned to loving ice-creams
as small boys do.
The Once that Never Was
by Barbara Giles
The Once that Never Was may be
sooner than dreamed of. Suddenly
we'll find ourselves about to land
on coasts of fabled Samarkand.
There Doctor Who, quite settled down,
will show us all the sights of town
and Lancelot and Guinevere
will take us hunting polar bear.
Luke Skywalker will tell his story
of star wars and galactic glory,
and Eve shall pick us apples which
make people happy, lucky, rich.
There Sleeping Beauty, wide awake,
lives in her castle by the lake.
The towers of Troy, all sunlit, rise
and simple Simon has grown wise.
For everything that ever was
is found in Once that Never Was,
all things pleasant, all things good.
What is that roaring in the wood?
it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another's, and your strong dear fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
i this should be so, i say if this should be -
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
- e.e.cummings
The Choosing
by Liz Lochhead
We were first equal, Mary and I
with same coloured ribbons in mouse-coloured hair
and with equal shyness,
we curtseyed to the lady councillor
for copies of Collins' Children's Classics.
First equal, equally proud.
Best friends too Mary and I
a common bond in being cleverest
(equal)
in our small school's small class.
I remember
the competition for top desk
at school service.
And my terrible fear
of her superiority at sums.
I remember the housing scheme
where we both stayed.
The same houses, different homes,
where the choices were made.
I don't know exactly why they moved,
but anyway they went.
Something about a three-apartment
and a cheaper rent.
But from the top deck of the high-school bus
I'd glimpse among the others on the corner
Mary's father, mufflered, contrasting strangely
with the elegant greyhounds by his side.
He didn't believe in high school education,
especially for girls,
or in forking out for uniforms.
Ten years later on a Saturday-
I am coming from the library-
sitting near me on the bus,
Mary
with a husband who is tall,
curly haired, has eyes
for no one else but Mary.
Her arms are round the full-shaped vase
that is her body.
Oh, you can see where the attraction lies
in Mary's life-
not that I envy her, really.
And I am coming from the library
with my arms full of books.
I think of those prizes that were ours for the taking
and wonder when the choices got made
we don't remember making.