poetry
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EP Millstone
- Posts: 1048
- Joined: October 20th, 2022, 9:40 am
- Location: The Western Hemisphere
Re: poetry
I think it's time for a poem by H.D.
Oread
BY H.D.
Whirl up, sea—
whirl your pointed pines,
splash your great pines
on our rocks,
hurl your green over us,
cover us with your pools of fir.
Oread
BY H.D.
Whirl up, sea—
whirl your pointed pines,
splash your great pines
on our rocks,
hurl your green over us,
cover us with your pools of fir.
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Detective Jim McLeod
- Posts: 865
- Joined: December 2nd, 2022, 12:26 pm
- Location: New York
Re: poetry
My favorite poetic moment in film- Splendor In The Grass, excerpt form "Ode-Intimations Of Immortality From Recollections Of Early Childhood"
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Re: poetry
Poor Cordelia. She has been disowned by her father, the King, because she did not flatter him like her two sisters did. She is now up for grabs. The Duke of Burgundy respectfully declines but the King of France is set to take her up.
**
Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:
Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect
My love should kindle to inflamed respect.
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy
Can buy this unprized precious maid of me.
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
Thou losest here, a better where to find.
**
King Lear : I i
**
Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:
Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect
My love should kindle to inflamed respect.
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy
Can buy this unprized precious maid of me.
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
Thou losest here, a better where to find.
**
King Lear : I i
The Shining Hour (1938)
Re: poetry
A Passer-by
de Charles Baudelaire
The deafening street around me roared.
Tall, slim, in deep mourning, majestic grief,
A woman passed, lifting and swinging
With a pompous gesture the hem and flounces of her skirt,
Swift and noble, with statue limbs.
For me, I drank, twitching like a wretch,
From her eye, livid sky where hurricanes are born,
A softness that fascinates and a pleasure that kills,
A brief glimpse, and then away! O fleeting beauty,
By whose glance I was suddenly reborn,
Shall I see you again only in eternity?
Somewhere else, way too far from here! Too late! Perhaps never!
For I know not where you flee, and you know not where I go,
O you whom I might have loved, O you whom might have known!
de Charles Baudelaire
The deafening street around me roared.
Tall, slim, in deep mourning, majestic grief,
A woman passed, lifting and swinging
With a pompous gesture the hem and flounces of her skirt,
Swift and noble, with statue limbs.
For me, I drank, twitching like a wretch,
From her eye, livid sky where hurricanes are born,
A softness that fascinates and a pleasure that kills,
A brief glimpse, and then away! O fleeting beauty,
By whose glance I was suddenly reborn,
Shall I see you again only in eternity?
Somewhere else, way too far from here! Too late! Perhaps never!
For I know not where you flee, and you know not where I go,
O you whom I might have loved, O you whom might have known!
The Shining Hour (1938)
Re: poetry
THE DOG AND CAT.
A dog and cat, messmates for life,
Were often falling into strife,
Which came to scratching, growls, and snaps,
And spitting in the face, perhaps.
A neighbour dog once chanced to call
Just at the outset of their brawl,
And, thinking Tray was cross and cruel,
To snarl so sharp at Mrs. Mew-well,
Growl'd rather roughly in his ear.
'And who are you to interfere?'
Exclaim'd the cat, while in his face she flew;
And, as was wise, he suddenly withdrew.
It seems, in spite of all his snarling,
And hers, that Tray was still her darling.
Jean de La Fontaine (1621-1695)
A dog and cat, messmates for life,
Were often falling into strife,
Which came to scratching, growls, and snaps,
And spitting in the face, perhaps.
A neighbour dog once chanced to call
Just at the outset of their brawl,
And, thinking Tray was cross and cruel,
To snarl so sharp at Mrs. Mew-well,
Growl'd rather roughly in his ear.
'And who are you to interfere?'
Exclaim'd the cat, while in his face she flew;
And, as was wise, he suddenly withdrew.
It seems, in spite of all his snarling,
And hers, that Tray was still her darling.
Jean de La Fontaine (1621-1695)
The Shining Hour (1938)
Re: poetry
For Bryher And Perdita
by H.D.
They said:
she is high and far and blind
in her high pride,
but now that my head is bowed
in sorrow, I find
she is most kind.
We have taken life, they said,
blithely, not groped in a mist
for things that are not--
are if you will, but bloodless--
why ask happiness of the dead?
and my heart bled.
Ah, could they know
how violets throw strange fire,
red and purple and gold,
how they glow
gold and purple and red
where her feet tread.
by H.D.
They said:
she is high and far and blind
in her high pride,
but now that my head is bowed
in sorrow, I find
she is most kind.
We have taken life, they said,
blithely, not groped in a mist
for things that are not--
are if you will, but bloodless--
why ask happiness of the dead?
and my heart bled.
Ah, could they know
how violets throw strange fire,
red and purple and gold,
how they glow
gold and purple and red
where her feet tread.
Re: poetry
Swithin wrote: ↑July 25th, 2023, 8:17 pmNo, it's Hilda Doolittle, the even more famous poet better known as H.D.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/h-d
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Detective Jim McLeod
- Posts: 865
- Joined: December 2nd, 2022, 12:26 pm
- Location: New York
Re: poetry
In The World Of Henry Orient (1964) Val (Tippy Walker) tells her friend Marian (Merrie Spaeth) about a poem she wrote for her crush (Peter Sellers)
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
Val says "I had a little help from Elizabeth Barrett Browning."
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
Val says "I had a little help from Elizabeth Barrett Browning."