I suppose I'd like to think I have a poetic bent or gene or on occasion find myself somewhat poetic. But it ain't so and it's not going to happen. But I do enjoy a good poem when I hear one yet I hear so few good ones. It is a fact there is nothing about me nor anything I do that would suggest anyone knowing me would dare say or suggest, "there goes a poet except for...," and here one might insert anything that points to the fact I am void of any talent in that direction. Truth being I have turned round and round many times, at one time or another, have looked in all directions, looking for something I could do that was satisfying, made me feel good and worth while. I used to be a wannabe in a number in many areas along life's journey, poetic, a good gift of gab, musically inclined, a writer of sorts so I could say what I wanted and could be understood for what I was trying to say. But I have out lived all that. I'll never be anyone important, never demonstrate any creative ability except to say, finally I am satisfied with who and what I have turned out to be. No longer a seeker. I am satisfied that I can read. I'm glad I can hear and enjoy music. I'm not musically inclined but I greatly enjoy playing the different harmonicas. I have been playing all morning on an Ehco harmonica, which is akin to the tremolo. I'm glad I have a great helpmate. Had things been different and had I seized opportunities when they came along and didn't, things might have turned out differently. I am what I am. Had I made better use of my thirty talents I might have been somebody. As it turned out, no need to judge me. One might feel poorly for the girl who married me, and more or less, got stuck with me, but now even she seems to share in the satisfaction of growing old together. Maybe I was the little train that couldn't but somehow, did. I'm happy to have those who would, be my friend, happy to be yours. So, what in the heck did I start out to say anyway? Cheers.
Maybe not a poet, @Bill Boggs but this is certainly some good prose. I especially like this line...………… " I am satisfied with who and what I have turned out to be." What more can any man ask?
John Milton... "On his blindness" When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide; “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?” I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait.” ............................................................................................................................... My college senior lit class 61 years ago.. Has been the heart of my life's philosophy.
OMG... got me started... My Bowdoin fraternity (1954-1958) all male, but date target for any ladies from Swathmore, Skidmore and the best all female schools in the country. New dates were subjected to loving hazing as of their first fraternity party, with this song, sung by all 50 members to the new inductee. Now, you so ugly, Oh so ugly, You some ugly chile. The clothes that you wear are out of style, You look like an ape every time you try to smile, Your teeth are yella, Who's your fella You some ugly chile. Even my dear jeanie was subjected to this, and she remembers it to this day.
Just ran across this clipping, which my mother must have cut out of a magazine. I like it because it's simple, funny, and I don't have to think too much. All I could find is a book of collected works just published in June, 2020. AMAZON Herbert Merrill (1915-1995)
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host, of golden daffodils Beside the lake, beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee A poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude And then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils
Nancy, thank you! thank you!!!! I'm sitting on my work-couch next to a high school English textbook from the 1950s, a modern "Literature to Go" by Michael Meyer, and "The Collected Stories" by Dylan Thomas. I'm re-studying the latter's poetry online. Check out "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night." I hadn't gotten to Wordsworth yet.
A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees. - Wordsworth, "A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal"
Beautiful. You posted this so I'll take you off ignore. It worked, darn ya. What do you think of John Dunne? Where, like a pillow on a bed, A Pregant banke swelled'd up, to rest The violets reclining head, Sat we two, one another's best And whil'st our soules negotiate there, We lay like sepulchrall statues lay; All day, the same our postures were, And wee said nothing , all the day.
Lovely! Also, "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning." The imagery is wonderful, especially the reference to a compass. Together with Alexander Pope and Andrew Marvell, the high end of metaphysical poetry for me. Finally, may I recommend the ff? The New Oxford Book of English Verse, The Viking Book of Poetry of the English-Speaking World (two volumes), World Poetry (Washburn), and several of the Norton anthologies (including the Norton Shakespeare). They serve as very good intros outside text books. (Combine this with Packard's Poet's Dictionary.) Clothbound collections from the Everyman series, including works of Donne, Shelley, Blake, and others, not to mention similar from the Library of America. (Some local stores once began selling new copies at two dollars a copy because no one was buying them; it was like like winning the lotto. I was able to create a large personal library fairly quickly.)
One more thing: I often used multimedia when I taught lit in uni, and mainly because I grew up in such an environment (i.e., not just books but also movies and music). So when I read poems I also read other works (commentaries, art books, etc.) and watch films and listen to music that are historically or thematically connected to what I'm reading. This supplements aesthetic sensibilities while increasing knowledge of our world. For example, when I read works from Shakespeare's sonnets on to Metaphysical and Romantic poets I also remember films like Barry Lyndon and music from personalities like William Byrd: