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Steve Jones

Steve Jones Business English
Trainer, Translator,
Proofreader

Temat: Favourite poems:

White comedy

I waz whitemailed By a white witch,
Wid white magic An white lies,
Branded a white sheep
I slaved as a whitesmith
Near a white spot
Where I suffered whitewater fever.
Whitelisted as a whiteleg
I waz in de white book
As a master of white art,
It waz like white death.
People called me white jack
Some hailed me as white wog,
So I joined de white watch
Trained as a white guard
Lived off de white economy.
Caught and beaten by de white shirts
I waz condemned to a white mass.
Don’t worry, I shall be writing to de Black House.

By Zephaniah
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Thomas Gray "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSd1FH-KT3w&feature=rel...
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Thomas Hardy - "In Time of 'The Breaking of Nations"


Only a man harrowing clods
In a slow silent walk
With an old horse that stumbles and nods
Half asleep as they stalk.

Only thin smoke without flame
From the heaps of couch-grass;
Yet this will go onward the same
Though Dynasties pass.

Yonder a maid and her wight
Come whispering by:
War's annals will cloud into night
Ere their story die.
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Edward Thomas: As the Team's Head-Brass

As the team's head-brass flashed out on the turn
The lovers disappeared into the wood.
I sat among the boughs of the fallen elm
That strewed the angle of the fallow, and
Watched the plough narrowing a yellow square
Of charlock. Every time the horses turned
Instead of treading me down, the ploughman leaned
Upon the handles to say or ask a word,
About the weather, next about the war.
Scraping the share he faced towards the wood,
And screwed along the furrow till the brass flashed
Once more.

The blizzard felled the elm whose crest
I sat in, by a woodpecker's round hole,
The ploughman said. 'When will they take it away?'
'When the war's over.' So the talk began -
One minute and an interval of ten,
A minute more and the same interval.
'Have you been out?' 'No.' 'And don't want to, perhaps?'
'If I could only come back again, I should.
I could spare an arm, I shouldn't want to lose
A leg. If I should lose my head, why, so,
I should want nothing more...Have many gone
From here?' 'Yes.' 'Many lost?' 'Yes, a good few.
Only two teams work on the farm this year.
One of my mates is dead. The second day
In France they killed him. It was back in March,
The very night of the blizzard, too. Now if
He had stayed here we should have moved the tree.'
'And I should not have sat here. Everything
Would have been different. For it would have been
Another world.' 'Ay, and a better, though
If we could see all all might seem good.' Then
The lovers came out of the wood again:
The horses started and for the last time
I watched the clods crumble and topple over
After the ploughshare and the stumbling team.
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Temat: Favourite poems:

Now, my mood can be described by this:

Ode to Matthew Rush's Ass

No, it's not like the top of a peach,

two ripe globes firmly conjoined

sinking toward the center where the hole

of a plucked-out stem lies waiting

in the fold.

Rather, it's like an early bud

erect on its twig, waiting to pop

but still coiled, the flower

shrouded inside.

Like the peach, its purpose

is not in biting or to roll

in you fingers, warmth spilling

over your palm. Instead,

like the bud, it's about

potential, the nectar stored

inside a dark cave to ease

yourself into, unfulfilled,

to drink.
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

My false profile, happy to know that ,when reading posts in this thread, you have already discovered poetry. I'm sure you'll soon come to dicover some really good pieces. I understand, however, that you're still at that childish stage where the more vulgar the poem, the more attractive to you. Will watch your development with great interest. :>)
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Interesting W.H.Auden (around 1935-36)

Song One

My face in a dark prison lay
And blind by life remained
No learning mine nor light of day,
A slave although unchained
Till through my darkness shone a ray
And Lenin’s truth I gained

We never looked upon his face
We never heard his voice
Yet closer than a father he
Much closer to us was

No father for his children did
What LENIN did for us

From darkness thick he made a light
From deserts gardens green
And out of death the life he brought
Through him the [weak] poor have seen.
A million sand grains make a mound
A million corn a sack
A million of the weakest straws
Break the strong camel’s back.

With all he had he took our part
He gave his brain, his blood, his heart.

Song Two

We loved him as we loved our steppes; no [,] more than that.
If he would but return, we would give away our tents and steppes [,]
If he would but return, we would give away our lives.

Never will we forget him; our grandchildren’s grandchildren shall remember
He founded our party of steel; he built it from year to year
Taught it and tempered it; in the stubborn and ceaseless struggle it was tempered
He was tireless in work; his eyes were full of irony and sparking with wisdom
Now he smiles kindly, [deleted “now”] his burning speech is inspiring the masses

He was simple and straight in his manner; the Russians called him just Ilytch
He lived in a hut; in a hut beyond the marshes

Song Three

(Montagu typescript)

in Moscow
in the big
stone city
in a square there
stands a tent
and in it lies
LENIN
and if ever you should
be in sorrow
then go you to this
tent and look
on LENIN
an your grief will pass
away from you, like water (x2)
and your sorrow float away,
like leaves upon the brook
our life is become
sturdy and joyful –
true is our Lenin
path
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Robert Frost ( recited by Alan Bates)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZzUm0wqhE7E&feature=rel...

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.Michal B. edytował(a) ten post dnia 09.06.09 o godzinie 16:42
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Peter Cook as William Wordsworth

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3ZuPR8QQ1g
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

I almost stopped breathing when I read this poem.

R.S. Thomas - "Dream"

In the dream
I gave the bird
freedom. In real life
I told it my dream
in its cage. It

sang then notes
of gold hotter
than my tears punishing
itself for my dream.
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Temat: Favourite poems:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03lbwesCTB0Rafal W. edytował(a) ten post dnia 16.07.09 o godzinie 21:14
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Agnieszka M.

Agnieszka M.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Photograph from September 11

BY WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA

They jumped from the burning floors—
one, two, a few more,
higher, lower.

The photograph halted them in life,
and now keeps them
above the earth toward the earth.

Each is still complete,
with a particular face
and blood well hidden.

There’s enough time
for hair to come loose,
for keys and coins
to fall from pockets.

They’re still within the air’s reach,
within the compass of places
that have just now opened.

I can do only two things for them—
describe this flight
and not add a last line.
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Temat: Favourite poems:

When I die
I would like to become part of the great Salt Marsh.
Return me to the grasses and to the tide levels,
Where there is no death, only the cycles of life.

Make my marker a lush stand of cord grass.
Watch it wave in the breeze,
See how it catches the light,
And think of me.

Rachel Carson.Joj Y. edytował(a) ten post dnia 03.10.09 o godzinie 09:56
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Temat: Favourite poems:

"Me and a million other dudes said "later" to pickin' cotton. Moved North. Learned how to live in a city. Detroit, my Lord, what a place. Singin' in the streets, doggin' them clubs. You want some romance, some sweetness, you scrape togther some change for a quart of chow mein. And a pint of Thunderbird or maybe somethin' weird like cactus wine. You and the lady finish it all up. Got to be chow mein or the magic don't work. Lean the lady up on one of them Pontiacs--we in the fifties now--be sweet, and she slide right down the tailfin and into your arms. Lord bless and keep them automotive engineers. Gave a country boy a reason to sing in that dirty old city."

Wilson "the wicked" PickettJoj Y. edytował(a) ten post dnia 23.09.10 o godzinie 19:15
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