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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner


From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Randall Jarrell
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

A poem by my favourite Black_American poet James A. Emanuel. It is difficult to think of a more neglected great poet. In 1992, he created a new literary genre called jazz-and-blues haiku.

The Negro

Never saw him.
Never can.
Hypothetical,
Haunting man.

Eyes a-saucer,
Yessir bossir,
Dice a-clicking
Razor flicking.

The-ness froze him
In a dance
A-ness never
Had a chance.
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Temat: Favourite poems:

Michał, this is a wonderful source of inspiration.
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Many thanks, Tatiana. May I close the evening with the best of the best?

The More Loving One by W. H. Auden

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
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Temat: Favourite poems:

Insomniac
The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole . . .
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue . . .
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.

By Sylvia Plath; I wish I could write a poem on my insomnia...
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Tatiana S.:
..... I wish I could write a poem on my insomnia...

Tatiana, if you put this wish into the "I wish.."thread, your dream will surely come true. Just think of all the positive vibs from all the GL members. :)
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Temat: Favourite poems:

http://pl.youtube.com/watch?v=JOy5LOsV6Vs
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Temat: Favourite poems:

Michał B.:
Tatiana S.:
..... I wish I could write a poem on my insomnia...

Tatiana, if you put this wish into the "I wish.."thread, your dream will surely come true. Just think of all the positive vibs from all the GL members. :)

You think someone would read a story to me, or bring me a glass of warm milk?
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

I would!
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Interesting subject to investigate. I imagine that most poets must suffer from insomnia.

Insomnia
© By David J. Egner

Have you ever been in your bed just staring at the ceiling?
Thoughts rushing through your mind with no idea of what you're feeling.
The numbers on the clock seem to laugh in your face.
It would be so much better if these thoughts could be replaced.
The time will soon be four and you have to be up at eight.
When the sun comes up you will kick yourself for staying up so late.
But it wasn't your choice to toss and turn all night.
It's because your mind and body were in a continuous fight.
And it's a no holds barred match, in which the mind likes to fight cheap.
Punching you with thoughts while your body just wants to sleep.
This nightly battle is as bad as Armageddon.
Because you never know which thoughts your mind is going to let in.
Maybe something from early that day or something buried for years.
Maybe a thought that makes you happy or one that brings you to tears.
And just when the battle is over and you curl up cozily on your arm
You close your eyes and scream inside as you listen to the wailing alarm.
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Temat: Favourite poems:

Good to know. My son is coming back Saturday morning. Can I hire you as a bedtime story reader?
When he likes a story, it has to be read to him for the next two months...
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Temat: Favourite poems:

Insomnia
Elizabeth Bishop

The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.

By the Universe deserted,
she'd tell it to go to hell,
and she'd find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well

into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me.
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

That was a cunning trap and I fell into it so easily. :)
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

A short article and three unpublished radio poems of John Betjeman.
He wasn't Evelyn Waugh's favourite poet, to say the least.

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_en...Michał B. edytował(a) ten post dnia 13.09.08 o godzinie 11:22
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

TWO SONGS FOR HEDLI ANDERSON

by W. H. Auden

I
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public
doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

II
O the valley in the summer where I and my John
Beside the deep river would walk on and on
While the flowers at our feet and the birds up above
Argued so sweetly on reciprocal love,
And I leaned on his shoulder; 'O Johnny, let's play':
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O that Friday near Christmas as I well recall
When we went to the Charity Matinee Ball,
The floor was so smooth and the band was so loud
And Johnny so handsome I felt so proud;
'Squeeze me tighter, dear Johnny, let's dance till it's day':
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

Shall I ever forget at the Grand Opera
When music poured out of each wonderful star?
Diamonds and pearls they hung dazzling down
Over each silver and golden silk gown;
'O John I'm in heaven,' I whispered to say:
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O but he was fair as a garden in flower,
As slender and tall as the great Eiffel Tower,
When the waltz throbbed out on the long promenade
O his eyes and his smile they went straight to my heart;
'O marry me, Johnny, I'll love and obey':
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O last night I dreamed of you, Johnny, my lover,
You'd the sun on one arm and the moon on the other,
The sea it was blue and the grass it was green,
Every star rattled a round tambourine;
Ten thousand miles deep in a pit there I lay:
But you frowned like thunder and you went away.

"4 weddings and a Funeral" - You can listen to the poem.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hcAYsJo3-uM

This is also nice:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQiR9h4BY2c&feature=rel...Michał B. edytował(a) ten post dnia 18.09.08 o godzinie 19:19
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

William Henry Davies (1871 - 1940)

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.


Obrazek
Michał B. edytował(a) ten post dnia 24.09.08 o godzinie 14:29
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Rudyard Kipling

IF-

'Brother Square-Toes' - Rewards and Fairies
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Lewis Carroll

Jabberwocky

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!'

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood.
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

'And thou hast slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

Jenny Joseph (1932 - )

Warning!

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me,
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

The poem inspired the Red Hat Society:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Hat_SocietyMichał B. edytował(a) ten post dnia 24.09.08 o godzinie 12:49
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Michal B.

Michal B. stud.

Temat: Favourite poems:

A poem by Rosario Castellanos (Mexican poetess), translated by Magda Bogin

Nocturne

Para vivir es demasiado el tiempo;

Para saber no es nada.
A que vinimos, noche, corazon de la
noche?
No es possible sino sonar, morir,
Sonar que no morimos
Y, a veces, un instante, despertar.

Nocturne

Time is too long for life;
For knowledge not enough.
What have we come for, night, heart of night?
Dream that we do not die
And, at times, for a moment, wake.
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