Posts tagged ‘poem’

Friday, 6 August 2021

Poem by Carl Rakosi

The ants came
to investigate
the dead
bull snake,
nibbled
at the viscera
and hurried off
with full mouths
waving wild
antennae.

Moths alighted,
beetles swarmed,
flies buzzed
in the stomach.

Three crows
tugged and tore
and flew off
to their oak tree
with the skin.

In every house
men, women and children
were chewing beef

Who was it said
“The wonder of the world
is its comprehensibility”?

From: https://www.poeticous.com/carl-rakosi/poem-the-ants-came

Date: 1971

By: Carl Rakosi (1903-2004)

Tuesday, 11 December 2018

Poem [This Poem Is Not Addressed to You] by Donald Justice

This poem is not addressed to you.
You may come into it briefly,
But no one will find you here, no one.
You will have changed before the poem will.

Even while you sit there, unmovable,
You have begun to vanish. And it does not matter.
The poem will go on without you.
It has the spurious glamor of certain voids.

It is not sad, really, only empty.
Once perhaps it was sad, no one knows why.
It prefers to remember nothing.
Nostalgias were peeled from it long ago.

Your type of beauty has no place here.
Night is the sky over this poem.
It is too black for stars.
And do not look for any illumination.

You neither can nor should understand what it means.
Listen, it comes without guitar,
Neither in rags nor any purple fashion.
And there is nothing in it to comfort you.

Close your eyes, yawn. It will be over soon.
You will forget the poem, but not before
It has forgotten you. And it does not matter.
It has been most beautiful in its erasures.

O bleached mirrors! Oceans of the drowned!
Nor is one silence equal to another.
And it does not matter what you think.
This poem is not addressed to you.

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57598/poem-this-poem-is-not-addressed-to-you

Date: 1973

By: Donald Justice (1925-2004)

Monday, 12 February 2018

Poem by Julian Orde Abercrombie

The morning weaves
A piece of bone
To a branch of fingers,
But the rain
Blurs the sea-shift
Twists the cone,
And now this hand
Is bone again.

From: http://www.pnreview.co.uk/cgi-bin/scribe?item_id=7787

Date: 19??

By: Julian Orde Abercrombie (1917-1974)

Thursday, 7 January 2016

Poem by Keston Sutherland

As life were or were not
put by distemper inter
mixed beyond claim or
my correct order, move to
remantle gently; be where
always and the turn from
always lately gives in
tact benefit. Still be
lied by deed the slight
purview beside
you says you
fit throughout, where
finally who knows, is us loved.

From: http://jacketmagazine.com/03/suth.html

Date: 1997

By: Keston Sutherland (1976- )

Monday, 8 September 2014

Cupid Thrown into the South-Sea* by Allan Ramsay

Myrtilla1, as like Venus‘ sell2,
As e’er an Egg was like anither,
Anes3 Cupid met upon the Mall,
And took her for his bonny Mither.

He wing’d his way up to her breast:
She started, he cry’d, Mam, ’tis me;
The Beauty, in o’er rash a Jest
Flang4 the Arch-Gytling5 in South-Sea.

Frae thence he raise wi’ gilded Wings,
His Bow and Shafts to Gowd were chang’d;
Deel’s i’ the sea, quoth he, it dings6;
Syne7 back to Mall and Park he rang’d.

Breathing Mischief, the God look’d gurly8,
With Transfers a’ his Darts were feather’d;
He made a horrid hurly burly,
Where Beaus and Belles were thickest gather’d.

He tentily9 Myrtilla sought,
And in the thrang10 Change-Alley11 got her;
He drew his Bow, and quick, as Thought
With a braw12 new Subscription13 shot her.

*This poem is about the South Sea Bubble which began in 1711 with the creation of the South Sea Company and led to a financial crash in 1720 that ruined many investors

1Myrtilla – myrtle is one of the plants associated with Venus
2Sell – self
3Anes – once
4Flang – threw
5Gytling – rascal, rogue, vagabond, bastard
6Dings – beats, pushes, shoves
7Syne – then
8Gurly – stormy, bitter, bleak
9Tentily – carefully, attentively
10Thrang – crowded
11Change-Alley – Stock Exchange
12Braw – great, big, large
13Subscription – way of raising funds on the Stock Exchange

From: Ramsay, Allan, Poems, Mercury: Edinburgh, 1720, p. 287.
(https://archive.org/stream/poemsbyallanrams00rams#page/286/mode/2up)

Date: 1720

By: Allan Ramsay (1686-1758)

Friday, 27 June 2014

Poem by John Gray

TO ARTHUR EDMONDS

Geranium, houseleek, laid in oblong beds
On the trim grass. The daisies’ leprous stain
Is fresh. Each night the daisies burst again,
Though every day the gardener crops their heads.

A wistful child, in foul unwholesome shreds,
Recalls some legend of a daisy chain
That makes a pretty necklace. She would fain
Make one, and wear it, if she had some threads.

Sun, leprous flowers, foul child. The asphalt burns.
The garrulous sparrows perch on metal Burns.
Sing! Sing! they say, and flutter with their wings.
He does not sing, he only wonders why
He is sitting there. The sparrows sing. And I
Yield to the strait allure of simple things.

From: Gray, John, Silverpoints, 1893, Elkin Matthews and John Lane: London.
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/21211/21211-h/21211-h.htm)

Date: 1893

By: John Gray (1866-1934)

Sunday, 29 September 2013

Poem by Barbara Alison Boodson Neville

I do not want to be your weeping woman
holding you to me with a chain of grief.

I could more easily bear the flames of your anger
than the frost of your kisses empty of desire:

I do not want to be your gentle lover
dragging you to me on a rope of pity.

Sooner that you never touched me than that you ever
should touch me from a distance made of mercy:

I do not want to be your silent mother
always forgiving and smiling and never loving.

If you forget me, forget me utterly. Never
come to my arms without interest: I shall know it:

I do not want to be your weeping woman
pinning you to me with a sword of tears.

From: Rexroth, Kenneth (ed.) The New British Poets. An Anthology, 1947, New Directions: London, pp. 19-20.
(http://archive.org/stream/newbritishpoets030038mbp#page/n63/mode/2up)

Date: 1947

By: Barbara Alison Boodson Neville (1925-1993)

Saturday, 21 September 2013

Poem by Lawrence George Durrell

Find time hanging, cut it down
All the universe you own.

Masterless and still untamed
Poet, lead the race you’ve shamed.

Lover, cut the rational knot
That made your thinking rule-of-thumb.

And barefoot on the plum-dark hills
Go Wander in Elysium.

From: Durrell, Lawrence, The Poetry of Lawrence Durrell, 1962, E P Dutton & Co Inc: New York, p. 7.
(http://archive.org/stream/poetryoflawrence00durr#page/6/mode/2up)

Date: 1955

By: Lawrence George Durrell (1912-1990)

Saturday, 22 June 2013

Poem by Muriel Rukeyser

I lived in the first century of world wars.
Most mornings I would be more or less insane,
The newspapers would arrive with their careless stories,
The news would pour out of various devices
Interrupted by attempts to sell products to the unseen.
I would call my friends on other devices;
They would be more or less mad for similar reasons.
Slowly I would get to pen and paper,
Make my poems for others unseen and unborn.
In the day I would be reminded of those men and women,
Brave, setting up signals across vast distances,
Considering a nameless way of living, of almost unimagined values.
As the lights darkened, as the lights of night brightened,
We would try to imagine them, try to find each other,
To construct peace, to make love, to reconcile
Waking with sleeping, ourselves with each other,
Ourselves with ourselves. We would try by any means
To reach the limits of ourselves, to reach beyond ourselves,
To let go the means, to wake.

I lived in the first century of these wars.

From: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/177125

Date: 1968

By: Muriel Rukeyser (1913-1980)

Friday, 8 June 2012

Poem by John Cornford

Heart of the heartless world,
Dear heart, the thought of you
Is the pain at my side,
The shadow that chills my view.

The wind rises in the evening,
Reminds that autumn is near.
I am afraid to lose you,
I am afraid of my fear.

On the last mile to Huesca,
The last fence for our pride,
Think so kindly, dear, that I
Sense you at my side.

And if bad luck should lay my strength
Into the shallow grave,
Remember all the good you can;
Don’t forget my love.

From: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2010/oct/25/poem-of-the-week-john-cornford

Date: 1936

By: John Cornford (1915-1936)