Interesting Words for The Day

Originally posted by Grampy Bobby
Poetry

Billy Collins

Flannery o'Connor


'It's the birthday of the writer who said, "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you odd," and "Where you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to never was there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it." She didn't want a biography written about her because, she said, "Lives spent between the house and the chicken yard do not make exciting copy." That's Flannery O'Connor, born in Savannah, Georgia (1925). When she was five years old, she trained a chicken to walk backward, and a newsreel company came to her house to make a film about it, which was shown all over the country. She said, "I was just there to assist the chicken but it was the high point in my life. Everything since has been anticlimax."

She spent much of her life on her family farm in Milledgeville, Georgia, raising poultry and writing novels and short stories: Wise Blood (1952), The Violent Bear It Away (1960), A Good Man Is Hard to Find (1955), and Everything That Rises Must Converge (1965). This last book of short stories was published after her death in 1964, at the age of 39, from complications of lupus.'

.

"The Sick Rose"


O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

By William Blake
From "Poems of Innocence and Eperience"

Funeral Blues


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 crepe 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 forever: 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 woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


W. H. Auden

Originally posted by Grampy Bobby
[b]Funeral Blues

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.

....


W. H. Auden[/b]

Originally posted by lolof
It's a beautiful poem which we can hear in the British film "Four weddings and a funeral".

To Earthward


Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of- was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?

I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.

Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,

The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.


Robert Frost

I rörelse

Den mätta dagen, den är aldrig störst.
Den bästa dagen är en dag av törst.

Nog finns det mål och mening i vår färd -
men det är vägen, som är mödan värd.

Det bästa målet är en nattlång rast,
där elden tänds och brödet bryts i hast.

På ställen, där man sover blott en gång,
blir sömnen trygg och drömmen full av sång.

Bryt upp, bryt upp! Den nya dagen gryr.
Oändligt är vårt stora äventyr.

~ Karin Boye, Swedish poet


IN MOTION

The sated day is never first.
The best day is a day of thirst.

Yes, there is goal and meaning in our path -
but it's the way that is the labour's worth.

The best goal is a night-long rest,
fire lit, and bread broken in haste.

In places where one sleeps but once,
sleep is secure, dreams full of songs.

Strike camp, strike camp! The new day shows its light.
Our great adventure has no end in sight.

~ translation David McDuff

An Old Man's Winter Night


All out of doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him -- at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off; -- and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
So late-arising, to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
One aged man -- one man -- can't keep a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It's thus he does it of a winter night.


Robert Frost

Neither Out Far Nor In Deep


The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.

As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull.

The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be---
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.

They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?


Robert Frost

My thanks to each of you who have contributed to this thread.


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Originally posted by Grampy Bobby
My thanks to each of you who have contributed to this thread.


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R.I.P. "Interesting Words for the Day". As the mighty Beethoven said on his deathbed, "Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est" (Applaud, friends, the comedy is over).

Or......"Do not go gentle into that good night / Rage, rage against the dying of the light" (Dylan Thomas.

Which is it to be?

Gb, the hushed world awaits your judgement, the butterfly's wings are silent in anticipation.....

Originally posted by Pianoman1
R.I.P. "Interesting Words for the Day". As the mighty Beethoven said on his deathbed, "Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est" (Applaud, friends, the comedy is over).

Or......"Do not go gentle into that good night / Rage, rage against the dying of the light" (Dylan Thomas.

Which is it to be?

Gb, the hushed world awaits your judgement, the butterfly's wings are silent in anticipation.....

Originally posted by Pianoman1
R.I.P. "Interesting Words for the Day". As the mighty Beethoven said on his deathbed, "Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est" (Applaud, friends, the comedy is over).