Thursday, October 8, 2009

National Poetry Day (in England)

 Sage Francis, a modern poet
How much more Nonpopulist can you get than National Poetry Day?
I wrote my first poem when I was 16. I wrote my second poem when I was 16. The second one was so bad that I did not write any more until college. I have always enjoyed good poetry. Rhythmic verse is not as much of a commitment as a novel, but a good poem can still stir the emotions. Some of my favorite poets are W.B. Yeats, Dylan Thomas, ee cummings, Charles Bukowski, and Langston Hughes. There are too many to name them all. I encourage you, though, get some damn culture in your life. Read a poem!
Here are a few selections after the jump:

Life is Fine
By Langston Hughes
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.

But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!

I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.

But it was High up there! It was high!

So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

The Tables Turned

William Wordsworth

Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you'll grow double.
Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble. . . .

Books! 'tis a dull and endless trifle:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it. . . .

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things--
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art,
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives. 

No comments:

Post a Comment