Dead Poet's Society.

[DennisMenace]

That wasp thing

Wasp, reminds me of the novel called "A Severed Wasp", by Madeleine L'engle, about a man who had his manhood removed from an accident, so to speak. The idea was so painful that I didn't get that far through the book, lol. L'engle is known more for her children's books, but this one was definitely not for children.

As far as Dead Poets' Society, I saw it way back when it came out, and I remember being interested in it's story line, but I sure can't remember much about it now. And that was before I was infected with the poetry bug also. I'll have to rent it sometime this summer.

 

[SensualMale]

It's an interesting movie. Watch it.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
To-morrow will be dying.


Robert Herrick (1591-1674)

 

[wildsweetone]

Now When The Number Of My Years

NOW when the number of my years
Is all fulfilled, and I
From sedentary life
Shall rouse me up to die,
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.

Clear was my soul, my deeds were free,
Honour was called my name,
I fell not back from fear
Nor followed after fame.
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.

Bury me low in valleys green
And where the milder breeze
Blows fresh along the stream,
Sings roundly in the trees -
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.

Robert Louis Stevenson

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Now When The Number Of My Years

NOW when the number of my years
Is all fulfilled, and I
From sedentary life
Shall rouse me up to die,
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.

Clear was my soul, my deeds were free,
Honour was called my name,
I fell not back from fear
Nor followed after fame.
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.

Bury me low in valleys green
And where the milder breeze
Blows fresh along the stream,
Sings roundly in the trees -
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.

Robert Louis Stevenson

very nice~
those who find rhyme juvenile are narrow minded and obviously do not like old poems <grin I found favor in this poem after reading it twice.


Susanna Moodie (1803-1885)

The Dying Hunter to his Dog


Lie down -- lie down! -- my noble hound,
That joyful bark give o'er;
It wakes the lonely echoes round,
But rouses me no more --
Thy lifted ears, thy swelling chest,
Thy eyes so keenly bright,
No longer kindle in my breast
The thrill of fierce delight;
When following thee on foaming steed
My eager soul outstripped thy speed --


Lie down -- lie down -- my faithful hound!
And watch this night by me,
For thee again the horn shall sound
By mountain, stream, and tree;
And thou along the forest glade,
Shall track the flying deer
When cold and silent, I am laid
In chill oblivion here.
Another voice shall cheer thee on,
And glory when the chase is won.


Lie down -- lie down! -- my gallant hound!
Thy master's life is sped;
Go -- couch thee on the dewy ground --
'Tis thine to watch the dead.
But when the blush of early day
Is kindling up the sky,
Then speed thee, faithful friend, away,
And to thy mistress hie;
And guide her to this lonely spot,
Though my closed eyes behold her not --


Lie down -- lie down! -- my trusty hound!
Death comes, and we must part --
In my dull ear strange murmurs sound --
More faintly throbs my heart;
The many twinkling lights of heaven
Scarce glimmer in the blue --
Chill round me falls the breath of even,
Cold on my brow the dew;
Earth, stars, and heavens, are lost to sight --
The chase is o'er! -- brave friend, good night!

 

[wildsweetone]

very nice~
those who find rhyme juvenile are narrow minded and obviously do not like old poems <grin

is this a good time to mention that i prefer to read poetry that doesn't rhyme?

*gulp*

can't help it. it's just that constant rhyme seems to force the rhymed words to have impact - no matter what the words are... i find they overrule the message of the poem for me.

there are a couple of poems that i've read that the rhyme did not stick me between the eyes. typically, i forgot to keep note of them. --- i learn the hard way.

however, by participating in this thread, i've forced myself to read and hunt out poems that rhyme (as it seems most Dead Poets that i recognise as poets were all form writers).

 

[My Erotic Trail]

is this a good time to mention that i prefer to read poetry that doesn't rhyme?

*gulp*

can't help it. it's just that constant rhyme seems to force the rhymed words to have impact - no matter what the words are... i find they overrule the message of the poem for me.

there are a couple of poems that i've read that the rhyme did not stick me between the eyes. typically, i forgot to keep note of them. --- i learn the hard way.

however, by participating in this thread, i've forced myself to read and hunt out poems that rhyme (as it seems most Dead Poets that i recognise as poets were all form writers).

<laughing>
I thought every one liked poems <grin... that rhyme.

I will have to place this poem here now in light of our difference <grin

The Same Difference~
(excerpt from YDD is a Ying Yang by My Erotic Tail)

Every living creature on this planet is the same.,.
We have life!
Yet every creature is different...

Every living creature has the same destiny...
Death!
Yet we will all die differently.

Every creature will hunger and thirst
But for different things.

We are all bound to this Earth...
But our ties are different.

We are all like the buds of a rose bush.
We will all bloom at different times.

The rose has its beauty that we wish to see,
but if we get pricked do we not bleed?

But the one thing we will all do the same?
see this world ...differently!

 

[wildsweetone]

amen to that

 

[wildsweetone]

An October Garden

In my Autumn garden I was fain
To mourn among my scattered roses;
Alas for that last rosebud which uncloses
To Autumn's languid sun and rain
When all the world is on the wane!
Which has not felt the sweet constraint of June,
Nor heard the nightingale in tune.

Broad-faced asters by my garden walk,
You are but coarse compared with roses:
More choice, more dear that rosebud which uncloses
Faint-scented, pinched, upon its stalk,
That least and last which cold winds balk;
A rose it is though least and last of all,
A rose to me though at the fall.

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

<laughing>
I thought every one liked poems <grin... that rhyme.

I will have to place this poem here now in light of our difference <grin

The Same Difference~
(excerpt from YDD is a Ying Yang by My Erotic Tail)

Every living creature on this planet is the same.,.
We have life!
Yet every creature is different...

Every living creature has the same destiny...
Death!
Yet we will all die differently.

Every creature will hunger and thirst
But for different things.

We are all bound to this Earth...
But our ties are different.

We are all like the buds of a rose bush.
We will all bloom at different times.

The rose has its beauty that we wish to see,
but if we get pricked do we not bleed?

But the one thing we will all do the same?
see this world ...differently!

another excerpt.....
My temper was raged and emotions were high,
through literotica threads and comments I did fly.

To hunt down this verman and call him outside.
To find out where and why, YDD did hide.

To challenge him to a dual like the proud Samuri...
To look YDD, eye to eye.

My Comment:
The sense he did rend
the truth he does bend

Fueled by his Ack_O_lites
and others like him
not so brite

zmmmpffft

 

[My Erotic Trail]

another excerpt.....
My temper was raged and emotions were high,
through literotica threads and comments I did fly.

To hunt down this verman and call him outside.
To find out where and why, YDD did hide.

To challenge him to a dual like the proud Samuri...
To look YDD, eye to eye.

My Comment:
The sense he did rend
the truth he does bend

Fueled by his Ack_O_lites
and others like him
not so brite

zmmmpffft

laughing...
you did not read the transition in the poem, you only read what you wanted to, a snail with blinders on <grin

 

[Byron In Exile]

Stanzas written in Dejection
December 1818, Near Naples

(Shelley's first wife, Harriet, had drowned herself; Clara, his baby daughter by Mary Shelley, had just died; and Shelley himself was plagued by ill health, pain, financial worries, and the sense that he had failed as a poet.)



The Sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent might,
The breath of the moist earth is light
Around its unexpanded buds;
Like many a voice of one delight
The winds, the birds, the Ocean-floods;
The City's voice itself is soft, like Solitude's.

I see the Deep's untrampled floor
With green and purple seaweeds strown;
I see the waves upon the shore
Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown;
I sit upon the sands alone;
The lightning of the noontide Ocean
Is flashing round me, and a tone
Arises from its measured motion,
How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.

Alas, I have not hope nor health
Nor peace within nor calm around,
Nor that content surpassing wealth
The sage in meditation found,
And walked with inward glory crowned;
Nor fame nor power nor love nor leisure--
Others I see whom these surround,
Smiling they live and call life pleasure:
To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.

Yet now despair itself is mild,
Even as the winds and waters are;
I could lie down like a tired child
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne and yet must bear
Till Death like Sleep might steal on me,
And I might feel in the warm air
My cheek grow cold, and hear the Sea
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.

Some might lament that I were cold,
As I, when this sweet day is gone,
Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
Insults with this untimely moan--
They might lament,--for I am one
Whom men love not, and yet regret;
Unlike this day, which, when the Sun
Shall on its stainless glory set,
Will linger though enjoyed, like joy in Memory yet.

 

[Liar]

Snail and and MET, afaik, this thread is about dead poets' poems. Yet I see you quote and scribble verses of your own.

If this is an indication that you are, in fact, dead, let me know and I'll send flowers. Or buy garlic and stakes, since you are obviously moving around anyway.

Sorry I can't contribute much to this thread myself. I'm way too illiterate when it comes to the great and old. But I read with much delight. So please go on, peeps.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Snail and and MET, afaik, this thread is about dead poets' poems. Yet I see you quote and scribble verses of your own.

If this is an indication that you are, in fact, dead, let me know and I'll send flowers. Or buy garlic and stakes, since you are obviously moving around anyway.

Sorry I can't contribute much to this thread myself. I'm way too illiterate when it comes to the great and old. But I read with much delight. So please go on, peeps.

I use to force myself to read a poem a day (limited time and so much to do) but now I find delight in finding the time to find a rewarding read. Like treasure hunting, not always able to do this, but weekends usually spawn a trip to the poetry lists of sites I like to read. I am noticing and please correct me if I am wrong, but I see patterns or should I say poetry evolved over the years, changing in styles and topics. Of course it has a lot to do with who your reading but interesting just the same. which raises a lot of questions, like is enjambment a new thing (used more recently) and is ryhme phased out? I notice some sites have more rhyming poems and some sights have few rhyming poems. Some favor old poets and great poems and some are (new wave? << is there a word for the newest poetry in our time? I found this this morning, looking for a poem about farms...

THROUGH the ample open door of the peaceful country barn,
A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding;
And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.

Walt Whitman

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

Snail and and MET, afaik, this thread is about dead poets' poems. Yet I see you quote and scribble verses of your own.

If this is an indication that you are, in fact, dead, let me know and I'll send flowers. Or buy garlic and stakes, since you are obviously moving around anyway.

Sorry I can't contribute much to this thread myself. I'm way too illiterate when it comes to the great and old. But I read with much delight. So please go on, peeps.

I had know idea what this tread was about...but
garlic flowers
and steak would be nice

If you are looking for dead stuff, how about Robert Graves, keeping in the spirit

TO BRING THE DEAD TO LIFE

To bring the dead to life
Is no great magic.
Few are wholly dead:
Blow on a dead man's embers
And a live flame will start.

Let his forgotten griefs be now,
And now his withered hopes;
Subdue your pen to his handwriting
Until it prove as natural
To sign his name as yours.

Limp as he limped,
Swear by the oaths he swore;
If he wore black, affect the same;
If he had gouty fingers,
Be yours gouty too.

Assemble tokens intimate of him --
A ring, a hood, a desk:
Around these elements then build
A home familiar to
The greedy revenant.

So grant him life, but reckon
That the grave which housed him
May not be empty now:
You in his spotted garments
Shall yourself lie wrapped.


Robert Graves

 

[My Erotic Trail]

To the Recluse, Wei Pa


Often in this life of ours we resemble, in our failure to meet, the Shen and
Shang constellations, one of which rises as the other one sets. What lucky
chance is it, then, that brings us together this evening under the light of
this same lamp? Youth and vigor last but a little time. --- Each of us now has
greying temples. Half of the friends we ask each other about are dead, and our
shocked cries sear the heart. Who could have guessed that it would be twenty
years before I sat once more beneath your roof? Last time we parted you were
still unmarried, but now here suddenly is a row of boys and girls who
smilingly pay their respects to their father's old friend. They ask me where I
have come from; but before I have finished dealing with their questions, the
children are hurried off to fetch us wine. Spring chives are cut in the rainy
dark, and there is freshly steamed rice mixed with yellow millet. `Come, we
don't meet often!' you hospitably urge, pouring out ten cupfuls in rapid
succession. That I am still not drunk after ten cups of wine is due to the
strength of the emotion which your unchanging friendship inspires. Tomorrow
the peak will lie between us, and each will be lost to the other, swallowed up
in the world's affairs.

Tu Fu

 

[My Erotic Trail]

MORE STRONG THAN TIME
VICTOR HUGO.

Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;

Since it was given to me to hear one happy while,
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;

Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,
A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days;

I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,
Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.

Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you have frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget.

 

[sugarmountain]

MORE STRONG THAN TIME
VICTOR HUGO.

Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;

Since it was given to me to hear one happy while,
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;

Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,
A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days;

I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,
Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.

Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you have frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget.

Thanks for sharing this one. It's a gem,

 

[My Erotic Trail]

A Poison Tree
by William Blake



I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.


And I watered it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.


And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright ;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,


And into my garden stole
When the night had veil’d the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Alone by Edgar Allen Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I loved — I loved alone —
Then — in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by —
From the thunder and the storm —
And the cloud that took the form
When the rest of Heaven was blue
Of a demon in my view.

The second poem I memorized (the first being Owl and the Pussycat).

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Who says dead poets need be men?

If I recall from the movie, though it has been years ago, the dead poets were required to be born before 1900 (is that right or am I imagining that?) effectively eliminating sylvia plath and other favourites. So... a short fragment from Sappho. (certainly dead before 1900.)

To Andromeda

That country girl has witched your wishes,
all dressed up in her country clothes
and she hasn't got the sense
to hitch her rags above her ankles.

(translated by Jim Powell)

 

[champagne1982]

THE AWAKENING

In the early dawn of happiness
you gave me three kisses
so that I would wake up
to this moment of love

I tried to remember in my heart
what I’d dreamt about
during the night
before I became aware
of this moving
of life

I found my dreams
but the moon took me away
It lifted me up to the firmament
and suspended me there
I saw how my heart had fallen
on your path
singing a song

Between my love and my heart
things were happening which
slowly slowly
made me recall everything

You amuse me with your touch
although I can’t see your hands.
You have kissed me with tenderness
although I haven’t seen your lips
You are hidden from me.

But it is you who keeps me alive

Perhaps the time will come
when you will tire of kisses
I shall be happy
even for insults from you
I only ask that you
keep some attention on me.

The Love Poems of Rumi by
Deepak Chopra (Editor)

 

[My Erotic Trail]

If I recall from the movie, though it has been years ago, the dead poets were required to be born before 1900 (is that right or am I imagining that?) effectively eliminating sylvia plath and other favourites. So... a short fragment from Sappho. (certainly dead before 1900.)

To Andromeda

That country girl has witched your wishes,
all dressed up in her country clothes
and she hasn't got the sense
to hitch her rags above her ankles.

(translated by Jim Powell)

cherries~

the movie: I bought after this thread was made to evaluate and participate with the correct knowledge of what the dead poet's society was.

A group of young men, college or preperation school, learned of the cave where former students would go and read poetry of the dead or past and or classics, they read their own poetry and even invited two girls to join. So, no, I do not believe it was intented for just men <grin and enjoy your posts (~_~)

you too champ~

 

[My Erotic Trail]

SEE IT THROUGH

by Edgar A. Guest (1881-1959)

When you're up against a trouble,
Meet it squarely, face to face;
Lift your chin and set your shoulders,
Plant your feet and take a brace.
When it's vain to try to dodge it,
Do the best that you can do;
You may fail, but you may conquer,
See it through!

Black may be the clouds about you
And your future may seem grim,
But don't let your nerve desert you;
Keep yourself in fighting trim.
If the worst is bound to happen,
Spite of all that you can do,
Running from it will not save you,
See it through!

Even hope may seem but futile,
When with troubles you're beset,
But remember you are facing
Just what other men have met.
You may fail, but fall still fighting;
Don't give up, whate'er you do;
Eyes front, head high to the finish.
See it through!

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

"Rimer"

Rimer, n. A poet regarded with indifference or disesteem.

The rimer quenches his unheeded fires,
The sound surceases and the sense expires.
Then the domestic dog, to east and west,
Expounds the passions burning in his breast.
The rising moon o'er that enchanted land
Pauses to hear and yearns to understand.

Mowbray Myles