Recommend a Poem

[Mister_Song]

This poem has always struck a chord with me because it captures an echo of what new love and sex and exploration feel like.

I Like My Body When It Is With Your Body by e.e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your

body. It is so quite new a thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body. i like what it does,

i like its hows. i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling

-firm-smooth ness and which i will

again and again and again

kiss, i like kissing this and that of your,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

 

[Mister_Song]

This was the first poem I ever read by Atwood. I was stunned by her imagery and honesty and launched into a ravenous exploration of her other work. I never found anything that resonated with me in quite the way that this one did, but this set a high bar.

Variation on the Word Sleep by Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

 

[Mister_Song]

This Is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

 

[Piscator]

This was the first poem I ever read by Atwood. I was stunned by her imagery and honesty and launched into a ravenous exploration of her other work. I never found anything that resonated with me in quite the way that this one did, but this set a high bar.

Variation on the Word Sleep by Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

As an undergrad, I attended an Atwood reading, although I don't rember what was read. I came across this in "Lords of Winter and Love" a collection of Canadian love poems edited by Barry Callaghan. It is the first poem in the book, and yes it blew me away too. I also liked her poem "Water and Worship: an open air service on the Gatineau River" (p 12) but then I am a bit of an aquaholic.

 

[Piscator]

Falling Awake

by Alice Oswald

It is the story of falling rain
to turn to leaf and fall again

it is the secret of a summer shower
to steal the light and hide in flower

and every flower a tiny tributary
the from the ground flows green and momentary

is one of water's wishes and this tale
hangs in a seehead smaller than my thumbnail

and if I a passerby could pass
as clear as water through a pane of glass

to find the sunlight hidden at the tip
turning to seed a kind of lifting rain drip

then I might know like water how to balance
the weight of hope against the light of patience.

water which is so raw so earthy-strong
and lurks in cast iron tanks and leaks along

drawn under gravity towards tiny tongue
to cool and fill the pipework of this song

which is the story of the falling rain
that rises to the light and falls again
__________________________________________________________
This poem is so wonderfully crafted it drives me to despair at my drivel. My son, an engineer, said "Oh it the water cycle" which it is, but also so much more.

I read of Oswald's new book in the NY Times Book Review but felt I should read "Memorial" first and it is on my to read table. Then I came across the book in a bookstore while waiting for my partner, read the first page and had to buy it too.

A slim volume, I am reading it slowly, one delectable morsel at a time.

 

[Mister_Song]

As an undergrad, I attended an Atwood reading, although I don't rember what was read. I came across this in "Lords of Winter and Love" a collection of Canadian love poems edited by Barry Callaghan. It is the first poem in the book, and yes it blew me away too. I also liked her poem "Water and Worship: an open air service on the Gatineau River" (p 12) but then I am a bit of an aquaholic.

I haven't read Water and Worship, but I'm intrigued now. Thanks for pointing it out.

 

[RosyStrife]

Yes

by William Stafford
from Passwords, 1991

It could happen any time, tornado,
earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.
Or sunshine, love, salvation.

It could, you know. That’s why we wake
and look out—no guarantees
in this life.

But some bonuses, like morning,
like right now, like noon,
like evening.

 

[lorencino]

The Windhover

source
Though I am an atheist, this Catholic priest has remained my favorite English poet for most of my life. Eschewing the traditional English method of coining new words by borrowing from other languages, Hopkins used the Germanic custom of compounding existing words to create a new meaning which often creates unexpected rhythms that complement the meaning he is intending. Hopkins also uses word order that ties the rhythm to his meaning. This is my favorite of Hopkin's poems because of that third line which arouses gooseflesh and sometimes even a lump in my throat for the way I can absolutely experience what is being described and I am that bird in subsequent lines and feel what I imagine the bird is feeling as it performs in the sky “— the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!”

And even as Hopkins uses this to express his religious love of his Saviour (“O my chevalier!”), I am able to derive from this poem a thrill at the sheer wonder of existing.

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918.

12. The Windhover

To Christ our Lord

I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing, 5
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion 10
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.​

Before submitting this i looked at the note for the poem and discovered that not only is this my favorite but that Hopkins considered it the best thing he ever wrote:

“ ‘The Windhover. (Falling paeonic rhythm, sprung and outriding.)’ Two contemporary autographs in A.—Text and dedication from corrected B, dated St. Beuno’s, May 30, 1877.—In a letter June 22, ’79: ‘I shall shortly send you an amended copy of The Windhover: the amendment only touches a single line, I think, but as that is the best thing I ever wrote I should like you to have it in its best form.’ ”

 

[Equinoxe]

I thought I would share a few poems by Li Qingzhao.

Some background:
Li Qingzhao (1084-~1155) is generally considered one of the finest exponents of the 'elegant, restrained' style of Ci and one the greatest poets in Chinese history. Ci is a form of classical Chinese poetry which has its origins in folk songs; these became patterns of strict metre, rhyme scheme, and character length used as a formal template for original composition. There are over 1100 such types known (I've denoted type below in brackets). It has origins dating back to the Sui Dynasty (581-618), though the earliest surviving poems in the style are by Li Bai (701–762)—who is better known for his mastery of Shi, which dominated Tang Dynasty (618-907) poetry—but reached its height during the Song Dynasty (960-1279).

Li Qingzhao herself wrote an essay on Ci, explaining differences, as she saw them, between Ci and Shi. In short, she summarised the expressive differences by noting that Shi express will, Ci express feeling.

Unfortunately, form does not translate well and formal aspects of Chinese poetry simply do not fit English, but fortunately they retain incredible charm even in translation.


Spring Thoughts [Charm of the Maiden Singer]
by Li Qingzhao, tr. Wang Jiaosheng

Slanting wind, misty rain
Once more assail a courtyard bleak and desolate.
The double-gate needs must be shut.
Favorite flowers, darling willows:
Cold Food Day approaches,
With unsettling weather in all its changing moods.
I finish a poem with difficult rhymes,
Sober up from the fumes of strong wine
With a queer sense of listlessness.
My multitude of thoughts—who will convey them
Now the wild geese have all winged out of sight?

Spring chill fills the upper rooms,
For days on end the curtains are drawn on all sides:
I am too languid to lean over the balustrade.
The incense burnt out, my quilts feel cold
As I wake from a new dream.
No dawdling in bed for one who comes to grief
When Spring is calling with all its diversions:
Young parasol-trees sprout new leaves;
Clear dew trickles in the first flush of dawn.
Now the sun is riding high, the fog withdraws.
Still I'd rather wait,
To see whether the day will really be fine.


It's the poem's sheer human-ness that perhaps strikes me most. Such a vivid picture she paints—it is so easy to imagine the time, and one so familiar, even now so many centuries later. It seems like all aspects of human existence perfectly expressed for a moment: the world around us, the world inside of us, action and inaction, feeling and behaviour, the individual and the world; and who does not themselves remember such a day?


Banana Trees [Picking Mulberry Seeds]
by Li Qingzhao, tr. Wang Jiaosheng

Who planted the banana trees in front of my casement,
Filling the courtyard with shadows,
With shadows?
Each leaf a heart brimming over with love
As it closes or unfolds.

Patter of midnight rain on the leaves
Haunting the pillow—
Dripping ceaselessly,
Dripping ceaselessly.
Dismal sounds, painful memories:
An outcast from the North in the throes of sorrow
Cannot bear to sit up and listen.


Here some background is perhaps needed: in 1127, the Jurchens invaded and seized control of northern China. The Imperial family and as much of the aristocracy as could, including Li Qingzhao and her husband, fled south (marking the split between the Northern and Southern Song Dynasty periods). Shortly thereafter, in 1129, her husband died, leaving her alone and in a strange place.

Banana trees only grow in the south—the northern climate being unsuitable—and so they served her an unwelcome reminder of that fact; they were a living symbol of her exile and the reality that she could never return home. I find it such a powerful, and unique, image.

 

[Piscator]

Thanks to Equinoxe for bringing forward the works of Li Qingzhao. In spite of the shackles of translation, her voice is clear.

I am regularly surprised by the level and depth of discussion in Poetry Feedback and Discussion.

 

[Piscator]

Sorry double post

 

[greenmountaineer]

Thanks to Equinoxe for bringing forward the works of Li Qingzhao. In spite of the shackles of translation, her voice is clear.

I am regularly surprised by the level and depth of discussion in Poetry Feedback and Discussion.

I too am enjoying this thread, Piscator. The poster's comment adds a perspective to the poem, worth thinking about, even if I don't always agree with what's written.

It would be fun to workshop one of these. Although lurking now, I'd like to post a favorite in the future, add my own comments, and encourage others to do so. When you look at a poem through different lenses, I think it's an effective way to improve your own writing. I know it has mine.

 

[The_Soloist]

Catullus 16

Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,
Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,
qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,
quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.
nam castum esse decet pium poetam
ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est;
qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem,
si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici,
et quod pruriat incitare possunt,
non dico pueris, sed his pilosis
qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.
vos, quod milia multa basiorum
legistis, male me marem putatis?
pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.

It's a poet's response to criticism. I have never found a translation I adored. Most translations strike me as too mild. Here is a taste of the meaning.

I will sodomize you and skull fuck you,
Aurelius the bottom and catamite Furius,
you who think that because my little poems
have gone soft how I must not be too upright.
It's true: the godly poet should be chaste,
though the verses needn't be so.
In fact, they have wit and charm,
and if they are sensitive and immodest,
they are able to incite an itch,
not in boys, but in hairy old men
who can't move their stiff thighs.
Just because you read about many thousand kisses,
do you think I am not a real man?
I will sodomize you and skull fuck you.

 

[Equinoxe]

Thanks to Equinoxe for bringing forward the works of Li Qingzhao.

You are very welcome! I am always eager to evangelise for East Asian poetry.

 

[Hard_Rom]

A classic words to live by poem by a master.

'If' by Rudyard Kipling

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!

 

[Angeline]

I highly recommend the poetry in the latest issue of Frigg Magazine. I especially like (more like am wowed by) the poems by Tanner Lee, but everything there is well worth a read.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I highly recommend the poetry in the latest issue of Frigg Magazine. I especially like (more like am wowed by) the poems by Tanner Lee, but everything there is well worth a read.

Sanity is so me!!

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

I highly recommend the poetry in the latest issue of Frigg Magazine. I especially like (more like am wowed by) the poems by Tanner Lee, but everything there is well worth a read.

Would you say those are ghazals? They really are fantastic.

 

[Angeline]

Would you say those are ghazals? They really are fantastic.

They're not id'd as such so who knows? I can see where one would think they are though--- modern ghazals.

Our favorite poetry editor is doing great, eh?

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

They're not id'd as such so who knows? I can see where one would think they are though--- modern ghazals.

Our favorite poetry editor is doing great, eh?

WOW! It's Dennis, I didn't know.

 

[Angeline]

WOW! It's Dennis, I didn't know.

Yep. He has been their poetry editor for years now. He's very good at it, of course. I was really blown away by the poems in this issue.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

At the Intersection

 

[Piscator]

At the Intersection

Game, set. match

 

[legerdemer]

At the Intersection

Ouch!!

 

[Trixareforkids]

At the Intersection

Ooh what fun!