what's the first poem yoou remember as a child...

[Angeline]

I've been thinking on this Butters. Interesting question. I remember my father reciting Ogden Nash poems when I was very young (like kindergarten age or earlier). I especially remember him quoting the Purple Cow poem. And we had a lot of books and went to the library every week so I'm sure I read poems though nothing stands out. I even read Shakespeare in high school, but at the time it made no sense to me--was hard enough trying to figure out the plot much less appreciate the poetry! I do have a very good memory for lyrics though--lotsa Beatles songs and Motown, Broadway musicals, standards, etc.

The first poem that really grabbed me I found in my first year of college, in a book of poems by women from the Middle East. The poem, One Window by Forugh Farrokzhad just gobsmacked me. I made a copy of it and carried it in my wallet for like 18 years. I think it was when I married poetry.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I used to have a lot of pop-up books if you remember them? One that springs to mind was all poems I think but the only one I can call to mind was Hickory dickory dock' and I can still 'see' the mouse running up a Grandfather clock! Perhaps that's where my love of form originated but who knows?

 

[DiskoTroop]

Hailstones and Halibut Bones comes to mind

 

[bogusagain]

If nursery rhymes aren't included, Jerusalem by William Blake. I always thought it was a stupid patriotic song rather than a poem and it took me another twenty years to realise it wasn't patriotic at all but anti-establishment and Blake was a Bonopartist and feared he would be arrested anytime.

 

[pelegrino]

twinkle twinkle in greek? did it predate the early 1700's? interesting wiki about its origins

as for your piece remembered from being 4 years old, it's very tragic! quite dark, even. what a strange piece for a child to become attached to.

I meant the music only here, Butters. The words don’t have to be the same in every language, so in Greek it speaks about the moon rather than a star.
By calling it the oldest Indo-European surviving song, the scholars do know what they talk about in this case, in my opinion:
With whatever words, the melody is present in most European traditions and also in those of Iran and India. Again in my opinion, the functionality of this melody and the major 6chord of its expansion are perfectly done. It chooses the major mode for its message (optimism instead of pessimism) at a time when most folk melodies must have been 5tonic, (in my estimation), it establishes the tonic and the dominant as the most important degrees of the scale and it denotes that simple songs can go beyond that dominant 5th degree to the 6th and so on. Not bad for a lullaby!
Now, its date has nothing to do with our common era. I believe that to be present in so many traditions, this melody must have started forming itself before the immigrations of the Arian race begun in about 4000 BC.

As for my been attached to the rebetico song I quoted, here I thought you made a mistake and probably my translation of the lyrics did not help, but I cannot do any better.
There is nothing tragic or dark about it, or about me singing it as a toddler, at least not in my definition of the word "tragic".
I believe it was first recorded in 1954, and as 1955 is the generally agreed date of rebetiko's death, it is one of the last big hits of that musical era, and it went on been very popular for many years, transgressing subsequent musical fashions and metamorphosing itself to suit "current taste".
It is again in major mode and quite technical too in its construction and also in its instrumental introduction as it uses a supertonic major passage instead of a minor one. So in terms of music it is fairly optimistic.
The lyrics have nothing tragic about them. It is a rather tender and tenderly teasing love song satirizing an ephemeral occurrence. It was taken as such and it is still regarded as such all over Greece.
I say that it was very influential to me in my first steps as a musician, before I had time to think about its meaning.
But when I was little all the adults about were singing it on and on for years as it was very popular. Imagine me trying to emulate them on a toy guitar. Apart from congratulating me for my achievements in nursery songs, they were indeed very enthusiastic that I was doing one of "their songs". You see, over here, and in that social strata in particular, love songs and the subject of love in general was not a thing that we hide from children, because when the right time comes they will understand, anyway.
And so, when the time came, I did.
For all this musical/poetical reasons I consider it very influential indeed in my case, its particular seed gave analogous fruit.

 

[DesEsseintes]

I have distinct memories of both my father and Granny chanting 'Double, double, toil and trouble' in spooky voices with me on their knees (at different times!). I was probably 3 or so, perhaps even a little younger. It was the rhythm, as usual, which got me, and I memorized it early on without knowing I did.

Reciting Shakespeare aged 4. Yep, I was that kid.

 

[oggbashan]

My older brother taught me this when I was about 3:

The spring is sprung, de grass is riz
I wonder where de boidies is?
De boid is on de wing, but dat’s absoid,
De wing is on de boid

De grass is riz de trees is green
And in de moitle tree a boid is seen.
A boid is seen and also hoid
And also felt. He dropped a toid.

Dis gets woise

And so de boid what did doit
Has got to die and dat’s a coit
I gets me gat intent on moider
Detoimined dis won’t get no foider

Oh boy! Oh boy! Am I pertoibed

I lifts me gat de boidie choips
I gotta give de squoit de woiks
But in the moitle tree above
There sits a little toitle dove


I’ve got me shooter primed but now
2 boids are sitting on de bough
And so, I cannot shoot de dove
Because de spring’s de time for love.

 

[bflagsst]

I have distinct memories of both my father and Granny chanting 'Double, double, toil and trouble' in spooky voices with me on their knees (at different times!). I was probably 3 or so, perhaps even a little younger. It was the rhythm, as usual, which got me, and I memorized it early on without knowing I did.

Reciting Shakespeare aged 4. Yep, I was that kid.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

Trochees are in the native English speaker's DNA. They're the first thing we identify as something especially different regarding language as children aka poetry.

 

[DesEsseintes]

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

Trochees are in the native English speaker's DNA. They're the first thing we identify as something especially different regarding language as children aka poetry.

Absolutely - and it's why iambics can work as blank verse in long poems, because they are so close to normal speech rhythm we scarcely notice them as patterned if well done.

 

[Trixareforkids]

My older brother taught me this when I was about 3:

The spring is sprung, de grass is riz
I wonder where de boidies is?
De boid is on de wing, but dat’s absoid,
De wing is on de boid

De grass is riz de trees is green
And in de moitle tree a boid is seen.
A boid is seen and also hoid
And also felt. He dropped a toid.

Dis gets woise

And so de boid what did doit
Has got to die and dat’s a coit
I gets me gat intent on moider
Detoimined dis won’t get no foider

Oh boy! Oh boy! Am I pertoibed

I lifts me gat de boidie choips
I gotta give de squoit de woiks
But in the moitle tree above
There sits a little toitle dove


I’ve got me shooter primed but now
2 boids are sitting on de bough
And so, I cannot shoot de dove
Because de spring’s de time for love.

Love this, such a fun little puece, thanks for sharing. Copying it to my keep file.

 

[oggbashan]

The first poem I remember hearing was one my brother learned at school.

Unfortunately it was in Welsh, so neither he nor I understood it.

 

[Fflow]

Early poetical recollections

Ogden Nash, certainly, was one who made an early impression on me.

The pig, if I am not mistaken,
supplies us sausage, ham, and bacon.
Some people say his heart is big.
I call it stupid of the pig!

When I was quite young, I found a book in the library's children's section called Shrieks At Midnight. One poem stood out, and I enjoy it to this day.

Little Miss Muffet
Crouched on her tuffet
Collecting her shell-shocked wits when
Along, from a glider,
Dropped an H-Bomb beside her,
And frightened Miss Muffet to bits.

It had a rather odd title, but I can't recall it. Of course, there's also the Little Willie poems, such as:

Little Willie from his mirror
Sucked the mercury all off,
Thinking, in his childish error,
It would cure his whooping-cough.

At the funeral, Willie’s mother
Smartly said to Mrs. Brown,
”T was a chilly day for William
When the mercury went down.”

(I had to look that one up, as my memory was rather, and obviously, faulty.)

 

[Neonurotic]

Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850–1894). A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods. 1913.

The Wind

I saw you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass,
Like ladies’ skirts across the grass—
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!

I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all—
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song

O you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song

 

[twelveoone]

..and would you say it was influential in any way on how you appreciated the sound and rhythms of words ever after?

for me, with great fondness, it was The Night Before Christmas. a younger neighbour friend of mine had the book (i was about 8 maybe, she was 6), and i'd read it out to her - it wasn't at all long, though, before i was simply reciting it from memory as i looked at the illustrations. i think its steady pacing, the pictures it conjured, helped my ear for poetry and gave me a real pleasure for it.

ah, the first poem...
some bullshit about some face on some barroom floor...
yep, the pictures it conjured...only I missed the point about IT being a drawing...
still a lovely picture, everybody either punched or passed out...poetry?
lead me to become a preacher...
you've heard the story about Jesus turning wine into water?
great story - I made it up - seems he had to, so he could walk across it - in a strait line, seems the Romans were real tight asses about drunken water walking. Even enlightened entertainment types get tight assed about something.

Somewhere there is a parable in that...

Never read poetry to a child.

How are you doing, butters?

O blower, are you young or old?

Now there's a line, wtf, neo.

 

[butters]

ah, the first poem...
some bullshit about some face on some barroom floor...
yep, the pictures it conjured...only I missed the point about IT being a drawing...
still a lovely picture, everybody either punched or passed out...poetry?
lead me to become a preacher...
you've heard the story about Jesus turning wine into water?
great story - I made it up - seems he had to, so he could walk across it - in a strait line, seems the Romans were real tight asses about drunken water walking. Even enlightened entertainment types get tight assed about something.

Somewhere there is a parable in that...

Never read poetry to a child.

How are you doing, butters?

O blower, are you young or old?

Now there's a line, wtf, neo.

i love your stories. welcome back! missed you and those pointy posts of yours.

i'm good, ta. oilin' ma guns and filling the chambers ready for sunday. gonna wear bullet-proof undies under me poncho. does this sombrero make me look fat?

 

[CharleyH]

..and would you say it was influential in any way on how you appreciated the sound and rhythms of words ever after?

for me, with great fondness, it was The Night Before Christmas. a younger neighbour friend of mine had the book (i was about 8 maybe, she was 6), and i'd read it out to her - it wasn't at all long, though, before i was simply reciting it from memory as i looked at the illustrations. i think its steady pacing, the pictures it conjured, helped my ear for poetry and gave me a real pleasure for it.

Other people seem to recall things that I wasn't exposed to until a little later, or sometimes a lot later than 12 years old. The first poem I recall was by Alan Mills, I think, and called 'There was an Old Lady who Swallowed a Fly' and I don't recall why she swallowed a fly, but I definitely know she died.

I LOVED that story/poem. I loved it so much that I recall making my mother go back to the library again and again to get the book so I could memorize it.

Did it influence me? Yes. Initially, I liked the poetry and also I was charmed by the darkness of it. I wanted to know why she swallowed flies and horses, and I wanted to know why she was so stupid to think that swallowing a horse wouldn't kill her. I was curious.

I'm still curious, as a poet. I love to write and love the sound of a rhyme, and love to learn, but I now better appreciate the sound of an off-rhyme than a pure one. I think that Angeline might get me best when I say that poetry is like jazz, and especially when I note that the music of Thelonious Monk is always just a bit off. What 'There was an Old Lady...' taught me, in a round about way, like Monk's jazz, is that it's okay to miss a beat or be off beat. It doesn't make you less of a person/poet, or your words/poetry any less significant/poetic.

 

[bronzeage]

I suppose nursery rhymes don't count for this thread. My parents read to me and nursery rhymes were at the top of the list. The Walrus and the Carpenter was a favorite.

When I was about 3 years old, my father taught me to recite two poems, which I had to perform on command for various audiences


The North Carolina State Toast

Here's to the land of the long leaf pine,
The summer land where the sun doth shine,
Where the weak grow strong and the strong grow great,
Here's to "Down Home," the Old North State!

There are more verses, but I only had to learn the first.


The second poem was Fog, by Carl Sandburg.

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

 

[twelveoone]

Other people seem to recall things that I wasn't exposed to until a little later, or sometimes a lot later than 12 years old. The first poem I recall was by Alan Mills, I think, and called 'There was an Old Lady who Swallowed a Fly' and I don't recall why she swallowed a fly, but I definitely know she died.



Did it influence me? Yes. Initially, I liked the poetry and also I was charmed by the darkness of it. I wanted to know why she swallowed flies and horses, and I wanted to know why she was so stupid to think that swallowing a horse wouldn't kill her. I was curious.

.

She was smitten/bitten by Dracula, and eating all those dead things just made her as large as a horse. She is not dead, merely undead. You can sleep easy now.

 

[CharleyH]

She was smitten/bitten by Dracula, and eating all those dead things just made her as large as a horse. She is not dead, merely undead. You can sleep easy now.

Haha!

 

[twelveoone]

does that matter? perhaps you could post a translation beneath it for those of us unable to read it in its native language.

ok, a lot of us memorized it

i think the Who parodied it

 

[butters]

ok, a lot of us memorized it

i think the Who parodied it

danke schoen

*waves 2-finger flag*

 

[TOKUQINN]

Ode To A Screw

It is a song not a poem

Ode To A Screw
by Tom Eyen

You can fuck the lilies and the roses too.
You can fuck the maidens who swear they’ve never been screwed.
You can fuck the Russians and the English too.
You can fuck the Germans and every pushy Jew.
Fuck the Queens.
Fuck the Kings.
Fuck the boys with the very small dings.
Fuck the birds, fuck the pigs, fuck the everything with a thorny twig.
You can fuck the Astros and all nurses in white.
You should fuck the uglies just to be kind and polite.
You can fuck the Moon and June and the Sea.
But before you fuck them first you must fuck me.

you can listen it

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_USpdFwaK8

TOKUQINN.

 

[robertreams]

My dad used to read several poems to us at Christmas: Annie and Willie's Prayer, etc, but what i remember most is The Dead Doll:
You needn't be trying to comfort me.
I tell you my dolly is dead
There's no use in saying she isn't
With a crack like that in her head!

(lots more stanzas, I won't belabor it)

ending:
Here lies Hildegarde
A beautiful doll who is dead.
She died of a broken heart
And a dreadful crack in her head!

 

[Magnetron]

It is a song not a poem

Ode To A Screw
by Tom Eyen

You can fuck the lilies and the roses too.
You can fuck the maidens who swear they’ve never been screwed.
You can fuck the Russians and the English too.
You can fuck the Germans and every pushy Jew.
Fuck the Queens.
Fuck the Kings.
Fuck the boys with the very small dings.
Fuck the birds, fuck the pigs, fuck the everything with a thorny twig.
You can fuck the Astros and all nurses in white.
You should fuck the uglies just to be kind and polite.
You can fuck the Moon and June and the Sea.
But before you fuck them first you must fuck me.

you can listen it

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_USpdFwaK8

TOKUQINN.

Did your mother show you YouTube videos instead of reading bedtime stories?