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Poetry request - 30/7/2006 10:04:35 PM   
James2183


Posts: 10541
Joined: 30/9/2005
I must admit, I have not read that much poetry in my life. Other than the ones that I was forced to read at school I never really got into it. However, I have a short film idea I am working on and need some help from people who really enjoy the form to point me in the right direction as there is just a vast amount of poetry available.

I am looking to make a film showing the passage of time, death and change but have no idea as to which particular poets deal with these subjects. I have some suggestions of poets such as Tennyson and Browning but was wondering if there were any more out there that I should check out.




_____________________________

Hey bub, I aint finished with you yet!

"We do not beat the reaper by living longer. We beat the reaper by living well and living fully" - Randy Pausch
Post #: 1
RE: Poetry request - 30/7/2006 10:17:00 PM   
Funkyrae


Posts: 20387
Joined: 30/9/2005
From: Just stick a pin in a map
Part of the Triumph of Time by Swinburne.  Can't really go wrong with the Victorian poets for the kind of thing you're looking for:-

But none shall triumph a whole life through:
For death is one, and the fates are three.
At the door of life, by the gate of breath,
There are worse things waiting for men than death;
Death could not sever my soul and you,
As these have severed your soul from me. You have chosen and clung to the chance they sent you,
Life sweet as perfume and pure as prayer.


_____________________________

That's me that is!


(in reply to James2183)
Post #: 2
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 1:38:32 AM   
Jackie


Posts: 1496
Joined: 30/9/2005
From: Before the Bomb
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
                    by T.S. Eliot

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse almondo,

Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.*


Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:--
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the
floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . .I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.


*"If I thought that that I was replying to someone who would ever return to the world, this flame would cease to flicker. But since no one ever returns from these depths alive, if what I've heard is true, I will answer you without fear of infamy." - Dante's Inferno (Canto 27, lines 61-66)

One of my favourite poems and deals with love, death, change and the passage of time.

Then of course we have this one:
                     Darkness
                 by Lord Byron

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought--and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails--men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,
And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend.
The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge--
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them--She was the Universe.


And it's a pretty safe bet to go with any Keats poem, as Keats is ALL about transcience of life, beauty and change. Look up On A Dream, Ode to a Nightingale, Ode on Melancholy and Ode on a Grecian Urn. An example of some typical Keats:

     Why Did I Laugh Tonight?
              by John Keats

Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell:
No God, no Demon of severe response,
Deigns to reply from heaven or from Hell.
Then to my human heart I turn at once.
Heart! Thou and I are here sad and alone;
I say, why did I laugh! O mortal pain!
O Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan,
To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain.
Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease,
My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads;
Yet would I on this very midnight cease,
And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds;
Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indead,
But Death intenser - Death is Life's high meed.

Jackie.

< Message edited by Jackie -- 31/7/2006 1:49:46 AM >


_____________________________

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1. Epic Movie ***
2. Date Movie **
3. Music & Lyrics ***
4. Strings ****
5. Grave of the Fireflies *****

(in reply to Funkyrae)
Post #: 3
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 12:28:58 PM   
steffols


Posts: 7689
Joined: 3/10/2005
From: Jungleland
Try this thread out Jimmy, loads of poems in there  http://www.empireonline.com/forum/tm.asp?m=520522

_____________________________

It's midnight in Manhattan, this is no time to get cute, it's a mad dog's promenade,
So walk tall, or baby don't walk at all.

(in reply to Jackie)
Post #: 4
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 1:47:35 PM   
Dr Geek


Posts: 155
Joined: 19/7/2006
An interesting question!

Glad 'Jackie' pointed out Darkness by Lord Byron (one of the greatest poems of all time.
Check out more of Lord Byron.
Edgar Allen Poe
Sylvia Plath
Elliot
T.S Lawrence.
Dante (The Divine Comedy)
John Milton


< Message edited by Dr Geek -- 31/7/2006 1:49:35 PM >


_____________________________

'I don't want to belong to any club that would have someone like me as a member.' Woody Allen quoting Groucho Marx
'That Rabbits Dynamite....Brother Maynard, bring
us the Holy Hand grenade' King Arthur
Power to the people who punish bad cinema!

(in reply to Jackie)
Post #: 5
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 1:52:58 PM   
Jackie


Posts: 1496
Joined: 30/9/2005
From: Before the Bomb
Why the '' around my name? That is actually my name 

But good suggestions there! We're thinking along the same lines.

Jackie.


_____________________________

http://dwightsheep.pocketses.net

1. Epic Movie ***
2. Date Movie **
3. Music & Lyrics ***
4. Strings ****
5. Grave of the Fireflies *****

(in reply to Dr Geek)
Post #: 6
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 5:51:11 PM   
lulu karma


Posts: 6328
Joined: 30/9/2005
From: on the east coast of the US
At the top of a cliff with my heart open,
I stare into the inky depths below.
The sun above shines blindly.
My figure is a fine point
where dark and light meet in vivid contrast.
Toward the edge is a step I dare not take,
but the cycle of life with fingers stretched
pushes.

_____________________________

I feel like I'm Han Solo, and you're Chewie and she's Ben Kenobi and we're in that fucked-up bar.

This is the captain speaking. It appears we are going down. Now may be the time to reflect upon your life and pray to whatever deity you believe in. We know you have your choice of airlines and apparently you made the wrong one.

The eyes are the nipples of the face.

(in reply to Jackie)
Post #: 7
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 9:40:56 PM   
punchdrunk


Posts: 7817
Joined: 14/12/2005
what about original piece of poetry James from a forum poet? they might give you it via pm for the publicity, if you asked nicely.  

(in reply to lulu karma)
Post #: 8
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 9:45:13 PM   
punchdrunk


Posts: 7817
Joined: 14/12/2005
Alternatively Jack Kaurocak(?) (beat poet) or the hard drinking Dylan Thomas will blow your mind, great for a film maker great narratives and tough fleshy verses.  

< Message edited by punchdrunk -- 31/7/2006 9:48:28 PM >

(in reply to punchdrunk)
Post #: 9
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 9:58:42 PM   
James2183


Posts: 10541
Joined: 30/9/2005
quote:

ORIGINAL: punchdrunk

what about original piece of poetry James from a forum poet? they might give you it via pm for the publicity, if you asked nicely.  


I already have a few friends who write poetry working on something now. I just want to try and cover as many bases and have as many options as possible.


_____________________________

Hey bub, I aint finished with you yet!

"We do not beat the reaper by living longer. We beat the reaper by living well and living fully" - Randy Pausch

(in reply to punchdrunk)
Post #: 10
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 11:07:13 PM   
punchdrunk


Posts: 7817
Joined: 14/12/2005
quote:

ORIGINAL: James2183
quote:

ORIGINAL: punchdrunk
what about original piece of poetry James from a forum poet? they might give you it via pm for the publicity, if you asked nicely.  

I already have a few friends who write poetry working on something now. I just want to try and cover as many bases and have as many options as possible.

Yeah but i bet a forum poet would be better...*cough*...ah forget it. 
Dylan Thomas, James you wont forget it, they made a movie "Under milk wood" it was very boring, but nice.
"Do not go gentle into that good night" that was referenced in "Dead poet society" right?      

(in reply to James2183)
Post #: 11
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 11:10:35 PM   
James2183


Posts: 10541
Joined: 30/9/2005
If you would like to give it a go dude, just say so 


_____________________________

Hey bub, I aint finished with you yet!

"We do not beat the reaper by living longer. We beat the reaper by living well and living fully" - Randy Pausch

(in reply to punchdrunk)
Post #: 12
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 11:12:28 PM   
Deadpool


Posts: 173
Joined: 30/9/2005
Don't bother with Kerouac.  The Beats are uniformly rubbish, famous only for how they lived their lives.

_____________________________

I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen.

I'm so sick of wanking in the subway.

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(in reply to punchdrunk)
Post #: 13
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 11:14:41 PM   
Deadpool


Posts: 173
Joined: 30/9/2005
quote:

ORIGINAL: James2183
I am looking to make a film showing the passage of time, death and change but have no idea as to which particular poets deal with these subjects.

I don't know if you want something a little more modern, James, but there's a Shakespeare sonnet that would be perfect for those themes.  I can't remember the particular one but I'll get back to you with it if you want.

_____________________________

I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen.

I'm so sick of wanking in the subway.

In Glasgow? Want to make movies? Click HERE

(in reply to James2183)
Post #: 14
RE: Poetry request - 31/7/2006 11:17:05 PM   
James2183


Posts: 10541
Joined: 30/9/2005
quote:

ORIGINAL: Deadpool

quote:

ORIGINAL: James2183
I am looking to make a film showing the passage of time, death and change but have no idea as to which particular poets deal with these subjects.

I don't know if you want something a little more modern, James, but there's a Shakespeare sonnet that would be perfect for those themes.  I can't remember the particular one but I'll get back to you with it if you want.


Sure, much appreciated fella.


_____________________________

Hey bub, I aint finished with you yet!

"We do not beat the reaper by living longer. We beat the reaper by living well and living fully" - Randy Pausch

(in reply to Deadpool)
Post #: 15
RE: Poetry request - 1/8/2006 12:00:42 AM   
punchdrunk


Posts: 7817
Joined: 14/12/2005
Kerouac (thanks deadpool) on that note, Can i lightly recommend Mike Myers beat poetry in "So i married an Axe murderer!" "woman wooh man wooooooahho o"  

(in reply to James2183)
Post #: 16
RE: Poetry request - 1/8/2006 12:58:21 AM   
clownfoot


Posts: 7919
Joined: 26/9/2005
From: The ickle town of Fuck, Austria
The following two poems by Emily Dickinson might be useful if dealing with death, especially the second which features a great juxtaposition - just how exactly do you hear a fly buzz, if you've just died?

I died for Beauty but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining Room

He questioned softly 'Why I failed'?
'For Beauty', I replied
'And I for Truth Themself are One
We Bretheren, are', He said

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night
We talked between the Rooms
Until the Moss had reached our lips
And covered up our names
__________________________________________

I heard a Fly buzz when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm -

The Eyes around had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset when the King
Be witnessed in the Room -

I willed my Keepsakes Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable and then it was
There interposed a Fly -

With Blue uncertain stumbling Buzz -
Between the light and me -
And then the Windows failed and then
I could not see to see -

< Message edited by clownfoot -- 1/8/2006 12:59:49 AM >


_____________________________

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(in reply to punchdrunk)
Post #: 17
RE: Poetry request - 1/8/2006 2:20:45 AM   
directorscut


Posts: 10887
Joined: 30/9/2005
Excellent choices there clownfoot. I heard a Fly buzz when I died is about the transition from life to death. 

Another great poem from Emily Dickinson is I Felt a Funeral, in my Brain:

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading--treading--till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through--

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum--
Kept beating--beating--till I thought
My Mind was going numb--

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space--began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here--

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down--
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing--then--

Try Derek Mahon too James; particularly Grandfather, After the Titanic, Antarctica and A Disused Shed in Co. Wexford

A Disused Shed in Co. Wexford

Let them not forget us, the weak souls among the asphodels
    Seferis 'Mythistorema'

 
(For J.G. Farrell)

Even now there are places where a thought might grow
Peruvian mines, worked out and abandoned
To a slow clock of condensation,
An echo trapped forever, and a flutter
Of wildflowers in the lift-shaft,
Indian compounds where the wind dances
And a door bangs with diminished confidence,
Lime crevices behind rippling rainbarrels,
Dog corners for bone burials;
And a disused shed in Co. Wexford,

Deep in the grounds of a burnt-out hotel,
Among the bathtubs and the washbasins
A thousand mushrooms crowd to a keyhole.
This is the one star in their firmament
Or frames a star within a star.
What should they do there but desire?
So many days beyond the rhododendrons
With the world waltzing in its bowl of cloud,
They have learnt patience and silence
Listening to the rooks querulous in the high wood.

They have been waiting for us in a foetor
Of vegetable sweat since civil war days,
Since the gravel-crunching, interminable departure
of the expropriated mycologist.
He never came back, and light since then
Is a keyhole rusting gently after rain.
Spiders have spun, flies dusted to mildew
And once a day, perhaps, they have heard something
A trickle of masonry, a shout from the blue
Or a lorry changing gear at the end of the lane.

There have been deaths, the pale flesh flaking
Into the earth that nourished it;
And nightmares, born of these and the grim
Dominion of stale air and rank moisture.
Those nearest the door growing strong
'Elbow room! Elbow room!'
The rest, dim in a twilight of crumbling
Utensils and broken flower-pots, groaning
For their deliverance, have been so long
Expectant that there is left only the posture.

A half century, without visitors, in the dark
Poor preparation for the cracking lock
And creak of hinges. Magi, moonmen,
Powdery prisoners of the old regime,
Web-throated, stalked like triffids, racked by drought
And insomnia, only the ghost of a scream
At the flashbulb firing squad we wake them with
Shows there is life yet in their feverish forms.
Grown beyond nature now, soft food for worms,
They lift frail heads in gravity and good faith.

They are begging us, you see, in their wordless way,
To do something, to speak on their behalf
Or at least not to close the door again.
Lost people of Treblinka and Pompeii!
'Save us, save us,' they seem to say,
'Let the god not abandon us
Who have come so far in darkness and in pain.
We too had our lives to live.
You with your light meter and relaxed itinerary,
Let not our naive labours have been in vain!'


< Message edited by directorscut -- 1/8/2006 2:21:34 AM >


_____________________________



Member of the TMNT 1000 Club.

(in reply to clownfoot)
Post #: 18
RE: Poetry request - 1/8/2006 11:12:49 AM   
punchdrunk


Posts: 7817
Joined: 14/12/2005
"I am looking to make a film showing the passage of time, death and change"

Shamus Heaney wrote a great poem where a Middle aged son is watching his Aging father and thinking about how there roles have switched, he is like the parent to his father as the father has weakened to child-like dependance.

Has anyone got that they can print here?

(in reply to directorscut)
Post #: 19
RE: Poetry request - 1/8/2006 11:36:08 AM   
directorscut


Posts: 10887
Joined: 30/9/2005
Are you thinking about Follower punchdrunk?

My father worked with a horse plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horses strained at his clicking tongue.

An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck

Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.

I stumbled in his hobnailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.

I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow around the farm.

I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.


Another excellent poem by Heaney about death is Mid Term Break, which I believe is every Irish student's first poem.

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close,
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying
He had always taken funerals in his stride
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on the left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in a cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year.

_____________________________



Member of the TMNT 1000 Club.

(in reply to punchdrunk)
Post #: 20
RE: Poetry request - 1/8/2006 12:05:24 PM   
punchdrunk


Posts: 7817
Joined: 14/12/2005
Thats the one directorscut

(in reply to directorscut)
Post #: 21
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