Poetry Appreciation Thread

[Theologian in Training]

I am saddened by the lack of poetic appreciation on this forum. There are thousands of people registered on this site, and there was an overwhelming 30(roughly rounded) responses to the Poetry voting thread. I understand that many are adverse to poetry, as it reminds them of school, and having to painfully get through a less than exciting poem. However, I am of the mindset that if you can appreciate a beautiful movie or a beautiful book, you can also appreciate a beautiful poem. Granted, not all poems are beautiful, nor grammitcally or phonetically pleasing but I do think there has to be one poem out there that someone loves, and loves for a certain reason. You listen to music, sometimes some of the most beautiful songs are constructed in the style of well-formed poem. They may not flow in the same way, but the poem still underlies the song.

Think of it this way, the poem takes an ordinary moment in time, something that may be done constantly each day, and breathes new life into it. In essence, it gives new sight to a common thing or occurrence. For example, I am sure all of you know Robert Frost's "Road Not Taken" with its memorable beginning "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood / And sorry I could not travel both / And be one traveller long I stood / And looked down as far as I could / To where it bent in the undergrowth." He is simply talking about making a decision, what road should he travel, where should he go, and in taking that road what will be the overall result? If anyone has read the poem they know that he takes the road less travelled and to quote him, "That had made all the difference." He is merely placing for us a simple occurence of making a decision, of what road to choose. We make decisions each day, some more important than others. For example, in the vocations thread people are constantly trying to discern the Will of God and most of them are also faced with two roads ie: marriage or priesthood. One can argue that the priesthood is a road that is "grassy and wanted wear" because this day and age no one wants to take such a road, they would rather travel the other road, which is "just as fair" However, if you notice eventually he realizes the road he has chosen was for him, even though in the back of his mind he is always "keeping the first for another day." It is only when he realizes how "way leads on to way" that he "doubted if he should ever come back." in other words, that the decision he made, is, in essence, his vocation. He sees that, and that is what he comes to the conclusion of at the end when stating how in taking the one less travelled, it "has made all the difference."

Again, Frost has taken a simple occurrence, something we face everyday, a decision, and has looked at it and presented it in a new and different way. He has redefined a common and trite occurrence by making it more cosmic, in a sense. He has made something ordinary extraordinary with the written word, and expressing it poetically.

How boring life would be without poetry

Something that a lot of have difficulty with is mourning for someone who has died or for really trying to understand why someone has fallen sick and trying to make sense of it. Granted, we cannot make sense of things completely because we are not God, but still we do try to make sense of things. I believe that poetry while not only redefining common moments, can also help bring understanding to something completely elusive to us. A poem is not merely a collection of words meant to be beautiful, but words that live and breathe and touch you. We know how imporant the Word is, and we can never imitate such strength, because it is divinely inspired, but there is something about the written word that has the power to paint, create, and form. How can we take words so lightely? We read a novel and are moved, a poem is sometimes a composite of an entire novel, that is what makes it so amazing.

I cannot tell you how many times a poem has helped draw me closer to God, helped me mourn the death of those I have loved, help me let go of those I had become attached to, or even make sense of not only my own sickness but the sickness of others. There is power in poetry...God has given to us for a reason. I would ask you all to find your favorite poem and read it and truly make an effort to understand its impact and beauty. Some have called poetry the language of the soul, how come we take it for granted?

[Theologian in Training]

[b]Robert Frost[/b]

[b][i]Road Not Taken[/i][/b]

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

[Theologian in Training]

[b]Li-Young Lee[/b]

[b][i]My Father in Heaven[/i][/b]

My father, in heaven, is reading out loud
to himself Psalms or news. Now he ponders what
he's read. No. He is listening for the sound
of children in the yard. Was that laughing
or crying? So much depends upon the
answer, for either he will go on reading,
or he'll run to save a child's day from grief.
As it is in heaven, so it was on earth.

Because my father walked the earth with a grave,
determined rhythm, my shoulders ached
from his gaze. Because my father's shoulders
ached from the pulling of oars, my life now moves
with a powerful back-and-forth rhythm:
nostalgia, speculation. Because he
made me recite a book a month, I forget
everything as soon as I read it. And knowledge
never comes but while I'm mid-stride a flight
of stairs, or lost a moment on some avenue.

A remarkable disappointment to him,
I am like anyone who arrives late
in the millennium and is unable
to stay to the end of days. The world's
beginnings are obscure to me, its outcomes
inaccessible. I don't understand
the source of starlight, or starlight's destinations.
And already another year slides out
of balance. But I don't disparage scholars;
my father was one and I loved him,
who packed his bags once, and all of our belongings,
then sat down to await instruction
from his god, yes, but also from a radio.
At the doorway, I watched, and I suddenly
knew he was one like me, who got my learning
under a lintel; he was one of the powerless,
to whom knowledge came while he sat among
suitcases, boxes, old newspapers, string.

He did not decide peace or war, home or exile,
escape by land or escape by sea.
He waited merely, as always someone
waits, far, near, here, hereafter, to find out:
is it praise or lament hidden in the next moment?

[Theologian in Training]

[b]Marie Howe[/b]

[b][i]What The Living Do[/b][/i]

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

[crusader1234]

[b][u]La Belle Dame sans Merci [/u]
John Keats [/b]

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes--
So kiss'd to sleep.

And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.





This poem always makes me laugh because it sounds sort of romantic, but when you boil it down its actually sort of comical. When you boil it down on a friday afternoon at an all boys highschool, it gets even more comical.

[Theologian in Training]

Should prolly change this thread to the Poetry Depreciation thread

[crusader1234]

[b][u]Sonnet 18[/u]
William Shakespeare[/b]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee



This poem is more of a self admiration than a love poem

[Theologian in Training]

Alright I realize you don't like the typical poets...so lets try another medium.

[b]2 Pac[/b]

[b][i]When Ur Hero Falls[/b][/i]

when your hero falls from grace
all fairy tales r uncovered
myths exposed and pain magnified
the greatest pain discovered
u taught me 2 be strong
but im confused 2 c u so weak
u said never 2 give up
and it hurts 2 c u welcome defeat
when ure hero falls so do the stars
and so does the perception of tomorrow
without my hero there is only
me alone 2 deal with my sorrow
your heart ceases 2 work
and your soul is not happy at all
what r u expected 2 do
when ure only hero falls

[crusader1234]

[b][i]Positively Fourth Street[/i]
Bob Dylan[/b]

You got a lotta nerve
To say you are my friend
When I was down
You just stood there grinning

You got a lotta nerve
To say you got a helping hand to lend
You just want to be on
The side that's winning

You say I let you down
You know it's not like that
If you're so hurt
Why then don't you show it

You say you lost your faith
But that's not where it's at
You had no faith to lose
And you know it

I know the reason
That you talk behind my back
I used to be among the crowd
You're in with

Do you take me for such a fool
To think I'd make contact
With the one who tries to hide
What he don't know to begin with

You see me on the street
You always act surprised
You say, "How are you?" "Good luck"
But you don't mean it

When you know as well as me
You'd rather see me paralyzed
Why don't you just come out once
And scream it

No, I do not feel that good
When I see the heartbreaks you embrace
If I was a master thief
Perhaps I'd rob them

And now I know you're dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don't you understand
It's not my problem

I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you

Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You'd know what a drag it is
To see you

[Theologian in Training]

[b]Paul Simon[/b]

[b][i]Slip Slidin Away[/b][/i]

Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away

I know a man
He came from my home town
He wore his passion for his woman
Like a thorny crown
He said Dolores
I live in fear
My love for you's so overpowering
I'm afraid that I will disappear

Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away

I know a woman
Became a wife
These are the very words she uses
To describe her life
She said a good day
Ain't got no rain
She said a bad day's when I lie in bed
And think of things that might have been

Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away

And I know a fa-ther
Who had a son
He longed to tell him all the reasons
For the things he'd done
He came a long way
Just to explain
He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping
Then he turned around and headed home again

Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away

God only knows
God makes his plan
The information's unavailable
To the mortal man
We work our jobs
Collect our pay
Believe we're gliding down the highway
When in fact we're slip slidin' away

Slip slidin' away
Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away

Slip slidin' away
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away
Mmm...

[Theologian in Training]

[b]Pink Floyd[/b]

[b][i]Mother[/b][/i]


Mother, do you think they'll drop the bomb?
Mother, do you think they'll like the song?
Mother, do you think they'll try to break my balls?
Ooh ah,
Mother, should I build a wall?

Mother, should I run for president?
Mother, should I trust the government?
Mother, will they put me in the firing line?
Ooh ah,
Is it just a waste of time?

Hush now baby, baby, don't you cry.
Mamma's gonna make all of your nightmares come true,
Mamma's gonna put all of her fears into you,
Mamma's gonna keep you right here, under her wing.
She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing,
Mamma's gonna keep baby cosy and warm.
Oooh babe, Oooh babe, Oooh babe,
Of course Mamma's gonna help build the wall.

Mother, do you think she's good enough, for me?
Mother, do you think she's dangerous, to me?
Mother, will she tear your little boy apart?
Ooh ah,
Mother, will she break my heart?

Hush now baby, baby, don't you cry.
Mamma's going to check out all your girlfriends for you,
Mamma won't let anyone dirty get through,
Mamma's gonna wait up until you get in.
Mamma will always find out where you've been,
Mamma's gonna keep baby healthy and clean.
Oooh babe, Oooh babe, Oooh babe,
You'll always be baby to me.

Mother, did it need to be so high?

[Theologian in Training]

TinT

[b][i]Faith[/b][/i]

I will walk on water
Once
When my faith is strong
Taking strides,
Balanced on mirrored footsteps,
Watching the sun dance
In tiny ripples

I will try to find my way
To the other side.

Only, just when I come close
I will remember, like St. Peter,
That I am only a man.

[Theologian in Training]

[b]Billy Collins[/b] Former Poet Laureate of America

[b][i]Why I Could Never Be a Buddhist[/b][/i]

"All that exists is the movement of the breathing."
— Shunryu Suzuki

I wake up early and lie uncovered
on the summer bed
staring at the white closet doors,
listening to the hum of the fan
which has drawn in the cooler night air —
your ghost-form next to me
wrapped tightly in a sheet.

I would love to be as empty
as the rice bowls of the dead,
but the squirrel on the hickory tree outside
with a nut in his mouth,
reminds me of the need to save,
and the mirror on the wall
containing a small oval edition of this room
is a medieval warning against vanity.

I hear the faint hum of a plane
and picture a woman in the window seat
crossing her legs and opening a magazine,

then I think of the Wright Brothers,
who never married,
working in their bicycle shop,
spoked wheels hanging from nails in the walls.

Even the sight of my own feet,
crossed on the bed,
reminds me of the sinewy feet of the saints
that I used to kneel before as a boy —
the feet of St. Bartholomew,
the feet of St. Anthony of the Desert,
braided with muscle,
the feet of St. Sebastian pierced with arrows,
and the benevolent feet of St. Francis,
who in one painting
is leaning back in rapture
outside the mouth of a cave
while behind him an iconographic rabbit
peeps out of a stone wall,
a little symbol of God knows what.

[Theologian in Training]

[b]Turin Brakes[/b]

[b][i]Rain City[/b][/i]

Opened my eyes, had a dream last night, that both my arms were broken,
Evening time,
Help me now or hold me down, I feel my world is tumbling,
Spiralling down,
Oh my love I can't let go,
Something's wrong I can't let go,
Nature's cruel, she's laughing,
As I feel my way through the century,
As I slowly turn to house dust,
Tumbling down,
The rain comes down like a victory,
In sheets of shining memory,
Over and over,
Circling around,
Oh my love I can't let go,
Something's wrong I can't let go,
Nature's cruel she's laughing,
Almost too much for my heart,
When it rains,
Oh tears my soul apart,
When it rains,
Almost too much for my heart,
In a dream,
Oh tears my soul apart,
The rain clouds move so slowly,
Above the city where I'm from...

[Theologian in Training]

[b]Counting Crows[/b]

[b][i]Mrs. Potter's Lullabye[/b][/i]

Well I woke in mid-afternoon cause that's when it all hurts the most
I dream I never know anyone at the party and I'm always the host
If dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts
You can never escape, you can only move south down the coast

well, I am an idiot walking a tightrope of fortune and fame
I am an acrobat swinging trapezes through circles of flame
If you've never stared off in the distance, then your life is a shame
and though I'll never forget your face,
sometimes i can't remember my name

Hey Mrs. Potter don't cry
Hey Mrs. Potter I know why but
Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me

Well, there's a piece of Maria in every song that I sing
And the price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings
And there is always one last light to turn out and one last bell to ring
And the last one out of the circus has to lock up everything

Or the elephants will get out and forget to remember what you said
And the ghosts of the tilt-a-whirl will linger inside your head
And the ferris wheel junkies will spin there forever instead
When I see you a blanket of stars covers me in my bed

Hey Mrs. Potter don't go
Hey Mrs. Potter I don't know but
Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me

All the blue light reflections that color my mind when I sleep
And the lovesick rejections that accompany the company I keep
All the razor perceptions that cut just a little too deep
Hey I can bleed as well as anyone, but I need someone to help me sleep

So I throw my hand into the air and it swims in the beams
It's just a brief interruption of the swirling dust sparkle jet stream
Well, I know I don't know you and you're probably not what you seem
But I'd sure like to find out
So why don't you climb down off that movie screen

Hey Mrs. Potter don't turn
Hey Mrs. Potter I burn for you
Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me

When the last king of Hollywood shatters his glass on the floor
and orders another
Well, I wonder what he did that for
That's when I know that I have to get out cause I have been there before
So I gave up my seat at the bar and I head for the door

We drove out to the desert just to lie down beneath this bowl of stars
We stand up in the palace like it's the last of the great pioneer town bars
We shout out these songs against the clang of electric guitars
You can see a million miles tonight
But you can't get very far
Oh, you can see a million miles tonight
But you can't get very far

Hey Mrs. Potter I won't touch
Hey Mrs. Potter it's not much but
Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me