Why Poems???

[Hyllien]

Poetry; I never understood why to express the feelings in poetry when you may write in prose, why to limit yourself with the rules of poetry structure...There must be an answer, sure there is, otherwise how could many people like to write and most importantly read poems?! And the answer must lie within the poems.


Ice and Fire
by Edmund Spenser


My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How comes it then that this her cold so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which all things melts, should harden ice,
And ice, which is congeal'd with senseless cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the course of kind.

[Hyllien]

There must be a reason hidden in the poetry itself, why many express their feelings of joy and sorrow through poems, why poets confess their inmost feelings about birth, life and death, about their beloved and their enemy, about devil and God, in these poems.

All the poems are extracted from "Immortal Poems of English Language, an anthology by Oscar Williams".

Shakespeare

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore


Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked eclipses ’gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.



No longer mourn for me when I am dead


No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not 5
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O! if,—I say, you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 10
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay;
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.



No more be grieved

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud.
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense
Thy adverse party is thy advocate
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence.
Such civil war is in my love and hate
That I an accessory needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

[Hyllien]

Death Be Not Proud
by John Donne

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

[Hyllien]

The Constant Lover
by Sir John Suckling


Out upon it, I have loved
Three whole days together!
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.

Time shall moult away his wings
Ere he shall discover
In the whole wide world again
Such a constant lover.

But the spite on 't is, no praise
Is due at all to me:
Love with me had made no stays,
Had it any been but she.

Had it any been but she,
And that very face,
There had been at least ere this
A dozen dozen in her place.

[Hyllien]

Vital spark of heavenly flame
by Aleksaner Pope

Vital spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister Spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! My ears
With sounds seraphic ring!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?

[Veshtrusja]

i like them... especially this last one

[Manulaki]

A lonley cloud

A lonley cloud
was left in the sky,
Without a smile,
Without a sight..
And tired as it was
It took the flight
To come and rest
In my singing heart!!!

Aida L. Bode

Romance

Romance with you is having children
Singing lullabys each evening
And rocking them to sleep.
It's daylight filled with laughters
And scratch pains,
It's nights of fairytales
And legendary heros.
Romance with you
Is waking up to check on their breathing
Is praying they're safe when dreaming
Our romance lights candles
On their birthday cakes
And breezes wishes of love
For all the roads their life takes.

Aida L Bode

I once....

Nature sang herself
So that I could love her,
Layed on a bed
with a red sheet,
Her rustling I heard.
And when eyes like sun
Would down to sleep,
An unsleeping moon
Would rise to sing...

Aida L Bode

[Manulaki]

Pro Choice!
To life, and to fear of it!

You didn't believe in me.
Neither did you want to hear.
In fact, I didn't speak much,
Other than through you.
Your very life, is my voice
Your very love is my compasion.
Your very fear is my consequence.
Like dried leaves scattered in the wind.
Like drops of rain,
Slaping the face of the earth.
Like shame on honor.
Like death on life.
I live every moment desperate for hope.
I am life, waiting for choice.

Aida L Bode

[Hyllien]

Thank you for your contribution and your comments.
I am selecting some of the best poems (to me), I'm taking note of them so that when I turn the book back I may still read these wonderful poems.
I also wanted to share those with you.


When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly
by Oliver Goldsmith

When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is—to die.

[Hyllien]

The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (Edward FitzGerald)

"The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it."

"And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die,
Lift not your hands to It for help - for it
As impotently moves as you or I."

"Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain - This Life flies;
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown forever dies."

"Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!"


His poetry is fascinating, but i do not necesarily agree with his udnerstanding of life. According to Khayyam, anything which promotes ones happiness is moral??? Probably he puts too much emphasis on "living the moment" and ignores the past and the future...So easy to criticize, isn't it?