My coworker Leah's dad wrote poetry. He was an unknown poet to anyone other than his family (and now you!). He was born in June of 1921 and probably wrote this poem sometime in the 40's. She said he also wrote a poem about what would have happened if World War II was fought by the super hero's from comic strips in that day. EPIC! She doesn't have that poem, or I would have begged to share it, but enjoy this instead =o)
Sometimes, oh pal, in the morning, When the dawn is cold and grey; I lay in perfumed feathers, Think thoughts, I dare not say. When I think of the stunts, Of the night before… And smile a feeble smile. I say to myself for the hundredth time, “Was it really worth the while?” Then I pick up the morning paper And see where some saintly man, Who was never soused in all his life Or never said, hell or damn, Or never stayed out in the wee small hours, Nor jollied the gay brunette; But always preached on evil thoughts, Such as drinks and cigarettes. But the saintly man is forgotten soon, The same as you and I. They bury him deep, While few friends weep, And the world goes on with a sigh. So, I say drink, oh pal, be merry, For tomorrow you may die -George R. Asbury (circa 1940)
I'm going to cheat this week. It's the last week of Natioanl Poetry Month and I think I've done a good job of posting *most* days. This week I'm going to do some re-posting of old poetry I've written. =o) This was an ode to Dr. Seuss on his birthday... enjoy!
I was watching The Blindside (again) recently. It's a great movie and my friends and I agree that Sandra Bullock plays a great 'Southern Mama'. But while watching it, I was struck by the acted out passion for Alfred, Lord Tennyson's The Charge of the Light Brigade; and I thought I'd share it here...
Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth."
So God created man in his own image,
in the image of God he created him;
male and female he created them.
And God blessed them. And God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth." And God said, "Behold, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit. You shall have them for food. And to every beast of the earth and to every bird of the heavens and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food." And it was so. And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.
Have you ever had a song touch your heart? So poetic that it was moving? I never understood the lyrics, but Complainte de la Butte did that for me the first time I heard it on the Moulin Rouge soundtrack... Rufus Wainright sings it and I think it's beautiful. You can watch it here, and while they lyrics aren't the same as I thought they might mean, I still think there is very much a beauty to them. I have them listed below with their translation... Enjoy!
Complainte de la Butte Lyrics
La lune, trop bleme, (the moon, too white)
pose un diadème (puts a tiara)
sur tes cheveux roux. (on your red hair)
La lune, trop rousse, (the moon, too red)
de gloire éclabousse (with glory splashes)
ton jupon plein de trous. (your ragged underskirt)
La lune, trop pâle, (the moon, too pale)
caresse l'opale (caress the opal)
de tes yeux blasés. (of your indifferent eyes)
Princesse de la rue, (princess of the street)
sois la bienvenue (be welcome)
dans mon coeur brisé. (in my broken heart)
The stairways up to la butte
can make the wretched sigh.
While windmill wings of the Moulin
shelter you and I.
Ma petite mandigotte, (my little beggar)
je sens ta menotte (I feel your hand)
qui cherche ma main. (searching for mine)
Je sens ta poitrine (I feel your chest)
et ta taille fine, (and your slim waist)
j'oublie mon chagrin. (I forget my sorrow)
Je sens sous tes lèvres (I smell on your lips)
une odeur de fièvre, (a scent of fever)
de gosse mal nourrie, (of an underfed kid)
et sous ta caresse, (and under your caress)
je sens une ivresse (I feel a drunkeness)
qui m'anéantit. (that kills me)
The stairways up to la butte
Can make the wretched sigh
While windmill wings of the Moulin
Shelter you and I
et voilà qu'elle trotte, (and there she goes strutting about)
la lune qui flotte, (the floating moon)
la princesse aussi. (along with the princess)
Mes rêves épanouis. (my thriving dreams)
Les escaliers de la butte (The stairways up to la butte)
sont durs aux miséreux. (are tough on the poor)
Les ailes du Moulin (the wings of the Moulin)
protègent les amoureux. (shelter those who love)
I have outlived the poet I'm sharing with you today. He was only 28 years old when he died. You've probably heard of him… He is the author of The Red Badge of Courage.
He had articles published by the age of 16, quit school at the age of 20 (school just wasn't for him… I totally get that! ha) and had a novel published at 22. He was a war correspondent for the Spanish-American War, was ship wrecked off the coast for Florida at the age of 25 where he was stuck in a dinghy for a several days. He wrote about it in a short story called 'The Open Boat'. He spent a couple of years living in England and covering conflicts in Greece and Cuba. It's been said that Stephen Crane's writing inspired the writings of many authors including Ernest Hemmingway.
But I remember him for a short, perceptive and kind of silly poem we read in high school:
"Think as I think," said a man,
"Or you are abominably wicked;
You are a toad." And after I had thought of it,
I said, "I will, then, be a toad."
The Black Riders and Other Lines (1895)
ee day 6! getting close to the finish... i think for today a quite famous poem that at one point was put to song. i know. i have friends that had to sing it in choir in high school. so with no further ado; dominic and his doll.
a doll wired
to the radiator of his
icecoalwood truck a
whom somebody buried
upsidedown in an ashbarrel so
of course dominic
& mrs dominic washed his sweet
face & mended
his bright torn trousers(quite
as if he were really her &
’s how dominic has a doll
& every now & then my
friend dominic depaola
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
for day four of ee cummings week, i am going to do a repost of a poem i wrote in 2008. it was a movie review for speed racer and i wrote it on very little sleep. i hope you enjoy it... or re-enjoy it...
almost sleeping still
could go home
race through my brain
i'm getting annoyed at blogger as i try to post this for the fourth time today. i don't know why but for some reason i'm being blocked from it! so here i try again. for day two, i bring you a lovely imagery laden barely punctuated highly spaced ee cummings poem i enjoy… once i was able to figure out the actual words…
can dy lu
greens coo l choc
have you ever studied ee cummings? i had to in high school:only for a week or so. i'm writing this post in all lowercase and added' punctuation in honor of this celebrated american author/artist/playwright butmostlyknownas poet.
he confused me.confounded me.concerned me.
i did not like having to read and understand and recite his poems.
so isnt' it funny that in spite of my utter dislike;; a few of my very favorite [poems] were written by him and everytime i start to write poems they're almost inspired by him!?
because of that, I am dedicating this week of my national poetry month blogging to ee.
i hope you are confused confounded concerned enough to enjoy appreciate
I heard this years ago. Amena J. Brown. I had it on a CD. The CD is long gone, but the memory of the power of the poetry in her made me search for her to show you all. Her poem is heartfelt truth. It made me crave more of myself belonging to God. Listen and search yourself.
...but this month is National Poetry Month! I know I blogged my way through National Crafting Month and I'm going to try it again. Only this time I have an accountability partner in A! She and I are going to spend the month blogging out own poetry and our favorite poetry and we'll see how we do! You can check her out here! So wish us luck in our presumptuous endeavor...
I totally failed finishing out my March crafting month blogs. I was in training at work for the last three days of the month and I was so exhausted by the time I got home I just didn't feel like blogging.
However, since I was training in Nashville, I met my (former) roommate A, who now lives in Nashville with her hubby D, twice! Once we had lunch together in her company's cafeteria (where I snapped this photo)…
…and a second time to indulge my craft and love of photography! I haven't uploaded let alone edited my pictures yet, but here are a few I snapped with my phone!