Here now John Keats, I salute you
Some of your poems
were met with contempt
and yet above most
English poets your work rise.
Your words are deep and wise
and sweep past time
in eloquence,
breaking right through history
with magic and imagery
and only after death
your true honour comes.
Now famous are your name
and on first reading
“Chapman’s Homer”
I was convinced
to read Homer’s Iliad and the Odyssey.
Your “La Belle Dame sans Merci”
and “Lamia” are reflected
in my own verse
and here now
John Keats, I salute you
while your words
are immortal to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Madonna (new version)
I thanked the gods for you
and you were Madonna beautiful to me
as if something holy
radiated from your heart.
Your golden eyes
could look deep into my soul
and you could understand me
for who and what
I really am.
You could put your fingers
to strings and brushes
and the most beautiful words
could go out of your hands
and your sparkling voice
stays forever with me,
but Madonna,
you are gone.
Now I know that John Keats
and AG Visser
would have understood how it feels
when a princess
whom you tried to build a life with,
decides that she does not
like you, neverless love you
and I wonder
if there’s still a heart beating
Madonna, in your breast?
[References: La belle dame sans merci by John Keats, La belle dame sans merci by AG Visser, La belle dame sans merci by Gert Strydom and No red rose by Gert Strydom.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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La belle dame sans merci
Every day she unfolds leave on leave
drawing fascination from everyone.
Every day with greater beauty,
she spreads her life force
giving herself, giving all of her
without a leave withering or wilting.
So without scar,
without blemish she appears
and still she carries to eternity
the signs of her time
and still she can attract and charm so much
that you and I
fall under her spell.
[References: La belle dame sans merci by John Keats, La belle dame sans merci by AG Visser and No red rose by Gert Strydom]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Peggy Mitchell
Your smile came so easily
as a rose unfolding under the sun
and almost carelessly were we
in a true happy state
falling for each other
and yet although pure with great dignity
love sprouted as a simple flower
coming to its own perfection
but the thorns that it carried
brought pain, mercilessly tormenting
in madness, glee and selfishly
and still as joy unending
and carelessly you wanted to be free,
just as easily you left me, senselessly
as stripped leaves wither,
to flower for another
to have his heart at your mercy.
[References: Peggy Mitchell by the Irish poet Rafferty, Peggy Mitchell by James Stephens, Sy by A.G. Visser, Peggy Mitchell by Eugene N. Marais, La belle dame sans merci by John Keats, Madonna (new version) , No Red Rose and La belle dame sans merci by Gert Strydom.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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What Kisses Had John Keats?
I scanned two lines with some surmise
As over Keats I chanced to pore:
'And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four.'
Says I: 'Why was it only four,
Not five or six or seven?
I think I would have made it more,--
Even eleven.
'Gee! If she'd lured a guy like me
Into her gelid grot
I'd make that Belle Dame sans Merci
Sure kiss a lot.
'Them poets have their little tricks;
I think John counted kisses for,
Not two or three or five or six
To rhyme with "sore."'
poem by Robert William Service
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Lawstudent And Coach
Each day I sit in an ill-lighted room
To teach a boy;
For one hour by the clock great words and dreams
Are our employ.
We read St Agnes' Eve and that more fair
Eve of St Mark
At a small table up against the wall
In the half-dark.
I tell him all the wise things I have read
Concerning Keats.
'His earlier work is overfull of sense
And sensual sweets.'
I tell him all that comes into my mind
From God-knows-where,
Remark, 'In English poets Bertha's type
Is jolly rare.
She's a real girl that strains her eyes to read
And cricks her neck.
Now Madeline could pray all night nor feel
Her body's check.
And Bertha reads, p'rhaps the first reading girl
In English rhyme.'
It's maddening work to say what Keats has said
A second time.
The boy sits sideways with averted head.
His brown cheek glows.
I like his black eyes and his sprawling limbs
And his short nose.
He, feeling, dreads the splendour of the verse,
But he must learn
To write about it neatly and to quote
These lines that burn.
He drapes his soul in my obscuring words,
Makes himself fit
To go into a sunny world and take
His part in it.
'Examiners' point of view, you know,' say I,
'Is commonsense.
You must sift poetry before you can
Sift Evidence.'
poem by Lesbia Harford
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The author of the Iliad is either Homer or, if not Homer, somebody else of the same name.
quote by Aldous Huxley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A companion's words of persuasion are effective.
So it is that the gods do not give all men gifts of grace - neither good looks nor intelligence nor eloquence.
The wine urges me on, the bewitching wine, which sets even a wise man to singing and to laughing gently and rouses him up to dance and brings forth words which were better unspoken.
It was built against the will of the immortal gods, and so it did not last for long.
There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.
On a Close-up of Louis Esterhuizen, on His Poem “Winnie”
So tell me Louis, you allege:
“I went to look at the remarks
found in his biographical sketch:
“I love the work of various poets
and my favourites are AG Visser, Eugene Marais,
Ingrid Jonker, D.J. Opperman, N.P. Van Wyk Louw,
William Shakespeare, Dylan Thomas, John Keats,
Robert Frost, W.B. Yeats, Yahuda Amichai,
Hannah Szenes, Stevie Smith, Dorothy Parker
and even Homer.””
Further you say: “With the exception of a few names
under the English favourites, all the Afrikaans poets are experts
whom he probably encountered at school,
if a person looks at the verses on his page
you realise that Mr. X has never grown past the incidental
school-contact...In this he is alas not unique.”
Still you are the great master
where it comes to the works of Homer,
as you make a comparison
in your poem “Winnie” between Me. Winnie Mandela
and Homer’s character Penelope,
where there are in reality flagrant contrasts
and the masters canonise this poem
in the “Great Verse Book”
without even being aware of the contrasts?
Let me as just a unfolding poet
who “has never grown past
the incidental school-contact, ”
point out the contrasts clearly:
The story of Penelope comes
out of Homer’s Odyssey where the title
indicates a long historical journey or adventure
or some wanderings
that the main character Odysseus / Ulysses
undertakes before again arriving
at the island Ithaca
where he rules as the king.
For only a very short while
Odysseus / Ulysses is with the nymph Circe
on a island, but the greatest part of the book
is about his wanderings.
In flagrant contrast you write:
”And Penelope comes forward, impatient
and rude as Ulysses is only moving rocks
on his island.”
Where you use the Roman name of Odysseus
to describe Nelson Mandela.
Your Ulysses is not wandering at that stage
or travelling on a historical journey full of adventure
he is busy “moving rocks.”
At that stage your Ulysses
isn’t a king, far less
your Penelope ever becomes a queen,
not even the wife of a president.
The original Odysseus / Ulysses
is only true to one goddess namely Athena
who at various times helps him,
even in his battles,
where your Ulysses divorces your Penelope,
takes another wife
and marries her as a Christian, a Moslem, a Hindu
and also as a Jew.
Still less the ”UDF, AZAPO and also COSATU;
then there’s also the Young Comrades -”
are princes and kings who are trying to seduce her.
Nevertheless you write:
“But while the crown-princes are wooing her
and the almost-princes gather around her
and rollick, the woman plays
in the three storey-mansion
with her last matches.”
The real wife of the real Odysseus / Ulysses
was not involved with a “Stompie” character
who disappeared without a sign
and in the Odyssey the property of Odysseus / Ulysses
is wasted and devoured,
while the princes are fornicating with the maids
and Odysseus / Ulysses
along with his son Telemachus destroys
all of those princes and kings
along with the fornicating maids
that contrasts flagrantly
with the acts of your Ulysses.
Your Ulysses is moving stones, only walks
on his way to freedom a few steps,
divorces your Penelope
and marries another wife.
Nonetheless the original Penelope remains true
to Odysseus / Ulysses,
under the pretext of completing a shroud
that she is weaving for her father in law Laertes,
of which she continually again frays out the thread
and later the two are again together and happy
and it is the nearest
that you come to the original story:
“to again fray out the dream-cloak:
Oh, the endless undoing
of the endless doing, she lisps.”
To my opinion your comparison
between Me. Winnie and Penelope
is rather shallow and totally ungrounded,
as their are just too many contrasts
that you did not think through
and now I am wondering
who is the person
that has “never grown past the incidental
school-contact” as far as Homer’s Odyssey is concerned?
(After Anthony Delius/References: The poem “Winnie” by Louis Esterhuizen, “The Odyssey” by Homer. “On a Close-up of Dirk Opperman, on the Jacket of his Komas” by Anthony Delius.)
poem by Gert Strydom
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On First Looking - Parody John KEATS – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
On First Looking
Much have I rummaged, bartered books for gold,
and many goodly states of Shakespeare seen,
round many stalls and book fairs have I been
which frauds in fealty to their runners hold.
Oft of some sharp expense had I been told
that Maggs or Quaritch made their pet demesne,
yet never did I seethe with rage so keen
till once a chap-book saw I still unsold.
Then wished I Evoe was, who in disguise,
the superman of planet fame, I ken,
skinned over catalogues with eagle eyes
to stare at price lists with a skill few men
can e’er attain unearthing bargains. Vain
‘twas, a dream, I sink, to sleep again...
[c] Jonathan Robin parody written 2 August 1991
Parody John KEATS 1795_1821 – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
________
On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer
Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne:
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific, and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise -
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
John KEATS 1795_1821
___________
On First Looking into Bee Palmer's Shoulders
WITH BOWS TO KEATS AND KEITH'S
'The World's Most Famous Shoulders'
'BEE' PALMER has taken the raw human - all too human - stuff of the underworld, with its sighs of sadness and regret, its mad merriment, its swift blaze of passion, its turbulent dances, its outlaw music, its songs of the social bandit, and made a new art product of the theatre. She is to the sources of jazz and the blues what François Villon was to the wild life of Paris. Both have found exquisite blossoms of art in the sector of life most removed from the concert room and the boudoir, and their harvest has the vigour, the resolute life, the stimulating quality, the indelible impress of daredevil, care-free, do-as-you-please lives of the picturesque men and women who defy convention. From Keith's Press Agent.
Much have I travell'd in the realms of jazz,
And many goodly arms and shoulders seen
Quiver and Quake - if you know what I mean;
I've seen a lot, as everybody has.
Some plaudits got, while others got the razz.
But when I saw Bee Palmer, shimmy queen,
I shook - in sympathy - my troubled bean,
And said, 'This is the utter razmatazz.'
Then felt I like some patient with a pain
When a new surgeon swims into his ken,
Or like stout Brodie, when, with reeling brain,
He jumped into the river. There and then
I swayed and took the morning train
To Norwalk, Naugatuck, and Darien.
Franklin Pierce ADAMS 1881_1960
By Mother Goose and our own Sara Teasdale - Something Else Again Part II
Parody John KEATS 1795_1821 – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
___________
On First Looking in on Blodgett's...
Mellifluous as bees, these brittle men
droning of Honeyed Homer give me hives.
I scratch, yawn like a bear, my arm arrives
at yours - oh, Honey, and we're back again,
me the Balboa, you the Darien,
lording the loud Pacific sands, our lives
as hazarded as when a petrel dives
to yank the dull sea's coverlet, or when,
breaking from me across the sand that's rink
and record of our weekend boning up
on The Romantic Agony, you sink
John Keats a good surf-fisher's cast out - plump
in the sun's wake - and the parched pages drink
that great whales' blanket party hump and hump.
George STARBUCK 1931_20
Parody John KEATS 1795_1821 – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
___________
On First Looking Into an Exam Paper
Oft have I batted on the cricket field,
And over many a bowler could I crow.
My frequent fights would sweat-browed triumphs yield,
For few could better give a knock-out blow.
Oft of this dismal time had I been told
That th’examiner ruled as his demesne,
Yet till the fatal day I was serene,
Though on the morning I grew wondrous cold.
Then felt I like some infant catching flies
When a large hornet hums within his ken,
Or like a truant when with fearful eyes
He views the upturned rod. So I stared then
Upon the questions in a wild surprise,
Silent, and peakish, chewing at my pen.
Arthur Compton RICKETT 1869_1937
Parody John KEATS 1795_1821 – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
____________
On First Looking through Krafft-Ebing's Psychopathia Sexualis
Much have I travelled in those realms of old
Where many a whore in hall-doors could be seen,
Of many a bonnie brothel or shebeen
Which bawds connived at by policemen hold.
I too have listened when the Quay was coaled,
But never did I taste the Pure Obscene –
Mych less imagine that my past was clean –
Till this Kraft-Ebing out his story told.
Then felt I rather taken by surprise
As on the evening when I met Macran,
And retrospective thoughts and doubts did rise –
Was I quite normal when my life began
With loves that leans towards rural sympathies
Potent behind a cart with Mary Ann?
Oliver St John GOGARTY 1878_1957
Parody John KEATS 1795_1821 – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
___________
On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
O I had been to sunny Spain
And I had been to Rome,
I’d been to Majorca again and again,
New York was as good as home,
But the scholars they spoke of a golden land
Described by an ancient Greek;
Yet all I got was Blackpool sand
Till I heard Chapman speak.
O he was like a big pools win
Or a dance by Legs and Co.,
O he was as good as an hour of sin
With a hostess in Soho,
And I felt like Cortez when he saw
The sea from a Darien peak –
‘Cos Pope does a lot but Chapman more
[If you can’t read Homer in Greek].
T. GRIFFITHS
Parody John KEATS 1795_1821 – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
-----
On first looking into Chapman's Homer
Much have I travelled in East Lothian and Dundee,
Many fine buildings and bridges for to see.
I have even journeyed as far as Arran,
Though sad to say it is rather barren.
Frequently of another expanse had I been told,
Described by Homer, the Greek writer of old.
But only when I read Mr. Chapman’s translation
Did I have a very strong sensation.
An amateur astronomer was what I felt like,
When he sees a new planet or comet late at night;
Or a fat Spaniard who is to become quite famous,
Looking at the sea and wondering what its name is.
Parody John KEATS 1795_1821 – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The outcome of the war is in our hands the outcome of words is in the council.
0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Thanks, Dear Poet Francis Duggan!
When sincere, honest words come from a peer,
Acknowledging a fellow poet’s work,
What joy afills the latter’s heart, Oh dear!
Would not the ecstasy turn him berserk?
The accreditation is charming too;
As words revered come from a heart of love,
And everything mentioned is very true,
I’m sure they’re inspired by God above!
The dedication seems indeed superb;
With foresight that a few poets possess,
The verse appears green like a magic herb!
I pray that God must Francis Duggan bless.
Oh, what a way to laud a poet’s verse!
So, thank you Francis for your poem terse.
Dedicated fondly to Poet Francis Duggan,
As a token of appreciation for his
‘John Celes’ at Web Poetry Corner
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-10-2006
poem by John Celes
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Sometimes I Find Poems
Sometimes I find poems
Like they were jewels in the sand
So excellently written
A blessing to read and understand.
Sometimes I find poems
Composed like it was a work of art
The writer weaving word tapestry
As he writes diligently from his heart.
Sometimes I find poems
Laced with just verbal grime
With random musings or lost words
That to read them is a total waste of time.
So to the writers who value the pen
With all respect, I give you my salute
With the hope you keep writing again and again
And to this site your work you contribute!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Y.. Poetry and History
Tired at night, I went to sleep
I slept tremendously deep
I slept a very long time
I woke up in October of 2110
and some history books of then
were laying in that room of mine
How exciting it was, how queer
to read the history of the coming years
I was in for quite a surprise
The heroes of the 2011 history books
were labelled as what they were, just crooks
Heroes in 2110 were nobody else than the wise
There were some wise people, so clever
who brought to us kindness and wisdom forever
these were the heroes of 2110
Among the heroes, prophets and thinkers were found
poets of wisdom, their names all around
Sages and wise ones from way back,2010
In 2110, from what I could read
there was no longer hunger, no more greed
thanks to the poets sharing wonderful words
I prayed to go back to the time when I had started to sleep
I wanted to share that news, so good, so profound and deep
I was happy to wake up in the now, my prayers were heard
So here I share the wonderful news at last
That greed and hunger will soon be a thing of the past
it all 'll have started in 2012 during spring
History books of the future mention a kindness revolution
Starting in May 2012, affecting all subsequent evolution
Isn't that a wonderful thing?
poem by Aufie Zophy
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Like So Many Poems I Read
LIKE SO MANY POEMS I READ
Like so many poems I read
These poems I am reading now
Are not poems to me.
They are too detached
Too abstract
Too up in the air.
I want to hear the words
Make a music of feeling
In my soul.
A poem must move me
If it is to be real.
Why then do I write these words
as if a poem?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry
To those of you who've never read poems
there is a vacancy in your homes.
For poets dream
and poets scream
words that should be said
and never left dead.
They speak of love in artful wonder
and even love that's torn asunder.
They tell the stories that affect the people.
Their hopes, their fears,
the ageing years
their laughing times,
their weeping tears.
Poetry has its own special flow.
If you've never read it you don't know
its magic with word
not silent but heard.
To evoke in the mind
something you find
with rhythm and cadences
allowing your senses
to come alive.
Alive.
Most poets are quiet except with their pen.
They become quite vociferous especially when
conveying to you what they deem to be true.
For poets are sensitive
to all they see.
They speak from the heart
and hope to be
inspirational, controversial
to awaken in you
a picture or image
for your mind to view.
Poems are music and praise for the soul
that hungers and thirsts
for you to become whole.
All of the poets who've come and gone
have left their thoughts and then moved on,
moved on to pursue loftier goals
accompanied by words to soothe their souls.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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