I Take From Wordsworth The Love of Calm Beauty
I TAKE FROM WORDSWORTH THE LOVE OF CALM BEAUTY
I take from Wordsworth the Love of Calm Beauty-
From Coleridge distracted searching for an Idea of it all-
From Borges the Pleasure in stories of Mind-
From Hopkins Alliteration’s passion in Poetry's Despair-
From Dickinson enigmatic perceiving of Infinity not found-
From Shakespeare more than I can name or hear-
From Psalms the God I Need and I Fear.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Related quotes
Our Wordsworth
Oh! Wordsworth, Oh! Wordsworth …
We are still in debt to you, and we will have to be.
You enhanced the strength of poetry.
You made a marvelous tune to enrich poetry.
Oh! Wordsworth …
We can now clarify our thoughts with extend because of you, Wordsworth.
You euphonized poetry without the indenture- but with moderation,
and it's decorous.
This will be evergreen, and everlasting.
It's a mnemonics and I always follow it.
Oh! Wordsworth…
poem by Bibhakar Dutta
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Lost The Music Of My Poetry
I LOST THE MUSIC OF MY POETRY
I lost the music of my poetry
I tried to hear it again
In old lines of my own,
Or in the lines of more musical poets-
Tehillim and Kohleth
Stevens and Keats, Hopkins Wordsworth and Dickinson-
Shakespeare-
But I heard no music of my own
Perhaps I have never really had
A music of my own.
Perhaps all I have had
Is what I have here-
Short lines of prose
Which also have their rhythm-
But are not true poems
And certainly do not sing together
As my soul would.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poets of Great Renown
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
and William Wordsworth were
eighteenth-nineteenth Century
British Poets of renown...
they collaborated in fine
lyrical ballad style, both
loving the rhythm and rhyme
of Shakespeare, his sonnets
and his plays.
In seventeen ninety six
Wordsworth and Coleridge met,
becoming 'poetry' friends,
but sadly with time their
friendship ended.
I quote just four lines from their
lengthy poem of imagination..
The Ancient Mariner.
'He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small
For the dear God who loveth us
He made ~ and loveth all'
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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The Lake Poets
You have heard of William Wordsworth he was bard of Cockermouth
And he truly was a great poet if that ever was in doubt
And with Southey and With Coleridge they became known as the lake poets
And they made the Lake District famous and some famous poems they wrote.
Robert Southey was a fine poet he was slave to poetry
And he was for awhile Poet Laureate proves the great poet he must be
And though he is not well known as Coleridge and Wordsworth's is a greater name
He tends to be under rated and deserve a better fame.
And as for Samuel Taylor Coleridge a name verse critics celebrate
His works were born of genius a poetic all time great
The Rhyme Of The Ancient Mariner his masterpiece and some say
Is even greater than the famous elegy of Gray
And as for himself Will Wordsworth his fame seem to grow and grow
He has fifty times as many readers nowadays as he had one hundred years ago
When one talks of poets and poetry Wordsworth's name can't be left out
A testimony to the greatness of the Bard of Cockermouth.
Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth geniuses all three
Their names inscribed in glory and poetic history
They lived in the Lake District that beautiful English country side
And due to the fame of these men the Lake District is known World wide.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Emily Dickinson Is Not Borges
EMILY DICKINSON IS NOT BORGES
Emily Dickinson is not Borges
And Borges is not Kafka
And Kafka is not Dickens
And no one is Shakespeare-
Each one is only one self
Except for those who are many selves
And those who are many selves
Do not know
Who they themselves are-
Lear is not Falstaff
And Falstaff is not Hamlet
And Hamlet is not Shakespeare
And Shakespeare is not Donne-
No one is anyone but themselves
And even those who are really ‘someone'
Are not all the others who also are-
And we who are nothing at all?
What are we?
We are not nothing at all.
We are not great
And no one will remember our names
But we are still here now
Reading Borges and Dickenson and Kafka and Shakespeare
And wondering how and why
There are those in a world of their own
With names of their own
They themselves will never completely know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sonnet: Nature Is Beautiful
While Wordsworth worshipped Nature; Keats, Beauty;
To them, each was his art, life, religion;
With senses exalted, did their duty;
Imagination adding perfection.
When God made Nature, He gave it beauty;
All things He made with purpose, perfectly;
He made with man a covenant-treaty;
To enjoy it with his ability.
And Man invented words and syllables;
He used them to describe Mother Nature;
The latter found use in all Parables;
Revealing God's love for man in rapture.
Beauty's zenith of words is Poetry;
Divine love takes us to Eternity.
poem by John Celes
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I love the word 'calm
I love the word ‘calm’
‘The sea lies calm tonight’
‘Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
‘And calm of mind, all passion spent’
I love the word ‘calm’
And the feeling of peace,
And the joy in quiet,
And the sense of all things well,
It gives.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Literary Envy
LITERARY ENVY
Not Shakespeare
Not Tolstoy
Not Kafka Joyce Proust
Not Keats Yeats Wordsworth
Not Hopkins Dickinson
Not Whitman
Not I.B. Singer
Not Hemingway
Not Bellow
Not even Philip Roth
Updike or Salinger.
Not any of the writers
Whose work I love and admire.
Not even the living names now
Who will cease to be
Names In Time.
Like the great mass of mankind
When I die
I will not be in the Consciousness
Of future generations.
I will not be.
I will be ‘not’.
I
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Am Calm In The Pain
I AM CALM IN THE PAIN
I am calm in the pain,
And calm in the rejection,
And calm through the insult,
And calm through the anger,
And calm calm calm,
Though I feel so deeply
How I have failed
I am calm
Very calm
So calm
Until suddenly
In the middle of the morning prayer
I begin to cry to God
Cry with a terrible crying
And then when the prayer done
Calm calm calm calm calm.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Beauty Within
A beauty that comes from within
is a beauty that age cannot wrinkle
Not distracted by a simple pimple
But a radiant face of joy and pleasure
A woman of inner beauty
Is a life full of love and bounty
Her sweet smile will never fade away
For the Lord is her security
She longs for a pure heart
And wears a cheerful countenance
She does not need a color to overhaul
For her beauty is within after all
Nov.11,2008
poem by Meggie Gultiano
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Beauty is
Beauty is…
Beauty is a bond
A bond like no other
Working together
Always there for each other
The love in one’s eye
Together as one
Calm and collected
Always affective
Forever loved
The beauty doves
Also to have fun
And pure love
Beauty is the partnership of Horse and Rider……
poem by Kerstin Allen
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The Sonnet In Old Age
THE SONNET IN OLD AGE
If to the sessions of sweet silent thought
one summons memories of sonnets long reread in mind
unsprings the blasted lyrics Time has left unpaged
dreams of other nights and other days
in quiet places long since lost in youth
where little lines embodied- Glory, Beauty, Truth.
Then Shakespeare Donne Keats,
Hopkins Milton Wordsworth Yeats
Obscuring lesser names and smaller shades
Inspire with dearer dearer life
Tranquillity's reflection
in old age,
Consoling our last moments
in God's praise.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Beauty is
The beauty beheld is alive.
Beauty hiding is of the soul.
Beauty freed is love.
Beauty seen is beauty in control.
Beauty is the passion of the heart.
Beauty causes order divine.
Beauty is seen in all the great.
Beauty is the lure of nature's design.
poem by Josh Alfred
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quotes From Poets On Poetry
** QUOTES FROM POETS ON
POETRY
The great Shakespeare in his ‘A Midsummer
Night’s Dream’,
Speaks of poetry as ‘forms of things unknown,
The poet’s pen turns them to shape,
And gives to airy nothing a local habitation
and a name’!
John Ashbery had always felt, that ‘poetry
all the time goes on in his head’, -
And ‘occasionally he snips off a length’!
For Coleridge, ‘prose is arrangement of words
in their best order’,
But ‘poetry is the best words in their best order’!
For Paul Engle, poetry is ‘ordinary language
raised to the N-th power’,
While for William Wordsworth it is a continuous
shower, -
And ‘a spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings,
Of emotions recollected in tranquility’, - is fairly
healing!
Shelley in his ‘Defense of Poetry’ sincerely felt,
That ‘poetry lifts the veil, from the hidden beauty
of the world’,
Making ‘the familiar objects be as if they were
not familiar’!
While Carl Sandburg speaks of poetry as, -
‘The journal of a sea animal living on land,
Wanting to fly in the air’, - as high as it possibly
can!
Robert Graves declared rather candidly, -
That ‘if there’s no money in poetry’, one need
not feel sorry,
Since there is ‘neither any poetry in money’!
I conclude with Robert Frost, who always felt,
That writing a ‘poem is discovering as he
progressed’,
Since for him, ‘poetry never had a pre-meditated
end’!
-Raj Nandy
New Delhi
26 Feb 09
(** The words of our famous poets/authors, have
been placed in ‘inverted commas’.)
Poetry Is All In One!
Passion for poetry is insatiable!
Poetry gives pleasure nothing can!
Poetry is many subjects under one roof!
Poetry never bores to write and read ever!
Poetry is a compression of many ideas in a nut shell!
Poetry displays power of pen to capture men ever!
Poetry captures as photo castles built in air!
Poetry is spontaneous over flow of ides!
Poetry flows free if extemporary!
Poetry is prolific words sure!
Poetry is a thing of joy!
Poetry is beauty!
Poetry is witty!
Poetry cheers!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Behold, I adore beauty
Beauty is warm and cold
Beauty is black and bold
Beauty is different for us all I am told
Beauty I would love a chance to mould
Beauty gives the finest pleasure I am told
Beauty can be bought and sold
To the one and only highest bidder
While it graciously glitters like gold
I adore beauty
Oh! How I adore beauty with a passion
I adore beauty with every last breath
Beauty itself is not exempt
From the laws of birth and death
It experiences the joys of being young and old
Blossoming each day in early youth
Maturing adoringly each day with age
Behold, I adore beauty
Oh! How I adore beauty with a passion
Beauty is something I would like to hold
Where there is too much ugly
I can bring it out of a drawer and unfold
Spread it around the entire household
Without worrying about getting a scold
Behold, I adore beauty
Oh! How I adore beauty
When out on a nightie
Quite hungry and thirsty
And you drink the last drops of milk
From a beautiful chest that is busty
I would say, that itself is a faculty of beauty
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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All The Poems Remain Written Where They Once Never Were
ALL THE POEMS REMAIN WRITTEN WHERE THEY ONCE NEVER WERE
All the poems remain written where they once never were
The grass and the skies of Whitman form lines in the mind of Baudelaire
The trees and dark cities of the distance form single sounds in the heart of the poet who cares
Night is more than darkness and day more than an early setting out
Each thing influences the other and calls back its own origins and end
We are going somewhere we will never know whether we write eternal lines or not
Over everywhere can be heard in the morning light the selfsame sound that through the heart of Ruth burned the alien corn
Keats is not dead, and Borges is not dead and Kafka is not dead and Wordsworth and all those who wrote great lines are not dead
Poetry is the last first eternity of the living word
And those who can hear the sounds of others greater than themselves in their own lines know
We are all writing down this last poem for ourselves and no one else
Though as we go to pray each morning the minyan tells us secretly
All our prayers together are more than any single poem can be alone
In the grey long distance where no one hears any poem at all
God writes and rewrites for us all the book of the stars in which dread is no longer a name
And beauty bright bright beauty is heard and reechoed as more than we will ever be
God is the only Poetry in the End
God is the Only One who never will be dead..
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Their Kind Of Words
AND I DON’T HAVE / THEIR KIND OF WORDS
And I don’t have
Their kind of words.
Keats, Hopkins, Stevens
Shakespeare, Dickinson.
I don’t have
Their kind
Of Poetry.
A higher deeper
More beautiful poetry-
I don’t have it.
I have simple words
And a tired old soul
And a love of God,
And a singing in the wilderness
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry Unlimited
Poetry is looking,
at a flower and,
seeing the beauty
hidden within.
Poetry is bringing
out love, deep in
your heart, telling
your love one how you feel.
Poetry is feeling
a cool breeze
as you lie in an open
field, so deep in thought.
Poetry is seeing
the beauty of soft
fluffy white clouds
as no one else does.
Poetry is hearing
sounds of nature
soaking it all in
to mind and soul.
Poetry is watching and
standing by river's edge
seeing rippling water
flowing to places unknown.
Poetry is gazing at
rolling hills stretching
as far, as the eye
can see.
Poetry is digging
deep into inter feelings
bringing it out
and exposing it.
Poetry is love
Poetry is feelings
Poetry is seeing
Poetry is what you are.