Tag Archive for Poet

Ben Jonson – Shakespeare Contemporary

O, for an engine, to keep back all clocks, or make the sun forget his motion!

Ben Jonson, playwright

Ben Jonson, Shakespeare contemporary.

The Day is Gone, and all its Sweets are Gone

I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections, and the truth of imagination.

- John Keats

John Keats left for Italy on September 17, 1820 with hopes of a recovery from tuberculosis. Unfortunately it was his last destination as he would be gone the following February leaving behind his beloved Fanny Brawne and the only friend to accompany him and nurse him in his last days, Joseph Severn.

Keat’s poetry as music…

Stafylakis – Keats Cycle – 2 The day is gone

An impressive reading of The Day is Gone by John Keats read by actor Tyrone Power can be found at YouTube as well.

The Day is Gone, and all its Sweets are Gone

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,
Warm breath, light whisper, tender semitone,
Bright eyes, accomplished shape, and lang’rous waist!
Faded the flower and all its budded charms,
Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,
Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,
Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise -
Vanished unseasonably at shut of eve,
When the dusk holiday -or holinight
Of fragrant-curtained love begins to weave
The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight;
But, as I’ve read love’s missal through today,
He’ll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.

Henry David Thoreau Excerpt from Where I Lived, and What I Lived For

My Life Has Been the Poem

My life has been the poem I would have writ,
But I could not both live and utter it.

On Sep 6, 1847, Henry David Thoreau leaves his home on Walden to move into the home of Ralph Waldo Emerson, his mentor. Nothing describes who Henry David Thoreau was more than his own words. His appreciation for nature and his surroundings speaks volumes and as a reader, we are thankful that the city life was not for him.

An excerpt from Where I Lived, and What I Lived For
Walden Or Life In The Woods by Henry David Thoreau

The only house I had been the owner of before, if I except a boat, was a tent, which I used occasionally when making excursions in the summer, and this is still rolled up in my garret; but the boat, after passing from hand to hand, has gone down the stream of time. With this more substantial shelter about me, I had made some progress toward settling in the world. This frame, so slightly clad, was a sort of crystallization around me, and reacted on the builder. It was suggestive somewhat as a picture in outlines. I did not need to go outdoors to take the air, for the atmosphere within had lost none of its freshness. It was not so much within doors as behind a door where I sat, even in the rainiest weather. The Harivansa says, “An abode without birds is like a meat without seasoning.” Such was not my abode, for I found myself suddenly neighbor to the birds; not by having imprisoned one, but having caged myself near them. I was not only nearer to some of those which commonly frequent the garden and the orchard, but to those smaller and more thrilling songsters of the forest which never, or rarely, serenade a villager – the wood thrush, the veery, the scarlet tanager, the field sparrow, the whip-poor-will, and many others.

Footnotes October 7, 2008

Follow your inner moonlight;

don’t hide the madness.

Allen Ginsberg
June 3, 1926 – April 5, 1997

Poets

A Poetry Review

Speak Your Mind

Writer’s Digest Prompt Contest 14

Edgar Allen Poe – Annabel Lee

Today in history, poet Alan Ginsberg reads his poem “Howl” at a poetry reading.

Edgar Allen Poe – Annabel Lee

Edgar Allen Poe is one on of my favorite writers and I’m certain he would have understood Allen Ginsberg’s sentiment of poets being damned.

Here is a classic Poe poem. My parents had to memorize this poem in school (the teacher was somewhat obsessed with Poe, that knowledge proved helpful when I ended up with the same teacher years later…). While I’ve never memorized it, I still know great parts of it and can feel it in my soul.

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.