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St David’s Day Poem

david

St David’s Day Poem

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus!

As has become traditional on this blog, I’ve decided to mark St David’s Day (Dydd Gŵyl Dewi) by posting a poem by R.S. Thomas. This one is called To a Young Poet, but  if you change “poet” to “physicist” it’s not far off the mark either. Perhaps there is more than one young physicist that this speaks to!

For the first twenty years you are still growing
Bodily that is: as a poet, of course,
You are not born yet. It’s the next ten
You cut your teeth on to emerge smirking
For your brash courtship of the muse.
You will take seriously those first affairs
With young poems, but no attachments
Formed then but come to shame you,
When love has changed to a grave service
Of a cold queen.

From forty on
You learn from the sharp cuts and jags
Of poems that have come to pieces
In your crude hands how to assemble
With more skill the arbitrary parts
Of ode or sonnet, while time fosters
A new impulse to conceal your wounds
From her and from a bold public,
Given to pry.

You are old now
As years reckon, but in that slower
World of the poet you are just coming
To sad manhood, knowing the smile
On her proud face is not for you.

The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams – Famous poet

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Born: September 17, 1883
Birthplace: Rutherford, New Jersey
Died: March 4, 1963
William Carlos Williams was a Pulitzer Prize-winning poet and medical doctor.

 “The Red Wheelbarrow” by William Carlos Williams, was untitled when it first appeared as number xxi in his 1923 collection, Spring and All. Titled or untitled, it’s surely one of the most memorable poems ever written. But do we remember it in the way we usually remember poems? If you’re familiar with “The Red Wheelbarrow”, shut your eyes now and see what happens when you try to recall it. The poem probably appears in front of you, more or less intact. It’s the visual memory that it appeals to: once seen, its overall shape and inner patterns, as well as its key images, seem printed on the brain.

The visual arts had a profound effect on Williams’s poetic development, beginning with the new work he encountered in the epochal 1913 Armory Show. The moving spirit behind this exhibition was the photographer Alfred Stieglitz. His avant-garde Gallery 291 became another hub of creative activity for the new American artists, and Williams was a regular visitor.

As his Autobiography reveals, Williams was interested in Cubism, Futurism, photographic art, and the “readymades” of Marcel Duchamp. He talks particularly about the significance of Paul Cézanne and his successors, approving their concept of “sheer paint: a picture a matter of pigments upon a piece of cloth stretched on a frame.”

The four stanzas here are rather like that “piece of cloth, stretched on a frame”. The structural tension gives every word its space and focus. The dominant nouns are like objects painted vividly onto a neutral ground. Williams emphasises the colours rather than the shapes – the shape, after all, appears in our minds as soon as we see a word like “wheelbarrow” or “chickens”.

“The key, the master-key to the age,” Williams said of the modern movement in literature, “was that jump from the feeling to the word itself: that which had been got down, the thing to be judged and valued accordingly.” But we shouldn’t forget that poems are made of line-breaks as well as words, and “so much depends”, in this poem, on the splitting of the two compound words, “wheelbarrow” and “rainwater”. These dissections slow us down, and help the mind’s eye to register more: the individual wheels as well as the body of the barrow, the water that is more than raindrops.

Important for their spatial emphases are the prepositions. “Upon” and “beside” are two little words that the poem magnifies hugely. Their implications float beyond the phrases that contain them. The abstract “so much” depends upon the objects, but the rainwater also depends physically upon the barrow, and the glazing effect depends upon the rainwater. The idea of the barrow being “beside” the chickens is complex: the barrow is stationary (there is no sign of anyone pushing it) while the chickens are likely to be moving about. If they are not specially posed, their aesthetic effect is sheer lucky chance. The effect is snatched after all from the flux of existence.

Had Williams simply set down his imagery as a description, the poem would still have its visual impact, but we would be in an entirely contained pictorial world. But the poem’s opening assertion, “so much depends/upon…”, shows that, perhaps paradoxically, the speaker is not simply content with the thing itself.

A naive reading could take it as a comment about the great usefulness ofwheelbarrows on small-holdings where chickens are kept. Unharmed by the rain which has simply left a sheen on the painted surface, the barrow will shortly be filled with more useful matter. It would be amusing to think that the doctor-poet, so pragmatic and modest in his daily life, meant nothing more than that. But no: the poem has an obviously aesthetic agenda. Its author is a radical innovator, and he is setting out his poetry-barrow, not describing his wheelbarrow. This is his manifesto, surely – a poem quietly declaring how modern poetry works.

“No ideas but in things,” as he famously said. And yet, in this poem, so much depends on how we interpret the statement “so much depends”.

“The Red Wheelbarrow” evades what it seems to invite: a simple, visual interpretation. It seems to be absolutely clear, but, at the same time, it’s a riddle. Whatever you may decide the poem means intellectually, as an art-object it holds on to its own indelible shape and colour. Its images are irrefutable, and no amount of verbal rain will ever wash them from the memory they have entered – nor dull the shiny, spring-like, fresh-paint patina of happiness that this particular wheelbarrow seems to carry.

The Red Wheelbarrow 

so much depends
upon 

a red wheel
barrow 

glazed with rain
water 

beside the white
chickens.

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU

WHAT’S YOURS

WE WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOUR POETRY HERE!

If you have any poetry you have written about Christmas,we would like to display it on our website:

http://www.poetreecreations.org

Please send it to:poetreecreations@yahoo.com

Constant Pain – Promote Yourself

 

pian life

 

 

 

 

 

which is always there with me

There is absolutely no gain

In pretending what others want you to be

May be the pain will fizzle out

but I will miss its presence

Among all these self doubts

Constant pain is my life’s essence

Gaurab   Country : India

Blog : http://processingthelife.com/about/

About : I like travelling and photography. I’m an avid reader, I also write,mostly about my experiences and journeys. 🙂

Walking by Landmarks

 

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~
I took a walk outside the other day
And realized the world has remained the same
The fields are changing as the
Clouds build their quiet momentum
But the stroll is a similar cadence
One can never be moving too soon
While in life missing steps
Would be
A bit nerve wracking
~
I took a walk outside the other day
Skies with their hue of golden blues
Will always brighten my day
Even as the wind’s ice take form
I seek a quiet comfort internally
Only to recognize again
The sudden calm’s change
Might be
A tad unrelenting
~
I took a walk outside the other day
And questioned what occurs
When my mind begins to sway
Off course into a never-land
Of energy no less endearing
Yet driven by our world’s demands.
Could be
A new awakening
~
I took a walk outside the other day
And when I listened to the sweet melody
Of simple pleasure in nature’s Grace
I could imagine a peace
A love of beauty and delight
Shed all aspects of the past
Only to relish a newer day again
Will we
Ever make allowances
~
I took a stroll while on a new avenue today
Noted the people’s intent to thrive in the gray
~
Thom Amundsen
http://thinkingoutloudagain.wordpress.com

LISTEN TO THE RAINBOW – Promote Yourself

 

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    Red         

Hear the blood shed,

(Orange) Clementine

Unspoken words, blurred lines,

 

Yellow

Refusal to shout, to bellow,

Green

No words shared; between,

 

Blue

Inaction, injustice we rue,

Indigo

From despair, rises a human archipelago;

Violet

We must no longer be quiet.

Wendy Shreve

Sea Fever – Your Favourite Poem

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I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

BY JOHN MASEFIELD

A PLACE WHERE LOVE BEGINS – Promote Yourself

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Not in the past where your tempests raged;
Or in the future, when unknown forces could shatter dreams;
Not in your soul, skewered by hatred and resentment;
Only in the present, as an open heart awaits.

Not by running from what is given;
Or hiding in bitterness and acrid thoughts;
Not in your head, where too many goals are left unfulfilled;
Only in hope, not beyond your reach.

Not in innocence lost or violence found;
Or misguided battles, conflicts unresolved;
Not in your body, ravaged with time and pain;
Only in forgiveness of yourself.

Not in others’ perceptions of who you are;
Or finding reasons to run from promise;
Not in your losses, though hard to bear;
Only in taking her hand; reaching for the sun.

Wendy Shreve

Marry me that way – Promote Yourself

recognition

Come with me to my parents
Sit on an African stool
And stretch out your legs
Drink from a calabash
And refresh your soul
Marry me that way

Let the whole family see you
Let them ask you who you are
Tell them your intentions for me
Marry me that way

Set the drinks before my parents
Let them ask you why you are here
Let me watch your heart beat fast
Because you want to impress
Marry me that way

Watch as my family accepts your drinks
And welcome you to the family
Watch as they start calling you;
In-law, Son, uncle, brother and friend
Marry me that way

 By Sheila Chanase

I still miss you – promote Yourself

 

trexxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are days,
When I miss you
With a sudden intensity
Which surprises me.

It aches, in a way I didn’t deem possible,
In a heart, I didn’t know I possessed.
And I lie in this room feigning sleep.
Pining away, struggling with my existence.
While I choke from these strange arms enveloping me.

Should I strive, in vain, for you, most divine?
Or should I instead, be miserably content with what’s mine?

– Sreshtha Sen
sreshthasen.wordpress.com

Wrong – Promote Yourself

 

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Everything in this world is not color correspondent.
Like people.
Pink does not always mean female,
Blue does not always mean male.
Rainbows are not enslaved to queer folk.
This trinary only applies to things that are not complex enough for spectrums or intersectionalities.
Contrary to popular belief, gender is not pink or blue or vice versa.
Gender is a spectrum, mixed with complimentary colors.
Not a grey scale from light femininity to darkened masculinity.
New colors are made everyday by mixing, and extracting personal characteristics.
THE ARTIST IS THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN NAME THEIR COLOR.
Although too many people think they’ve discovered all of the colors, just because they’ve looked in their medicine cabinets.
Just because they’ve seen the outside world, they think they know the colors.

If I ever decided to have off-spring, their nursery will be painted in all custom colors:
To my queer child
Darling, do not allow your mind to dictate you.
Inside influences will tell you that you aren’t allow to exist.
Do not listen to them like I almost did.
Ignore the colors around you.
Instead of a gun, take a pen to your hand, and let your heart pour bullets to the page.
Write the synopia red-morbid things, write about the black olive world around you, write what goes through your minds.
Never conform to the point of dysphoria.
It only results in displaced self-loathing.
I feel that it’s only a matter of time before your Carolina-blue tears waterfall over your pillow.
Your rapids will sweep you away into a world of shades you’ve never seen before.
Don’t stop here, you will find your self stuck cycling somewhere that makes you feel like a stranger.
But just remember to find the colors that make you feel good.

______
Also, I have more poems at bucketsaurusrex.wordpress.com

ALL FACETS – Promote Yourself

hugsxxxxxxxxxxxx

I’m trying to attach
Meaning to you like a door with no latch
Or me without you on my mind, how can I explain that

                                                                           I’ll

always love you no
matter your issues
I’ll hug & kiss you
comfort with soft tissues

What

Other words can I say or you to me
When you’re the epidemy
of where love should be
Cause there’s never any riddle to be solved
I know where my heart truly belongs

I

Smile out loud
How can that be…well you’ve shown me how
With all facets of your beauty that I want now
I write,you read as it all comes out
My pen turns us singular into a noun

One

picture & thought with no sound
With many years of internal feelings written down
just thinking about you on my sofa
typing away wishing that you were closer
written from my feelings for you in my mental folder
as i cater to your emotions till the night is over

Lino Robles

ART OF HUMAN NATURE – Promote Yourself

shadowglowxxxxxxx

Smooth surface;
Water-chiseled
Stone with curves of
Henry Moore,
In a stream.
 
Girl stricken,
Taking her legs
But not her heart;
Andrew Wyeth,
In the field.
 
Black & white figures;
Modern day
Rockwell;
Banksy.
On concrete canvases.

Chiseled names
In blackness;
Sunlight &shade
Reveal lives past;
Maya Lin,
On the grass.

Women of texture;
Ordinary scenes,
Superlative color;
Romare Bearden,
By a tree.
 
Mother, child; boat;
Strokes of light & shadow;
Mary Cassatt,
On the water.

Murals of
Bracing colors;
Struggles for dignity;
Diego Rivera
Beyond the breadth.

Palette stream
In cataclysmic ash;
Framing“Scream;”
Edvard Munch,
In the sky.

 Wendy Shreve

The Craft – Promote Yourself

 

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the poet’s craft-
to capture essence of a thing,
and cram it into sparing words.
even truer so, is the poet’s fate…
to burn with such intense, inescapable feeling,
that to put pen to paper is his only option.

baring this to all the world is the art.

-Nuella Onyilofor
nuellaswords.wordpress.com

 

Shining Star of Sunlight – Promote Yourself

rainbowxxxxxxxxx
Rainbows of Happiness LLC
Ball of light; glowing white-hot center.
bursting forth your rays, connecting sky to earth.
Illuminating the world from your perch;
amongst a field of blue speckled with cotton-colored clouds.
Brilliant morning star, sharing your light;
extending arms to every corner of the world.
Embracing Earth with warmth,
guiding all through darkness.
Beginning dawn with colorful visions;
weaved intricately in translucent spires.
Intensifying heat with day’s progression;
shining brighter as minutes turn to hours.
Reaching your precipice of strength;
you gather your numerous beams.
Sinking wordlessly into the horizon,
slowly disappearing with the first hint of evening.

 Jennifer L Roche

Oh Jemima!

 

pondxxxxxxx

 

 

 

 

 

A funny old ryhme my mother used to sing to us does anyone else remember it or know its origin:

” Oh Jemima look at your uncle Jim,
he’s in the duck pond learning how to swim,
first he does the breast stroke, …
then he does the side,
but now he’s under the water
swimming against the tide”…

Dedicated to my mum Josie Icke (nee Lomas) 11.11.1923- 20.10.93
Originally born Tideswell, High Peak but lived in Coniston Avenue, Litle Hulton, Salford 1952 -1993.

And my friend Nigel found another version of the same rhyme/tune.. was this a second verse or the original rhyme that was changed for fun?

“Oh Aunt Jemima, look at your Uncle Jim
Scrubbing out the passage with water, soap and vim.
First he kneels on his left knee
Then he kneels on his right
Now he’s knelt on a bar of soap
And skidded right out of sight”

Sent to you by Simon Icke #SimonIckeUK

Darians Freedom – Promote Yourself

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Walk in circles
Run in squares
Skip in zig zags
Jump up stairs

Step over cracks
Walk backwards
Splash in puddles
Balance on curbs

No need to talk
Just love walks
Might sing a note
Off with my socks

Toes sparkle
Feet are so cold
Crunch of leaves
In no ones mold

Being free, young
What I want, I’ll do
No chains on me
You should try it too

 Bernadette Rivera USA

Godesque – Promote Yourself

 

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Inception.reception.affection.deception
Exeption
Idolatrous love

What is the message, you may ask
Portraits of horrifically beautiful gods
Their faces mirror the vanity of their petrified existence

They came late to the party Scandalous adventures
Of a bored routine
A roar of a baby
Sentenced to lively live
In disdain

A sacred passion
A distorted belief
Relief
Rea.
This is my wee blog, in case you liked what you’ve read and want to check out my other poem attempts http://cabaretlife.wordpress.com/

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