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Before Summer Rain by Rainer Maria Rilke – Famous poets

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Rainer Maria Rilke

1875–1926 

Rainer Maria Rilke was a Bohemian–Austrian poet and art critic. He is considered one of the most significant poets in the German language.. Bohemian-Austrian poetRilke was the only child of a German-speaking family in Prague, then part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. His father was a retired officer in the Austrian army who worked as a railroad official; his mother, a socially ambitious and possessive woman. At age eleven Rilke began his formal schooling at a military boarding academy, and in 1891, less than a year after transferring to a secondary military school, he was discharged due to health problems, from which he would suffer throughout his life. He immediately returned to Prague, to find that his parents had divorced in his absence. Shortly thereafter he began receiving private instruction toward passing the entrance exams for Prague’s Charles-Ferdinand University. In 1894 his first book of verse,Leben und Lieder: Bilder und Tagebuchblatter, was published.

Before Summer Rain

something-you don't know what-has disappeared;
you feel it creeping closer to the window
in total silence. From the nearby wood

you hear the urgent whistling of a plover
reminding you of someone's Saint Jerome:
so much solitude and passion come
from that one voice whose fierce request the downpour

will grant. The walls with their ancient portraits glide
away from us cautiously as though
they weren't supposed to hear what we are saying.

And reflected on the faded tapestries now:
the chill uncertain sunlight of those long
childhood hours when you were so afraid

 by: Rainer Maria Rilke

 YOUR FAVOURITE POEM sent in by you, what's yours ?

SON’S AND LOVER’S 100 YEARS OLD – D H Lawrence

 
Sons and Lovers

Sons and Lovers Quotes

Quote 1: Paul continually prays for his mother’s safety: “‘Make him stop drinking’. He prayed every night. ” ‘Lord, let my father die’, he prayed very often. ‘Let him not be killed at pit'”, he prayed when, after tea, the father did not come home from work.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 60

Quote 2: “He was an outsider. He had denied the God in him.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 63

Quote 3: “All day long, as she cleaned the house, she thought of him. He was in London: he would do well. Almost, he was like her knight who wore her favour in the battle.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 79

Quote 4: “Not even the Mediterranean, which pulled at all his young man’s desire to travel, and at his poor man’s wonder at the glamorous south, could take him away when he might come home.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 82

Quote 5: “But still, in her heart of hearts, where the love should have burned, there was a blank. Now, when all her woman’s pity was roused to its full extent, when she would have slaved herself to death to nurse him and to save hum, when she would have taken the pain herself, if she could, somewhere far away inside her, she felt indifferent to him and to his suffering. It hurt her most of all, this failure to love him, even when he roused her strong emotions.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 86

Quote 6: He feels as if he is a “prisoner of industrialism.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 89

Quote 7: “Already his heart went down. He was being taken into bondage. His freedom in the beloved home valley was going now.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 89

Quote 8: “He liked to watch his fellow-clerks at work. The man was the work and the work was the man, one thing, for the time being. It was different with the girls. The real woman never seemed to be there at the task, but as if left out, waiting.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 112

Quote 9: “The trains roared by like projectiles level on the darkness, fuming and burning, making the valley clang with their passage. They were gone, and the lights of the towns and villages glittered in silence.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 112

Quote 10: Mrs. Morel “clung now to Paul.” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 114

Quote 11: As Paul says, “But I like the feel of men on things, while they’re alive. There’s a feel of men about trucks, because they’ve been handled with men’s hands, all of them.” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 123

Quote 12: All Mrs. Morel can say is, “‘My son.'” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 139

Quote 13: When the critical moment arrives, Mrs. Morel cries to Paul, “‘My son.'” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 141

Quote 14: “Then he was so ill, and she felt he would be weak. Then she would be stronger than he. Then she could love him. If she could be mistress of him in his weakness, take care of him, if he could depend on her, if she could, as it were, have him in her arms, how she would love him!” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 143

Quote 15: “She stimulated him into appreciating things thus, and then they lived for her. She seemed to need things kindling in her imagination or in her soul before she felt she had them. And she was cut off from ordinary life by her religious intensity which made the world for her either a nunnery garden or a paradise, where sin and knowledge were not, or else an ugly, cruel thing.” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 149

Quote 16: Paul asks her in frustration and anger, “‘ What do you tremble your soul before it?…You don’t learn algebra with your blessed soul. Can’t you look at it with your clear simple wits?'” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 156

Quote 17: “They were going to have a communion together – something that thrilled her, something holy.” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 159

Quote 18: Miriam almost worships the flowers, but Paul feels strangely “imprisoned” by the roses and its “white, virgin scent.” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 160

Quote 19: Mrs. Morel tells herself that through Paul, “she was to see herself fulfilled.” Part 2, Chapter 8, pg. 183

Quote 20: With his mother, Paul is happy and proud that his mother takes charge of his life; with Miriam, he is filled with “something more wonderful, less human, and tinged to intensity by a pain, as if there were something he could not get to.” Part 2, Chapter 8, pg. 192

Quote 21: Mrs. Morel believes that Miriam is not an “ordinary woman, who can leave me my share in him. She wants to absorb him till there is nothing left of him, even for himself. He will never be a man on his own two feet – she will suck him up.” Part 2, Chapter 8, pg. 193

Quote 22: Disgusted with her behavior, Paul asks, “‘You’re always begging things to love you as if you were a beggar for love. Even the flowers, you have to fawn on them – You don’t want to love – your eternal and abnormal craving is to be loved. You aren’t positive, you’re negative. You absorb, absorb, as if you must fill yourself up with love, because you’ve got a shortage somewhere.'” Part 2, Chapter 9, pg. 218

Quote 23: “Something in the eternal repose of the uplifted cathedral, blue and noble against the sky, was reflected in [his mother], something of the fatality. What was, was. With all his young will he could not alter it. He saw her face, the skin still fresh and pink and downy, but crow’s-feet near her eyes, her eyelids steady, sinking a little, her mouth always closed with disillusion; and there was on her the same eternal look, as if she knew fate at last.” Part 2, Chapter 9, pg. 240

Quote 24: He writes, “I can give you a spirit love, I have given you this long, long time; but not embodied passion. See, you are a nun. I have given you what I would give a holy nun…In all our relations no body enters. I do not talk to you through the senses – rather through the spirit. That is why we cannot love in the common sense.” Part 2, Chapter 9, pg. 251

Quote 25: “At this rate he would not live. He had that poignant carelessness about himself, his own suffering, his own life, which is a form of suicide. It almost broke her heart. With all the passion of her strong nature she hated Miriam for having in this subtle way undermined his joy.” Part 2, Chapter 10, pg. 258

Quote 26: Miriam tells herself, “She would submit, religiously, to the sacrifice. He should have her. And at the thought her whole boy clenched itself involuntarily, hard, as if against something; but Life forced her through this gate of suffering, too, and she would submit. At any rate, it would give him what he wanted, which was her deepest wish.” Part 2, Chapter 11, pg. 284

Quote 27: “She knew she felt in a sort of bondage to him, which she hated because she could not control it. She hated her love for him from the moment it grew too strong for her. And, deep down, she had hated him because she loved him and he dominated her. She had resisted his denomination. She had fought to keep herself free of him in the last issue. And she was free of him, even more than he of her.” Part 2, Chapter 11, pg. 296

Quote 28: Paul says, “‘[Passion is] what one must have, I think – the real, real flame of feeling through another person – once, only once, if it lasts three months. See, my mother looks as if she’d had everything that was necessary for her living and developing. There’s not a tiny bit of feeling of sterility about her.'” Part 2, Chapter 12, pg. 317

Quote 29: She tells herself, “‘If he must go, let him go and have his fill – something big and intense, he called it. At any rate, when he had got it, he would not want it – that he said himself; he would want the other thing that she could give him. He would want to be owned, so that he could work. It seemed to her a bitter thing that he must go, but she could let him go into an inn for a glass of whisky, so she could let him go to Clara, so long as it was something that would satisfy a need in him, and leave him free for herself to possess.'” Part 2, Chapter 12, pg. 318

Quote 30: He feels that “sometimes he hated her, and pulled at her bondage. His life wanted to free itself of her. It was like a circle where life turned back on itself, and got no farther. She bore him, loved him, kept him, and his love turned back into her, so that he could not be free to go forward with his own life, really love another woman.” Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 345

Quote 31: “She knew how stark and alone he was, and she felt it was great that he came to her; and she took him simply because his need was bigger either than her or him, and her soul was still within her. She did this for him in his need, even if he left her, for she loved him.” Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 353

Quote 32: As Paul watches Clara swim in the sea, he thinks to himself, “‘She’s lost like a grain of sand in the beach – just a concentrated speck blown along, a tiny white foam-bubble, almost nothing among the morning. Why does she absorb me?'” Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 358

Quote 33: Not only does he feel “imprisoned” when he is with her, Clara also feels that he yearns to break free from her. Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 359

Quote 34: “It was almost as if he were a criminal. He wanted her – he had her – and it made her feel as if death itself had her in its grip. She lay in horror. There was no man there loving her.” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 387

Quote 35: Paul tells Clara, “‘She’s got such a will, it seems as if she would never go – never!'” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 388

Quote 36: “Sometimes they looked in each other’s eyes. Then they almost seemed to make an agreement. It was almost as if he were agreeing to die also. But she did not consent to die; she would not. Her body was wasted to a fragment of ash. Her eyes were dark and full of torture.” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 392

Quote 37: “And now he looked paltry and insignificant. There was nothing stable about him. Her husband had more manly dignity. At any rate hedid not waft about with any wind. There was something evanescent about Morel, she thought, something shifting and false. He would never make sure ground for any woman to stand on. She despised him rather for his shrinking together, getting smaller. Her husband at least was manly, and when he was beaten gave in. But this other would never own to being beaten. He would shift round and round, prowl, get smaller.” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 407

Quote 38: “She was the only thing that held him up, himself, amid all this. And she was gone, intermingled herself. He wanted her to touch him, have him alongside with her. But no, he would not give in…He would not take that direction, to the darkness, to follow her.” Part 2, Chapter 15, pg. 420

Twas the night before Christmas

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‘Twas the night before Christmas and in the White House,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that a tax plan soon would be there.

The holiday treats were stale and bland,
After Mrs. Obama had sugar plums banned.

The president was sleeping – for the hour was late,
He was tired and groggy, like the Denver debate.

He dreamed of the year and his bruising campaign,
Romney was tougher, it seems, than McCain.

With the economy weak and the jobless rate high,
Mitt made his case as the best fix-it guy.

Republicans eyed victory – there was change in the air,
In Tampa, Clint Eastwood conversed with a chair.

Romney rose in the polls and enjoyed his ascent,
But, oh, how he stumbled with “47 percent.”

Challenges abound in this new second term,
A Susan Rice pick could be tough to confirm.

Obamacare won with John Roberts at the wheel,
But the birth control mandate remains under appeal.

There’s John Boehner, of course, and their partisan tiff,
That threatens to drive us straight over the cliff!

With a Cabinet shuffle and more slots to fill,
He listed off changes, but held doubts for the Hill:

“It’s goodbye to Hillary, Panetta, and Tim;
And David Petraeus – now who’ll follow him?”

Suddenly, on the South Lawn, there arose such a clatter,
Obama looked up to see what was the matter.

Then what did appear, to wondering eyes?
But a man of great stature — and considerable size.

His eyes – how they twinkled!  His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

Chubby and plump and his eyes a bit misty,
There stood New Jersey Governor Chris Christie.

He had come from the coast, badly battered by Sandy,
Seeking FEMA assistance and some holiday candy.

Christie praised POTUS for keeping Jersey afloat,
A far cry from his GOP convention keynote.

Riding high in the polls, Christie’s eyes held a gleam,
Was he thinking of running in 2016?

A White House bid comes at quite a high price,
So the president offered some political advice.

And I heard him exclaim, though it sounded absurd:
“Merry Christmas to all!  And don’t mess with Big Bird!”

The 2012 White House Press Basement Version
by Greg Clugston

*******

A misleading innocence

 

Some nonentities were looking for solace

And found it in  pride -ing themselves on insolence 

Toward the Prophet and a massive populace

On the pretext of freedom and spontaneous innocence

Anyone with little discernment can detect their malice

 

In short order, they spread such contemptuous rudeness

And made it a new trend and of frequent occurrence

To inflame people’s emotions and increase their sufferance 

And push the credulous to revulsion and violence

Just to satisfy the interests of people of consequence

 

I wonder, how can a spiteful fiend preach tolerance?

I wonder, how to be caught red-handed and claim innocence?

I wonder, how to prick people and impose silence?

I wonder, how to be corrupt and have conscience?

I wonder, how to support flagrant miscarriage of justice?

 

Hey! None of your pictures, words or movies

Can diminish the Prophet’s brilliance

 Nor make anyone of you a genius

Refine your creativity for the sake of peace

And remember: buttocks never release a masterpiece.

 

© Chaouki MkaddemSeptember 22, 2012

Norman MacCaig – Born: 1910 in Edinburgh Died: 1996 in Edinburg – Famous Poet

 

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Born: 1910 in Edinburgh
Died: 1996 in Edinburgh
First Book: Far Cry (Routledge, 1943)
Awards: Awarded an OBE and the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry in 1986

Norman MacCaig was born in Edinburgh on 14 November 1910. His father was an Edinburgh chemist and his mother hailed from the island of Scalpay. The Highland background that he inherited from his mother and the Gaelic culture that he encountered during visits to her family had an enduring influence on MacCaig and his work.

He was educated at the Royal High School in Edinburgh before going on to study classics at the University of Edinburgh from 1928 until 1932. He then trained to be a teacher at Moray House in Edinburgh and spent a large part of his life as a primary-school teacher. During the Second World War he registered himself as a conscientious objector, refusing active service on humanitarian grounds. As a result of his beliefs he served time in various prisons and was forced into extensive labour programmes.

His first collection of poetry, Far Cry, was published in 1943. Both it and The Inward Eye (1946) belonged to the New Apocalypse movement, which pioneered a surrealist form of writing that he later disowned. It wasn’t until Riding Lightswas published in 1955 that his distinctive voice first became apparent. This collection was followed by The Sinai Sort (1957), A Common Grace (1960), A Round of Applause (1962), Measures (1965) and Surroundings (1966). Following his appointment as a fellow in creative writing at Edinburgh University in 1967, he became writer in residence at the University of Stirling from 1970 to 1977, before returning to Edinburgh to be writer in residence from 1977 to 1979. Over this time, he published further collections: Rings on a Tree (1968), A Man in My Position (1969), Selected Poems (1971),The White Bird (1973), The World’s Room (1974), Tree of Strings (1977), Old Maps and New: Selected Poems (1978), The Equal Skies (1980), A World of Difference (1983) and Voice Over (1988).

MacCaig’s life and poetry was principally divided into two parts, with his home city of Edinburgh providing a valuable contrast to his holiday home in Assynt, a remote area in the north-west of Scotland where he spent much of his time. The landscape of this area appeared as a recurring theme in much of his poetry.

His friendships with Hugh MacDiarmid, Sorley MacLean, Robert Garioch and Sydney Goodsir Smith bore a significant influence both on his work and in establishing him as a major force in twentieth-century Scottish poetry. In later years, he acted as mentor to Liz Lochhead, W. N. Herbert and Robert Crawford.

He never received much international attention despite being presented with numerous awards, including an OBE and the highly coveted poetry prize the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry, in 1986. In recent years, his writing has become a compulsory part of the literature syllabus in Scottish schools and universities. Norman MacCaig died in Edinburgh on 23 January 1996, aged eighty-five.

Anne Killigrew 1660–1685-FAMOUS FEMALE POET

Anne Killigrew
Anne Killigrew 1660–1685
British poet and painter Anne Killigrew was born in London in 1660. Her father was a clergyman with a position at Westminster Abbey, and she was a maid of honor to Mary of Modena, Duchess of York, in the court of Charles II. Exposed from an early age to life at court, she was also taken to the theater, and her uncles even wrote plays. Killigrew was the subject of an ode by the poet John Dryden. Anne Killigrew was the daughter of Henry Killigrew and was born in London in 1660. She was characterized by one of her admireres as “a Grace for beauty and a Muse for wit.” Her father was one of the prebendaries of Westminster some time before the restoration of Charles II.Anne showed indications of genius very early and her father made sure to carefully cultivate it. She became celebrated in the arts of poetry and painting. She painted a portrait of the Duke of York, who later became James II, and his duchess, to whom she was a maid of honor. She also painted some historical pictues and some pieces of still life, for her own pleasure.Anne was also known as a poet and was often comapred to Catharine Philips, the “Matchless Orinda”. Not only did she share in her artistic talent, but also in the similarities of their lives.Anne Killigrew was an exemplary woman of virtue and piety. Dryden speaks of her in the highest terms, and wrote a long ode to her memory, from which the following stanza is extracted:

“Now all those charms, that blooming grace,

The well-proportioned shape and beauteous face,

Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes:

In earth the much lamented virgin lies!

Nor was the cruel destiny content

to finish all the murder at a blow,

to snap at once her life and beauty too;

But, like a hardened felon, took a pride

to work more mischievously slow,

and plunder’s first, and then destroyed.

Oh! double sacrilege on things divine,

To rob the relique and deface the shrine!

But thus Orinda died:

Heaven by the same disease did both translate,

As equal were their souls, as equal was their fate.”

She died of smallpox in 1685 and was buried in the chapel of the Savoy hospital, on the north side of which is a plain monument of marble and freestone erected to her memory, and fixed in the wall, on which is a Latin inscription.

A Farewel (To Worldly Joys.)-by Anne Killigrew FAMOUS FEMALE POET

 

FEMALE................

Anne Killigrew (1660—1685) was an English poet. Born in London, Killigrew is perhaps best known as the subject of a famous elegy by the poet John Dryden entitled To The Pious Memory of the Accomplish’d Young Lady Mrs. Anne Killigrew (1686). She was however a skilful poet in her own right, and her Poems were published posthumously in 1686. Dryden compared her poetic abilities to the famous Greek poet of antiquity, Sappho. Killigrew died of smallpox aged 25.

 

A Farewel (To Worldly Joys.)

FArewel ye Unsubstantial Joyes,
Ye Gilded Nothings, Gaudy Toyes,
Too long ye have my Soul misled,
Too long with Aiery Diet fed:
But now my Heart ye shall no more
Deceive, as you have heretofore:
For when I hear such Sirens sing,
Like Ithaca’s fore-warned King,
With prudent Resolution I
Will so my Will and Fancy tye,
That stronger to the Mast not he,
Than I to Reason bound will be:
And though your Witchcrafts strike my Ear,
Unhurt, like him, your Charms I’ll hear.

by Anne Killigrew

A mate is true

 

 

Yesterday I did a poem about how my grandmother would’ve worked in the isolation of the country of South Australia. I never knew my grandfather but having known my father as a true person I can only imagine my  grandfather. I gave thought to my Dad’s brothers and the legend of the men from the early years of the country. I hoped he would’ve been true to his mates.

 
He would have learned the mateship oath
Along a railway gangers camp
From Broken Hill to Adelaide
The mateship oath in good times
And out of work

The oath from town to town
And by the billabong
The oath no matter what
A mate is true
He can do no wrong

A mate respects his mate
No matter what
Sharing in all kinds of weather
A mate can do no wrong
Along a railway gangers camp
From Broken Hill to Adelaide

No matter what
Sharing in all kinds of weather
A mate can do no wrong
There may be bitter words between mates
At times

But when he is away or passed on
A mate is loyal to a mates memory
No matter what

Posted on July 16, 2013 by 

At What Point

 lifeeeeeeeeeee………………………………………………………………When we look at our life

…………………………………………………………….At what point do we see

…………………………………………………….The moment we changed

……………………………………………..Into the person we should be.

……………………………………………………Was there some defining moment

…………………………………………………………Something we can just point to

…………………………………………………………………..A change in our life goals

……………………………………………………………….Where ‘you’ became ‘you’.

…………………………………………………….We all know that life is a journey

………………………………………………………..One that daybyday

………………………………………………Not many can show the instant

……………………………………………………Life turned to bring them this way.

…………………………………………..We are the sum of the moments we live

………………………………….May we be proud of the direction come

…………………………….We can look back at our life and recognize

………………………………………The people that we have come from.

……………………………………………Twists and turns and maybe start again

………………………………………………As we learn from mistakes and pain

…………………………………………….At least we are trying to do our best

………………………………………………Happiness and love we try to attain.

by Gray Poet

Charles Townsend

Lest We Forget

lest-we-forget.mmmmmmmm

Have we forgotten their ultimate sacrifice?
Of these men and women who died in their millions?
Brave and true, without question,
proud to be British, not ashamed to be Christian.

So many years have passed,
it seems our memory doesn’t last.
Forgetting these courageous people, to our shame.
Why can’t we remember their names?

How short is our memory?
That we have forgotten them already?
Died in their millions fighting for our freedom,
believing in our free democratic ideology. 

What does it take to wake up this country,
to rise once again from its complacency?
How much more do we take, before we decide to fight,
for our beliefs, our traditions and our liberty?

Armed Forces Day in the UK 
Lest We Forget
by Simon Icke UK

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