John Keats: Bright Star

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–
No–yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death.

It’s sad to think that Keats knew that he was going to die while he was writing this poem.  He admires the star, acknowleging it’s “forever” quality and wishing that he could be the same. However, Keats also sees that this star is isolated and alot; it cannot experience love and nature’s wonders.  Perhaps living forever withouth such lovely things would not be worth it. Towards the end, Keats begins to except death and “sweet unrest” if he can only have love that will make him eternal.

October 26, 2009. Uncategorized. 1 comment.

Billy Collins:Reading An Anthology Of Chinese Poems…

Reading an Anthology of Chinese Poems of the Sung Dynasty, I Pause To Admire the Length and Clarity of Their Titles
It seems these poets have nothing
up their ample sleeves
they turn over so many cards so early,
telling us before the first line
whether it is wet or dry,
night or day, the season the man is standing in,
even how much he has had to drink.


Maybe it is autumn and he is looking at a sparrow.
Maybe it is snowing on a town with a beautiful name.


"Viewing Peonies at the Temple of Good Fortune
on a Cloudy Afternoon" is one of Sun Tung Po's.
"Dipping Water from the River and Simmering Tea"
is another one, or just
"On a Boat, Awake at Night."


And Lu Yu takes the simple rice cake with
"In a Boat on a Summer Evening
I Heard the Cry of a Waterbird.
It Was Very Sad and Seemed To Be Saying
My Woman Is Cruel—Moved, I Wrote This Poem."


There is no iron turnstile to push against here
as with headings like "Vortex on a String,"
"The Horn of Neurosis," or whatever.
No confusingly inscribed welcome mat to puzzle over.


Instead, "I Walk Out on a Summer Morning
to the Sound of Birds and a Waterfall"
is a beaded curtain brushing over my shoulders.


And "Ten Days of Spring Rain Have Kept Me Indoors"
is a servant who shows me into the room
where a poet with a thin beard
is sitting on a mat with a jug of wine
whispering something about clouds and cold wind,
about sickness and the loss of friends.


How easy he has made it for me to enter here,
to sit down in a corner,
cross my legs like his, and listen.

 

 

I love how Collins compares reading a poem for the first time 

to familiarizing oneself with a new house. The first time I read it, 

I wasn’t sure whether or not Collins applauded or disproved using 

long names for titles (even though he says admire in the title.) 

In my experience with American poetry, the poems display more 

mysterious and modest names- the poets seem to think that keeping 

the titles short and un-revealing will entice the readers enough 

to keep them interested. Collins, however, sees these evading 

and daunting titles as “turnstiles,” makeing it more difficult

 to get into the poem than the welcome mat created by these 

long and simple names. In present times, poetry is not valued 

as much as it once was – so why should our poets make reading 

poetry seem like more of a job? They should make it as 

welcoming as possible: starting off with the title.

October 18, 2009. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Simba = Hamlet!!!

http://fanart.lionking.org/Artists/GypsyRae/Hamlet.jpg

October 13, 2009. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Emily Dickison: Will there really be a morning?

I thought this poem was interesting because it showed Dickinson’s distrust of everything she had been taught in her life. Yes, we are told that the sun rises in the East every morning; the sun sets at night. But does this really happen? Is this really day or night or morning? In this poem, Emily asks what really is morning? Could we see it if we had not been told about it? It’s an interesting question, becuase it inquires about what is real and what is an appearance. At the end, the poet asks of a scholar or sailor, where morning lies? She could either be asking about where she can find morning across the globe, or switching the meaning of the word lies, she could be asking if the word morning is a liar… is there such thing?

October 4, 2009. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.