Mickymouse
Ubuntu Linux user
Thanks for those Dean, I have posted the second one to a friend I really like that one.
Mick
Mick
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Birds and poetry (1 Viewer)
- Thread starter christineredgate
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Tranquility Base
Registered User
scampo said:
My great uncle was mentioned in dispatches in 1914 and shot for desertion in 1917 (He's just been 'pardoned' 90 years later....
I took a party of 12-year olds to the Ypres Salient in September and we visited his grave at Bethune. They were outraged by his story. And the Sassoon poem features as [part of a display in the Ypres Corn Hall: again, they didn't need it explaining to them: very powerful stuff.
Sadly, of course, someone 'out there' could be writing similar verses about our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan.
scampo
Steve Campsall
Makes you think, Mick, it does that. I suppose that's what a good poem does - presents an idea in a way that makes us view it afresh and then causes us to reflect on our old ways of thinking, maybe changing them.Mickymouse said:
Society's views of heroism and cowardice have always fascinated me - they are a good example of the concept of "binary opposites": pairs of ideas where each feeds off the other for its meaning but with one, here the idea of "heroism", being so entirely and unshakeably positive and the other, "cowardice", so deeply negative. And yet life is so very rarely like that. When you teach young people it's tragic to observe how these stereotypes become utterly engrained - it's as if the words no longer exist merely at the level of an arguable idea but as, instead, some kind of real and concrete entity: the "hero" - cool and 'ard; the "coward" - a geek, a wimp. And the media reinforces the tragic stereotypes constantly with its images of what masculinity and femininity should be. How some kids must suffer because of it; how we all suffer?
That poor soldier, thrust into a hell on earth. Signed up in "cool" and "'ard" mode, no option really, then found what real life in real trenches meant. I wonder what I would have done in those circumstances? That trip to Ypres and the Salient, TB, is something I have never experienced but everyone I've met that has been there has found it a very emotional experience. Why do we never learn?
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Tranquility Base
Registered User
Know what still appals me, even after 36 years teaching? The negativity many kids still display towards the Germans: seems like we're very good at passing on our predjudices.
But Scampo and others: the poems you've posted have been wonderful! They show that truth and beauty can be found in the most unlikely places. Many thanks
But Scampo and others: the poems you've posted have been wonderful! They show that truth and beauty can be found in the most unlikely places. Many thanks
I agree that ‘A Hunter’s Poem’ is very moving. Interestingly it appears from Google that Lem Ward and his brother Steve were bird decoy makers of some distinction in the city of Crisfield, Maryland. Steve was the carver and Lem the painter. There is a museum there to commemorate their work. So perhaps there was an additional element of guilt to the shooting of the geese if Lem used his own decoy. As Colin rightly notes, this thread is one amazing educational experience!
Thanks to everyone for the stream of wonderful poems. I have learned so much in the past fortnight – from the poetry of Clare, of which I had only the most superficial knowledge, to Larkin, to the war poets, to an old post of Steve’s in 2004 with link to the tribulations of an inner city maths teacher! We may not right the world in this thread but we certainly get to understand the human condition a little better.
My seasonal contribution is a Shakespeare sonnet (No 73). I always think of it when the late autumn storms ravage the trees and do their best to denude them of their remaining foliage, as they have done this past week.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
Thanks to everyone for the stream of wonderful poems. I have learned so much in the past fortnight – from the poetry of Clare, of which I had only the most superficial knowledge, to Larkin, to the war poets, to an old post of Steve’s in 2004 with link to the tribulations of an inner city maths teacher! We may not right the world in this thread but we certainly get to understand the human condition a little better.
My seasonal contribution is a Shakespeare sonnet (No 73). I always think of it when the late autumn storms ravage the trees and do their best to denude them of their remaining foliage, as they have done this past week.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
scampo
Steve Campsall
Good to read Shakespeare's verse here - thanks for posting it! Just found this one from the Welsh poet, R S Thomas. He wrote some marvellous verse.
A Blackbird Singing
It seems wrong that out of this bird,
Black, bold, a suggestion of dark
Places about it, there yet should come
Such rich music, as though the notes'
Ore were changed to a rare metal
At one touch of that bright bill.
You have heard it often, alone at your desk
In a green April, your mind drawn
Away from its work by sweet disturbance
Of the mild evening outside your room.
A slow singer, but loading each phrase
With history's overtones, love, joy
And grief learned by his dark tribe
In other orchards and passed on
Instinctively as they are now,
But fresh always with new tears.
R S Thomas
A Blackbird Singing
It seems wrong that out of this bird,
Black, bold, a suggestion of dark
Places about it, there yet should come
Such rich music, as though the notes'
Ore were changed to a rare metal
At one touch of that bright bill.
You have heard it often, alone at your desk
In a green April, your mind drawn
Away from its work by sweet disturbance
Of the mild evening outside your room.
A slow singer, but loading each phrase
With history's overtones, love, joy
And grief learned by his dark tribe
In other orchards and passed on
Instinctively as they are now,
But fresh always with new tears.
R S Thomas
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Very topical Bascar!-my local valley's superb trees are reaching skeletal condition now.
Lovely poem from RS Thomas Steve.
Have we had this?-can't remember:-
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
There is an on-line study guide for this poem which has 9000 words-the poem has 39!
I came across this on BirdLife International's website
"... A people's poet,
provincial and birder,
I've wandered the world in search of life:
bird by bird I've come to know the earth:
discovered where fire flames aloft:
the expenditure of energy
and my disinterestedness were rewarded,
even though no one paid me for it,
because I received those wings in my soul
and immobility never held me down."
_From "Art of Birds" by Pablo Neruda-1904-1973-a Nobel Prize winner and avid birder.
I can't get any of the poems in this book on the net.
Got to Neruda also via Heaney who seems to respect him.
How does Heaney evoke these earthy pleasures so brilliantly?-the simple joy of driving in a fence post straight ( hope there isn't a 5000 word analysis explaining it's about something else entirely!)-I love it.
A Shiver
The way you had to stand to swing the sledge,
Your two knees locked, your lower back shock-fast
As shields in a testudo, spine and waist
A pivot for the tight-braced, tilting rib-cage;
The way its iron head planted the sledge
Unyieldingly as a club-footed last;
The way you had to heft and then half-rest
Its gathered force like a long-nursed rage
About to be let fly:does it do you good
To have known it in your bones, directable,
Withholdable at will,
A first blow that could make air of a wall,
A last one so unanswerably landed
The staked earth quailed and shivered in the handle?
Seamus Heaney
______________________________________________
Colin
Lovely poem from RS Thomas Steve.
Have we had this?-can't remember:-
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
There is an on-line study guide for this poem which has 9000 words-the poem has 39!
I came across this on BirdLife International's website
"... A people's poet,
provincial and birder,
I've wandered the world in search of life:
bird by bird I've come to know the earth:
discovered where fire flames aloft:
the expenditure of energy
and my disinterestedness were rewarded,
even though no one paid me for it,
because I received those wings in my soul
and immobility never held me down."
_From "Art of Birds" by Pablo Neruda-1904-1973-a Nobel Prize winner and avid birder.
I can't get any of the poems in this book on the net.
Got to Neruda also via Heaney who seems to respect him.
How does Heaney evoke these earthy pleasures so brilliantly?-the simple joy of driving in a fence post straight ( hope there isn't a 5000 word analysis explaining it's about something else entirely!)-I love it.
A Shiver
The way you had to stand to swing the sledge,
Your two knees locked, your lower back shock-fast
As shields in a testudo, spine and waist
A pivot for the tight-braced, tilting rib-cage;
The way its iron head planted the sledge
Unyieldingly as a club-footed last;
The way you had to heft and then half-rest
Its gathered force like a long-nursed rage
About to be let fly:does it do you good
To have known it in your bones, directable,
Withholdable at will,
A first blow that could make air of a wall,
A last one so unanswerably landed
The staked earth quailed and shivered in the handle?
Seamus Heaney
______________________________________________
Colin
First World War
Still on a First World War / nature theme, this is a poem about an artillery position, it could have been on either side?
Beauty and the Beast
On a bright September morning the massive gun lay silent
Under repair like some sickly dinosaur
But just for a moment it was humbled
By a force mightier than it had encountered before
A single white butterfly landed on the barrel
And a beauty had conquered a beast
A white angel confronted the devil’s darkness
And only spoke of peace?
A beauty so vulnerable yet so commanding
It sat there like a gossamer dove of peace
A reminder of a world we’d forgotten
Whilst we had served and nourished the beast
Work stopped, as all were entranced
By this beautiful yet fragile life
It sat there defiantly flexing its’ wings
Basking in the autumn sunlight
Caring little for mans futility
Looking down in innocence at the horrors below
Now restless it turned and fluttered
I prayed it would not go
It took off into the breeze with impunity
Over the barbed wire toward the enemy line
Perhaps there to land on another gun
Heralding hope of the same kind
Merlin
ps there are some great poems about the Cotswold's / Gloucestershire by the Great War poet Ivor Gurney
QUOTE=Tranquility Base]Know what still appals me, even after 36 years teaching? The negativity many kids still display towards the Germans: seems like we're very good at passing on our predjudices.
But Scampo and others: the poems you've posted have been wonderful! They show that truth and beauty can be found in the most unlikely places. Many thanks[/QUOTE]
Still on a First World War / nature theme, this is a poem about an artillery position, it could have been on either side?
Beauty and the Beast
On a bright September morning the massive gun lay silent
Under repair like some sickly dinosaur
But just for a moment it was humbled
By a force mightier than it had encountered before
A single white butterfly landed on the barrel
And a beauty had conquered a beast
A white angel confronted the devil’s darkness
And only spoke of peace?
A beauty so vulnerable yet so commanding
It sat there like a gossamer dove of peace
A reminder of a world we’d forgotten
Whilst we had served and nourished the beast
Work stopped, as all were entranced
By this beautiful yet fragile life
It sat there defiantly flexing its’ wings
Basking in the autumn sunlight
Caring little for mans futility
Looking down in innocence at the horrors below
Now restless it turned and fluttered
I prayed it would not go
It took off into the breeze with impunity
Over the barbed wire toward the enemy line
Perhaps there to land on another gun
Heralding hope of the same kind
Merlin
ps there are some great poems about the Cotswold's / Gloucestershire by the Great War poet Ivor Gurney
QUOTE=Tranquility Base]Know what still appals me, even after 36 years teaching? The negativity many kids still display towards the Germans: seems like we're very good at passing on our predjudices.
But Scampo and others: the poems you've posted have been wonderful! They show that truth and beauty can be found in the most unlikely places. Many thanks[/QUOTE]
Upland Birder
Birding On The Edge
Hi Tanny, Tyke and all who are here or will be soon,
I think poetry should not be disected. For me I enjoy poetry for the emotion that it creates within me and the imagery that some verses generate.
A good poem is like a good script for a film both generate a reaction and a range of emotion.
I am still reacting with different emotions to the two poems about the Wild Geese. For me this is what it is all about.
You can't beat good poetry.
Cheers Dean
I think poetry should not be disected. For me I enjoy poetry for the emotion that it creates within me and the imagery that some verses generate.
A good poem is like a good script for a film both generate a reaction and a range of emotion.
I am still reacting with different emotions to the two poems about the Wild Geese. For me this is what it is all about.
You can't beat good poetry.
Cheers Dean
No it's not about power Steve-it's about skill in using a heavy tool properly...."directable, witholdable at will".scampo said:
He came from small farming Irish stock . His Father & Grandfather used their hands & strength to make a living. This is Heaney in remembrance of the beauty of those men & how they lived .It's like a homage to his forebears and their way of life. But if you happen to have wielded a sledge hammer you can connect immediately.
I think it is utterly brilliant.
Colin
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I absolutely agree with your second sentence Dean.Dean Powell said:
It all depends what you mean by "dissected" though. I really feel that without some knowledge of what the poet was actually driving at ( if it is possible to find out of course) you lose a huge amount of context & that adds so much.
Of course the images being woven by the words in your mind are yours alone.
Colin
christineredgate
Winner of the Copeland Wildlife Photographer of th
Some amazing thought provoking verse being posted here.Makes excellent reading.Wish we could have a book of BF poetry printed,it would be a best seller!!.Many thanks to all who are contributing.
Upland Birder
Birding On The Edge
Thanks Colin for your comments.
I also like to know about the poet and I guess when you read poetry you do in some way get to the point of what the poet is driving at and you gain some context.
Here are some words from a poet called Karla Kuskin:-
"If there would be a recipe
for a poem, these would be the ingrediants:
word sounds, rhythm, decription, feeling,
memory, rhyme and imagination. They can be put together a thousand different ways, a thousand, thousand ...more."
At this point I would like to add more poetry about the Wild Geese but first
here is a fact:-
When a wild goose gets sick, wounded or shot down, two geese drop out of formation and follow it down to help and protect it. They stay with it until it dies or is able to fly again. Then they launch out with another formation or catch up with the flock. I think this is amazing.
Here is a poem about Wild Geese:-
It is simply called 'Wild Geese' by Mary Oliver:
You do not have to be good,
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through
the desert repenting,
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on,
Meanwhile, the sun and the clear pebbles of rain are moving
across the landscapes,
Over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers,
Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in
the clean blue air are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
The world offers itself to your imagination.
Calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting,
Over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
Mary Oliver ' Wild Geese'
This is a verse from a poem by Christa Laird called 'Fall Birthday'.
Let us celebrate October together
You in Whinnipeg bidding farewell
To southbound fowels
I, watching the flight of Canada geese
Crossing Minnesota skies
Wondering if the flight
had been blessed by you.
Also a verse from Arthur Cleveland Bent.
..."High in the air they travel on
cheered by the clarion call of the leader,
answered at frequent intervals by his
followers far above all dangers and straight
along the well warn path"
I watched geese in flight formation arriving on pools near Burton Marsh on the Dee Estuary (Wirral) last Sunday and was moved emotionally by the sights and sounds of this great triumph of wildlife.
Anyway do any of you remember the film Dead Poets Society. Lets rip up the scientific analysis book of poetry and sieze the day.
I'm off to bed now with poetry in my mind
and the stresses of the day I cannot find.
Cheers Dean
I also like to know about the poet and I guess when you read poetry you do in some way get to the point of what the poet is driving at and you gain some context.
Here are some words from a poet called Karla Kuskin:-
"If there would be a recipe
for a poem, these would be the ingrediants:
word sounds, rhythm, decription, feeling,
memory, rhyme and imagination. They can be put together a thousand different ways, a thousand, thousand ...more."
At this point I would like to add more poetry about the Wild Geese but first
here is a fact:-
When a wild goose gets sick, wounded or shot down, two geese drop out of formation and follow it down to help and protect it. They stay with it until it dies or is able to fly again. Then they launch out with another formation or catch up with the flock. I think this is amazing.
Here is a poem about Wild Geese:-
It is simply called 'Wild Geese' by Mary Oliver:
You do not have to be good,
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through
the desert repenting,
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on,
Meanwhile, the sun and the clear pebbles of rain are moving
across the landscapes,
Over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers,
Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in
the clean blue air are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
The world offers itself to your imagination.
Calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting,
Over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
Mary Oliver ' Wild Geese'
This is a verse from a poem by Christa Laird called 'Fall Birthday'.
Let us celebrate October together
You in Whinnipeg bidding farewell
To southbound fowels
I, watching the flight of Canada geese
Crossing Minnesota skies
Wondering if the flight
had been blessed by you.
Also a verse from Arthur Cleveland Bent.
..."High in the air they travel on
cheered by the clarion call of the leader,
answered at frequent intervals by his
followers far above all dangers and straight
along the well warn path"
I watched geese in flight formation arriving on pools near Burton Marsh on the Dee Estuary (Wirral) last Sunday and was moved emotionally by the sights and sounds of this great triumph of wildlife.
Anyway do any of you remember the film Dead Poets Society. Lets rip up the scientific analysis book of poetry and sieze the day.
I'm off to bed now with poetry in my mind
and the stresses of the day I cannot find.
Cheers Dean
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scampo
Steve Campsall
I've never been too fond of Heaney's work, Colin. I should have given the poem more attention, though as it's clear you're right. It just seemed to hint at the machismo that certain males yearn for and, by coincidence, the sound of a chain saw had been whirring in the background half the morning. I always feel sorrow at such a sound as another great tree is lost.Tyke said:
What do you guys think of this one? I really like it and have to think it would resonate with alot of folks on this forum.
Lost
David Wagoner
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again,saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
where you are. You must let it find you.
Lost
David Wagoner
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again,saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
where you are. You must let it find you.
