  Poetry
This week: Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
| ASIN: 1945043032 |
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Amazon's Price: $ 13.94
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The Cottage
by Robert Graves
Here in turn succeed and rule
Carter, smith, and village fool,
Then again the place is known
As tavern, shop, and Sunday-school;
Now somehow it’s come to me
To light the fire and hold the key,
Here in Heaven to reign alone.
All the walls are white with lime,
Big blue periwinkles climb
And kiss the crumbling window-sill;
Snug inside I sit and rhyme,
Planning, poem, book, or fable,
At my darling beech-wood table
Fresh with bluebells from the hill.
Through the window I can see
Rooks above the cherry-tree,
Sparrows in the violet bed,
Bramble-bush and bumble-bee,
And old red bracken smoulders still
Among boulders on the hill,
Far too bright to seem quite dead.
But old Death, who can’t forget,
Waits his time and watches yet,
Waits and watches by the door.
Look, he’s got a great new net,
And when my fighting starts afresh
Stouter cord and smaller mesh
Won’t be cheated as before.
Nor can kindliness of Spring,
Flowers that smile nor birds that sing,
Bumble-bee nor butterfly,
Nor grassy hill nor anything
Of magic keep me safe to rhyme
In this Heaven beyond my time.
No! for Death is waiting by.
On July 24, 1895, Alfred Perceval Graves and Amalie von Ranke Grave welcomed son Robert Graves into their family. They lived in Wimbledon, close to London. Graves was one of ten children. Graves was greatly influenced by both his mother beliefs and by his father’s Celtic poetry. The last thing on Graves mind as a young man was poetry; he was adventurous and loved the outdoors. His love for poetry slowly grew over the years. He won a scholarship to study at St. John’s College, Oxford, but enlisted to fight in the war instead. While enlisted he published his first collection of poetry, Over the Brazier in 1916. Graves added two more volumes while still enlisted. In 1918 he was severely wounded.
In January 1918, Graves married Nancy Nicholson, the couple had four children together. Graves and his family moved to Oxford where he took a position at St. John’s College. In 1927, Graves and Nancy separated ending their 9 year marriage for good. Graves and his new love Laura Riding moved to Majorca and he continued his writing. The two wrote a few collaborations together and cofounded Seizin Press in 1928. In 1929 Graves published Goodbye to All That, it was an autobiography about his life and experiences while at war. In 1934 Graves published a novel I, Claudius, followed by the sequel, Claudius the God and His Wife Messalina. His novels gave him the status of a major writer and were turned into a popular television series.
In 1936, at the onset of the Spanish Civil War, Graves and Laura left Majorca and moved to America. The move left the couples relationship rocky, and in 1939, Laura left Graves for another writer. In 1940 Graves met Beryl Hodge. The two moved back to Majorca when World War II ended and Graves continued his writing. Graves returned to England in 1961 and served as a professor of poetry at Oxford for the next five years. In 1968 Graves received the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry. Shortly after that he returned to Majorca for the remainder of his life. Robert Graves throughout his life he had written over 140 piece of literature, but spent the last decade of his life not writing. He died on December 7th, 1985 at the age of ninety.
In Broken Images
by Robert Graves
He is quick, thinking in clear images;
I am slow, thinking in broken images.
He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;
I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images.
Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;
Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.
Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact;
Questioning their relevance, I question their fact.
When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;
when the fact fails me, I approve my senses.
He continues quick and dull in his clear images;
I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.
He in a new confusion of his understanding;
I in a new understanding of my confusion.
A Pinch of Salt
by Robert Graves
When a dream is born in you
With a sudden clamorous pain,
When you know the dream is true
And lovely, with no flaw nor stain,
O then, be careful, or with sudden clutch
You'll hurt the delicate thing you prize so much.
Dreams are like a bird that mocks,
Flirting the feathers of his tail.
When you seize at the salt-box,
Over the hedge you'll see him sail.
Old birds are neither caught with salt nor chaff:
They watch you from the apple bough and laugh.
Poet, never chase the dream.
Laugh yourself, and turn away.
Mask your hunger; let it seem
Small matter if he come or stay;
But when he nestles in your hand at last,
Close up your fingers tight and hold him fast.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winners of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] are:
First Place:
That un-forgetful day
Breathe in and then exale
is all I hear them say
as I relive again
that un-forgetful day.
-
Drenched in perspiration
and trembling from inside
memories awaken
what I thought I could hide.
-
Motionless and twisted
in mind the even more
is what the storm had left
so scattered on the shore.
-
When we have heard it all
and no more can be said
time will go on playing
the noises in our head.
-
Breathe in and then exhale
is all that we can say
each time that we relive
that un-forgetful day.
Second place:
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#1581927 by Not Available. |
The pilot deftly twisted the plane sideways.
His control of the maneuver is fascinating in many ways.
Every moment in the air, in this vintage plane,
Brings moments that cause me to exhale in wonder.
One moment the ground is before us, so close to the shore
Of the lake we are flying over and the next there once more
We appear motionless, in mid air, I cannot stop the trembling
Anticipation of what I know will be coming next the rolling!
The sky twisting and turning,
The heart fluttering and stomach churning.
The exhilaration of it all at the same time
And then the gentle, relaxing after roll climb.
The pilot, skilled and able to handle every situation
Suddenly finds that an error has been made, confusion!
The noises that surrounded us moments ago
Silenced and motionless just before the roll and plummeting we go.
No yielding to the commands of the pilot,
The plane is now no more than a bullet trembling
As speed is gained and the water below grows to a larger spot.
Ejected and feeling so dejected, we float safely into the water boiling.
The plane is now in the throes of the crash and strewn all about.
We two once enjoying the sights are now drenched, debris lilting slowly down.
The scene in a way is so serene.
Until at last I awaken to the pain that was perpetrated by the barrel roll gone awry.
Undaunted by the tragedy of that day
Let me to each of you say.
"If at first you are thrown from the sky
Just get up again into the blue wild and again fly!"
Honorable Mention:
| | | Invalid Item
This item number is not valid.
#1583064 by Not Available. |
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Poetry: August 05, 2009 Issue [#3196]
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