Apr. 1st, 2012 11:07 pm
jade_sabre: (stars)
IT IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH (repeats may happen this year from previous years but oh well) I HAVE TO GO TO BED BUT here is the poem I have been memorizing for the past few days (from my deep and abiding love, e.e. cummings, as if it wasn't obvious: )

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
jade_sabre: (lost)
Because I am NOT going to let this thesis stop me from posting my poems! I will just...let other people pick them for me. Colleen chose this one, from Emily Dickinson:

It's all I have to bring today
It's all I have to bring today --
This, and my heart beside --
This, and my heart, and all the fields --
And all the meadows wide --
Be sure you count -- should I forget
Some one the sum could tell --
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.
jade_sabre: (batb:  depression)
I feel as if I have copped out already once this month, but I am still inexplicably fifteen pages away from finishing the original 1721 translation of Aladdin, or, The Wonderful Lamp even though I've been reading it for an hour. And then I have to finish reading about the history of pantomime up till 1935 because apparently nobody anywhere ever decided to write about pantomime after that. WEDNESDAY, HERE I COME. Meanwhile, for you guys, to make it feel less cop-out-y, I typed this from memory. From Tim Rice:

A Whole New World
I can show you the world
Shining, shimmering, splendid
Tell me, princess,
Now when did you last
Let your heart decide?

I can open your eyes
Take you wonder by wonder
Over, sideways, and under
On a magic carpet ride

A whole new world
A new fantastic point of view
No one to tell us no
Or where to go
Or say we're only dreaming

A whole new world
A dazzling place I never knew
But when I'm way up here
It's crystal clear
That now I'm in a
Whole new world with you
(Now I'm in a
Whole new world with you)

Unbelievable sights
Indescribable feeling
Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling
Through an endless diamond sky

A whole new world
(Don't you dare close your eyes)
A hundred thousand things to see
(Hold your breath it gets better)
I'm like a shooting star
I've come so far
I can't go back to where I used to be

A whole new world
(Every turn a surprise)
With new horizons to pursue
(Every moment red-letter)

I'll chase them anywhere
There's time to spare
Let me share this
Whole new world with you

A whole new world
That's where we'll be
A thrilling chase
A wondrous place
For you and me
jade_sabre: (english major)
Happy Birthday Shakespeare! This year we did a reading of all of his sonnets here at school, and so today I offer you the two that I read:

The other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy;
Until life's composition be recured
By those swift messengers return'd from thee,
Who even but now come back again, assured
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
I send them back again and straight grow sad.

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar,
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie--
A closet never pierced with crystal eyes--
But the defendant doth that plea deny
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is impanneled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part:
As thus; mine eye's due is thy outward part,
And my heart's right thy inward love of heart.
jade_sabre: (wall-e:  content)
Happy Earth Day! From Sabbaths 2006, by Wendell Berry:

O saints, if I am even eligible for this prayer,
though less than worthy of this dear desire,
and if your prayers have influence in Heaven,
let my place there be lower than your own.
I know how you longed, here where you lived
as exiles, for the presence of the essential
Being and Maker and Knower of all things.
But because of my unruliness, or some erring
virtue in me never rightly schooled,
some error clear and dear, my life
has not taught me your desire for flight:
dismattered, pure, and free. I long
instead for the Heaven of creatures, of seasons,
of day and night. Heaven enough for me
would be this world as I know it, but redeemed
of our abuse of it and one another. It would be
the Heaven of knowing again. There is no marrying
in Heaven, and I submit; even so, I would like
to know my wife again, both of us young again,
and I remembering always how I loved her
when she was old. I would like to know
my children again, all my family, all my dear ones,
to see, to hear, to hold, more carefully
than before, to study them lingeringly as one
studies old verses, committing them to heart
forever. I would like again to know my friends,
my old companions, men and women, horses
and dogs, in all the ages of our lives, here
in this place that I have watched over all my life
in all its moods and seasons, never enough.
I will be leaving how many beauties overlooked?
A painful Heaven this would be, for I would know
by it how far I have fallen short. I have not
paid enough attention, I have not been grateful
enough. And yet this pain would be the measure
of my love. In eternity's once and now, pain would
place me surely in the Heaven of my earthly love.

The faith of the gliding swallows:
they throw their weight against
mere air, and it lifts them.
jade_sabre: (potc:  crab lol)
Normally the Poem-A-Day from poets.org is not very exciting--a lot of them have been really depressing this year, and half of them were like drabbles instead of poems, but today's was great, and so I am reposting it for you. From Dorothy Parker:

The Passionate Freudian to His Love
Only name the day, and we'll fly away
    In the face of old traditions,
To a sheltered spot, by the world forgot,
    Where we'll park our inhibitions.
Come and gaze in eyes where the lovelight lies
    As it psychoanalyzes,
And when once you glean what your fantasies mean
    Life will hold no more surprises.
When you've told your love what you're thinking of
    Things will be much more informal;
Through a sunlit land we'll go hand-in-hand,
    Drifting gently back to normal.

While the pale moon gleams, we will dream sweet dreams,
    And I'll win your admiration,
For it's only fair to admit I'm there
    With a mean interpretation.
In the sunrise glow we will whisper low
    Of the scenes our dreams have painted,
And when you're advised what they symbolized
    We'll begin to feel acquainted.
So we'll gaily float in a slumber boat
    Where subconscious waves dash wildly;
In the stars' soft light, we will say good-night—
    And "good-night!" will put it mildly.

Our desires shall be from repressions free—
    As it's only right to treat them.
To your ego's whims I will sing sweet hymns,
    And ad libido repeat them.
With your hand in mine, idly we'll recline
    Amid bowers of neuroses,
While the sun seeks rest in the great red west
    We will sit and match psychoses.
So come dwell a while on that distant isle
    In the brilliant tropic weather;
Where a Freud in need is a Freud indeed,
    We'll always be Jung together.
jade_sabre: (hav:  sisters)
I like this poem a lot. But I promise, I liked coming down from the trees too. From Kate Northrop:

—to my sister

Because the moon in late October made landmarks glow: the broken
gate, our yard

full of stones, the attic window

suddenly foreign, across its face
a blue dissolve. In spite of that, the farm

remained an arrangement (barn
behind the house, pond
across the road) and a girl sometimes

feels torn. We turned our dresses inside out,
ran into a grove. We played

you're blind, Molly, try to find me.
It was a family game: get left

in darkness. I climbed
up into the oak, listened for your voice
until my name became

a sound from the other side, from the poor
order of the world. I came back

because I had to. And believe me, you who are fragile
and so faithful, I hated to return

materializing through trees.
jade_sabre: (mulan:  glee)
This is also kind of inspired by my prospie, whose day yesterday went something like this:
La! I shall go to lunch in the special gluten-free room at North Dining Hall!
La! My person-I'm-shadowing sees someone she knows in the special gluten-free room!
La! This person is the head of the Gluten-Free ND club! She tells me about a meeting they're having this evening!
La! I go to a meeting about how awesome ND is at being gluten-free, and see my counselors from my summer program, who have recently been told they need a gluten-free diet!
La! Such is Notre Dame.

Alternatively, it is inspired by my general reflections on how life at ND has been in general. After all, I found out about it by chance, was assigned to my dorm completely randomly, roomed with Lovie because she was one of the four people I actually knew in the dorm, wandering around and somehow finding my way home.

Lastly, you could just write it off as some of my earliest memories being watching the music video and being fascinated by all the crazy colors. (And trying to belly dance, but hey, I was like three.)

ANYWAY, enough exposition, here is your poem! From U2:

Mysterious Ways
Johnny, take a walk with your sister the moon
Let her pale light in, to fill up your room.
You've been living underground, eating from a can
You've been running away from what you don't understand.

She's slippy, you're sliding down.
She'll be there when you hit the ground.

It's alright, it's alright, it's alright.
She moves in mysterious ways.
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright.
She moves in mysterious ways, oh.

Johnny, take a dive with your sister in the rain
Let her talk about the things you can't explain.
To touch is to heal, to hurt is to steal.
If you want to kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel
On your knees, boy!

She's the wave, she turns the tide
She sees the man inside the child.

It's alright, it's alright, it's alright.
She moves in mysterious ways.
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright.
She moves in mysterious ways, yeah, oh, ah.

Lift my days, light up my nights, oh.

One day you'll look back, and you'll see
Where you were held now by this love.
While you could stand there,
You could move on this moment
Follow this feeling.

It's alright, it's alright, it's alright.
She moves in mysterious ways.
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright.
She moves in mysterious ways.

It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
Move you, spirits move you
Move, spirits 'its move you, oh yeah.
Does it move you?
(The spirit moves in mysterious ways.)
She moves with it.
Lift my days, and light up my nights, oh.
jade_sabre: (batb:  Geek Disney)
Chosen today by our dear prospective student, who was happy to spend the entire afternoon on my futon reading Guards! Guards! as she has never read Terry Pratchett before. (eta: And now she's on Men At Arms. *cackles*) From Lewis Carroll:

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
jade_sabre: (tlm:  curious)
Oh I am too tired to read this poem properly, but I think I like it, and anyway the author made me think of Willow so I am posting it.  Also I went to see a play entitled Blithe Spirit tonight, and the title of the poem involves the word spirit. SEE HOW I MAKE CONNECTIONS? So today, from Lucy Maud Montgomery:

The Sea Spirit
I smile o'er the wrinkled blue­
Lo! the sea is fair,
Smooth as the flow of a maiden's hair;
And the welkin's light shines through
Into mid-sea caverns of beryl hue,
And the little waves laugh and the mermaids sing,
And the sea is a beautiful, sinuous thing!

I scowl in sullen guise­
The sea grows dark and dun,
The swift clouds hide the sun
But not the bale-light in my eyes,
And the frightened wind as it flies
Ruffles the billows with stormy wing,
And the sea is a terrible, treacherous thing!

When moonlight glimmers dim
I pass in the path of the mist,
Like a pale spirit by spirits kissed.
At dawn I chant my own weird hymn,
And I dabble my hair in the sunset's rim,
And I call to the dwellers along the shore
With a voice of gramarye evermore.

And if one for love of me
Gives to my call an ear,
I will woo him and hold him dear,
And teach him the way of the sea,
And my glamor shall ever over him be;
Though he wander afar in the cities of men
He will come at last to my arms again.
jade_sabre: (Default)
It is not sunny, and I got up very early this morning, and I am, in fact, putting my head back in the dark now, but since it is still very much morning for many people, here is your poem for the day (perhaps better for Monday than Friday, but oh well, I am sleepy), from William Meredith:

Poem About Morning
Whether it's sunny or not, it's sure
To be enormously complex-
Trees or streets outdoors, indoors whoever you share,
And yourself, thirsty, hungry, washing,
An attitude towards sex.
No wonder half of you wants to stay
With your head dark and wishing
Rather than take it all on again:
Weren't you duped yesterday?
Things are not orderly here, no matter what they say.

But the clock goes off, if you have a dog
It wags, if you get up now you'll be less
Late. Life is some kind of loathsome hag
Who is forever threatening to turn beautiful.
Now she gives you a quick toothpaste kiss
And puts a glass of cold cranberry juice,
Like a big fake garnet, in your hand.
Cranberry juice! You're lucky, on the whole,
But there is a great deal about it you don't understand.
jade_sabre: (garden state:  Natalie laughing)
No tax poem this year; they're too hard to fine. But, since taxes are one of those things you deal with in everyday life, have a sonnet on a similar theme, found in my Good Poems book that I love so very very much. From Howard Nemerov:

(eta: to find, too hard to find.)

A Primer of the Daily Round
A peels an apple, while B kneels to God,
C telephones to D, who has a hand
On E's knee, F coughs, G turns up the sod
For H's grave, I do not understand
But J is bringing one clay pigeon down
While K brings down a nightstick on L's head,
And M takes mustard, N drives into town,
O goes to bed with P, and Q drops dead,
R lies to S, but happens to be heard
By T, who tells U not to fire V
For having to give W the word
That X is now deceiving Y with Z,

Who happens just now to remember A
Peeling an apple somewhere far away.
jade_sabre: (gwtw:  road to tara)
Taxes are being stupid! To make up for it, a poem with attitude. A poem [livejournal.com profile] redbrunja posted earlier this month, the same day I discovered it. I used to have a Satine icon that would go perfectly with this, but apparently I lost her. Alas. Anyway, you can hear the poetess reading it here. From Kim Addonizo:

What Do Women Want?
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.
jade_sabre: (superior:  exa and sheila)
It's still April 13th somewhere! Today's guest programmer is Becca, who picked this poem for the title, although she finds the poet "slightly twee." From Charlotte Smith:

Sonnet LXX: On Being Cautioned Against Walking on an Headland Overlooking the Sea, Because It Was Frequented by a Lunatic
Is there a solitary wretch who hies
To the tall cliff, with starting pace or slow,
And, measuring, views with wild and hollow eyes
Its distance from the waves that chide below;
Who, as the sea-born gale with frequent sighs
Chills his cold bed upon the mountain turf,
With hoarse, half-utter'd lamentation, lies
Murmuring responses to the dashing surf?
In moody sadness, on the giddy brink,
I see him more with envy than with fear;
He has no nice felicities that shrink
From giant horrors; wildly wandering here,
He seems (uncursed with reason) not to know
The depth or the duration of his woe.
jade_sabre: (lotr:  éowyn pensive)
In honor of the fact that I was working on an author presentation about this guy instead of posting a poem, here is a belated poem of the day, from Robert Penn Warren:

History Among the Rocks
There are many ways to die
Here among the rocks in any weather:
Wind, down the eastern gap, will lie
Level along the snow, beating the cedar,
And lull the drowsy head that it blows over
To startle a cold and crystalline dream forever.

The hound's black paw will print the grass in May,
And sycamores rise down a dark ravine,
Where a creek in flood, sucking the rock and clay,
Will tumble the laurel, the sycamore away.
Think how a body, naked and lean
And white as the splintered sycamore, would go
Tumbling and turning, hushed in the end,
With hair afloat in waters that gently bend
To ocean where the blind tides flow.

Under the shadow of ripe wheat,
By flat limestone, will coil the copperhead,
Fanged as the sunlight, hearing the reaper's feet.
But there are other ways, the lean men said:

In these autumn orchards once young men lay dead...
Grey coats, blue coats. Young men on the mountainside
Clambered, fought. Heels muddied the rocky spring.
Their reason is hard to guess, remembering
Blood on their black mustaches in moonlight.
Their reason is hard to guess and a long time past:
The apple falls, falling in the quiet night.
jade_sabre: (wall-e:  hug)
So today I woke up, went to work, was locked out of work for like ten minutes, got into work, proceeded to spend most of work giggling at Attractive Coworker, came back from work, and discovered Lovie downloading music (legally!) from emusic.com. This led to us spending the ENTIRE AFTERNOON (and, well, even now) going through our music libraries and offering each other large amounts of music. This is when I discovered that Lovie's computer has ten times the hard drive space that mine does, and so it's good that I gave her more music than she's giving me. Eek. Anyway, in honor of that, and the fact that I just gave her almost their entire discography, we have poetic song lyrics for you. Today, from The Killers:

I did my best to notice
When the call came down the line
Up to the platform of surrender
I was brought but I was kind

And sometimes I get nervous
When I see an open door
Close your eyes, clear your heart
Cut the cord

Are we human or are we dancer?
My sign is vital, my hands are cold
And I'm on my knees looking for the answer
Are we human or are we dancer?

Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Hear my regards to soul and romance
They always did the best they could

And so long to devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye, wish me well
You've gotta let me go

Are we human or are we dancer?
My sign is vital, my hands are cold
And I'm on my knees looking for the answer
Are we human or are we dancer?

Will your system be alright
When you dream of home tonight
There is no message we're receiving
Let me know, is your heart still beating?

Are we human or are we dancer?
My sign is vital, my hands are cold
And I'm on my knees looking for the answer
Are we human or are we dancer?

You've gotta let me know

Are we human or are we dancer?
My sign is vital, my hands are cold
And I'm on my knees looking for the answer
Are we human or are we dancer?
jade_sabre: (avatar:  whose hearts are mountains)
So yesterday [livejournal.com profile] willow_41z posted me to this comic about "pretend to be e.e. cummings" day, and that reminded me of the poem that I wrote a paper on, and so I am posting it today, because it's easier to pick that one than to stare at e.e. cummings and want to post everything. I AM MAKING NO PROMISES ABOUT NOT POSTING MORE BY HIM THOUGH. Luff. So today, from e.e. cummings:

[i like my body when it is with your]
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like,slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh.... And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new
jade_sabre: (firefly:  Inara crying)
idk, blame my Facebook news feed, or [livejournal.com profile] farens, or the website with a limited number of poems to pick from, or the fact that I'm really tired, but here is a your poem for today, from Edna St. Vincent Millay:

The Betrothal
Oh, come, my lad, or go, my lad,
And love me if you like.
I shall not hear the door shut
Nor the knocker strike.

Oh, bring me gifts or beg me gifts,
And wed me if you will.
I'd make a man a good wife,
Sensible and still.

And why should I be cold, my lad,
And why should you repine,
Because I love a dark head
That never will be mine?

I might as well be easing you
As lie alone in bed
And waste the night in wanting
A cruel dark head.

You might as well be calling yours
What never will be his,
And one of us be happy.
There's few enough as is.
jade_sabre: (gwtw:  road to tara)
In honor of the fact that I couldn't find Beyond Good and Evil this morning when trying to write my Nietzsche short draft, here is his poem from the end of that book. From Friedrich Nietzsche:

Aftersong: From High Mountains
O noon of life! A time to celebrate!
Oh garden of summer!
Restless happiness in standing, gazing, waiting:—
I wait for friends, ready day and night.
You friends, where are you? Come! It's time! It's time!

Was it not for you that the glacier's grayness
today decked itself with roses?
The stream is seeking you, and wind and clouds
with yearning push themselves higher into the blue today
to look for you from the furthest bird's eye view.

For you my table has been set at the highest point.
Who lives so near the stars?
Who's so near the furthest reaches of the bleak abyss?
My realm—what realm has stretched so far?
And my honey—who has tasted that? . . .

There you are, my friends!—Alas, so I'm not the man,
not the one you're looking for?
You hesitate, surprised!—Ah, your anger would be better!
Am I no more the one? A changed hand, pace, and face?
And what am I—for you friends am I not the one?

Have I become another? A stranger to myself?
Have I sprung from myself?
A wrestler who overcame himself so often?
Too often pulling against his very own power,
wounded and checked by his own victory?

I looked where the wind blows most keenly?
I learned to live
where no one lives, in deserted icy lands,
forgot men and god, curse and prayer?
Became a ghost that moves over the glaciers?

—You old friends! Look! Now your gaze is pale,
full of love and horror!
No, be off! Do not rage! You can't live here:
here between the furthest realms of ice and rock—
here one must be a hunter, like a chamois.

I've become a wicket hunter! See, how deep
my bow extends!
It was the strongest man who made such a pull—
Woe betide you! The arrow is dangerous—
like no arrow—away from here! For your own good! . . .

You're turning around?—O heart, you deceive enough,
your hopes stayed strong:
hold your door open for new friends!
Let the old ones go! Let go the memory!
Once you were young, now—you are even younger!

What bound us then, a band of one hope—
who reads the signs,
love once etched there—still pale?
I compare it to parchment which the hand
fears to touch—like that discoloured, burned.

No more friends—they are . . . But how can I name that?—
Just friendly ghosts!
That knocks for me at night on my window and my heart,
that looks at me and says, "But we were friends?"—
—O shrivelled word, once fragrant as a rose!

O youthful longing which misunderstands itself!
Those yearned for,
whom I imagined changed to my own kin,
they have grown old, have exiled themselves.
Only the one who changes stays in touch with me.

O noon of life! A second youthful time!
O summer garden!
Restless happiness in standing, gazing, waiting!
I wait for friends, ready day and night.
You friends, where are you? Come! It's time! It's time

The song is done—the sweet cry of yearning
died in my mouth:
A magician did it, a friend at the right hour,
a noontime friend—no! Do not ask who it might be—
it was at noon when one turned into two . . . .

Now we celebrate, certain of victory, united,
the feast of feasts:
friend Zarathustra came, the guest of guests!
Now the world laughs, the horror curtain splits,
the wedding came for light and darkness . . . .
jade_sabre: (lost)
It's raining.

From Shel Silverstein:

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.


jade_sabre: (Default)

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