Walking to the pub to meet you
On a warm afternoon in summertime
The rhyme of Richard Corry filled my mind.
I remember well
How the water fell
Into the pub’s pond
Recycled again and again.
Few things last long
And all things must fall
In the end.
Still I recall
Meeting my friend
And discussing Robinson’s rhyme
One summertime
Long ago.
The same rain falls
Again and again
And seasons return
But men …
Robert Frost is one of my favourite poets so, in honour of November, I am posting a reading of Frost’s My November Guest on Youtube
Robert Frost – My November Guest
Robert Frost is one of my favourite poets, so I was pleased to see this post on the site Interesting Literature, https://interestingliterature.com/2022/07/best-robert-frost-quotes/
“Poet laureate Amanda Gorman stole the show at Joe Biden’s presidential inauguration on January 20 when she read her powerful poem, The Hill We Climb. Now, it’s being translated into a number of foreign languages — and not without controversy.
Last Friday, Marieke Lucas Rijnveld, the writer chosen to translate Gorman’s work into Dutch, declined to take on the assignment following criticism that she was not Black.” https://www.dw.com/en/amanda-gormans-dutch-translator-steps-down/a-56754197
The world grows ever more insane!
I noticed people disappeared,
When but a little child–
Supposed they visited remote,
Or settled regions wild.
Now know I they both visited
And settled regions wild,
But did because they died–a fact
Withheld the little child!
“Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head”.
A poem by the 19th century American poet, Emily Dickinson.
—
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
I came across the below poem while browsing through a recently acquired collection of the poems of Emily Dickinson.
—
Look back on time with kindly eyes,
He doubtless did his best;
How softly sinks his trembling sun
In human nature’s west!
Papa above!
Regard a Mouse
O’erpowered by the Cat!
Reserve within thy kingdom
A “Mansion” for the Rat!
Snug in seraphic Cupboards
To nibble all the day
While unsuspecting Cycles
Wheel solemnly away!
Poet Charles Bukowski’s last poetry reading, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QB6IyLTvB7M&feature=em-subs_digest-vrecs). The event contains much bawdiness interspersed with the odd poem. If you enjoy Bukowski’s work the performance is worth watching, however much of the performance consists of exchanges between Bukowski and the audience, rather than the poet reading his poetry.
K Morris - Poet 