Posts tagged poet

A lost journal of W. H. Auden, one of three that the poet is known to have kept, has recently been discovered.

millionsmillions

Let me put this as delicately as I can: If you don’t read, your writing is going to suck.
Kim Addonizio; Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Alfred Tennyson; Idylls of the King and a Selection of Poems
aaknopf: Raymond Carver (1938-1988), was a poet before he was celebrated as a writer of short stories. Here is “Eagles,” from his 1985 collection Where Water Comes Together with Other Water. Eagles It was a sixteen-inch ling cod that the eagledropped near our feetat the top of Bagley Creek canyon,at the edge of the green woods.Puncture marks in the sides of the fishwhere the bird gripped with its talons!That and a piece torn out of the fish’s back.Like an old painting recalled,or an ancient memory coming back,that eagle flew with the fish from the Straitof Juan de Fuca up the canyon to wherethe woods begin, and we stood watching.It lost the fish above our heads,dropped for it, missed it, and soared onover the valley where wind beats all day.We watched it keep going until it wasa speck, then gone. I picked upthe fish. That miraculous ling cod.Came home from the walk and—why the hell not?—cooked itlightly in oil and ate itwith boiled potatoes and peas and biscuits.Over dinner, talking about eaglesand an older, fiercer order of things. Learn more about Raymond Carver’s Book Title and browse other titles by Raymond Carver. To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link » …and oh, hey, another Cavafy audio bonus arrives today.

aaknopf:

Raymond Carver (1938-1988), was a poet before he was celebrated as a writer of short stories. Here is “Eagles,” from his 1985 collection Where Water Comes Together with Other Water.

Eagles

It was a sixteen-inch ling cod that the eagle
dropped near our feet
at the top of Bagley Creek canyon,
at the edge of the green woods.
Puncture marks in the sides of the fish
where the bird gripped with its talons!
That and a piece torn out of the fish’s back.
Like an old painting recalled,
or an ancient memory coming back,
that eagle flew with the fish from the Strait
of Juan de Fuca up the canyon to where
the woods begin, and we stood watching.
It lost the fish above our heads,
dropped for it, missed it, and soared on
over the valley where wind beats all day.
We watched it keep going until it was
a speck, then gone. I picked up
the fish. That miraculous ling cod.
Came home from the walk and—
why the hell not?—cooked it
lightly in oil and ate it
with boiled potatoes and peas and biscuits.
Over dinner, talking about eagles
and an older, fiercer order of things.

Learn more about Raymond Carver’s Book Title and browse other titles by Raymond Carver.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link »

…and oh, hey, another Cavafy audio bonus arrives today.

“great writers are indecent people
they live unfairly
saving the best part for paper.

good human beings save the world
so that bastards like me can keep creating art,
become immortal.
if you read this after I am dead
it means I made it.”

Charles Bukowski; The People Look Like Flowers at Last
Anne Sexton with her feet up at home.

Anne Sexton with her feet up at home.

Love? Be it man. Be it woman.
It must be a wave you want to glide in on,
give your body to it, give your laugh to it,
give, when the gravelly sand takes you,
your tears to the land. To love another is something
like prayer and can’t be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
Anne Sexton; The Complete Poems

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

buckeyeballerina:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
…

Ever since I first read this poem a long, long, time ago, I can’t help but think that the last stanza admits the whole thing is a lie. Re-read it and see if does not seem to indicate such. Why did he “sigh” if he took the road less traveled and it made the difference? Also, why the stutter just before the declaration of which road? A lie? Regardless, I still love the poem. 

nevver: e.e. cummings

nevver:

e.e. cummings

“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.” ― T.S. Eliot

“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.” ― T.S. Eliot

in the rain // E. E. Cummings

in the rain-
darkness, the sunset
being sheathed i sit and
think of you

the holy
city which is your face
your little cheeks the streets
of smiles

your eyes half-
thrush
half-angel and your drowsy
lips where float flowers of kiss

and
there is the sweet shy pirouette
your hair
and then

your dancesong
soul. rarely-beloved
a single star is
uttered, and i

think
  of you

blejz

ohyeahannesexton: Anne Sexton and family (Christmas 1965)

ohyeahannesexton:

Anne Sexton and family (Christmas 1965)

ohyeahannesexton

A word is not the same with one writer as it is with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.
William Wordsworth
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
T.S. Eliot (via manchannel)

manchannel.co

Tonight’s December thirty-first,
Something is about to burst.
The clock is crouching, dark and small,
Like a time bomb in the hall.
Hark, it’s midnight, children dear.
Duck! Here comes another year!
Ogden Nash; Collected verse from 1929 On