[Closed] Poetry

Quoth the raven "Eat my shorts!"

Actually though, James Earl Jones reading The Raven is very good

Tony Harrison reading his stuff sounds great

No surprise that I might post this one. In fact, I can [i]only[/i] listen to it recited by Heaney himself.

The answer is self-evident

Can't help liking this bloke if you live round here
It just feels right.
Fits the place and the people.

I wouldn't bother if you fancy something cheerful though.

🙂

I may still have an old 45rpm knocking about somewhere with Vincent Price reading Shelley's 'O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being...'

Yeats is the one that really rattles my bones. Well, that and arthritis. Of the two I much prefer Yeats.

The Song of Wandering Aengus
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

'Invictus' by William Ernest Henley and read by Morgan Freeman.

Bob Dylan 'Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie'

It's odd, poetry is something I've never really got into, despite my deep appreciation of well-crafted song lyrics, which are a poetry of a sort themselves.
I keep meaning to do something about it, but [s]STW[/s] life, books, music, stuff just seems to get in the way... 😀

Malvern Rider - Member

I may still have an old 45rpm knocking about somewhere with Vincent Price reading Shelley's 'O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being...'

Yeats is the one that really rattles my bones. Well, that and arthritis. Of the two I much prefer Yeats.

[i]I ranted to the knave and fool,
But outgrew that school,
Would transform the part,
Fit audience found, but cannot rule
My fanatic heart.

I sought my betters: though in each
Fine manners, liberal speech,
Turn hatred into sport,
Nothing said or done can reach
My fanatic heart.

Out of Ireland have we come.
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother's womb
A fanatic heart.[/i]

I hated poetry at school, but Kate Tempest has got me back into it:

Also like this:

All this and no mention of the German Guns by Private S Baldrick?

One of the great overlooked war poets.

"Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it."

I remember reading that at school, superb.

I always end up posting this, the rage and claustrophobia of it knocks me out. I can't find a reading here but there's a fantastic one on youtube, in the norwegian

Dare not to sleep!
By Arnulf Øverland
Translated from Norwegian by Lars-Toralf Storstrand

I was awakened one morning, by the quaintest of dreams
‘twas like a voice, spoken to me
It sounded afar - like an underground stream,
I rose and said: Why do you call me?

Dare not to slumber! Dare not to sleep!
Dare not believe, it was merely a dream!
Yore I was judged.
The gallows were built in the court this evening,
They’ll come for me — 5’ in the morning

This dungeon is teeming,
And barracks stand dungeon by dungeon
we lie here, awaiting, in cold cells of stone,
We lie here, we rot, in these murky holes.

We know not ourselves, what does lie ahead
Who will be the next one they'll reach for.
We moan and we shriek: But do you take heed?
Is there none among you who’ll hearken?

No one can see us,
None know what befalls us.
Yet more:
None will believe - what the day will bring us!

And then You defy: This dare not be true!
That men can be utterly evil.
There has to be some one with merits pure
Oh, brother, you still have a great deal to learn

They said: You will give your life, if commanded
We’ve given it now, for naught it was handed
The world has forgotten, we’ve all been deceived
Dare not to sleep in this hour - this eve.

You oughtn’t go to your business hence,
Or think: What’s your loss – or what is your gain?
You oughtn’t attribute your fields and your kine,
Nor say you’ve enough - with all that is thine.

You oughn’t abide, sitting calm in your home
Saying: Dismal it is, poor they are, and alone
You cannot permit it! You dare not, at all.
Accepting that outrage on all else may fall!
I cry with the final gasps of my breath:
You dare not repose, nor stand and forget

Pardon them not - they know what they do!
They breathe on hate-glows, and evil pursue,
They fancy to slay, they revel with cries,
Their desire is to gloat, when our world is at fire!
In blood they are yearning to drown one and all!
Don’t you believe it? You’ve heard the call!

You know how infants will soldiers remain,
While dashing through streets, fields, chanting ‘bout pain
Aroused by their mothers‘ assurance of glory
They’ll shelter their land - and they’ll never worry

You know the fatality of the lies,
that glory and faith and honor abides
You discern the dauntless dreams of a child,
A saber, a banner, he’ll flaunt them so wild,

And then they’ll leave home for a rainfall of steel,
‘Till last they hang ragged on barbed wire will,
Decaying for Hitler's Aryan call,
That is what a man’s for - after all…

I couldn’t imagine – too late now it is
My sentence is just: The verdict's no miss
I believed in prosperity, dreamt about peace
In labor and fellowship; love’s fragrant kiss
Yet those who don’t die on the battlefield,
Their heads for the axeman, will certainly yield

I cry in the gloom - if only you’d knew
There is but one thing - befitting to do
Defend yourself, while your hands are still yearning,
Protect your offspring - Europe is burning.

I shook from the chill. To dress, up I rose
Without stars were shining, so far, yet so close
‘twere simply a brilliant ray in the east,
Admonishing warning from the dream that just ceased

The day that soared up from earths furthermost strand
Augmenting with blood — and with firebrand
It grew with terror - like a breath that was lost
It seemed like the starlight - was slain by the frost.

I weighed: Something is imminent - and it’s dire
Our era is over — Europe’s on fire!

Old Mr (Leonard) Cohen has written some good stuff

When feeling especially cynical I always used to spout the first lines of Larkin's 'This be The verse' -

''They f*** you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do..."

Now have mellowed somewhat, and recently discovered an anarchist poet's take on it - which I like much more:

[b]This Be The Converse[/b]

They tuck you up, your Mum and Dad,
They read you Peter Rabbit, too.
They give you all the treats they had
And add some extra, just for you.

They were tucked up when they were small,
(Pink perfume, blue tobacco-smoke),
By those whose kiss healed any fall,
Whose laughter doubled any joke.

Man hands on happiness to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
So love your parents all you can
And have some cheerful kids yourself.

Adrian Mitchell