Weekly/Fortnightly Poetry Suggestions

[Owlivia]

A Suggestion:

The Children of the Night - from the book of the same title, by Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935) - apparently a favorite poet of Theodore Roosevelt. Gutenberg offers the 1905 printing of the 1897 edition, so clearly within Use limits. I sense a hint of Nouwen's "The Wounded Healer," within it.
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/313/313-h/313-h.htm#link2H_4_0002

The Children of the Night

For those that never know the light,
The darkness is a sullen thing;
And they, the Children of the Night,
Seem lost in Fortune's winnowing.

But some are strong and some are weak, —
And there's the story. House and home
Are shut from countless hearts that seek
World-refuge that will never come.

And if there be no other life,
And if there be no other chance
To weigh their sorrow and their strife
Than in the scales of circumstance,

'T were better, ere the sun go down
Upon the first day we embark,
In life's imbittered sea to drown,
Than sail forever in the dark.

But if there be a soul on earth
So blinded with its own misuse
Of man's revealed, incessant worth,
Or worn with anguish, that it views

No light but for a mortal eye,
No rest but of a mortal sleep,
No God but in a prophet's lie,
No faith for "honest doubt" to keep;

If there be nothing, good or bad,
But chaos for a soul to trust, —
God counts it for a soul gone mad,
And if God be God, He is just.

And if God be God, He is Love;
And though the Dawn be still so dim,
It shows us we have played enough
With creeds that make a fiend of Him.

There is one creed, and only one,
That glorifies God's excellence;
So cherish, that His will be done,
The common creed of common sense.

It is the crimson, not the gray,
That charms the twilight of all time;
It is the promise of the day
That makes the starry sky sublime;

It is the faith within the fear
That holds us to the life we curse; —
So let us in ourselves revere
The Self which is the Universe!

Let us, the Children of the Night,
Put off the cloak that hides the scar!
Let us be Children of the Light,
And tell the ages what we are!

Used for fortnightly August 14th

******

Owlivia/Deborah

[TriciaG]

Would someone like to head up the fortnightly poem starting tomorrow, maybe use Owlivia's suggestion? Or one of one's own choosing...

[msfry]

OK, how about something a little light and silly, from The Adventures of Seamus Beg
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/37214/37214-h/37214-h.htm
It's about a day in the life of a bird, who is also an expectant father.

THE FIFTEEN ACRES, by James Stephens (an irish poet)

I cling and swing
On a branch, or sing
Through the cool, clear hush of Morning, O:
Or fling my wing
On the air, and bring
To sleepier birds a warning, O:
That the night's in flight,
And the sun's in sight,
And the dew is the grass adorning, O:
And the green leaves swing
As I sing, sing, sing,
Up by the river,
Down the dell,
To the little wee nest,
Where the big tree fell,
So early in the morning, O.

I flit and twit
In the sun for a bit
When his light so bright is shining, O:
Or sit and fit
My plumes, or knit
Straw plaits for the nest's nice lining, O:
And she with glee
Shows unto me
Underneath her wings reclining, O:
And I sing that Peg
Has an egg, egg, egg,
Up by the oat-field,
Round the mill,
Past the meadow,
Down the hill,
So early in the morning, O.

I stoop and swoop
On the air, or loop
Through the trees, and then go soaring, O
To group with a troop
On the gusty poop
While the wind behind is roaring, O:
I skim and swim
By a cloud's red rim
And up to the azure flooring, O:
And my wide wings drip
As I slip, slip, slip
Down through the rain-drops,
Back where Peg
Broods in the nest
On the little white egg,
So early in the morning, O.

used July 31st

[TriciaG]

You want to set it up for this upcoming fortnight?

[msfry]

You want to set it up for this upcoming fortnight?

Yep, O.

[TriciaG]

Go for it!

And, thanks!

[mungojerry311]

Here's an interesting (and a bit haunting) one. It's called Memories Of A Childhood by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Jessie Lamont, from the book aptly titled Poems.
Link to the book: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38594
The book was done as a solo a few years ago but none of the poems from it have been used as a Weekly that I can tell. It's amazing what you can find by randomly looking through poetry books on Gutenberg.

The darkness hung like richness in the room
When like a dream the mother entered there
And then a glass's tinkle stirred the air
Near where a boy sat in the silent gloom.

The room betrayed the mother—so she felt—
She kissed her boy and questioned "Are you here?"
And with a gesture that he held most dear
Down for a moment by his side she knelt.

Toward the piano they both shyly glanced
For she would sing to him on many a night,
And the child seated in the fading light
Would listen strangely as if half entranced,

His large eyes fastened with a quiet glow
Upon the hand which by her ring seemed bent
And slowly wandering o'er the white keys went
Moving as though against a drift of snow.

[KevinS]

Here's an interesting (and a bit haunting) one. It's called Memories Of A Childhood by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Jessie Lamont, from the book aptly titled Poems.
Link to the book: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38594
The book was done as a solo a few years ago but none of the poems from it have been used as a Weekly that I can tell. It's amazing what you can find by randomly looking through poetry books on Gutenberg.

The darkness hung like richness in the room
When like a dream the mother entered there
And then a glass's tinkle stirred the air
Near where a boy sat in the silent gloom.

The room betrayed the mother—so she felt—
She kissed her boy and questioned "Are you here?"
And with a gesture that he held most dear
Down for a moment by his side she knelt.

Toward the piano they both shyly glanced
For she would sing to him on many a night,
And the child seated in the fading light
Would listen strangely as if half entranced,

His large eyes fastened with a quiet glow
Upon the hand which by her ring seemed bent
And slowly wandering o'er the white keys went
Moving as though against a drift of snow.

Lovely, haunting poem! I hope you'll jump in and BC this!

[mungojerry311]

Yes, I'll BC it whenever the next opening is.

[TriciaG]

Yes, I'll BC it whenever the next opening is.

It's now. I haven't gotten around to doing anything about this week's poem yet.

[TriciaG]

A Suggestion:

The Children of the Night - from the book of the same title, by Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935) - apparently a favorite poet of Theodore Roosevelt. Gutenberg offers the 1905 printing of the 1897 edition, so clearly within Use limits. I sense a hint of Nouwen's "The Wounded Healer," within it.
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/313/313-h/313-h.htm#link2H_4_0002

The Children of the Night


******

Owlivia/Deborah

This is set up as the next fortnightly.

[pvmg]

Hello I want to suggest Kavafis poem Ithaka .https://www.openbook.gr/apanta-kavafi/
page 48

In the link below you can fint some translations
https://www.babelmatrix.org/works/el/Kav%C3%A1fisz%2C_Konsztand%C3%ADnosz-1863/%CE%99%CE%B8%CE%AC%CE%BA%CE%B7

[TriciaG]

Hello I want to suggest Kavafis poem Ithaka .https://www.openbook.gr/apanta-kavafi/
page 48

In the link below you can fint some translations
https://www.babelmatrix.org/works/el/Kav%C3%A1fisz%2C_Konsztand%C3%ADnosz-1863/%CE%99%CE%B8%CE%AC%CE%BA%CE%B7

The English translation is by two authors who were born in 1922 and 1928. Thus their translations were published after 1926 and are therefore probably still under copyright.

[mungojerry311]

Here's a nice one I've found. I can BC this one whenever the next opening is. It's called "Sunset" by Archibald Lampman. This one hasn't been done previously:

From this windy bridge at rest,
In some former curious hour,
We have watched the city's hue,
All along the orange west,
Cupola and pointed tower,
Darken into solid blue.

Tho' the biting north wind breaks
Full across this drifted hold,
Let us stand with icèd cheeks
Watching westward as of old;

Past the violet mountain-head
To the farthest fringe of pine,
Where far off the purple-red
Narrows to a dusky line,
And the last pale splendors die
Slowly from the olive sky;

Till the thin clouds wear away
Into threads of purple-gray,
And the sudden stars between
Brighten in the pallid green;

Till above the spacious east,
Slow returnèd one by one,
Like pale prisoners released
From the dungeons of the sun,
Capella and her train appear
In the glittering Charioteer;

Till the rounded moon shall grow
Great above the eastern snow,
Shining into burnished gold;
And the silver earth outrolled,
In the misty yellow light,
Shall take on the width of night.

[aradlaw]

Here's a nice one I've found. I can BC this one whenever the next opening is. It's called "Sunset" by Archibald Lampman. This one hasn't been done previously:

Hi Mark, you can set this up for tomorrow's Weekly if you wish. (sorry I didn't see your post sooner.)