Recite your favorite Poetry

[RedCeltic]

Poetry is often very insperational. I have long been a fan of both reading and writing poetry. I've noticed that now and then people (exp: CommieBasterd) have writen poetry and posted it in Chit Chat.

I thought it would be interesting to see what famous pieces of poetry people find most insperational, and post here in this thread.

One of my most favorite poems as a child was Alfred Lord Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade", which my father used to read to me when I was a child. It's about the Crimerian war, the English fighting Russia. (A light brigade is a horse calvery not heavily burdened down so they can charge and break through enemy ranks quickly)


CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
Alfred Lord Tennyson

Half a league, half a league,
half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundered.
"Foward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the Guns!" he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundered.

"Foward the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd.
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.

Cannon to the right of them,
Cannon to the left of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundered.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
flash'd as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundered.

Cannon to the right of them
Cannon to the left of them
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and Thunger'd;
Storm'd at with shot and Shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of Six hundered.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light brigade,
Noble six hundered!

[Borincano]

The Final Act

José de Diego

Shroud me, moments after my death,
with the shield of my nation.
Shroud me, head to foot,
with the three colors of my flag.

Above my tomb,
as patient as the sea,
will sit a lonely Hope,
testing the patience of eternity.

But there will arrive a great day when
my tomb will be unsealed.
And Hope's joyous cry will ring.

My bony remains will lift that shield.
And I will rise, holding a flag once a shroud.

Hoisted high, before the world, before Infinity.

(Edited by Borincano at 6:27 pm on May 20, 2002)

[Charango]

I also love poetry. My favorite poems are the ones that I write myself... I know I'm conceited but in that respect (and writing and music) only (or at least I try!). I would post them except that they're not published yet and you never know who would, you know... My poem Che's Lullaby will by published in a modest poetry contest anthology. My other poem, Chullos, which I think is better, hasn't been published. All the others aren't so great. If you know of any leftist poetry contests could you please post them? (All there is around here is that awful "Proud to be an American" poetry contest...gag, gag, gag, gag...) In case you were wondering, my signature is the last two lines of Chullos. You have to read the whole poem to get it.

[BOZG]

I often have to use Charge Of The Light Brigade in school. It's an extremely well written poem with a great rhythm but what lets it down is the underlying message of the poem.

Granted, these soldiers were extremely brave knowing that they were going to die and Lord Tennyson praises them for this but he also chooses to praise their stupidity in not defying their death orders given by Lord Raglan. He seems to say that the British empire owned the lives of the soldiers when he says "Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die."

[BOZG]

IN THE EVENT OF MY DEMISE
Tupac Shakur

In the event of my demise
When my heart can beat no more
I hope I die for a principle
Or a belief that I have lived for
I will die before my time
Because I feel the shadow's depth
So much I wanted to accomplish
Before I reached my death
I have come to grips with the possibility
And wiped the last tear from my eyes
I loved all who were positive
In the event of my demise

(Edited by BornOfZapatasGuns at 8:03 am on May 21, 2002)

[BOZG]

DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!--An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: *Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori*

*It is sweet and good to die for your country*

[RedCeltic]

BornOfZapatasGuns : Of course, it is a patriotic poem. And the underlying theme of following orders even if it's a sucicide mission is truly not something I believe in.

However, I love how when I read the poem I can picture the action in my mind.

[Maaja]

THE CAGE

A room
Without windows
Those who live in it
Arrange the world
According to their view

Adel Karasholi

Author is a Syrian who lives in Leipzig, Germany since 1960's.

[Maaja]

THE CAGE

A room
Without windows
Those who live in it
Arrange the world
According to their view

Adel Karasholi

Author is a Syrian who lives in Leipzig, Germany since 1960's.

[Maaja]

Crossing borders in the desert heart
The stories in the rocks and stones
Signatures of time written on every face
The syncopated heartbeat of Arab and Jew
A song that keeps saying remember
If you are cousins why are you fighting?
Listen to your hearts and the truth
Will be clear,
It's written on your bones.

I don't know this poem's name and who wrote it, a friend of mine sent it to me a year ago.

[Menshevik]

Owen and Tennyson are some of my favorite poets. I would recite The Lady of Shallot, but it's too long ;).

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen, Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

--W.B. Yeats

[BOZG]

However, I love how when I read the poem I can picture the action in my mind.

Definately. When you read that poem you can hear the sounds of the horses charging, you can see hear the sounds of them pulling out their swords and the firing of the guns. It is one of those poems that you feel the action as it happens because of the rhythm.

[BOZG]

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
Dylan Thomas



Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though Wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not so gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[guerrillaradio]

Quote: from BornOfZapatasGuns on 7:59 am on May 21, 2002
I often have to use Charge Of The Light Brigade in school.

I sense you and me are doing the same exam. Did you have to compare Charge of the Light Brigade with Dulce et Decorum Est??

I love the WW1 poets. Check out Siegfried Sassoon. He wrote satirical poems about the distance between the generals and the officers fighting in the trenches. I also love Sylvia Plath, unusually for a guy, it seems. This is another grate poem, written in rastafarian/dub/pigeon English, attacking the concept of British nationalism:

NO DIALECTS PLEASE
by Merle Collins

In this competition
Dey was lookin for poetry of worth
For a writin that could wrap up a feelin
an fling it back hard
with a captive power to choke de stars
so dey say
"Send them to us
but NO DIALECTS PLEASE"
We're British!

Ay!
Well ah laugh till me bouschet near drop
Is not only dat ah tink
of de dialect of de Normans and de Saxons
dat combine an reformulate
to create a language-elect
is not only dat ah tink
how dis British education mus really be narrow
if it leave dem wid no knowledge of what dey own history is about
is not only dat ah tink
bout de part of my story
dat come from Liverpool in a big dirty white ship mark
AFRICAN SLAVES PLEASE!
We're the British !

But as if dat nat enough pain
for a body to bear
ah tink bout de part on de plantations down dere
Wey dey so frighten o de power
in the deep spaces
behind our watching faces
dat dey shout
NO AFRICAN LANGUAGES PLEASE!
It's against the law!
Make me ha to go
an start up a language o me own
dat ah could share wid me people

Den when we start to shout
bout a culture o we own
a language o we own
dem an de others dey leave to control us say
STOP THAT NONSENSE NOW
We're all British!
Every time we lif we foot to do we own ting
to fight we own fight
dey tell us how British we British
an ah wonder if dey remember dat in Trinidad in the thirties
dey jail Butler
who dey say is their British citizen
an accuse him of
Hampering the war effort
Then it was
FIGHT FOR YOUR COUNTRY, FOLKS!
You’re British!

Ay! Ay!
Ah wonder when it change to
NO DIALECTS PLEASE!
WE’RE British!
Huh!
To tink how still dey so dunce
An so frighten o we power
dat dey have to hide behind a language that we could wrap roun we little finger
in addition to we own!
Heavens o mercy!
Dat is dunceness oui !
Ah wonder where is de bright British?

[Menshevik]

Ted Hughs' stuff was better than his wife Sylvia Plath. Both her prose and poetry was pretty fucked up.

[Xenoth]

THE WALNUT TREE
my head foaming clouds, sea inside me and out
I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
an old walnut, knot by knot, shred by shred
Neither you are aware of this, nor the police
I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
My leaves are nimble, nimble like fish in water
My leaves are sheer, sheer like a silk handkerchief
pick, wipe, my rose, the tear from your eyes
My leaves are my hands, I have one hundred thousand
I touch you with one hundred thousand hands, I touch Istanbul
My leaves are my eyes, I look in amazement
I watch you with one hundred thousand eyes, I watch Istanbul
Like one hundred thousand hearts, beat, beat my leaves
I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
neither you are aware of this, nor the police

NAZIM Hikmet

[BOZG]

I sense you and me are doing the same exam. Did you have to compare Charge of the Light Brigade with Dulce et Decorum Est??

I take it you're doing the GCSE's and I'm doing the Irish equivolent. Yeah, I always use those two poems as the comparisons.

Sassoon is another great poet. Very satirical and very sarcastic.

[Al Fidai]

A miser sought to keep his gold.
as a sheild against the coming cold.
but what cares death for mortal gains?
he smiled upon the misers pain.

Neither crown nor coin can halt times flight
or stay the armies of the night.
king and villian,lad and lass.
all must answer to the hourglass.

Anonymous poet from the plaque era

[Dan Majerle]

Two of many favourite poems of all time, John Donne rocks!


1 Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
2 Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
3 For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
4 Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
5 From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
6 Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
7 And soonest our best men with thee do go,
8 Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
9 Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
10 And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
11 And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
12 And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
13 One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
14 And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

[Dan Majerle]

First poem was called "Death, be not proud". This one, also by John Donne called "The Sun Rising"1 Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
2 Why dost thou thus,
3 Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?
4 Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
5 Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
6 Late schoolboys, and sour prentices,
7 Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
8 Call country ants to harvest offices,
9 Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
10 Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

11 Thy beams, so reverend and strong
12 Why shouldst thou think?
13 I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
14 But that I would not lose her sight so long:
15 If her eyes have not blinded thine,
16 Look, and tomorrow late, tell me
17 Whether both the'Indias of spice and mine
18 Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
19 Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
20 And thou shalt hear: "All here in one bed lay."

21 She'is all states, and all princes I,
22 Nothing else is.
23 Princes do but play us; compar'd to this,
24 All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
25 Thou, sun, art half as happy'as we,
26 In that the world's contracted thus;
27 Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
28 To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
29 Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
30 This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.

[Alaniara]

ON LIVING

Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example-
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must take it seriously,
so much so and to such a degree
that, for example, your hands tied behind your back,
your back to the wall,
or else in a laboratory
in your white coat and safety glasses,
you can die for people-
even for people whose faces you've never seen,
even though you know living
is the most real, the most beautiful thing.
I mean, you must take living so seriously
that even at seventy, for example, you'll plant olive trees-
and not for your children, either,
but because although you fear death you don't believe it,
because living, I mean, weighs heavier.

Nazim Hikmet Ran

[anarchy]

may we post original works on here? I write poetry and would not mind sharing.

[metalero]

DON'T SAVE YOURSELF
Mario Benedetti

Don´t Save Yourself
Don't Save yourself,
Don´t be immobile
On the edge of the road,
Don't freeze the joy,
Don't love with reluctance,
Don't save yourself now
or ever,
Don't save yourself,
Don't fill with calm,
Don't reserve of the world
Just a calm place,
Don't let fall your lids
Heavy as trials,
Don´t speak without lips,
Don't fall asleep without sleepiness,
Don't think of you without blood,
Don't judge yourself without time.

But if in spite of everything
You cannot avoid it
And you freeze the joy,
And you love with reluctance,
And you save yourself now,
And you full with calm,
And you reserve of the world
Just a calm place,
And you let fall your lids
Heavy as trials,
And you speak without lips,
And you fall asleep without sleepiness,
And you think yourself without blood,
And you judge yourself without time,
And you are immobile
On the edge of the road,
And you save yourself,
Then
Don't stay with me.

[bed_of_nails]

I am a professional poet, though I rarely write about politics. Here is one of my most famous poems (I kid you not).

She was the fairest one to see
Her beauty graced the land
I longed for her, night and day
Then I learned she was a man.

[HoorayForTheRedBlackandGreen]

Oh freddled gruntbuggly thy micturatons are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee
Groop I implore thee my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!

[tatu]

Give Us

Give us something to destroy:
A corolla, a silent corner,
A boon companion, a magistrate,
A telephone booth,
A journalist, a renegade,
A fan of the opposing team,
A lamp-post, a man- hole cover, a bench.
Give us something to deface:
A plaster wall, the Mona Lisa,
A mudguard, a tombstone.
Give us something to rape:
A timid girl,
A flower-bed, ourselves.
Don't despise us; we're heralds and prophets.
Give us something that burns, offends, cuts, smashes,
fouls,
And makes us feel that we exist.
Give us a club or a Nagant,
Give us a syringe or a Suzuki.
Pity us.

Primo Levi