Jump to content

The Fountain Pen Network uses (functional) cookies. Read the FPN Privacy Policy for more info.  To remove this message, please click here to accept the use of cookies


Registration on the Fountain Pen Network

Dearest Visitor of the little Fountain Pen Nut house on the digital prairie,

Due to the enormous influx of spammers, it is no longer possible to handle valditions in the traditional way. For registrations we therefore kindly and respectfully request you to send an email with your request to our especially created email address. This email address is register at fountainpennetwork dot com. Please include your desired user name, and after validation we will send you a return email containing the validation key, normally wiithin a week.

Thank you very much in advance!
The FPN Admin Team






Photo

A Poem A Day


  • Please log in to reply
48 replies to this topic

#21 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 11 July 2020 - 14:17

my-dearest-dust-dyer.jpg

 

My Dearest Dust
By Lady Catherine Dyer
 
My dearest dust, could not thy hasty day
Afford thy drowzy patience leave to stay
One hower longer: so that we might either
Sate up, or gone to bedd together?
But since thy finisht labor hath possest
Thy weary limbs with early rest,
Enjoy it sweetly: and thy widdowe bride
Shall soone repose her by thy slumbring side.
Whose business, now, is only to prepare
My nightly dress, and call to prayre:
Mine eyes wax heavy and ye day growes old.
The dew falls thick, my beloved growes cold.
Draw, draw ye closed curtaynes: and make room:
My dear, my dearest dust; I come, I come.


Sponsored Content

#22 inkstainedruth

inkstainedruth

    Ancient Artifact

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 18,732 posts
  • Flag:

Posted 12 July 2020 - 03:32

 

That's an interesting approach. I'm deeply wedded to etymology and meaning; I think I'd have a very hard time with that assignment.

Oh it's worse than that.  It was, IIRC, supposed to ALSO be used for a poem about a painting or photo.  (The one I used was the photo I took of Janis Joplin's car -- a Porsche, if you can believe it  :D -- on display at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, OH when we were there a few years ago; the car had been painted over by a later owner but was tracked down and they repainted it to match the original paint job as best they could from photographs).

As fr the poem, I was swearing so much the air was blue around me (and if I had known how to pronounce Polish, the language the original poem was in, I would have been cursing in TWO languages...).  That one is still a work very much in progress.  I did better with another prompt, where you had to sort of re-write a proverb and than use that new one as the basis for a poem.

Ruth Morrisson aka inkstainedruth


"It's very nice, but frankly, when I signed that list for a P-51, what I had in mind was a fountain pen."

#23 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 12 July 2020 - 14:44

No kidding, that is worse!

 

To honor the concept of translation, here's a poem by Idea Vilariño, Uruguayan translator of Shakespeare.

 

todo-es-muy-simple-vilarino.jpg

 

Todo es muy simple
by Idea Vilariño
 
Todo es muy simple mucho
más simple y sin embargo
aun así hay momentos
en que es demasiado para mí
en que no entiendo
y no sé si reírme a carcajadas
o si llorar de miedo
o estarme aquí sin llanto
sin risas
en silencio
asumiendo mi vida
mi tránsito
mi tiempo.
 
Everything is so simple so
much simpler and yet
even so there are times
when it is too much for me
when I don't understand
and I don't know if I should laugh out loud
or cry out of fear
or be here without tears
without laughter
in silence
accepting my life
my path
my time.


#24 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 13 July 2020 - 16:50

I feel reactionary and rebellious, hand-writing a poem about texting...

 

text-duffy.jpg

 

Text
by Carol Ann Duffy
 
I tend the mobile now
like an injured bird
 
We text, text, text
our significant words.
 
I re-read your first,
your second, your third,
 
look for your small xx,
feeling absurd.
 
The codes we send
arrive with a broken chord.
 
I try to picture your hands,
their image is blurred.
 
Nothing my thumbs press
will ever be heard.
 

 


Edited by brokenclay, 13 July 2020 - 16:51.


#25 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 14 July 2020 - 15:36

In honor of Tas' little film...

 

koi-wong.jpg

 

Koi

by Jennifer Wong

 

Among heart-shaped leaves

the white fish gleams, red tail.

Soft lotuses sleep.



#26 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 15 July 2020 - 15:48

what-kind-of-times-rich.jpg

 

What Kind of Times Are These
By Adrienne Rich
 
There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.
 
I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.
 
I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.
 
And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.
 


#27 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 16 July 2020 - 17:47

poetry-saner.jpg

 

Poetry 

by Reg Saner

 

... as when one

right, audacious word

turns to the mirror

myself the reader, naked

and surprised.



#28 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 17 July 2020 - 15:32

I'm learning about short poetic forms. Rispetto is an Italian poetic form. Eight lines, 11 syllables per line, ababccdd rhyme scheme.

 

rispetto-teasdale.jpg

 

Rispetto 
By Sara Teasdale
 
Was that his step that sounded on the stair?
Was that his knock I heard upon the door?
I grow so tired I almost cease to care,
And yet I would that he might come once more.
 
It was the wind I heard, that mocks at me,
The bitter wind that is more cruel than he;
It was the wind that knocked upon the door,
But he will never knock nor enter more.


#29 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 18 July 2020 - 17:59

A cinquain is an unrhymed poem with five lines. The first and last line have two syllables, the second and fourth lines have four syllables, the third line has six.

 

niagara-crapsey.jpg

 

Niagara

By Adelaide Crapsey

 

(Seen on a Night in November)

 

How frail

Above the bulk

Of crashing water hangs,

Autumnal, evanescent, wan,

The moon.


Edited by brokenclay, 19 July 2020 - 02:22.


#30 madeline

madeline

    Extremely Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 212 posts
  • Location:Wisconsin
  • Flag:

Posted 19 July 2020 - 02:03

Thank you! Thank you! for all these gorgeous poems. So much needed. So much needed now, now.


Moderation in everything, including moderation.     

                                                                                     --Mark Twain


#31 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 19 July 2020 - 20:05

Today I am trying to reduce screen time even more, so I went poetry-shopping in my own bookshelves, and was surprised at how much poetry I found! This is from a small book of collected poems of Nelly Sachs, complete with a book review cut out from the Washington Post in 1967.

 

so-einsam-sachs.jpg

 

So einsam ist der Mensch
By Nelly Sachs
 
So einsam ist der Mensch
sucht gen Osten
wo die Melancholia im Dämmerungsgesicht erscheint
 
Rot ist der Osten vom Hähnekrähen
 
O höre mich –
 
In der Löwensucht
und im peitschenden Blitz des Äquators
zu vergehn
 
O höre mich –
 
Mit den Kindergesichtern der Cherubim zu verwelken
am Abend
 
O höre mich –
 
Im blauen Norden der Windrose
wachend zur Nacht
schon eine Knospe Tod auf den Lidern
 
so weiter zur Quelle –
 
 
How Lonely is Man
 
How lonely is man
looking east
where melancholy appears in the face of the dawn
 
The east is red with with the rooster's crow*
 
O hear me –
 
To perish
in the lion's frenzy
and in the crack of equatorial lightning
 
O hear me –
 
To wither
with the infant faces of the cherubim
in the west
 
O hear me –
 
Wakeful at night
in the blue north of the compass rose
death already budding on the eyelids
 
so onward to the source –
 
*I had translated this slightly differently, but the FPN profanity redaction software changed it for me :-)


#32 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 20 July 2020 - 20:04

Found in a little book called Silver Pennies that, according to the inscription, was a gift to my husband on his second birthday in 1944.

 

the-lake-isle-yeats.jpg

 

The Lake Isle of Innisfree
By William Butler Yeats
 
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
 
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
 
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
 
I love "bee-loud glade" and "deep heart's core". There is a beautiful choral setting of this peom by Norwegian composer Ola Gjeilo: 
 

Edited by brokenclay, 20 July 2020 - 20:05.


#33 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 21 July 2020 - 18:48

The final lines of Goethe's Faust.

 

faust-goethe.jpg

 

  From Faust, A Tragedy
  by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
  
  Alles Vergängliche
  Ist nur ein Gleichnis;
  Das Unzulängliche,
  Hier wird's Ereignis;
  Das Unbeschreibliche,
  Hier ist's getan;
  Das Ewig-Weibliche
  Zieht uns hinan.
 
  Translation by Walter Arndt
 
  All in transition
  Is but reflections;
  What is deficient
  Here becomes action;
  Human discernment
  Here is passed by;
  Woman Eternal
  Draws us on high.

 



#34 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 22 July 2020 - 18:35

Still mining the local physical books. From Jacques Prévert, La Pluie et le beau temps.

 

droit-de-regard-prevert.jpg

 

Droit de regard
by Jacques Prévert
 
Vous
Je ne vous regarde pas
ma vie non plus ne vous regarde pas
J’aime ce que j’aime
et cela seul me regarde
et me voit
J’aime ceux que j’aime
je les regarde
ils m’en donnent droit.
 
(Very rough translation, French not being one of my better languages - French speakers should feel free to correct me!)
 
Right of inspection
 
You
I'm not looking at you
My life is none of your business
I like what I like
And that's all that matters
All that sees me
I love those whom I love
I look at them
They allow it.


#35 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 23 July 2020 - 15:44

translation-spencer.jpg

 

Translation
By Anne Spencer
 
We trekked into a far country,
My friend and I.
Our deeper content was never spoken,
But each knew all the other said.
He told me how calm his soul was laid
By the lack of anvil and strife.
“The wooing kestrel,” I said, “mutes his mating-note
To please the harmony of this sweet silence.”
And when at the day’s end
We laid tired bodies ’gainst
The loose warm sands,
And the air fleeced its particles for a coverlet;
When star after star came out
To guard their lovers in oblivion—
My soul so leapt that my evening prayer
Stole my morning song!


#36 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 24 July 2020 - 14:42

angrily-standing-hillman.jpg

 

Angrily Standing Outside in the Wind
By Brenda Hillman
 
   —kept losing self control
    but how could one lose the self
 after reading so much literary theory?
The shorter "i" stood under the cork trees,
     the taller "I" remained rather passive;
 the brendas were angry at the greed, angry
that the trees would die, had lost interest
 in the posturing of the privileged,
 
   the gaps between can't & won't...
   Stood outside the gate of permissible
       sound & the wind came soughing
through the doubt debris
(soughing comes from swāgh—to resound...
echo actually comes from this also—)
  we thought of old Hegel across
the sea—the Weltgeist—& clouds
 
went by like the bones of a Kleenex...
        it's too late for countries
but it's not too late for trees...
  & the wind kept soughing
  with its sound sash, wind with
        its sound sash,    increasing
bold wind with its sound sash,
            increasing bold—


#37 madeline

madeline

    Extremely Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPipPip
  • 212 posts
  • Location:Wisconsin
  • Flag:

Posted 25 July 2020 - 00:23

So very powerful, today's choice.  I am still in awe over the lines "it's too late for countries/but it's not too late for trees..."


Moderation in everything, including moderation.     

                                                                                     --Mark Twain


#38 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 25 July 2020 - 00:27

So very powerful, today's choice.  I am still in awe over the lines "it's too late for countries/but it's not too late for trees..."

 

Yes, that's the bit that hit me, too. My daughter also picked it up from the table and immediately read out those lines.

 

Also have to love a poet who puts an etymology lesson right there in the poem.



#39 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 25 July 2020 - 16:30

A month or so ago I got tired of coloured inks, bought a sampler of blacks from Goulet, and have been writing only in black and blue. Today I suddenly wanted green.

 

green-pear-tree-manfred.jpg

 

Green Pear Tree in September
By Freya Manfred
 
On a hill overlooking the Rock River
my father’s pear tree shimmers,
in perfect peace,
covered with hundreds of ripe pears
with pert tops, plump bottoms,  
and long curved leaves.
Until the green-haloed tree
rose up and sang hello,
I had forgotten. . .  
He planted it twelve years ago,
when he was seventy-three,
so that in September
he could stroll down  
with the sound of the crickets
rising and falling around him,
and stand, naked to the waist,
slightly bent, sucking juice
from a ripe pear.


#40 brokenclay

brokenclay

    Rare

  • Member - Gold

  • PipPipPipPipPip
  • 187 posts
  • Location:The Front Range of Colorado

Posted 26 July 2020 - 18:04

xenophanes.jpg

 

Memories

by Xenophanes

 

This is the kind of thing

we should say

by the fireside in winter,

as we lie on soft couches

after a fine dinner,

drinking sweet wine

and crunching chickpeas:

 

"What country do you

hail from, good sir?

And how old are you?

And how old were you

when the Mede came?"

 

The reference to 'the Mede' is to the conquest of Ionia by Harpagos, a Mede who served as a general in the army of the Persian King Cyrus. The Ionian cities had formerly been under the sway of King Croesus of Lydia, and when Cyrus attacked Lydia he asked the Ionians to revolt in his support. They refused, so after his victory in 540 BCE Cyrus sent an expedition to punish them. Rather than submit to Persian rule many of the Greeks sailed away from their cities.

--A.C. Grayling, The History of Philosophy

 








Sponsored Content




|