Friday, November 27, 2009

Emily Dickinson set to Music

The article I have linked to in the title makes interesting reading.

Aaron Copelands the Twelve Poems includes

Nature, the gentlest mother

There came a wind like a bugle

Why do they shut me out of Heaven?

The world feels dusty

Heart, we will forget him

Dear March, come in!
Sleep is supposed to be
When they come back
I felt a funeral in my brain
I've heard an organ talk sometimes

Going to Heaven!

The Chariot.

Twelve Poems of Emily Dickinson (Curtin, Copland, Rorem)

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Daniel Beaty on Parenthood

I've linked the title to KarmaTube

Thursday, November 19, 2009

There will come Soft Rains - Sara Teasdale

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

First Black Woman Poet - Lucy Terry Prince


Seventeen hundred forty-six
The Indians did in ambush lay
Some very valiant men to slay
The names of whom I'll not leave out
Samuel Allen like a hero fout
And though he was so brave and bold
His face no more shall we behold.
Eleazer Hawks was killed outright
Before he had time to fight
Before he did the Indians see
Was shot and killed immediately.
Oliver Amsden he was slain
Which caused his friends much grief and pain.
Samuel Amsden they found dead
Not many rods off from his head.
Adonijah Gillet we do hear
Did lose his life which was so dear.
John Saddler fled across the water
And so escaped the dreadful slaughter.
Eunice Allen see the Indians comeing
And hoped to save herself by running
And had not her petticoats stopt her
The awful creatures had not cotched her
And tommyhawked her on the head
And left her on the ground for dead.
Young Samuel Allen, Oh! lack a-day
Was taken and carried to Canada.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Funeral Blues by WH Auden

Funeral Blues
WH Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Four Weddings and a Funeral - "Funeral Blues"

Simon Armitage: Homecoming

Saturday, November 14, 2009

She Toys With Me

She toys with me
the way a cat will
play with a mouse
Her favorite game,
is a game she calls
playing house
She cooks, cleans,
and could just as easy
take my life
Were it not that
she calls herself,
lover, friend and wife

- by Kelvin Cook

Half Caste by John Agard

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Scottish Muslim Calvinist by Imtiaz Dharker

The words can be obtained from the Open University here

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

As soon as Fred gets out of bed - Jack Prelutsky

As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear goes on his head.
His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,
a head's no place for underwear!"
But near his ears, above his brains,
is where Fred's underwear remains.

At night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the light
and softly croons, "Good night! Good night!"
And then, for reasons no one knows,
Fred's underwear goes on his toes.

Monday, November 09, 2009

The Road not Taken - Robert Frost

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;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Sunday, November 01, 2009

Casida de la Rosa - Garcia Lorca

The rose was
not looking for the morning:
on its branch, almost immortal,
it looked for something other.

The rose was
not looking for wisdom, or for shadow:
the edge of flesh and dreaming,
it looked for something other.

The rose was
not looking for the rose,
was unmoving in the heavens:
it looked for something other.