Dorothy Parker ( 1893 – 1967 ) : A founding member of the Algonquin Round Table,American writer and scathing Wit and intellectual commentary and her ability to point out the absurd foibles of contemporary society. During the 1920s, she published around 300 poems in publications like Vanity Fair and The New Yorker. : : Some of the best Dorothy Parker poems include the likes of ‘The Choice,’ ‘But Not Forgotten,’ ‘Resumé,’ and ‘A Dream Lies Dead.’ ‘A certain Lady’ , ‘Autumn valentine’,’On Being a woman’,’ One perfect Rose’, ‘The Choice’,Etc. : : : : : : : : ( I ) : : The Passionate Freudian to His Love
“Only name the day, and we’ll fly away In the face of old traditions, To a sheltered spot, by the world forgot, Where we’ll park our inhibitions. Come and gaze in eyes where the lovelight lies As it psychoanalyzes, And when once you glean what your fantasies mean Life will hold no more surprises. When you’ve told your love what you’re thinking of Things will be much more informal; Through a sunlit land we’ll go hand-in-hand, Drifting gently back to normal.
While the pale moon gleams, we will dream sweet dreams, And I’ll win your admiration, For it’s only fair to admit I’m there With a mean interpretation. In the sunrise glow we will whisper low Of the scenes our dreams have painted, And when you’re advised what they symbolized We’ll begin to feel acquainted. So we’ll gaily float in a slumber boat Where subconscious waves dash wildly; In the stars’ soft light, we will say good-night— And “good-night!” will put it mildly.
Our desires shall be from repressions free— As it’s only right to treat them. To your ego’s whims I will sing sweet hymns, And ad libido repeat them. With your hand in mine, idly we’ll recline Amid bowers of neuroses, While the sun seeks rest in the great red west We will sit and match psychoses. So come dwell a while on that distant isle In the brilliant tropic weather; Where a Freud in need is a Freud indeed, We’ll always be Jung together. “. ( II ) : Parties: A Hymn of partiesIhate
I hate Parties; They bring out the worst in me.
There is the Novelty Affair, Given by the woman Who is awfully clever at that sort of thing. Everybody must come in fancy dress; They are always eleven Old-Fashioned Girls, And fourteen Hawaiian gentlemen Wearing the native costume Of last season’s tennis clothes, with a wreath around the neck.
The hostess introduces a series of clean, home games: Each participant is given a fair chance To guess the number of seeds in a cucumber, Or thread a needle against time, Or see how many names of wild flowers he knows. Ice cream in trick formations, And punch like Volstead used to make Buoy up the players after the mental strain. You have to tell the hostess that it’s a riot, And she says she’ll just die if you don’t come to her next party— If only a guarantee went with that!
Then there is the Bridge Festival. The winner is awarded an arts-and-crafts hearth-brush, And all the rest get garlands of hothouse raspberries. You cut for partners And draw the man who wrote the game. He won’t let bygones be bygones; After each hand He starts getting personal about your motives in leading clubs, And one word frequently leads to another.
At the next table You have one of those partners Who says it is nothing but a game, after all. He trumps your ace And tries to laugh it off. And yet they shoot men like Elwell.
There is the Day in the Country; It seems more like a week. All the contestants are wedged into automobiles, And you are allotted the space between two ladies Who close in on you. The party gets a nice early start, Because everybody wants to make a long day of it— They get their wish. Everyone contributes a basket of lunch; Each person has it all figured out That no one else will think of bringing hard-boiled eggs.
There is intensive picking of dogwood, And no one is quite sure what poison ivy is like; They find out the next day. Things start off with a rush. Everybody joins in the old songs, And points out cloud effects, And puts in a good word for the colour of the grass.
But after the first fifty miles, Nature doesn’t go over so big, And singing belongs to the lost arts. There is a slight spurt on the homestretch, And everyone exclaims over how beautiful the lights of the city look— I’ll say they do.
And there is the informal little Dinner Party; The lowest form of taking nourishment. The man on your left draws diagrams with a fork, Illustrating the way he is going to have a new sun-parlour built on; And the one on your right Explains how soon business conditions will better, and why.
When the more material part of the evening is over, You have your choice of listening to the Harry Lauder records, Or having the hostess hem you in And show you the snapshots of the baby they took last summer.
Just before you break away, You mutter something to the host and hostess About sometime soon you must have them over— Over your dead body.
I hate Parties; They bring out the worst in me.
August :By Dorothy Parker ( 1893 – 1937 ): : : : When my eyes are weeds, And my lips are petals, spinning Down the wind that has beginning Where the crumpled beeches start In a fringe of salty reeds; When my arms are elder-bushes, And the rangy lilac pushes Upward, upward through my heart;
Summer, do your worst! Light your tinsel moon, and call on Your performing stars to fall on Headlong through your paper sky; Nevermore shall I be cursed By a flushed and amorous slattern, With her dusty laces’ pattern Trailing, as she straggles by. — From Enough Rope :Boni & Liveright,1926: — Dorothy Parker
“August”, An August Poem By Dorothy Parker ( August 22 , 1893 – June 7, 1967 ) is About The Poet’s conversationwithSummer. There is a meadow of wild flowers rolling as far as the eyes can see, the sense of youth and eternity are entwined into one. Then colour and depth reach a sort of an understanding. The poem conveys of youth, its end too. : : : :
Notes for each of the Two Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India April , 3 , 2023 : : : : : : : :
August Moonrise : By Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) : : : : : :
THE sun was gone, and the moon was coming Over the blue Connecticut hills; The west was rosy, the east was flushed, And over my head the swallows rushed This way and that, with changeful wills. I heard them twitter and watched them dart Now together and now apart Like dark petals blown from a tree; The maples stamped against the west Were black and stately and full of rest, And the hazy orange moon grew up And slowly changed to yellow gold While the hills were darkened, fold on fold To a deeper blue than a flower could hold. Down the hill I went, and then I forgot the ways of men, For night-scents, heady, and damp and cool Wakened ecstasy in me On the brink of a shining pool. O Beauty, out of many a cup You have made me drunk and wild Ever since I was a child, But when have I been sure as now That no bitterness can bend And no sorrow wholly bow One who loves you to the end? And though I must give my breath And my laughter all to death, And my eyes through which joy came, And my heart, a wavering flame; If all must leave me and go back Along a blind and fearful track So that you can make anew, Fusing with intenser fire, Something nearer your desire; If my soul must go alone Through a cold infinity, Or even if it vanish, too, Beauty, I have worshipped you. Let this single hour atone For the theft of all of me.
— Sara Teasdale
“August Moon”, An August Poem By Sara Teasdale (1884-1933), is About Adopting a Romantic view of nature in witnessing the moon rising over the Connecticut hills. : ; August Moonrise describes a moonlit walk she took through the countryside, overcome by the beauty of the landscape she resolves that she could die having witnessed it.
The moon often symbolizes God, but the moon has more positive connotations than the sun, the God. In “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” the sun and the moon represent two sides of the Christian God: the sun represents the angry, wrathful God, whereas the moon represents the benevolent, repentant God.
Written in 1916, Teasdale had recently returned from a stay in Cromwell, Connecticut, where she had gone to escape from her marriage for a while. Ernst Filsinger , her husband since they married in 1914, was working desperately to arrange his affairs as his business failed and Teasdale wrote to him often expressing her longing to see him, and concern about him working so much.
August Moonrise describes a moonlit walk she took through the countryside, overcome by the beauty of the landscape she resolves that she could die having witnessed it ; thus feeling lucky enough to watch the August Moonrise.
The Summer at night is always nice ( maybe even better than the heat of afternoon ). Plants, trees green and explicit birds. A Moon one can linger with long enough that you feel that if you stay the night you could watch it change its phase.The scene-painting gets even more painterly next. Sunset, moonrise. The final palette: “a deeper blue than a flower could hold.” Is that merely a beautiful picture or a statement of more blue than can be sustained?
Teasdale’s singer in the poem is drawn in (note, she goes “down,” descends to it, even though the preceding birds, trees, sunset, moonrise are all things normally above the horizon) because it’s her, or because it will become her. The poem reaches , a level of happiness. One line here : “I forgot the ways of men” is so rich in ambiguity.
This happiness, this brief period of intoxicated leaving of all but the senses is portrayed as a consolation. The last section seemed dark—and not in the pretty moonlight way. : : After the poem’s midpoint , the words hit ; and they are : : ” bitterness, sorrow, death, wavering, blind, fearful, fire, cold, vanish.”: : We enter that section that is full of darkness and then it loses , and that is imperfection. Is this section spiritually sublime or just harrowing ?
Notes for each of the lines Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India April 2 , 2023 : : : : : : : :
Paul Laurence Dunbar (June 27, 1872 – February 9, 1906) was an American poet, novelist, and short story writer of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Born in Dayton, Ohio, to parents who had been enslaved in Kentucky before the American Civil War, Dunbar began writing stories and verse when he was a child. He published his first poems at the age of 16 in a Dayton newspaper, and served as president of his high school’s literary society. : : : : published his first book at twenty. His writing attracted attention from the very beginning, and Paul became well-known in both America and around the world. Like James Whitcomb Riley, who was a fan of his young contemporary’s work, Paul wrote many of his poems in dialect. Besides a dozen books of poetry, Paul wrote four short story collections, five novels, a play, and the first Broadway musical ever written and performed by African-Americans. A tremendously successful poet whose work was being published in all the major literary publications of his day, was the son of African parents who had been slaves prior to the American Civil War. Dunbar also wrote novels and plays, as well as penning the lyrics for the 1903 musical comedy, In Dahomey – the first all-African-American musical that was ever produced on Broadway.
But it was as a poet – one of the first internationally popular African-American poets – that Dunbar would achieve real fame and success. He died young, of tuberculosis, aged just 33. Here is one of Dunbar’s most widely anthologised poems written in standard English (Dunbar also wrote poems in his local African-American dialect), ‘A Summer’s Night’. : ; : ,: ” We Wear the Mask” , written in 1895 and included in Dunbar’s 1896 collection Majors and Minors. In the poem, Dunbar writes about the fact that many members of a marginalised community (which can be tacitly understood to mean the Black community in this context) are forced to hide their true feelings from the wider world. : : : : ” “We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,— This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties.” : : : : wear a ‘mask’, he says: we adopt a particular persona which smiles but is, in fact, a lie, because it hides the suffering (‘torn and bleeding hearts’) behind the mask.
The mask we wear, Dunbar’s speaker tells us, also covers the true nature of our faces and it shades our eyes – obscuring our own vision, as well as others’ perception of us. This is the price we pay for humans being capable of such dishonesty and deceit. We make countless (‘myriad’) small changes to our speech and choice of words when we talk, to hide who we really are.
Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. speaker asks why should everyone we meet in the world have to know of all our suffering and hardship? No: instead, let them see us only when we have put on our ‘mask’ which conceals our true selves.
“We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask!” : : : …………………….: : : : The Speaker states that we all smile, but our cries to Jesus Christ come from tormented and suffering individuals. Although we sing, the earth is unpleasant beneath our feet as we walk, and the journey we make is long and hard.
However, let us hide these harsh realities from the world and pretend that all is well, and wear the mask which conceals these unpleasant facts fromeveryone
In August ; : Paul Laurence Dunbar : : : :. When August days are hot an’ dry, When burning copper is the sky, I ‘d rather fish than feast or fly In airy realms serene and high.
I ‘d take a suit not made for looks, Some easily digested books, Some flies, some lines, some bait, some hooks, Then would I seek the bays and brooks.
I would eschew mine every task, In Nature’s smiles my soul should bask, And I methinks no more could ask, Except—perhaps—one little flask.
In case of accident, you know, Or should the wind come on to blow, Or I be chilled or capsized, so, A flask would be the only go.
Then could I spend a happy time,— A bit of sport, a bit of rhyme (A bit of lemon, or of lime, To make my bottle’s contents prime).
When August days are hot an’ dry, I won’t sit by an’ sigh or die, I ‘ll get my bottle (on the sly) And go ahead, and fish, and lie!
” In August”An August Poem Paul Laurence Dunbaris About alluring vision of a hot August Day .
Notes for each of the 6 Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India March
Look! the round-cheeked moon floats high, In the glowing August sky, Quenching all her neighbor stars, Save the steady flame of Mars. White as silver shines the sea, Far-off sails like phantoms be, Gliding o’er that lake of light, Vanishing in nether night. Heavy hangs the tasseled corn, Sighing for the cordial morn; But the marshy-meadows bare, Love this spectral-lighted air, Drink the dews and lift their song, Chirp of crickets all night long; Earth and sea enchanted lie ‘Neath that moon-usurped sky.
To the faces of our friends Unfamiliar traits she lends- Quaint, white witch, who looketh down With a glamour all her own. Hushed are laughter, jest, and speech, Mute and heedless each of each, In the glory wan we sit, Visions vague before us flit; Side by side, yet worlds apart, Heart becometh strange to heart.
Slowly in a moved voice, then, Ralph, the artist spake again- ‘Does not that weird orb unroll Scenes phantasmal to your soul? As I gaze thereon, I swear, Peopled grows the vacant air, Fables, myths alone are real, White-clad sylph-like figures steal ‘Twixt the bushes, o’er the lawn, Goddess, nymph, undine, and faun. Yonder, see the Willis dance, Faces pale with stony glance; They are maids who died unwed, And they quit their gloomy bed, Hungry still for human pleasure, Here to trip a moonlit measure. Near the shore the mermaids play, Floating on the cool, white spray, Leaping from the glittering surf To the dark and fragrant turf, Where the frolic trolls, and elves Daintily disport themselves. All the shapes by poet’s brain, Fashioned, live for me again, In this spiritual light, Less than day, yet more than night. What a world! a waking dream, All things other than they seem, Borrowing a finer grace, From yon golden globe in space; Touched with wild, romantic glory, Foliage fresh and billows hoary, Hollows bathed in yellow haze, Hills distinct and fields of maize, Ancient legends come to mind. Who would marvel should he find, In the copse or nigh the spring, Summer fairies gamboling Where the honey-bees do suck, Mab and Ariel and Puck? Ah! no modern mortal sees Creatures delicate as these. All the simple faith has gone Which their world was builded on. Now the moonbeams coldly glance On no gardens of romance; To prosaic senses dull, Baldur’s dead, the Beautiful, Hark, the cry rings overhead, ‘Universal Pan is dead!” ‘Requiescant!’ Claude’s grave tone Thrilled us strangely. ‘I am one Who would not restore that Past, Beauty will immortal last, Though the beautiful must die- This the ages verify. And had Pan deserved the name Which his votaries misclaim, He were living with us yet. I behold, without regret, Beauty in new forms recast, Truth emerging from the vast, Bright and orbed, like yonder sphere, Making the obscure air clear. He shall be of bards the king, Who, in worthy verse, shall sing All the conquests of the hour, Stealing no fictitious power From the classic types outworn, But his rhythmic line adorn With the marvels of the real. He the baseless feud shall heal That estrangeth wide apart Science from her sister Art. Hold! look through this glass for me? Artist, tell me what you see?’ ‘I!’ cried Ralph. ‘I see in place Of Astarte’s silver face, Or veiled Isis’ radiant robe, Nothing but a rugged globe Seamed with awful rents and scars. And below no longer Mars, Fierce, flame-crested god of war, But a lurid, flickering star, Fashioned like our mother earth, Vexed, belike, with death and birth.’
Rapt in dreamy thought the while, With a sphinx-like shadowy smile, Poet Florio sat, but now Spake in deep-voiced accents slow, More as one who probes his mind, Than for us-‘Who seeks, shall find- Widening knowledge surely brings Vaster themes to him who sings. Was veiled Isis more sublime Than yon frozen fruit of Time, Hanging in the naked sky? Death’s domain-for worlds too die. Lo! the heavens like a scroll Stand revealed before my soul; And the hieroglyphs are suns- Changeless change the law that runs Through the flame-inscribed page, World on world and age on age, Balls of ice and orbs of fire, What abides when these expire? Through slow cycles they revolve, Yet at last like clouds dissolve. Jove, Osiris, Brahma pass, Races wither like the grass. Must not mortals be as gods To embrace such periods? Yet at Nature’s heart remains One who waxes not nor wanes. And our crowning glory still Is to have conceived his will.’
Emma Lazarus
“August Moon” An August Poem By Emma Lazarus ( 1848 – 1887 ) Best-known for her sonnet written for the (then new) Statue of Liberty, ‘The New Colossus’, Lazarus (1848-87) is Aboutthe Poet’s eulogy to the August Night. : : : :
Notes on Each of the 4 Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India March 31 , 2023 : ,: : : : : : :
Born in 1840, Hardy apprenticed to an architect at 16 because his family could not afford to send him for a university education. He won several prestigious architecture prizes, renovated a number of historic churches, and designed his home, Max Gate.Though better known to us, perhaps, as the novelist who created Tess of the d’Urbervilles and Far from the Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy thought of himself as a poet first. He published around a thousand poems in his lifetime.
And all the while he wrote—novels, poems, short stories, plays, an autobiography. With a life that spanned the Victorian Era, the turn of the century, and World War I, Hardy lived 87 years and died in 1928.“My opinion is that a poet should express the emotion of all the ages and the thought of his own.”
Thomas Hardy“On this scene enter–winged, horned, and spined – A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore; 4 While ‘mid my page there idly stands A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands” : : : : Thomas Hardy : : saving the dumbledore, at least in the poem.
An August Midnight : : By Thomas Hardy : : : :
I
A shaded lamp and a waving blind, And the beat of a clock from a distant floor:2 On this scene enter–winged, horned, and spined – A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore; 4 While ‘mid my page there idly stands A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands . . . 6
II
Thus meet we five, in this still place, At this point of time, at this point in space. 8 – My guests parade my new-penned ink, Or bang at the lamp-glass, whirl, and sink. 10 “God’s humblest, they!” I muse. Yet why? They know Earth-secrets that know not I. 12
Thomas Hardy
“An August Midnight” Written in 1899 , 1901 Published August Poem, By Thomas Hardy is AboutMan’s Relationship with Nature, featured in Hardy’s second poetry collection called Poems of the Past and the Present. Poems of the Past and the Present is an extensive collection, which includes a wide variety of topics and is divided into five headings. This collection includes some of Hardy’s most powerful poems. : The Poem is a memory in the Summer Evening in the company of Insects. Insects have a crucial role in Nature being as important as the Poet himself. They are anthropomorphised , that is endowing with human characteristics being the “guests” and the fly “rubs its hands”. : : The insects possess supernatural understanding of ‘Earth-secrets’, that are denied humans. ” They know Earth-secrets that know not I.” ( As Stated in last line 12 ) : : : :
The metrical rhythm is varied, a mix of iambs (one unstressd followed by one stressed syllable) and anapaests (two unstressed following by a stressed syllable. These form tetrameters, that is, four metrical feet per line.The effect is a sporadic rhythm that, perhaps, matches the movement of the insects.
The rhyme scheme differs in each stanza, the first forming the pattern ABABCC, the second AABBCC. The effect of this is to vary the mood, initially descriptive, but then philosophical.
Stanza 1 : : “A shaded lamp and a waving blind,. 1 And the beat of a clock from a distant floor:2 On this scene enter–winged, horned, and spined –3 A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore; 4 While ‘mid my page there idly stands 5 A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands . . .” 6 : : lines 1 To 6 : : : :
The Opening scene consists of 1 ) “A shaded lamp” , 2 ) ” a waving blind..” ; as stated in ( line 1 ) : 3 ) “And the beat of a clock from a distant floor : ” as stated ( in line 2 ) : : wherein enter the Four guests enter – ” winged, horned,,and spined” ( line 3 ) , with these three characteristics ( 1 ) A longlegs , 2) a moth, and 3 ) a Dumbledore” , that is , a bumblebee , and ” While ‘ mid my page .. . idly stands ( line 5 ) with three human characteristics : 4 ) “A sleepy fly, thatrubsits hands.. . ” ( line6 ) : : ( example of personification ) : : : :
Stanza 2 : : ” Thus meet we five, in this still place, 7 At this point of time, at this point in space. 8 – My guests parade my new-penned ink, 9 Or bang at the lamp-glass, whirl, and sink. 10 “God’s humblest, they!” I muse. Yet why?11 They know Earth-secrets that know not I ” 12 : : lines 7 To 12 : : : :
“Thus meet we five, in this still place.” In calm writing place ( line 7 ) ” At this point of time , at this point in space.” ( line 8 ) which is a description in a specific time and space above the encountering of Five living being , 4 Insects that are guested to One Human. The “guests parade his new- penned ink.” ( line 9 ) : : or ” bang at the lamp – , whirl, and sink.” ( line 10 ) : : Here , notable sounds ( in line 10 ) are Of : 1) knocking ( “bang at the lamp – glass ) , 2 ) swirling around ( “whirl” ) , and soft descending ( “sink” ) Movements Of The Four Insects Guests. : : The whirly , twiddly knocking sounds would maintain influence skillfullyover The Poet in a mannerPulling his Strings in his favour within their hymnal relationships . : : As in the next line , The Poet says “God’s humblest, they!” I muse. Yet why?” 11: : “Muse”is a source of inspiration for the Writer / The Poet ; here He knows them in his mindset of the specific relationship with these Guests From Nature. In a shorter operatic accompaniments : The poet has described this scene showily , “My guests parade my new-penned ink,” ( line 9 ) : Meaning, The 3 Insects guests ostentatiously wooed and embraced his befriended host proudly aroundhis “new – penned ink” / A sleepy fly stand ( on ) ” idly mid page”of writing with what The Poetwilldescribetheirinsectan relationship , musically with ahuman being. : : The Poet feels for the insects and has honourably marked their ‘modesty’ as with “God’s humblest, they!” ( line 11 ) being impressed with their inspiration and by pulling his Strings . He acknowledges their wisdom in the last ( line 12 ) ,“They knowEarth-secrets that know not I”) ;Meaning , they possess God given ‘supernatural understanding’ that has been denied to the Humans. That is why , as a Poet , he has to gain this thoughtful and reflective quality from the Arthropods like Insects in the Animal Kingdom of the living beings on the Earth. : : : :
“August Midnight”An August Poem By Thomas Hardy Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India March 30, 2023 : ,: : : : : : :
Algernon Swinburne, (born April 5, 1837, London, Eng.—died April 10, 1909, Putney, London), English poet and critic. After attending Eton and the University of Oxford, Swinburne lived on an allowance from his father. His verse drama Atalanta in Calydon (1865) first showed his lyric powers. Poems and Ballads (1866), containing some of his best work, displays his paganism and masochism and provoked controversy; a second series (1878) was less hectic and sensual. Swinburne wrote about many taboo topics, such as lesbianism, sado-masochism, and anti-theism. His poems have many common motifs, such as the ocean, time, and death. Several historical people are featured in his poems, such as Sappho (“Sapphics”), Anactoria (“Anactoria”), and Catullus (“To Catullus”). His verse is marked by emphatic rhythms, much alliteration and internal rhyme, and lush subject matter. His health collapsed in 1879 and he spent his last 30 years under a friend’s guardianship. His early poetry is noted for innovations in prosody, but his later poetry is considered less important. Among his outstanding critical writings are Essays and Studies (1875) and monographs on William Shakespeare (1880), Victor Hugo (1886), and Ben Jonson (1889). Algernon Charles Swinburne, English poet and critic, was born on April 5, 1837, in London. : “Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand.” : : : : ” Today will die tomorrow.” : : : : “And the best and the worst of this is That neither is most to blame, If you have forgotten my kisses And I have forgotten your name.” : : : : : : : “And a bird overhead sang Follow, And a bird to the right sang Here; And the arch of the leaves was hollow, And the meaning of May was clear.” : : : : : : : : “At the door of life, by the gate of breath, There are worse things waiting for men than death.” : : : : : : : : ” Ask nothing more of me sweet; All I can give you I give; Heart of my heart were it more, More would be laid at your feet..” : : : : : : : : : ” That no life lives forever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.” : : ” But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.” : : ”
August Algernon Charles Swinburne – 1837-1909
There were four apples on the bough, Half gold half red, that one might know The blood was ripe inside the core; The colour of the leaves was more Like stems of yellow corn that grow Through all the gold June meadow’s floor.
The warm smell of the fruit was good To feed on, and the split green wood, With all its bearded lips and stains Of mosses in the cloven veins, Most pleasant, if one lay or stood In sunshine or in happy rains.
There were four apples on the tree, Red stained through gold, that all might see The sun went warm from core to rind; The green leaves made the summer blind In that soft place they kept for me With golden apples shut behind.
The leaves caught gold across the sun, And where the bluest air begun, Thirsted for song to help the heat; As I to feel my lady’s feet Draw close before the day were done; Both lips grew dry with dreams of it.
In the mute August afternoon They trembled to some undertune Of music in the silver air; Great pleasure was it to be there Till green turned duskier and the moon Coloured the corn-sheaves like gold hair.
That August time it was delight To watch the red moons wane to white ’Twixt grey seamed stems of apple-trees; A sense of heavy harmonies Grew on the growth of patient night, More sweet than shapen music is.
But some three hours before the moon The air, still eager from the noon, Flagged after heat, not wholly dead; Against the stem I leant my head; The colour soothed me like a tune, Green leaves all round the gold and red.
I lay there till the warm smell grew More sharp, when flecks of yellow dew Between the round ripe leaves had blurred The rind with stain and wet; I heard A wind that blew and breathed and blew, Too weak to alter its one word.
The wet leaves next the gentle fruit Felt smoother, and the brown tree-root Felt the mould warmer: I too felt (As water feels the slow gold melt Right through it when the day burns mute) The peace of time wherein love dwelt.
There were four apples on the tree, Gold stained on red that all might see The sweet blood filled them to the core: The colour of her hair is more Like stems of fair faint gold, that be Mown from the harvest’s middle floor.
“August”, An August Poem , By Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909), famed for banisters ,erotic Poems, and controversial Ballads in paganism or heathenism ( religions other than Christianity, Judaism and Islam )and masochism ; is About an intense variant of late Romanticism in hymn to “August”.: :
Notes for each of the 11 Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India March 29 , 2023 : : : : : : : :
Original Artwork: Engraving after Hilton. (Photo by Edward Gooch Collection/Getty Images) : : John Clare ( July 13 , 1793 Helpston, near Peterborough, Northamptonshire, England—died May 20, 1864, Northampton, Northamptonshire), ) English peasant poet of the Romantic school. Notable Works: “Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery”: : : : : Clare was the son of a labourer and began work on local farms at the age of seven. Though he had limited access to books, his poetic gift, which revealed itself early, was nourished by his parents’ store of folk ballads. Clare was an energetic autodidact, and his first verses were much influenced by the Scottish poet James Thomson. Early disappointment in love—for Mary Joyce, the daughter of a prosperous farmer—made a lasting impression on him. In 1820 his first book, Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery, was published and created a stir. Clare visited London, where he enjoyed a brief season of celebrity in fashionable circles. He made some lasting friends, among them Charles Lamb, and admirers raised an annuity for him. That same year he married Martha Turner, the daughter of a neighbouring farmer, the “Patty of the Vale” of his poems. From then on he encountered increasing misfortune. His second volume of poems, The Village Minstrel (1821), attracted little attention. His third, The Shepherd’s Calendar; with Village Stories, and Other Poems (1827), though containing better poetry, met with the same fate. His annuity was not enough to support his family of seven children and his dependent father, so he supplemented his income as a field labourer and tenant farmer. Poverty and drink took their toll on his health. His last book, The Rural Muse (1835), though praised by critics, again sold poorly; the fashion for peasant poets had passed. Clare began to suffer from fears and delusions. In 1837, through the agency of his publisher, he was placed in a private asylum at High Beech, Epping, where he remained for four years. Improved in health and driven by homesickness, he escaped in July 1841. He walked the 80 miles to Northborough, penniless, eating grass by the roadside to stay his hunger. He left a moving account in prose of that journey, addressed to his imaginary wife “Mary Clare.” At the end of 1841 he was certified insane. He spent the final 23 years of his life at St. Andrew’s Asylum, Northampton, writing, with strangely unquenched lyric impulse, some of his best poetry. : : : : ( From britanica.com ) : : : :
His rediscovery in the 20th century was begun by Arthur Symons’s selection of 1908, a process continued by Edward Thomas and Edmund Blunden at a date when World War I had revived the earlier enthusiasm for a poetry of directly apprehended rustic experience : : : : scholars now recognize Clare as an important poet and prose writer. “As an observer of what it was like in England in the early nineteenth century, not only for the peasant but also from a peasant point of view, he is irreplaceable,” declared Thornton. In Clare’s prose, Thornton concluded, “we… see reflected there in sharp clarity the very essence of a period, a place, a language, a culture, and a time.” : : Wheat being harvested on the South Downs at sunset, England, UKA lot of Hay in rounds , in the field in August.Beverley, UK – August 10, 2018: Modern machinery harvests a field of oats on a bright sunny morning in summer on August 10, 2018 in Beverley, Yorkshire, UKEnglish grown crop of barley in a field located in Northumberland .
The Shepherd’s Calendar : August : : : : : : : : : : By John Clare : ( 1793 – 1864 ) : : : : : :
Harvest approaches with its bustling day The wheat tans brown and barley bleaches grey In yellow garb the oat land intervenes And tawney glooms the valley thronged with beans Silent the village grows, wood wandering dreams Seem not so lovely as its quiet seems Doors are shut up as on a winters day And not a child about them lies at play The dust that winnows neath the breezes feet Is all that stirs about the silent street Fancy might think that desert spreading fear Had whisperd terrors into quiets ear Or plundering armys past the place had come And drove the lost inhabitants from home The fields now claim them where a motley crew Of old and young their daily tasks pursue The barleys beard is grey and wheat is brown And wakens toil betimes to leave the town The reapers leave their beds before the sun And gleaners follow when home toils are done To pick the littered ear the reaper leaves And glean in open fields among the sheaves The ruddy child nursed in the lap of care In toils rude ways to do its little share Beside its mother poddles oer the land Sun burnt and stooping with a weary hand Picking its tiney glean of corn or wheat While crackling stubbles wound its legs and feet Full glad it often is to sit awhile Upon a smooth green baulk to ease its toil And feign would spend an idle hour to play With insects strangers to the moiling day Creeping about each rush and grassy stem And often wishes it was one of them In weariness of heart that it might lye Hid in the grass from the days burning eye That raises tender blisters on his skin Thro holes or openings that have lost a pin Free from the crackling stubs to toil and glean And smiles to think how happy it had been Whilst its expecting mother stops to tye Her handful up and waiting his supply Misses the resting younker from her side And shouts of rods and morts of threats beside Pointing to the grey willows while she tells His fears shall fetch one if he still rebells Picturing harsh truths in its unpracticed eye How they who idle in the harvest lye Shall well deserving in the winter pine Or hunt the hedges with the birds and swine In vain he wishes that the rushes height Were tall as trees to hide him from her sight Leaving his pleasant seat he sighs and rubs His legs and shows scratchd wounds from piercing stubs To make excuse for play but she disdains His little wounds and smiles while he complains And as he stoops adown in troubles sore She sees his grief and bids him sob no more As bye and bye on the next sabbath day She’ll give him well earned pence as well as play When he may buy almost with out a stint Sweet candied horehound cakes and pepper mint Or streaking sticks of lusious lolipop What ere he chuses from the tempting shop Wi in whose diamond winder shining lye Things of all sorts to tempt his eager eye Rich sugar plumbs in phials shining bright In every hue young fancys to delight Coaches and ladys of gilt ginger bread And downy plumbs and apples streaked with red Such promises all sorrows soon displace And smiles are instant kindled in his face Scorning all troubles which he felt before He picks the trailing ears and mourns no more The fields are all alive with busy noise Of labours sounds and insects humming joys Some oer the glittering sickle sweating stoop Startling full oft the partridge coveys up Some oer the rustling scythe go bending on And shockers follow where their toils have gone First turning swaths to wither in the sun Where mice from terrors dangers nimbly run Leaving their tender young in fears alarm Lapt up in nests of chimbled grasses warm And oft themselves for safty search in vain From the rude boy or churlish hearted swain Who beat their stone chinkd forks about the groun( And spread an instant murder all around Tho oft the anxious maidens tender prayer Urges the clown their little lives to spare Who sighs while trailing the long rake along At scenes so cruel and forgets her song And stays wi love his murder aiming hand Some ted the puffing winnow down the land And others following roll them up in heaps While cleanly as a barn door beesome sweeps The hawling drag wi gathering weeds entwind And singing rakers end the toils behind
When the sun stoops to meet the western sky And noons hot hours have wanderd weary bye They seek an awthorn bush or willow tree Or stouk or shock where coolest shadows be Where baskets heapd and unbroachd bottles lye Which dogs in absence watchd with wary eye To catch their breath awhile and share the boon Which beavering time alows their toil at noon All gathering sit on stubbs or sheaves the hour Where scarlet poppys linger still in flower Stript in his shirt the hot swain drops adown And close beside him in her unpind gown Next to her favoured swain the maiden steals Blushing at kindness which her love reveals Who makes a seat for her of things around And drops beside her on the naked ground Wearied wi brambles catching at her gown And pulling nutts from branches pulld adown By friendly swain the maid Wi heaving breast Upon her lovers shoulder leans at rest Then from its cool retreat the beer they bring And hand the stout hooped bottle round the ring Each swain soaks hard-the maiden ere she sips Shrieks at the bold whasp settling on her lips That seems determined only hers to greet As if it fancied they were cherrys sweet So dog forgoes his sleep awhile or play Springing at frogs that rustling jump away To watch each morsel that the boon bestows And wait the bone or crumb the shepherd throws For shepherds are no more of ease possest But share the harvests labours with the rest
When day declines and labour meets repose The bawling boy his evening journey goes At toils unwearied call the first and last He drives his horses to their nights repast In dewey close or meadow to sojourn And often ventures on his still return Oer garden pales or orchard walls to hie When sleeps safe key hath locked up dangers eye All but the mastiff watching in the dark Who snufts and knows him and forbears to bark With fearful haste he climbs each loaded tree And picks for prizes which the ripest be Pears plumbs or filberts covered oer in leams While the pale moon creeps high in peaceful dreams And oer his harvest theft in jealous light Fills empty shadows with the power to fright And owlet screaming as it bounces nigh That from some barn hole pops and hurries bye Scard at the cat upon her nightly watch For rats that come for dew upon the thatch He hears the noise and trembling to escape While every object grows a dismal shape Drops from the tree in fancys swiftest dread By ghosts pursued and scampers home to bed Quick tumbling oer the mossy mouldering wall And looses half his booty in the fall Where soon as ere the morning opes its eyes The restless hogs will happen on the prize And crump adown the mellow and the green And makes all seem as nothing ne’er had been Amid the broils of harvests weary reign How sweet the sabbath wakes its rest again For each weary mind what rapture dwells To hear once more its pleasant chiming bells That from each steeple peeping here and there Murmur a soothing lullaby to care The shepherd journying on his morning rounds Pauses awhile to hear their pleasing sounds While the glad childern free from toils employ Mimic the ding dong sounds and laugh for joy The fields themselves seem happy to be free Where insects chatter with unusual glee While solitude the stubbs and grass among Apears to muse and listen to the song
In quiet peace awakes the welcomed morn Men tired and childern with their gleaning worn Weary and stiff lye round their doors the day To rest themselves with little heart for play No more keck horns in homestead close resounds As in their school boy days at hare and hounds Nor running oer the street from wall to wall With eager shouts at ‘cuck and catch the ball’ In calm delight the sabbath wears along Yet round the cross at noon a tempted throng Of little younkers with their pence repair To buy the downy plumb and lucious pear That melt i’ th mouth-which gardners never fail For gains strong impulse to expose for sale And on the circling cross steps in the sun Sit when the parson has his sermon done When grandams that against his rules rebell Come wi their baskets heapd wi fruit to sell That thither all the season did pursue Wi mellow goosberrys of every hue Green ruffs and raspberry reds and drops of gold That makes mouths water often to behold Sold out to clowns in totts oft deemd too small Who grudging much the price eat husks and all Nor leaves a fragment round to cheer the eye Of searching swine that murmurs hungry bye And currans red and white on cabbage leaves While childerns fingers itches to be thieves And black red cherrys shining to the sight As rich as brandy held before the light Now these are past he still as sunday comes Sits on the cross wi baskets heapd wi plumbs And Jenitens streakd apples suggar sweet Others spice scented ripening wi the wheat And pears that melt ith’ mouth like honey which He oft declares to make their spirits itch They are so juicy ripe and better still So rich they een might suck em thro a quill Here at their leisure gather many a clown To talk of grain and news about the town And here the boy wi toils earnd penny comes In hurrying speed to purchase pears or plumbs And oer the basket hangs wi many a smile Wi hat in hand to hold his prize the while
Not so the boys that begs for pence in vain Of deaf eard dames that threat while they complain Who talk of the good dinners they have eat And wanting more as nothing but consiet Vowing they ne’er shall throw good pence away So bids them off and be content wi play Reaching her rod that hangs the chimney oer And scaring their rude whinings to the door Who sob aloud and hang their hats adown To hide their tears and sawn along the town Venturing wi sullen step his basket nigh And often dipping a desiring eye Stone hearted dames thrifts errors to believe Who make their little bellys yearn to thieve But strong temptation must to fears resign For close beside the stocks in terror shine So choaking substitutes for loss of pelf He keeps his hungry fingers to himself And mopes and sits the sabbath hours away Wi heart too weary and too sad for play So sundays scenes and leisure passes bye In rests soft peace and home tranquillity Till monday morning doth its cares pursue And wakes the harvests busy toils anew
Leaves Murmuring by miriads in the shimmering trees. Lives Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees. Birds Cheerily chirping in the early day. Bards Singing of summer, scything thro’ the hay. Bees Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond. Boys Bursting the surface of the ebony pond. Flashes Of swimmers carving thro’ the sparkling cold. Fleshes Gleaming with wetness to the morning gold. A mead Bordered about with warbling water brooks. A maid Laughing the love-laugh with me; proud of looks. The heat Throbbing between the upland and the peak. Her heart Quivering with passion to my pressed cheek. Braiding Of floating flames across the mountain brow. Brooding Of stillness; and a sighing of the bough. Stirs Of leaflets in the gloom; soft petal-showers; Stars Expanding with the starr’d nocturnal flowers.
Wilfred Owen Thursday, April 1, 2010
** Zermat: To The Matterhorn (June-July, 1897) : : By Thomas Hardy : :
Thirty-two years since, up against the sun, Seven shapes, thin atomies to lower sight, Labouringly leapt and gained thy gabled height, And four lives paid for what the seven had won.
They were the first by whom the deed was done, And when I look at thee, my mind takes flight To that day’s tragic feat of manly might, As though, till then, of history thou hadst none.
Yet ages ere men topped thee, late and soon Thou watch’dst each night the planets lift and lower; Thou gleam’dst to Joshua’s pausing sun and moon, And brav’dst the tokening sky when Caesar’s power Approached its bloody end: yea, saw’st that Noon When darkness filled the earth till the ninth hour.
Thomas Hardy Saturday,
*** Fishing On The Susquehanna In July: : Billy Colin’s : :
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna or on any river for that matter to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month have I had the pleasure — if it is a pleasure — of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found in a quiet room like this one — a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table — trying to manufacture the sensation of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt that others have been fishing on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat, sliding the oars under the water then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to fishing on the Susquehanna was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia,
when I balanced a little egg of time in front of a painting in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky, dense trees along the banks, and a fellow with a red bandana
sitting in a small, green flat-bottom boat holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely ever to do, I remember saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on to other American scenes of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare who seemed so wired with alertness I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
Billy Collins
**** The Shepherds Calendar – July (2nd Version) : : by John Clare
July the month of summers prime Again resumes her busy time Scythes tinkle in each grassy dell Where solitude was wont to dwell And meadows they are mad with noise Of laughing maids and shouting boys Making up the withering hay With merry hearts as light as play The very insects on the ground So nimbly bustle all around Among the grass or dusty soil They seem partakers in the toil The very landscape reels with life While mid the busy stir and strife Of industry the shepherd still Enjoys his summer dreams at will Bent oer his hook or listless laid Beneath the pastures willow shade Whose foliage shines so cool and grey Amid the sultry hues of day As if the mornings misty veil Yet lingered in their shadows pale Or lolling in a musing mood On mounds where saxon castles stood Upon whose deeply buried walls The ivyed oaks dark shadow falls Oft picking up with wondering gaze Some little thing of other days Saved from the wreck of time-as beads Or broken pots among the weeds Of curious shapes-and many a stone Of roman pavements thickly sown Oft hoping as he searches round That buried riches may be found Tho search as often as he will His hopes are dissapointed still And marking oft upon his seat The insect world beneath his feet In busy motion here and there Like visitors to feast or fair Some climbing up the rushes stem Hugh steeples height or more to them With speed that sees no fear to drop Till perched upon its spirey top Where they awhile the view survey Then prune their wings and flit away Others journying too and fro Among the grassy woods below Musing as if they felt and knew The pleasant scenes they wandered thro Where each bent round them seems to be Hugh as a jiant timber tree While pismires from their castles come In crowds to seek the litterd crumb Which he on purpose drops that they May hawl the heavy loads away Shaping the while their dark employs To his own visionary joys Picturing such a life as theirs As free from summers sweating cares And inly wishing that his own Coud meet with joys so thickly sown Sport seems the all that they pursue And play the only work they do The cowboy still cuts short the day In mingling mischief with his play Oft in the pond with weeds oer grown Hurling quick the plashing stone To cheat his dog who watching lies And instant plunges for the prize And tho each effort proves as vain He shakes his coat and dives again Till wearied with the fruitless play Then drops his tail and sneaks away Nor longer heeds the bawling boy Who seeks new sports with added joy And on some banks oer hanging brow Beats the whasps nest with a bough Till armys from the hole appear And threaten vengance in his ear With such determined hue and cry As makes the bold besieger flye Elsewhere fresh mischief to renew And still his teazing sports pursue Pelting with excessive glee The squirrel on the wood land tree Who nimbles round from grain to grain And cocks his tail and peeps again Half pleased as if he thought the fray Which mischief made was meant for play Till scared and startled into flight He instant hurries out of sight Thus he his leisure hour employs And feeds on busy meddling joys While in the willow shaded pool His cattle stand their hides to cool
Loud is the summers busy song The smalles breeze can find a tongue Where insects of each tiney size Grow teazing with their melodys Till noon burns with its blistering breath Around and day dyes still as death The busy noise of man and brute Is on a sudden lost and mute The cuckoo singing as she flies No more to mocking boy replys Even the brook that leaps along Seems weary of its bubbling song And so soft its waters creep Tired silence sinks in sounder sleep The cricket on its banks is dumb The very flies forget to hum And save the waggon rocking round The lanscape sleeps without a sound The breeze is stopt the lazy bough Hath not a leaf that dances now The totter grass upon the hill And spiders threads are standing still The feathers dropt from more hens wing Which to the waters surface cling Are stedfast and as heavy seem As stones beneath them in the stream Hawkweeds and Groundsells fanning downs Unruffled keep their seedy crowns And in the oven heated air Not one light thing is floating there -Save that to the earnest eye The restless heat seems twittering bye Noon swoons beneath the heat it made And flowers een wither in the shade Untill the sun slopes in the west Like weary traveler glad to rest On pillard clouds of many hues Then natures voice its joy renews And checkerd field and grassy plain Hum with their summer songs again A requiem to the days decline Whose setting sun beams cooly shine A welcome to days feeble powers As evening dews on thirsty flowers
Now to the pleasant pasture dells Where hay from closes sweetly smells Adown the pathways narrow lane The milking maiden hies again With scraps of ballads never dumb And rosey cheeks of happy bloom Tanned brown by summers rude embrace That adds new beautys to her face And red lips never paled with sighs And flowing hair and laughing eyes That oer full many a heart prevailed And swelling bosom loosly veiled White as the love it harbours there Unsullied with the taints of care The mower gives his labour oer And on his bench beside the door Sits down to see his childern play Or smokes his leisure hour away While from her cage the blackbird sings That on the wood bine arbour hings And all with happy joys receive The quiet of a summers eve
John Clare
***** To The Fourth Of July
Behold, the dark clouds melt away, That gathered thick at night, and hung So like a gloomy pall above the earth!
Before thy magic touch, the world Awakes. The birds in chorus sing. The flowers raise their star-like crowns- Dew-set, and wave thee welcome fair.
The lakes are opening wide in love Their hundred thousand lotus-eyes To welcome thee, with all their depth.
All hail to thee, thou Lord of Light! A welcome new to thee, today, O sun! today thou sheddest LIBERTY! Bethink thee how the world did wait, And search for thee, through time and clime.
Some gave up home and love of friends, And went in quest of thee, self banished, Through dreary oceans, through primeval forests, Each step a struggle for their life or death;
Then came the day when work bore fruit, And worship, love, and sacrifice, Fulfilled, accepted, and complete. Then thou, propitious, rose to shed The light of FREEDOM on mankind.
Move on, O Lord, on thy resistless path! Till thy high noon o’erspreads the world. Till every land reflects thy light, Till men and women, with uplifted head, Behold their shackles broken, and Know, in springing joy, their life renewed!
Swami Vivekananda Sunday, April 29, 2012
****** Silent Steps
Have you not heard his silent steps? He comes, comes, ever comes.
Every moment and every age, every day and every night he comes, comes, ever comes.
Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind, but all their notes have always proclaimed, `He comes, comes, ever comes.’
In the fragrant days of sunny April through the forest path he comes, comes, ever comes.
In the rainy gloom of July nights on the thundering chariot of clouds he comes, comes, ever comes.
In sorrow after sorrow it is his steps that press upon my heart, and it is the golden touch of his feet that makes my joy to shine. Rabindranath Tagore Thursday, January 1, 2004
******* Charms
She walks as lightly as the fly Skates on the water in July.
To hear her moving petticoat For me is music’s highest note.
Stones are not heard, when her feet pass, No more than tumps of moss or grass.
When she sits still, she’s like the flower To be a butterfly next hour.
The brook laughs not more sweet, when he Trips over pebbles suddenly. My Love, like him, can whisper low — When he comes where green cresses grow.
She rises like the lark, that hour He goes halfway to meet a shower.
A fresher drink is in her looks Than Nature gives me, or old books.
When I in my Love’s shadow sit, I do not miss the sun one bit.
When she is near, my arms can hold All that’s worth having in this world.
And when I know not where she is, Nothing can come but comes amiss.
William Henry Davies Friday, January 3, 2003
******** hence We Do So
My eyes are full of dream Darling, that you know Hence I am in love so…
You sweet girl! I can not let you go….Noone I want but you here in this fast moving earth….hold my hand….. Embrace me…..I am close to your heart darling! Yours beauty I love….
We need proximity Swollen waves of love promising To realize how flesh and spirit mingle. How the two become one! How perceptions sparkle! Fire storm of passion how make rhythm. How erupt our dormant volcano!
When we walk, hand in hand, green nature witness- our motion synchronous. Birds chirping, oscillation of green boughs, whisper of breeze, all together produce symphony. ‘Dolce & Gabbana’s ‘the one’ in the air…. We move in pleasure, our touches therapeutic, we need to get free from….. And glory to calamity that opens our vision!
Silence beckons; Time smiles We drink love We sink in love. Tenderly I touch…..let you know my kisses can chase away all of your fatigue and pain…..You are in heaven…We travel…We fly…. Our blood cells dance……Entwined we in deep….`Look how delights peep….Over and over…You wonder- how much love in you my dear! How you love so much! My answer- I am created, I am selected, I am directed, You too……Hence we do so….
july-2009
sarwar chowdhury Wednesday, July 1, 2009, Bangladesh.
********* On A Wet July Morn
It had rained all night And drenched the land outright Leaving puddles and pools, Here, there and everywhere. But the morning saw The sun blazing ever more bright.
I watched the water Flowing silently away With no ostentation Along channels, furrows and waterways Cavities, crevices and culverts And through ditches and drains. What little remained, Seeped down unnoticed Through innumerable pores unseen.
As prisoners from narrow cells Suddenly released into boundless space Or troops from a garrison On a spurt of fresh attack The children shut indoors Came out in gangs To romp, jump and play. Unmindful of anything, They soon lost in a wave of giggles.
But how sudden was the change! The sky over cast with dark clouds Fired out like a water cannon. Once more the rain, Cascaded down with greater vengeance Each drop weighing gallons And the silver needles pricking deep Making the children flee In directions all round Like autumn leaves Scattered by the wind!
The rain continued to pour Inundating the low lying lands
Oh! Mother Nature How erratic are your moods How unpredictable How like a child throwing tantrums And how quickly appeased!
Valsa George Wednesday, June 19, 2013
********** Apples
Behold the apples’ rounded worlds: juice-green of July rain, the black polestar of flowers, the rind mapped with its crimson stain.
The russet, crab and cottage red burn to the sun’s hot brass, then drop like sweat from every branch and bubble in the grass.
They lie as wanton as they fall, and where they fall and break, the stallion clamps his crunching jaws, the starling stabs his beak.
In each plump gourd the cidery bite of boys’ teeth tears the skin; the waltzing wasp consumes his share, the bent worm enters in.
I, with as easy hunger, take entire my season’s dole; welcome the ripe, the sweet, the sour, the hollow and the whole.
Laurie Lee
*********** The Months
January brings the snow, makes our feet and fingers glow.
February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again.
March brings breezes loud and shrill, stirs the dancing daffodil.
April brings the primrose sweet, Scatters daises at our feet.
May brings flocks of pretty lambs, Skipping by their fleecy damns.
June brings tulips, lilies, roses, Fills the children’s hand with posies.
Hot july brings cooling showers, Apricots and gillyflowers.
August brings the sheaves of corn, Then the harvest home is borne.
Warm september brings the fruit, Sportsmen then begin to shoot.
Fresh October brings the pheasents, Then to gather nuts is pleasent.
Dull November brings the blast, Then the leaves are whirling fast.
Chill December brings the sleet, Blazing fire, and Christmas treat.
Mary Evans Library – stock.adobe.com : : Black & White Side Portrait of Lewis Carroll ( 1832 – 1898 ) : :
A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky BY LEWIS CARROLL A boat beneath a sunny sky,1 Lingering onward dreamily2 In an evening of July — 3
Children three that nestle near,4 Eager eye and willing ear, 5 Pleased a simple tale to hear — 6
Long has paled that sunny sky: 7 Echoes fade and memories die:8 Autumn frosts have slain July. 9
Still she haunts me, phantomwise, 10 Alice moving under skies 11 Never seen by waking eyes. 12
Children yet, the tale to hear, 13 Eager eye and willing ear, 14 Lovingly shall nestle near. 15
In a Wonderland they lie, 16 Dreaming as the days go by, 17 Dreaming as the summers die: 18
Ever drifting down the stream — 19 Lingering in the golden gleam — 20 Life, what is it but a dream? 21 : : : : : — ( 1871, Through the Looking-Glass )
“A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky” A July Poem By Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) is About unappeasable time through images of its consequences—the “pal[ing]” , that is getting tired of a “sunny sky,” ( of a lot of sunshine or sunniness ), the changing of a season, and the loss of wonder / interest or innocence that often accompanies also , the transition to adulthood. : : Lewis Carroll talked about the boat ride that he went on with his friend, Alice, and her sisters (Popova). On this boat ride, he told the children about the story of Wonderland which later inspired his book called Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland ( Popova ). : : An “acrostic poem” is one in which the first letter of each line spells out a word – “A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky” has been read for years as a tribute to Carroll’s young muse : a source of an artist’s inspiration : [ ” Alice Pleasance Liddell” ( 6 + 9 + 6 ) in 21 letters Formed from 1 ST Letter of each of the 21 lines : ; Hence , it is an “Acrostic” Poem] who inspired his famous protagonist( supporter ) . : : ” A boat beneath a sunny sky” is a poem by Lewis Carroll that closes his 1871 novel, Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There. It is an acrostic of the name, “Alice Pleasance Liddell.” : : : : : : : : : : As one of the “children”who listened with strained attention to his “simple tale[s],” ( line 6 & 13 ) he witnessed her “eager eye and willing ear” ( line 5 & 14 ) be “slain” by the “Autumn frosts” ( line 9 ) that is , of ‘adolescence’. He is now “haunt[ed]” ( line 10 ) “phantom wise”, that is , unreal : appears in perception only ; by the ghostof her childhoodself, and aches torealize that he won’t everagain see this Alice with “waking eyes.”( line 12 )
Carroll attempts to find consolation in reminding himself that there will be more children to fill his “boat” and hear his stories. But he realizes that just as Alice drops her youth, these children will also inevitably “[drift]ing down the stream”( line 19 ) from “Wonderland” to understandably ‘adulthood’. : : The flowing water is the passage of time and generates life’s vessel, leaving “golden gleam”( line 20 ) , that is ‘ briefly appeared shine’ of summers of youth to “Echoes fade” into “memories” that will eventually “die.” ( line 8 ) : In the last verse, a last ( line 21 ) “Life, what is it but a dream?” Carroll hauntingly echoes this certain reality as overpowering , strongly felt and uncontrollable “a dream.” There is a nursery rhyme “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,”which imply the same with urgency. : : : :
Lewis Carroll was the pseudonym of Charles Dodgson, an English mathematician, logician, photographer, Anglican deacon, and writer. His literary works reveal a remarkable grasp of word play, fantasy, and logic. Carroll’s writing career was greatly influenced by his relationship with the Liddell family. The “tales” he told “on a boat ride” with three of the Liddell children, including Alice, would become the basis for Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. : : : :
This poem reflected the loss of Carroll ‘s loved one. As Alice grew up, she is not naïve and optimistic like she used to be whenshe was a little girl. As a result, Carroll was disheartened by her transition into adulthood because he adored the childlike image of Alice in her childhood. In a broader sense, Carroll encourages people to enjoy the times of youth because it is short, and they can do anything they want without …show more content… To create his message, Carroll uses diction, transition in time, structure, and metaphor to help the readers understand his viewpoint. In other words, Carroll uses diction in his poem to explain how the shift in tone makes him disappointed when Alice has grown up. : : The tone of the first and second stanza is enthusiastic and warmhearted because Carroll and the children are on a boat ride on a beautiful summer day. However, the tone changes unexpectedly in the third stanza; words like “die,” “fade,” and “slain” show a gloomy and mournful tone that some awful things had happened. This stanza demonstrates that Carroll was heartbreaking because Alice has changed, and he adored the imagination and innocence of her childhood self. The first stanza describes a boat on a sunny day, in the middle of summer. The boat is on the countryside and he is in the ⛵ Boat and it is a warm day :
“A BOAT beneath a sunny sky, Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July — ” : Stanza 1 : :
He describes three children who are in the boat with him. They want Carroll to tell them a story:
“Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear —” : Stanza 2 : :
Carroll describes how the sunny and warm days are fading away and the weather is turning cold. Summer is turning into autumn : :: : Stanza 3 : :
“Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July” *** : : : : : : : ; : ; : : : : ; : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : She, ( line 1 ) that is, Alice from the ( line 2 ) : Lewis Carroll is famous for writing about Alice Liddell ( the girl who was the inspiration for Alice in Wonderland ), and this is the same Alice. It is no longer summer, and he is describing how she and the other children have left the countryside and have gone back to the city for the autumn. When Carroll writes, Still she haunts me, he is expressing that only her memories remain. When he writes Never seen by “waking eyes” , Carroll is saying that the only time he sees her is when he isasleep: “Still she haunts me, phantomwise, Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes.” : : Stanza 4 : :
Carroll is now writing about the children’s’ situation. How they are no longer with him, yet they haven’t forgotten him. They still want to hear more of his stories and can’t wait to see him again:
“Children yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear, Lovingly shall nestle near.” : : Stanza 5 : :
He describes how the children are living in a dreamworld. They waste away the days, fantasizing and dreaming about the summer. The children don’t go back to the countryside ever again:
“In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die:” : : Stanza 6 : :
Finally , he goes back to the boat, describing how even though he will never see the children again, he will always remember drifting down the stream and the time spent with them. He will always have those memories. The final line is a question: Life, what is it but a dream? He is asking the reader if all there really is to life is one’s memories: “Ever drifting down the stream — Lingering in the golden gleam — Life, what is it but a dream?” : : Stanza 7 : :
” A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky” has colourful imagery and a beautiful picture. : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : The ending metaphor states “Life, what is it but a dream?” relates the boat to life and call life “a dream.” Basically, life is a dream because people tend to forget about beautiful childhood memories as they get older. Everyone forgets the innocence of their childhood. The poet Carroll has feelings of ‘loss’ and ‘heartbroken memory’, since Alice had grown up. Beside, Carroll asks us the meaning of life , and the importance of memories in everyday life. : : In Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Alice falls asleep while she was reading a book next to her sister. In her sleep, she entered the wonderland world by falling down the rabbit hole (Geddes). The rabbit also guides her throughout her adventures in the fantasy world. Eventually, Alice woke up and realized everything is just a dream. In the book, Carroll depicts a unique world that is perfect for children who love to dream about the fantasy world. Everyone loves to dream about things that they could not obtain in life. Children are very adorable because everything about them even their dreams are innocent and naïve. : : The poet remembers the happy times when the children were young , full of bubbling happiness , curiosity , eagerness to listen to the magical stories of A Wonderland , that he created for them. : : : :
A far more gentle and charm wise simple and delightful July is suggested in Lewis Carroll’s poem Of “Alice in Wonderland” , but the pensive sadness is that the poem realises that the dream of happy and contented summer is subject to the frosts of autumn. What endures is therich memoryofsummer, more important and surviving than season itself. : : : :
“A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky” , A July Poem By Lewis Carroll Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India March 26 , 2023 : ; : ; : ; : ;
Robert Traill Spence Lowell IV (/ˈloʊəl/; March 1, 1917 – September 12, 1977) was an American poet. He was born into a Boston Brahmin family that could trace its origins back to the Mayflower. His family, past and present, were important subjects in his poetry. Growing up in Boston also informed his poems, which were frequently set in Boston and the New England region. The literary scholar Paula Hayes believes that Lowell mythologized New England, particularly in his early work. : : : : He was appointed the sixth Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress, where he served from 1947 until 1948. In addition to winning the National Book Award, he won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1947 and 1974, the National Book Critics Circle Award in 1977, and a National Institute of Arts and Letters Award in 1947. He is “widely considered one of the most important American poets of the postwar era.” His biographer Paul Mariani called him “the poet-historian of our time” and “the last of [America’s] influential public poets.”At the Grolier Poetry Bookshop in Harvard Square, 1965 : Robert Lowell : Poet : 1944 – 1977 : : Literary Movement : Confessional Poetry : Notable works : Lord Weary’s Castle, Life Studies, For the Union Dead, The Dolphin (1973) : : : : Lowell stated, “The poets who most directly influenced me … were Allen Tate, Elizabeth Bishop, and William Carlos Williams. An unlikely combination! … but you can see that Bishop is a sort of bridge between Tate’s formalism and Williams’s informal art.”Lowell wrote in both formal, metered verse as well as free verse; his verse in some poems from Life Studies and Notebook fell somewhere in between metered and free verse.After the publication of his 1959 book Life Studies, which won the 1960 National Book Award and “featured a new emphasis on intense, uninhibited discussion of personal, family, and psychological struggles,” he was considered an important part of the confessional poetry movement. : : his poems, “Waking in the Blue”, references his stay in this large psychiatric facility. While bipolar disorder was often a great burden to the writer and his family, it also provided the subject for some of Lowell’s most influential poetry, as in his book Life Studies.. Lowell died from a heart attack in a taxi cab in Manhattan on September 12, 1977, at the age of 60, while on his way to see his ex-wife, Elizabeth Hardwick. He was buried in Stark Cemetery in Dunbarton, New Hampshire.The Potomac River in Washington, D.C., with Arlington Memorial Bridge in the foreground and Rosslyn, Arlington, Virginia in the background Map showing the five geological provinces through which the Potomac River flowsTundra swans were the predominant species of swan on the Potomac River when the Algonquian tribes dwelled along its shores, and continue to be the most populous variety today. : : : : : : ” On the Potomac, swan-white power launches keep breasting the sulphurous wave.”View of the Potomac River from George Washington’s birthplace in Westmoreland County, Virginia.The Potomac running next to the Lincoln Memorial and under the Arlington Memorial Bridge.Union defenses along the Potomac near Washington, DC Top row: Chain Bridge (two views) and Pimmit Run Bridge; Bottom Row: Aqueduct Bridget {two views) and Georgetown Ferry. Confederate troops crossing the fords of the Potomac in early September 1862 for the invasion of Maryland, which would culminate in the Battle of Antietam. (Print of a wood carving based on a drawing by Thomas Nast; first published in the September 27, 1862 edition of Harper’s Weekly.)
July in Washington BY ROBERT LOWELL The stiff spokes of this wheel touch the sore spots of the earth.
On the Potomac, swan-white power launches keep breasting the sulphurous wave.
Otters slide and dive and slick back their hair, raccoons clean their meat in the creek.
On the circles, green statues ride like South American liberators above the breeding vegetation—
prongs and spearheads of some equatorial backland that will inherit the globe.
The elect, the elected . . . they come here bright as dimes, and die dishevelled and soft.
We cannot name their names, or number their dates— circle on circle, like rings on a tree—
but we wish the river had another shore, some further range of delectable mountains,
distant hills powdered blue as a girl’s eyelid. It seems the least little shove would land us there,
that only the slightest repugnance of our bodies we no longer control could drag us back. : : — From poetryfoundation . org : For Educational Purposes only.
“July In Washing”, A July Poem By Robert Lowell ( March 1 ,1917 , b. Boston , Massachusetts– September 12, 1977, aged 60 yrs. At New York city, U. S. )is About rejoicing proudly of the importance of America & positive side as well as the imperfections & downside that wereinstilledin it.
The Poet , Robert Lowell is not obsessed with the July 4 Th Celebration , yet his harsh cuttings are on the American political “elect and the elected”, with their lost idealism , and shown dislike for democracy, “like South American liberators”, wants to throw sarcastic remarks on the great national fe’te of freedom. Yet, being a true American, Lowell closes on a note of hopes, of “another shore,/ some further range of ‘delectable mountains’ ( fanciful ) where the ideals celebrated on Independence Day might find strong and securefoothold. : : The Poet shows love for the nation. Yet, he expresses his dislikes for the defects, and malaise that exist in the political arena. But , he is optimistic about finding a different “shore”. A look on the darker side and expecting the worst in everything,lingersthroughout the poem. : : : :
“The stiff spokes of this wheel touch the sore spots of the earth.
On the Potomac, swan-white power launches keep breasting the sulphurous wave. ” : : : : In the Opening lines , Here , Washington is likened to a wheel whose spokes reach out to “the sore spots of the earth.” The Policies in Washington , especially after Post World Wars Era , set down by political parties and their Senators , secretaries /Respective politicians, affect and impress upon what goes on , in other parts of the world , alongwith their Economies. This is concerning Wider Role Play By U.S. : : : : : : Here, the “Potomac” is another name for ‘Washington’ city ; as well as it references the ‘Potomac’ River in east central U. S. rises in West Virginia ( elevated on 930 meters ) the Appalachian Mountains and flows eastward, forming the boundary between Maryland and Virginia to the Chesapeake Bay. See and refer to the picture post as HERE In ABOVE to refer to the lines On Potomac flow , White Swan ( Of Tundras ) and significantly , it references the 1862 Battle on the sides of Potomac River , fought between North & South , For Independent United States , : : : : : : : : : : : : : : In the Opening lines , The Capital City Washington likened to a “wheel” which is a Symbol of Progress and Continuous revolutionary development of the Nation , too ; in most significant and commendable ways so far. The “stiff spokes” of the wheel suggests America’s dominance, , and the expression, “touch the sore spots” are suggestive of the American masterful influence everywhere in the world. : : : :
“Otters slide and dive and slick back their hair, raccoons clean their meat in the creek.” : : : :
The Poet sees and shows the readers , the Potomac River in July with various wild lives of Animals and Greens. , full of “power launches,” including “otters” and “raccoons” who vibrantly live by the creek( s) ( There are several Creeks & Creeksides along the Potomac River ) and the “breeding vegetation” Too. : : : : .”The “Otters” are fresh water carnivorous mammal having webbed and clawed feet and dark brown fur. : : By ” slick back their hair,” smooth and glossy appearance and by “slide and dive ” skilled , artful and bright ” attention are drawn HERE In the Poem. : : The “racoons” are omnivorous nocturnal ( fur providing ) mammals of North & Central America. By expression, ” clean their meat in the creek.” the good part/ clean & good habit of the animals in the country is suggested here inthe act of ‘removingunwanted substances from the food / meat’ that is sufficient for setting up an example for a public life. : : : :
“On the circles, green statues ride like South American liberators above the breeding vegetation—
prongs and spearheads of some equatorial backland that will inherit the globe.” : ; : :
The Poet, talks about “green statues .. . ( looking Godly , splendid and befitting Supreme ruler ) : “On the circles” Meaning : ‘On the central road junctions that streams around all and everything circulatory’ .. . . “above the breeding vegetation — ” where he sees the ” ride like South American liberators ” who “prongs and spearheads of some equatorial backland ( that is , related conditions ) that will inherit the globe.” With the words “spearheads” and “prongs” , the said “liberators” become prongy , that is , the leader of the pointed project , extant in Nature as “breeding vegetation” : the rich , juicy vegetations continue to grow abundantly , and this is how the ‘flora and fauna’ exemplified as above “will inherit the globe” ( after all the politicians with vested interests and lobbyists have gone home ! ) The lush green “breeding vegetation.” creates a calm , clear and fine beautiful ‘View’ of Washington Which evokes idealizedand romantic scene. : : : : However, politics raises its ugly head, even among these descriptions, in the form of the “South American/liberator” to which Lowell compares the “green statues.” It is as if even while observing the natural picturesque beauty of Washington and country side out of the city, the political associations of the area cannot quite be forgotten. The physical environment of Washington is beautiful. In addition, there is majestic beauty in the green statues of the Noble Men And Historical Personalities on the circles; these “ride like South Americanliberatorsabovethe breeding vegetation…” : : : :
“The elect, the elected . . . they come here bright as dimes, and die dishevelled and soft.
We cannot name their names, or number their dates— circle on circle, like rings on a tree— “
The Poet’s harsh cuttings HERE In ABOVE are on the American political “elect and the elected”, on their lost idealism and shown dislike for democracy, “like South Americanliberators,” Who ( have had ) “come here bright dimes, and die dishevelled and soft.” : “Dime” is U. S. Coin worth Of 1 /10Th Of Dollar. As a newb ( nyoob ) Or Political entrant they were Fresh blood with Idealized shinning like new bright dimes and they started in the political arena to bring‘positive change over’ in the life of everyone and for the betterment of everything. Yet, they “die dishevelled and soft.” : Meaning , they messed up in the System of the Capital City Politics & cronyism ( favouritism to friends and associates without qualifications ) , and hence all their smoothness and idealism have got disturbed and rumpled in to theirown folds. They could not pursue their intended‘ideas’and model ‘Paragon’( excellence & perfection ) have been defeated. Because they lived in a politics of ‘no values and ‘gridlock’andhave ultimately become , a worthless figure of failures. In essence, they have not served their country well , nor their constituents. In this fashion they “diedishevelledand soft.” : : : :
Lowell states that there are too many of such politicians to name, they are numerous, “like rings on a tree.” : : “We cannot name their names, or number their dates— circle on circle, like rings on a tree— ” The demarcation through the passage of time might be attempted to a certain extent, but they are indistinguishable from each other.
“but we wish the river had another shore, some further range of delectable mountains,
distant hills powdered blue as a girl’s eyelid. It seems the least little shove would land us there,” : : : :
Lowell states states that people wish there was another ‘purer’ and ‘true’ “Washington” on “another shore” of the “Potomac” riverfront. No one can spur on or encourage the United States People to go to the present day ( historical ) Washington DC and live thereby , pushing along their activities and socio – political life, in such a city of ‘unease’ and ‘discomfort’ for them and for their families. “We wish some further range of delectable ( tasteful & fanciful ) mountains… . distant hills powdered blue as a girl’s eyelid.”which represents Godly watch over Humanity as well as healing and warding off the negativity. The Poet wishes some act of the least shoving , that is , ‘giving least little push to someone or something , “would land us there.” : : So, Hello, is there someone with such stuff , togive a squeezeorthrust.. . .. . !? : : : :
“that only the slightest repugnance of our bodies we no longer control could drag us back.” : :
The Word “repugnance” suggests Lowell’s feelings about the prevailing political system involving any inconsistency, incompatibility and mutual exclusiveness : : : : that is, even “only the slightest repugnance of our bodies , We no longer control” he wants to say , would turn ourselves or our gaze , away from the intended directions , and that “could drag us back.” : In that sense , a lingering , wasting time in the same futile hopeless conditions ; and ultimately waning of all dreams of independence and freedomsand dying of an idealized Nation . A stand offby an act of repulsion /“repugnance” is the political realityin the present milieu of Washington which cannot be acceptable. Hence it must have to be invaded with all possible resistance to the prevailing forces that have taken over the complete arena of life of the People. : : : :
The poem conveys the sharp contrast between the natural beauty of the land and cliffs and riverfront on which the nation’s capital, Washington DC, sits and the socio — political life of the city sets up. Yet, the Nature goes on, not dismayed by a slightest set back and will remain persistent and vibrantwhile the elected officials come “bright as dimes / and die dishevelled and soft.” These politicians are so numerous, so alike, and unimportant, that they are not remembered; on the land, however, animals continue to live their lives, unmindful and inattentive to the life and politics ofthe city. : : : :
“July In Washington”, A July Poem By Robert Lowell Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India March 25 , 2023 : : : : : : : :
Otter : A Carnivorous aquatic Mammal The Potomac River is home to one of the most adorable aquatic animals- the river otter. Otters around the world have faced centuries of decline due to hunting, trapping, and habitat loss. But our local species is on the rebound. Otters Of Potomac River Conservancy Racoon: : Raccoons have a whitish gray coat, sometimes yellowish with black patches of fur. It is often recognized by its black mask and tail covered by white rings. Adult raccoons may be up to three feet long and weigh up to 30 pounds, although some male raccoons can weigh up to 40 pounds. Their fur is long and dense, a grizzled brown and black color that has often been described as “salt and pepper.” The tail can grow to be fifteen inches. A tail can have five to seven black rings on it. Raccoons look like they have a bandit mask on their face. Raccoons are omnivores and eat plants and animals Although raccoons are flesh eaters and have long canine teeth, their molar teeth are adapted for a varied diet which includes more than just meat. They have sharp claws so they can climb trees and open shellfish like clams and oysters. Raccoons are also nocturnal animals. The name “raccoon” come from the Indian word “arakum” which means “he scratches with his hands.”
Habitat: The raccoon lives in wooded areas near water. It is very adaptable, though, and is also found in suburbs and cities. Their unusual use of their thumbs makes foraging in city trashcans a way to find foods when dwelling in urban areas. It usually makes its den in a tree, but it can make its home in an abandoned woodchuck burrow, a cave, barn, sewer, or even a house! Northern Racoon of River
