Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Friday, November 21, 2014
John Keats
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John Keats beautifully read, Just listen and feel- Great Spirits Now On Earth Are Sojourning - Read by Samuel West
See it at Poetry and New Writing News
John Keats beautifully read, Just listen and feel- Great Spirits Now On Earth Are Sojourning - Read by Samuel West
See it at Poetry and New Writing News
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Ursula Le Guin and Neil Gaiman
What a fantastic combination, Ursula Le Guin and Neil
Gaiman . I do agree with what she says :
“We who live by writing and publishing want – and should demand – our fair share of the proceeds. But the name of our beautiful reward is not profit,” she added. “Its name is freedom.”
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Monday, November 17, 2014
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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I MET a Traveler from an antique land,
Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is OZYMANDIAS, King of Kings."
Look on my works ye Mighty, and despair!
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that Colossal Wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
One of my favourite poems by Schelley
Ozymandias
(1792-1822)I MET a Traveler from an antique land,
Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is OZYMANDIAS, King of Kings."
Look on my works ye Mighty, and despair!
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that Colossal Wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Friday, November 14, 2014
Love hearing such nice words from TheatreCloud @TheatreCloud
Look at what´s new here
#FF wonderfully creative poets! #WarPoetryToday
@beardymanpoet
@grannygal
@PodsmeadBL
@Dee_Nessaa
@MrJMessy
@Tjtrott
@marcasdom
— TheatreCloud (@TheatreCloud) noviembre 14, 2014Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Stephen Fry´s fun narration
Hope you enjoy this video as much as I did.
Stephen Fry narrates foul-mouthed paean to children's dinnertime You Have to F***ing Eat by Adam Mansbach
Mapping Scotland in Poetry
Scotland in poetry
The idea is fanastic, geography and poetry in dialogue. Wouldn´t it be great to have a poetry map of every place in the world!
We all know poems about Scotland but can the shape and nature of Scotland be drawn entirely in poetry? asks STANZA .
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
SOUND LIKE YOURSELF
Kurt Vonnegut´s writing advice
Offers seven deceptively simple principles for writers:
- Find a subject you care about.
- Do not ramble, though.
- Keep it simple.
- Have the guts to cut.
- Sound like yourself.
- Say what you mean to say.
- Pity the readers.
More War Poetry
Gibson´s War Poetry
"Breakfast" from the ordinary soldier´s voice.
Breakfast
We ate our breakfast lying on our backs,
Because the shells were screeching overhead.
I bet a rasher to a loaf of bread
That Hull United would beat Halifax
When Jimmy Strainthorpe played full-back instead
Of Billy Bradford. Ginger raised his head
And cursed, and took the bet; and dropped back dead.
We ate our breakfast lying on our backs,
Because the shells were screeching overhead.
Because the shells were screeching overhead.
I bet a rasher to a loaf of bread
That Hull United would beat Halifax
When Jimmy Strainthorpe played full-back instead
Of Billy Bradford. Ginger raised his head
And cursed, and took the bet; and dropped back dead.
We ate our breakfast lying on our backs,
Because the shells were screeching overhead.
Written by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
Wilfrid Wilson Gibson (1878-1962), a close friend of Rupert Brooke and a protégé of Edward Marsh.
Armistice Day I cannot forget Wifred Owen today.
Anthem for Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, –
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, –
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
A poem for Armistice Day.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Remembrance Sunday
They will never be forgotten.
"In Flanders Fields" by John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Below in his handwriting. Interesting to note, the end of the first line is grow not blow.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
poetry in motion
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Fascinating poetry in motion
Circles in the Sky by Bob Hicok
http://www.motionpoems.com/hicok-moller-circles-in-the-sky/Another favourite, Ruth Padel.
How much I have learnt and enjoyed from her.
Grab a revamped passport she says in her poem. Yes I will.
Grab a revamped passport she says in her poem. Yes I will.
To Speak of Distance
To speak of distance, the sanctuary lamp:
something you must do or find
and a world you must escape. Never mind
ghost-rumours of an immigration gate.
Grab a revamped passport. Speak of hope,
born as she always is on the site of loss:
a cinnamon bird
with a thousand resistance strategies
fretting her wings like mica charms
or ancient pilgrim songs
sewn into the Book of Psalms. The task
is to assimilate - to move between
the languages, in your case
Hebrew, Arabic, Norwegian, Greek –
and celebrate your journey to the shrine.
Everyone’s crossing is a pilgrimage.
The hard thing is to pass; harder still, to fold
those wings, to drop the mask
and translate old words
into new. Jump to it – you’ll find
fresh bearings somewhere for a crossing-place.
This is our exodus: cliffs of fall
on a floating island. Here is our constitution.
Look, here are the moon and sun
in never-before-seen positions, struggling to be heard.
Ruth Padel is an award-winning British poet. Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and Zoological Society of London, and an Ambassador for New Networks for Nature.
"Once there came a man" BY STEPHEN CRANE
How war´s divide and have nothing heroic about them.
V (Once there came a man) BY STEPHEN CRANE
The 19th-century American poet’s free-verse parable about a nonsensical war reminds us that conflict rouses desire as powerfully as love.
Once there came a man, is the fifth in Black Riders and Other Lines, the first of Crane’s two collections.
Once there came a man
Who said:
“Range me all men of the world in rows.”
And instantly
There was a terrific clamor among the people
Against being ranged in rows.
There was a loud quarrel, world-wide.
It endured for ages;
And blood was shed
By those who would not stand in rows,
And by those who pined to stand in rows.
Eventually, the man went to death, weeping.
And those who stayed in the bloody scuffle
Knew not the great simplicity.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Ana Gavila´s Cloud Collection
Want to start your weekend in a fantastic mood, try here.
look at these brilliant cloud photos belonging to Ana Gavila´s cloud collection called "El cielo 2014", direct from paradise island, Ibiza. An extraordinarily talented artist.
.jpg "Butterfly by Ana Gavilá") |
| Impressionistic butterfly |
Click here to Ana´s Cloud Collection
Carol Ann Duffy
Another Carol Ann Duffy
This poem was reproduced on a postcard for National Poetry Day 2010.
I am really a big follower of Carol Ann Duffy
Here you have her poem Ship
In the end, it was nothing more than the toy boat of a boy on the local park’s lake, where I walked with you. But I knelt down to watch it arrive, its white sail shy with amber light, the late sun bronzing the wave that lifted it up, my ship coming in with its cargo of joy.
What Reading Poetry Does to Your Brain
As if there weren´t enough reasons to read poetry already, read on....
Science Shows Something Surprising About What Reading Poetry Does to Your Brain
Researchers at the University of Exeter have found that there's science behind poetry's effect on the brain. We know about music's effect on the body, but these researchers looked specifically at the different responses the brain has to poetry and prose.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
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Language poet CHARLES BERNSTEIN
Language poet CHARLES BERNSTEIN
Not long ago, or maybe I dreamt it
Or made it up, or have suddenly lost
Track of its train in the hocus pocus
Of the dissolving days; no, if I bend
The turn around the corner, come at it
From all three sides at once, or bounce the ball
Against all manner of bleary-eyed fortune
Tellers—well, you can see for yourselves there’s
Nothing up my sleeves, or notice even
Rocks occasionally break if enough
Pressure is applied. As far as you go
In one direction, all the further you’ll
Have to go on before the way back has
Become totally indivisible.
Charles Bernstein, "In a Restless World LIke This Is" from Girly Man. Copyright © 2006 by Charles Bernstein. Reprinted by permission of The University of Chicago Press.
Source: Girly Man (The University of Chicago Press, 2006)
Source: Girly Man (The University of Chicago Press, 2006)
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
It is so absolutely lovely. The best of Dylan Thomas
2014 marks the centenary of Dylan Thomas’ birth.
Afraid, letting our syllables be soft
For fear of waking the rooks,
For fear of coming
Noiselessly into a world of wings and cries.
If we were children we might climb,
Catch the rooks sleeping, and break no twig,
And, after the soft ascent,
Thrust out our heads above the branches
To wonder at the unfailing stars.
Out of confusion, as the way is,
And the wonder, that man knows,
Out of the chaos would come bliss.
That, then, is loveliness, we said,
Children in wonder watching the stars,
Is the aim and the end.
Being but men, we walked into the trees.
2014 marks the centenary of Dylan Thomas’ birth.
Being But Men
Being but men, we walked into the treesAfraid, letting our syllables be soft
For fear of waking the rooks,
For fear of coming
Noiselessly into a world of wings and cries.
If we were children we might climb,
Catch the rooks sleeping, and break no twig,
And, after the soft ascent,
Thrust out our heads above the branches
To wonder at the unfailing stars.
Out of confusion, as the way is,
And the wonder, that man knows,
Out of the chaos would come bliss.
That, then, is loveliness, we said,
Children in wonder watching the stars,
Is the aim and the end.
Being but men, we walked into the trees.
Look isn´t this fantastic, an example to copy.
Poems In The Waiting Room
Poems in the Waiting Room (PitWR) is an Arts in Health charity, registered in the U.K.. We supply short collections of poems as cards for patients to read while waiting to see their doctor and to take away with them. There is no charge to the patient or to the NHS.
Andrew Motion: don't hurry, be happy
The path to happiness is long and winding, says our former poet laureate, and it takes you through some very dark places
A beautiful article which includes...........
The sort of rapture, at any rate, that Seamus Heaney catches at the end of his poem Postscript, where he feels
neither here nor there,A hurry through which known and strange things passAs big soft buffetings come at the car sidewaysAnd catch the heart off guard and blow it open.”
Short link for this page: http://gu.com/p/42pj7
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Wendy Harmer
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