Impactful Prose

[Rune]

Ever had a poem that everytime you read it, it just strikes that nerve and makes you feel one way or another? Or a quote, or anything?

 

If so, post it here. Im interested in reading some.

 

Here is mine, Im sure youve all heard it (or read it) but the very images associated with the poem bring a tear to my eye each time I read it. There is no need to go into why your post is important unless you want.

 

In Flanders Fields

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.

[Canid]

At present, I have two strong recomendations, one is on this board by our Elder of initiates, Wyvern. It will be one of the Archive posts in the Banquet Hall since it is pre-move: Orchestra of the Unheard

 

The second is a The Raven. I won't post it since it is quite long - but.... *Canid trails off in dazed admiration.*

[Tamaranis]

On note similar to Rune's:

 

It is the soldier, not the reporter,

Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the soldier, not the poet,

Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the soldier, not the campus organizer,

Who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.

It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who serves

beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag,

who allows the protester to burn the flag.

 

Some people might not agree with it, and I know soldiers are only human, but sometimes it feels llike I'm the only person not blindly lashing out at anything to do with armed forces.

[Quincunx]

Cerulean's "Arabia", found in the Library:

the most evocative free verse I have ever read.

 

A set of quatrains archived in the Library here;

A tercet from Ager Guilded's Banquet Hall;

A villanelle in the Banquet Hall here;

A prophecy proven true--

Words which have made the nameless fifth quail.

 

Searching through my selfpublished sorts tonight for more to post.

[reverie]

Song...

 

'The other end of the Telescope'

 

by Aimee Mann and Elivis Costello

 

 

 

Shall we agree that just this once

 

I'm gonna change my life

 

until it's just as tiny or

 

important as you like

 

and in time, we won't even recall that we spoke

 

Words that turned out to be as big as smoke

 

like smoke, disappears in the air

 

there's always something smouldering somewhere

 

 

I know it don't make a difference to you

 

but oh, it sure made a difference to me

 

You'll see me off in the distance, I hope

 

at the other end

 

at the other end of the telescope

 

 

 

There was a time not long ago

I dreamt that the world was flat

and all the colours bled away

and that was that

And in time, I could only believe in one thing

the sky was just phosphourus stars hung on strings

and you swore that they'd always be mine

when you can pull them down anytime

I know it don't make a difference to you

but oh, it sure made a difference to me

You'll see me off in the distance, I hope

at the other end

at the other end of the telescope

 

 

There, there baby now, don't say a word

lie down baby, your vision is blurred

 

Your head is so sore from all of that thinking

 

I don't want to hurt you now

 

but I think you're shrinking (I think you're skrinking)

 

 

 

You're half-naked ambition and

you're half out of your wits

and though your wristwatch always works

your necktie never fits

Now its so hard to pick the receiver up

and when I call, I never noticed you could be so small

the answer was under your nose

but the question never arose

 

 

I know it don't make a difference to you

but oh, it sure made a difference to me

When you find me here at the end of my rope

when the head and heart of it finally elope

You can see us off in the distance, I hope

at the other end

at the other end of the telescope

 

 

-------

 

Desiderata

 

by ~ Max Ehrmann, 1927

 

 

 

Go Placidly amid the Noise & Haste &

remember what Peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly & clearly;

and listen to others, even the dull & ignorant,

they too have their story.

 

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain & bitter;

for always there will be greater & lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

 

Keep interested in your career, however humble;

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in business affairs;

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

 

Be Yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither, be cynical about Love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

it is perennial as the grass.

 

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue & loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

 

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees & the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

 

Therefore, be at Peace with God,

whatever you conceive him to be,

and whatever your labors & aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep Peace with your Soul.

With all its sham, drudgery & broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

 

 

 

 

revery

the dreamlost

"hmm"

the dream continues...

[Wyvern]

Interesting that this subject should be brought up, since I was thinking of posting a thread along these lines as well. One song/poem that always seems to strike a chord with me is Alias' "Watching Water". The last few lines are simply breathtaking.

 

"Watching Water"

Written, performed and produced by Alias.

 

Intake ambiance a tool for meditation

Progressing towards the clouds at with whom I am complete

Defeat the chains that restrain an eager sensation

Equal balance in and out, all inhibitions shall deplete

 

I'm trying to break this writer's cramp, massage my hand and daydream

Out the window, innuendo watch the water find it's path down the glass

It seems, erratic direction, it's only perfection

Rest my head inside my hands, pace back and forth inside my mind

I wish sometimes I wouldn't reminisce so much,

such things tend to make one reflect and dissect situations to an extreme

Hard now to redeem what was there before

No more, gone are those days and ways have parted

Gone from feeling solid trust to outsmarted

Anyway, I'm now moving on to a distance far from yesterday, it's best this way

I feel as though I've missed this moment of truth

Outcome uneventful

I've lost the ability to feel sentimental

I can stare at a puddle and see a million places I love

It's comforting thoughts of places I've been, places I will never see again

Send my love to all who are there, wishing I could crawl back in

But, I've transformed and the pieces wouldn't fit,

so the sore necks will cease

Eyes searching to the sky to try to find some form of peace,

and I keep pulling up blanks

Yet I'm wearing this mask for the sake of others

We all miss things, I suppose we must let go

Well, I'm not ready

Just let me sit in silence and soak in what's trailing down the window,

to cleanse my emotions to begin the process of preparing myself

 

Intake ambiance a tool for meditation

Progressing towards the clouds at with whom I am complete

Defeat the chains that restrain an eager sensation

Equal balance in and out, all inhibitions shall deplete

 

I watch the drop join it's friends and become one with the crowd,

relating all too well, forcing me to sigh out loud

Look into clouds to envision the inside of my head

I'm turning leaves at this turning point remembering what they said

As they drove off one by one they left taking pieces of me

until I felt empty inside,

already looking forward to that day when I'd be returning

and I hadn't even left yet

From then on I took the inside-out approach

Granted lots of time to think when your new position is coach

and your crew is sleeping the whole time

When it's 2:40 in the morning and you're in the middle of nowhere,

with the buzz of the AM radio the only one that's there,

you think a lot about life

That's where it all began for me and the more I thought,

the more I began to clearly see

absolutely every aspect of my life in a new light

I figured out my Rubix Cube.....

well, I got it somewhat right

And things are coming together as I slowly come undone

and the occurence known as "it" is swept under the rug

and now my burden weighs a ton

But it only makes me stronger, and I refuse to break

I'm letting things pass by for the family's sake

Just give me a picture of the truth so I can hold it near,

and watch the rainfall, syncopated with one lonesome tear

 

Intake ambiance a tool for meditation

Progressing towards the clouds at with whom I am complete

Defeat the chains that restrain an eager sensation

Equal balance in and out, all inhibitions shall deplete

[Vlad]

I know I'm going to get pelted with tomatoes for at least one of my choices...

 

The first two are the Illiad and Oddysey by Homer. If you read a good translation, they are simply great pieces of writing.

 

The other is Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto. The first line is:

Workers of the world, unite!  You have nothing to lose, save your chains.

The rest kind of tapers off, and get a bit more boring...

[Degenero Angelus]

I agree with Vlad on the Communist Manifesto. It's simply one of the most inspiring pieces of literature ever. I'd also have to go with A Road Less Traveled By by Robert Frost, and The Black Cat by Poe.

 

Road Less Traveled By

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth

 

Then took the other as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet, knowing how way leads onto way

I doubted if I should ever come back

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence

Two roads diverged in a wood

And I took the one less traveled by

And that has made all the difference

 

The Black cat is far too long to be posted here, so... http://eserver.org/books/poe/black_cat.html go there and enjoy.

[The Big Pointy One]

Well, I haven't read that many poems or stories or heard any songs that have *really* had an impact on me, but the one that comes closest would have to be No Regrets by Aesop Rock, of his cd, 'Labor Days' it goes as follows:

 

Lucy was 7 and wore a head of blue barettes

City born, into this world with no knowledge and no regrets

Had a piece of yellow chalk with which she'd draw upon the street

The many faces of the various locals that she would meet

There was joshua, age 10

Bully of the block

Who always took her milk money at the morning bus stop

There was Mrs. Crabtree, and her poodle

She always gave a wave and holler on her weekly trip down to the bingo

parlor

And she drew

Men, women, kids, sunsets, clouds

And she drew

Skyscrapers, fruit stands, cities, towns

Always said hello to passers-by

They'd ask her why she passed her time

Attachin lines to concrete

But she would only smile

Now all the other children living in or near her building

Ran around like tyrants, soaking up the open fire hydrants

They would say

"Hey little Lucy, wanna come jump double dutch?"

Lucy would pause, look, grin and say

"I'm busy, thank you much"

Well, well, one year passed

And believe it or not

She covered every last inch of the entire sidewalk,

And she stopped-

"Lucy, after all this, you're just giving in today??"

She said:

"I'm not giving in, I'm finished," and walked away

 

(Chorus: x2)

1 2 3

That's the speed of the seed

A B C

That's the speed of the need

You can dream a little dream

Or you can live a little dream

I'd rather live it

Cuz dreamers always chase

But never get it

 

Now Lucy was 37, and introverted somewhat

Basement apartment in the same building she grew up in

She traded in her blue barettes for long locks held up with a clip

Traded in her yellow chalk for charcoal sticks

And she drew

Little bobby who would come to sweep the porch

And she drew

The mailman, delivered everyday at 4

Lucy had very little contact with the folks outside her cubicle day

But she found it suitable, and she liked it that way

She had a man now: Rico, similar, hermit

 

They would only see each other once or twice a week on purpose

They appreciated space and Rico was an artist too

So they'd connect on saturdays to share the pictures that they drew

(Look!)

Now every month or so, she'd get a knock upon the front door

Just one of the neighbors,

Actin nice, although she was a strange girl, really

Say, "Lucy, wanna join me for some lunch??"

Lucy would smile and say "I'm busy, thank you much"

And they would make a weird face the second the door shut

And run and tell their friends how truly crazy Lucy was

And lucy knew what people thought but didn't care

Cuz while they spread their rumors through the street

She'd paint another masterpiece

 

(Chorus x2)

 

Lucy was 87, upon her death bed

At the senior home, where she had previously checked in

Traded in the locks and clips for a head rest

Traded in the charcoal sticks for arthritis, it had to happen

And she drew no more, just sat and watched the dawn

Had a television in the room that she'd never turned on

Lucy pinned up a life worth's of pictures on the wall

And sat and smiled, looked each one over, just to laugh at it all

No Rico, he had passed, 'bout 5 years back

So the visiting hours pulled in a big flock o' nothin

She'd never spoken once throughout the spanning of her life

Until the day she leaned forward, grinned and pulled the nurse aside

And she said:

"Look, I've never had a dream in my life

Because a dream is what you wanna do, but still haven't pursued

I knew what I wanted and did it till it was done

So i've been the dream that I wanted to be since day one!"

Well!

The nurse jumped back,

She'd never heard Lucy even talk,

'Specially words like that

She walked over to the door, and pulled it closed behind

Then Lucy blew a kiss to each one of her pictures

And she died.

 

(Chorus x2)

 

1 2 3...

A B C...

 

 

 

(Sorry, that was kinda long...)

 

Side note- I've heard that 'Flander's Field' many a Rememberance Day, and 'The Road Less Traveled' is also good ^.^

[Gyrfalcon]

I've always liked this one...

 

 

Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night”

 

 

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

 

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

 

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[Falcon2001]

Good stuff, everyone. The first poem I'm posting is a good one I found in 7 habits of highly effective teens, a really good book.

 

------------------------------------------

 

The Cold Within, By Anonymous

 

Six Humans trapped by happenstance in bleak and bitter cold

each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told

their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back

for of the faces 'round the fire, he noticed one was black

the next man loking 'corss the way saw one not of his church

and couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch

the third one sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch

why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

the rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store

and how to keep what he had earned from the lazy shiftless poor

the black mans' face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight

for all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white

the last man of this forlorn group did naught except for gain

giving only to those who gave was how he played the game

their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin

They didn't die from the cold without - they died from the cold within

 

----------------------------------

[Zariah]

Ode

(Sung at the occasion of decorating the graves of the confederate soldiers dead in Charleston, SC on June 16, 1866 )

By: Henry Timrod

 

Sleep sweetly in your humble graves,

Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause;

Though yet no marble column craves

The pilgrim here to pause.

 

In seeds of laurel in the earth

The blossom of your fame is blown,

And somewhere, waiting for its birth,

The shaft is in the stone!

 

Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years

Which kept in trust your storied tombs,

Behold! your sisters bring their tears.

And these memorial blooms.

 

Small tributes! but your shades will smile

More proudly on these wreaths today,

Than when some cannon-molded pile

Shall overlook this bay.

 

Stoop, angels, hither from the skies!

There is no holier spot of ground

Than where defeated valor lies,

By mourning beauty crowned!

[Zariah]

Wallace Stevens

(1879- 1955)

 

Not Ideas About the Thing but the Thing Itself

 

At the earliest of winter,

In March, a scrawny cry from outside

Seemed like a sound in his mind.

 

He knew that he heard it,

A bird's cry, at daylight or before,

In the early March wind.

 

The sun was rising at six,

No longer a battered panache above snow....

It would have been outside.

 

It was not from the vast ventriloquism

Of sleep's faded paper-mache....

The sun was coming from outside.

 

That scrawny cry- it was

A choister whose C preceeded the choir

It was part of the colossal sun,

 

Surrounded by its choral rings,

Still far away. It was like

A new knowledge of reality.

[Zariah]

Last but not least in my posting for this thread (perhap only for the hour) I'd like to add haiku's in Peredhil's honor. These are current in poetry from Etheridge Knight who was born in 1933 and recently passed away in 1991.

 

Haiku

 

1.

Eastern guard tower

Glints in sunset; convicts rest

Like lizards on rocks.

 

2.

The piano man

Is sting at 3 am

His songs drop like plum.

 

3.

Morning sun slants cell.

Drunks stagger like cripple flies.

On Jailhouse floor.

 

4.

To write a blues song

Is to regimet riots

And pluck gems from graves.

 

5.

A bare pecan tree

Slips a pencil shadow down

A moonlit snow slope.

 

6.

The falling snow flakes

Can not blunt the hard aches nor

Match the steel stillness.

 

7.

Under moon shadows

A tall boy flashes knife and

Slices star bright ice.

 

8.

In the August grass

Struck by the last rays of sun

The cracked teacup screams.

 

9.

Making jazz swing in

Seventeen sylables AIN'T

No square poet's job.

[Cerulean]

First off - thank you Tzim for the thumbs up

 

Wow - What a topic! There are too many works that have affected me to choose one in particular as a favourite. Furthermore, I'm not particularly consistent - mood, environment and circumstances determine what I appreciate most at a given moment. Sooo, I'm going to cheat and divide this into categories.

 

Translations:

I'm very impressed by what I've seen so far of Alan Sullivan and Tim Murphy's translation of Beowulf. I don't go to the site where Alan moderates any more because of the shoddy politics and witch-hunts, but the man's a fine writer, no question on that score.

 

Prose/essays:

Some of the most haunting prose passages I've read would come from the introduction to Arthur Miller's collected plays, or his autobiography Timebends.

 

Songs:

Today I can't get this one out of my mind - it's connected to something I read in the Banquet Hall maybe and resonating personally, I must be feeling melancholy.

 

The Dangling Conversation

 

It's a still life water color,

Of a now late afternoon,

As the sun shines through the curtained lace

And shadows wash the room.

And we sit and drink our coffee

Couched in our indifference,

Like shells upon the shore

You can hear the ocean roar

In the dangling conversation

And the superficial sighs,

Are the borders of our lives.

 

And you read your Emily Dickinson,

And I my Robert Frost,

And we note our place with bookmarkers

That measure what we've lost.

Like a poem poorly written

We are verses out of rhythm,

Couplets out of rhyme,

In syncopated time

Lost in the dangling conversation

And the superficial sighs,

Are the borders of our lives.

 

Yes, we speak of things that matter,

With words that must be said,

"Can analysis be worthwhile?"

"Is the theater really dead?"

And how the room is softly faded

And I only kiss your shadow,

I cannot feel your hand,

You're a stranger now unto me

Lost in the dangling conversation.

And the superficial sighs,

In the borders of our lives.

 

(Simon and Garfunkle)

 

 

Poetry:

I enjoy Larkin as a technician and Auden and MacNeice for the sheer sonic feast they provide. My ex-hub is the person I enjoy reading most though probably (I just never tell him that ) Here are three of his poems:

 

Sweet Dreams

 

When my eyes are candy-creams

and wrapped up in their box,

their heated, glacé sugar-sheens

will ooze their sticky drops.

 

When my legs are liquorice-sticks

and bundled in a bag,

your sweetest, reddest candy-kiss

won't bring their supple back.

 

When my blood is turned to sherbet

and fizzes in my veins,

I'll crackle slowly in my bed

as sweetness all-pervades.

 

When my body's gingerbread

and my eyes are frosted-to,

do not cry with cloven breath

just let me crumble so.

 

 

Song of Sorrowful Songs

 

Golgotha in a chair

and the wheels within wheels move not.

 

God in spit that streaks the cheeks

and wets the jowls,

 

God in shit that soils the sheets

and smears the towels.

 

Eloi! Eloi!

 

Dans la pueur d'eau de javel,

Dieu joue piano avec Ravel.

 

Creuzfeld in a cell,

Jacob falls from the spiral ladder.

 

God in prayers etched in the wall,

that make no bloody sense at all.

 

God in fists with bleeding fingers,

God’s indifference that lingers.

 

Eloi! Eloi!

 

Ston levko pyrgo dhen yparchei psyche;

o theios einai o thanatos ste nike.

 

 

Untitled Rondel

 

Death comes no easier the next time around,

it throws us again and we grieve;

the next one a friend, who we’d never believe

is one with the worms of the ground.

 

Father becomes the memory of sound,

his heart stopped dead on his sleeve;

death comes no easier the next time around,

it throws us again and we grieve.

 

Mother has eyes as wet as the drowned

children whose coffins receive

the water of old men and the naïve.

 

On this carnival merry-go-round,

death comes no easier the next time around,

it throws us again and we grieve.

 

 

 

This was an interesting thread to read through, thanks to Rune for starting it.

 

 

C.

[Tralla]

For some reason, this always gave me comfort when I was discontent with who I was. I don't know why, I don't think it's particularly inspirational, it just did.

Aspiring

I am in the shadows

Cast by masters, grand.

I am but a blade of grass,

A pebble in the sand.

A wave upon the ocean,

And echo down the hill;

Today, just a sliver

Of the dream I will fulfill.

- Anonymous

 

From Margaret Atwood, the absolutely best phrase, "You are innocent as a bathtub full of bullets." from Backdrop Addresses Cowboy, a fantastic poem if you ever get the chance to read it.

 

From ee cummings, the poem love is more thicker than forget, which taught me, no matter how good you think you are, there's always someone out there that can mess with your head. =D

 

The works of Robert Frost, which seem so beautifully and refreshingly simple, but which are merely a "momentary stay against confusion." ... They're addictive, I tell you, addictive. Especially Acquainted With the Night and Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.

 

And, finally, a quote written into a journal, bestowed upon me by those I love. It is still, after all this time, my favourite.

"When you come to the edge of all the light you know, and are about to step off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen: there will be something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly."

- Barbara J. Winter