One of my favorites too Radrook. I can feel being drawn to the quiet solitude before he pulls himself away for his duties. You know, Nehru used to keep this poem folded on a piece of paper under his pillow and would read it every morning to remind him of his commitment to his Nation of India as their Prime Minister...the last 4 lines.
Nehru (Born1889-1964/PM of India1947-64) studied at Trinity college, Cambridge; Law School, London in 1907so maybe that's where he picked up on it.I didn't know that Nehru read Robert Frost.
Nehru (Born1889-1964/PM of India1947-64) studied at Trinity college, Cambridge; Law School, London in 1907so maybe that's where he picked up on it.
Dr. B ILANGO, "A beautiful poem in simple language but with a deeper connotation. It subtly extols the finer aspects of life, namely, righteousness, humanism, love for animals and commitment to duty without indulgence in selfish pleasures. He expresses his feeling of guilt, for having entered or trespassed into woods belonging to another person, without informing him, in the first stanza. Next, he feels sorry for the little horse, left in the dark, without food or water, displaying his humanism for animals. Although he loves the sight of nature, he is urged to move away due to his commitment to duty.The last 4 lines are oft quoted by many; Jawaharlal Nehru loved this poem and used it to remind him of his commitment to the nation, by keeping this poem in a piece of paper underneath his pillow and reading it every night before retiring to bed! In a way, Nehruji gave a boost to the popularity of this poem."
Thank you Radrook for your show of support but I suggested a forum for member's literary work a while back and was told that the place for that is in the "Diaries" forum.
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I've always longed for a Literature and Poetry forum in the Senior Forums...but a thread might work well enough here in the "English Language" forum. I'll start with Edgar Allan Poe since tomorrow is Halloween. After a day or two of Poe (or others from the dark side suitable for halloween), feel free to move on to other literary figures or poets or subjects at any time. Post your thoughts or quotes or pics, or serious discussions, etc.
Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven
“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door; —
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore.”
Lara, I suggest ordering the book The Everything guide to Edgar Allan Poe, subtitled The life, times, and work of a tormented genius.I've always longed for a Literature and Poetry forum in the Senior Forums...but a thread might work well enough here in the "English Language" forum. I'll start with Edgar Allan Poe since tomorrow is Halloween. After a day or two of Poe (or others from the dark side suitable for halloween), feel free to move on to other literary figures or poets or subjects at any time. Post your thoughts or quotes or pics, or serious discussions.
Trees, was set to music in an episode of the Little Rascals, Alfalfa sings it, not a bad melody.Another poem I've known since childhood, weird but just listening to the video while reading the words brought a tear near the end.
JOYCE KILMER - TREES
Alfred Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918) was a young American poet who suffered a tragic death in World War I at the age of 31. His poem Trees is probably the most quoted poem in American history.
Joyce Kilmer was born in Brunswick, New Jersey. Following graduation from Columbia University in 1908, he married Aline Murray on June 9, 1908. They had five children - Kenton, Michael, Deborah, Rose, and Christopher. His first collection of poetry, Summer of Love, was published in 1911, and was well received. However, it was the publication of Trees that established his reputation as a major American poet.
Trees was first published in August 1913 in Poetry Magazine, and then became the title poem in his second collection in 1914, Trees and Other Poems. He became quite prolific and produced three publications in 1917: Literature in the Making, Main Street and Other Poems, and Dreams and Images: An Anthology of Catholic Poets. A Catholic convert in 1913, his poetry exhibits humility and a deep respect for God and nature.
Kilmer joined the National Guard and was transferred to France in October of 1917, where he was shot and killed in the line of duty on July 30, 1918. He was buried there at Oise-Aisne, Fere-eu-Tardenois, and received the Croix de Guerre of France. The Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest in North Carolina was named after him.
We include the poem Trees, The Singing Girl, and his last poem, written on the battlefield in France during World War I six weeks before his death, The Peacemaker.
TREES
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
written February 2, 1913
Thanks woud love to read Lara's opinion on my Aussie choice!How magnificent
"A stark white ring-barked forest; All tragic to the moon"@ohioboy Thank you for bringing my thread to my attention. I forgot all about it. I even said in the OP that I'd always longed for a Literature and Poetry thread...then didn't post anything after the middle of 2018. But I guess the thread got hidden and life got in the way. I was MIA for awhile. Meanwhile, I'm enjoying rereading everyone's posts and poems from the beginning now. So many wonderful poems! This makes me happy.
Dana, yes that's a beautiful Aussie poem. I wonder what she meant by "A stark white ring-barked forest; All tragic to the moon"? Maybe that the whiteness of the bark was so bright it upstaged the moonlight? I couldn't quite place her accent in the video. It didn't sound quite aussie to me...maybe British? I'm probably wrong about that. I read she was born in Sydney and her family owned a lot of land there but did she move to England? Anyway, I love when poets read their own poetry because only they know when to pause, emphasis, and add just the right degree of emotion.
@ohioboy Thank you for bringing my thread to my attention. I forgot all about it. I even said in the OP that I'd always longed for a Literature and Poetry thread...then didn't post anything after the middle of 2018. But I guess the thread got hidden and life got in the way. I was MIA for awhile. Meanwhile, I'm enjoying rereading everyone's posts and poems from the beginning now. So many wonderful poems! This makes me happy.
Dana, yes that's a beautiful Aussie poem. I wonder what she meant by "A stark white ring-barked forest; All tragic to the moon"? Maybe that the whiteness of the bark was so bright it upstaged the moonlight? I couldn't quite place her accent in the video. It didn't sound quite aussie to me...maybe British? I'm probably wrong about that. I read she was born in Sydney and her family owned a lot of land there but did she move to England? Anyway, I love when poets read their own poetry because only they know when to pause, emphasis, and add just the right degree of emotion.