The Poetry Wire - Going From Bard To Verse
16 watchers
Jun 2020
9:45am, 14 Jun 2020
49,797 posts
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Diogenes
It’s Brian Bilston’s birthday today. He’s not happy about who he has to share it with. |
Jun 2020
11:15am, 14 Jun 2020
618 posts
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Peregrinator
Very good. Suggests a new thread - the person you least/most like sharing a birthday with (probably a word for that co-natal, day-twins, …).
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Jun 2020
11:29am, 14 Jun 2020
18,046 posts
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Serendippily
That is brilliant. I share a birthday with one of c9 good friends. I refer to her as mkII - the improved model. I’m not sure how old they both are but maybe trump was an early factory mistake
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Jun 2020
12:38pm, 14 Jun 2020
37,903 posts
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LindsD
I love that poem! My OH and my sister share a birthday, which used to be a cause of strife but is no longer now we're old enough to not really want to celebrate 
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Jun 2020
1:31pm, 14 Jun 2020
8,357 posts
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chunkywizard
Great poem!
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Jun 2020
8:35pm, 14 Jun 2020
49,812 posts
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Diogenes
An old favourite: Gone, Gone Again By Edward Thomas Gone, gone again, May, June, July, And August gone, Again gone by, Not memorable Save that I saw them go, As past the empty quays The rivers flow. And now again, In the harvest rain, The Blenheim oranges Fall grubby from the trees, As when I was young— And when the lost one was here— And when the war began To turn young men to dung. Look at the old house, Outmoded, dignified, Dark and untenanted, With grass growing instead Of the footsteps of life, The friendliness, the strife; In its beds have lain Youth, love, age, and pain: I am something like that; Only I am not dead, Still breathing and interested In the house that is not dark:— I am something like that: Not one pane to reflect the sun, For the schoolboys to throw at— They have broken every one. |
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Jun 2020
8:35pm, 14 Jun 2020
49,813 posts
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Diogenes
Doh! Bloody trailing space
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Jun 2020
8:37pm, 14 Jun 2020
49,814 posts
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Diogenes
Gone, Gone Again By Edward Thomas Gone, gone again, May, June, July, And August gone, Again gone by, Not memorable Save that I saw them go, As past the empty quays The rivers flow. And now again, In the harvest rain, The Blenheim oranges Fall grubby from the trees, As when I was young— And when the lost one was here— And when the war began To turn young men to dung. Look at the old house, Outmoded, dignified, Dark and untenanted, With grass growing instead Of the footsteps of life, The friendliness, the strife; In its beds have lain Youth, love, age, and pain: I am something like that; Only I am not dead, Still breathing and interested In the house that is not dark:— I am something like that: Not one pane to reflect the sun, For the schoolboys to throw at— They have broken every one. |
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Jun 2020
9:44am, 28 Jun 2020
622 posts
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Peregrinator
Enjoying these: Samuel West and others reading a variety of poems during, though not all about, the pandemic. soundcloud.com |
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Oct 2020
10:31am, 9 Oct 2020
53,686 posts
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Diogenes
Rilke seems to crop up in a lot I have read lately... Day In Autumn translated by Mary Kinzie After the summer's yield, Lord, it is time to let your shadow lengthen on the sundials and in the pastures let the rough winds fly. As for the final fruits, coax them to roundness. Direct on them two days of warmer light to hale them golden toward their term, and harry the last few drops of sweetness through the wine. Whoever's homeless now, will build no shelter; who lives alone will live indefinitely so, waking up to read a little, draft long letters, and, along the city's avenues, fitfully wander, when the wild leaves loosen. |
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