Poems

1. Poems

2. Come, My Celia by Ben Jonson Come, my Celia, let us proveWhile we may, the sports of love;Time will not be ours forever;He at length our good will sever.Spend not then his gifts in vain.Suns that set may rise again;But if once we lose this light,'Tis with us perpetual night.Why should we defer our joys?Fame and rumor are but toys.Cannot we delude the eyesOf a few poor household spies,Or his easier ears beguile,So removed by our wile?'Tis no sin love's fruit to steal;But the sweet theft to reveal.To be taken, to be seen,These have crimes accounted been.

3. Song to Celia • Drink to me, only, with thine eyes, • And I will pledge with mine; • Or leave a kiss but in the cup, • And I’ll not look for wine. • The thirst, that from the soul doth rise, • Doth ask a drink divine: • But might I of Jove's Nectar sup, • I would not change for thine. • I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, • Not so much honoring thee, • As giving it a hope, that there • It could not withered be. • But thou thereon did'st only breath, • And sent'st it back to me: • Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, • Not of itself, but of thee.

4. Country Letter By John Clare Dear brother robin this comes from us allWith our kind love and could Gip write and allThough but a dog he'd have his love to spareFor still he knows and by your corner chairThe moment he comes in he lays him downAnd seems to fancy you are in the town.This leaves us well in health thank God for thatFor old acquaintance Sue has kept your hatWhich mother brushes ere she lays it byeAnd every Sunday goes upstairs to cryJane still is yours till you come back agenAnd ne’er so much as dances with the menAnd Ned the woodman every week comes inAnd asks about you kindly as our kinAnd he with this and goody Thompson sendsRemembrances with those of all our friends

5. Father with us sends love until he hearsAnd mother she has nothing but her tearsYet wishes you like us in health the sameAnd longs to see a letter with your nameSo loving brother don't forget to writeOld Gip lies on the hearth stone every nightMother can't bear to turn him out of doorsAnd never noises now of dirty floorsFather will laugh but lets her have her wayAnd Gip for kindness get a double paySo Robin write and let us quickly seeYou don't forget old friends no more than weNor let my mother have so much to blameTo go three journeys ere your letter came.

6. George Herbert (1593-1633) Easter Wings Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store, Though foolishly he lost the same, Decaying more and more, Till he became Most poor: With thee O let me rise As larks, harmoniously, And sing this day thy victories: Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

7. My tender age in sorrow did begin And still with sicknesses and shame. Thou didst so punish sin, That I became Most thin. With thee Let me combine, And feel thy victory: For, if I imp my wing on thine, Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

8. Assignment • Find some more information about metaphysical poetry and some more examples

9. The Metaphysical Poetry 17th century poetry which is characterized by the following features: • Lyric poetry • The use of wit • The association of sensibilities: thoughts and feelings • The use of far-fetched images. They bring the most heterogeneous ideas to a compare • The extensive use of the conceit. The conceit is an extended metaphor • The treatment of spiritual themes such as metaphysical love, faith and nature

10. The Sonnet: • The sonnet is a poem (lyric) of 14 lines. There are two types of sonnets: • The English (Shakespearean) sonnet • The Italian (Petrarchan) sonnet

11. The Shakespearean Sonnet: It is a poem of 14 lines that is formed of three quatrains and a couplet rhyming abab cdcd efef gg written in iambic pentameter . In the first quatrain, the poet presents the problem, develops it in the second quatrain and offers a resolution in the third. The couplet gives the main them of the poem. The division is, therefore, thematic and not only formal

12. The Petrarchan sonnet is a poem of 14 lines that is divided into an octet (8 lines rhyming abbaabba0 and a sestet (6 lines rhyming cdecde with some variations). • The division is also thematic. The poet introduces the problem and develops it in the Octet, and offers a resolution in the sestet

13. Shakespeare: Sonnet 18 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate:Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines,By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;But thy eternal summer shall not fadeNor lose possession of that fair thou owest;Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

14. On His Blindness by John Milton When I consider how my light is spentEre half my days in this dark world and wide,And that one talent which is death to hideLodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and presentMy true account, lest he returning chide,"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"I fondly ask. But Patience, to preventThat murmur, soon replies: "God doth not needEither man's work or his own gifts: who bestBear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His stateIs kingly; thousands at his bidding speedAnd post o'er land and ocean without rest:They also serve who only stand and wait."

15. Elizabeth Barrett Browning • How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

16. Claude McKay • If we must die, let it not be like hogsHunted and penned in an inglorious spot,While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,Making their mock at our accursed lot.If we must die, O let us nobly die,So that our precious blood may not be shedIn vain; then even the monsters we defyShall be constrained to honor us though dead!O, kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!What though before us lies the open grave?Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

17. Barbra Allen • In London City where I once did dwellThere’s where I got my learningI fell in love with a pretty young girlHer name was Barbra Allen • I courted her for seven long yearsShe said she would not have meThen straight way home as I could goAnd liken to a dying

18. I wrote her a letter on my death bedI wrote it slow and movingGo take this letter to my own true loveAnd tell her I am dying • She took the letter in her lily white handShe read it slow and movingGo take this letter back to himAnd tell him I am coming

19. As she passed by his dying bedShe saw his pale lips quiveringNo better no better I’ll ever beUntil I get Barbara Allen • As she passed by his dying bedYou’re very sick and almost dyingNo better no better you will ever beFor you can’t get Barbra Allen

20. As she went down the long stair stepsShe heard the death bell toningAnd every bell appeared to sayHard hearted Barbra Allen • As she went down the long piney walkShe heard some small birds singing,And every bird appeared to sayHard hearted Barbra Allen • She looked to the East and she looked to the WestShe saw the pale corpse coming"Go bring them pale corpse unto meAnd let me gaze upon them"

21. Oh mamma mamma go make my bedGo make it soft and narrowSweet William died today for meI’ll die for him tomorrow • They buried Sweet William in the old church yardThey buried Miss Barbra beside himAnd out of his grave there sprang a red roseAnd out of hers a briar

22. They grew to the top of the old church towerThey could not grow any higherThey hooked they tied in a true lovers knotRed rose around the briar

23. The ballad is also one type of the lyric. • The ballad is a story in verse. Ancient ballads were transferred from one generation to another. As they moved from one generation to another, they gained more information and ancient ballads tend to have more than one form. • The traditional, classical or popular ballad has been seen as originating with the wandering minstrels of late medieval Europe • Ballads generally narrate a sad or tragic event.

24. Literary or lyrical ballads grew out of an increasing interest in the ballad form among social elites and intellectuals, particularly in the Romantic movement from the later 18th century

25. Archibald MacLeish "Ars Poetica" (1926) • A poem should be palpable and muteAs a globed fruit, DumbAs old medallions to the thumb, Silent as the sleeve-worn stoneOf casement ledges where the moss has grown -- Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,Memory by memory the mind --

26. A poem should be wordlessAs the flight of birds.                    * A poem should be motionless in timeAs the moon climbs, Leaving, as the moon releasesTwig by twig the night-entangled trees,

27. A poem should be motionless in timeAs the moon climbs.                    * A poem should be equal toNot true. For all the history of griefAn empty doorway and a maple leaf.

28. For loveThe leaning grasses and two lights above the sea -A poem should not meanBut be.

29. Dead End By Ahmed Shamlu A Persian poet, writer, and journalist They sniff at your breath in case you have uttered a word of love; they sniff at your heart: These are strange times, my precious.

30. And love itself is whipped and hanged at a public crossroads: better to hide your love in a cellar.

31. In the twists and turns of this cold dead-end they keep their fires alight fuelled with songs and poems; don't try to think: these are strange times, my precious.

32. He who knocks on the door at nightfall, has come to destroy your light: Better to hide your light in a cellar.

33. Look, these are the butchers guarding the roads, their axes dipped in blood: these are strange times, my precious.

34. Smiles are sealed onto lips, songs are stuffed into gaping mouths: better to hide your joy in a cellar.

35. Canaries are barbecued on the wood-fires of lily and jasmine: these are strange times, my precious.

36. Lucifer, crazed with victory, feasts on the fruits of our mourning: better to hide your God, in a cellar.

37. Modern poetry is unrhymed and free from the restrictions of the meter. Modern poets • use the image as a controlling device • hint at the subject without giving details (precision) • use symbolism and myth extensively. • Modern poetry introduced new themes that responded to 2oth century realities • The beginning of modern poetry is signaled by the publication of Poetry: Magazine of Verse by Harriet Monroe

38. Ozymandias • by Percy Bysshe Shelley • I met a traveler from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. 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!” Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.

39. T. S. Eliot: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (1919)

40. Let us go then, you and I,When the evening is spread out against the skyLike a patient etherized (2) upon a table;Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,The muttering retreatsOf restless nights in one-night cheap hotelsAnd sawdust (3) restaurants with oyster-shells:Streets that follow like a tedious argumentOf insidious intentTo lead you to an overwhelming question . . .Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"Let us go and make our visit.

41. In the room the women come and goTalking of Michelangelo. (4)

42. The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panesLicked its tongue into the corners of the evening,Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,And seeing that it was a soft October night,Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

43. And indeed there will be timeFor the yellow smoke that slides along the street,Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;There will be time, there will be timeTo prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;There will be time to murder and create,And time for all the works and days of handsThat lift and drop a question on your plate;Time for you and time for me,And time yet for a hundred indecisions,And for a hundred visions and revisions,Before the taking of a toast and tea

44. In the room the women come and goTalking of Michelangelo.