tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post2024917356764248147..comments2024-03-23T20:37:37.891-07:00Comments on First Known When Lost: Fireflies And StarsStephen Pentzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-66622870276585084912014-09-12T19:35:27.453-07:002014-09-12T19:35:27.453-07:00Andrew: Thank you very much for sharing this -- I ...Andrew: Thank you very much for sharing this -- I haven't read it before. Another poem for the firefly anthology! In addition, it ties in well with the passages from Ruskin since -- as you know -- Lee-Hamilton wrote Sonnets of the Wingless Hours while living in Florence (and suffering from the debilitating illness that left him bedridden for so many years). Thus, both he and Ruskin were writing about the fireflies of Tuscany!<br /><br />It's very nice to hear from you again. I hope all is well.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-56801793150657230752014-09-12T11:37:18.163-07:002014-09-12T11:37:18.163-07:00There is also a poem about fireflies in Eugene Lee...There is also a poem about fireflies in Eugene Lee-Hamilton's <i>Sonnets of the Wingless Hours</i>. I'm sure you've seen it before (I first discovered Lee-Hamilton on this blog), but others might be interested:<br /><br />Fireflies<br /><br />Now one by one the live winged sparks of night, <br /> Like souls allowed to wander as they please <br /> Through old loved haunts, go by between the trees <br />In silent zigzags of alternate light; <br /><br />And grow in number, bodiless and bright, <br /> So that the eye, too slow to count them, sees <br /> Nothing but fire all round; till by degrees <br />Quenched in the dawn, they vanish from the sight. <br /><br />And those more subtle sparks, which they recall,<br /> The countless souls with which regret and love <br />Once peopled Death's great night, are they quenched too ? <br /><br />Has Thought's strong dawn, which searches into all,<br /> Reached even them, unpeopling Heaven above,<br />To leave us nothing but the empty blue?Andrew Rickardhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18057559833226914090noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-62861315403594516632014-09-12T03:09:48.538-07:002014-09-12T03:09:48.538-07:00Tim W: very interesting! I had never noticed tha...Tim W: very interesting! I had never noticed that before. I'm not familiar with all of the commentary on "Adlestrop," but, from what I have seen, no one has pointed this out before. I agree with you that Thomas would have been familiar with Pound and Imagism, with their Japanese (and Chinese) influences.<br /><br />Whether it was intentional or not, it is a wonderful haiku, isn't it? I wouldn't put it past him.<br /><br />Thank you very much -- this is quite intriguing.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-91589460527370258762014-09-11T07:16:34.769-07:002014-09-11T07:16:34.769-07:00This could be my life's only noteworthy contri...This could be my life's only noteworthy contribution to Englissh poetry, lol.<br /><br />Looking at it again I am 100% certain it isn't there by chance but is carefully included. Partly because the fit of syllables and lines is perfect, partly because it is so central to the poem, but mainly because it is totally haiku in that it is a moment captured, a fleeting ability to live fully in the present - totally Zen you might say. Anyway:<br /><br />Someone cleared his throat.<br />No one left and no one came<br />On the bare platform<br /><br />What do you think?Stoweyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16492727145429298790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-52411488406128771752014-09-11T02:04:13.921-07:002014-09-11T02:04:13.921-07:00Tim W: this is news to me, so I would love to kno...Tim W: this is news to me, so I would love to know where this haiku may be found. As I pointed out in a prior post (October 27, 2011) on Thomas's "The Long Small Room," he remarked to Eleanor Farjeon that its final line ("The hundred last leaves stream upon the willow") had a "Japanesy [sic] suddenness of ending." So I am intrigued to hear of your discovery.<br /><br />Thank you very much for visiting again, and for your thoughts.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-41166458731803860482014-09-10T13:31:12.673-07:002014-09-10T13:31:12.673-07:00Hi Stephen,
There is a haiku hidden in Edward Tho...Hi Stephen,<br /><br />There is a haiku hidden in Edward Thomas. Only one that I know of and I don't know if I am the only one ever to have noticed it. I don't think it can be there by chance and I know Thomas knew something of Pound and so presumably something about Japanese poetry. I suppose he must have been experimenting in some way. Once you see it it stands out as obvious and you wonder how you never noticed. The poem will never be the same again for you if I tell you where it is. Do you want to know? Perhaps you already know?<br />Tim WStoweyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16492727145429298790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-51517226520673603092014-09-03T20:27:30.017-07:002014-09-03T20:27:30.017-07:00Susan: thank you very much for the poem by Elizab...Susan: thank you very much for the poem by Elizabeth Madox Roberts. I now have one more poem to add to my firefly poem collection -- I suspected there were more of them out there. I wasn't aware of Under the Tree, my knowledge of her being limited solely to The Time of Man.<br /><br />It is always good to hear from you. Thank you for stopping by again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-37229495547888113862014-09-03T20:16:38.359-07:002014-09-03T20:16:38.359-07:00Anonymous: thank you very much for the kind words ...Anonymous: thank you very much for the kind words about the post, and for your observations on the feelings evoked by fireflies. I like your thought: "In the end all will be well." There is something comforting about seeing them, isn't there? Although I don't know why. Well, yes, beauty, of course . . . but something else too.<br /><br />But I suppose that this is one of the things Frank Ormsby is trying to get at in his lovely poem -- for which I thank you very much as well. I have posted two poems by him here previously, but "Fireflies" is new to me. It is a wonderful exploration of these wonderful creatures, isn't it? I need to explore his poetry further.<br /><br />Thank you again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-25010130951398343032014-09-03T19:11:08.835-07:002014-09-03T19:11:08.835-07:00From "Under the Tree" by Elizabeth Madox...From "Under the Tree" by Elizabeth Madox Roberts:<br /><br /> Firefly<br /> A Song<br /><br />A little light is going by,<br />Is going up to see the sky,<br />A little light with wings.<br /><br />I never could have thought of it,<br />To have a little bug all lit<br />And made to go on wings.<br />SusanAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-15570039406554615632014-09-03T09:49:42.808-07:002014-09-03T09:49:42.808-07:00Below is a poem titled "Fireflies' by Fra...Below is a poem titled "Fireflies' by Frank Ormsby. I read the poem in 2009, and, with poems I like, I filed it. When I saw your eloquent post this morning, I immediately thought of Ormsby's poem. <br /><br />I might add that I found the tone of your today's posting somehow serene, one of those beautiful tranquil moments when we imagine the universe giving us a nudge on the shoulder, as if to say, "In the end all will be well" Is this he message of the firefly in the moonlit garden--hope flickering, here then there and then gone?<br /><br />Fireflies <br />The lights come on and stay on under the trees.<br />Visibly a whole neighbourhood inhabits the dusk,<br />so punctual and in place it seems to deny<br />dark its dominion. Nothing will go astray,<br />the porchlamps promise. Sudden, as though a match<br />failed to ignite at the foot of the garden, the first squibs<br />trouble the eye. Impossible not to share<br />that sportive, abortive, clumsy, where-are-we-now<br />dalliance with night, such soothing restlessness.<br />What should we make of fireflies, their quick flare<br />of promise and disappointment, their throwaway style?<br />Our heads turn this way and that. We are loath to miss<br />such jauntiness in nature. Those fugitive selves,<br />winged and at random! Our flickery might-have-beens<br />come up from the woods to haunt us! Our yet-to-be<br />as tentative frolic! What do the fireflies say?<br />That loneliness made light of becomes at last<br />convivial singleness? That any antic spark<br />cruising the void might titillate creation?<br />And whether they spend themselves, or go to ground,<br />or drift with their lights out, they have left the gloom,<br />for as long as our eyes take to absorb such absence,<br />less than it seemed, as childless and deprived<br />as Chaos and Old Night. But ruffled too,<br />as though it unearthed some memory of light<br />from its long blackout, a hospitable core<br />fit home for fireflies, brushed by fireflies' wings.<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com