tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post2138193917979585896..comments2024-03-23T20:37:37.891-07:00Comments on First Known When Lost: Winter Into Spring, Part Four: "Winter In Spring"Stephen Pentzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-74096828891255679482013-02-20T12:24:07.495-08:002013-02-20T12:24:07.495-08:00Mr Rickard: Hah! I don't use one, but maybe ...Mr Rickard: Hah! I don't use one, but maybe I should. I suppose that I was channelling my inner Schopenhauer when I wrote that. (A very pale imitation of the original, of course.)<br /><br />Thanks very much for visiting again, and for the suggestion!Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-23694852771671060492013-02-20T12:20:15.309-08:002013-02-20T12:20:15.309-08:00Anonymous: thank you very much for the poem by Ro...Anonymous: thank you very much for the poem by Robinson, which I hadn't seen before. I have been meaning to read his poetry for years, but have never done so -- I am only familiar with the usual anthology pieces. I agree: this poem fits well with those of the English Nineties poets.<br /><br />It also sounds a little bit like a precursor of Frost's "An Old Man's Winter Night," doesn't it?<br /><br />Thank you again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-18987125757567484142013-02-20T05:20:01.352-08:002013-02-20T05:20:01.352-08:00"A little bit of dream-laden, death-haunted m..."A little bit of dream-laden, death-haunted melancholy is good for the soul from time to time."<br /><br />This would make an excellent sig block.Andrew Rickardhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18057559833226914090noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-81286904119164279572013-02-19T20:35:26.926-08:002013-02-19T20:35:26.926-08:00When we think of the melancholy poets of the 1890s...When we think of the melancholy poets of the 1890s, we tend to think of British poets, but America has its own dark, brooding poet of the 1890s: E.A. Robinson (1869-1935). He'd write poetry until he died. Frost called Robinson "The Prince of Heartachers." Here is a poem Robinson wrote in the 1890s:<br /><br />The Pity of the Leaves<br /><br />Vengeful across the cold November moors, <br />Loud with ancestral shame there came the bleak <br />Sad wind that shrieked, and answered with a shriek, <br />Reverberant through lonely corridors. <br />The old man heard it; and he heard, perforce,<br />Words out of lips that were no more to speak— <br />Words of the past that shook the old man’s cheek <br />Like dead, remembered footsteps on old floors. <br /><br />And then there were the leaves that plagued him so! <br />The brown, thin leaves that on the stones outside<br />Skipped with a freezing whisper. Now and then <br />They stopped, and stayed there—just to let him know <br />How dead they were; but if the old man cried, <br />They fluttered off like withered souls of men. <br /><br /><br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-59861351380278797122013-02-19T20:08:43.921-08:002013-02-19T20:08:43.921-08:00anj: I'm happy to hear from you again.
That&#...anj: I'm happy to hear from you again.<br /><br />That's a lovely way of putting it. The seasons do have a way of transforming us, don't they? And you are right: we have to be receptive to them in order for that to occur.<br /><br />As always, thank you very much for your thoughts.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-30675303069792532382013-02-19T09:22:14.680-08:002013-02-19T09:22:14.680-08:00I greatly enjoyed Symons' first, where he wond...I greatly enjoyed Symons' first, where he wonders where he carries winter within. it's important to keep one's senses fresh and be able to greet the seasons with renewed joy, isn't it? <br /><br />to allow one's sensibilities to atrophy so that one takes nature's ways for granted, is death in life.<br /><br />thank you for sharing this poem.Anjali Krishnahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05167813684323077202noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-57117756258388412502013-02-19T08:46:40.222-08:002013-02-19T08:46:40.222-08:00Mr. Holt-Wilson: I'll take that as a sign that...Mr. Holt-Wilson: I'll take that as a sign that you enjoyed the post (I think). Thank you for stopping by.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-84249082974132450542013-02-19T08:42:58.074-08:002013-02-19T08:42:58.074-08:00Shelley: yes, I agree, especially coming after &qu...Shelley: yes, I agree, especially coming after "Quieted into rest." Thank you for visiting again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-56482149572375897922013-02-19T05:11:16.886-08:002013-02-19T05:11:16.886-08:00:-):-)Tim Holt-Wilsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13679512754779338962noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-1244178212610458992013-02-18T09:55:18.031-08:002013-02-18T09:55:18.031-08:00"The torn boughs heal."
Nice."The torn boughs heal."<br /><br />Nice.Shelleyhttp://dustbowlstory.wordpress.comnoreply@blogger.com