tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post7975324707238552280..comments2024-03-23T20:37:37.891-07:00Comments on First Known When Lost: At RestStephen Pentzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-80541008970523823702015-02-13T20:29:57.370-08:002015-02-13T20:29:57.370-08:00Mr Floyd: As always, your selection of a poem by D...Mr Floyd: As always, your selection of a poem by Dickinson is right on target. I agree that the poem fits well with the recent posts. But, more importantly, it is a wonderful poem that deserves our attention. "By separation's sorcery/Made cruelly more dear" and "We wish the ear had not a heart/So dangerously near" are particularly nice.<br /><br />Thank you very much for sharing the poem, and for visiting again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-16460219018266780842015-02-13T09:52:06.954-08:002015-02-13T09:52:06.954-08:00Here's a Dickinson poem that seems to gather u...Here's a Dickinson poem that seems to gather up the themes of your recent splendid posts and bundle them. It deals with birdsong, death, heartache. The last stanza is a wonderful piece of poetry--and how true, this paradox of our existence.<br /><br />The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,<br />The maddest noise that grows, --<br />The birds, they make it in the spring,<br />At night's delicious close.<br /><br />Between the March and April line <br />That magical frontier<br />Beyond which summer hesitates,<br />Almost too heavenly near.<br /><br />It makes us think of all the dead<br />That sauntered with us here,<br />By separation's sorcery<br />Made cruelly more dear.<br /><br />It makes us think of what we had,<br />And what we now deplore.<br />We almost wish those siren throats<br />Would go and sing no more.<br /><br />An ear can break a human heart<br />As quickly as a spear,<br />We wish the ear had not a heart<br />So dangerously near.<br />Bruce Floydnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-18581453724258902932015-02-13T08:40:28.000-08:002015-02-13T08:40:28.000-08:00Anonymous: Thank you very much for sharing your th...Anonymous: Thank you very much for sharing your thoughts on the subject at hand, and for providing the connection with Masters. Mackail's Selected Epigrams is wonderful. I didn't know that it was an influence on Masters.<br /><br />And thank you as well for "Amaryllis," which is new to me. It is lovely, and goes quite well here. I confess that I am one of those who has neglected Robinson's work (other than the standard anthology pieces, such as "Richard Cory" and "Miniver Cheevy"). This poem confirms that he, as you say, "deserves to be read."<br /><br />Thank you again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-1593117436026853792015-02-12T16:54:21.947-08:002015-02-12T16:54:21.947-08:00Edgar Lee Masters in his "Spoon River Antholo...Edgar Lee Masters in his "Spoon River Anthology." a volume hardly read these days, has virtually everyone buried in the cemetery speak, all of those "sleeping on the hill." Masters was influenced by J. W. Mackail's "Selected <br />Epigrams from the Greek Anthology."<br /><br />A poem that struck me deeply when I first read it years ago, when I was just a callow and unsifted lad taking up poetry, finding, to my surprise, that I had a powerful affinity for it, yes, a poem that stuck me then, one that still dreams itself into my memory, one that many years ago burrowed into my heart and took root there, is E.A. Robinson's sonnet "Amaryllis." A poem known to few, I'd wager.<br /><br />Robertson, sadly in my view, is not read so much as he was decades ago. He deserves to be read. "The price of heartaches" Frost called Robinson.<br /><br />I find his poem below captures the heartbreaking reality of life, encompassing love and death, and everything in between, containing those things that make us revel in life and those things that ravage our hearts. <br /><br />I find it a memorable "cemetery" poem, though only one person lies in it. <br /><br />I find it poignant that the poet, just out for a walk, can find his mind turned from progress and commerce--how unimportant they seem to him now--and find himself lonely and sad that a beautiful woman has grown old and died. <br /><br />His seeing the old man standing over the grave of his beloved Amaryllis, illustrates to the poet the human condition distilled down to its essence. Do we need to know more of what it's like to be a human being? Perhaps so, but the sonnet tells me all I can bear to know right now.<br /><br /><br />Once, when I wandered in the woods alone, <br />An old man tottered up to me and said, <br />“Come, friend, and see the grave that I have made <br />For Amaryllis.” There was in the tone <br />Of his complaint such quaver and such moan<br />That I took pity on him and obeyed, <br />And long stood looking where his hands had laid <br />An ancient woman, shrunk to skin and bone. <br /><br />Far out beyond the forest I could hear <br />The calling of loud progress, and the bold<br />Incessant scream of commerce ringing clear; <br />But though the trumpets of the world were glad, <br />It made me lonely and it made me sad <br />To think that Amaryllis had grown old.<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-30817610727709219792015-02-12T11:28:48.163-08:002015-02-12T11:28:48.163-08:00Bovey Belle: Thank you very much. I'm please...Bovey Belle: Thank you very much. I'm pleased you enjoyed the post.<br /><br />I wouldn't be surprised if you could find a copy of A Language Not To Be Betrayed in Hay-on-Wye. I highly recommend it. As you know, Edna Longley has done wonderful service on behalf of ET, and this was the first book to collect a number of his fugitive critical pieces. You are probably aware that Oxford University Press is in the midst of publishing several volumes of ET's prose. However, they are (as is usually the case with university presses) exorbitantly-priced.<br /><br />I too enjoy wandering through old graveyards. I think that I picked it up from my mother. On family trips out in the country in the Midwest and West when I was young she was always on the lookout for neglected cemeteries.<br /><br />It is always nice to hear from you. Thank you for visiting again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-72496291660043844942015-02-12T10:55:06.759-08:002015-02-12T10:55:06.759-08:00An interesting choice of poems, as always, and a l...An interesting choice of poems, as always, and a link to a wonderful post on ET which I was unaware of until today. I have added Edna Longley's "A language not to be betrayed" to my ET wish-list. You never know, I may just come across it in Hay-on-Wye or an affordable copy on Abebooks!! <br /><br />I've always enjoyed looking at gravestones, either with family history in mind, or just idly reading them. <br /><br />Thank you for making my brain work again!Bovey Bellehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13117332471600275100noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-3985890189478733012015-02-12T09:28:39.312-08:002015-02-12T09:28:39.312-08:00Ms. Greeley: Thank you very much for sharing Chris...Ms. Greeley: Thank you very much for sharing Christina Rossetti's "The Bourne." It goes perfectly here. The final three lines are wonderful.<br /><br />I should have thought to link to it in the post, since I posted it here back in June of 2013. As you know, Rossetti wrote a number of lovely poems along these lines. For instance, "Sleeping at Last," which concludes: "Under the purple thyme and the purple clover/Sleeping at last." Quite similar to "The Bourne," isn't it?<br /><br />Thank you again for sharing this. As always, thank you for stopping by.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-88582233223314684992015-02-12T01:49:21.839-08:002015-02-12T01:49:21.839-08:00Underneath the growing grass,
Underneath the livi...Underneath the growing grass, <br />Underneath the living flowers, <br />Deeper than the sound of showers: <br />There we shall not count the hours <br />By the shadows as they pass. <br /><br />Youth and health will be but vain, <br />Beauty reckoned of no worth: <br />There a very little girth <br />Can hold round what once the earth <br />Seemed too narrow to contain. Acornmoonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14982884920388966786noreply@blogger.com