Poet of the Week

[rangan_08]

Dear PR,

Great start Good to see people making their posts. SP, Crazy & Wibha - pls keep going.

As I told you, my knowledge about poems are very meagre....hence don't take my contributions seriously. But, I will always be there to encourage you guys and at the same time learn a lot from everyone. At times, if I come across a familiar poem / poet, will definitely share it with you all.

ALL THE VERY BEST.

[Shakthiprabha.]

Wibha,

Start of with who ever you want.

[Wibha]

As I told you, my knowledge about poems are very meager....hence don't take my contributions seriously.

same here.....

thanks PR and SP

i would like to start with Langston Hughes'

Mother to Son

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

[crazy]

VW, we had this poem in 5th (or maybe 6th) grade in india

[Wibha]

OOh..if you can remember can you pour your thoughts on it?

it'll be of great help

i'm very bad at poetry

[crazy]

cant remember ...of course like every other poem we had in our books ...we wrote an essay about it


go on coz u never knew what u will get

[Wibha]

hmmm yea

ll write later

[Shakthiprabha.]

Thats about him

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Langston_Hughes

[P_R]

While these one off-ers are interesting I suggest we present poems , poets we cherish a lot so that we can discuss in detail (why we like what we quote etc.) and introduce him/her to the rest of us.

[pavalamani pragasam]

I adore Shakespeare! Next, Shelley is my favourite- our Bharathi's English counterpart in rich, bold, fantastic imagination & usage of words. This is my favourite from Shelley for its sheer beauty of imagery, passion & pathos:


P. B. Shelley

Ode to the West Wind

O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being
Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes!-O thou
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill-
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere-
Destroyer and Preserver-hear, O hear!

Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning! they are spread
On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce Maenad, ev'n from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height-
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst-O hear!

Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear
And tremble and despoil themselves:-O hear!

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable!-if even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seem'd a vision,-I would ne'er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
O lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd
One too like thee—tameless, and swift, and proud.

Make me thy lyre, ev'n as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe,
Like wither'd leaves, to quicken a new birth;
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?