The Poem thread

[intet_at_tabe]

Intet

David Axton I didn't know, I like his poem so must look him up. Pam Ayres is very popular in the UK.


Thank you hawk, they were lovely.


Margaret

Like I said Ms. Margaret :tiphat:

I just fell over David Axton by accident. The English Pam Ayres is a very talented poet, that´s for sure. Here is her biography:


"PAM AYRES always wanted to be a writer. At school she shone brilliantly at English and Art, but was pretty useless at everything else. The youngest of a family of six children, Pam was born in Stanford-in-the-Vale, Berkshire, during the long cold winter of 1947. After leaving school Pam joined the civil service as a clerical assistant, a job in which she soon lost interest, and which prompted her to join the Women’s Royal Air Force. It was while Pam was in the WRAF that she developed her love of singing and acting, and slowly the wild idea emerged that she would like to be an “entertainer”.
On leaving the WRAF Pam set out to achieve her ambition. By this time her poems and verses had

become a hobby, written and performed for the local folk club in Oxfordshire, to where she had returned to live and work as a secretary. In 1974, a friend arranged for her to go to the local radio station, BBC Radio Oxford, to read one of her poems. Pam’s first broadcast for Radio Oxford, in 1974, was selected for BBC Radio 4’s Pick of the Week, and subsequently repeated on the 1974 Pick of the Year programme, by which time Radio Oxford had asked Pam to return and recite some more of her poems.
In 1975 Pam decided to audition for television’s Opportunity Knocks. Since then Pam has appeared on virtually every major TV show in the UK, has had her own TV series, and filmed Christmas TV Specials in Hong Kong and Canada. Other highlights include the BBC televising one of Pam’s solo stage shows, and her appearance on the Royal Variety Performance at the London Palladium in 1977, to celebrate HM The Queen’s Silver Jubilee. In October 1996, Pam performed part of her stage show at a Royal Gala Charity Reception at St. James’ Palace, attended by HM The Queen, and she entertained HM The Queen again, in the somewhat less august premises of the Sandringham WI in January 2004. Pam was thrilled to be awarded the MBE in the Queen’s Birthday Honours of 2004.
Pam Ayres’ book sales to date have exceeded 2½ million worldwide. September 2006 sees the publication of her latest book, PAM AYRES – SURGICALLY ENHANCED. Pam’s record, tape, & CD sales are in excess of half a million. 2006 also sees the release of a live DVD recording, Pam Ayres - In Her Own Words, and a new live CD recording, Pam Ayres – Ancient & Modern.
For the last ten years Pam has been a regular on BBC Radio. From 1996 until 1999 Pam presented a two-hour music and chat

show every Sunday afternoon for Radio 2, followed by two series of Pam Ayres’ Open Road, in which Pam visited various parts of the country from Skye in the North to Devon in the South meeting people with interesting stories to tell about their lives and the area where they lived. More recently Pam has become a regular contributor to Radio 4, on such programmes as Just A Minute, Say The Word, That Reminds Me, and two series of her own Ayres On The Air.
Pam Ayres performs her solo show in theatres throughout the UK, performing in excess of 50 concerts a year. She has taken her one-woman show to Ireland, the Middle East, Hong Kong, France, Kenya, Canada, New Zealand, and Australia. Pam returns to Australia for another extensive tour, including the Sydney Opera House, in October 2006.
Recently Pam was featured in a list of Britain’s 20 Funniest Women, and one of her poems, “I Wish I’d Looked After me Teeth”, was also voted into the Top Ten of a BBC poll to find the UK’s 100 Favourite Comic Poems, in which Pam was one of the few writers in the Top Ten who is still alive! In the UK Arts Council’s report on poetry, Rhyme and Reason (pub.Oct 2000), Pam was named as the fifth best-selling poet during the previous years 1998 & 1999, following Ted Hughes, Seamus Heaney, Carol Ann Duffy, and Sylvia Plath.
PAM AYRES is married to concert agent & theatre producer Dudley Russell, and they have two sons, William and James, aged 23 and 22. The family lives in the Cotswolds, where they keep rare breeds of cattle, together with some sheep, pigs, chickens, and guinea fowl, and where Pam is a keen (and knowledgeable) gardener and beekeeper.

“One of the fastest selling tickets at the Fringe, Pam Ayres’ appeal seems undiminished. Since her breakthrough appearance on TV’s Opportunity Knocks, the poet and broadcaster has been in showbusiness for more than 30 years. A bestseller and MBE, she continues to write and record, with a second series of Ayres On The Air broadcast on Radio 4 this year, and a third scheduled for 2007. These Fringe dates will be her debut appearance. “
Edinburgh Herald
“Pam Ayres has a quality of fun which glows ever more brightly as newer, lesser entertainers make their bid for stardom.”
The Scotsman
“Radio 4’s Just A Minute is, with the exception of Desert Island Discs, the most perfect programme for radio yet devised. Listen to PAM AYRES talking for a whole minute at midday today about her five-toed hen, without repetition, deviation or hesitation, and you will see that there is no reason it should not go on for another 38 years.”
Sunday Times
“Her humour, which verges on the black at times, is contagious and so original.”
The Telegraph
“Pam Ayres is a poet for the people. Her verse portrays a wicked sense of humour, and deals with subjects not normally thought to be worthy of poetry.”
Melbourne Herald Sun
“Pam Ayres, the bestselling poet, writes as rhapsodically about the Wonderbra as Wordsworth did about daffodils.”
The Guardian
“Forget the corny comedian: Pam Ayres is a proper poet, whose wistful, funny, and perceptive verse captures both the joy and unfairness of life.”
Sunday Times", unquote.

 

[marval]

Hi Intet

Thank you for that, I like her poems very much. I think to really appreciate them you need to hear her say them.


Margaret

 

[intet_at_tabe]

Ms. Margaret :tiphat::clap:

Please, let me know the next time she comes to Denmark :lol::lol::lol::lol:. Beautiful Lady as well.

 

[marval]

I will keep my ears open Intet


Margaret

 

[intet_at_tabe]

Here is another Pam Ayres poem.

Clive the fearless birdman was convinced that he could fly.
At night he lay in bed and dreamed of soaring through the sky.
Of cruising through the clouds, of winging far out into space.
And he had a leather helmet and a beak stuck on his face.

quote]

Ms. Margaret :tiphat:

This one from you reminded me of an old American movie called "Birdy" (I think) about a guy, who is incarserated in a mental institution troubled by memories from his days in a war, who looks out the window every day, wishing he could just fly out the window like a bird - free. Thank you, a very beautiful poem, however with the expected sad ending.

Here´s a love poem about baseball:


"Casey at the Bat", by Ernest L. Thayer in 1888.


The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.
The rest cling to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that--
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn - hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped--
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one in the stand;
And it's likely they'd had killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville-- great Casey has struck out.


I have never read a baseball love poem in my life, we don´t have much baseball in Denmark, though the Americans call it The World Series, but it´s actually quite good for a poem, with rhimes and everything accordingly to a poem, and I enjoyed the story told in the poem. One call feel the sound of thousands of audience yelling "Fraud!". Like in Denmark during soccer matches, there are always 43.000 better knowing individuals at the benches around the soccer field.

 

[marval]

Hi Intet

I like it, it is very good.


Margaret

 

[marval]

O tell me the truth about love


By WH Auden​

Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

 

[intet_at_tabe]

O tell me the truth about love​

By WH Auden


Ms. Margaret :tiphat:

A bit more difficult to read and understand for me, also he changes the lines in the verses when using the rhimes, but AWESOME poetry. I figured after reading it three times, I would do a search on him, perhaps a guy with a great biography, and Oh yes! I must say. But of course my interest in him as a poet increased, while I read this biography below, where my good pal William Blake is mentioned as well as severel other more known names like Thomsa Hardy and Emily Dickenson and Yeats. Well here it is:

Biography on the English poet W. H. Auden:

Wystan Hugh Auden was born in York, England, in 1907. He moved to Birmingham during childhood and was educated at Christ Church, Oxford. As a young man he was influenced by the poetry of Thomas Hardy and Robert Frost, as well as William Blake, Emily Dickinson, Gerard Manley Hopkins, and Old English verse. At Oxford his precocity as a poet was immediately apparent, and he formed lifelong friendships with two fellow writers, Stephen Spender and Christopher Isherwood.
In 1928, his collection Poems was privately printed, but it wasn't until 1930, when another collection titled Poems (though its contents were different) was published, that Auden was established as the leading voice of a new generation.
Ever since, he has been admired for his unsurpassed technical virtuosity and an ability to write poems in nearly every imaginable verse form; the incorporation in his work of popular culture, current events, and vernacular speech; and also for the vast range of his intellect, which drew easily from an extraordinary variety of literatures, art forms, social and political theories, and scientific and technical information. He had a remarkable wit, and often mimicked the writing styles of other poets such as Dickinson, W. B. Yeats, and Henry James. His poetry frequently recounts, literally or metaphorically, a journey or quest, and his travels provided rich material for his verse.
He visited Germany, Iceland, and China, served in the Spanish Civil war, and in 1939 moved to the United States, where he met his lover, Chester Kallman, and became an American citizen. His own beliefs changed radically between his youthful career in England, when he was an ardent advocate of socialism and Freudian psychoanalysis, and his later phase in America, when his central preoccupation became Christianity and the theology of modern Protestant theologians. A prolific writer, Auden was also a noted playwright, librettist, editor, and essayist. Generally considered the greatest English poet of the twentieth century, his work has exerted a major influence on succeeding generations of poets on both sides of the Atlantic.
W. H. Auden was a Chancellor of The Academy of American Poets from 1954 to 1973, and divided most of the second half of his life between residences in New York City and Austria. He died in Vienna in 1973.", the end.

Certainly a guy with many foreign experiences behind him. Tell me was he gay? It says above, he met his lover Chester Kallman in the US. Chester to me is a male name, like the English drummer Chester Thompson.

It does not matter, but if he was it must have given im some troubles according to Christianity and the society around him. Perhaps this is why he was so straight forward in his writing, though more difficult to read and comprehend. But his writing poetry no one can laugh at. It´s AWESOME, when reading these poems and realise how greatly one can orchestrate ones language. This one about love everywhere.... on the back of a train...

Thank you Ms. Margaret


Leda and the Swan
by W. B. Yeats


A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

 

[marval]

That is very interesting Intet, you do look a lot of things up, which is good.

I like the W B Yeats

I am sorry the Auden poem was difficult for you.


Margaret

 

[marval]

[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]A faithful dog will play with you[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]and laugh with you-or-cry.[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]He'll gladly starve to stay with you, [/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]nor ever reason why,[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]And when you're feeling out of sorts[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]somehow he'll understand.[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]He'll watch you with his shining eyes[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]and try to lick your hand.[/FONT]​

[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]His blind, implicit faith in you[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]is matched by his great love-[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]The kind that all of us should have[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]in the master, up above.[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]When everything is said and done[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]I guess this isn't odd[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]For when you spell "dog" backwards[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]You get the name of God.[/FONT]​

[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]Author Unknown[/FONT]​

 

[Contratrombone64]

Margaret - that's very touching, you know.

There is a wonderful brass statue of one of our early explorers in the city, behind the statue is a brass statue of his cat. The cat is looking up longingly at his master, there's a very sad story behind the poor feline and being separated from his master. I'll try and take a photo of it and get the story right and post it here. You'll love it. Makes me weep when I see the expression on the cat's face ...

 

[marval]

Hi CT

Pets are very loving creatures, especially cats and dogs.

Sometimes when a person dies, the dog will not leave their side no matter how hard people try to coax them away.

I would like to see that photo and hear the story.


Margaret

 

[intet_at_tabe]

Ms. Margaret :tiphat:

I found your poem - anonymous at Mercedes´s. Don´t be sorry, that I found the poem by Auden strange and difficult. The only way we all can learn, is to deal with what is difficult the first time, study it, reasearch it and ask questions, so we the next time are better informed and prepared.

Here´s one short poem by Robert Frost:


Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

 

[intet_at_tabe]

Hi CT

Pets are very loving creatures, especially cats and dogs.

Sometimes when a person dies, the dog will not leave their side no matter how hard people try to coax them away.

I would like to see that photo and hear the story.


Margaret

Ms. Margaret :tiphat:

Excactly like two people, who have been married for 40-50-60 years and have had a tight loving relationship depending 100 on one another. One of them suddenly passing away, and the other who has been left alone shortly after with no visible physical reason passes away, but simply because of the loss of the other person in the marriage in every day life. It happens.

When our Sibirian Husky passed away, the two other dogs did not eat, did not want to take a long walk in the forest, did not want to play and fetch a stick or a small ball thrown in our garden, excactly like you said, they stayed apathicly for days. Like it was very emotional difficult for the entire family. We get attached to our pets, like we do to our children or a very close friend, you would do anything for to help out.

Pets always (with cats and dogs, not Anacondas I would assume) welcome us when we come home, like we were the Queen of Sheeba. They are loyal to the extreme, and we love them because they are always happy and they make us feel happy, comfortable and not lonely in the world.

 

[marval]

Yes Intet

You are right pets are very loyal. Some people I knew had two siamese cats. When one of them died the other one refused to eat, and pined away. It died because it could not live without it's friend.


Margaret

 

[marval]

I Dreamed I Was Riding a Zebra


I dreamed I was riding a zebra
with curly pink hair on his head
and when I woke up in the morning
that zebra was there in my bed.

I rode into school on my zebra.
It caused all the teachers to scream.
But then I was slightly embarrassed
to find it was still just a dream.

I woke up again in my bedroom,
and saw with relief and a laugh
I don't have a pink-headed zebra.
I guess I'll just ride the giraffe.

Kenn Nesbitt

 

[methodistgirl]

Thank you Lord for creating this beautiful earth for us to live on.
Now the earth is hurting and I know that you hold it in the palm
of your hands. I see tears in your eyes because of what you see.
Please forgive us of what we do. I know that we do things that
you don't want us to do. I know that you are always with us.
You have blessed us with such beauty on this earth from the
tiniest flowers and creatures to the massive waterfalls. I thank
you for it.----Indian Prayer
judy tooley

 

[marval]

Hi Judy

That is a lovely prayer.


Margaret

 

[intet_at_tabe]

The poem "if":


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!


Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

 

[marval]

Hi Intet

I like that poem.


Margaret