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OT: Poetry you (s)Wear by?

ManidipaM

Veteran

(Not sure if the Book Club category is the right place for this, but seemed best related. Apologies if inappropriate, and do please let me know if so?)

It's World Poetry Day! Serious, sentimental, socially conscious business! But what about a fashion/style-statement rhyme? Do you have a favourite?

Here's mine, a very popular (almost ready to be decried by some as populist) yet always pertinent piece:

Warning
by Jenny Joseph

***
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
***

And here's the first I ever read that spoke of dressing up and touched the heartstrings --- a little overly sentimental (I'm not a fan of the Romantics) and certainly quite politically incorrect in our own time, though not all that old; but fascinating for the associations that a piece of 'fashion' can have as iconic of lifestyle and self-representation:

The Bangle Sellers
By Sarojini Naidu

***
Bangle sellers are we who bear
Our shining loads to the temple fair...
Who will buy these delicate, bright
Rainbow-tinted circles of light?
Lustrous tokens of radiant lives,
For happy daughters and happy wives.

Some are meet for a maiden's wrist,
Silver and blue as the mountain mist,
Some are flushed like the buds that dream
On the tranquil brow of a woodland stream,
Some are aglow wth the bloom that cleaves
To the limpid glory of new-born leaves

Some are like fields of sunlit corn,
Meet for a bride on her bridal morn,
Some like the flame of her marriage fire,
Or rich with the hue of her heart's desire,
Tinkling, luminous, tender, and clear,
Like her bridal laughter and bridal tear.

Some are purple and gold-flecked grey
For she who has journeyed through life midway,
Whose hands have cherished, whose love has blest,
And cradled fair sons on her faithful breast,
And serves her household in fruitful pride,
And worships the gods at her husband's side.
***

What about you ladies --- do you have a favourite style anthem? Or one that resonated at another life-stage?

Book Club

35 replies

Latest reply was from Michelle

rute

Veteran

Lovely!

Vildy

Veteran

This is my favorite poem, kept as a yellowed newspaper clipping over a quarter of a century old.

Grace
(A pantoum)

Crunch the dead years in your jaws,
Gulp your grief like bitter beer,
Devour the vulture, beak and claws:
Make a meal of your despair.

Gulp your grief like bitter beer,
Dine on pain, savor the thorn,
Make a meal of your despair,
Wish that you had not been born.

Dine on pain, savor the thorn,
Cactus prickles in your throat.
Wish that you had not been born.
Titanic, drink an iceberg float.

Cactus prickles in your throat.
Water saves, yet water kills -
Titanic drink an iceberg float
Say grace: all is as God wills.

Water saves, yet water kills,
Smile and swallow, live or die.
Say grace: all is as God wills.
Only onions make us cry.

Smile and swallow, live or die.
Mushrooms? Toadstools? Take your choice.
Only onions make us cry.
Life seems good when we rejoice.

Mushrooms? Toadstools? Take your choice,
Greet your banquet with applause.
Life seems good when we rejoice:
Crunch the dead years in your jaws. - Sondra Armer

You can see here an oversensitivity, a bravado, a decision not to live in the past and to find joy every day.

ManidipaM

Veteran

That is so evocative, Vildy! And such a complex pattern to it --- much food for thought, no pun intended!

Laurinda

Veteran

A local bookstore was handing out copies of this poem just as I was finishing my Ph.D.
I took it as a sign
______________

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

***

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

lyn*

(website)

Veteran

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
(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 is 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.

ManidipaM

Veteran

Lyn, I've always been stirred by the sense of foreboding Frost brings to those 'lovely' woods, right alongside the longing. Used to be one of my favourites too!

Laurinda, that is so powerful! Such a stunning opener: 'You do not have to be good.' I hadn't read this before, so thank you so much for sharing!

And I've got yet another one (not a fashion-related one this time)! A friend of mine from a different forum sent me this:

The Word
By Tony Hoagland

***
Down near the bottom
of the crossed-out list
of things you have to do today,

between “green thread”
and “broccoli” you find
that you have penciled “sunlight.”

Resting on the page, the word
is as beautiful, it touches you
as if you had a friend

and sunlight were a present
he had sent you from some place distant
as this morning—to cheer you up,

and to remind you that,
among your duties, pleasure
is a thing,

that also needs accomplishing
Do you remember?
that time and light are kinds

of love, and love
is no less practical
than a coffee grinder

or a safe spare tire?
Tomorrow you may be utterly
without a clue

but today you get a telegram,
from the heart in exile
proclaiming that the kingdom

still exists,
the king and queen alive,
still speaking to their children,

—to any one among them
who can find the time,
to sit out in the sun and listen.

***

A very apt reminder for me today, because I was a little scattered and overwhelmed this morning

jayne

Veteran

What a great thread! thanks for starting it

Laurinda

Veteran

What a wonderful thread to celebrate poetry day!

(I'm hoping some of the evening posters might want to add a verse

Angie

(website)

Fashion Stylist

Manidipa, YOU are a poet

Sunita

Veteran

This one is quite somber, but it really pulls at me and won't let go...

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone

W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

ManidipaM

Veteran

Sunita, high five! I LOVE that poem so much!

Angie: Ha, ha, I wonder if *that* can be worked into my (MIA) style direction!

christieanne

Veteran

The Forms of Love but George Oppen

Parked in the fields
All night
So many years ago,
We saw
A lake beside us
When the moon rose.
I remember

Leaving that ancient car
Together. I remember
Standing in the white grass
Beside it. We groped
Our way together
Downhill in the bright
Incredible light

Beginning to wonder
Whether it could be lake
Or fog
We saw, our heads
Ringing under the stars we walked
To where it would have wet our feet
Had it been water

(My other favorite is Wallace Stevens - 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird)

ManidipaM

Veteran

Christie Anne, that is so beautiful! Thank you. I hadn't read Oppen before, so now I have a new poet to look up

And a high-five on the Wallace Stevens too. Love!

Diana

Veteran

A little late, but here is one of my favorites:

LOVE
—Miroslav Holub

Two thousand cigarettes.
A hundred miles
from wall to wall.
An eternity and a half of vigils
blanker than snow.

Tons of words
old as the tracks
of a platypus in the sand.

A hundred books we didn't write.
A hundred pyramids we didn't build.

Sweepings.
Dust.

Bitter
as the beginning of the world.

Believe me when I say
it was beautiful.

ManidipaM

Veteran

"Believe me when I say
it was beautiful."

Diana, I do. It is. So stirring.

anne

Veteran

As a mum I read lost of nursery rhymes and here are 2 fragments (one I was reading this morning in DD's classroom) that appeal to me from the point of view of how they sound, rather than the meaning
Little boy blue come blow your horn
the sheeps in the meadow the cows in the corn

and
Over in the meadow
In the sand in the sun, lived an
Old mother turtle and her
Little turtle one.
"Dig," said the mother,
"I dig," said the one, and they
Dug all day in the sand in the sun.

Both of them seem so evocative of enjoying of the sunshine

love reading the thread and those you have posted

Fruitful

Veteran

Enjoying all the poems, thankyou Manidipa <3

And I'm going crazy now because I recently heard the last verse of the Auden poem somewhere and I didn't then realise it was a quote. Wracking my brains...

anne

Veteran

It was in the funeral scene in Four weddings and a funeral - but I think they read the whole poem then.

Fruitful

Veteran

Anne, thanks, it wasn't there I heard it - I'm still trying to figure it out! ^_^

May there always be sun
May there always be sky
May there always be mama
May there always be I.

Inge

(website)

I think the Book Club category is the perfect spot for this, Manidipa. And thanks for starting this thread in honour of World Poetry Day, love it!

I'm really loving a few poems by Belgian writer Dimitri Verhulst. They're in Dutch though, so I'll share a lovely initiative instead: for a number of years several Belgian cities used to do a "poetry walking tour". Poems by renowned and beginning writers were integrated into the city landscape (often near museums, statues and other tourist attractions). Each year had a different theme, and you could stroll around the city reading all the poems at leisure.

Fruitful

Veteran

Inge, what a wonderful thing for a city to do!

ManidipaM

Veteran

Inge, what a brilliant, brilliant idea for cultural tourism! Whyever did they stop?? So very beautiful.

Michelle

(website)

Veteran

I love this thread to bits, manadipa! It gave me a chance to read some wonderful verses here, some of which are new and some old friends. It also got me lost in the wonderful world of Louis MacNeice, whose work I just adore. I had such a hard time picking one to include on this thread, but finally settled on this one:

The Sunlight on the Garden

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold;
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.

ManidipaM

Veteran

Michelle, that is SO beautifully poignant. Thanks for sharing!

Meredith1953

Veteran

One of my favorite poems is "Warning to Children" by Robert Graves.

Children, if you dare to think
Of the greatness, rareness, muchness
Fewness of this precious only
Endless world in which you say
You live, you think of things like this:
Blocks of slate enclosing dappled
Red and green, enclosing tawny
Yellow nets, enclosing white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where a neat brown paper parcel
Tempts you to untie the string.
In the parcel a small island,
On the island a large tree,
On the tree a husky fruit.
Strip the husk and pare the rind off:
In the kernel you will see
Blocks of slate enclosed by dappled
Red and green, enclosed by tawny
Yellow nets, enclosed by white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where the same brown paper parcel -
Children, leave the string alone!
For who dares undo the parcel
Finds himself at once inside it,
On the island, in the fruit,
Blocks of slate about his head,
Finds himself enclosed by dappled
Green and red, enclosed by yellow
Tawny nets, enclosed by black
And white acres of dominoes,
With the same brown paper parcel
Still untied upon his knee.
And, if he then should dare to think
Of the fewness, muchness, rareness,
Greatness of this endless only
Precious world in which he says
he lives - he then unties the string

Meredith1953

Veteran

@Sunita,
I always think of the same poem by Auden you quoted when my father died 10 years ago. It is lovely.

Michelle

(website)

Veteran

I remember reading somewhere once that the Auden poem, which is called Funeral Blues, was written as a satire to send up obituaries of the time. It's so hard to believe, since it's so beautiful and feels so heart-felt. Anyone who hasn't seen Four Weddings and a Funeral should do so just for the scene involving this poem.

ManidipaM

Veteran

Indeed, the original five-verse version of 'Funeral Blues', first written in 1936, was part of a verse play that Auden wrote with Christopher Isherwood. It was intended as a parody of the excesses of public mourning for a statesman (imagine a modern poet satirizing the outpouring of grief at Princess Diana's death --- really hits home, doesn't it?).

However, he then went on to change the last three verses, and the final four-verse poem here is actually seriously intended as a lover's lament. Yet I've often wondered if the reading of it in Four Weddings isn't intended by the character --- quite a maverick himself --- to be initially ironic and therefore all the more poignant because heartfelt. (Sorry, I'm expressing this very badly --- but I mean to say there is, I suspect, an acknowledgement of the exaggeration and wit the first two verses embody, and the transcendence to genuine emotion, because we have also been shown very playful personas and a lightheartedness to the characters' relationship).

[AND so... we're dissecting poetry on YLF! Gotta love the richness of this forum!]

bella

(website)

Veteran

This is a great and I am late to the party. But I want to chime in.

It was great to hear about the original story of the Auden poem, thanks for the info. I think it is a beautiful poem and 4 weddings and a funeral is one of my favorite romantic comedies - intelligent writing and great acting. I love the funeral scene.

My favorite english poem is "If" by Rudyard Kipling:

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 breathe 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)

I find poetry the art form that is the most intertwined with the language, hence reading translated poetry immensely difficult. what are your thoughts on that?

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