The Lone Elm

Death and Life

Everytime someone near to me dies, I consider life and how I am
living.  My aunt passed away last weekend, and tomorrow I am going to
be with family for her funeral. I have one more direct blood relative in the
generation before me, which is cause for reflection.  Thanks to Old Poetry for
providing the opportunity to browse through a number of Walt Whitman poems!

Walt Whitman
On The Beach At Night, Alone

ON the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro, singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining—I think a thought of the clef of
         the universes, and of the future.

A VAST SIMILITUDE interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
         comets, asteroids,
All the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual upon the
         same,
All distances of place, however wide,
All distances of time—all inanimate forms,
All Souls—all living bodies, though they be ever so different, or in
         different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes—the fishes, the
         brutes,
                                           
All men and women—me also;
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages;
All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this globe, or any
         globe;
All lives and deaths—all of the past, present, future;
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd, and shall
         forever span them, and compactly hold them, and enclose them.

Winter Poetry

"Covering the land..."
by Paul Verlaine and translated by Norman R. Shapiro
One Hundred and One Poems by Paul Verlaine: A Bilingual Edition
Copyright 1999 by The University of Chicago

Covering the land—
Dismal, endless plain—
Blurring the terrain,
Snow haze gleams like sand.

Bronze the sky, with no
Glimmering of light:
Is the moon to grow
Dim, and die tonight?

In the woods, close by,
Billows the fog, cloaks
Gray the cloud-like oaks
Floating on the sky.

Bronze the sky, with no
Glimmering of light:
Is the moon to grow
Dim, and die tonight?

Scrawny wolves, and you,
Wheezing ravens, when
Winds blow sharp, what then?
What? What can you do?

Covering the land—
Dismal, endless plain—
Blurring the terrain,
Snow haze gleams like sand.

Thanks to Poems for a Long Winter's Night.

Fourth of July - a Red, White and Blue Day

The Bunny Rabbit has decorated her bike in red, white and blue and is heading off to the 4th of July parade in our town.  The weather is good, and we plan to enjoy hamburgers with all the fixings - mushrooms, tomatoes, blue cheese, lettuce and onions are demanded by various members of the family - and red, white and blue potatoes, and homemade ice cream.  So, I hope you enjoy your day too!

Fourth of July Night - Carl Sandburg

        The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky
        A white sky bomb fizzed on a black line.
        A rocket hissed it's red signature into the west.
        Now a shower of Chinese fire alphabets,
        A cry of flower pots broken in flames,
        A long curve to a purple spray, three violet balloons---
        Drips of seaweed tangled in gold, shimmering symbols of mixed numbers,
        Tremulous arrangements of cream gold folds of a bride's wedding gown---
        A few sky bombs spoke their pieces, then velvet dark.
        The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky.        

Spring Rain

After quite a dry spring, we are finally getting some rain today.  Here is a poem by Sara Teasdale, an American poet from the early twentieth century.

Spring Rain, by Sara Teasdale

I thought I had forgotten,
But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
In a rush of rain.

I remembered a darkened doorway
Where we stood while the storm swept by,
Thunder gripping the earth
And lightning scrawled on the sky.

The passing motor busses swayed,
For the street was a river of rain,
Lashed into little golden waves
In the lamp light's stain.

With the wild spring rain and thunder
My heart was wild and gay;
Your eyes said more to me that night
Than your lips would ever say. . . .

I thought I had forgotten,
But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
In a rush of rain.

Poetry for Spring

      Daffodils
      Williams Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills.
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a boy:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company;
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

New Year's Poetry Selection

Alfred Lord Tennyson's "Ring Out, Wild Bells" is often associated with New Year's, and many composers have set it to music.  It is a hymn and also arranged for handbells.  (Note however that this hymn does not use the Tennyson poetry.)  The most dramatic version of the poem I have heard is composed by Jonathan Dove, and is part of a group of poems set to music called "The Passing of the Year."  I have only been able to find one recording of this by the University of Alberta Madrigal singers on Arktos Recordings (200477).

Ring Out, Wild Bells
Alfred Lord Tennyson

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

 

Holiday Poetry by Wordsworth

THE MINSTRELS
by William Wordsworth

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,
The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings:
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;
So stout and hardy were the band
That scraped the chords with strenuous hand.

And who but listened?--till was paid
Respect to every inmate's claim,
The greeting given, the music played
In honour of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And "Merry Christmas" wished to all.

A Short Poetry Interlude

The newspapers this morning have all sorts of gloomy news.  Evidently, the fall leef peeper traffic in New England is way down, not just because of the rainy weather, but because the color is not up to its usual intensity. The Boston Globe actually has a map of the autumnal effects this year as compared to last. (Clike on "Drab Season" a bit down in the article for the map.)   This, and a slow apple season, is affecting the New England economy.  Finally, the rain continues.  Today, we have flood watches.  In any case, The Lone Elm is getting quite tired of all this!  So, how about a little poetry?

W.B. Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.