2.12

edna st.vincent millay was an american poet in the early 1900’s. i read her poetry while i was in college [well, that is the time when i read a lot of poetry] and i enjoyed her poetry. she also apparently wrote prose under the pseudonym nancy boyd, but i have not read any of her prose work. st.vincent millay had an unconventional [in those days] lifestyle and had an open marriage as well as relationships with both men and women. she died the year after her young lover met his death from lung cancer.

Ebb
I know what my heart is like
Since your love died:
It is like a hollow ledge
Holding a little pool
Left there by the tide,
A little tepid pool,
Drying inward from the edge.


First Fig
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

2.11

we had this poem in our class eleven english textbook i think. it reminds me of this depressingly true qawwali which i heard ages ago "chadhata sooraj dheere dheere dhalata hai, dhal jaayeeega..."

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

2.10

shel silverstein wrote this poem ‘sick’ and i love it more every time i read it. i actually had a cousin who’d claim that the whites of her eyes hurt – and this poem is pretty much along the same lines. i love the humour of “my tonsils are as big as rocks, i’ve counted sixteen chicken pox”. you cannot read this poem and not smile. and i thought it is rather appropriate for me as i start yet another monday morning

Sick
"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay,
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash, and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is---Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

-Shel Silverstein

2.9

charles bukowski was an american [german-american, to be precise] writer and poet whom i literally 'stumbled upon' on the worldwide web. according to the wiki on him, he has to his credit thousands of poems and dozens of short stories, as well as six novels. i have read nothing of his other than his poetry. i like it because it is stark, realistic and exceptionally minimalistic. most of his poetry that i have come across has a bleak, somewhat anti-social undercurrent.

Be Kind

we are always asked
to understand the other person's
viewpoint
no matter how
out-dated
foolish or
obnoxious.
one is asked
to view
their total error
their life-waste
with
kindliness,
especially if they are
aged.
but age is the total of
our doing.
they have aged
badly
because they have
lived
out of focus,
they have refused to
see.
not their fault?
whose fault?
mine?
I am asked to hide
my viewpoint
from them
for fear of their
fear.

age is no crime

but the shame
of a deliberately
wasted
life
among so many
deliberately
wasted
lives

is.

-Charles Bukowski

2.8

another one from noyes, but completely different in theme. in spite of that, the style remains the same - his words draw up a crystal clear picture of the events he describes. and this time, i also have some info about noyes as a poet.

alfred noyes [1880 -1958] was an english poet. his father, a grocer and a teacher, taught noyes latin and greek. noyes attended exeter college, oxford, but left before he earned a degree. at the age of twenty-one he published his first collection of poems, the loom years (1902). in 1922 he began an epic called the torch bearers, which was published in three volumes (watchers of the sky, 1922; the book of earth, 1925; and the last voyage, 1930). the book arose out of his visit to a telescope located at mount wilson, california and attempted to reconcile his views of science with religion. his wife died in 1926 and noyes turned increasingly to catholicism and religious themes in his later books, particularly the unknown god (1934) and if judgment comes (1941). during the world war ii, noyes lived in canada and america and was a strong advocate of the allied effort. in 1949, he returned to britain. as a result of increasing blindness, noyes dictated all of his subsequent work. [information courtesy : wikipedia.com]

Daddy Fell into the Pond - a poem

Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
And then there seemed to be nothing beyond,
Then
Daddy fell into the pond!
And everyone's face grew merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight.
"Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He's crawling out of the duckweed!" Click!
Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft,
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.
Oh, there wasn't a thing that didn't respond
When
Daddy Fell into the pond!

-Alfred Noyes

2.7

i used to read a children’s magazine called ‘target’ which is now, sadly, defunct. it was an excellent publication with content far superior and intelligent than any other generated in india, for children till date. my introduction to spike milligan happened thanks to this magazine. milligan [terence alan patrick seán milligan] was born in india in the days of the raj. he suffered from severe bipolar disorder through most of his life and still managed to write some of the most brilliant comedy ever, across media like poetry, theatre, radio and so on.

A Silly Poem

Said Hamlet to Ophelia,
I'll draw a sketch of thee,
What kind of pencil shall I use?
2B or not 2B?

-Spike Milligan

2.6

i read this poem when i was eighteen. i was already in the throes of [unrequited] love and naturally it spoke to my heart then; the love has long since been replaced by ‘my one true love’ yet the poem - i have never forgotten it since. rabindranath tagore was famous for far more serious works and his significant contributions to literature and education. but for me he will always be the man who refused the nobel prize and wrote these priceless lines.

I would ask for still more, if I had the sky with all its stars,
And the world with its endless riches;

But I would be content with
The smallest corner of this earth if only you were mine.

-Rabindranath Tagore