Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Yoink]

No it isn't, silly.


Anyway, I've been reading Titus Groan by an author called Mervyn Peake and it has some (in my opinion) lovely bits of poetry throughout.
I might post some of them in here, but in spoilers lest they spoil parts of the book for people. I definitely recommend it, so far at least!   

[Urist Mc Dwarf]

What is it about?

[Tomasque]

 I first heard this as a song on the "Space Heroes and Other Fools" cassette/playlist, but when I looked up the lyrics, I found out it was originally a poem! Here is "Hymn of the Breaking Strain," by Rudyard Kipling:

The careful text-books measure
(Let all who build beware!)
The load, the shock, the pressure
Material can bear.
So, when the buckled girder
Lets down the grinding span,
'The blame of loss, or murder,
Is laid upon the man.
Not on the Stuff - the Man!

But in our daily dealing
With stone and steel, we find
The Gods have no such feeling
Of justice toward mankind.
To no set gauge they make us-
For no laid course prepare-
And presently o'ertake us
With loads we cannot bear:
Too merciless to bear.

The prudent text-books give it
In tables at the end
'The stress that shears a rivet
Or makes a tie-bar bend-
'What traffic wrecks macadam-
What concrete should endure-
but we, poor Sons of Adam
Have no such literature,
To warn us or make sure!

We hold all Earth to plunder -
All Time and Space as well-
Too wonder-stale to wonder
At each new miracle;
Till, in the mid-illusion
Of Godhead 'neath our hand,
Falls multiple confusion
On all we did or planned-
The mighty works we planned.

We only of Creation
(0h, luckier bridge and rail)
Abide the twin damnation-
To fail and know we fail.
Yet we - by which sole token
We know we once were Gods-
Take shame in being broken
However great the odds-
The burden of the Odds.

Oh, veiled and secret Power
Whose paths we seek in vain,
Be with us in our hour
Of overthrow and pain;
That we - by which sure token
We know Thy ways are true -
In spite of being broken,
Because of being broken
May rise and build anew
Stand up and build anew.

[TD1]

I came to that poem through the same song, myself. The Sci-Fi singer Leslie Fish often uses Rudyard Kipling poems in her songs, for instance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8CkSw4hVog

Which uses the poem Cold Iron, by Rudyard Kipling:

Gold is for the mistress -- silver for the maid --
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.
"Good!" cried the Baron, sitting in his hall,
"But iron, cold iron, is the master of them all."

So he made rebellion against the King, his liege,
Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege.
"Nay," said the cannoneer on the castle wall,
"But iron, cold iron, shall be master of you all!"

Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong
When the cruel cannon-balls laid them all along.
He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall,
And iron, cold iron, was the master over all.

Yet his King spake kindly (ah how kind a lord!).
"What if I release thee now, and give thee back thy sword?"
"Nay!" said the Baron, "Mock not at my fall,
For iron, cold iron, is the master of men all."

"Tears are for the craven. Prayers are for the clown.
Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.
As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small,
For iron, cold iron, must be master of men all."

Yet his King made answer (few such Kings there be!).
"Here is bread and here is wine -- Now sit and sup with me.
Eat and drink in Mary's name, while I do recall
How iron, cold iron, can be master of men all!"

He took the wine and blessed it. He blessed and broke the bread.
With his own hands he served them, and presently he said:
"See! These hands they pierced with nails, outside my city wall,
Show iron, cold iron, to be master of men all!"

"Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong,
Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong.
I forgive thy treason -- I redeem thy fall --
For iron, cold iron, must be master of men all!"

"Crowns are for the valiant, sceptres for the bold!
Thrones and powers for the mighty men who dare to take and hold!"
"Nay!" said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,
"But iron, cold iron, is the master of men all!"

[Yoink]

Oh jeez / why am I wearing jeans with no knees / on days like these / when it's as cold as Hades / think I'm starting to freeze

What say ye, critics?! 'Tis my first published work of poetry!

[TD1]

I am afraid to say that in Kipling's presence it may fade in comparison.

[hops]

Fuck that, Kipling probably doesn't even wear jeans.

[Yoink]

Well, in order to contribute something actually good to the thread, here is a short-but-sweet poem from one of my current library books:

I Had A Dove

I had a dove and the sweet dove died;
And I have thought it died of grieving:
O, what could it grieve for? its feet were tied,
With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving.

Sweet little red feet, why should you die?
Why should you leave me, sweet bird, why?
You liv'd alone in the forest-tree,
Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me?
I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas,
Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?

-redacted-

[Yoink]

I'd not meant to kill the thread
With that last, foolish post of mine,
But 'tseems my clumsy rhymes have bled
It of its vim, and left it dying.

Perhaps it still can yet be saved,
By a bard of a truer sort:
And so I give to you, my friends,
Some John Donne from a book I bought.

The Broken Heart

He is starke mad, who ever sayes,
  That he hath beene in love an houre,
Yet not that love so soone decayes,
  But that it can tenne in lesse space devour;
Who will beleeve mee, if I sweare
That I have had the plague a yeare?
  Who would not laugh at mee, if I should say,
  I saw a flaske of powder burne a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
  If once into love's hands it come!
All other griefes allow a part
  To other griefes, and aske themselves but some;
They come to us, but us Love draws,
Hee swallows us, and never chawes:
  By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks doe dye,
  He is the tyran Pike, our hearts the Frye.

If 'twere not so, what did become
  Of my heart, when I first saw thee?
I brought a heart into the roome,
  But from the roome, I carried none with mee:
If it had gone to thee, I know
Mine would have taught thine heart to show
  More pitty unto me: but Love, alas,
  At one first blow did shiver it as glasse.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
  Nor any place be empty quite,
Therefore I thinke my breast hath all
  Those peeces still, though they be not unite;
And now as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
  My ragges of heart can like, wish and adore,
  But after one such love, can love no more.

...Wow.
Reading a poem that good gives me such a thrill each time, like how I imagine an avid sports fan would feel upon seeing a member of their favourite team come triumph against all odds and claim a last-minute victory through some masterful display of skill.
This book of Donne was an impulse purchase when I was in an op-shop intending to buy something entirely unrelated; from the few poems I've properly read so far I am extremely glad I found it. Hooray for having no self-control when it comes to books!

[TD1]

I second that hurray!
Also, Donne is very good. Haven't read as much of him as I probably should, though.

[Yoink]

I am having a bad day.
On the plus side, though, some of this unhappiness has manifested itself in the form of a poem! I am unable to tell whether it is any good or not, however - right now everything seems terrible.

Spoiler: Written on a sheet of my employment agency's notepaper on the way home from the pointless tedium of my weekly appointment. (click to show/hide)

[Yoink]

-so I uhhh, posted in my sleep somehow, yeah let's go with that... whoops -

[TD1]

Did Yoink just yoink his poetry away?
I suppose none can say


------------------

In halls of gold and caverns great
An evil lurking, none can sate
The King is Crowned, and Arkenstone
Sits on its mighty, daunting throne.

The heir has come to claim his own,
Of Durin's blood and Durin's bone,
And on his brow is wreathed a crown
And all have heard of his renown.

The humans grant him barge and shield,
The Elves put Spearmen to the field
And goblins, orcs, all things of night
Call curse on him 'neath Sauron's sight.

A sword he carries, know it well!
Its tale in blood the King shall tell
And falling with a fire behind
Save all his kin and racial kind.

See now the tomb in which he sleeps
While wolves the skies devour,
But none beneath the mountain weeps
For Thorin, and his finest hour!

-----

She came to me as were a dream
Of lilies on the stream,
And all about her shadow hair
Was cast, both dark and fair.
And there I lay, my heart full pierced
By grief unknown and sweet.

Her hand took hold of mine, and light
Was in my eyes, so bright
It took my breath away with joy -
What grief could this alloy!
But looking at her face, perceived
It was for death she grieved.

For in her aspect, fair and full
No darkness crept to dull
The shining brilliance of her skin
Nor cast on her a sin.
But I would grow, as all men do
From youth to age and death.

I took that hand and clasped it fast,
Like clutching moonbeams fleet
And, as a dreamer's wont to do
I kissed it, and knew true.
The stars would wither in the sky
But her... she'd never die.

Her tears would fall as waters warm,
Upon my tomb she'd mourn,
And all the rivers twixt us be
Perpetual as she.
I would have wept, had it not been
Her love about me were.

And so I laid on her a vow
That never would I break -
Her virtues many, I would love
But I would take death's glove
And wrap it 'round my fist
If she by me were kissed.

----

Yes, so someone has been reading Tolkien again.

[Tomasque]

I like that second one. What's it based on?

[TD1]

My most favouriteist Tolkien story.

Part of which artfully shown here in song form.