Poetry Lounge 2013
Poetry Lounge – share your favorite & most memorable poems
April Poetry Lounge globalizationicas.com
April is National Poetry Month and that’s because of an initiative by the Academy of American Poets beginning in 1996. As a group we want to use our opportunity of meeting in our POETRY LOUNGE to…
It is pouring hard rain .
I can not rest
I can not pretend I’m in a boat house
Water in the hopper
Is louder than the drops
Louder than the thunder
Louder than the wind
Before the sun died down
I could think that all those waters
Were almost small streams
Upon which some nylon bags with opaque transparency
I cannot envision them as sails.
Vigorous squeaks from the top floor
Do not indicate the act of love
They are cloths spinning in a washing machine
And now I am thinking aloud
I turned on the radio to stop hearing
Since you have decided to open this group for poems and poets, I thought to write a brief idea of what poem is, so we can all enjoy what will be posted here and sincerely, admire or constructively comment.!! Of course, there is a big different between writing poem and writing our thoughts or feelings.
Word Poetry, in the Greek language is “Poiesis” which means making of poetry as a form of literary art which requires aesthetic, rhythmic and qualities of language, such as phonaesthetics, symbolism, metaphor, syllables, timing, contrast, imagination, meter (Metrical feet), visual presentation, form and sound symbolism to evoke meanings and deep feelings, whether of a dynamic, dramatic or romantic story.
To have effective poem, a poet must uses metrical rhythm which involves precise arrangement of stresses or varied number of syllables into repeated patterns called “Feet” within a line to achieve musical incantatory effects. Also, the use of ambiguity, symbolism or irony atmosphere, as elements of poetic diction, will leave a poem open to wide and rich interpretations for the readers to be part of as individual and as a group.
In the end, poem is like a delicious meal for hungry person and attractive appetizing for none hungry ones, simply because it makes them live in it as part of. In this case, it will work well for us all beautifully and effectively. Bon appétit
Have you all a lovely weekend
Mona, thank you for this, but – can you define art? Can you define love? This is all very ivasive. The rigid definition of “what is” in any aspect of art – visual or musical or literal dissolved last century and became more open and vague, and many times culture related. With translation from one language to another you need to consider all these things you wrote about with all new ideas and remaining true to the initial character of the original language but still not only make some sense in the host language – but also keep the enigma or hint or metaphor or whatever makes a poem one.
Once a classical dancer, I know the need to create a firm basis in structure and form, but once the muscles and techniques become part of us, we soar to freer forms, as in modern dance, or in jazz or ethnic dance forms. This doesn’t define dance but gives it the ability to grow and change, adapt and fly with more and more “paradigms” being added.
Poetry today is both structured and free form. This gives those who might not have been schooled to still express their thoughts and emotions as heart-forms they call poems… and which can be read by the tutored or the ignorant with just as much joy.
I believe that art lovers – even if they are not artists, know about art, when i paint or do other things i don’t think about those who stand in front of a Barnet Newman masterpiece and say – my 5 years son can do better – ignorant audience is not my audience, and i am not a snob. As for the rest – strong foundation and everything else – i take every word Anais.XXX
Terry, I think all artists do what they do because they have to. That is my case. I cannot not paint or do collage or sculpture. Art lovers are those who can appreciate the works of others, some may be artists, some not, but if they truly love art they will express this love by their presence and sometimes, if they have the financial wherewithal, they may even purchase something that particularly speaks to them (a masterpiece or not!)
Good Morning Mona, Anais and Vered and all the members of Globalization ICAS who are following us today!!! I am pleased to see we are all enjoying our Sunday’s putting thoughts to our POeTRY LOUNGe thank you for all your comments. Let us all be guided of putting forward our entries to share with members live with our passion and the strong feeling that we sense deep in our hearts.., The poems we share will remain here and on our online website for the benefit of our current members and the future generation artists who will appreciate them more.., Each time we read our collection of poems their would also be a reminder to us all of our time together how we enjoyed the different experiences of being here, connected to that moment of time, that we’ll remain dear to us..,
o if I could request for our next entry to add to our list of April poems and continued our quest to go beyond..,
Enjoy the rest of your Sunday
vered terry • *
Across the street
Ladies and gentlemen
If you expand your pace
You can see how they heap up
To the right of them, yes
A bit south
There are scenes unfold modestly
If you walk moderately
You can listen to them
If you look down
You can see my house
Degrading stature proudly
With all this evil on its back.
If I could request each member to introduce their poem with reasons why its your favourite and most memorable that you would like to share with us.., would help everyone to enjoy them also!!!
Vered thank you I had made request to members simply as an introduction and perhaps a few word to add comments with your poem to share with members. I believe your long explanation has also helped. Our main purposes is to be selective with our range of poems that we share with members
Anaïs aka Harriette Laurent • Sunil, If we have to explain our poems with introductions I think it will kill the spontaneous nature of those who are sharing. For many it is quite private, but that doesn’t mean the readers can’t appreciate them. I for one would be tempted to stop contributing. It’s much the same for art work. For me, to have to explain it means we are guiding the public to think as we do, which is truly unfortunate.
Thank you for your comment Anais, as I said to Vered I request for an introduction with few words to the poem.., why you says it your favourite not an explanation about the poem that Vered had provided.
Obviously, there is a big different between “explanation” and ” Introduction”. Introduction can be used in the form of “title” or “theme” for the subject/poem and it is always much shorter than the body of work and much much shorter than ” EXPLANATION”.
Mona Youssef • Vered,
Thank you for the thoughtful questions. I do agree with you that ” DEFINITIONS” can kill the soul yet, from their effects/outcomes/results, we can define what art is or what love is etc. simply because people have different taste and different views of both.
When it comes to poem, if you answer my questions, you will be able to answer yours.
What is the difference between writing and poem? What is the differences between a poet and a writer? Both can still express feelings and imagination, but when can you/ we say; this is a poem and this is writing?
If a group of words are put together can make a GOOD poem, then, any musical notes are put together can compose an excellent piece of music!! In this case, anyone can easily, at anytime, be poet or musician with no roles or definition and we call them FREE musicians and FREE poets. How about that!
Have a peaceful Sunday
Please do not feel sorry for sharing your intimate memory with us which I appreciate.
My subject was merely, general information to share, whether members wish to follow or not in order to improve, it is up to individuals. I appreciate freedom of speech and personal choices.
Stay happy and positive. Love and hugs to you
If I sit in front of a piano silently – it is not music because I am not a good musician, But John cage can do it 4 minutes and 33 seconds, it is music (a silent one, like meditation) because he IS an excellent musician. If I stick objects under the piano strings or let chance chose my notes – it will not make music, because I am not a good musician, and because this was done before (and appreciated as music by good musicians). If I present a white canvas with nothing on – I will look ignorant because it was done before. The same for ANY aspect of art, words, sounds, space, color, video, objects. If music notes can be arbitrary – why not word – providing they are done by a poet, here is where I’ll bring up what Anais said about strong foundation and add a sentence of my own – you got to understand words to make a meaningful silence.
Yesterday on the way to my old home
I met stalks of wheat, they were
Taller than me.
The air stood there yellow
Yesterday I was very
Two generations scattered since
Stalks were taller than me.
Yesterday pace was hesitant
I had no way to enlarge it
I was very small.
Scraggly seeds clicked in the silence
Then foreign birds chirped foreign songs
Into the woods.
Introduction – about writing in a language I hardly know
Further explanation you can find here –
Allen jones about Roi Lichenstein
This was my previous response to what poetry means/is composed of to me.
Stringing words like precious pearls;
It is a venerable rite, a tradition steeped
In ancient custom from a world so unlike ours
That we can barely comprehend the complex choices
That are made of one small word bead for another
In the forming of a whole that must appear quite facile
And without apparent effort.
No machine could ever emulate dexterity
Such as the agile mind that calibrates, evaluates
And imitates the oyster as it worries one small grain
Into the beauty of each perfect pearl.
Stringing words like precious pearls:
It is a time consuming business, this tying
Of each knot just so between these gems of wisdom
So it binds, and yet sets off the ones to follow
In a graceful arch, much like the necklace round
The loved one’s slender throat gains luster
With each wearing near her alabaster skin.
My words will wind around your heart
To be imbued with nacreous glow as is
The tear drop when it’s filled
With deep emotions from the soul.
Stringing words like precious pearls,
Upon a slight and silken thread,
I offer them to you as would a lover
To his mistress fair, in token of affection
Deeper than the passing glance bestowed
On him the night they met, but which set spark
To tinder, and consumed his heart
With hungry flames.
Nyuka Anaïs Laurent 11/05/92
Thank you, Ruth, and I much appreciated the poem from your man… Super sensitive.
I was born in Zambia, Africa therefore my strong ties and connection with the development of arts & culture from Africa. Therefore like to share my next poem made famous by Nelson Mandela.
Invictus- A Poem That Inspired Nelson Mandela
This is a Poem ‘Invictus’ (Unconquered, Undefeated) by William Henley. Great South African Leader Nelson Mandela (Madiba) was inspired by the poem, and had it written on a scrap of paper on his prison cell while he was incarcerated for 27 years on RobbenIsland.
I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeoning of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul
I take this opportunity to wish everyone an inspiring and restful weekend!!!
Big Hug & Kisses xxx
Sunil Thanks so much for posting this poem to remind us how it helped Nelson Mandela get through thise long years of enslavement. He is one of the greatest men in current history. I read this poem with tears in my eyes.
Thank you, Ruth for your comments. The poem was also a strong reminder to us all of the power of words and a single poem can go a long way as they remain timeless. This poem was later use by Nelson Mandela and the newly form mix Rugby team that represented South Africa to get them to play as a team and win the World Cup 2007 to become the World Champions.
I therefore cannot emphasis the value each work in our Poetry Lounge, I believe will play an important role to the current and future development of Globalization ICAS and its members
Big Hug & Kisses xxx have a pleasant inspirational weekend break.
That house once embraced
Stimulating smells of danger
The barriers strangled all such dreams
Do not enter
Do not walk
Do not look
Do not talk
Meeting is forbidden
Later they changed its name
Opened the gates
Let in immoral birds carrying promiscuous scents of spring
And with a gracious smile hung the sign
Do not enter
Do not walk
Do not look
Do not talk
Singing is prohibited
JUNE .., JUNE.., JUNE
June is now in our way
Her bouquets glowing
Sweetheart of the day
Coming here and going
Whispering winds so softly
Surrounded by sweet air
Within my dream so loftily
Coming around to share
Love gardens of roses
Summer days to follow
Moods so swiftly closes
Of everything in hollow
Fluffy thoughts up line
For the times to come
In its glowing sunshine
Where June blossoms’ from
June is now my daydream
In its sight so near
Of dawn’s twilights deem
That surrounds now here
Moon’s now in sleepiness
Of a darkish winter song
And stars are all leap less
In skies of fall and long
Peter S. Quinn
Lets us all welcome the month of June by remembering thoughts, ideas, customs, rituals that we all have, not forgetting a poem or two that we all can share with all the members of the group. I want everyone from their respective countries or regions to come forward and be proud to contribute.
We have members that cover every continents with wide array of cultures therefore this should make an interesting, colourful experience to pass our time together in June more special. If you prefer a short story or even to add humour in our POeTRY LOUNGe with a joke or two, this is our platform please feel free to add to our collection.
William Cullen Bryant (November 3, 1794 – June 12, 1878) “Thanatopsis”, his most famous poem, His poetry has been described as being “of a thoughtful, meditative character, and makes but slight appeal to the mass of readers.”
To him who in the love of nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty; and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy that steals away
Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;–
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around–
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air–
Comes a still voice. Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings,
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods — rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,–
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest — and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men–
The youth in life’s fresh spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man–
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn, shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
William Cullen Bryant
“Poetry in the form of a bird”
the eye of the
the injured neck
paper and inked bird that doesn’t fly
doesn’t move, doesn’t sing, doesn’t breathe
animal made of yellow lines
of silent printed plumage
maybe a blow break to pieces
the mysterious word that holds
its two legs
legs to my table.
Author : Jorge Eduardo Eielson (Lima, April13th 1924 – Milan, March 08th 2006)