4/18-The Pythons-

In honor of my going to see Spamalot this evening, today's poem-of-the-day is a video.

Enjoy:

4/17-Voltaire-

Probably my favorite public intellectual/author is Voltaire. There's little I love more than thinking about the rivalry between Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Voltaire. That's not really something that happens today. Sure Christopher Hitchens can take the piss out of Mos Def on national television, but it's not nearly as fun as thinking about two absolutely brilliant people publicly pronouncing their hatred for one another...especially when everyone likes Voltaire better because he wasn't such a grumpy old poop.

Anyway, on to the poetry!

FROM LOVE TO FRIENDSHIP

by: Voltaire (François Marie Arouet, 1694-1778)

If you would have me love once more,

The blissful age of love restore;

From wine's free joys, and lovers' cares,

Relentless time, who no man spares,

Urges me quickly to retire,

And no more to such bliss aspire.

From such austerity exact,

Let's, if we can, some good extract;

Whose way of thinking with this age

Suits not, can ne'er be deemed a sage.

Let sprightly youth its follies gay,

Its follies amiable display;

Life to two moments is confined,

Let one to wisdom be consigned.

You sweet delusions of my mind,

Still to my ruling passion kind,

Which always brought a sure relief

To life's accurst companion, grief.

Will you forever from me fly,

And must I joyless, friendless die?

No mortal e'er resigns his breath

I see, without a double death;

Who loves, and is beloved no more,

His hapless fate may well deplore;

Life's loss may easily be borne,

Of love bereft man is forlorn.

'Twas thus those pleasures I lamented,

Which I so oft in youth repented;

My soul replete with soft desire,

Vainly regretted youthful fire.

But friendship then, celestial maid,

From heaven descended to my aid;

Less lively than the amorous flame,

Although her tenderness the same.

The charms of friendship I admired,

My soul was with new beauty fired;

I then made one in friendship's train,

But destitute of love, complain.

http://www.poetry-archive.com/v/from_love_to_friendship.html

4/16-Jon Agee-

I love Jon Agee. He's funny. His illustrations are bright and colorful. I couldn't resist using this for a Poem of the Day.


The title poem "Orangutan Tongs" is among the least tongue-twisty of all the poems in this collection (I actually made it through without a single mistake).

Here it is:
--------------------------------------
Orangutan Tongs

An orangutan went into Wong's.
He ordered the pork and the prawns.
But he couldn't eat pork with a knife and a fork,
So they brought the Orangutan tongs.
Orangutan tongs, orangutan tongs,
They brought the orangutan tongs.

The next day it happened at Kong's.
He ordered the prunes and the prawns.
But he couldn't eat prunes with a fork or a spoon,
So they brought the orangutan tongs.
Orangutan tongs, orangutan tongs,
They brought the orangutan tongs.
--------------------------------------------
My favorite (because of the picture really--a little boy on the beach with his hands down his underpants):
--------------------------------------------
Undies

There are lots of holes in Andy Bundy's undies.
His mom should get some thread and try to stitch 'em.
When Andy's at the beach, he's always cranky and upset,
'Cause Andy Bundy's sandy undies itch him.
---------------------------------------------

Highly recommended book.

4/4 -Dylan Thomas-

Dylan Thomas (http://www.dylanthomas.com/) is described as Wales' greatest poet. Not knowing enough about either Wales or poetry, I cannot disagree.

I first heard this poem in High School. Being a typical angsty teen, I loved it. It has a particularly special meaning to me now still recovering from my mother's passing:

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Thomas Wyatt

Thomas Wyatt is said to be the father of the English sonnet:

My heart I gave thee, not to do it pain;
But to preserve, it was to thee taken.
I served thee, not to be forsaken,
But that I should be rewarded again.
I was content thy servant to remain
But not to be paid under this fashion.
Now since in thee is none other reason,
Displease thee not if that I do refrain,
Unsatiate of my woe and thy desire,
Assured by craft to excuse thy fault.
But since it please thee to feign a default,
Farewell, I say, parting from the fire:
For he that believeth bearing in hand,
Plougheth in water and soweth in the sand.

He was also thought to be the lover of Anne Boleyn (before her marriage to King Henry VIII) and was later imprisoned for having carnal knowledge of the queen but released because of his friendship with those in the king's court. Upon witnessing the beheading of the queen he wrote this:

V. Innocentia
Veritas Viat Fides
Circumdederunt
me inimici mei ¹

by Sir Thomas Wyatt, the Elder

Who list his wealth and ease retain,
Himself let him unknown contain.
Press not too fast in at that gate
Where the return stands by disdain,
For sure, circa Regna tonat.²

The high mountains are blasted oft
When the low valley is mild and soft.
Fortune with Health stands at debate.
The fall is grievous from aloft.
And sure, circa Regna tonat.

These bloody days have broken my heart.
My lust, my youth did them depart,
And blind desire of estate.
Who hastes to climb seeks to revert.
Of truth, circa Regna tonat.

The bell tower showed me such sight
That in my head sticks day and night.
There did I learn out of a grate,
For all favour, glory, or might,
That yet circa Regna tonat.

By proof, I say, there did I learn:
Wit helpeth not defence too yerne,
Of innocency to plead or prate.
Bear low, therefore, give God the stern,
For sure, circa Regna tonat.

1. The Latin title adapts Psalm 16.9: "My enemies surround my soul."
Wyatt's name ("Viat") in the title is surrounded by Innocence, Truth,
and Faith.

2. "It thunders through the realms," Seneca, Phaedra, 1.1140.
The first two stanzas paraphrase lines from that play.


[AJ Note: It is generally thought Wyatt wrote this poem after witnessing
the execution of Anne Boleyn and her "accomplices" from the window
grate of his cell in the Bell Tower at the Tower of London.]

4-for1: Limericks

Last year I went to an Irish Pub in town and an Irish band was performing...not that any of them were Irish. They were performing Irish music, though. They had a thing where you could submit limericks to them and they'd read them between songs. The folks at my table and I decided to submit them as a group effort. They ended up being significantly less interesting than we had hoped.

But anyway, from The Penguin Book of Limericks, 1986:

[Ophleia]
Poor Ophelia sighed: 'I deplore
The fact that young Hamlet's a bore.
He just talks to himself;
I'll be left on the shelf,
or go mad by the end of Act IV.'
Frank Richards

I once knew a spinster of Staines,
And a spinster that lady remains;
She's no figure, no looks,
Neither dances nor cooks -
And, most ghastly of all, she has brains.
Plaiwon

Said Old Father William: 'I'm humble,
And getting too old for a tumble,
But produce me a blonde,
And I'm still not beyond
An attempt at an interesting fumble.'
Conrad Aiken

If no Pain were, how judge we of Pleasure?
If no Work, where's the solace of Leisure?
What's White, if no Black?
What's Wealth, if no Lack?
If no Loss, how our Gain could be measure?
William Bliss

Poetry sites

Below are recommended websites to browse the National Poetry Month:

Very Bad Poetry
http://www.verybadpoetry.com/
There's quite a list of contributors, including yours truly. I DO NOT recommend Robert Hawkins (unless you want to read about me being put in compromising situations...really creepy. I don't even know the guy.) Otherwise some funny stuff likely written on-the-fly.

The Writer's Almanac
http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/
Updated daily...Podcast, RSS feed, and you can even listen to Garrison Keillor's dreamy voice read the poem to you.

Poetry Foundation
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/
"...an independent literary organization committed to a vigorous presence for poetry in our culture." -from the website.

Poetry Daily
http://poems.com/
An anthology of contemporary poetry from new books, magazines and journals.

Poetry 180
http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/
A poem a day for high schools. The website says American high schools but I betcha you can use it elsewhere as well.

Poetry Online
http://www.poetry-online.org/
FAMOUS poetry (screw all those amateurs!) with a subject and author index to help you find that perfect FAMOUS poem.

TeenInk.com
http://www.teenink.com/Poetry/
Contains (teenage) reader submitted poetry and an opportunity to submit your own (if you're a teen).

Children's Poetry Archive (PoetryArchive.org)
http://www.poetryarchive.org/childrensarchive/home.do
Listen to poetry by modern poets. Search by poet, poem or theme.

Shel Silverstein.com
http://www.shelsilverstein.com/indexSite.html
Quirky poems, quirky games and quirky animation that you'd expect from anything related to Mr. Silverstein.

Obviously there are millions of poetry websites online and these are just a few...but they're a GOOD few and promise to be great time wasters.