The Lines of Others, Out Loud

Having found Hugo Ball's Karawane (from Annika) on youTube, I looked there for some of the other poets people quoted.

I couldn't find the specific poems, but it's nice to hear the poets' voices at least.

Here's the first crop.

I. Robert Frost

Margaret said: "One that's been lodged in me since a period of Frost fanaticism a couple years back:"

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars - on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.

- Robert Frost, from "Desert Places"

Jennifer said: "Speaking of Frost, my favorite, typed from memory so the lines may break in the wrong places. [Nope. I checked and you were just missing a comma, which I added. --Fresca]
I love its succinctness, the colloquial sound of it even though it scans and rhymes in classical style. And I love the un-"Frost"ness of it--no Hallmark poetry there. : )"

"Fire and Ice"

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
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This is the only video I found of Robert Frost live: a snippet from a poetry reading.


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II. César Vallejo

Momo posted this poem in Spanish on Easter: "Masa" (Mass), by the Peruvian poet César Vallejo.
She said: "It's in Spanish and I can't find the better translation of it into English (there is one by Robert Bly that is servicable, but even the better one by Clayton Eshelman is not great). It's a resurrection poem without god. It reminds me that we are never alone."

So I (Fresca) went and found Leonardo Sbaraglia (from Argentina) reciting the poem in Spanish, with English subtitles.

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III. T. S. Eliot

Clowncar said: "Lines encountered during a time of grieving, and have never left me."

In the dawn I gathered cedar-boughs
Sweet, sweet was their odor,
They were wet with tears—
The sweetness will not leave my hands.
--From "Song of Whip-Plaiting", by Constance Lindsay Skinner

"One more, that used to roll around in my head when I lived in Mpls, next to the Mississippi.
I love that river."

I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river
Is a strong brown god.
--From "The Dry Salvages" (No. 3 of the Four Quartets), by T. S. Eliot

Eliot reading "The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock" (which turned up on this blog last spring: Dare to Eat a Peach).


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IV. Mary Oliver

Kellie said:

"You do not have to be good"

"The entire poem is a touchstone for me ("Wild Geese", by Mary Oliver), but that's the line that scrolls behind my eyes in all-caps at times. It is my talisman against useless guilt."

I couldn't find a video of Oliver, but here's an audio recording of her reading "Blackwater Pond" and "The Sun."

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V. Nancy L. Wade

Nancy, who is working (I hope) on a way to record her poems, sent this poem she wrote:

Funeral

when is a good time to die?
when broad leaves shelter
tiny lives singing, crawling, hiding,
as you should have sheltered,
or when loose dry leaves
swirl in a puff along the sidewalk
huddling like cold children.
perhaps when trees spread black,
naked limbs, appealing
for only a streak of light – or
when warmth comes, just a little,
enough so that when
those you have shadowed
return home without finally silent you,
there is one small,
pale
hopeful
crocus

--Nancy L. Wade
__________________

VI. Wendell Berry

Deanna said:
"I've loaned out my favorite poetry book, by Wendell Berry, but here's a line from his poem "Marriage," that might fit many relationships and is one of my very favorites:"

It is healing. It is never whole.

Wendell Berry Reading from Leavings


I had a hard time finding online the little poem "Marriage" by Wendell Berry (another of his marriage poems eclipses it), so I will post the whole thing here:

"Marriage"

for Tanya

How hard it is for me, who live
in the excitement of women
and have the desire for them
in my mouth like salt. Yet
you have taken me and quieted me.
You have been such light to me
that other women have been
your shadows. You come near me
with the nearness of sleep.
And yet I am not quiet.
It is to be broken. It is to be
torn open. It is not to be
reached and come to rest in
ever. I turn against you,
I break from you, I turn to you.
We hurt, and are hurt,
and have each other for healing.
It is healing. It is never whole.