A Poem Thread

Tiassa said:
The word "poem" comes from the French ca. 15th century, derived from a Greek word, ποιεῖν, a form of a word for the verb, "make"; its context included the verb, "create", and developed a post-Homeric application for constructed verse, which includes the verbs for composing or writing poetry, as well as the verb ""invent".

The core of poetry would seem to have to do with creative expression.
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Is an actor who brings his or her interpretation to a role a poet?
If they, say sigh in a particular ,modulated way could that be described as a poem?

Yes, I learned the derivation of the word "poet" almost 60 years ago from my Greek teacher (we called him "Bomber" as he must have been in the war over Germany)
.But I imagine even then (when the word was so used) it was possible to enquire where that word had come from.

I believe there is some Sanskrit in ancient Greek words and sometimes you can follow derivations of words as far back as that (I am no expert but sometimes I do post questions like that on a website where members would be experts )
 
The Clearing

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worthy of rescue.
~ Martha Postlethwaite
 
Magical Realist said:
The Clearing

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worthy of rescue.
~ Martha Postlethwaite
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That is frame-worthy.
 
geordief said:
Is an actor who brings his or her interpretation to a role a poet?
Click to expand...

On the Persistence of Inquiry in History

in how many ways
is the philsopher
either
scientist or mystic​

†​

(In truth, I am split on the question; offhand I might normally say no or not quite, but some answer otherwise, and I am not inclined to dispute.)
 
"I think it’s brave. ⁣⁣
I think it’s brave that you get up in the morning even if your soul is weary and your bones ache for a rest.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
I think it’s brave that you keep on living⁣⁣
even if you don’t know how to anymore.⁣⁣
I think it’s brave that you push away the waves rolling in every day and you decide to fight.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
I know there are days when you feel like giving up but i think it’s brave that you never do.⁣ Yea I think it's brave."

Lana Rafael
 
Song of the Witches: “Double, double toil and trouble”
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

(from Macbeth)


Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.

Notes:
Macbeth: IV.i 10-19; 35-38
 
"The softened light, the veiling haze,
The calm repose of autumn days,
Steal gently o'er the troubled breast,
Soothing life's weary cares to rest."
~ Phebe A. Holder, A Song of October
 
wegs said:
Song of the Witches: “Double, double toil and trouble”
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

(from Macbeth)


Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.

Notes:
Macbeth: IV.i 10-19; 35-38
Click to expand...
Has it ever been set to music, I wonder?(Johnny Rotten might give it a go)
 
The Orkney Library on Poetry
anon. (@OrkneyLibrary), 2022

a short poem name
like when we meet a bovine
and we say 'hi coo'

[via Twitter↱]​
 
Idra Novey


The Experiment

We all sensed we were in it, but didn’t know
who would fund this long a study, what the premise
behind it could be.

I suspected it was about ethics,

but the next week seemed as much a test
in coping—the artistry of partial views. But if so,
who’d been scripted

as the control group?

Was it us, wilting for all to see in the humid city
like so many tulips crushed into a pewter vase—
or was it others,

in the suburbs, who kept

to their cars and tended to despair apart, in private,
where no one would suspect them of sorrow
until they’d already moved on?

The study continues:

the keeping of museums, of dictionaries
with our best words—a wild faith that someone
will want to see

what we have made.
 
The Committee Weighs In
by Andrea Cohen, 2012

I tell my mother
I've won the Nobel Prize.

Again? she says. Which
discipline this time?

It's a little game
we play: I pretend

I'm somebody, she
pretends she isn't dead.

 
"Pale amber sunlight falls across
The reddening October trees,
That hardly sway before a breeze
As soft as summer: summer's loss
Seems little, dear! on days like these.

Let misty autumn be our part!
The twilight of the year is sweet:
Where shadow and the darkness meet
Our love, a twilight of the heart
Eludes a little time's deceit.

Are we not better and at home
In dreamful Autumn, we who deem
No harvest joy is worth a dream?
A little while and night shall come,
A little while, then, let us dream.

Beyond the pearled horizons lie
Winter and night: awaiting these
We garner this poor hour of ease,
Until love turn from us and die
Beneath the drear November trees."

― Ernest Dowson, The Poems and Prose of Ernest Dowson

zVakTFQ.jpg
 
"The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

Wendell Berry - The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry.
 
My Uncle from Odesa, Ukraine Writes
by Ilya Kaminsky, 2022

yes, they are sending bombs
& electricity is turned off periodically
yes, i am ill, but it is impossible to​
get to be 83 without some illnesses​
so i put on my hat
and go to the farmers market​
to buy vegetables while air-raid siren moans.

[via Twitter↱]​
 
Meditations In an Emergency
by Cameron Awkward-Rich, 2020

I wake up & it breaks my heart. I draw the blinds & the thrill of rain breaks my heart. I go outside. I ride the train, walk among the buildings, men in Monday suits. The flight of doves, the city of tents beneath the underpass, the huddled mass, old women hawking roses, & children all of them, break my heart. There’s a dream I have in which I love the world. I run from end to end like fingers through her hair. There are no borders, only wind. Like you, I was born. Like you, I was raised in the institution of dreaming. Hand on my heart. Hand on my stupid heart.

 
"And now
after everything:
I know this:
There is a reason
I am here.
And that reason
is bigger than me.
So I will carry on
with great faith
beyond what I can see.
In pursuit of bold courage,
on the adventure
of the journey .."
~ Morgan Harper Nichols ~
 
"Truly, we live with mysteries too
marvelous to be understood.
How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds will never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.
Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers.
Let me keep company always with
those who say "Look!" and laugh in
astonishment, and bow their heads."
~Mary Oliver, "Mysteries, Yes"
 
“the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.”

Charles Bukowski
 
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