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POEM OF THE DAY

"The Arrow and the Song" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

》Introduction:
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem, "The Arrow and the Song," delves into the profound theme of the lasting impact of words and actions. Through the metaphor of an arrow and its subsequent ripples, the poet explores the consequences of spoken words, urging readers to reflect on the responsibility associated with communication.

》Metaphorical Significance:
The central metaphor of the arrow serves as a potent symbol for the spoken word or action. Just as an arrow, once released, cannot be recalled, Longfellow suggests that words, once spoken, carry an irreversible power. This metaphor emphasizes the permanence of language, prompting readers to consider the weight of their verbal expressions.

》Ripple Effect and Consequences:
The imagery of the arrow creating ripples in a body of water serves to illustrate the ripple effect of our actions. Longfellow suggests that our words and deeds extend beyond their immediate impact, creating ongoing consequences that resonate in ways we may not fully comprehend. This concept encourages readers to recognize the interconnectedness of individual actions within the broader fabric of human experience.

》Reflection and Regret:
The reflective tone of the poem indicates a level of awareness on the part of the speaker. The realization that words have a lasting impact implies a sense of responsibility and accountability. This introspective moment in the poem encourages readers to consider the ethical dimensions of their communication, fostering a mindset that acknowledges the potential repercussions of thoughtless words.

》Emotional Resonance:
Longfellow infuses the poem with a melancholic tone, evoking an emotional response from the reader. This emotional resonance enhances the poem's effectiveness in conveying the gravity of its theme. The poignant language and imagery serve to underscore the significance of the message, prompting a deeper contemplation of the implications of our words and actions.

》Universal Relevance:
"The Arrow and the Song" transcends its immediate context, making it universally relevant. By addressing the timeless theme of the power of language, Longfellow's poem remains applicable across different cultures and eras. This universality enhances the poem's enduring value and ensures its continued resonance with diverse audiences.
__________________________________
Book: The Poetry of Longfellow
( https://amzn.to/3GEwFq7 )

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Saturday, November 25, 2023

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS 

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding:
    Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
    To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.

Wednesday, November 22, 2023

Tuesday, June 28, 2022

Friday, November 26, 2021

POEM OF THE DAY : A Dream Within a Dream - Edgar Allan Poe

A Dream Within a Dream -
Edgar Allan Poe 
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow:
You are not wrong who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep 
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Friday, October 29, 2021

POEM OF THE DAY : THE SECOND COMING - WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

THE SECOND COMING 

WILLIAM  BUTLER YEATS

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon can not hear the falconer 
Things fall apart ,the centre can not hold
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere.

The Second Coming has been written by the famous Irish poet W.B.yeats. W.B.yeats is a modern poet.He was a symbolist. He was influenced by the French symbolists  like Baudelaire,Mallarue,verlaine and so on. Of all English -language poets it seems that yeats is one who has written most thoughtfully abouts the problems and the sadness of old age.

 Although the whole poem has been written on the world 's awful condition it can be divided into two parts ,for critical  analysis .The poem consists altogether twenty two lines. The first eight lines of the  poem present  a terrifying picture of the world's situation as year"s saw in 1909. Second Coming  suggests the coming of Jesus Christ for second time .The title the"Second Coming " signifies the end of the world on human civilization .It has a biblical reference : Christ promised his disciples that he would come to the world for the second time when the human civilization would come to an end .The opening stanza signifies for the poet almost the approaching end of the world.This makes him feel that probably ,Christ is coming for the second time as he promised to his disciples at the  time of his departure.In the opening stanza the poet uses some symbolic words like gyre,falcon ,falconer .The symbolic meaning of gyre is cycle of civilization or history.The poet has also used the word falcon in place of man and falconer in stead of God.  In the cycle of human civilization the falcon and falconer  are moved. There has been a gap in their relationship . They will come closer each other. The phrase "widening gyre" suggests the possibility of the falconer meeting or catching the falcon is getting slimmer and slimmer .The cycle of history  is widening.It is an alarming development


Grateful thanks to 

Mr Mahesh Bishi , 
ENGLISH LITERATURE & LUNGUISTICS, 
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Thursday, October 28, 2021

ON POETRY


Grateful thanks to 

RED BERN, 
ENGLISH LITERATURE & LUNGUISTICS, 
FACEBOOK

Sunday, October 17, 2021

POEM OF THE DAY : SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD - WALT WHITMAN

SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD, 1

WALT WHITMAN - 1819-1892

 

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

 

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,

Strong and content I travel the open road.

 

The earth, that is sufficient,

I do not want the constellations any nearer,

I know they are very well where they are,

I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

 

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,

I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,

I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,

I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)



This poem is in the public domain. 


GRATEFUL THANKS TO 

POETRY.ORG

AND

GOOGLE

Saturday, October 16, 2021

POEM OF THE DAY : DARKNESS - LORD BYRON

 DARKNESS

GEORGE GORDON BYRON - 1788-1824

 

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars

Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,

And men forgot their passions in the dread

Of this their desolation; and all hearts

Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:

And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,

The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,

The habitations of all things which dwell,

Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,

And men were gather'd round their blazing homes

To look once more into each other's face;

Happy were those who dwelt within the eye

Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:

A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;

Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour

They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks

Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black.

The brows of men by the despairing light

Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits

The flashes fell upon them; some lay down

And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest

Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;

And others hurried to and fro, and fed

Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up

With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

The pall of a past world; and then again

With curses cast them down upon the dust,

And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,

And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes

Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd

And twin'd themselves among the multitude,

Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food.

And War, which for a moment was no more,

Did glut himself again: a meal was bought

With blood, and each sate sullenly apart

Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;

All earth was but one thought—and that was death

Immediate and inglorious; and the pang

Of famine fed upon all entrails—men

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;

The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,

Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,

And he was faithful to a corse, and kept

The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,

Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead

Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,

But with a piteous and perpetual moan,

And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand

Which answer'd not with a caress—he died.

The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two

Of an enormous city did survive,

And they were enemies: they met beside

The dying embers of an altar-place

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things

For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,

And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands

The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath

Blew for a little life, and made a flame

Which was a mockery; then they lifted up

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld

Each other's aspects—saw, and shriek'd, and died—

Even of their mutual hideousness they died,

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow

Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,

The populous and the powerful was a lump,

Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—

A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.

The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,

And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,

And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd

They slept on the abyss without a surge—

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,

The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;

The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,

And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need

Of aid from them—She was the Universe.

 

This poem is in the public domain.

 

Grateful thanks to

https://poets.org/

and YouTube and all the others who made this video possible.


Friday, October 15, 2021

WHY SHOULD YOU READ SYLVIA PLATH?


WHY SHOULD YOU READ SYLVIA PLATH? 

ISEULT GILLESPIE

1,213,886 views

Mar 7, 2019

TED-Ed

15M subscribers

Explore the haunting and intimate works of poet Sylvia Plath, who digs into issues of mental health, trauma and sexuality in works like “The Bell Jar.”

Under her shrewd eye and pen, Sylvia Plath turned everyday objects into haunting images: a “new statue in a drafty museum,” a shadow in a mirror, a slab of soap. Her breathtaking perspectives and unflinching language made her a touchstone for readers seeking to break the silence around issues of trauma, frustration and sexuality. Iseult Gillespie shares why Plath's writing continues to captivate.

Lesson by Iseult Gillespie, directed by Sarah Saidan.

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Thank you so much to our patrons for your support! Without you this video would not be possible! MJ Tan Mingjie, Yansong Li, Jason A Saslow, Joanne Luce, Kyle Nguyen, Taylor Hunter, Noa Shore, Lex Azevedo, Merit Gamertsfelder, Bev Millar, Rishi Pasham, Jhuval, SookKwan Loong, Bruno Pinho, Javier Aldavaz, Rodrigo Carballo, Boytsov Ilya, EdoKun, Misaki Sato, Craig Sheldon, Andrew Bosco, Catherine Sverko, Nik Maier, Mark Morris, Adi V, Peter Liu, Leora Allen, Hiroshi Uchiyama, Michal Salman, Gilly , Ka-Hei Law, Maya Toll, Ricardo Rendon Cepeda, Renhe Ji, Andrés Melo Gámez, Tim Leistikow, Shawar Khan, Chris , Megan Douglas, Barbara Smalley, Filip Dabrowski, Joe Giamartino, Clair Chen, Vik Nagjee, Karen Goepen-Wee, Della Palacios, Stephanie Perozo, Marc Bilodeau, Ivan Tsenov and Claudia Mayfield.

 

Grateful thanks to

ISEULT GILLESPIE

TED-Ed

and YouTube and all the others who made this video possible. 

POEM OF THE DAY : YOU ARE - SYLVIA PLATH


"YOU'RE", A POEM BY SYLVIA PLATH

2,337 views

Apr 13, 2020

Feminist Confessional

177 subscribers

"You're" by Sylvia Plath, read by Melita White of Feminist Confessional http://feministconfessional.wordpress...

 

Grateful thanks to

Feminist Confessional

and YouTube and all the others who made this video possible. 

Tuesday, October 5, 2021

POEM OF THE DAY : The Journey of the Magi - T.S. Eliot

 

The Journey of the Magi

T.S. Eliot 


A cold coming we had of it,

Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

This poem is in the public domain.


Saturday, September 25, 2021

POEM OF THE DAY : A Song of the Road

A Song of the Road
José Santos Chocano
translated by John Pierrepont Rice


The way was black,
The night was mad with lightning; I bestrode
My wild young colt, upon a mountain road.
And, crunching onward, like a monster’s jaws,
His ringing hoof-beats their glad rhythm kept,
Breaking the glassy surface of the pools,
Where hidden waters slept.
A million buzzing insects in the air
On droning wing made sullen discord there.

But suddenly, afar, beyond the wood,
Beyond the dark pall of my brooding thought,
I saw lights cluster like a swarm of wasps
Among the branches caught.
“The inn!” I cried, and on his living flesh
My broncho felt the lash and neighed with eagerness.

And all this time the cool and quiet wood
Uttered no sound, as though it understood.
Until there came to me, upon the night,
A voice so clear, so clear, so ringing sweet—
A voice as of a woman singing, and her song
Dropped like soft music winging, at my feet,
And seemed a sigh that, with my spirit blending,
Lengthened and lengthened out, and had no ending.

And through the empty silence of the night,
And through the quiet of the hills, I heard
That music, and the sounds of the night wind bore me,
Like spirit voices from an unseen world
Came drifting o’er me.

I curbed my horse, to catch what she might say:
“At night they come, and they are gone by day—”
And then another voice, with low refrain,
And untold tenderness, took up the strain:
“Oh love is but an inn upon life’s way”;
“At night they come, and they are gone by day—”
Their voices mingled in that wistful lay.

Then I dismounted and stretched out my length
Beside a pool, and while my mind was bent
Upon that mystery within the wood,
My eyes grew heavy, and my strength was spent.
And so I slept there, huddled in my cloak.
And now, when by untrodden paths I go,
Through the dim forest, no repose I know
At any inn at nightfall, but apart
I sleep beneath the stars, for through my heart
Echoes the burden of that wistful lay:
“At night they come, and they are gone by day,
And love is but an inn upon life’s way.”

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on September 19, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.

Sunday, September 19, 2021

POEM OF THE DAY : Pastoral by William Carlos Williams

Pastoral
by William Carlos Williams

When I was younger
it was plain to me
I must make something of myself.
Older now
I walk back streets
admiring the houses
of the very poor:
roof out of line with sides
the yards cluttered
with old chicken wire, ashes,
furniture gone wrong;
the fences and outhouses
built of barrel staves
and parts of boxes, all,
if I am fortunate,
smeared a bluish green
that properly weathered
pleases me best of all colors.
No one
will believe this
of vast import to the nation.


“Pastoral” by William Carlos Williams is in  Public Domain