Poem of the day-32: "IF" by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about don't deal in lies.
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken.
And stoop and build them up with worn-out tools;

If you can make on heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yous is the Earth and everything that is in it,
And - which is more - you will be a Man, my son!"

Wikipedia articles on: "If" and "Rudyard Kipling":

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If%E2%80%94

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudyard_Kipling

Grateful thanks to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Poetry 180: A Poem a Day for American High Schools

I came across this interesting portal last week. It is hosted by the Library of Congress, USA. Though it says "a poem a day for American schools", anybody who loves poetry will find it interesting. To know more about it, I reproduce the Introduction given by Billy Collins, Former Poet Laureate of the United States:

"Welcome to Poetry 180. Poetry can and should be an important part of our daily lives. Poems can inspire and make us think about what it means to be a member of the human race. By just spending a few minutes reading a poem each day, new worlds can be revealed.

Poetry 180 is designed to make it easy for students to hear or read a poem on each of the 180 days of the school year. I have selected the poems you will find here with high school students in mind. They are intended to be listened to, and I suggest that all members of the school community be included as readers. A great time for the readings would be following the end of daily announcements over the public address system.

Listening to poetry can encourage students and other learners to become members of the circle of readers for whom poetry is a vital source of pleasure. I hope Poetry 180 becomes an important and enriching part of the school day".

------

Give it a try, you will like it; I liked it.

http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/

Shakespeare's Sonnets-3:

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith, being crowned,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight
And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of natures truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow;
And yet, to times, in hope, my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

Poem of the day-31: "The Humble" by Tao Te Ching

In life, man is soft and supple;

In death, he is rigid and hard.

Plants and trees in life are tender;

In death, they are withered and dry.

Therefore, softness and tenderness mean life;

And hardness and stiffness mean death.

He who only relies on hard power will not win the battle.

The tree whose wood is the hardest is cut down.

The mighty and the strong are thus cast down;

And the humble and low are set on high.

Poem of the day-30: "On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour"

Give me a golden pen, and let me lean
On heap'd up flowers, in regions clear, and far;
Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen
The silver strings of heavenly harp atween:
And let there glide by many a pearly car,
Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,
And half discovered wings, and glances keen.
The while let music wander round my ears,
And as it reaches each delicious ending,
Let me write down a line of glorious tone,
And full of many wonders of the spheres:
For what a height my spirit is contending!
'Tis not content so soon to be alone.

John Keats, 1817

Poem of the day-29: "Death Be Not Proud"

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,

For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and souls delivery.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy, or chams can make us sleep as well,

And better then thy stroke; why swell'st thou then;

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

Shakespeare's Sonnets-2:

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Poem of the day-28: "Ozymandias" by Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half-sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley

Poem of the day-27: "The Birth of Song"

The birth of song is fraught with joy and sorrow,
Like building life anew - one endless quest;
Today I know not what I'll write tomorrow
Though ere its birth my song gnaws at my breast.

That song is mute though from the throat it gushes,
Which from the heart and soul doth fail to spring,
To which no streamlet sings, no blossom blushes,
It is no song, whoever it may sing.

So tell me song - what is it gives you birth?
From ripples on the lake? rafts river-borne?
The fire of my beloved's sparkling eyes?
The fragrance of the new-mown hay at dawn?

The birth of song is fraught with tribulation,
Like fighting doubt that eats your heart away,
Like choosing stars from out of a constellation,
Or looking for a needle in the hay.

The dream that from the heart of hearts emerges,
No power in heaven or earth can ever slay;
For song is fragrant incense ever burning,
It is the "Yea" of Youth 'gainst Age's "Nay".

- Simon Chikovani

Wikipedia article on "SIMON CHIKOVANI":
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simon_Chikovani

Grateful thanks to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Poem of the day-25: "Autumn" by Boris Pasternak

I have allowed my family to scatter,
All my dear ones are dispersed.
A life-long loneliness
Fills nature and my heart.

And here I am with you, in a small house.
Outside, the forest is unpeopled like a desert.
As in the song, the drives and footpaths
Are almost overgrown.

The log walls are sad,
Having only us two to gaze at.
But we never undertook to leap the barriers.
We will perish honestly.

At one o'clock we shall sit down to table,
At three we shall rise,
I with my boom, you with your embroidery.
At dawn we shan't remember
What time we stopped kissing.

Leaves, rustle and spill yourselves
Ever more splendidly, ever more recklessly,
Fill yesterday's cup of bitterness
Still more full with the pain of today.

Let devotion, desire, delight,
Be scattered in the uproar of September:
And you, go and hide in the crackling autumn,
Either be quiet or be crazy.

You fling your dress from you
As the coppice flings away its leaves.
In a dressing-gown with a silk tassel
You fall into my arms.

You are the good gift of the road to destruction
When life is more sickening than disease
And boldness the root of beauty
This is what draws us together.

From "Dr.Zhivago" by Boris Pasternak.

Poem of the day-24: “I was the Wind last night" by Ruskin Bond

I was the wind last night.
I vaulted the river and swam seven mountains
And turned aside the tall trees guarding the valley
For I would see you smile and dream ....

I caught glimpses of you through the window as
I wandered around the little house.
They wouldn't let me in; too cold a wind!
I hung about listlessly, afraid to call too loud.
Then like a weary man limped homewards over the
sleeping mountains.
When will I learn the value of stillness?

Courtesy: 'Imprint', May 1975.

Wikipedia article on "RUSKIN BOND":
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ruskin_Bond

Grateful thanks to Ruskin Bond and Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Poem of the day-23: “The Passing of Arthur" by Tennyson

And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou se st--if indeed I go
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)--
To the island-valley of Avilion;
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns
And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.'

From the poem, “The Passing of Arthur" by Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Wikipedia article on "TENNYSON":
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfred_Tennyson,_1st_Baron_Tennyson

Grateful thanks to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Poem of the day-22: “MUSIC: AN ODE" by A.C.Swinburne

I
Was it light that spake from the darkness, or music that shone from the word,
When the night was enkindled with sound of the sun or the first-born bird?
Souls enthralled and entrammelled in bondage of seasons that fall and rise,
Bound fast round with the fetters of flesh, and blinded with light that dies,
Lived not surely till music spake, and the spirit of life was heard.

II
Music, sister of sunrise, and herald of life to be,
Smiled as dawn on the spirit of man, and the thrall was free.
Slave of nature and serf of time, the bondman of life and death,
Dumb with passionless patience that breathed but forlorn and reluctant breath,
Heard, beheld, and his soul made answer, and communed aloud with the sea.

III
Morning spake, and he heard: and the passionate silent noon
Kept for him not silence: and soft from the mounting moon
Fell the sound of her splendour, heard as dawn's in the breathless night,
Not of men but of birds whose note bade man's soul quicken and leap to light:And the song of it spake, and the light and the darkness of earth were as chords in tune.

Wikipedia article on "A.C.SWINBURNE":
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Algernon_Charles_Swinburne

Grateful thanks to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Poem of the day-21: “PALANQUIN BEARERS by Sarojini Naidu”"

LIGHTLY, O lightly we bear her along,
She sways like a flower in the wind of our song;
She skims like a bird on the foam of a stream,
She floats like a laugh from the lips of a dream.
Gaily, O gaily we glide and we sing,
We bear her along like a pearl on a string.
Softly, O softly we bear her along,
She hangs like a star in the dew of our song;
She springs like a beam on the brow of the tide,
She falls like a tear from the eyes of a bride.
Lightly, O lightly we glide and we sing,
We bear her along like a pearl on a string.

Wikipedia article on "SAROJINI NAIDU":
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarojini_Naidu

Grateful thanks to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

"Mahasakthi" by Mahakavi Subramania Bharathi

In the Light of the Moon I saw her!
And surrendered to Her in refuge.
All the senses I have conquered
And killed all desire of self.

To work without caring for fruit
And to do Bhakti, she taught me;
Freed of worry she did make me,
And all my suffering she did nip.

She did make the light of the stars.
And too the winds that blow;
She did make the Space on high,
And filled our hearts with Joy - Praise Be!

(Translated from Tamil to English by Professor S.G.Seshadri, former Principal, Rajah Serfoji Government College, Thanjavur)

Wikipedia article on "Subramaniya Bharathi":
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Subramanya_Bharathi

Grateful thanks to Professor S.G.Seshadri and Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Shakespeare's Sonnets-1:

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night,
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silvered o'er with white:
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:
Then of thy beauty do I question make
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow,
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence.

Wikipedia articles on "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE" and "SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS":
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shakespeare

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shakespeare%27s_Sonnets

Grateful thanks to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Poem of the day-20: "Cosmic Consciousness by Sri Aurobindo"

I have wrapped the wide world in my wider self
And Time and Space my spirit's seeing are.
I am the god and demon, ghost and elf,
I am the wind's speed and the blazing star.

All Nature is the nursling of my care,
I am its struggle and the eternal rest;
The world's joy thrilling runs through me, I bear
The sorrow of millions in my lonely breast.

I have learned a close identity with all,
Yet am by nothing bound that I become;
Carrying in me the universe's call
I mount to my imperishable home.

I pass beyond Time and life on measureless wings,
Yet still am one with born and unborn things.

Wikipedia article on "Sri AUROBINDO:":

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aurobindo

Grateful thanks to Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

The Song of Myself - Mahakavi Subramania Bharathi

I'm all the birds that fly in the sky;
I'm all the beasts that roam the earth;
I'm all the trees that grow in the wood;
I'm the wind, the rain and the sea.

I'm all the stars that shine on high;
I'm the vast expanse of widening space;
I'm all the worms that crawl on earth;
I'm all the life in the vasty deep!

All the poetry of Kamban am I;
And all the figures that artists draw;
The halls and bowers men wonder at
And all the beauteous towers amI.

In the music melodious of maidens I am;
And all the teeming pleasures I am;
I'm all the lies of the unworthy base;
I'm all the misery that endurance tests.

Master I am of a million mantras;
And Essence I am of all that moves;
Maker I am of a million tantras;
And He that proclaimed the Vedic Shastras.

I'm He that created the Universes all;
And made them revolve in their orbits true,
Unswerving a bit from their appointed paths;
I'm all the beneficent bands of power;
I'm the Cause and End of all!

I'm He that works the lie called 'I',
And swims through Wisdom's flaming sky;
I'm the Intelligence shining bright,
Oned with all, as the Primal Light!

Translated from Tamil to English by Prof.K.G.Seshadri, Former Principal, Rajah Serfoji Govt College, Thanjavur, Tamil Nadu, India.

"Sakthi and Other Poems"
Poems of Subramania Bharathi -
Translated by Prof K G Seshadri
Published by T.R.N.Memorail Library and Publications
Thanjavur

Nellaiappan's Poems-1: "Thanksgiving"

Thanks Giving

I want to thank many people-
A few are not alive today;
Whereabouts of some not known;
Don’t even know the names of one or two.

Some seen only in books;
Many only heard about;
Yet want to thank them all,
For, I am what I am because of them.

Mother, for imbibing gentleness in me;
Father, for imparting the art of reasoning;
Elder brother, for demonstrating ethics and values;
Younger brother, for being my first friend.

Tamil teacher, for inculcating a love for languages;
Sanskrit master, for my English vocabulary;
Lord Alagappa, for my college education;
My old secondhand cycle, for the trips to and fro.

Friend Annamalai -
For introducing Lin Yutang and Dale Carnegie
And for chiseling some thing inside me

Penfriend Sala –
Deserves a handshake
Though faded away now
Like a passing cloud;
For filling a vacuum those days
When the very thought of a friend
in the opposite sex was exciting.
Author Naa.Paa. -
for molding my character;
Kalki -
for the inspiration to write in Tamil;
How one can forget Poorani and Aravindan,
Vanthiathevan challenging Alwarkkadiyan?

Given an opportunity to re-live,
Jeyakanthan’s and Balakumaran’s
Every word I shall read and re-read,
And a red salute to my Vairamuthu.

Who could match Valampuri John?
Voracious reader, Unique orator.
Though political misjudgments
Overshadow his fame;
I bow my head for whatever I learnt from him.

My friends-
Gentle Venkatachalam, busy Chandran,
Innocent Ramanathan and turbulent Mohan
everyone is important in their own way
either one’s company would wipe worries away.

At the career front
Many deserve my thanks -
From some I learnt what to do and how
From some others what not to do and why
Making me a manager and a trainer.

I still keep on learning-
For there is no end to learning;
As Tamil sage-poet would say
What we have learnt is only a handful
And what we have to is like the Universe.

At the home front -
My Kannamma for putting up
With my idiosyncrasies and shortcomings;
My beloved daughters for making
Life meaningful and worth living;
And for all the three of them
For being the driving force behind me.

I surrender at His holy feet
Myself and all that He has given me.
No regrets and no complaints;
I only wonder about His plans for me.

Poem of the day-19: "Somebody's Mother' by Mary Dow Brine

The woman was old and ragged and gray

And bent with the chill of the Winter's day.

The street was wet with a recent snow

And the woman's feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long,

Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by

Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eyes.

Down the street, with laughter and shout,

Glad in the freedom of "school let out,"

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,

Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray

Hastened the children on their way.

Nor offered a helping hand to her -

So meek, so timid, afraid to stir

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet

Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop,

The gayest laddie of all the group;

He paused beside her and whispered low,

"I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."

Her aged hand on his strong young arm

She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along,

Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,

His young heart happy and well content.

"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,

For all she's aged and poor and slow,

"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand

To help my mother, you understand,

"If ever she's poor and old and gray,

When her own dear boy is far away."

And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head

In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was "God be kind to the noble boy,

Who is somebody's son, and pride and joy!"