Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”

You do not have to be good.You do not have to walk on your kneesFor a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.Meanwhile the world goes on.Meanwhile the sun and the clear […]

Seamus Heaney, 3 Poems from “Squarings”

Squarings #2Roof it again. Batten down. Dig in.Drink out of tin. Know the scullery cold,A latch, a door-bar, forged tongs and a grate.Touch the cross-beam, drive iron in a wall,Hang a line to verify the plumbFrom lintel, coping-stone and chimney-breast.Relocate the bedrock in the threshold.Take squarings from the recessed gable pane.Make your study the unregarded […]

Comment on Sharon Olds, “The Connoisseuse of Slugs” by Slug? – a boy's head

[…] came across this poem by Sharon Olds – which made me lol. We men give ourselves such […]

Sharon Olds, “The Connoisseuse of Slugs”

When I was a connoisseuse of slugsI would part the ivy leaves, and look for thenaked jelly of those gold bodies,translucent strangers glistening along thestones, slowly, their gelatinous bodiesat my mercy. Made mostly of water, they would shrivelto nothing if they were sprinkled with salt,but I was not interested in that. What I likedwas to […]

Comment on Louise Glück, “Matins” and “Vespers” by House of Heart

One of our best poets! Thank you.

Louise Glück, “Matins” and “Vespers”

MatinsForgive me if I say I love you: the powerfulare always lied to since the weak are alwaysdriven by panic. I cannot lovewhat I can’t conceive, and you disclosevirtually nothing: are you like the hawthorn tree,always the same thing in the same place,or are you more the foxglove, inconsistent, first springing upa pink spike on […]

Eavan Boland, “The Making of an Irish Goddess”

Ceres went to hellwith no sense of time.When she looked backall that she could see wasthe arteries of silver in the rock,the diligence of rivers always at one level,wheat at one height,leaves of a single colour,the same distance in the usual light;a seasonless, unscarred earth.But I need time –my flesh and that history –to make […]

Comment on How Death Comes (a poem from 1250) by Rachel McAlpine

What a beaut poem!

Laurie Sheck, “The Subway Platform”

And then the gray concrete of the subway platform, that shore stripped of all premise of softnessor repose. I stood there, beneath the city’s sequential grids and frameworks, its wrappings and unwrappingslike a robe sewn with birds that flew into seasons of light, a robe of goldand then a robe of ash.All around me were […]

How Death Comes (a poem from 1250)

Thanks to everyone who has been reading and commenting on the Daily Poems. It takes a few months to work backward from twentieth century poems to some of the earliest English verse. Dating to the year 1250 or so, today's poem is the last from this round; tomorrow, we will swing back to the twentieth […]

Anthology: Poems for Spring (from the archive)

An episode from 3/12/23: Tonight, I return to new episodes with a handful of poems about the spring. As I mention, living as I do in a city usually inundated with snow, it has been bizarre to have not shoveled the driveway even once. And since the next few weeks of episodes are already planned […]

Comment on A Love Poem that Still Stings After 700 Years by Anonymous

<!-- wp:paragraph --> <p>this is true! </p> <!-- /wp:paragraph -->

A Love Poem that Still Stings After 700 Years

from "The white beauty," c. 1300Herkneth me, I ou telle. In such wondring for wo I welle; Nis no fur so hot in helle All to monThat loveth derne and dar nout telle Whet him is on. Hear me, I tell you. I suffer for sorrow in such distress of mind. There is no fire […]

Comment on Heaney on Writing by Chris Hedges: Israel’s War on Journalism – Targeting Journalists is a Crime

[…] They shine a light into the machinery of power. They tell the truth, for as the poet Seamus Heaney said, “There’s such a thing as truth and it can be told.” They make public the cruelty, mendacity […]

Comment on Shopping for books? by kunallal84

<!-- wp:paragraph --> <p>Hi Tim,</p> <!-- /wp:paragraph --><!-- wp:paragraph --> <p>I wanted to buy Notes from the Grid as I had enjoyed your readings from it on the podcast, but couldn't find it on Amazon India. I did buy Bone Antler Stone a couple of months ago. It was the second book of poetry I ever bought (Palgrave was first, a decade ago). I never enjoyed English poetry as a student except for Coleridge and Carroll. So I was pleasantly surprised by what I read in your book.</p> <!-- /wp:paragraph --><!-- wp:paragraph --> <p>While some of the factual information was familiar from documentaries etc, I loved the insights your work brought. The first poem, though entirely in contemporary setting, illustrated the chasm between our world and the prehistoric one. I also found your attempt to see through the eyes of a cave painter thought provoking. Particularly the poem where you describe the bear's claw marks turned to bison and behind it all, the first glimmer of religion? Your tale of families trusting their lives to the currents to end up on English shores, I see the courage this must have taken. Regrettably, we still see scenes like that today. Unfortunately I misplaced my volume before I could finish it.</p> <!-- /wp:paragraph --><!-- wp:paragraph --> <p>I thought your work was very valuable. Too often in drama or novel we see modern minds in ancient clothes. With our soft hands and hardened minds, how far can we imagine a world where every day brought existential struggle, danger and adventure. When gods walked the Earth and magic floated on air.</p> <!-- /wp:paragraph -->

Shopping for books?

If you enjoy receiving daily poems from me… or listening to my podcast… if you’re into ancient history or the American Civil War… if you enjoy archaeology or religion or even short stories… you’ll probably be into at least one of my books. Give them a look, order a few, pass them around. There (might) […]

An anonymous poem of incredible cynicism, from c. 1325

Lollay, lollay, little child, why wepestou so sore? Nedes mostou wepe – it was iyarked thee yoreEver to lib in sorow, and sich and mourne evere, As thine eldren did er this, whil hi alives were. Lollay, lollay, little child, child, lollay, lullow, Into uncuth world icommen so ertou. Lollay, lollay, little child, why do […]

Geoffrey Chaucer, “Ballade to Rosamund”

Madame, ye ben of al beaute shryneAs fer as cercled is the mapamounde, map of the worldFor as the cristal glorious ye shyne,And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde.Therwith ye ben so mery and so jocoundeThat at a revel whan that I see you daunce,It is an oynement unto my wounde,Thogh ye to me ne […]

The Great Myths #24: Sigurd & the Dragon (from the archive)

An episode from 5/20/24: Tonight, after a long hiatus, we return to Norse myth with the story of Sigurd’s killing of the dragon, Fafnir. Couched in a much longer narrative that contains shape-shifting, war, revenge, brief appearances by Odin and Loki, and finally Sigurd’s ability to hear the language of birds and animals, it is […]

“Smoke-blackened smiths” (an anonymous poem from c. 1450)

Swart-smecked smethe, smatered with smoke, Smoke-blackened smiths, begrimed with smoke,Drive me to deth with den of here dintes: drive me to death with the din of their blows:Swich nois on nightes ne herd men never, such noise by night no man ever heard,What knavene cry and clattering of knockes! what crying of workmen and clattering […]

“A Friar Complains” (anonymous poem from c. 1500)

Alas! what shul we freres do,Now lewed men cun Holy Writ? cun/knowAlle aboute where I go They aposen me of it. They confront me with hard questions about itThen wondreth me that it is so,How lewed men cun alle wit. Sertely, we be undoBut if we mo amende it.I trowe the devil brought it aboute,To […]

Comment on Shakespeare: 3 Sonnets on Love, Lust, and Exhaustion by luisa zambrotta

In reply to <a href="https://wordandsilence.com/2025/01/17/shakespeare-3-sonnets-on-love-lust-and-exhaustion/#comment-5824">Tim Miller</a>. I'm sure I'll enjoy them a lot. Tim! Thanks a lot for your kind reply

Comment on Shakespeare: 3 Sonnets on Love, Lust, and Exhaustion by Tim Miller

In reply to <a href="https://wordandsilence.com/2025/01/17/shakespeare-3-sonnets-on-love-lust-and-exhaustion/#comment-5822">luisa zambrotta</a>. Thank you for always stopping by. Hope you enjoy the next few days of middle (& older) english poems

2 Early Versions of “The Holly and the Ivy”

from c. 1525: Holly against Ivy Nay! nay! Ivy, It may not be, iwis: iwis/indeed For Holy must have the mastry, As the maner is. Holy bereth beris, Beris rede inough: The thristilcok, the popingay cock thrush, the parrot (?) Daunce in every bough. Welaway! sory Ivy, What fowles hast thou? But the sory owlet, […]

Patti Smith / Mazzy Star & Living Colour / Philip Glass (from the archive)

An episode from 11/13/23: Tonight, I talk about our attachment to music as teenagers and adults, and the lessons that loving music—and finding meaning in musicians’ life stories—can teach us. First, I read two passages from Patti Smith’s memoir, ⁠Just Kids⁠. Those parts on her early life with the photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, before either of […]

Comment on Thomas Wyatt, “What does this mean?” by satyam rastogi

Nice post

Thomas Wyatt, “What does this mean?”

What menethe this? When I lye aloneI tosse, I turne, I sighe, I grone;My bed semes as hard as stone:What menes this?I sighe, I plaine continually; The clothes that on my bed do lie Always, methinks, they lie awry: What menes this? In slumbers oft for fere I quake, For hete and cold I burne […]

Comment on Shakespeare: 3 Sonnets on Love, Lust, and Exhaustion by luisa zambrotta

Thanks for sharing those great sonnets

Shakespeare: 3 Sonnets on Love, Lust, and Exhaustion

Sonnet 27Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,The dear repose for limbs with travel tired,But then begins a journey in my headTo work my mind when body’s work’s expired.For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,Looking on darkness which the blind […]

Comment on Shakespeare: King Lear Out in the Elements by luisa zambrotta

In reply to <a href="https://wordandsilence.com/2025/01/15/shakespeare-king-lear-out-in-the-elements/#comment-5819">Tim Miller</a>. No, I have never presented it to the courses at the University for the Third Age. I presented Lear when I taught in high school, to teenagers, who were at an age and in a condition for which old age is a very distant thing that will never happen to them

Shakespeare: “I stay too long by thee; I weary thee” (from Henry IV pt. 2)

King: I stay too long by thee; I weary thee.Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chairThat thou wilt needs invest thee with my honorsBefore thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth,Thou seek’st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignityIs held from falling with so weak a windThat […]

Comment on Shakespeare: King Lear Out in the Elements by Tim Miller

In reply to <a href="https://wordandsilence.com/2025/01/15/shakespeare-king-lear-out-in-the-elements/#comment-5818">luisa zambrotta</a>. Have you presented any of Lear to students at U of the Third Age? I wonder what they think Lear's take on old age is

Comment on Shakespeare: King Lear Out in the Elements by luisa zambrotta

Shakespeare: King Lear Out in the Elements

“Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!” (King Lear III.ii) Lear: Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!You cataracts and hurricanoes, spoutTill you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks.You sulph’rous and thought-executing fires,Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder,Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ th’ world.Crack nature’s molds, […]

Comment on Shakespeare: “Are thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?”: 2 Speeches from “Titus Andronicus” by Tim Miller

In reply to <a href="https://wordandsilence.com/2025/01/13/are-thou-not-sorry-for-these-heinous-deeds-2-speeches-from-titus-andronicus/#comment-5816">kunallal84</a>. It's only a guess, but since it's an early play, esp one where a young Shakespeare is having huge fun doing a death-filled tragedy, I bet your "mayhem and misery for its own sake" is closest to the truth. Shakespeare's truly nihilistic villains seem to be evil precisely because they're wreaking chaos simply because they can, & not even for their own ends. ...on a deeper level, maybe he sees chaos & violence as forces of nature, so that they can't be analyzed like his other characters? It's something Cormac McCarthy in Blood Meridian would get, in the character of the Judge. ...what do you think?

Great Poems: Shakespeare’s “To be or not to be” (from the archive)

An episode from 8/12/22: Everybody knows the most famous soliloquy in all of drama, or at least the first line of it: ⁠”To be or not to be, that is the question,”⁠ from act three of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Tonight, I delve into the speech and try to figure out why it works so well not just as […]

Comment on Shakespeare: “Are thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?”: 2 Speeches from “Titus Andronicus” by kunallal84

<!-- wp:paragraph --> <p>Hi,</p> <!-- /wp:paragraph --><!-- wp:paragraph --> <p>I remember reading this play as a schoolboy. Both these speeches stuck in my memory (though vaguely except for "But that I cannot do ten thousand more" which remained clear). Even then and never since have I fully understood Aaron's motivation. All other characters are clear in what they do and why. But this one seems to be there only to create mayhem and misery for its own sake. Is there no more to this than Loki's mischief or is there something deeper at work? In what furnace was his brain? What do you think?</p> <!-- /wp:paragraph --><!-- wp:paragraph --> <p>Kunal</p> <!-- /wp:paragraph -->

Shakespeare: “Are thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?”: 2 Speeches from “Titus Andronicus”

“Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?” (Titus Andronicus, V.i)Lucius: Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?Aaron: Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.Even now I curse the day – and yet, I think,Few come within the compass of my curse –Wherein I did not some notorious ill,As kill a man, […]

Recent Poems & Essays

For those of you who are interested, here are a few recent poems and essays that have appeared. The full list is always here. A few poems from The Great Year: Two essays on Judaism in the Pittsburgh Jewish Chronicle: Other essays on poetry and history:

Ben Jonson, from “The Triumph of Charis”

Have you seen but a bright lily grow, Before rude hands have touch’d it?Ha’you mark’d but the fall o’ the snow Before the soil hath smutch’d it?Ha’you felt the wool o’ the beaver? Or swan's down ever?Or have smelt o' the bud o’ the briar? Or the nard in the fire?Or have tasted the bag […]

Comment on John Donne, “Death be not proud” by luisa zambrotta

Wonderful! Always!

John Donne, “Death be not proud”

Death be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee;From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,And soonest our best men with thee doe […]

Comment on Wordsworth’s 1805 Prelude, Book 13: “The perfect image of a mighty mind, of one that feeds upon infinity” by Anthology: Visionary Poetry fr...

[…] William Wordsworth: from the thirteenth book of The Prelude […]

Anthology: Visionary Poetry from Yeats, Whitman, Blake & Myth (from the archive)

An episode from 3/3/24: Tonight, I read from a handful of what I call “visionary” poems. After an introductory section of familiar nineteenth- and twentieth-century poets, I go back to the sources of those, which are found in religious scripture and myth: You can support Human Voices Wake Us here, or by ordering any of my […]

Henry King, “The Exequy”

Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint,Instead of dirges, this complaint;And for sweet flow’rs to crown thy hearse,From thy griev’d friend, whom thou might’st seeQuite melted into tears for thee. Dear loss! since thy untimely fateMy task hath been to meditateOn thee, on thee; thou art the book,The library whereon I look,Though almost blind. For […]

First Person: Voices from 1900-1914 (from the archive)

An episode from 1/2/23: Tonight, I read a handful of voices from those living in Europe and the United States between 1900 and 1914. Rephrased only slightly, nearly all of their concerns (over technology, gender, nationalism, war, eugenics) feel like they could appear in the news or on the street today. Then and now, what […]

George Herbert, “The Flower”

How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and cleanAre thy returns! ev’n as the flowers in spring; To which, besides their own demean,The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. Who would have thought my shrivel’d heartCould have recover’d greennesse? It was […]

John Milton: Eve and the Serpent from “Paradise Lost”

For now, and since first break of dawne the Fiend,Meer Serpent in appearance, forth was come,And on his Quest, where likeliest he might findeThe onely two of Mankinde, but in themThe whole included Race, his purposd prey.In Bowre and Field he sought, where any tuftOf Grove or Garden-Plot more pleasant lay,Thir tendance or Plantation for […]

Henry Vaughan, “The Book”

Eternal God! maker of all That have liv’d here, since the mans fall; The Rock of ages! in whose shadeThey live unseen, when here they fade. Thou knew’st this papyr, when it was Meer seed, and after that but grass; Before ’twas drest or spun, and whenMade linen, who did wear it then: What were […]

Van Gogh’s Early Years (from the archive)

An episode from 12/7/22: Tonight, we enter into the early years of Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890), from his birth in the village of Zundert in the Netherlands, to his time in the Borinage mining region of Belgium. It was there, at the age of twenty-seven—and after years of personal and professional failures—that he hit bottom […]

Comment on Andrew Marvell, “To His Coy Mistress” by luisa zambrotta

In reply to <a href="https://wordandsilence.com/2024/12/23/andrew-marvell-to-his-coy-mistress/#comment-5809">Tim Miller</a>. I totally agree with you! I just presented it in a lecture at the university of the third age in my town

Comment on Andrew Marvell, “To His Coy Mistress” by Tim Miller

In reply to <a href="https://wordandsilence.com/2024/12/23/andrew-marvell-to-his-coy-mistress/#comment-5808">luisa zambrotta</a>. it's still incredible how modern the poem sounds, it could have been written in the last 20yrs

Comment on Andrew Marvell, “To His Coy Mistress” by luisa zambrotta

Andrew Marvell, “To His Coy Mistress”

Had we but World enough, and Time,This coyness Lady were no crime.We would sit down, and think which wayTo walk, and pass our long Loves Day.Thou by the Indian Ganges sideShould’st Rubies find: I by the TideOf Humber would complain. I wouldLove you ten years before the Flood:And you should if you please refuseTill the […]

Anne Finch, “Adam Pos’d”

Cou’d our First Father, at his toilsome Plough,Thorns in his Path, and Labour on his Brow,Cloath’d only in a rude, unpolish’d Skin,Cou’d he a vain Fantastick Nymph have seen,In all her Airs, in all her antick Graces,Her various Fashions, and more various Faces;How had it pos’d that Skill, which late assign’dJust Appellations to Each several […]

Jonathan Swift, “A Description of the Morning”

Now hardly here and there a hackney-coachAppearing, show’d the ruddy morn’s approach.Now Betty from her master’s bed had flown,And softly stole to discompose her own.The slip-shod ’prentice from his master’s doorHad par’d the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor.Now Moll had whirl’d her mop with dext’rous airs,Prepar’d to scrub the entry and the stairs.The youth […]

Alexander Pope, from “An Essay on Man”

The bliss of Man (could Pride that blessing find)Is, not to think, or act, beyond Mankind;No pow’rs of Body or of Soul to share,But what his Nature and his State can bear.Why has not Man a microscopic eye?For this plain reason, Man is not a Fly.Say what the use, were finer opticks giv'n,T’ inspect a […]

William Blake (new episode)

An episode from 12/9/24: Tonight’s episode gathers together all of the readings I’ve done on this podcast from the poet William Blake (1757-1827). All of these poems can be found online at The Complete Poetry & Prose of William Blake: Listeners will forgive me for providing an episode that isn’t quite brand new. But in […]

Thomas Gray, “Ode on the Spring”

Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,Fair Venus’ train, appear,Disclose the long-expecting flowers,And wake the purple year!The Attic warbler pours her throat,Responsive to the cuckoo's note,The untaught harmony of spring:While whispering pleasure as they fly,Cool zephyrs through the clear blue skyTheir gathered fragrance fling.Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretchA broader browner shade;Where’er the rude and moss-grown beechO’er-canopies […]

Gilbert White, “The Naturalist’s Summer-Evening Walk”

To Thomas Pennant, Esq.When day declining sheds a milder gleam, What time the may-fly haunts the pool or stream;When the still owl skims round the grassy mead, What time the timorous hare limps forth to feed;Then be the time to steal adown the vale, And listen to the vagrant cuckoo’s tale;To hear the clamorous curlew […]

Mark Akenside, from “The Pleasures of Imagination”

A different task remains: the secret pathsOf early genius to explore: to traceThose haunts where Fancy her predestined sons, Like to the demigods of old, doth nurse Remote from eyes profane. Ye happy souls, Who now her tender discipline obey,Where dwell ye? What wild river’s brink at eve Imprint your steps? What solemn groves at […]

Joseph Warton, from “The Enthusiast: or The Lover of Nature”

All-beauteous Nature! by thy boundless charms Oppressed, O where shall I begin thy praise, Where turn th’ ecstatic eye, how ease my breast That pants with wild astonishment and love!Dark forests, and the op’ning lawn, refreshed With ever-gushing brooks, hill, meadow, dale, The balmy bean-field, the gay-coloured close, So sweetly interchanged, the lowing ox, The […]

Mary Leapor, “Mira’s Will”

IMPRIMIS – My departed Shade I trustTo Heav’n – My Body to the silent Dust;My Name to publick Censure I submit,To be dispos’d of as the World thinks fit;My Vice and Folly let Oblivion close,The World already is o’erstock’d with those;My Wit I give, as Misers give their Store,To those who think they had enough […]

Thomas Cole, from “The Life of Hubert”

The time allowed for sleep at length elapsed, We, quite refreshed, awake at usual hour, Greeted with usual sounds. The swallow’s wing In chimney tunnel flutt'ring up and down, And frequent twitt’rings sweet, as bit by bit She plasters busily, with trowel bill, The rough-cast layers of her mud-wall cell.The close-grouped pigeons on the sunny […]

Thomas Warton, “Sonnet: To the River Lodon”

Ah! what a weary race my feet have run, Since first I trod thy banks with alders crowned, And thought my way was all through fairy ground, Beneath thy azure sky, and golden sun:Where first my Muse to lisp her notes begun! While pensive memory traces back the round, Which fills the varied interval between, […]

Comment on John Cunningham, “Morning” by brightcalmillustrations

<!-- wp:paragraph --> <p>I wasn't thinking of the dawn chorus to start with and with the urban setting and the cock the first call it is not, but that is what I am left with. It is not us, people but nature anyway and a wonderful way to evoke it.</p> <!-- /wp:paragraph -->

John Cunningham, “Morning”

In the barn the tenant cock, Close to partlet perched on high, Briskly crows (the shepherd’s clock!), Jocund that the morning's nigh.Swiftly from the mountain’s brow, Shadows, nursed by night, retire:And the peeping sunbeam now Paints with gold the village spire.Philomel forsakes the thorn, Plaintive where she prates at night;And the lark, to meet the […]

John Keats: “The poet has no identity” (from the archive)

An episode from 5/5/21: Tonight, I read part of John Keats’s ⁠famous⁠ ⁠letter⁠ of October 27, 1818, where he talks about the poet and the poetic character. He asks the questions: how much of a poet’s life is given up by their focus on poetry, by their people-watching and -listening, by their lack of social […]

On Cyber Monday, Remember Poetry

If you’re buying stuff on Amazon today anyway, why not toss a S4N Pocket book into your cart while you’re at it? It’s been a joy to design these books and make them available as cheaply as possible – they are always only $3.99. Click here or on the image below to find them all.

Oliver Goldsmith, from “Retaliation”

Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man; As an actor, confest without rival to shine, As a wit, if not first, in the very first line; Yet with talents like these, and an excellent heart, The man had his failings, a dupe to his art; […]

William Cowper, from “The Task”

from Book 1 For I have loved the rural walk through lanes Of grassy swarth close cropt by nibbling sheep, And skirted thick with intertexture firm Of thorny boughs: have loved the rural walk O’er hills, through valleys, and by rivers brink, E’er since a truant boy I pass’d my bounds T’enjoy a ramble on […]

Thomas Holcroft, “Gaffer Gray”

Ho! Why dost thou shiver and shake, Gaffer Gray? And why doth thy nose look so blue? “’Tis the weather that’s cold; ’Tis I’m grown very old, And my doublet is not very new, Well-a-day!' Then line thy worn doublet with ale, Gaffer Gray; And warm thy old heart with a glass. “Nay but credit […]

The Great Myths #2: Enkidu in the Underworld (from the archive)

An episode from 12/30/20: In this second episode on Mesopotamian myth, we return to the story of Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh and Enkidu’s destructive adventures lead directly to the latter’s death, and here I read Enkidu’s deathbed speech, and the dream he has of the Underworld. The translations I read from are by ⁠Andrew George⁠ and N. K. Sandars. Other […]

Comment on The Sound of Beethoven (from the archive) by Tim Miller

In reply to <a href="https://wordandsilence.com/2024/11/19/the-sound-of-beethoven-from-the-archive/#comment-5801">softlygardener2df1eaeb3d</a>. many thanks for your good words

George Farewell, from “The Country Man”

Over the meadow bounds the skittish colt, And dashes in swift course the bord ring wave, Or scours the hollow of the lofty mount, And plashes through the stony stream unshod. Fierce shines his comely front, his waving mane Wantons in wind, his ears prick quavering up. From his round jetty head his ample eye […]

John O’Keeffe, “Air”

AirA flaxen-headed cow-boy, as simple as may be, And next a merry plough-boy, I whistled o’er the lea;But now a saucy footman, I strut in worsted lace,And soon I'll be a butler, and wag my jolly face;When steward I'm promoted, I'll snip a tradesman’s bill, My master’s coffers empty, my pockets for to fill;When lolling […]

2 Anonymous Poems from the 18th Century

The Soldier that has Seen Service. A Sketch from Nature (published 1788)From Calpe’s rock, with loss of leg, Reduced from port to port to beg, See the conquering hero comes:An ass’s panniers bear his all, Two sickly brats that fret and bawl, And suck, for want of food, their thumbs.The drooping mother follows near, Now […]

William Blake, 3 excerpts from “Jerusalem” on Creativity & Vision

“When this Verse was first dictated to me”When this Verse was first dictated to me I consider’d a Monotonous Cadence like that used by Milton & Shakspeare & all writers of English Blank Verse, derived from the modern bondage of Rhyming; to be a necessary and indispensible part of Verse. But I soon found that […]

Comment on The Sound of Beethoven (from the archive) by softlygardener2df1eaeb3d

Recover well. You are appreciated. Sent from my iPhone

The Sound of Beethoven (from the archive)

An episode from 1/1/24: Tonight, a cold has forced me to hand over the episode almost entirely to some of the greatest music ever written. Here are excerpts of my favorite pieces from Ludwig van Beethoven (1750-1827). It’s hard to think of music that is more passionate, introspective, uplifting, brooding, mournful, and joyous. The sources […]

Robert Burns, 2 Songs

John Anderson my Jo John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bony brow was brent;But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw;But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo.John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill the […]

Comment on William Wordsworth, Three Sonnets on How to Live by satyam rastogi

Nice post

William Wordsworth, Three Sonnets on How to Live

“The world is too much with us”The world is too much with us; late and soon,Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:Little we see in nature that is ours;We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;The Winds that will be howling at all hoursAnd are […]

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, “Frost at Midnight”

The Frost performs its secret ministry,Unhelped by any wind. The owlet’s cryCame loud – and hark, again! loud as before.The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,Have left me to that solitude, which suitsAbstruser musings: save that at my sideMy cradled infant slumbers peacefully.’Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbsAnd vexes meditation with its […]

Comment on Walter Savage Landor, “Separation” by brightcalmillustrations

<!-- wp:paragraph --> <p>Trespass fear, alienation, oppression. They compound to force a state of loneliness. That seems not to be the heart and nature here.</p> <!-- /wp:paragraph -->

Walter Savage Landor, “Separation”

There is a mountain and a wood between us,Where the lone shepherd and late bird have seen usMorning and noon and even-tide repass.Between us now the mountain and the woodSeem standing darker than last year they stood,And say we must not cross, alas! alas! Walter Savage Landor, 1775-1864 – “Separation” from Poems

Bruce Springsteen / Simon Schama / The Iliad (from the archive)

An episode from 7/28/23: Tonight’s episode looks in on history, creativity, and mourning from three different angles: In the first part, we hear scattered remarks from Bruce Springsteen over the years, about his low-fi and haunting 1982 album, ⁠Nebraska⁠. It is remarkable how the album was made by Springsteen, alone in his bedroom, with a cheap […]

Comment on Heaney on Writing by Războiul Israelului împotriva jurnalismului | Reporterii palestinieni și familiile lor din Gaza sunt vizați pentru asa...

[…] Ei strălucesc o lumină în mașina puterii. Ei spun adevărul, pentru ca poetul Seamus Heaney spuse„Există așa ceva ca adevărul și poate fi spus.” Ei fac publice cruzimea, falsitatea și […]

Comment on Heaney on Writing by Israel’s War on Journalism - MLToday

[…] They shine a light into the machinery of power. They tell the truth, for as the poet Seamus Heaney said, “There’s such a thing as truth and it can be told.” They make public the cruelty, mendacity […]

John Clare, “An Invite to Eternity”

Wilt thou go with me sweet maidSay maiden wilt thou go with meThrough the valley depths of shadeOf night and dark obscurityWhere the path hath lost its wayWhere the sun forgets the dayWhere there’s nor life nor light to seeSweet maiden wilt thou go with meWhere stones will turn to flooding streamsWhere plains will rise […]

Now available: “Bone Antler Stone”

Back in 2018, Bone Antler Stone was first released in Britain by The High Window Press. It has now been released in America by S4N Books. You can buy the book here. Scroll down for reviews, audio I’ve recorded from the book, and an interview with NPR. “Our prehistory now has its poet laureate.”– Barry […]

John Keats, “Ode on a Grecian Urn”

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What […]

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “’Tis better to have loved and lost”: 3 poems from “In Memoriam”

7Dark house, by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to beatSo quickly, waiting for a hand,A hand that can be clasp’d no more – Behold me, for I cannot sleep, And like a guilty thing I creepAt earliest morning to the door.He is not […]

Notes from the Grid: All Things Can Console (from the archive)

An episode from 5/9/22: Tonight, I continue my five-part series called Notes from the Grid. (A print version of NFTG has since been published.) I suggest that we don’t need to be missionaries for the culture and politics and even religion we love, and nor should we assume that anybody else needs the very things that we […]

Comment on Emily Brontë, “The night is darkening round me” by Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

I wonder where she was refusing to go? Not that it matters, the words are everything...

Emily Brontë, “The night is darkening round me”

The night is darkening round meThe wild winds coldly blowBut a tyrant spell has bound meAnd I cannot, cannot goThe giant trees are bendingTheir bare boughs weighed with snowThe storm is fast descendingAnd yet I cannot goClouds beyond clouds above meWastes beyond wastes belowBut nothing drear can move meI will not, cannot go Emily Brontë, […]

Comment on Heaney on Writing by La guerra de Israel contra el periodismo – Periódico Alternativo

[…] verdaderos periodistas. Ellos esclarecen la maquinaria del poder. Dicen la verdad, porque como dijo el poeta Seamus Heaney, «Existe la verdad y se puede decir». Hacen públicas la crueldad, la […]

Comment on Heaney on Writing by La guerra de Israel contra el periodismo - Quisqueya Será Libre

[…] verdaderos periodistas. Ellos esclarecen la maquinaria del poder. Dicen la verdad, porque como dijo el poeta Seamus Heaney, «Existe la verdad y se puede decir». Hacen públicas la crueldad, la […]

Walt Whitman, “Song of the Open Road”

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 am good-fortune,Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,Strong and content, I travel the open road.The earth – that is sufficient,I do not want the […]

Comment on Heaney on Writing by La guerra de Israel contra el periodismo – Gaceta Crítica

[…] luz sobre la maquinaria del poder. Dicen la verdad, porque como dijo el poeta Seamus Heaney: dijo“La verdad existe y se puede decir”. Hacen públicas la crueldad, la mendacidad y la […]