Why? Simply because I can never think of any clever, rhythmic titles for these entries, so I’ll simply leave it be.
I really do love poetry. Whether it’s a new found desire or I’ve just never realized it, I’m unsure of. Don’t let me confuse you, I do not like writing poetry. The reason being that I’m terrible at it, and don’t try and talk me out of this conclusion, I’m quite sure of it.
I don’t really like studying poetry in school either. Poetry just seems so impersonal in the classroom setting. It also seems like in the classroom you have to draw one conclusion as to what the poem means. This can work for some poems, but I don’t think poetry is always about analyzing it to fully enjoy it. Usually just the flow and use of vocabulary is enough for me to enjoy a poem. Oh well. I’m not even sure any of that made sense.
Anyways, I’d like to share some poems I’ve come to love.
Now, before I post, I have a book of poems by Emily Dickinson. I, like many other poetry enthusiasts, have come to really enjoy her. Unfortunately, her views of God seem to be a little…off. So I have to do my best to avoid those poems.
P.S. All of these are buy Dickinson.
The bee is not afraid of me-
The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer’s day?
If I should die-
If I should die,
And you should live,
And time should gurgle on,
And morn should beam,
And noon should burn,
As it has usual done;
If birds should build as early,
And bees as bustling go,–
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
‘T is sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with daisies lie,
That commerce will continue,
And trades as briskly fly.
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene,
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!
This next one doesn’t seem as blasphemous as some of her others, but I could have possibly interpreted wrongly.
It was too late for man–
It was too late for man,
But early yet for God;
Creation impotent to help,
But prayer remained our side.
How excellent the heaven,
When earth cannot be had;
How hospitable, then, the face
Of our old neighbor, God!
I’m interested in reading some more W.H. Auden, G.K. Chesterton, T.S. Eliot, Alfred Noyes, etc.
Well, if anyone reads this, comment or something.
P.S. The new blog title is inspired by the novella by Franz Kafka. He’s probably one of my favorite authors. People like to say he’s nihilistic, but I think his works cause one to question instead of come to a conclusion of nothing. Kafka’s too profound to limit to one category. Goodnight.
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