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Korean Job Discussion Forums "The Internet's Meeting Place for ESL/EFL Teachers from Around the World!"
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tommynomad

Joined: 24 Jul 2004 Location: on the move
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Posted: Fri Sep 30, 2005 10:33 am Post subject: |
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"Paradise Lost" by John Milton.
The flaming Seraph fearless, though alone
Encompass'd round with foes, thus answerd bold.
O alienate from God, O spirit accurst,
Forsak'n of all good; I see thy fall
Determind, and thy hapless crew involv'd
In this perfidious fraud, contagion spred
Both of thy crime and punishment: henceforth
No more be troubl'd how to quit the yoke
Of Gods messiah; those indulgent Laws
Will not be now voutsaf't, other Decrees
Against thee are gon forth without recall;
That Golden Scepter which thou didst reject
Is now an Iron Rod to bruise and breake
Thy disobedience. Well thou didst advise,
Yet not for thy advise or threats I fly
These wicked Tents devoted, least the wrauth
Impendent, raging into sudden flame
Distinguish not: for soon expect to feel
His Thunder on thy head, devouring fire.
Then who created thee lamenting learne,
When who can uncreate thee thou shalt know.
(near the end of book 5) |
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anjucat
Joined: 26 Jul 2005
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Posted: Fri Sep 30, 2005 10:58 am Post subject: |
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This has always been my fave: "The Men that don't Fit In", by Robert Service.
There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb in the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight, they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say, "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only an fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
At a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day with a hope that is dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.
____________________________________
Good idear fer a post there. Poems is good. |
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igotthisguitar

Joined: 08 Apr 2003 Location: South Korea (Permanent Vacation)
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Posted: Wed Mar 22, 2006 7:54 pm Post subject: |
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HOWL
For Carl Solomon
I
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated ...
http://www.ginzy.com/Poems.html#Howl |
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Lizara

Joined: 14 Apr 2004 Location: Seoul
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Posted: Wed Mar 22, 2006 8:00 pm Post subject: |
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The Wasteland, by T.S. Eliot.
WAY too long to post here. I also like The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. Or pretty much anything else by Eliot. |
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ddeubel

Joined: 20 Jul 2005
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Posted: Wed Mar 22, 2006 8:10 pm Post subject: |
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Let America Be America Again by Langston Hughes
http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2443/
Too hard to pick a favorite, but this one is powerful and is as relevant today as when Hughes wrote it in 1938.
Great thread, by the way |
I dig Hughes also. Very underrated poet, as so many great ones are. I also love Auden (especially to W.B. Yeats) and Irving Layton (the Bull Calf, for Musia's Grandchildren.) but yeah hard to pick a winner. Gyorgy Faludy's "Ode to the Moon -- ave luna, una morituri, te salutante" stands in my mind with the best of the 20th century.
But I like brevity. Short and to the point, economy. don't like much of Bukowski but this small one really gets to me . Also means something to me, being a teacher...
I met a genius
I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.
it was the first time I'd
realized
that.
My fav. Langston Hughes poem......
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Life is Fine
by Langston Hughes
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!
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captain kirk
Joined: 29 Jan 2003
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Don Gately

Joined: 20 Mar 2006 Location: In a basement taking a severe beating
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Posted: Thu Mar 23, 2006 12:06 am Post subject: |
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"You Can Have It" by Phillip Levine
"Love Is Not All" by Edna St. Vincent Millay |
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Nowhere Man

Joined: 08 Feb 2004
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Posted: Thu Mar 23, 2006 1:26 am Post subject: ... |
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Nice to see this thread back on the block.
Don,
Can you give us a link?
While I'm at it, I'll toss out another fav:
Desiderata by Max Ehrmann
http://hobbes.ncsa.uiuc.edu/desiderata.html |
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schwa
Joined: 18 Jan 2003 Location: Yap
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Posted: Thu Mar 23, 2006 2:40 am Post subject: |
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I studied under some fine poets in university & seriously tried my hand at it myself, with mediocre results. Good poets are a special breed! Focused my grad studies on appreciating the greats, from ancient to modern.
Years later, I have just one book of poetry on my bookshelf: The Essential Rumi, Coleman Barkes translation. I've owned this book many times & given it away just about as often. 13th century Sufi mystic meets deft modern interpreter. Fresh & fun to read, bottomless in its implications.
But my contribution to this thread is an old & overlooked little gem by some anonymous genius:
Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream,
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.
Beat that for simplicity, artfulness, & memorability. Heres an interesting Buddhist take on it: http://www.serve.com/cmtan/buddhism/Misc/boat.html |
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peemil

Joined: 09 Feb 2003 Location: Koowoompa
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Posted: Thu Mar 23, 2006 2:55 am Post subject: |
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| "There once was a man from Nantucket." |
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Don Gately

Joined: 20 Mar 2006 Location: In a basement taking a severe beating
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cypher
Joined: 08 Nov 2003
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Posted: Thu Mar 23, 2006 5:14 am Post subject: |
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| schwa wrote: |
| Years later, I have just one book of poetry on my bookshelf: The Essential Rumi, Coleman Barkes translation. I've owned this book many times & given it away just about as often. 13th century Sufi mystic meets deft modern interpreter. Fresh & fun to read, bottomless in its implications. |
I love some of the sufi writing, I mean love like I love nothing else I've read.
I also love this part of Intimations on Immortality, Wordsworth:
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I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
--But there's a Tree, of many, one,
A single Field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The Pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
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and this from its companion, Dejection, Coleridge:
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A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear--
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They're so melancholy, it makes me sad just reading them, like the light might go out of the world. |
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cwemory

Joined: 14 Jan 2006 Location: Gunpo, Korea
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Posted: Thu Mar 23, 2006 5:25 am Post subject: |
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Top topic.
Blackberrying
Sylvia Path
Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,
Blackberries on either side, though on the right mainly,
A blackberry alley, going down in hooks, and a sea
Somewhere at the end of it, heaving. Blackberries
Big as the ball of my thumb, and dumb as eyes
Ebon in the hedges, fat
With blue-red juices. These they squander on my fingers.
I had not asked for such a blood sisterhood; they must love me.
They accommodate themselves to my milkbottle, flattening their sides.
Overhead go the choughs in black, cacophonous flocks ---
Bits of burnt paper wheeling in a blown sky.
Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting.
I do not think the sea will appear at all.
The high, green meadows are glowing, as if lit from within.
I come to one bush of berries so ripe it is a bush of flies,
Hanging their bluegreen bellies and their wing panes in a Chinese screen.
The honey-feast of the berries has stunned them; they believe in heaven.
One more hook, and the berries and bushes end.
The only thing to come now is the sea.
From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me,
Slapping its phantom laundry in my face.
These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me
To the hills' northern face, and the face is orange rock
That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space
Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths
Beating and beating at an intractable metal. |
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C.M.
Joined: 02 Dec 2005 Location: Gangwondo
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Posted: Thu Mar 23, 2006 6:42 am Post subject: |
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William Blake is indeed rock-solid. I seem to spend much of my time slumming around the 19th century. I love (and at times hate) Walt Whitman; Herman Melville is fine; for later material, I often go for D.H Lawrence (I can't seem to shake that Lawrence thing ). Phillip Larkin is exceptional. Tried Dylan Thomas but got nowhere...though I really enjoy the lusty reading Rodney Dangerfield gives to that one Thomas poem (you know the one) in the movie BACK TO SCHOOL. |
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Xerxes

Joined: 10 Jan 2006 Location: Down a certain (rabbit) hole, apparently
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Posted: Thu Mar 23, 2006 7:00 am Post subject: |
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I really like reading verse aloud and Dylan Thomas is great for that, as is the one below. Great thread.
I tried to start a thread, now really buried, for people who wanted to post their own verse. You still can here: http://www.eslcafe.com/forums/korea/viewtopic.php?t=51844&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=0 in the "Post here if you're hammered and let's see what transpires" thread.
| Dylan Thomas in From Love's First Fever To Her Plague wrote: |
From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft second
And to the hollow minute of the womb,
From the unfolding to the scissored caul,
The time for breast and the green apron age
When no mouth stirred about the hanging famine,
All world was one, one windy nothing,
My world was christened in a stream of milk.
And earth and sky were as one airy hill,
The sun and moon shed one white light.
From the first print of the unshodden foot, the lifting
Hand, the breaking of the hair,
From the first secret of the heart, the warning ghost,
And to the first dumb wonder at the flesh,
The sun was red, the moon was grey,
The earth and sky were as two mountains meeting.
The body prospered, teeth in the marrowed gums,
The growing bones, the rumour of manseed
Within the hallowed gland, blood blessed the heart,
And the four winds, that had long blown as one,
Shone in my ears the light of sound,
Called in my eyes the sound of light.
And yellow was the multiplying sand,
Each golden grain spat life into its fellow,
Green was the singing house.
The plum my mother picked matured slowly,
The boy she dropped from darkness at her side
Into the sided lap of light grew strong,
Was muscled, matted, wise to the crying thigh
And to the voice that, like a voice of hunger,
Itched in the noise of wind and sun.
And from the first declension of the flesh
I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts
Into the stony idiom of the brain,
To shade and knit anew the patch of words
Left by the dead who, in their moonless acre,
Need no word's warmth.
The root of tongues ends in a spentout cancer,
That but a name, where maggots have their X.
I learnt the verbs of will, and had my secret;
The code of night tapped on my tongue;
What had been one was many sounding minded.
One womb, one mind, spewed out the matter,
One breast gave suck the fever's issue;
From the divorcing sky I learnt the double,
The two-framed globe that spun into a score;
A million minds gave suck to such a bud
As forks my eye;
Youth did condense; the tears of spring
Dissolved in summer and the hundred seasons;
One sun, one manna, warmed and fed. |
Really rolls right off your tongue and sounds great with a low baritone voice, like Dylan had, or with a whisky buzz. That last, ole Dylan would approve of himself. |
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