I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Since last month’s column on my favorite books proved so popular, I figured an encore was in order; today and tomorrow I’ll present my favorite poems, arranged alphabetically by poet. As is my custom, I’ve limited the selections to one per poet and listed others as honorable mentions. I’ll share short selections within the column, but longer ones as PDFs, and in cases where I was fortunate enough to locate an illustrated version of an honorable mention I used it as the illustration; just click on it to enlarge. Those blessed with good memories or burdened with English degrees have probably noticed my preference for 19th century literature, especially of the Romantic period (roughly the first half of the century and the end of the 18th); even most of my 20th century selections cluster in the first half. I’d say 75% of all the fiction and poetry I’ve ever read was written between 1766 and 1966, with the remaining quarter divided evenly between the pre-1766 and post-1966 periods. Why? I have no clue; maybe it’s related to the fact that I always get a profound frisson when writing or reading about Catherine Eddowes.
1) “The Tyger” (1794) by William Blake (HM “A Poison Tree” & “The Sick Rose”)
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Blake was a poet, engraver and visionary; he had visions from the time he was a small child and they often inspired his work. He developed an entire personal mythology as complex as that later created by H.P. Lovecraft, and used it throughout his oeuvre…which often, as these selections demonstrate, contained an undercurrent of horror (consider the theological implications in the penultimate stanza of “The Tyger”). He’s my favorite poet and I’ve quoted him (usually from “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell”) and used his illustrations in a number of columns. I also have the honor of being distantly related to him.
2) “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” (1842) by Robert Browning (HM “Porphyria’s Lover”)
Yes, it’s doggerel; some of the rhymes are almost painful! But Browning did it on purpose to maintain a light tone in what would otherwise have been a mighty grim fairy tale about the consequences of not paying what one owes for a service (apparently Agent Huntington didn’t learn the lesson). The Piper is of course one of the Fair Folk, and dealings with such beings are always fraught with danger (as demonstrated in two more of my selections tomorrow). The legend dates to shortly after the original incident in 1284 (and as Browning tells us was commemorated in a stained-glass window a few years later), but his version (re-dated to 1376) is the most memorable.
3) “The Destruction of Sennacherib” (1815) by George Gordon, Lord Byron
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
The topic is of course Biblical, a retelling of 2 Kings 19; I like it for the beauty of its language and the power of its imagery. I’ve always suspected that the climactic scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark was inspired by this poem. Bonus: A very funny parody of it by Ogden Nash.
4) “Jabberwocky” (1872) by Lewis Carroll (HM “The Walrus and the Carpenter”)
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jujub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought —
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two!! One, two!! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
The most amazing feature of Carroll’s finest short piece is that despite the sheer number of nonsense words, one still has absolutely no problem understanding what is going on here. The poem is from Through the Looking-Glass; if you haven’t reread it lately you really ought to.
5) “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” (1798) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (HM “Kubla Khan”)
Almost everyone knows that the title character brings doom upon his ship by shooting an albatross, but if you’ve never actually read the poem (or if it’s been a long time) you owe it to yourself to get the full story, which would make a fantastic horror movie exactly as written (it even has monsters and zombies, no joke). Of course, that’s not unusual for Coleridge, who also wrote a poem about a lesbian vampire (“Christabel”). Oh, and Rush fans: if you haven’t before, you really, really want to read “Kubla Khan”. Trust me.
6) “Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening” (1922) by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
My second-grade teacher probably would not have had me memorize this had she realized what it was actually about. If you don’t understand, contemplate the eighth line and ask yourself why the last one is repeated. I usually sing this one rather than reciting it; a friend of mine at UNO wrote a lovely tune for it. Incidentally, this isn’t the only one of these I know by heart; I can also recite #1 (and its HMs), #4, #9 (and HMs), #10 and #11 (plus the first of two HMs). However, you’ll have to read tomorrow’s column to discover what those are.
One Year Ago Today
“Nell Gwyn” was born in a brothel, became an actress and courtesan, and was eventually the mistress of King Charles II.
‘The Tyger’ is one of the few poems, apart from some Finnish pieces from ‘Kalevala’, that I actually have memorized, and that didn’t happen on purpose, just because it’s impressive enough that I didn’t need to read it more than a few times before I remembered it.
Jabberwocky seems to be quite popular with science fiction writers, there are more than a few stories which take their names from some of its lines, latest being the ‘Through the Looking Glass’ series by John Ringo and Travis Taylor (‘Into the Looking Glass’, ‘Vorpal Blade’, ‘Manxome Foe’ and ‘Claws That Catch’, last time I checked). And Lewis Padgett (Henry Kuttner and C. L. Moore) had the short story ‘Mimsy Were the Borogoves’. Took me years to find out where that name came from. That story seems to be on youtube, by the way, ready by William Shatner (not the best reader, I think, I have problems to follow what he says on spots).
All of Through the Looking Glass is extremely popular with scientists and science fiction writers, but I suspect “Jabberwocky” is in particular because one must essentially use science to read it by inferring the meanings of words from their surroundings. There are several very good translations of the poem into French, German and Russian (that i know of).
There are at least two Finnish translations that I know of, the older, considered a classic, names it ‘Monkerias’, and the 1995 version ‘Pekoraali’. They are, essentially, two different poems, since both translators made up their own nonsense Finnish words, and used somewhat different meters.
Hm. Ready instead of read… well, I was writing over the cat, who had decided to sleep in front of my keyboard.
Maggie, I wonder, have you ever tried your hand at writing poetry? I’m sure your readers would be interested in any poems you’ve written, if you have.
Btw, #5 and #3 are my two favourite poems.
My poetry is execrable, I’m afraid; I stopped trying about 20 years ago. Jeff used to write some reasonably good ones; I guess the poetry genes went to that branch of the family.
I do happen to be a major fan of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Blake. Cannot but appreciate your collection of poems. Absolute Gems in Poetry. Please add more and more collection of your favorite poems here.
There will be seven more tomorrow. 🙂
My favorite poem? Actually a song … Liz Phair’s “H.W.C.” 😛
Shallow Boy – reporting for duty!! 🙂
“The Woods” by Robert Frost – I think that is the first poem I remember reading in school, and it may have been elementary school. I found it kind of creepy and a bizarre way of telling stories so I never really got into poetry. I was just at a crawfish boil with my entire family yesterday and I remember, while looking at my brothers, saying – “Goddam we are all huge as trees”. LOL – “poetry” and “music” weren’t things that were instilled in us when we were growing up. How to swing a hammer? Yeah that kind of thing was.
For the most part – I don’t regret that. But there are times when my lack of understanding for the arts gets on my nerves. About a year ago, I was in Copenhagen and I hired an escort that booked herself as a “Courtesan”. I had brought some nice clothes so I took her to one of the “Michelin Star” restaurants in Copenhagen. The one we went to – had a seven course meal and you eat for like four hours and it’s PORNOGRAPHICALLY expensive – but you have to experience some things at least once in life right?
Anyway – she was originally from St. Petersburg and had been all over Europe. I explained to her that I was an “uncivilized” man, not familiar with finery to any great extent and would she please keep me out of trouble and from looking like an idiot? She did AWESOME. Over dinner – we discussed all kinds of “arts” … from poetry to opera. I learned so much – and really the best way to get a “passion” for something is to have it explained to you by someone who has a “passion” for it. Fascinating.
Anyway – I may have a trip coming up in November to Prague – and I intend to find an escort who likes opera to navigate me through that experience. See, when you are overseas – local escorts are like an “A-ticket” right into the culture of the place you’re visiting. They really are your best chance of experiencing the nation you’re visiting as a “local”.
According to a recent news report Hamelin is once again overrun by rats but so far no Pied Piper has come forward with an offer to help.
Considering the way the last one was cheated of his fee, I can’t say I’m surprised.
OK Maggie, I”m scratching my head and I’m trying to think what the hidden meaning of Robert Frost’s “Woods” is that you know but your teacher and I have overlooked. The closest I can think of is that the narrator is a hit man who has taken somebody out to these woods to “whack” but I doubt that’s what Frost had in mind.
The last post should have been a new post rather than a reply. I almost made a joke about your cat Nancy being offered a job by Hamelin but I changed my mind.
I suspect that either the narrator of Woods has died or is contemplating death.
Contemplating suicide. Last three lines.
The Robert Frost poem was new to me, thanks for the intro.
BTW, somewhere I read that Lewis Carroll defined the meanings of the words in Jabberwocky; but the only one I remember is that brillig means four o’clock in the afternoon 🙂
Humpty Dumpty defines them to Alice when they get into conversation.
The big advantage of poetry is that it’s usually easier to remember than prose.
In fact, only extremely well written prose is as memorable as even middling poetry that is properly structured. On the other hand, it’s more challenging to write memorable prose, for just this reason.
Of course, poetry was a much more powerful tool in cultures where information was passed around verbally. If you ever find you need to remember something (passwords are a good example, as they should never be written down) poetry is a good trick to use as a mnemonic device.
Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man’s blood with cold.
Great stuff! More poetry please! Why not a post in rhyming couplets? Do you pen poems, seems a tad selfish to just consume other people’s! Hey, how about ‘the scanning courtesan’? I must write it before you do!
Have one of mine:
http://www.poetrymagazines.org.uk/magazine/record.asp?id=2006
BTW, I’m only 12.5% Welsh. I’m 50% Scottish and 37.5% English. But, by birth, a 100% Scouser! But nevertheless, thanks for the kind mench!
“Very Like a Whale” has just become one of my new favorites. I’ve always liked “Jabberwocky,” and was delighted when I read The Dungeon Master’s Guide that one of the magical weapons available was a vorple sword.
I’m not that big on poetry, unless it’s set to music, at which point it becomes song. But yes, there are always some poems which, even without music, are fun, or creepy, or thought-provoking. Sometimes more than one of those.
I’ve always had a hard time bringing myself to read poetry, I tend to only be able to read the shorter, more lyrical sort.
That being said, I always liked #6, but I fail to understand what you mean by “what its really about” By Frost’s own admission, the poem was written almost steam of consciousness (my favorite kind), and as such, its meaning is rather fluid and more in the hands of the reader than poems written with more direct intention. Its contemplative: it can be about life, death, jealousy (or other kinds of emotions) or just wonder at things unknown with equal validity.
That’s what I always thought, anyway. It was the only poem that I felt truly deserved to ‘interpreted by the reader’