Page 2 of 7 FirstFirst 1234 ... LastLast
Results 16 to 30 of 98
  1. #16
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog- In Tribute to Samuel Johnson, reference, drury-lane-prologue-spoken-by-mr-garrick-at-the-opening-of-the-theatre-in-drury-lane-1747
    Blog Posted:8/7/2020 8:16:00 AM
    Blog- Tribute to Samuel Johnson


    https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poe...rury-lane-1747


    Drury-lane Prologue Spoken, by Mr. Garrick at the Opening of the Theatre in Drury-Lane, 1747
    BY SAMUEL JOHNSON

    When Learning’s triumph o’er her barb’rous foes
    First rear’d the stage, immortal Shakespear rose;
    Each change of many-colour’d life he drew,
    Exhausted worlds, and then imagin’d new:
    Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
    And panting Time toil’d after him in vain:
    His pow’rful strokes presiding Truth impress’d,
    And unresisted Passion storm’d the breast.

    Then Jonson came, instructed from the school,
    To please in method, and invent by rule;
    His studious patience, and laborious art,
    By regular approach essay’d the heart;
    Cold Approbation gave the ling’ring bays,
    For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise.
    A mortal born he met the general doom,
    But left, like Egypt’s kings, a lasting tomb.

    The Wits of Charles found easier ways to fame,
    Nor wish’d for Jonson’s art, or Shakespear’s flame,
    Themselves they studied, as they felt, they writ,
    Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit.
    Vice always found a sympathetic friend;
    They pleas’d their age, and did not aim to mend.
    Yet bards like these aspir’d to lasting praise,
    And proudly hop’d to pimp in future days.
    Their cause was gen’ral, their supports were strong,
    Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long;
    Till Shame regain’d the post that Sense betray’d,
    And Virtue call’d Oblivion to her aid.

    Then crush’d by rules, and weaken’d as refin’d,
    For years the pow’r of tragedy declin’d;
    From bard, to bard, the frigid caution crept,
    Till Declamation roar’d, while Passion slept.
    Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread,
    Philosophy remain’d, though Nature fled.
    But forc’d at length her ancient reign to quit,
    She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of wit:
    Exulting Folly hail’d the joyful day,
    And pantomime, and song, confirm’d her sway.

    But who the coming changes can presage,
    And mark the future periods of the stage?—
    Perhaps if skill could distant times explore,
    New Behns, new Durfoys, yet remain in store.
    Perhaps, where Lear has rav’d, and Hamlet died,
    On flying cars new sorcerers may ride.
    Perhaps, for who can guess th’ effects of chance?
    Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet may dance.

    Hard is his lot, that here by Fortune plac’d,
    Must watch the wild vicissitudes of taste;
    With ev’ry meteor of caprice must play,
    And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day.
    Ah! let not censure term our fate our choice,
    The stage but echoes back the public voice.
    The drama’s laws the drama’s patrons give,
    For we that live to please, must please to live.

    Then prompt no more the follies you decry,
    As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die;
    ’Tis yours this night to bid the reign commence
    Of rescu’d Nature, and reviving Sense;
    To chase the charms of Sound, the pomp of Show,
    For useful Mirth, and salutary Woe;
    Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age,
    And Truth diffuse her radiance from the stage.
    ------ BY SAMUEL JOHNSON

    ************************************************** ******

    Illuminations, Temptations, Life's Travails Endured

    Weep for Truth that man's inherent evil betrayed
    Zeus hurled lightning bolts, paradise dreams delayed;
    Intriguing words, those tales of mythological beasts
    Sirens tempt, alluring songs, dark orgasmic feasts:
    Man that so blindly eats, stirring to walk upright,
    Consuming illusions of life's selfish delights:
    No more than mere cannibals of impish degrees
    Born of midnight madness and seed from dying trees.

    Man in darkened lusts seeking illicit spoils
    Raping with greed, as seas of sewage churns and boils
    Flying through phantasms of barbaric hate
    Rising as a charred Phoenix of dooming Fate
    Unto dawn's fiery breath, its unfulfilled dreams
    While harbinger of death, drowns with malignant streams
    Gasping from a multitude of overwhelming lust
    Avoiding light, truth of one day turning back to dust.

    From the beginnings of aspirations and greed
    First wailing cry, signifying an evil seed
    Crawling as a mere babe down in well trodden dirt
    Yet unacquainted, to life's many flesh-born hurts
    Weak, ever needful under mother's tender cloak
    Destined to serve, slave under temptation's yoke
    Taught to seek, what sensual pleasures thus abound
    Ecstasy's whispers, allures that truly astound.

    Born of flesh, a searing flame too oft set to rage
    Whether a pauper or prince, each coming of age
    Reaching that mature stage when new blacken chart sets
    Course of life, and all, whatever future begets
    Letting dark to sully and run its wicked course
    Rampaging, destroying, without fear or remorse
    A Caesar in power, born of demonic ways
    God of deceit, creator of a dancing malaise.

    Standing aloft, contemptuous of good and light
    Evolving monster, lurking into darker nights
    Beset by arrogance, stand of a know it all
    An Achilles well before his sad fated fall
    Ignorant of Time, ill winds of eternal wrath
    Prancing, before a tumble from a crumbling path
    Left behind as humanity's cycles repeat
    Death touched, final blow, mankind's greatest defeat.

    Cast into oblivion, reduced to bleached bones
    Memory, marked by a plot, one white headstone
    Perhaps some tears that time too will one day erase
    Fruit of iniquity, sad harvests, a disgrace
    Ending, befit for one that embraced the dark
    Reduced to dust and sorrows, a stained mark
    Alas! To in error, such futile life so choose
    Playing with a marked deck, destined to lose!

    Robert J. Lindley, started 2-03- 2020.
    completed to post 8-06-2020
    A tribute to Samuel Johnson...
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  2. Thanks LongTermGuy thanked this post
    Likes LongTermGuy liked this post
  3. #17
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog on - Elysium, Greek mythology- AJAX - Robert Lindley's Blog
    About Robert Lindley(Show Details...)(Show Details...)

    Home Past Blogs Poems Photos Fav Poems Fav Poets
    Blog on - Elysium, Greek mythology- AJAX
    Blog Posted:8/18/2020 4:53:00 AM
    Elysium
    Greek mythology
    WRITTEN BY The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica
    Encyclopaedia Britannica's editors oversee subject areas in which they have extensive knowledge, whether from years of experience gained by working on that content or via study for an advanced degree....
    See Article History
    Alternative Titles: Elysian Fields, Elysian Plain
    Elysium, also called Elysian Fields or Elysian Plain, in Greek mythology, originally the paradise to which heroes on whom the gods conferred immortality were sent. It probably was retained from Minoan religion. In Homer’s writings the Elysian Plain was a land of perfect happiness at the end of the Earth, on the banks of the Oceanus. A similar description was given by Hesiod of the Isles of the Blessed. In the earlier authors, only those specially favoured by the gods entered Elysium and were made immortal. By the time of Hesiod, however, Elysium was a place for the blessed dead, and, from Pindar on, entrance was gained by a righteous life. Later writers made it a particular part of Hades, as in Virgil, Aeneid, Book VI.


    ************************************************** ********
    My Tribute poem

    With Promise Of Entry, Elysium

    Childhood, seeing from afar, candle burning bright
    with courage, imagination seeing life through
    always and forever the promise, heard each night-
    walk a brave path, receive entry, as is your due,
    heaven searching, whispers of two stars gazing back
    honor true, never shall a God's power you lack.

    Elysium- open gates, paradise awaits.
    on battlefields- glory, set by "Hands of the Fates".

    Ajax, blessed child and great warrior born to be
    father- war god, mother a nymph of the blue seas
    as a child roaming forests, with sword and long spear
    a hero born and one totally without fear,
    star gazing- seeing death would come, Elysian fields
    his destiny, gifting all of its golden yields.

    Elysium- open gates, paradise awaits.
    On battlefields- glory, set by "Hands of the Fates".

    Ajax, scarred and toughened, many battles fought
    never surrendering, ever giving his all
    a warrior true, there within Olympic feuds caught
    steady and ever mindful of his final fall,
    sky hunting, watching universe's resplendent glow
    as decreed by the Gods- set to put on a show.

    Elysium- open gates, paradise awaits.
    On battlefields- glory, set by "Hands of the Fates".

    Ajax, courageous warrior of Greek legend's fame
    gifted with prowess of strength and courage to match
    of Homer's Troy, that Greek hero, one and the same
    always fated, for a Trojan war death to catch,
    there on bloody soil, as Olympus had decreed
    death claimed he, born of true and heroic Greek seed.

    Elysium- open gates, paradise awaits.
    On battlefields- glory, set by "Hands of the Fates".

    R.J. Lindley, original version, May 9th, 1972
    Rhyme, ( On Homer, Greek Mythology, Greek Warriors )
    edited, and updated with link.. 8-18-2020

    Syllables Per Line:
    12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
    12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
    12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
    12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
    Total # Syllables:384
    Total # Words:256

    Notes:

    1. Elysium

    https://www.britannica.com/topic/Ely...reek-mythology

    Elysium
    Greek mythology
    WRITTEN BY
    The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica
    Encyclopaedia Britannica's editors oversee subject areas in which they have extensive knowledge, whether from years of experience gained by working on that content or via study for an advanced degree....
    See Article History
    Alternative Titles: Elysian Fields, Elysian Plain
    Elysium, also called Elysian Fields or Elysian Plain, in Greek mythology, originally the paradise to which heroes on whom the gods conferred immortality were sent. It probably was retained from Minoan religion. In Homer’s writings the Elysian Plain was a land of perfect happiness at the end of the Earth, on the banks of the Oceanus. A similar description was given by Hesiod of the Isles of the Blessed. In the earlier authors, only those specially favoured by the gods entered Elysium and were made immortal. By the time of Hesiod, however, Elysium was a place for the blessed dead, and, from Pindar on, entrance was gained by a righteous life. Later writers made it a particular part of Hades, as in Virgil, Aeneid, Book VI.

    2. Ajax

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ajax_the_Great


    Ajax the Great
    From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

    Ajax (/'e?d?æks/) or Aias (/'a?.?s/; Ancient Greek: Α?ας, romanized: Aías [aí?.a?s], gen. Α?αντος Aíantos; archaic ΑΣ?Α? [aí?.wa?s])[a] is a Greek mythological hero, the son of King Telamon and Periboea, and the half-brother of Teucer.[1] He plays an important role, and is portrayed as a towering figure and a warrior of great courage in Homer's Iliad and in the Epic Cycle, a series of epic poems about the Trojan War. He is also referred to as "Telamonian Ajax" (Α?ας ? Τελαμ?νιος, in Etruscan recorded as Aivas Tlamunus), "Greater Ajax", or "Ajax the Great", which distinguishes him from Ajax, son of Oileus (Ajax the Lesser).
    Ajax is the son of Telamon, who was the son of Aeacus and grandson of Zeus, and his first wife Periboea. He is the cousin of Achilles, and is the elder half-brother of Teucer. His given name is derived from the root of α??ζω "to lament", translating to "one who laments; mourner". Hesiod, however, includes a story in "The Great Eoiae" that indicates Ajax received his name when Heracles prayed to Zeus that a son might be born to Telemon and Eriboea. Zeus sent an eagle (aietos - αετ?ς) as a sign. Heracles then bade the parents call their son Ajax after the eagle. Many illustrious Athenians, including Cimon, Miltiades, Alcibiades and the historian Thucydides, traced their descent from Ajax. On an Etruscan tomb dedicated to Racvi Satlnei in Bologna (5th century BC) there is an inscription that says aivastelmunsl, which means "[family] of Telamonian Ajax".[2]

    Description

    The Belvedere Torso, a marble sculpture carved in the first Century BC depicting Ajax.
    In Homer's Iliad he is described as of great stature, colossal frame and strongest of all the Achaeans. Known as the "bulwark of the Achaeans",[3] he was trained by the centaur Chiron (who had trained Ajax's father Telamon and Achilles's father Peleus and would later die of an accidental wound inflicted by Heracles, whom he was at the time training) at the same time as Achilles. He was described as fearless, strong and powerful but also with a very high level of combat intelligence. Ajax commands his army wielding a huge shield made of seven cow-hides with a layer of bronze. Most notably, Ajax is not wounded in any of the battles described in the Iliad, and he is the only principal character on either side who does not receive substantial assistance from any of the gods (except for Agamemnon) who take part in the battles, although, in book 13, Poseidon strikes Ajax with his staff, renewing his strength. Unlike Diomedes, Agamemnon, and Achilles, Ajax appears as a mainly defensive warrior, instrumental in the defense of the Greek camp and ships and that of Patroclus' body. When the Trojans are on the offensive, he is often seen covering the retreat of the Achaeans. Significantly, while one of the deadliest heroes in the whole poem, Ajax has no aristeia depicting him on the offensive.


    3. Olympus
    (A.)
    https://mythology.net/greek/greek-co...0mount%20often.


    What Is Mount Olympus?
    Mount Olympus is the mythical home of the gods in Greek mythology. According to authors, the mountain was created after the Titanomachy, the epic battle between the young gods, the Olympians and the older gods, the Titans. As a result of this battle, the Olympian victors created their new majestic home – Mount Olympus. It was shrouded from human eyes by clouds which constantly obscured its peaks. In Greece, you will also find a Mount Olympus, the tallest mountain in the country.

    Description
    The sacred mount was believed to have a temperate climate all year round, and mountain gorges lush with forests. The gods did not always reside in their paradise, however, and would depart or return from there via a gate of clouds guarded by the Horae, the goddesses of the seasons. Authors claim the tables in Zeus’ palace on Olympus were made of gold and were actually automatons, created by Hephaestus! They moved in and out of the rooms as required by the gods. Zeus’ throne was situated in the Pantheon, the meeting hall of the gods. It was also designed by Hephaestus and was constructed from black marble, inlaid with gold. Each of the gods had their own palace on the mountain, usually constructed of gold and marble, and situated in a gorge in the mountain peaks.

    Inhabitants
    All 12 Olympian gods resided at Mount Olympus: Zeus and his wife Hera, Athena, Poseidon, Artemis, Apollo, Demeter, Hester, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hephaestus and Ares. Since Hades resided in the underworld, he was not considered an Olympian god and did not visit the great mount often.

    The nine muses, the daughters of Mnemosyne and Zeus, resided at the foot of the mountain. According to some sources, the goddesses were water nymphs and were responsible for the following: Clio – history; Calliope – epic poetry; Thalia – comedy; Euterpe – lyric poetry; Terpsichore – dance; Melpomene – tragedy; Erato – love poetry; Urania – astronomy; and Polyhymnia – sacred poetry.

    The Olympians ruled Olympus until the monster Typhon attacked their stronghold. Typhon was allegedly a 100-headed fire-breathing dragon. When he attacked Olympus, the majority of the gods chose to flee, except for Zeus, Athena and Dionysus. Zeus was able to eventually defeat the giant monster with 100 lightning bolts, and banished him to Tartarus.

    ************
    (B.)

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Olympus

    Name and mythological associations

    Muses' Plateau, with Stefani (the throne of Zeus) in the background
    The origin of the name ?λυμπος Olumpos is unknown and usually considered of "pre-Greek" origin. In Homeric Greek (Odyssey 6.42), the variant Ο?λυμπος Oulumpos occurs, conceived of as the seat of the gods (and not identified with any specific peak). Homer (Iliad 5.754, Odyssey 20.103) also appears to be using ο?λυμπος as a common noun, as a synonym of ο?ραν?ς ouranos "sky". Mount Olympus was historically also known as Mount Belus, after Iliad 1.591, where the seat of the gods is referred to as βηλ[?ς] θεσπεσ?ο[ς] "heavenly threshold".[a]

    In Ancient Greek religion and mythology, "Olympus" was the name of the home of the Twelve Olympian gods.[11] This was conceived of as a lofty mountaintop, and in all regions settled by Greek tribes, the highest local elevation tended to be so named; among the numerous peaks called Olumpos in antiquity are mountains in Mysia, Laconia, Lycia, Cyprus, Attica, Euboea, Ionia and Lesbos, and others. Thessalian Olympus is the highest peak in any territory with Greek settlement and came to be seen as the "Pan-Hellenic" representative of the mythological seat of the gods, by at least the 5th century BC, as Herodotus (1.56) identifies Olympus as the peak in Thessaly.

    In Pieria, at Olympus's northern foot, the mythological tradition had placed the nine Muses, patrons of the Fine Arts, daughters of Zeus and the Titanide Mnemosyne.[12]
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  4. #18
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    I just re-found this from long ago..
    A tribute given my poetry from Canadian poet- Arthur Vaso's blog.......... -Tyr

    Click link scroll down.
    I think my friend Arthur, did a truly wonderful job choosing the imagery to be presented with each poem.-Tyr
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 09-04-2020 at 06:36 AM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  5. #19
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    A Blog On- A vision as seen from a forty-year span...
    Blog Posted:9/5/2020 6:43:00 PM
    A Blog On- A vision as seen from a forty-year span...


    The Vision, The Reality, The Great Love Once Lost
    (First phase, looking at a past reality)


    She, an angel came in to buy a coke,
    through din of dancing noise, ghastly thick smoke
    a dream vision with a rose in her hair
    I looked in deeply, with a longing stare
    she gave me, her best million dollar smile
    that cried out, my new love, lets talk a while,
    she with those skin-tight shorts, her hippie style
    all her sexy beauty set to beguile.

    Then I knew she was surely Heaven sent,
    to free me, from my dark life so hellbent
    blessing so true, with her soft flowing glows
    so beautiful, as hope's paradise shows
    I thought, me with her, a miracle feat
    can love be born beyond mortal defeat,
    our first kiss, both eager hearts skipped a beat
    love's dessert given, we began to eat.

    Spring and summer's blessings, away they flew,
    this was our nirvana, as we both knew
    a love so deep something just had to give
    tho' without her loving, I could not live
    fate's wicked plan then began to unfold
    she believed those dark lies, others had told,
    venom thus born, her heart turned freezing cold
    casting me into heartbreak's dark stronghold.

    From that hell-born pit, I could see her tears,
    time raced onward through all those crying years
    she had moved on, so very far away
    while I in my new prison had to stay
    old and gray, so firmly chained in that cell
    this pleading soul, living torturous hell,
    on some nights, her sweet perfume I did smell
    yet against fate's black curse, I still rebel.

    She, an angel came in to buy a coke,
    through din of dancing noise, ghastly thick smoke
    a dream vision with a rose in her hair
    I looked in deeply, with a longing stare
    she gave me, her best million dollar smile
    that cried out, my new love, lets talk a while,
    she with those skin-tight shorts, her hippie style
    all her sexy beauty set to beguile.

    R.J. Lindley, May 2nd, 1980
    Narrative, ( Imprisoned, And Still Dreaming Of Her )

    Note:
    Poem is based upon a real encounter, a very beautiful
    girl. A loss and a romantic scar thus born....


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Tribute Paid To,
    "The Vision, The Reality, The Great Love Once Lost"
    (Second phase, poet's aged eyes looking at past reality)


    Dawn came, sandy seaside beach came alive,
    seeking a new romance to soul revive
    poet's heart begging that true love renew
    joy, former life, that away I once threw
    sun was beaming, as new world seemed to sing
    heart was dancing, begging life again bring,
    beautiful angel not a one-night fling
    for this sad soul had once lost everything.

    Seagulls overhead, sky was dancing too,
    I marveling at its fantastic blues
    white beach sands, were bare feet satisfying
    gone away, days of moaning and crying
    looking for a future of hope and love
    left behind evil world of push and shove,
    past sorrows, I no longer a part of
    a new man on quest for deeper, truelove.

    At water's edge dipping in toes to feel,
    saw a vision coming, could not be real
    yes she, that beauty of desirous dreams
    an angel sent to prove new love redeems
    I froze as thought came, this can not be so
    surely if I blink away this will go
    for she is dream goddess my love-dreams show
    dare I blink to see, to really know?

    Courage summoned, heart was all a flutter
    with gasping breath, prayer I did mutter
    dear Lord, please, please, let this be my reward
    you know my life has been so very hard
    from sky above a tender voice then spoke
    mercy cometh, love's promise is no joke
    now by faith, your spirit has again woke
    blessings come when faithful vows you invoke.

    Dawn came, sandy seaside beach came alive,
    seeking out a new romance to revive
    poet's heart begging that true love renew
    joy, former life, that away I once threw
    sun was beaming, as new world seemed to sing
    heart was dancing, begging life again bring,
    beautiful angel not a one-night fling
    for this sad soul had once lost everything.

    Robert J. Lindley, Sept.03-2020
    Narrative, ( Imprisoned, And Poetically Still Dreaming Of Her )

    Note:
    This second poem is based upon a real encounter, a very beautiful
    girl. A loss and a romantic scar thus born....
    as seen through a poet's aged eyes...
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  6. #20
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    A Blog on, "The Dying Indian" Philip Freneau - 1752-1832
    Blog Posted:9/7/2020 11:12:00 AM
    A Blog on, "The Dying Indian"
    Philip Freneau - 1752-1832
    https://poets.org/poem/dying-indian

    The Dying Indian
    Philip Freneau - 1752-1832


    “On yonder lake I spread the sail no more!
    Vigour, and youth, and active days are past—
    Relentless demons urge me to that shore
    On whose black forests all the dead are cast:—
    Ye solemn train, prepare the funeral song,
    For I must go to shades below,
    Where all is strange and all is new;
    Companion to the airy throng!—
    What solitary streams,
    In dull and dreary dreams,
    All melancholy, must I rove along!

    To what strange lands must Chequi take his way!
    Groves of the dead departed mortals trace:
    No deer along those gloomy forests stray,
    No huntsmen there take pleasure in the chace,
    But all are empty unsubstantial shades,
    That ramble through those visionary glades;
    No spongy fruits from verdant trees depend,
    But sickly orchards there
    Do fruits as sickly bear,
    And apples a consumptive visage shew,
    And withered hangs the hurtle-berry blue.

    Ah me! what mischiefs on the dead attend!
    Wandering a stranger to the shores below,
    Where shall I brook or real fountain find?
    Lazy and sad deluding waters flow—
    Such is the picture in my boding mind!
    Fine tales, indeed, they tell
    Of shades and purling rills,
    Where our dead fathers dwell
    Beyond the western hills,
    But when did ghost return his state to shew;
    Or who can promise half the tale is true?

    I too must be a fleeting ghost!—no more—
    None, none but shadows to those mansions go;
    I leave my woods, I leave the Huron shore,
    For emptier groves below!
    Ye charming solitudes,
    Ye tall ascending woods,
    Ye glassy lakes and prattling streams,
    Whose aspect still was sweet,
    Whether the sun did greet,
    Or the pale moon embraced you with her beams—
    Adieu to all!

    To all, that charmed me where I strayed,
    The winding stream, the dark sequestered shade;
    Adieu all triumphs here!
    Adieu the mountain’s lofty swell,
    Adieu, thou little verdant hill,
    And seas, and stars, and skies—farewell,
    For some remoter sphere!

    Perplexed with doubts, and tortured with despair,
    Why so dejected at this hopeless sleep?
    Nature at last these ruins may repair,
    When fate’s long dream is o’er, and she forgets to weep
    Some real world once more may be assigned,
    Some new born mansion for the immortal mind!
    Farewell, sweet lake; farewell surrounding woods,
    To other groves, through midnight glooms, I stray,
    Beyond the mountains, and beyond the floods,
    Beyond the Huron bay!
    Prepare the hollow tomb, and place me low,
    My trusty bow and arrows by my side,
    The cheerful bottle and the venison store;
    For long the journey is that I must go,
    Without a partner, and without a guide.”
    He spoke, and bid the attending mourners weep,
    Then closed his eyes, and sunk to endless sleep!

    This poem is in the public domain.
    ************************************************** *

    https://paulreuben.website/pal/chap2/freneau.html

    Chapter 2: Early American Literature 1700-1800

    Philip Morin Freneau
    1752-1832

    © Paul P. Reuben

    September 10, 2019

    E-Mail
    |
    Page Links: | Primary Works | Selected Bibliography 1980-Present | Leader of 18th Century Naturalism | Four Aspects of Freneau | Study Questions | MLA Style Citation of this Web Page |
    | A Brief Biography |

    Site Links: | Chap 2 - Index | Alphabetical List | Table Of Contents | Home Page |

    Primary Works

    Poems. Edited with a critical introd. by Harry Hayden Clark. NY: Hafner Pub. Co., 1960, 1929. PS755 .A5 C6
    The poems of Philip Freneau, poet of the American Revolution. (1902) Edited for the Princeton Historical Association by Fred Lewis Pattee. NY: Russell & Russell, 1963. 3 vols. PS755 .A2

    Father Bombo's pilgrimage to Mecca, 1770. by Hugh Henry Brackenridge and Philip Freneau; edited, with an introd., by Michael Davitt Bell. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton U Library, 1975. PS708 B5 F3

    Selected Bibliography 1980-Present

    Blakemore, Steven. Literature, Intertextuality, and the American Revolution: From Common Sense to 'Rip Van Winkle'. Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson UP, 2012.

    Goudie, Sean X. Creole America: The West Indies and the Formation of Literature and Culture in the New Republic. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 2006.

    Hollander, John. ed. American Poetry: The Nineteenth Century, I: Philip Freneau to Walt Whitman. NY: Library of America, 1993.

    I. Freneau as Leader of 18th Century Naturalism

    1. Fresh interest in nature.
    2. The belief that nature is a revelation of God.

    3. Humanitarian sympathy for the humble and oppressed.

    4. The faith that people are naturally good.

    5. That they lived idyllic and benevolent lives in a primitive past before the advent of civilization.

    6. The radical doctrine that the golden age will dawn again when social institutions are modified, since they are responsible for existing evil.

    II. Aspects of Freneau

    1. Poet of American Independence: Freneau provides incentive and inspiration to the revolution by writing such poems as "The Rising Glory of America" and "Pictures of Columbus."
    2. Journalist: Freneau was editor and contributor of The Freeman's Journal (Philadelphia) from 1781-1784. In his writings, he advocated the essence of what is known as Jeffersonian democracy - decentralization of government, equality for the masses, etc.

    3. Freneau's Religion: Freneau is described as a deist - a believer in nature and humanity but not a pantheist. In deism, religion becomes an attitude of intellectual belief, not a matter of emotional of spiritual ecstasy. Freneau shows interest and sympathy for the humble and the oppressed.

    4. Freneau as Father of American Poetry: His major themes are death, nature, transition, and the human in nature. All of these themes become important in 19th century writing. His famous poems are "The Wild Honey-Suckle" (1786), "The Indian Burying Ground" (1787), "The Dying Indian: Tomo Chequi" (1784), "The Millennium" (1797), "On a Honey Bee" (1809), "To a Caty-Did" (1815), "On the Universality and Other Attributes of the God of Nature," "On the Uniformity and Perfection of Nature," and "On the Religion of Nature" (the last three written in 1815).

    | Top | Philip Freneau (1752-1832): A Brief Biography
    A Student Project by Nicholas von Teck

    Philip Freneau: Voice of Revolution
    In 1598 King Henry IV of France issued the Edict of Nantes, promising to protect the rights of his Huguenot (Protestant) subjects and allowing them to worship in their own churches. The Bourbon King Louis XIV rescinded the Edict of Nantes with the Act of Revocation of 1685, condemning the Protestant Huguenots to trials of heresy by the Roman Church; those who were not massacred fled to any place that would take them. Two large communities of Huguenots settled in the colonies of North America: one in the area around Charleston, South Carolina and the other, larger colony in the city of Nieuw Amsterdam. Shortly after the arrival of the Huguenots in Nieuw Holland, that colony was forfeited to the United Kingdom and renamed New York. In the early but nonetheless cosmopolitan environs of New York Town, these French Protestants found themselves with Dutch colonists, English colonial administrators, Jewish-German merchants, African slaves, and Native American converts. One of these Huguenot families was the Fresneaus from La Rochelle, France (Austin 50). They arrived there from England in 1709 (Leary 5).

    After a few generations, the Fresneaus who fought for space with the other New Yorkers in the small area of the city bounded by the Hudson and East rivers and Wall Street became the Freneaus who owned a prosperous plantation called Mount Pleasant in Monmouth County, New Jersey, and had a thousand slaves ( Clark xiv). Some traditions remain in families: Mont Plaisant was the name of the residence of the Fresneaus in La Rochelle, France (Austin 65). Despite being gentlemen farmers, each successive generation of Fresneaus carried on the family trade in wine, begun long before the Edict of Nantes, and Philip Freneau made many voyages to bring back port wines and madeiras (Clark xiv).

    Philip Morin Freneau was born at Mount Pleasant on 2 January 1752 (Old Style: the United Kingdom and its colonies had yet to convert to the Julian calendar and still used the Gregorian at this time &emdash; as a result, an Englishman traveling to the Continent had to set his calendar ahead twelve days after crossing the Channel). Philip was the eldest of the five children of Pierre Freneau and Agnes Watson (Austin 65), and the first to use the spelling Freneau (Bowden 15).

    Philip was schooled at Mount Pleasant until he was boarded with the Reverend William Tennent of Tennent's Church, New Jersey for his preparatory education in his tenth year in 1762 (Austin 72). His first known poem, "The Wild Honeysuckle," was penned about this time; the actual date of inscription is unknown, but tradition has Freneau writing it shortly before arriving at Tennent's Church (Austin 70). A little over three years later, in February, 1766, he was enrolled in the Penlopen Latin School in Monmouth under the tutelage of the Reverend Alexander Mitchell; he remained there until he was admitted to Nassau Hall at Princeton College, Princeton, New Jersey in 1768. During his time at Penlopen Latin, Philip's father died (Austin 73). Philip's mother, however, decided that Philip should continue his education and sent him along to Nassau Hall in due course, but with a tacit understanding between mother and son that he was to seek a degree in Divinity. He didn't (Leary 50).

    The roster of Philip's classmates reads like a litany of the American Pantheon: the Honorable Justices Hugh Brackenridge and Brockholst Livingston of the Supreme Court of the United States; Gunning Bedford, a framer of the Constitution; Aaron Burr, Vice-President of the United States; Colonel Henry "Light Horse Harry" Lee of Virginia; and James Madison, Fourth President of the United States of America; and several others, in addition to having as the president of his college the Reverend Witherspoon, a signer of the Declaration of Independence (Austin 74). Seldom has such a small group of students achieved such enduring legacy for Freneau's graduating class of 1770 held but ten students (Austin 75).

    | Top | During his sophomore year he wrote "The Poetical History of the Prophet Jonah," a "rhythymical (sic) poem, or 'versified paraphrase' to use his own expression." (Austin 76) At one-hundred-thirty-five lines it was considered remarkable for so young a poet and much commented on at the time, both at Princeton and at rival colleges such as Kings in New York, Harvard in Boston, and William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia (Austin 78). For graduation in 1771, he collaborated with (later Mr. Justice) Brackenridge on a poem they recited, "The Rising Glory of America," a blank verse dialogue (Austin 78). Brackenridge had earlier collaborated with Freneau on the mock epic "Father Bombo's Pilgrimage" (Bowden 22). Freneau also immortalizes Witherspoon in the poem "Caledonian Sage" and praised the "liberal education" he gained under Witherspoon's administration (Bowden 17). Among other activities, Witherspoon instituted student orations as a form of entertainment, and even allowed the students to chose their subjects for discourse, which Freneau satirizes in "The Distrest Orator." (Bowden 19) Interestingly, despite being a prodigal and prodigious student, Freneau did not attend his own graduation from Princeton; the fact that his mother remarried may have had something to do with it, but this period of Freneau's life is vague (Bowden 28).

    Freneau's first occupation was as a school teacher in Flatbush, Bruecklin (Brooklyn) County on Nassau (Long) Island. He lasted thirteen days with "the youth of that detested place" and "finally bid adieu" to "that brainless crew, … devoid of reason and grace." (Austin 80) He said his employers were "gentlemen of New York: bullies, merchants, and scoundrels." (Austin 80) In the same letter to a classmate, he also mentions that he had just written and published a poem of "some four-hundred-and-fifty lines … called 'The American Village' and a few short pieces as well." (Austin 80) However, he was soon forced to accept another teaching position, this one at Somerset Academy near Baltimore, Maryland, where he stayed until the end of term, 1773.

    Freneau had evidently collected his year's salary from Flatbush in advance, "some forty pounds," and expected his ex-employers to "trounce" him if they should find him (Austin 80). A Jamaican planter named Hanson invited Freneau to pay a prolonged visit to Hanson's plantation. As Hanson was also master of his own ship and was preparing to ship on the next tide, Freneau thought it behooved himself to clamber on board (Austin 83). During the passage, the first mate died and Freneau found himself learning the art of navigation by the "trial-by-fire" method (Austin 83). He discovered that he enjoyed it and eventually took master's papers (Austin 83).

    During his prolonged stay in Jamaica, he developed a dislike for slavery. This is interesting because, like most large farmers of the era, the Freneaus had both house and field slaves at Mount Pleasant, although they also had tenant farmers as well on their fairly large holdings (Austin 60). Freneau obviously villianized Hanson by creating the character of Sir Tobey the slave-owner in the poem "To Sir Tobey" (Austin 83). During the next few years, Freneau sailed as master around the Caribbean and visited the Bermudas, the Danish Virgin Islands, and the Gulf of Mexico (Austin 83). These travels were the inspiration for such poems as "House of Night" and "The Beauties of Santa Cruz"(Austin 85). In 1775 he also publishes "American Liberty" (Bowden 13).

    While Freneau sailed to and fro between the balmy Carib and the Delaware Bay, hostilities between Mother England and her colonies were growing to a fighting pitch. As soon as Freneau learned of the outbreak of revolution, he sailed back to New Jersey in the bark Amanda (it may not have actually been his, for he was recorded as being only the master of it) (Austin 105). Interestingly, the name for the "beauty" for whom his sings praises in his poem of the Caribbean poems is "Amanda" (Austin 86).

    Freneau arrives at Mount Pleasant to find it burned, and his mother and younger siblings living elsewhere; the Battle of Monmouth had been fought on Mount Pleasant (Austin 103). Freneau arranges for "lettres of marque," authorizing him to be a privateer and attack English shipping in order to seize cargo and vessels (Austin 104). While the bark Amanda sails under another master with him as the recorded owner, Freneau orders a new sloop built at Philadelphia; he names her Aurora (Austin 104).

    | Top | On 25 May 1778, Aurora left the ways at Philadelphia and stood out into Delaware Bay for Cape Henlopen and the Atlantic Ocean. Less than six hours later, Aurora had been chased and run aground by the English Captain Sir George Collier in HMS Iris (which before her own capture was ex-USS Hancock) and Freneau was captured (Austin 110). Lacking gallantry usually expected in a ship's master, Freneau at first denies he is the master when confronted by the prize-captain of HMS Iris (Leary 82). After he is handcuffed below decks with the "stench of seamen," Freneau finds a Tory aboard the frigate who knows him and begs recognition (Leary 82). Freneau was transported to the prison ship HMS Scorpion in New York Harbor, and later transferred again to the prison hospital ship HMS Hunter (Austin 113). This internment of nearly eighteen months was the genesis for the poem "The Prison Ship" (650 lines; published in 1780) in which he "compares the flight of [the] Aurora to the flight of Hector pursued by Achilles." (Austin 109) During this time, however, he does manage to contribute to Brackenridge's United States Magazine (Bowden 13). Freneau never recovered from the financial loss of Aurora (Clark xxiii).

    He was paroled on condition that he not resume arms against the King, and he evidently kept his word, but Freneau must have reckoned the old saw about the pen being mightier than the sword had some verisimilitude for he continued to raise his quill in rebellion for the rest of the Revolution (Austin 121). He found work as a printer and editor with the Freeman's Journal in Philadelphia (Bowden 13). Freneau wrote poems on various patriotic subjects such as the departure of the traitor Benedict Arnold, the Battle of Temple Hill, the melting by the printer Isaac Sears of his type into bullets, etc … (Austin 133). By 1786, he was master of the brig Washington and making round-trips to the Madeiras (Austin 138). He left behind a newly published volume, The Poems of Philip Freneau (Bowden 13). The next year, 1787, he returned long enough to publish a second volume, A Journey from Philadelphia to New York before again standing out to sea (Bowden 13). 1788 saw the publication of a third volume, The Miscellaneous Works of Mr. Philip Freneau (Bowden 13).

    In 1789 Freneau married Helen Forman of New Jersey, a sister of General David Forman, one of the founders of the Order of the Cincinnati (Austin 147). Helen Freneau is recorded as having a pleasant and "poetic" personality, and was a gracious hostess (Austin 149).

    Freneau was offered the position of editor of the Philadelphia Daily Advertiser, but before he could assume that position he was induced to become editor of the National Gazette instead at the paltry salary of $250 per annum (Austin 152). Freneau had never financially recovered from the loss of Aurora, and was still trying to run his family's estate at Mount Pleasant, and maintain all who depended on him: "family and slaves." (Austin 152) Despite writing "To Sir Tobey" nearly twenty years before, Freneau was still a slaveholder himself.

    | Top | The Secretary of State, Thomas Jefferson, offered Freneau the clerkship of "Interpreter of the French language for the Department of State" in 1793 (Austin 153). This raised a hue-and-cry of such proportions, and the appointment was so loudly denounced, that the offer was withdrawn; for some reason, many Philadephians at that time suspected Jefferson and Freneau of collusion and intrigue (Austin 156). Since Philadelphia was the seat of government at the time, and since Benjamin Franklin was then opposing Jefferson as to which form of government the foundling United States should adopt, Freneau was likely just a handy target for the pro-Franklin faction in their bid to undermine the Jeffersonian Republican-Democrats (Austin 156). The idea seems to have been that a clerk under Jefferson who just happened to be the editor of a major newspaper would give the Jeffersonians a propaganda leverage that would be nearly impossible to undermine if it were not stopped immediately (Austin 156). Austin qoutes a Mr. Benjamin as saying, "What Tyrtaeus was to the Spartans, was Freneau to the Republicans or anti-Federalists." (160) The allusion is that the National Gazette was, with Freneau as editor, a "powerful political paper." (Austin 160)

    ***********************************

    My dedication poem below . RJL

    (**Are We Not Brothers, Made From The Same Dirt,
    (Tribute to Philip Freneau and his poem,
    The Dying Indian)**)



    Are We Not Brothers, Made From The Same Dirt


    I welcome you sweet dawn, soft break of day
    As your vibrant voice sounds, seeming to say
    Lad, I bid you relief from dark and gray
    Feel my coming golden rays and rejoice
    So precious life's gift, giving love free voice
    Embrace your honor, honor that wise choice-
    You are of braver heart, red is your blood
    You are red-man, Native pride your soul floods
    You hunt ancestral lands, wade tidal muds,
    There amidst tall trees, beauty of the glades
    You young lad, were of pure Native bloods made
    Spirit must stay strong, as your time soon fades
    In your dreams, you sail to paradise isles
    You race through countryside for miles and miles
    Live, soon your tribes will become sad exiles-
    As you dare the great beast to your soul fight
    Search mysteries that hide truth out of sight
    Know that same hungry beast, will your race smite!

    Alas! Fate's wicked hands, its evil sends.
    Stopping mercy, from which Heaven descends.

    I beg mother earth, this carnage avert
    Heal dark souls of men, stop such coming hurts
    Are we not brothers, made from the same dirt
    Do we all not cry, and same red blood bleed
    Are we all not sprung from weak mortal seeds
    In pain, do we not, to same Father plead-
    Will violence and death, your greed absolve
    Can we seek to our differences solve
    Must destruction serve as means to evolve,
    Is what will be gained, great treasure to you
    Shall we learn to love same sky's glowing blues
    Share life's blessings, paying brotherly dues
    Walk lit paths, love flowering meadows too-
    Live serving peace and discover anew
    Enjoy a rainbow's hope, its many hues?

    Alas! Fate's wicked hands, its evil sends.
    Stopping mercy, from which Heaven descends.

    Robert J. Lindley, 9-07-2020
    Rhyme, Phhillip Freneau,Tribute poem,
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  7. Thanks LongTermGuy thanked this post
  8. #21
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog- An experiment in attempting to stir my muse this morning...
    Blog Posted:9/10/2020 7:38:00 AM
    Going to try an experiment. I will now post a poem that was written by Edgar Allan Poe.
    And then start to compose a tribute poem, with that poem in mind and the thoughts it inspired.
    Point is to see how fast I can finish one that is by my standards good enough to pass muster.

    Poe's poem--one that is not dark....


    To The River

    by Edgar Allan Poe
    (published 1829)


    Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
    Of crystal, wandering water,
    Thou art an emblem of the glow
    Of beauty -- the unhidden heart --
    The playful maziness of art
    In old Alberto's daughter;

    But when within thy wave she looks --
    Which glistens then, and trembles --
    Why, then, the prettiest of brooks
    Her worshipper resembles;
    For in my heart, as in thy stream,
    Her image deeply lies --
    The heart which trembles at the beam
    Of her soul-searching eyes.

    ***********************************

    My tribute offering,
    Times started composing, 8:58am
    finished 9:24am
    This went far faster and came out far better than
    i ever thought it could or would.--Tyr


    O'Bright Star, Thy Bright Gleamings True Hearts See

    O'Bright star! may thy gleam our sad hearts sate
    with splendor of glow, quench our dying thirsts
    Thy exquisite beauty, mankind debates
    as well, bold shining depths of thy starbursts.

    Why gift that grin, that Chesire cat-eye glow.
    As riddle we are never meant to know?

    O'Bright star! will thy eternal gaze blink
    a galactic voice thy wisdom imparts
    Are thy infinite gleamings - wine to drink,
    as a soothing balm to heal broken hearts,
    Shall ever thy distant voice our souls hear
    or will we destroy earth with hate and fear?

    May we in our pitifully sad state.
    Reach, touch thy heart's glow, to truly relate?

    Robert J. Lindley, 9/10/2020
    Sonnet, A tribute poem,
    To Poe's, poem, titled,
    "To The River"..


    ****************************************

    The Genius of “The Tell-Tale Heart” BY STEPHEN KING
    When I do public appearances, I’m often-no, always-asked what scares
    me. The answer is almost everything, from express elevators in very tall
    buildings to the idea of a zealot1 loose with a suitcase nuke in one of the great
    cities of the world. But if the question is refined to “What works of fiction have
    scared you?” two always leap immediately to mind: Lord of the Flies by William
    Golding and “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allan Poe.
    Most people know that Poe invented the modern detective story (Conan
    Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes is in many ways the same detective as Poe’s C.
    Auguste Dupin), but few are aware that he also created the first work of
    criminal sociopathy2 in “The Tell-Tale Heart,” a story originally published in
    1843. Many great crime writers of the twentieth century, from Jim Thompson
    and John D. MacDonald to Thomas Harris (who in Hannibal Lecter may have
    created the greatest sociopath of them all), are the children of Poe.
    The details of the story are still gruesome enough to produce nightmares
    (the cutting up of the victim’s body, for instance, or the old man’s one dying
    shriek), but the terror that lingers-and the story’s genius-lies in the superficially
    reasonable voice of the narrator. He is never named, and that is fitting,
    because we have no idea how he picked his victim, or what drove him to the
    crime. Oh, we know what he says: it was the old man’s gruesomely veiled eye.
    But of course, Jeffrey Dahmer said he wanted to create zombies, and the Son
    of Sam at one point claimed his dog told him to do it. We understand, I think,
    that psychopaths3 offer such wacky motivations because they are as helpless
    as the rest of us to explain their terrible acts.
    This is, above all, a persuasive story of lunacy, and Poe never offers any
    real explanations. Nor has to. The narrator’s cheerful laughter (“A tub had
    caught… all [the blood]-ha! ha!”) tells us all we need to know. Here is a
    creature who looks like a man but who really belongs to another species.
    That’s scary. What elevates this story beyond merely scary and into the realm
    of genius, though, is that Poe foresaw the darkness of generations far beyond
    his own.
    Ours, for instance.
    1: zealot- fanatic, enthusiast
    2: sociopathy- having antisocial behavior
    3: pychopaths- persons suffering from chronic mental disorder with abnormal or violent
    social behavior.
    B
    its founder, Thomas Jefferson. It had strict rules against gambling, horses, guns, tobacco and alcohol, but
    these rules were generally ignored. Jefferson had enacted a system of student self-government, allowing
    students to choose their own studies, make their own arrangements for boarding, and report all wrongdoing
    to the faculty. The unique system was still in chaos, and there was a high dropout rate. During his time there,
    Poe lost touch with Royster and also became estranged from his foster father over gambling debts. Poe
    claimed that Allan had not given him sufficient money to register for classes, purchase texts, and procure
    and furnish a dormitory. Allan did send additional money and clothes, but Poe's debts increased. Poe gave
    up on the university after a year, and, not feeling welcome in Richmond, especially when he learned that his
    sweetheart Royster had married Alexander Shelton, he traveled to Boston in April 1827, sustaining himself
    with odd jobs as a clerk and newspaper writer. At some point he started using the pseudonym Henri Le
    Rennet.
    Death
    On October 3, 1849, Poe was found on the streets of Baltimore delirious, "in great distress, and... in need of
    immediate assistance", according to the man who found him, Joseph W. Walker. He was taken to the
    Washington College Hospital, where he died on Sunday, October 7, 1849, at 5:00 in the morning. Poe was
    never coherent long enough to explain how he came to be in his dire condition, and, oddly, was wearing
    clothes that were not his own. Poe is said to have repeatedly called out the name "Reynolds" on the night
    before his death, though it is unclear to whom he was referring. Some sources say Poe's final words were
    "Lord help my poor soul." All medical records, including his death certificate, have been lost. Newspapers at
    the time reported Poe's death as "congestion of the brain" or "cerebral inflammation", common euphemisms
    for deaths from disreputable causes such as alcoholism. The actual cause of death remains a mystery; from
    as early as 1872, cooping was commonly believed to have been the cause, and speculation has included
    delirium tremens, heart disease, epilepsy, syphilis, meningeal inflammation, cholera and rabies.
    Griswold's "Memoir"
    The day Edgar Allan Poe was buried, a long obituary appeared in the New York Tribune signed "Ludwig". It
    was soon published throughout the country. The piece began, "Edgar Allan Poe is dead. He died in
    Baltimore the day before yesterday. This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by it."
    "Ludwig" was soon identified as Rufus Wilmot Griswold, an editor, critic and anthologist who had borne a
    grudge against Poe since 1842. Griswold somehow became Poe's literary executor and attempted to
    destroy his enemy's reputation after his death.
    Rufus Griswold wrote a biographical article of Poe called "Memoir of the Author", which he included in an
    1850 volume of the collected works. Griswold depicted Poe as a depraved, drunk, drug-addled madman and
    included Poe's letters as evidence. Many of his claims were either lies or distorted half-truths. For example,
    it is now known that Poe was not a drug addict. Griswold's book was denounced by those who knew Poe
    well, but it became a popularly accepted one. This occurred in part because it was the only full biography
    available and was widely reprinted and in part because readers thrilled at the thought of reading works by an
    "evil" man. Letters that Griswold presented as proof of this depiction of Poe were later revealed as forgeries.
    Literary Style and Themes
    Genres
    Poe's best known fiction works are Gothic, a genre he followed to appease the public taste. His most
    recurring themes deal with questions of death, including its physical signs, the effects of decomposition,
    concerns of premature burial, the reanimation of the dead, and mourning. Many of his works are generally
    considered part of the dark romanticism genre, a literary reaction to transcendentalism, which Poe strongly
    disliked. He referred to followers of the movement as "Frogpondians" after the pond on Boston Common and
    ridiculed their writings as "metaphor-run mad," lapsing into "obscurity for obscurity's sake" or "mysticism for
    mysticism's sake." Poe once wrote in a letter to Thomas Holley Chivers that he did not dislike
    Transcendentalists, "only the pretenders and sophists among them."
    Beyond horror, Poe also wrote satires, humor tales, and hoaxes. For comic effect, he used irony and
    ludicrous extravagance, often in an attempt to liberate the reader from cultural conformity. In fact,
    "Metzengerstein", the first story that Poe is known to have published, and his first foray into horror, was
    originally intended as a burlesque satirizing the popular genre. Poe also reinvented science fiction,
    responding in his writing to emerging technologies such as hot air balloons in "The Balloon-Hoax".
    Poe wrote much of his work using themes specifically catered for mass market tastes. To that end, his fiction
    often included elements of popular pseudosciences such as phrenology and physiognomy.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  9. #22
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog Title , Blog on- Thomas Gray's , " Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard"
    Blog Posted:9/19/2020 7:36:00 AM
    Note:
    My inspired interpretations received after reading several times
    this truly wonderful and very deep poem by Thomas Grays.
    A gift he gave to this world and one that is so widely recognized
    for its depths, truth, insight and lament about this dark world
    and its harsh, heavy cruel blows laid upon the common man. RJL

    ************************************************** *


    Inspiration, Revelation, Adaptation, With Poetic Verse

    Sonnet I

    I saw morn's soft hands stretching to touch bright moonlight
    Tis but a fleeting blink betwixt man's death and birth
    Dark unknowing is why we so oft fear the night
    In that abject blindness, fail to see life's true worth
    Alas! Such are sorrows of mankind's constant plight
    That feeds malignant swellings of darkness on earth;
    Those of ancient times, of distant long dead yesterdays
    Will one day from that deepest of slumbers arise
    Long hidden from flown days and nights, world's weeping grays
    Be reborn with no thoughts of world's previous lies.
    As earth spins, sounding its constant evolving beats
    We blind to light's truth, continue our foolish acts
    Racing onward counting our coins and useless feats
    Life came from light's truth, not so-called man-made facts.

    Sonnet II

    I that thought to profit, see beyond mortal veil
    Having never measured truest rectitude of life
    In my epic quest, the highest of mountains scale
    In youth, blind to sad flowing storms of mortal strife
    Alas! We that in our darkness refuse to see
    Oft face raging storms that seem to forever swirl
    Not realizing, Love's blessings are given free
    To counter lightning bolts world's malevolence hurls.
    I that foolishly thought to defeat that we die
    Later learned truth that our vanity denies
    We are lost because we believe world's greatest lie
    That we were once roaming beasts beneath earthen skies
    By our own greatness became gods of divine might
    Free to do as we please, revel in our delights.

    Sonnet III

    In June, when wondering winds our hearts so lighten
    I have found eager bubbling brooks streaming along
    Summer's morn setting up to day gaily brighten
    Nature gifting beauty, songbirds gifting sweet song
    Across flowering meadows, busy bees flying
    Life many treasures so beautifully sharing
    Time to live, not sadly ponder mortal dying
    For truest of joy depends on our loving caring
    There rests much more happiness in sincere kindness
    And sweeter breath within Love's soft touch inspiring
    Eyes to truly see, welcome defeat of blindness
    Rather than worldly conflicts and daily sparring
    To satisfy our fleshly dreams and deep desires
    Lets embrace light's divine truth that never expires.

    Robert J. Lindley, 9/15, 9/16, 9/17
    Sonnet trilogy,
    ( When Blessed Gifts Are Suddenly Given To One Pleading )

    Note -- This new creation, was composed in three days of
    each day my reading of Thomas Gray's magnificent poem,
    Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, that was first
    published in 1751...
    .

    ********


    (1.)

    Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
    BY THOMAS GRAY


    The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
    The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
    The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
    And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

    Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight,
    And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
    Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
    And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

    Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
    The moping owl does to the moon complain
    Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
    Molest her ancient solitary reign.

    Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
    Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
    Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
    The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

    The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
    The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
    The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
    No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

    For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
    Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
    No children run to lisp their sire's return,
    Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

    Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
    Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
    How jocund did they drive their team afield!
    How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

    Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
    Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
    Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
    The short and simple annals of the poor.

    The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
    And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
    Awaits alike th' inevitable hour.
    The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

    Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
    If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
    Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
    The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

    Can storied urn or animated bust
    Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
    Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
    Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?

    Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
    Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
    Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
    Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.

    But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page
    Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;
    Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
    And froze the genial current of the soul.

    Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
    The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
    Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen,
    And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

    Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
    The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
    Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
    Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

    Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
    The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
    To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
    And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes,

    Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone
    Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
    Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
    And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,

    The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
    To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
    Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
    With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

    Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
    Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
    Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
    They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

    Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect,
    Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
    With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
    Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

    Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse,
    The place of fame and elegy supply:
    And many a holy text around she strews,
    That teach the rustic moralist to die.

    For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
    This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
    Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
    Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?

    On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
    Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
    Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
    Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

    For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead
    Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
    If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
    Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

    Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
    "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
    Brushing with hasty steps the dews away
    To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

    "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
    That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
    His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
    And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

    "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
    Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove,
    Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
    Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

    "One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
    Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree;
    Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
    Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;

    "The next with dirges due in sad array
    Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne.
    Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
    Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

    THE EPITAPH
    Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
    A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
    Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
    And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

    Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
    Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
    He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
    He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

    No farther seek his merits to disclose,
    Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
    (There they alike in trembling hope repose)
    The bosom of his Father and his God.

    ******************************************
    (2.)
    Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard Summary


    Thanks for exploring this SuperSummary Plot Summary of “Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard” by Thomas Gray. A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality study guides that feature detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, quotes, and essay topics.

    Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard is a Restoration Period poem by Thomas Gray. An elegy, by strict definition, is usually a lament for the dead. Gray’s version of an elegy is slightly different—he writes about the inevitability and hollowness of death in general, instead of mourning one person. At first, the poem reflects on death in a mostly detached way, as someone who is resigned to death’s outcome. Yet, the epitaph he writes for himself at the end of the poem, reflects a fear of death. Elegy is a renowned English poem, regarded as one of the best of the time, and arguably of all time. It was popular when it was first written and was reprinted many times.

    The speaker begins the poem by saying he is in a churchyard with a bell tolling for the end of the day, he uses this image as a metaphor for life and death. He describes the scenery around him, speaking of the sun setting, the church tower covered in ivy, and an owl hooting. He then focuses on the graveyard around him. He speaks of the men who are in the graves and how they were probably simple village folk. They’re dead and nothing will wake these villagers, not a rooster’s call in the morning, not twittering birds, and not the smell of the morning breeze. The speaker also laments that life’s pleasures will no longer be felt by those buried in the graveyard, especially emphasizing the joys of family life.

    The dead villagers probably were farmers, and the speaker discusses how they probably enjoyed farming. He warns that although it sounds like a simple life, no one should mock a good honest working life as these men once had. No one should mock these men because in death, these arbitrary ideas of being wealthy or high-born do not matter. Fancy grave markers will not bring someone back to life, and neither will the honor of being well born.


    The speaker then wonders about those in the graveyard who are buried in unmarked graves. He wonders if they were full of passion, or if they were potential world leaders who left the world too soon. He wonders if one was a beautiful lyre player, whose music could bring the lyre to life—literally. He laments for the poor villagers, as they were never able to learn much about the world. He uses metaphors to describe their lack of education, that knowledge as a book was never open to them, and that poverty froze their souls.

    He speaks of those in the graveyard as unsung heroes, comparing them to gems that are never found, or flowers that bloom and are never seen. He wonders if some of the residents of the graveyard could have been historically relevant, but unable to shine. One could have been a mute Milton, the author of Paradise Lost; or one could have been like John Hampden, a politician who openly opposed the policies of King Charles. Alas, the speaker mourns again that these villagers were poor and unable to make their mark on the world.

    But because they were poor, they were also innocent. They were not capable of regicide or being merciless. They were also incapable of hiding the truth, meaning they were honest with the world. The speaker notes that these people, because they were poor, will not even be remembered negatively. They lived far from cities and lived in the quiet. At least their graves are protected by simple grave markers, so people do not desecrate their burial places by accident. And the graves have enough meaning to the speaker that he will stop and reflect on their lives. The speaker wonders who leaves earth in death without wondering what they are leaving behind. Even the poor leave behind loved ones, and they need someone in their life who is pious to close their eyes upon death.

    The speaker begins to wonder about himself in relation to these graveyard inhabitants. Even if these deceased villagers were poor, at least the speaker is elegizing them now. The speaker wonders who will elegize him. Maybe it will be someone like him, a kindred spirit, who wandered into the same graveyard. Possibly some grey-haired farmer, who would remark on having seen the speaker rush through the dew covered grass to watch the sun set on the meadow. The speaker continues to think of the imagined farmer, who would remember the speaker luxuriating on the strangely grown roots of a tree, while he watched the babbling brook. Maybe the farmer would think of how the speaker wandered through the woods looking pale with scorn and sorrow. Possibly the speaker was anxious, or was a victim of unrequited love. The speaker wonders if the farmer will notice he’s gone one day, that the farmer did not see him by his favorite tree, near the meadow, or by the woods. He speaks of his own funeral dirges and finally of his own epitaph.

    In the speaker’s own epitaph, he remarks that he has died, unknown to both fame and fortune, as in he never became famous and was not well-born. But at least he was full of knowledge—he was a scholar and a poet. Yet oftentimes, the speaker could become depressed. But he was bighearted and sincere, so heaven paid him back for his good qualities by giving him a friend. His other good and bad qualities do not matter anymore, so he instructs people not to go looking for them since he hopes for a good life in heaven with God.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  10. Thanks LongTermGuy thanked this post
  11. #23
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog: How Poets Gift Hope To This All Too Dark World
    Blog Posted:10/19/2020 5:19:00 PM
    Blog: How Poets Gift Hope To This All Too Dark World

    ***
    (1.)
    https://poets.org/poem/ulysses
    Ulysses
    Alfred Lord Tennyson - 1809-1892


    It little profits that an idle king,
    By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
    Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
    Unequal laws unto a savage race,
    That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
    I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
    Life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed
    Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
    That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
    Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
    Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
    For always roaming with a hungry heart
    Much have I seen and known—cities of men
    And manners, climates, councils, governments,
    Myself not least, but honored of them all,—
    And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
    Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
    I am a part of all that I have met;
    Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
    Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades
    For ever and for ever when I move.
    How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
    To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
    As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life
    Were all too little, and of one to me
    Little remains; but every hour is saved
    From that eternal silence, something more,
    A bringer of new things; and vile it were
    For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
    And this gray spirit yearning in desire
    To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
    Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
    This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
    To whom I leave the scepter and the isle,
    Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
    This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
    A rugged people, and through soft degrees
    Subdue them to the useful and the good.
    Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
    Of common duties, decent not to fail
    In offices of tenderness, and pay
    Meet adoration to my household gods,
    When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
    There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
    There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
    Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me,
    That ever with a frolic welcome took
    The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
    Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
    Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
    Death closes all; but something ere the end,
    Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
    Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
    The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
    The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
    Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
    'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
    Push off, and sitting well in order smite
    The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
    To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
    Of all the western stars, until I die.
    It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
    It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
    And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
    Though much is taken, much abides; and though
    We are not now that strength which in old days
    Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
    One equal temper of heroic hearts,
    Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
    To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

    This poem is in the public domain.

    ***
    (2.)

    “Hope” is the thing with feathers - (314)
    ---- BY EMILY DICKINSON

    “Hope” is the thing with feathers -
    That perches in the soul -
    And sings the tune without the words -
    And never stops - at all -

    And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
    And sore must be the storm -
    That could abash the little Bird
    That kept so many warm -

    I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
    And on the strangest Sea -
    Yet - never - in Extremity,
    It asked a crumb - of me.

    ***

    This Truth, All Must Find Dear Hope They Embrace

    This Earth, this accumulation of life
    a great mass of air, water, rock, and soil
    a dark world, where danger cuts like a knife
    man gets bread and water by daily toil.

    O' but those pleasures of heart-sweet dreams cast.
    Calm, peaceful sea, ship sailing at full mast.

    This World, its beauty that rivals its dark
    a great mass of people, buildings and cars
    a cauldron of darkness violently stark
    all made from explosions of long-dead stars.

    O' but those pleasures of heart-sweet dreams cast.
    Calm, peaceful sea, ship sailing at full mast.

    This Life, its joys heartaches, and epic pains
    a mystery, a climb, race against time
    a harvest of precious golden grains
    romance, verses born of sweet rhythmic rhyme.

    O' but those pleasures of heart-sweet dreams cast.
    Calm, peaceful sea, ship sailing at full mast.

    This Truth, all must find dear hope they embrace
    a revelation, a desire, love
    a newfound world of divinely sent grace
    giftings of manna from Heaven above.

    O' but those pleasures of heart-sweet dreams cast.
    Calm, peaceful sea, ship sailing at full mast.

    Robert J. Lindley, 10-14-2020
    Rhyme( When The Days Have Flown, Into That Mystical Mist )
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  12. #24
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog:
    Of Byron, Keats And Shelley, A Few Words


    (1.)

    Of Byron And A Visit I Once Had

    Alas! Youth and its joy away has flown
    I wake at the break of day with a groan
    the smooth mirror no lies dares to tell
    truth seen by these eyes rings loud sorrow's bell
    vanity's praise to break illusion's spell
    embedding with red-hot fires of hell
    life gifted then sets black to steal away
    from morn's breath, dawning beauty each new day.

    What would Byron think, sit to write of this
    would he ink. 'tis not a true poet's kiss"
    or with flowing quill cast a prudent doubt
    and see it as dishwater to toss out
    with utter contempt, write a ballad true
    of his hate of modern poetry too
    how love and life are joy and so much more
    with wisdom our souls, sweeter verse implore?

    Once his ghost came to my writing station
    grand it was, birthing sweet jubilation
    begged I for its golden verse to give
    pleading to sift my verses through its sieve
    Aghast the ghost eyed me with deep contempt
    asking why should my poor state it exempt
    I was then rebuked with the harshest scorn
    noting I had never its sad death mourn!

    Alas! Youth and its joy away has flown
    I wake at the break of day with a groan
    the smooth mirror no lies dares to tell
    truth seen by these eyes rings loud sorrow's bell
    vanity's praise to break illusion's spell
    embedding with red-hot fires of hell
    life gifted then sets black to steal away
    from morn's breath, dawning beauty each new day.

    (2.)

    Of Keats And A Vivid Dream I Once Had

    I unmask this monster invading me
    the horrific horrors sent, ten times three
    that vanishes the sweet breath of her kiss
    pains, denying even love's greatest bliss
    with its eyeless guile and quick blackened bite
    conquering sun's glow, gifting dread of night
    closing the chasm between dear life and death
    stealing away my last gasping of breath.

    I gaze at its immense power and girth
    and how it roams so freely about earth
    with its dagger claws and sharp fangs to match
    and what ease it had this sad soul to catch
    now it sought to toss me like a small boy
    as a child does its newest little toy
    and I helpless to its dark-might withstand
    while hitting with my hard clenching left hand!

    O to dream this dark nightmare ever ends
    with hope, cherish my family and friends
    yet in this gloom darkness tightens its grip
    farther into the black-pit this soul slips
    begging light's glow, I pray for a reprieve
    from wicked beast sent to slay and deceive
    my last hope, her true love will see me through
    and the thought of good fortune I am due.

    I unmask this monster invading me
    the horrific horrors sent, ten times three
    by light's divine glow cast from far above
    her smiling face beaming down its deep love!

    (3.)
    Of Shelley And Bright Light Once Set Aglow

    Mankind, immortality as its goal
    yet sadly blind to that much-needed light
    of weakening flesh, intemperate soul
    bold feaster of sinful darkened delights
    as a flood crushes in its raging wake
    and oft buries deeply it's new-drowned dead
    man moralizes how to everything take
    claiming no wrongs in their soft-laden-heads!

    Of life, its tribulations, and its pains
    and the stealing of whatever one may
    bad means nothing if great enough the gains
    of wealth and pleasure, he takes anyway
    for what is a man but creature low born
    made of earth and both feet of oozing mud
    from God's light far as a heart can be torn
    and with deep blackened venom in his blood!

    Alas! Dare man pleads for mercy divine
    while seeking happiness and golden gifts
    as it stomps virgin grapes ripe on the vine
    always crying this and that shall be mine!

    Robert J. Lindley, 10-21-2020
    Rhyme, ( What An Eager Quill And A Fine Muse Once Gifted )
    Three poems in tribute to three golden poets of old...


    1.
    https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lord-byron

    2.
    https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/john-keats

    3.
    https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poe...bysshe-shelley
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  13. #25
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog, - Whispers From The Past, A Poet's Lost Songs
    Blog Posted:1/13/2021 3:55:00 AM
    Blog, - Whispers From The Past, A Poet's Lost Songs



    When The Darkness, Its Destructive Song Sings



    In the hours of lonely despair

    The angry clock striking sad tones,

    Erosion of life, stale salt air

    There the graveyard of bleached bones

    Fleeing whispers of the lost loss

    In the distance a dying moon

    A swamp of red decaying moss

    Reality- end comes too soon.



    A dreamscape of terrors and pain

    Trees that eat the welcomed host,

    Heart and legs bound by rusty chains

    Joy fled with yesterday's pale ghost

    My hands that decapitate me

    Soul that cries to dawn's coming breath

    A desert of abhorrent seas

    Reality- dark tides of death.



    In the hours of lonely despair

    The angry clock striking sad tones,

    Erosion of life, stale salt air

    There the graveyard of bleached bones

    Fleeing whispers of the lost loss

    In the distance a dying moon

    A swamp of red decaying moss

    Reality- end comes too soon.



    R J Lindley, Dec 3rd 1973

    Rhyme, ( Wherein The Sad Reality Paints With Its Sister Fate )

    Poem- One


    Note-

    In the shadows the Raven calls

    Its blacken voice a chilling breeze

    Whispers emerge from bloody walls

    My heart and soul begins to freeze

    That call, a hard bone-chilling dirge

    There I hanging from a cliff fall

    Into the dark bottomless sea surge

    Raven repeats, its ceaseless calls



    **********



    Dark Melody Sung By The Old Wizen Poet



    Behind the walls, in caverns deep,

    Down empty halls, innocence sleeps,

    Hungry so begs, for life's true bread,

    But Fate must first birth its dark dread.



    Dreading and shedding, future sings,

    Of life, love and infinite things,

    While weeping soul cries for its rest,

    Dark world sets its usual tests.



    Therein the old wicked rub lies,

    Seeding hope under dying skies,

    Hunger weds its undying thirst,

    As Fate cries, but I must drink first.



    Behind the walls, in caverns deep,

    Down empty halls, innocence sleeps,

    Hungry so begs, for life's true bread,

    But Fate must first birth its dark dread.



    R J Lindley, Dec 4th, 1973

    Rhyme, ( Wherein The Sad Reality Paints With Its Sister Fate )

    Poem- Two


    Note-

    In the shadows the Raven calls

    Its blacken voice a chilling breeze

    Whispers emerge from bloody walls

    My heart and soul begins to freeze

    That call, a hard bone-chilling dirge

    There I hanging from a cliff fall

    Into the dark bottomless sea surge

    Raven repeats, its ceaseless calls



    **********



    The Poet, Dark Verses Long Ago Sung



    There lies within the dreaded black,

    Life derailed on broken track,

    A little sorrow if you will,

    That which mere wishing cannot kill.



    Time and life echoes the same song,

    World controls the fast racing throng,

    Bob and Jane found true wedded bliss,

    Then Fate gifted its fatal kiss.



    The eternal past cannot change,

    Universe is an open range,

    Dare frost to glisten all the more,

    And hope to soon find joyful shores.



    There lies within the dreaded black,

    Life derailed on broken track,

    A little sorrow if you will,

    That which mere wishing cannot kill.



    R J Lindley, Dec 5th, 1973

    Rhyme, ( Wherein The Sad Reality Paints With Its Sister Fate )

    Poem- Three


    Note-

    In the shadows the Raven calls

    Its blacken voice a chilling breeze

    Whispers emerge from bloody walls

    My heart and soul begins to freeze

    That call, a hard bone-chilling dirge

    There I hanging from a cliff fall

    Into the dark bottomless sea surge

    Raven repeats, its ceaseless calls
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  14. #26
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog, I Was Once The Man Locked In The Box, ( Tribute Given To Alice In Chains, "Layne Stayley" )
    Blog Posted:1/24/2021 6:56:00 AM
    Blog,

    I Was Once The Man Locked In The Box,

    ( Tribute Given To Alice In Chains, "Layne Stayley" )

    *******

    I Was Once The Man Locked In The Box

    ( Tribute Given To Alice In Chains, "Layne Stayley" )




    I was, once a man locked in a box

    Begging for a savior smart as a fox

    Even better, should my hero be a she

    For it was Love that imprisoned me

    I need a hero to gift my heart to

    A warm loving angel to start life anew



    A rare soul to bring out the best in me

    For only by true love can I be free.



    Pray I, now within these cold metal walls

    For sweet forgiveness with my sincere calls

    I a prisoner without any chains

    Condemned to live heart-broke with my pains

    In this mind-made steel cavern all alone

    With this empty chill shattering my bones



    Need I, a rare beauty to rescue me

    For only by true love can I be free.



    I was, once a man locked in a box

    Begging for a savior smart as a fox

    Even better, should my hero be a she

    For it was Love that imprisoned me.



    Beg I, an angel to come rescue me

    For only by true love can I be free.



    R.J. Lindley, August 2nd 1993,

    Presented. 1-24-2021

    Rhyme,

    ( When so lost, the mind becomes chained in a dark abyss )



    Tribute given to the band - Alice In Chains, the song

    Titled-- " Man In The Box", singer Layne Stayley



    Note:

    Once the darkness held me in iron chains

    So fiercely that I felt not the Spring rains

    I was blinded and sealed in my own tomb

    Prisoner in a soul breaking black room

    My cries came back as waves on poison seas

    Useless were my first angry cursing pleas

    Only when heart and soul found the true light

    Could I start to begin my freedom fight

    Beg I, an angel to come rescue me

    For only with true love can I be free.







    Note:

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man_in_the_Box



    Man in the Box

    From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

    Jump to navigationJump to search

    "Man in the Box"

    Man in the Box by Alice in Chains US commercial cassette.jpg

    US commercial cassette single

    Single by Alice in Chains

    from the album Facelift

    Released January 1991[1]

    Recorded December 1989 – April 1990

    Studio

    London Bridge, Seattle

    Capitol Recording, Hollywood

    Genre

    Grunge[2][3]alternative metal[4]hard rock[5][6]alternative rock[7]

    Length 4:46

    Label Columbia

    Composer(s) Jerry Cantrell

    Lyricist(s) Layne Staley

    Producer(s) Dave Jerden

    Alice in Chains singles chronology

    "We Die Young"

    (1990) "Man in the Box"

    (1991) "Bleed the Freak"

    (1991)

    Audio sample

    MENU0:00

    filehelp

    Music video

    "Man in the Box" on YouTube

    "Man in the Box" is a song by the American rock band Alice in Chains. It was released as a single in January 1991 after being featured on the group's debut studio album Facelift (1990). It peaked at No. 18 on Billboard's Mainstream Rock chart and was nominated for a Grammy Award for Best Hard Rock Performance in 1992. The song was included on the compilation albums Nothing Safe: Best of the Box (1999), Music Bank (1999), Greatest Hits (2001), and The Essential Alice in Chains (2006). "Man in the Box" was the second most-played song of the decade on mainstream rock radio between 2010 and 2019.





    Contents

    1 Origin and recording

    2 Composition

    3 Lyrics

    4 Release and reception

    5 Music video

    6 Live performances

    7 Personnel

    8 Chart positions

    8.1 Weekly charts

    8.2 Decade-end charts

    9 Cover versions

    10 In popular culture

    11 References

    12 External links

    Origin and recording

    In the liner notes of 1999's Music Bank box set collection, guitarist Jerry Cantrell said of the song; "That whole beat and grind of that is when we started to find ourselves; it helped Alice become what it was."[8]



    The song makes use of a talk box to create the guitar effect. The idea of using a talk box came from producer Dave Jerden, who was driving to the studio one day when Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer" started playing on the radio.[9]



    The original Facelift track listing credited only vocalist Layne Staley and Jerry Cantrell with writing the song.[10] All post-Facelift compilations credited the entire band. It is unclear as to why the songwriter credits were changed.



    Composition

    "Man in the Box" is widely recognized for its distinctive "wordless opening melody, where Layne Staley's peculiar, tensed-throat vocals are matched in unison with an effects-laden guitar" followed by "portentous lines like: 'Feed my eyes, can you sew them shut?', 'Jesus Christ, deny your maker' and 'He who tries, will be wasted' with Cantrell's drier, less-urgent voice," along with harmonies provided by both Staley and Cantrell in the lines 'Won't you come and save me'.[11]



    Lyrics

    In a 1992 interview with Rolling Stone, Layne Staley explained the origins of the song's lyrics:



    I started writing about censorship. Around the same time, we went out for dinner with some Columbia Records people who were vegetarians. They told me how veal was made from calves raised in these small boxes, and that image stuck in my head. So I went home and wrote about government censorship and eating meat as seen through the eyes of a doomed calf.[12]



    Jerry Cantrell said of the song:



    But what it's basically about is, is how government and media control the public's perception of events in the world or whatever, and they build you into a box by feeding it to you in your home, ya know. And it's just about breaking out of that box and looking outside of that box that has been built for you.[13]



    In a recorded interview with MuchMusic in 1991, Staley stated that the lyrics are loosely based on media censorship, and "I was really really stoned when I wrote it, so it meant something different then", he said laughing.[14]



    Release and reception

    "Man in the Box" was released as a single in 1991. "Man in the Box" is widely considered to be one of the band's signature songs, reaching number 18 on the Billboard Album Rock Tracks chart at the time of its release. According to Nielsen Music's year-end report for 2019, "Man in the Box" was the second most-played song of the decade on mainstream rock radio with 142,000 spins.[15]



    The song was number 19 on VH1's "40 Greatest Metal Songs", and its solo was rated the 77th greatest guitar solo by Guitar World in 2008.[16] It was number 50 on VH1's "100 Greatest Songs of the 90s" in 2007.[17] The song was nominated for the Grammy Award for Best Hard Rock Performance in 1992.[5]



    Steve Huey of AllMusic called the song "an often overlooked but important building block in grunge's ascent to dominance" and "a meeting of metal theatrics and introspective hopelessness."[11]



    Music video

    The MTV music video for the track was released in 1991 and was directed by Paul Rachman, who later directed the first version of the "Sea of Sorrow" music video for the band and the 2006 feature documentary American Hardcore. The music video was nominated for Best Heavy Metal/Hard Rock Video at the 1991 MTV Video Music Awards.[18] The video is available on the home video releases Live Facelift and Music Bank: The Videos. The video shows the band performing in what is supposedly a barn, where throughout the video, a mysterious man wearing a black hooded cloak is shown roaming around the barn. Then, after the unknown hooded figure is shown, he is shown again looking around inside a stable where many animals live where he suddenly discovers and shines his flashlight on a man (Layne Staley) that he finds sitting in the corner of the barnhouse. At the end of the video, the hooded man finally pulls his hood down off of his head, only to reveal that his eyelids were sewn together with stitches the whole time. This part of the video depicts on the line of the song, "Feed my eyes, now you've sewn them shut". The man with his eyes sewn shut was played by a friend of director Paul Rachman, Rezin,[19] who worked in a bar parking lot in Los Angeles called Small's.[20]



    The music video was shot on 16mm film and transferred to tape using a FDL 60 telecine. At the time this was the only device that could sync sound to picture at film rates as low as 6FPS. This is how the surreal motion was obtained. The sepia look was done by Claudius Neal using a daVinci color corrector.[citation needed]



    Layne Staley tattooed on his back the Jesus character depicted in the video with his eyes sewn shut.[21][22]



    Live performances

    At Alice in Chains' last concert with Staley on July 3, 1996, they closed with "Man in the Box". Live performances of "Man in the Box" can be found on the "Heaven Beside You" and "Get Born Again" singles and the live album Live. A performance of the song is also included on the home video release Live Facelift and is a staple of the band's live show due to the song's popularity.



    Personnel

    Layne Staley – lead vocals

    Jerry Cantrell – guitar, talkbox, backing vocals

    Mike Starr – bass

    Sean Kinney – drums

    Chart positions

    Weekly charts

    Facelift version

    Chart (1991) Peak

    position

    US Mainstream Rock (Billboard)[23] 18

    Live version

    Chart (2000) Peak

    position

    US Mainstream Rock (Billboard)[23] 39

    Decade-end charts

    Chart (2010–2019) Position

    US Mainstream Rock (Nielsen Music)[15] 2

    Cover versions

    Richard Cheese and Lounge Against the Machine covered "Man in the Box" in a lounge style on their 2005 album Aperitif for Destruction. Platinum-selling recording artist David Cook covered the song during his 2009 Declaration Tour. Angie Aparo recorded a cover version for his album Weapons of Mass Construction. Apologetix parodied the song as "Man on the Cross" on their 2013 album Hot Potato Soup. Metal artist Chris Senter released a parody titled "Cat in the Box" in March 2015, featuring a music video by animator Joey Siler.[24] Les Claypool's bluegrass project Duo de Twang covered the song on their debut album Four Foot Shack.
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 01-24-2021 at 01:49 PM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  15. Likes LongTermGuy liked this post
  16. #27
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog- On An Introduction To British Romanticism
    Blog Posted:2/7/2021 7:44:00 PM



    (1.)

    Loving You, Midnight Moon, Your Sultry Eyes


    Mountain cabin, our special loving place

    Midnight moon radiant glow on your face

    Surging passion, gleam in your sultry eyes

    Never enough time, my how fast time flies.



    This the stuff of dreams, and romantic truth.

    As we both in love deep-danced in our youth.



    Those cool early morns, you rising from bed

    The night before true, sincere love vows said

    No thinking of what hand of fate may bring

    As we let love hot-fires, burn everything.



    This the stuff of dreams, and romantic truth.

    As we both in love deep-danced in our youth.



    Mountain cabin, our special loving place.

    Midnight moon radiant glow on your face.



    Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2021

    Sonnet, Romanticism

    ( The Depths Of Love's Hot Raging Fires In Youth )

    Tribute to those great poets of Brit Romanticism

    From new blog

    (2.)

    On Love's Delicious Feast We Both Were Fed



    Your soft, sexy curves so enchanted me

    My heart and soul lost into eternity

    How I wish that spell had forever last

    Such was the treasure, kisses of our past.



    In those moments, both our hearts were wed.

    On love's delicious feast we both were fed.



    Darling, memories- I wish to recall

    The magnificent depths of love that Fall

    Knew such heavenly bliss could never last

    As each gasping moment flew by too fast.



    In those moments, both our hearts were wed.

    On love's delicious feast we both were fed.



    Now the years, they shout--that was long ago

    She remembers you not, that you should know

    I then reject such darkness, such sad lies

    As I see again- true love in your eyes.



    In those moments, both our hearts were wed.

    On love's delicious feast we both were fed.



    Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2021

    Romanticism, ( Youth, beauty, passion and your kiss )

    Tribute to those great poets of Brit Romanticism

    From new blog

    (3.)

    I Kiss Your Lush Full Lips, Your Raven Hair



    Your soft, sexy curves so enchanted me

    My heart and soul lost into eternity

    As I was blessed to such an angel love

    From our tent we watch gleaming stars above

    Under soft moonlit skies and cool June breeze

    We fell into love's fever with such ease.



    In my sweet dreams, again silk beds we share.

    I kiss your lush full lips, your raven hair.



    Within the ardor awaits surging heat

    For soft kisses and love desserts to eat

    And that caress of your passionate touch

    Expectation as you lay down the brush

    Your bare-naked body as you undress

    Moans of pleasures as true love we confess.



    In my sweet dreams, again silk beds we share.

    I kiss your lush full lips, your raven hair.



    Your soft, sexy curves so enchanted me.

    My heart and soul lost into eternity.



    Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2021

    Romanticism, ( Treasures: Passionate Encounters Of Youth )

    Tribute to those great poets of Brit Romanticism

    From new blog

    Blog- On An Introduction To British Romanticism



    https://www.poetryfoundation.org/col...sh-romanticism

    COLLECTION

    An Introduction to British Romanticism

    The poetic revolution that brought common people to literature’s highest peaks.



    Excerpt from "Wanderer above the Sea of Fog" (1818), by ‎Caspar David Friedrich

    “[I]f Poetry comes not as naturally as the Leaves to a tree it had better not come at all,” proposed John Keats in an 1818 letter, at the age of 22. This could be called romantic in sentiment, lowercase r, meaning fanciful, impractical, unachievably ambitious. But Keats’s axiom could also be taken as a one-sentence distillation of British Romanticism—with its all-or-nothing stance on the spontaneity of the highest art, its conviction of the sympathetic connections between nature’s organic growth and human creativity, and its passion for individual imagination as an originating force. This period is generally mapped from the first political and poetic tremors of the 1780s to the 1832 Reform Act. No major period in English-language literary history is shorter than that half-century of the Romantic era, but few other eras have ever proved as consequential. Romanticism was nothing short of a revolution in how poets understood their art, its provenance, and its powers: ever since, English-language poets have furthered that revolution or formulated reactions against it.



    In Britain, Romanticism was not a single unified movement, consolidated around any one person, place, moment, or manifesto, and the various schools, styles, and stances we now label capital-R Romantic would resist being lumped into one clear category. Yet all of Romanticism’s products exploded out of the same set of contexts: some were a century in the making; others were overnight upheavals. Ushered in by revolutions in the United States (1776) and France (1789), the Romantic period coincides with the societal transformations of the Industrial Revolution, the rise of liberal movements and the state’s counterrevolutionary measures, and the voicing of radical ideas—Parliamentary reform, expanded suffrage, abolitionism, atheism—in pamphlets and public demonstrations. Though Britain avoided an actual revolution, political tensions sporadically broke out into traumatizing violence, as in the Peterloo massacre of 1819, in which state cavalry killed at least 10 peaceful demonstrators and wounded hundreds more.



    Emboldened by the era’s revolutionary spirit, Romantic poets invented new literary forms to match. Romantic poetry can argue radical ideas explicitly and vehemently (as in Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “England in 1819,” a sonnet in protest of Peterloo) or allegorically and ambivalently (as in William Blake’s “The Tyger,” from Songs of Innocence and of Experience). To quote from William Wordsworth’s preface to Lyrical Ballads, the groundbreaking collection he wrote with fellow poet-critic Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Romantic poets could “choose incidents and situations from common life” as its subjects, describing them not in polished or high-flown diction but instead in everyday speech, “a selection of language really used by men.” Romanticism can do justice to the disadvantaged, to those marginalized or forgotten by an increasingly urban and commercial culture—rural workers, children, the poor, the elderly, or the disabled—or it can testify to individuality simply by foregrounding the poet’s own subjectivity at its most idiosyncratic or experimental.



    Alongside prevailing political and social ideas, Romantic poets put into practice new aesthetic theories, cobbled from British and German philosophy, which opposed the neoclassicism and rigid decorum of 18th-century poetry. To borrow the central dichotomy of critic M.H. Abrams’s influential book The Mirror and the Lamp (1953), Romantic poets broke from the past by no longer producing artistic works that merely mirrored or reflected nature faithfully; instead, they fashioned poems that served as lamps illuminating truths through self-expression, casting the poets’ subjective, even impressionistic, experiences onto the world. From philosophers such as Edmund Burke and Immanuel Kant, the Romantics inherited a distinction between two aesthetic categories, the beautiful and the sublime—in which beautiful suggests smallness, clarity, and painless pleasure, and sublime suggests boundlessness, obscurity, and imagination-stretching grandeur. From the German critic A.W. Schlegel, Coleridge developed his ideal of “organic form,” the unity found in artworks whose parts are interdependent and integral to the whole—grown, like a natural organism, according to innate processes, not externally mandated formulas.



    The most self-conscious and self-critical British poets to date, the Romantics justified their poetic experimentations in a variety of prose genres (prefaces, reviews, essays, diaries, letters, works of autobiography or philosophy) or else inside the poetry itself. But they never wrote only for other poets and critics: the Romantics competed in a burgeoning literary marketplace that made room for the revival of English and Scottish ballads (narrative folk songs, transcribed and disseminated in print), the recovery of medieval romances (one etymological root of Romantic), and prose fiction ranging from the psychological extremes of the gothic novel to the wit of Jane Austen’s social realism. Romantic poets looked curiously backward—to Greek mythology, friezes, and urns or to a distinctly British cultural past of medieval ruins and tales of knights and elves—to look speculatively forward. Perhaps no pre-Romantic author inspired the Romantics more than William Shakespeare, who exemplified what Keats termed “Negative Capability, that is when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.” For Keats, “a great poet” such as Shakespeare opened his imagination to all possibilities, limited neither by an insistent search for truth nor by his own egocentric gravity: “the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.”



    Drawing on unrestrained imagination and a variegated cultural landscape, a Romantic-era poem could be trivial or fantastic, succinctly songlike or digressively meandering, a searching fragment or a precisely bounded sonnet or ode, as comic as Lord Byron’s mock epic Don Juan or as cosmologically subversive as Blake’s The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. If any single innovation has emerged as Romanticism’s foremost legacy, it is the dominance among poetic genres of the lyric poem, spoken in first-person (the lyric I) often identified with the poet, caught between passion and reason, finding correspondences in natural surroundings for the introspective workings of heart and mind. If any collection cemented that legacy, it would be Wordsworth and Coleridge’s landmark collection Lyrical Ballads, first published anonymously in 1798. The collection provokes with its title alone, inverting hierarchies, hybridizing the exalted outbursts of lyric poetry with the folk narratives of ballads. In a retrospective preface added for the 1800 second edition and expanded in later editions, Wordsworth set out his polemical program for a poetry grounded in feeling, supplying Romanticism with some of its most resonant and lasting phrases: “all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings”; “it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity.”



    The following poems, poets, articles, poem guides, and recordings offer introductory samples of the Romantic era. Included are the monumental Romantic poets often nicknamed “the Big Six”—the older generation of Blake, Wordsworth, and Coleridge and the so-called Young Romantics—Byron, Shelley, and Keats. Indispensable women poets such as Charlotte Smith, Mary Robinson, and Felicia Dorothea Hemans; the Scottish poet and lyricist Robert Burns; and the farm laborer–poet John Clare are also represented. But even this collection is only a beginning: no introduction to Romanticism can encompass the entire period in all its variety and restless experimentation.



    BRITISH ROMANTIC POETS

    William Blake

    William Wordsworth

    Samuel Taylor Coleridge

    Lord Byron (George Gordon)

    Percy Bysshe Shelley

    John Keats

    John Clare

    Leigh Hunt

    Mary Robinson

    Robert Southey

    Sir Walter Scott

    Anna Lætitia Barbauld

    Dorothy Wordsworth

    Walter Savage Landor

    Thomas Chatterton

    Charlotte Smith

    Mary Lamb

    Felicia Dorothea Hemans

    Robert Burns

    Charles Lamb

    Letitia Elizabeth Landon

    Charlotte Richardson

    George Crabbe

    Hannah More

    Hartley Coleridge
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  17. Thanks LongTermGuy thanked this post
  18. #28
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog on the magnificence of the Romanticism Era in American Poetry
    Blog Posted:2/13/2021 11:30:00 AM
    Blog on the magnificence of the Romanticism Era in American Poetry




    Poem One:

    Inspired by my reading of -Lady Labyrinth's---magnificent

    -- "Courting the Sublime Significance of Nothingness"




    (1.) Poem One



    Seeking The Boundaries Of Love's Depths And Her Hand



    The air, its surging breath sings

    into the soul of a willing fan

    one that leaves baggage far behind,

    an emboldened adventurer



    Such that looks for rarity

    for the invisible truth

    a soft kiss within a whisper

    a song that invades heart, soul and mind



    Becomes a diviner, an escape artist,

    calm wading ebony seas of despair

    jealous of only Time

    envious of only beauty

    fearful of enormity of mortal blindness



    What curses may the shadows then utter

    the pains of life and a dark pit

    nay, such does not faze

    the hardy, the faithful, the true seeker



    Alas! So recites the ailing poet

    lost amidst memories long fled

    begging the stars to shine again

    the heavens to gift

    Love, deep love , sweet love

    and the divine tastes of her love



    Dare the Gods such deny

    risking vanity and hateful mortal wrath

    inked curses and paper cuts to hardened hearts

    not so, for the seeker - lives to seek

    to touch her lips

    to into bliss fairly fall



    And should such treasure be gained

    die as a humble servant to fate

    without regret.

    without of arrows malice,

    shot at invisible beasts

    under a dying moon and a wicked host



    Fanciful the imagination and poet's heart

    mixing of dreams and elusive elements

    self-aggrandizing, a warrior

    combating invisible foes

    stabbed by those eyeless ghosts

    crying into wounded nights and fading lights



    Aye, this and more- the seeker finds

    never the eternity of lost love

    the infinity of peace and joy

    the heart of her

    the touch of her

    the depths of love only she gifts



    And at last, the poet begs Aphrodite

    to this life extinguish

    for without love

    without warmth

    without her return

    the universes exists not…

    dying embers in finality embrace the cold

    yielding in sorrows to the darkness, to its empty cries…



    Robert J. Lindley, 2-10-2021

    Romanticism

    ( Inspiration found, a memory revisited, a truth accepted )

    Poem number one-- my new blog






    (2.)



    Sight Of Gazing At Those Gleaming-Bright Newborn Rainbow Hues



    Sweetness and splendor of Nature's beauty- The Rose

    Imagination, myriad paths, life we each chose

    Hopes and dear dreams, glory of love and life we seek

    Enormity of choices, traversing this realm, scaling its mighty peaks

    Curse of mortality, these flesh and bone cast bodies so weak!



    Sight of gazing at those gleaming-bright newborn rainbow hues

    Splendor and immense bounty of flowing skies, shining blues

    Man's vanity that invades to set us on darken paths

    Woes and sorrows, birthed by Fate's accursed wraths

    Man's science, ingenuity, greed and love affair with math.



    Humanity- earth's wonders its bounties of teeming throngs

    The Arts- beauty of poetry, literature and majestic songs

    Life, oft a cup gathered into warm welcoming hands

    Honor, duty, the task of taking hard defiant stands

    The unpredictability of Time's falling sands.



    Yet dare we forget that life demands truth and sincere love

    For the rose may prick if plucked without the needed gloves

    In youth, those honey-eyed dreams of hot romantic nights

    Lovely maiden gifting her jewels her sexual delights

    That which a brief moment may overcome world's darkest blights.



    Sweetness and splendor of Nature's beauty- The Rose

    Imagination, myriad paths, life we each chose

    Hopes and dear dreams, glory of love and life we seek

    Enormity of choices, traversing this realm, scaling its mighty peaks

    Curse of mortality, these flesh and bone cast bodies so weak!



    Robert J. Lindley, 2-12-2021

    Romanticism, ( Of mortality, love, literature, poetry and the Arts )

    From blog- "Blog: On The Romanticism Era In American Poetry"




    ******

    (3.)



    Dare We Wake To Wade In Life's Luscious New Streams



    As dawn comes singing and gifts its soft golden beams

    Dare we wake to wade in life's luscious new streams

    Shall we welcome with ardor of lover and friend

    With truth and hope forgive those that only pretend

    For what is life, if we but such grace dare refuse

    Man was given the honor to in life so choose.



    Within passion's deep gifts, love such great treasures gives.

    As soothing balm, in the beauty of all that lives.



    Can our dreams this dark raging world evil subside

    Conquer its demons, its wicked devilish pride

    Set a new course in which hope and love may flourish

    Seed romanticism that our spirits so nourish

    Bring on faith, that our crying souls should so cherish.



    Within passion's deep gifts, love such great treasures gives.

    As soothing balm, in the beauty of all that lives.



    As dawn comes singing and gifts its soft golden beams.

    Dare we wake to wade in life's luscious new streams.



    Robert J. Lindley, 2-13-2021

    Romanticism, ( Of mortality, love, literature, poetry and the Arts )

    From blog- "Blog: On The Romanticism Era In American Poetry"




    ******

    Blog: On The Romanticism Era In American Poetry

    (1.)

    https://sites.google.com/site/usingl...riod-1800-1840



    American Literature: The Dream

    Home

    Experience the Dream Across Literary Periods

    American Novels

    Literary Periods in Chronological Order

    Literary Terms

    Vocabulary

    Sitemap

    Experience the Dream Across Literary Periods‎ > ‎Literary Periods in Chronological Order‎ > ‎Native American Literature (Undetermined-1650)‎ > ‎The Colonial Period (1650-1800)‎ > ‎

    The Romantic Period (1800-1840)

    The Romantic Period (1800-1840)

    Romanticism (or the Romantic era/Period) was an artistic, literary, and intellectual movement that originated in Europe toward the end of the 18th century and in most areas was at its peak in the approximate period from 1800 to 1840. Partly a reaction to the Industrial Revolution, it was also a revolt against aristocratic social and political norms of the Age of Enlightenment and a reaction against the scientific rationalization of nature. It was embodied most strongly in the visual arts, music, and literature, but had a major impact on historiography, education and the natural sciences. Its effect on politics was considerable, and complex; while for much of the peak Romantic period it was associated with liberalism and radicalism, in the long term its effect on the growth of nationalism was probably more significant.





    The movement validated strong emotion as an authentic source of aesthetic experience, placing new emphasis on such emotions as apprehension, horror and terror, and awe—especially that which is experienced in confronting the sublimity of untamed nature and its picturesque qualities, both new aesthetic categories. It elevated folk art and ancient custom to something noble, made spontaneity a desirable characteristic (as in the musical impromptu), and argued for a "natural" epistemology of human activities as conditioned by nature in the form of language and customary usage. Romanticism reached beyond the rational and Classicist ideal models to elevate a revived medievalism and elements of art and narrative perceived to be authentically medieval in an attempt to escape the confines of population growth, urban sprawl, and industrialism, and it also attempted to embrace the exotic, unfamiliar, and distant in modes more authentic than Rococo chinoiserie, harnessing the power of the imagination to envision and to escape.



    Although the movement was rooted in the German Sturm und Drang movement, which prized intuition and emotion over Enlightenment rationalism, the ideologies and events of the French Revolution laid the background from which both Romanticism and the Counter-Enlightenment emerged. The confines of the Industrial Revolution also had their influence on Romanticism, which was in part an escape from modern realities; indeed, in the second half of the 19th century, "Realism" was offered as a polarized opposite to Romanticism. Romanticism elevated the achievements of what it perceived as heroic individualists and artists, whose pioneering examples would elevate society. It also legitimized the individual imagination as a critical authority, which permitted freedom from classical notions of form in art. There was a strong recourse to historical and natural inevitability, a Zeitgeist, in the representation of its ideas.



    Washington Irving

    Washington Irving was an American author who composed a collection of stories that became The Sketch Book (1819), which included "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." After serving as a US ambassador, he turned out a succession of historical and biographical works. Irving advocated for writing as a legitimate career, and argued for laws to protect writers from copyright infringement.



    Perhaps best known for his short stories "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" and "Rip Van Winkle," Washington Irving was born on April 3, 1783 in New York City, New York, USA. He was one of eleven children born to Scottish-English immigrant parents, William Irving, Sr. and Sarah. He was named Washington after the hero of the American revolution (which had just ended),George Washington, and attended the first presidential inauguration of his namesake in 1789.





    Washington Irving was educated privately, studied law, and began to write essays for periodicals. He travelled in France and Italy (1804–6), wrote whimsical journals and letters, then returned to New York City to practice law -- though by his own admission, he was not a good student, and in 1806, he barely passed the bar. He and his brother William Irving and James Kirke Paulding wrote the Salamagundi papers (1807–8), a collection of humorous essays. He first became more widely known for his comic work, A History of New York (1809), written under the name of "Diedrich Knickerbocker."



    In 1815 Irving went to England to work for his brothers' business, and when that failed he composed a collection of stories and essays that became The Sketch Book, published under the name "Geoffrey Crayon" (1819–20), which included ‘Rip Van Winkle’ and ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’. In 1822 he went to the Continent, living in Germany and France for several years, and was then in Spain (1826) and became attache at the US embassy in Madrid. While in Spain he researched for his biography of Christopher Columbus(1828) and his works on Granada (1829) and the Alhambra (1832).



    He was secretary of the US legation in London (1829–32), and later returned to Spain as the US ambassador (1842–6), but he spent most of the rest of his life at his estate, ‘Sunnyside’, near Tarrytown, NY, turning out a succession of mainly historical and biographical works, including a five-volume life of George Washington. Although he became a best-selling author, he never really fully developed as a literary talent, he has retained his reputation as the first American man of letters. Irving also advocated for writing as a legitimate career, and argued for stronger laws to protect writers from copyright infringement.



    William Cullen Bryant

    Bryant was born on November 3, 1794, in a log cabin near Cummington, Massachusetts; the home of his birth is today marked with a plaque. He was the second son of Peter Bryant, a doctor and later a state legislator, and Sarah Snell. His maternal ancestry traces back to passengers on the Mayflower; his father's, to colonists who arrived about a dozen years later.



    Bryant and his family moved to a new home when he was two years old. The William Cullen Bryant Homestead, his boyhood home, is now a museum. After just two years at Williams College, he studied law in Worthington and Bridgewater in Massachusetts, and he was admitted to the bar in 1815. He then began practicing law in nearby Plainfield, walking the seven miles from Cummington every day. On one of these walks, in December 1815, he noticed a single bird flying on the horizon; the sight moved him enough to write "To a Waterfowl".





    Bryant developed an interest in poetry early in life. Under his father's tutelage, he emulated Alexander Pope and other Neo-Classic British poets. The Embargo, a savage attack on President Thomas Jefferson published in 1808, reflected Dr. Bryant's Federalist political views. The first edition quickly sold out—partly because of the publicity earned by the poet's young age—and a second, expanded edition, which included Bryant's translation of Classical verse, was printed. The youth wrote little poetry while preparing to enter Williams College as a sophomore, but upon leaving Williams after a single year and then beginning to read law, he regenerated his passion for poetry through encounter with the English pre-Romantics and, particularly, William Wordsworth.



    The Fireside Poets

    The Fireside poets (also called the "schoolroom" or "household" poets) were the first group of American poets to rival British poets in popularity in either country. Today their verse may seem more Victorian in sensibility than romantic, perhaps overly sentimental or moralizing in tone, but as a group they are notable for their scholarship, political sensibilities, and the resilience of their lines and themes. (Most schoolchildren can recite a line or two from "Paul Revere's Ride" or The Song of Hiawatha.)

    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, John Greenleaf Whittier, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, and William Cullen Bryant are the poets most commonly grouped together under this heading. In general, these poets preferred conventional forms over experimentation, and this attention to rhyme and strict metrical cadences made their work popular for memorization and recitation in classrooms and homes. They are most remembered for their longer narrative poems (Longfellow's Evangeline and Hiawatha, Whittier's Snow-bound) that frequently used American legends and scenes of American home life and contemporary politics (as in Holmes's "Old Ironsides" and Lowell's anti-slavery poems) as their subject matter.





    At the peak of his career, Longfellow's popularity rivaled Tennyson's in England as well as in America, and he was a noted translator and scholar in several languages--in fact, he was the first American poet to be honored with a bust in Westminster Abbey's Poet's Corner. Hiawatha itself draws not only on Native American languages for its rhythmic underpinning, but also echoes the Kalevala, a Finnish epic. Lowell and Whittier, both outspoken liberals and abolitionists, were known for their journalism and work with the fledglingAtlantic Monthly. They did not hesitate to address issues that were divisive and highly charged in their day, and in fact used the sentimental tone in their poems to encourage their audience to consider these issues in less abstract and more personal terms.



    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (February 27, 1807 – March 24, 1882) was an American poet and educator whose works include "Paul Revere's Ride", The Song of Hiawatha, and Evangeline. He was also the first American to translate Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy and was one of the five Fireside Poets.





    Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, then part of Massachusetts, and studied at Bowdoin College. After spending time in Europe he became a professor at Bowdoin and, later, at Harvard College. His first major poetry collections were Voices of the Night (1839) and Ballads and Other Poems(1841). Longfellow retired from teaching in 1854 to focus on his writing, living the remainder of his life in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in a former headquarters of George Washington. His first wife, Mary Potter, died in 1835 after a miscarriage. His second wife, Frances Appleton, died in 1861 after sustaining burns when her dress caught fire. After her death, Longfellow had difficulty writing poetry for a time and focused on his translation. He died in 1882.



    Longfellow wrote predominantly lyric poems, known for their musicality and often presenting stories of mythology and legend. He became the most popular American poet of his day and also had success overseas. He has been criticized, however, for imitating European styles and writing specifically for the masses.



    Post Comments
    Please stay on topic with your comments. Off topics comments may be removed. Thanks.



    (Show Details...)
    700
    Type the characters you see
    CAPTCHAChange the CAPTCHA codeSpeak the CAPTCHA code

    Lindley Avatar
    Robert
    Lindley
    Date: 2/13/2021 11:59:00 AM
    EditDeleteBlock poet from commenting on your posts
    https://courses.lumenlearning.com/su...sts-and-poets/ The Romantic Period, 1820–1860: Essayists and Poets Fresh New Vision Electrified Artistic and Intellectual Circles The Romantic movement, which originated in Germany but quickly spread to England, France, and beyond, reached America around the year 1820, some twenty years after William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge had revolutionized English poetry by publishing Lyrical Ballads. In America as in Europe, fresh new vision electrified artistic and intellectual circles.
    Reply

    Lindley Avatar
    Robert
    Lindley
    Date: 2/13/2021 11:54:00 AM
    EditDeleteBlock poet from commenting on your posts
    Links: 1. https://literariness.org/2017/11/29/...sm-in-america/ 2. https://poets.org/text/brief-guide-romanticism 3. https://www.britannica.com/list/peri...can-literature 4. https://www.britannica.com/art/Romanticism 5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romanticism
    Reply

    Lindley Avatar
    Robert
    Lindley
    Date: 2/13/2021 11:48:00 AM
    EditDeleteBlock poet from commenting on your posts
    Romanticism: Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Match Girl The Little Match Girl "Free, free, free! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being!" -- Kate Chopin's The Story of an Hour
    Reply

    Lindley Avatar
    Robert
    Lindley
    Date: 2/13/2021 11:47:00 AM
    EditDeleteBlock poet from commenting on your posts
    Romanticism: Nathaniel Hawthorne, THe Gorgon's Head The Gorgon's Head "There stood Perseus, a beautiful young man, with golden ringlets and rosy cheeks, the crooked sword by his side, and the brightly polished shield upon his arm,—a figure that seemed all made up of courage, sprightliness, and glorious light." -- Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Gorgon's Head I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains...
    Reply

    Lindley Avatar
    Robert
    Lindley
    Date: 2/13/2021 11:44:00 AM
    EditDeleteBlock poet from commenting on your posts
    https://americanliterature.com/romanticism-study-guide Quotes Explain the specific qualities of each quote as an exemplar of Romanticism: "Facts are such horrid things!" -- Jane Austen's Lady Susan I sang of the dancing stars, I sang of the daedal earth, And of heaven, and the giant wars, And love, and death, and birth.” -- Percy Pysshe Shelley's Hymn of Pan And of his fame forgetful! so his fame Should share in nature's immortality, A venerable thing! and so his song Should make all nature lovelier, and itself Be lov'd, like nature!"
    Reply

    Lindley Avatar
    Robert
    Lindley
    Date: 2/13/2021 11:41:00 AM
    EditDeleteBlock poet from commenting on your posts
    The Dark Romantics-Gothic Literature The Gothic begins with later-eighteenth-century writers' turn to the past; in the context of the Romantic period, the Gothic is, then, a type of imitation medievalism. By extension, it came to designate the macabre, mysterious, fantastic, supernatural, and, again, the terrifying, especially the pleasurably terrifying, in literature more generally. Edgar Allan Poe Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), American poet, critic, short story writer, and author of such macabre works as “The Fall of the House of Usher” (1840).
    Reply

    Lindley Avatar
    Robert
    Lindley
    Date: 2/13/2021 11:36:00 AM
    EditDeleteBlock poet from commenting on your posts
    Transcendentalism is a philosophical movement that developed in the 1830s and 1840s in the New England region of the United States as a protest to the general state of culture and society, and in particular, the state of intellectualism at Harvard University and the doctrine of the Unitarian church taught at Harvard Divinity School. Among the transcendentalists' core beliefs was the inherent goodness of both man and nature.
    Reply
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 02-13-2021 at 03:12 PM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  19. #29
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Blog on The Great Poet-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
    Blog Posted:2/18/2021 4:37:00 PM
    Blog on Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

    Three Poems by Longfellow…



    The Day is Done
    -- BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW


    The day is done, and the darkness

    Falls from the wings of Night,

    As a feather is wafted downward

    From an eagle in his flight.



    I see the lights of the village

    Gleam through the rain and the mist,

    And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me

    That my soul cannot resist:



    A feeling of sadness and longing,

    That is not akin to pain,

    And resembles sorrow only

    As the mist resembles the rain.



    Come, read to me some poem,

    Some simple and heartfelt lay,

    That shall soothe this restless feeling,

    And banish the thoughts of day.



    Not from the grand old masters,

    Not from the bards sublime,

    Whose distant footsteps echo

    Through the corridors of Time.



    For, like strains of martial music,

    Their mighty thoughts suggest

    Life's endless toil and endeavor;

    And to-night I long for rest.



    Read from some humbler poet,

    Whose songs gushed from his heart,

    As showers from the clouds of summer,

    Or tears from the eyelids start;



    Who, through long days of labor,

    And nights devoid of ease,

    Still heard in his soul the music

    Of wonderful melodies.



    Such songs have power to quiet

    The restless pulse of care,

    And come like the benediction

    That follows after prayer.



    Then read from the treasured volume

    The poem of thy choice,

    And lend to the rhyme of the poet

    The beauty of thy voice.



    And the night shall be filled with music,

    And the cares, that infest the day,

    Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,

    And as silently steal away.



    ******

    The Arrow and the Song
    BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW


    I shot an arrow into the air,

    It fell to earth, I knew not where;

    For, so swiftly it flew, the sight

    Could not follow it in its flight.



    I breathed a song into the air,

    It fell to earth, I knew not where;

    For who has sight so keen and strong,

    That it can follow the flight of song?



    Long, long afterward, in an oak

    I found the arrow, still unbroke;

    And the song, from beginning to end,

    I found again in the heart of a friend.



    *******



    Aftermath
    BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW


    When the summer fields are mown,

    When the birds are fledged and flown,

    And the dry leaves strew the path;

    With the falling of the snow,

    With the cawing of the crow,

    Once again the fields we mow

    And gather in the aftermath.



    Not the sweet, new grass with flowers

    Is this harvesting of ours;

    Not the upland clover bloom;

    But the rowen mixed with weeds,

    Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,

    Where the poppy drops its seeds

    In the silence and the gloom.



    *******

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_...rth_Longfellow



    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

    Jump to navigationJump to search

    "Henry Wadsworth" redirects here. For the actor, see Henry Wadsworth (actor).

    "Longfellow" redirects here. For other uses, see Longfellow (disambiguation).

    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow photographed by Julia Margaret Cameron in 1868

    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow photographed by Julia Margaret Cameron in 1868

    Born February 27, 1807

    Portland, Maine, U.S.

    Died March 24, 1882 (aged 75)

    Cambridge, Massachusetts, U.S.

    Occupation Poet

    Professor

    Alma mater Bowdoin College

    Spouses Mary Storer Potter

    Frances Elizabeth Appleton

    Children Charles Appleton Longfellow

    Ernest Wadsworth Longfellow

    Fanny Longfellow

    Alice Mary Longfellow

    Edith Longfellow

    Anne Allegra Longfellow

    Signature

    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (February 27, 1807 – March 24, 1882) was an American poet and educator whose works include "Paul Revere's Ride", The Song of Hiawatha, and Evangeline. He was the first American to translate Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy and was one of the Fireside Poets from New England.



    Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, which was then still part of Massachusetts. He studied at Bowdoin College and became a professor at Bowdoin and later at Harvard College after spending time in Europe. His first major poetry collections were Voices of the Night (1839) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841). He retired from teaching in 1854 to focus on his writing, and he lived the remainder of his life in the Revolutionary War headquarters of George Washington in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His first wife Mary Potter died in 1835 after a miscarriage. His second wife Frances Appleton died in 1861 after sustaining burns when her dress caught fire. After her death, Longfellow had difficulty writing poetry for a time and focused on translating works from foreign languages. He died in 1882.



    Longfellow wrote many lyric poems known for their musicality and often presenting stories of mythology and legend. He became the most popular American poet of his day and had success overseas. He has been criticized by some, however, for imitating European styles and writing specifically for the masses.





    Birthplace of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Portland, Maine, c. 1910; the house was demolished in 1955.

    Longfellow was born on February 27, 1807, to Stephen Longfellow and Zilpah (Wadsworth) Longfellow in Portland, Maine,[1] then a district of Massachusetts.[2] He grew up in what is now known as the Wadsworth-Longfellow House. His father was a lawyer, and his maternal grandfather was Peleg Wadsworth, a general in the American Revolutionary War and a Member of Congress.[3] His mother was descended from Richard Warren, a passenger on the Mayflower.[4] He was named after his mother's brother Henry Wadsworth, a Navy lieutenant who had died three years earlier at the Battle of Tripoli.[5] He was the second of eight children.[6]



    Longfellow was descended from English colonists who settled in New England in the early 1600s.[7] They included Mayflower Pilgrims Richard Warren, William Brewster, and John and Priscilla Alden through their daughter Elizabeth Pabodie, the first child born in Plymouth Colony.[8]



    Longfellow attended a dame school at the age of three and was enrolled by age six at the private Portland Academy. In his years there, he earned a reputation as being very studious and became fluent in Latin.[9] His mother encouraged his enthusiasm for reading and learning, introducing him to Robinson Crusoe and Don Quixote.[10] He published his first poem in the Portland Gazette on November 17, 1820, a patriotic and historical four-stanza poem called "The Battle of Lovell's Pond".[11] He studied at the Portland Academy until age 14. He spent much of his summers as a child at his grandfather Peleg's farm in Hiram, Maine.



    In the fall of 1822, 15 year-old Longfellow enrolled at Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine, along with his brother Stephen.[9] His grandfather was a founder of the college[12] and his father was a trustee.[9] There Longfellow met Nathaniel Hawthorne who became his lifelong friend.[13] He boarded with a clergyman for a time before rooming on the third floor[14] in 1823 of what is now known as Winthrop Hall.[15] He joined the Peucinian Society, a group of students with Federalist leanings.[16] In his senior year, Longfellow wrote to his father about his aspirations



    (Much more information at link given above .. Robert)



    ********

    2.

    https://interestingliterature.com/20...e-should-read/



    LITERATURE

    The Best Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems Everyone Should Read

    The best Longfellow poems



    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was one of the most popular and influential American poets of the nineteenth century. Longfellow (1807-82) is best-known for The Song of Hiawatha, and for growing a beard to hide the marks of a family tragedy, but he also wrote many other celebrated poems. But what are Longfellow’s very best poems? Some poems immediately spring to mind, such as The Song of Hiawatha, but Longfellow was a prolific poet who wrote a great deal of great poems, not all of which are as well-known. Below, we pick – and discuss – ten of Longfellow’s greatest poems



    *********************************

    Three Tribute poems-- composed by me,

    For Longfellow blog….


    (1.)

    Glory Of Faith's Triumphant Golden Crowns



    The rays of morn took their first golden breath

    Dispersing powers of night's darkling mists

    First gleams romancing sweet the earthen shores

    Beating back dark shadows with glowing fists

    Demanding night accept its coming death!

    Triumphant crowns!



    Dawn's first yawning, a parade of new dreams

    Waking Fate and its ever growing lists

    With dancing echoes of showers to fall

    Beating back dark shadows with glowing fists

    Birthing flowers born from resplendent streams!

    Triumphant crowns!



    Sweet the softest callings of better days

    With man rising to earn his daily bread

    And Nature singing true to cheer life's all

    Earth no longer mourning yesterday's dead

    Future hope setting sail as sunbeams play!

    Triumphant crowns!



    Humanity follows its usual course

    Teeming hordes traversing their daily treks

    While bright blue-set skies rejoice overhead

    Across well-worn pathways from life's great wrecks

    Amidst the carnage of loss and remorse!

    Triumphant crowns!



    Father Time speaks demanding to be heard

    Above the din of crowds surging about

    Commanding its fleeing hours to obey

    Sternly obeyed were its arrogant shouts

    And the infinite powers of each word!

    Triumphant crowns!



    Sun was setting, its daily chores all done

    Mortals noted the rapid fleeing light

    All had felt the ever changing new course

    Some with increasing joy, others with fright

    Dark shadows arose screaming lets have fun!

    Triumphant crowns!



    The moon sped brightly forth taking top stage

    Stars came twinkling across heavenly skies

    The wise old owl took its same midnight flight

    Night spread its woven cloak of evil lies

    While the sleeping crowds await first new page!

    Triumphant crowns!



    The rays of morn took their first golden breath

    Dispersing powers of night's darkling mists

    First gleams romancing sweet the earthen shores

    Beating back dark shadows with glowing fists

    Demanding night accept its coming death!

    Triumphant crowns!



    Robert J. Lindley, 2-17-2021

    Romanticism, ( That Man Could Wake To See Coming Of Eternity )

    Blog poem.




    *****

    (2.)

    Love's Fever Burns In The Air, As We Kiss Anew



    As my angel passed by, sweet the rustling leaves

    And amidst world's accursed worries, life so grieves

    Her soft footfalls, gift promise of far better days

    Removing anguish birthed by darkened greys

    A reprieve if you will, a blessing to arrive

    A soft gentle breeze, love proving one is alive!



    As she looks at me, her glowing smile, beaming bright

    My heart begs this eager soul, pray to hold on tight

    For such is a treasure so truly Heaven sent

    Bountiful gift, to relieve such earthly torment

    And wouldst I dare to question this exquisite gift

    As just mere sight of her this spirit so uplifts!



    As my bliss turns to my asking is this a dream

    Is it a spell, fairies casting a golden stream

    Nay, lonely heart replies, this is romance born true

    Love's fever burns in the air, as we kiss anew

    She grabs my hand and whisper darling, shall we dance

    Again, we enter paradise of our romance!



    As she looks at me, her glowing smile, beaming bright.

    My heart begs this eager soul, pray to hold on tight!



    Robert J. Lindley,

    Romanticism, ( The Fever Of Love, If A Mere Dream, May I Never Wake )

    Blog poem.




    *****

    (3.)

    That Summer Day At That Resplendent, Ancient Weeping Tree



    Around that tall, wide spread ancient weeping tree

    Where singing meadows and smiling sky looking down

    Upon a wandering searching child, namely me

    Far, very far away from our small farming town

    Gazing up to see where hides the Olympic gods

    Seeking life's approval by their wizened nods!



    Yet the gods had vanished leaving bright blue sky

    Its deep beauty, vestige of all that was to be

    I stood transfixed, bravely questioning the why

    Could not life and happiness be given for free

    Puzzled by the cold hard-set silence falling down

    At last seeing, fled were the gods with their false crowns!



    As such thoughts invaded a newly minted mind

    A child decided best to further knowledge seek

    For how ever was a soul to life's great truths find

    And verify, blessings come to those humbly meek

    Thus acknowledge power of words my father spoke

    And prove too, life was love, light- God's masterful stroke!



    That summer day at that resplendent, ancient weeping tree.

    I found truth- God put an innocent, loving soul in me.



    Robert J. Lindley, 2-16-2021

    Romanticism-

    ( A poetic narrative, Wherein One Great Truth Was Found )

    Blog poem.
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 02-21-2021 at 06:29 AM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  20. Thanks LongTermGuy, icansayit thanked this post
  21. #30
    Join Date
    May 2012
    Location
    USA, Southern
    Posts
    27,683
    Thanks (Given)
    32441
    Thanks (Received)
    17532
    Likes (Given)
    3631
    Likes (Received)
    3156
    Piss Off (Given)
    21
    Piss Off (Received)
    2
    Mentioned
    58 Post(s)
    Rep Power
    21475257

    Default

    Deleted....
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 02-22-2021 at 04:54 PM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  22. Likes LongTermGuy liked this post

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •  
Debate Policy - Political Forums