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--Robert Frost or a poem-a-day keeps the doctor away…
You will be learning about some of the world’s most renowned poets, reading aloud one of their poems each day, and analyzing this work in your notebook as warm-up.
The New Poetry Handbook by Mark Strand http://www.iowalum.com/pulitzerPrize/strand.html 1 If a man understands a poem, he shall have troubles. 2 If a man lives with a poem, he shall die lonely. 3 If a man lives with two poems, he shall be unfaithful to one. 4 If a man conceives of a poem, he shall have one less child. 5 If a man conceives of two poems, he shall have two children less. 6 If a man wears a crown on his head as he writes, he shall be found out. 7 If a man wears no crown on his head as he writes, he shall deceive no one but himself. 8 If a man gets angry at a poem, he shall be scorned by men. 9 If a man continues to be angry at a poem, he shall be scorned by women. 10 If a man publicly denounces poetry, his shoes will fill with urine. 11 If a man gives up poetry for power, he shall have lots of power. 12 If a man brags about his poems, he shall be loved by fools. 13 If a man brags about his poems and loves fools, he shall write no more. 14 If a man craves attention because of his poems, he shall be like a jackass in moonlight.
15 If a man writes a poem and praises the poem of a fellow, he shall have a beautiful mistress. 16 If a man writes a poem and praises the poem of a fellow overly, he shall drive his mistress away. 17 If a man claims the poem of another, his heart shall double in size. 18 If a man lets his poems go naked, he shall fear death. 19 If a man fears death, he shall be saved by his poems. 20 If a man does not fear death, he may or may not be saved by his poems. 21 If a man finishes a poem, he shall bathe in the blank wake of his passion and be kissed by white paper.
The sun of my smile. 4 . And the joy in my feet. The stride of my step. Phenomenal woman. They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. A hive of honey bees. The swing in my waist. That's me. It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips. I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size But when I start to tell them. I'm a woman Phenomenally. And to a man. When I try to show them They say they still can't see. And the flash of my teeth. The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. I'm a woman Phenomenally. They think I'm telling lies.Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou http://mayaangelou. I walk into a room Just as cool as you please.com/bio/ Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I say. Then they swarm around me. It's in the arch of my back. Phenomenal woman. Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. That's me. The curl of my lips. I say. I say. It's the fire in my eyes.
The ride of my breasts. I'm a woman Phenomenally. 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally. When you see me passing It ought to make you proud. That's me. 5 . I don't shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. I say. Now you understand Just why my head's not bowed. Phenomenal woman. The grace of my style. Phenomenal woman. That's me. The bend of my hair. the palm of my hand. It's in the click of my heels. The need of my care.
com/andre-breton/biography/ Always for the first time Hardly do I know you by sight You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window A wholly imaginary house It is there that from one second to the next In the inviolate darkness I anticipate once more the fascinating rift occuring The one and only rift In the facade and in my heart The closer I come to you In reality The more the key sings at the door of the unknown room Where you appear alone before me At first you coalesce entirely with the brightness The elusive angle of a curtain It's a field of jasmine I gazed upon at dawn on a road in the vicinity of Grasse With the diagonal slant of its girls picking Behind them the dark falling wing of the plants stripped bare Before them a T-square of dazzling light The curtain invisibly raised In a frenzy all the flowers swarm back in It is you at grips with that too long hour never dim enough until sleep You as though you could be The same except that I shall perhaps never meet you You pretend not to know I am watching you Marvelously I am no longer sure you know You idleness brings tears to my eyes A swarm of interpretations surrounds each of your gestures It's a honeydew hunt There are rocking chairs on a deck there are branches that may well scratch you in the forest There are in a shop window in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette Two lovely crossed legs caught in long stockings Flaring out in the center of a great white clover There is a silken ladder rolled out over the ivy There is By my leaning over the precipice Of your presence and your absence in hopeless fusion My finding the secret Of loving you Always for the first time 6 .Always for the first time by Andre Breton http://www.poemhunter.
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind. And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk ends. 7 . And there the sun burns crimson bright. For the children.html There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins. they mark. Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. they know The place where the sidewalk ends.Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein http://www.childs-voice-poetry. and the children. And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go. And there the grass grows soft and white. Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow.com/shel-silverstein-biography.
the wind of banners that passes through my life. for I shall already have forgotten you.If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda http://nobelprize. aromas. at that hour. as if everything that exists. Well.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1971/neruda-bio. everything carries me to you. and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me.html I want you to know one thing. metals. now. If you think it long and mad. if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log. remember that on that day. if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. light. I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon. were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. But 8 . at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window.
ah my love. you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness. ah my own. beloved. if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me. and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine 9 . in me all that fire is repeated. my love feeds on your love. each hour.if each day. in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten.
A diamond evening-star. Sweet Love dead. Hardly a word to say. Sad blue hills afar. Love in his shroud. 10 . Scarcely a tear to shed.poemhunter. The end of a summer day.An Evening by Gwendolyn Brooks http://www.com/gwendolyn-brooks/biography/ A sunset's mounded cloud.
wikipedia.The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost http://en. 11 . Oh. Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same. I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way. Because it was grassy and wanted wear. Then took the other. long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth. I doubted if I should ever come back. And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler. And that has made all the difference. and II took the one less traveled by.org/wiki/Robert_Frost#Biography Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. And having perhaps the better claim. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood. as just as fair. And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black.
poemhunter. as they turn from Praise.com/elizabeth-barrett-browning/biography/ How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. by sun and candle-light. when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I shall but love thee better after death.Sonnet 43 . as men strive for Right. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee purely. tears. I love thee freely. if God choose. 12 . Smiles.How do I love thee? Let me count the ways by Elizabeth Barrett Browning http://www. and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need. of all my life!—and.—I love thee with the breath. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach.
Thus much let me avow-You are not wrong. or in none.com/poe/ Take this kiss upon the brow! And. And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand-How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep. While I weep--while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? 13 .webterrace. Yet if hope has flown away In a night. who deem That my days have been a dream. In a vision. in parting from you now. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore.A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe http://www. or in a day. Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
Never mind faded forests. Ever serene and fair.There is another sky by Emily Dickinson http://www. Austin. Whose leaf is ever green. Never mind silent fields Here is a little forest. my brother. And there is another sunshine. Into my garden come! 14 . Here is a brighter garden.biographyonline. In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum: Prithee.net/poets/emily_dickinson.html There is another sky. Though it be darkness there. Where not a frost has been.
And you may see me cry-I'll be dogged.com/browse/contributor. If you gonna see me die. sweet baby. So I jumped in and sank. I could've died for love-But for livin' I was born Though you may hear me holler.Life Is Fine by Langston Hughes http://www2. I stood there and I hollered! I stood there and I cried! If it hadn't a-been so high I might've jumped and died.jsp?id=1324\ I went down to the river. But it was High up there! It was high! So since I'm still here livin'.scholastic. I tried to think but couldn't. But it was Cold in that water! It was cold! I took the elevator Sixteen floors above the ground. Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine! 15 . I set down on the bank. I came up once and hollered! I came up twice and cried! If that water hadn't a-been so cold I might've sunk and died. I thought about my baby And thought I would jump down. I guess I will live on.
Or does it explode? 16 .Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up Like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
To know we stray like a river and our faces vanish like water. in the sunset a golden sadness such is poetry. To see in death a dream. To feel that waking is another dream that dreams of not dreaming and that the death we fear in our bones is the death that every night we call a dream.themodernword. humble and immortal. returning. 17 .The Art of Poetry by Jorge Luis Borges http://www. To see in every day and year a symbol of all the days of man and his years. and a symbol. a sound. and convert the outrage of the years into a music. Sometimes at evening there's a face that sees us from the deeps of a mirror. poetry. like dawn and the sunset. disclosing to each of us his face. Art must be that sort of mirror.html To gaze at a river made of time and water and remember Time is another river.com/borges/borges_biography.
passing. not wonders. Art is endless like a river flowing. a green eternity. who is the same and yet another. humble and green. yet remaining. wearied of wonders. 18 . Art is that Ithaca.They say Ulysses. wept with love on seeing Ithaca. a mirror to the same inconstant Heraclitus. like the river flowing.
beneath the trees. A poet could not be but gay. when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood. but they Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee. And dances with the daffodils. They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance. Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way.I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth http://www.thefamouspeople. Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. Beside the lake. A host. And then my heart with pleasure fills. 19 . In such a jocund company! I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft. They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude. of golden daffodils. When all at once I saw a crowd.php I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills.com/profiles/william-wordsworth-37. The waves beside them danced.
Do not go gentle into that good night. crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay. my father. Rage. near death. they grieved it on its way. bless. the last wave by. Do not go gentle into that good night. 20 . rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight. Curse. too late. Grave men. rage against the dying of the light. Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rave at close of day. And learn. rage against the dying of the light. Rage. I pray. Good men.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dylan_Thomas Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage.Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas http://en. who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay. rage against the dying of the light. me now with your fierce tears. there on that sad height. And you. Though wise men at their end know dark is right. Rage.
This egg-shaped bailiwick. Flick the glass with your fingernail: It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer. like a foetus in a bottle. This family Of valentine faces might please a collector: They ring true. The light falls without letup. Grief and anger. the sea. last year --Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast Windless threadwork of a tapestry. exorcised.org/wiki/Sylvia_Plath Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball. the sea waves bow in single file. Here's yesterday. The future is a grey seagull Tattling in its cat-voice of departure. 21 . She lives quietly With no attachments. clear as a tear. It resembles the moon. or a sheet of blank paper And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg. Elsewhere the landscape is more frank. At their feet. Never trespassing in bad temper: Stalling in midair. like nurses.wikipedia. Every one of them permanently busy.A Life by Sylvia Plath http://en. the clouds sit tasseled and fancy As Victorian cushions. Overhead. flattened to a picture She has one too many dimensions to enter. The inhabitants are light as cork. attend her. like good china. Short-reined. pawing like paradeground horses. Leave her alone now. Age and terror. A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle About a bald hospital saucer. The obsolete house. blindingly.
Crawls up out of the sea. complaining of the great cold. 22 .And a drowned man.
It is my own dream. I dreamt that my hair was kempt. I dreamt it.My Dream by Ogden Nash http://www.com/ogden-nash/biography/ This is my dream. 24 . Then I dreamt that my true love unkempt it.poemhunter.
25 .org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1995/heaney-bio. comes up twenty years away Stooping in rhythm through potato drills Where he was digging. the shaft Against the inside knee was levered firmly. a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: My father. heaving sods Over his shoulder. But I've no spade to follow men like them. the squelch and slap Of soggy peat. digging. I'll dig with it. By God. He rooted out tall tops. Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests. the curt cuts of an edge Through living roots awaken in my head. snug as a gun. He straightened up To drink it. then fell to right away Nicking and slicing neatly. buried the bright edge deep To scatter new potatoes that we picked. Loving their cool hardness in our hands. The coarse boot nestled on the lug. Just like his old man. going down and down For the good turf. the old man could handle a spade.Digging by Seamus Heaney http://nobelprize. Digging. I look down Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds Bends low. The cold smell of potato mould.html Between my finger and my thumb The squat pin rest. Once I carried him milk in a bottle Corked sloppily with paper. My grandfather cut more turf in a day Than any other man on Toner's bog. Under my window.
brown penny. If the lady be young and fair. young man. penny.com/william-butler-yeats/biography/ I whispered. Ah.' Ah. 'I am old enough'. brown penny. brown penny. There is nobody wise enough To find out all that is in it. penny.poemhunter. O love is the crooked thing. Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I might love. 'Go and love.' And then. I am looped in the loops of her hair. For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon. 26 . 'I am too young. One cannot begin it too soon.Brown Penny by William Butler Yeats http://www. brown penny. go and love.
the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red.biography. the victor ship. Fallen cold and dead. My father does not feel my arm. The ship is anchor'd safe and sound. For you they call. the swaying mass. The port is near. its voyage closed and done. Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills. From fearful trip. and ring. Exult. comes in with object won. the bells I hear. Fallen cold and dead. 3 My Captain does not answer. 2 O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells. Where on the deck my Captain lies. You've fallen cold and dead. The ship has weather'd every rack. his lips are pale and still. While follow eyes the steady keel. It is some dream that on the deck. 27 .com/articles/Walt-Whitman-9530126 1 O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done. the people all exulting. Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head. their eager faces turning. O bells! But I. he has no pulse nor will. Walk the deck my Captain lies. O shores. with mournful tread.O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman http://www. the prize we sought is won. For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding.
php/prmPID/68 As soon as Fred gets out of bed. his underwear goes on his head. 28 . a head's no place for underwear!" But near his ears. At night when Fred goes back to bed. is where Fred's underwear remains.org/poet. Fred's underwear goes on his toes. above his brains. His mother switches off the light and softly croons. "Don't put it there. he deftly plucks it off his head. "Good night! Good night!" And then. His mother laughs. for reasons no one knows.poets.As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed by Jack Prelutsky http://www.
And then the justice. Full of wise saws and modern instances.biography. Sighing like furnace. And one man in his time plays many parts. sans taste. Sans teeth. sans eyes. Then the whining schoolboy. Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard. That ends this strange eventful history. His youthful hose. sudden and quick in quarrel. And then the lover. Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. They have their exits and their entrances. With spectacles on nose and pouch on side. creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. Then a soldier. and his big manly voice. His acts being seven ages.com/bio4kids/bio4kids-meet-shakespeare. And all the men and women merely players. Turning again toward childish treble. With eyes severe and beard of formal cut. Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. In fair round belly with good capon lined. the infant. Jealous in honor. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon. pipes And whistles in his sound. At first.All the World's a Stage by William Shakespeare http://www. a world too wide For his shrunk shank. with his satchel And shining morning face. 29 . Is second childishness and mere oblivion. well saved. sans everything. Last scene of all. And so he plays his part.jsp All the world's a stage.
doesn't enter into this. They come on. and the usual early morning stuff that passes for thought. even love. Happiness. and one boy has a bag over his shoulder. any early morning talk about it. and they are doing this thing together. I think if they could. though the moon still hangs pale over the water. It comes on unexpectedly. They wear caps and sweaters. they would take each other's arm. It's early in the morning.org/wiki/Raymond_Carver So early it's still almost dark out.Happiness by Raymond Carver http://en. 30 . I'm near the window with coffee. slowly. these boys. When I see the boy and his friend walking up the road to deliver the newspaper. And goes beyond. really. The sky is taking on light. Such beauty that for a minute death and ambition. They are so happy they aren't saying anything.wikipedia.
Or watch the things you gave your life to. Or being hated. And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue. If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone.and not make dreams your master. If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run. If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you. If you can wait and not be tired by waiting. And . don't give way to hating. And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1907/kipling-bio. but none too much.and not make thoughts your aim. Or being lied about.nor lose the common touch. Or walk with kings . Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it.html\ If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you.which is more . my son! 31 .you'll be a Man. And lose. and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss. But make allowance for their doubting too. don't deal in lies. If all men count with you. If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you.'if' by Rudyard Kipling http://nobelprize. broken. And yet don't look too good. If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same. nor talk too wise: If you can dream . If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools. If you can think .
32 . Enwrought with golden and silver light.html Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths. being poor. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly.He wishes for the cloth of heavens . The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I. have only my dreams. because you tread on my dreams.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1923/yeats-bio.WB Yeats http://nobelprize.
adnax. What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare sieze the fire? And what shoulder.The Tyger (from Songs Of Experience) By William Blake http://www. Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night. And watered heaven with their tears.htm Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night. & what art. What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 33 . Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat.com/biogs/wb. What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears.
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries. rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens. you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skillfully. your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me. i and my life will shut very beautifully. suddenly. mysteriously) her first rose or if your wish be to close me.e. gladly beyond any experience. as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending.com/poets/eecummings somewhere i have never travelled.(Poem #619) somewhere i have never travelled by e. only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody. not even the rain.americanpoems. has such small hands 34 . or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers.cummings http://www.
The homing pigeons of Thine eventide? What care I for the world's loud weariness. shall I heed dull presages of doom. But I. O inmost wind of living ecstasy! O intimate essence of eternity! 35 .In Salutation to the Eternal Peace by Sarojini Naidu http://www. sweet Soul. When from the climbing terraces of corn I watch the golden orioles of Thy morn. The mute and mythic terror of the tomb? For my glad heart is drunk and drenched with Thee.poemhunter. What care I for the world's desire and pride. Who dream in twilight granaries Thou dost bless With delicate sheaves of mellow silences? Say. Or dread the rumoured loneliness and gloom. And all life's ripening harvest-fields await The restless sickle of relentless fate. Who know the silver wings that gleam and glide.com/sarojini-naidu/biography/ Men say the world is full of fear and hate. rejoice that I was born.
heres the joyful face youve been wanting to see.wikipedia. you would be paralyzed.org/wiki/Rumi Your grief for what youve lost holds a mirror up to where youve bravely working. Expecting the worst. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expand the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birdwings. Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.by Jalaluddin Rumi http://en. 36 . If it were always a fist or always stretched open. you look and instead.
php/prmPID/13 The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle.My Papa's Waltz by Theodore Roethke http://www. My mother's countenance Could not unfrown itself. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf.org/poet. 37 . At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt. Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt.poets. But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy.
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