By Robert Frost
`You know Orion always comes up sideways.
Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,
And rising on his hands, he looks in on me
Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something
I should have done by daylight, and indeed,
After the ground is frozen, I should have done
Before it froze, and a gust flings a handful
Of waste leaves at my smoky lantern chimney
To make fun of my way of doing things,
Or else fun of Orion's having caught me.
Has a man, I should like to ask, no rights
These forces are obliged to pay respect to?'
So Brad McLaughlin mingled reckless talk
Of heavenly stars with hugger-mugger farming,
Till having failed at hugger-mugger farming
He burned his house down for the fire insurance
And spent the proceeds on a telescope
To satisfy a lifelong curiosity
About our place among the infinities.
`What do you want with one of those blame things?'
I asked him well beforehand. `Don't you get one!'
`Don't call it blamed; there isn't anything
More blameless in the sense of being less
A weapon in our human fight,' he said.
`I'll have one if I sell my farm to buy it.'
There where he moved the rocks to plow the ground
And plowed between the rocks he couldn't move,
Few farms changed hands; so rather than spend years
Trying to sell his farm and then not selling,
He burned his house down for the fire insurance
And bought the telescope with what it came to.
He had been heard to say by several:
`The best thing that we're put here for's to see;
The strongest thing that's given us to see with's
A telescope. Someone in every town
Seems to me owes it to the town to keep one.
In Littleton it might as well be me.'
After such loose talk it was no surprise
When he did what he did and burned his house down.
Mean laughter went about the town that day
To let him know we weren't the least imposed on,
And he could wait---we'd see to him tomorrow.
But the first thing next morning we reflected
If one by one we counted people out
For the least sin, it wouldn't take us long
To get so we had no one left to live with.
For to be social is to be forgiving.
Our thief, the one who does our stealing from us,
We don't cut off from coming to church suppers,
But what we miss we go to him and ask for.
He promptly gives it back, that is if still
Uneaten, unworn out, or undisposed of.
It wouldn't do to be too hard on Brad
About his telescope. Beyond the age
Of being given one for Christmas gift,
He had to take the best way he knew how
To find himself in one. Well, all we said was
He took a strange thing to be roguish over.
Some sympathy was wasted on the house,
A good old-timer dating back along;
But a house isn't sentient; the house
Didn't feel anything. And if it did,
Why not regard it as a sacrifice,
And an old-fashioned sacrifice by fire,
Instead of a new-fashioned one at auction?
Out of a house and so out of a farm
At one stroke (of a match), Brad had to turn
To earn a living on the Concord railroad,
As under-ticket-agent at a station
Where his job, when he wasn't selling tickets,
Was setting out, up track and down, not plants
As on a farm, but planets, evening stars
That varied in their hue from red to green.
He got a good glass for six hundred dollars.
His new job gave him leisure for stargazing.
Often he bid me come and have a look
Up the brass barrel, velvet black inside,
At a star quaking in the other end.
I recollect a night of broken clouds
And underfoot snow melted down to ice,
And melting further in the wind to mud.
Bradford and I had out the telescope.
We spread our two legs as we spread its three,
Pointed our thoughts the way we pointed it,
And standing at our leisure till the day broke,
Said some of the best things we ever said.
That telescope was christened the Star-Splitter,
Because it didn't do a thing but split
A star in two or three, the way you split
A globule of quicksilver in your hand
With one stroke of your finger in the middle.
It's a star-splitter if there ever was one,
And ought to do some good if splitting stars
'Sa thing to be compared with splitting wood.
We've looked and looked, but after all where are we?
Do we know any better where we are,
And how it stands between the night tonight
And a man with a smoky lantern chimney?
How different from the way it ever stood?
Comments - Well, I could say I liked Brad's story - his single-mindedness, his gumption etc, or I could say something intelligent about science and astronomy, or I could be honest. I think that this poem is average, but the following lines are just brilliant :
`You know Orion always comes up sideways.
Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,
And rising on his hands, he looks in on me
Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something
I should have done by daylight, and indeed,
After the ground is frozen, I should have done
Before it froze, and a gust flings a handful
Of waste leaves at my smoky lantern chimney
To make fun of my way of doing things,
Or else fun of Orion's having caught me.
Has a man, I should like to ask, no rights
These forces are obliged to pay respect to?'
This image of Orion sneaking up on someone is just so whimsical and delightful. :-)
Zen
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Slim in Hell
By Sterling A. Brown
I
Slim Greer went to heaven;
St. Peter said, "Slim,
You been a right good boy."
An' he winked at him.
"You been travelin' rascal
In yo'day.
You kin roam once mo';
Den you come to stay.
"Put dese wings on yo' shoulders,
An' save yo' feet."
Slim grin, and he speak up,
"Thankye, Pete."
Den Peter say, "Go
To Hell an' see,
All dat is doing, and
Report to me.
"Be sure to remember
How everything go."
Slim say, "I be seein' yuh
On de late watch, bo."
Slim got to cavortin'
Swell as you choose,
Like Lindy in de Spirit
Of St. Louis Blues.
He flew an' he flew,
Till at last he hit
A hangar wid de sign readin'
DIS IS IT.
Den he parked his wings,
An' strolled aroun',
Gittin' used to his feet
On de solid ground.
II
Big bloodhound came aroarin'
Like Niagry Falls,
Sicked on by white devils
In overhalls.
Now Slim warn't scared
Cross my heart, it's a fac',
An de dog went on a bayin'
Some po' devil's track.
Den Slim saw a mansion
An' walked right in;
De Devil looked up
Wid a sickly grin.
"Suttinly didn't look
Fo' you, Mr. Greer,
How it happens you comes
To visit here?"
Slim say---"Oh, jes' thought
I'd drop by a spell."
"Feel at home, seh, an' here's
De keys to hell."
Den he took Slim around
An' showed him people
Rasin' hell as high as
De first Church Steeple.
Lots of folks fightin'
At de roulette wheel,
Like old Rampart Street,
Or leastwise Beale.
Showed him bawdy houses
An' cabarets,
Slim thought of New Orleans
An' Memphis days.
Each devil was busy
Wid a devilish broad,
An' Slim cried, "Lawdy,
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd."
Took him in a room
Where Slim see
De preacher wid a brownskin
On each knee.
Showed him giant stills,
Going everywhere,
Wid a passel of devils
Stretched dead drunk there.
Den he took him to de furnace
Dat some devils was firing,
Hot as Hell, an' Slim start
A mean presspirin'.
White devils with pitchforks
Threw black devils on,
Slim thought he'd better
Be gittin' along.
An' he says---"Dis makes
Me think of home---
Vicksburg, Little Rock, Jackson,
Waco and Rome."
Den de devil gave Slim
De big Ha-Ha;
An' turned into a cracker,
Wid a sheriff's star.
Slim ran fo' his wings,
Lit out from de groun'
Hauled it back to St. Peter,
Safety boun'.
III
St. Peter said, "Well,
You got back quick.
How's de devil? An' what's
His latest trick?"
An' Slim Say, "Peter,
I really cain't tell,
The place was Dixie
That I took for hell."
Then Peter say, "you must
Be crazy, I vow,
Where'n hell dja think Hell was,
Anyhow?
"Git on back to de yearth,
Cause I got de fear,
You'se a leetle too dumb,
Fo' to stay up here. . ."
Comments : Found this poem in a delightful anthology of poems by African - American poets that is (in a most politically incorrect manner) titled 'The Black Poets'. The chatty, casual tone and language in the first few verses of this poem had me hooked - imagine someone casually saying, “Thank ye, Pete” or “I be seein’ yuh on de late watch,bo” to St. Peter ! Slim’s experiences in Hell had me chuckling away and I knew this was one poem I wanted to share. What a marvellously humorous and sarcastic way to skewer a region and a way of life !
Also, I felt that since this was on the theme of discrimination based on the colour of one’s skin, there was a somewhat tenuous link to the last poem run on the blog, which was favoured by a president incarcerated for the colour of his skin.
- By Zen
For more information on Sterling Brown, read this article. This site has a brief biography, the text of some of his poems etc.
More information about Slim Greer from this website, some snippets from the same pasted below :
Jean Wagner
Among all his humorous poems, in which he exercises his comic vein at the expense of whites no less than of blacks, the most remarkable are assuredly those which relate the adventures of Slim Greer. By uniting this new hero of the tall tale, Brown provided Paul Bunyan and John Henry with a younger brother fully worthy of them. For Slim shows extraordinary skill in extracting himself from the most unbelievable situations. He brings to naught the vigilance of the most vigilant, and at the same time exposes the oddities of the people he brushes up against.
Thus he succeeds, in Arkansas, in passing as a white man, though his skin color is "no lighter than a dark midnight." The white woman he set up house with thinks he is a Spaniard or a Frenchman. He is found out at last, not because of his color, but through his way of playing the blues:
An' he started a-tinklin'
Some mo’nful blues,
An' a-pattin' the time
With No. Fourteen shoes.
The cracker listened
An' then he spat
An' said, "No white man
Could play like that. . ."
But he is more agile than the whites and makes his getaway, of course without suffering the least hurt.
..........
We meet Slim again in Atlanta, where the whites have passed laws "for to keep all de niggers from laughin' outdoors":
Hope to Gawd I may die
If I ain't speakin’ truth
Make de niggers do deir laughin’
In a telefoam booth.
When told about this rule on his arrival in Atlanta, he feels he is going to explode with laughter. He barely has time to skip past the queue waiting outside the phone booth and to dash inside--after dragging out the Negro who was there already. He laughs for hours on end, and the Negroes waiting in the lengthening queue groan in anguish as they wait their turn. In the end, Slim has to be taken away in an ambulance at the state's expense, so that things may return to normal in Atlanta.
John Edgar Tidwell
Slim Greer is both a literary character created by Sterling A. Brown and the term designating his memorable series of satiric poems. In the cycle are five poems: "Slim Greer," "Slim Hears ‘the Call’," "Slim in Atlanta," "Slim in Hell," and "Slim Lands a Job?," all of which were published between 1930 and 1933. These poems reveal Brown's careful study of oral and written literatures, from Moliére's satire to Mark Twain's humor, and his absorption of less formal teaching from a gallery of African American raconteurs. After graduation from Harvard University (MA, 1923), he immersed himself in the cultural life and lore of Black folk by frequenting barbershops, "jook-joints," and isolated farms. In these places, "master liars" like "Preacher," Duke Diggs, and an actual Slim Greer transformed mundane, prosaic experiences into performances of high art. The results of their informal instruction are readily discerned in Brown's poems.
The Slim Greer poems represent the principal concern in nearly all of Brown's work: reclaiming the humanity of African Americans to insure the completion of selfhood. To accomplish this purpose, Brown adapts features of the American tall tale, including Vernacular language, "deadpan" manner of narration, development from plausibility to frantic impossibility, and the snapper climax or exposure at the end. As in the best tall tales, these poems achieve their success by laughing the reader/listener into an awareness of practices that prevent the self from attaining wholeness, such as religious hypocrisy and the absurdity of racial segregation. In so doing, Brown makes his Slim Greer do in poetry what Langston Hughes's Simple does in short fiction.
I
Slim Greer went to heaven;
St. Peter said, "Slim,
You been a right good boy."
An' he winked at him.
"You been travelin' rascal
In yo'day.
You kin roam once mo';
Den you come to stay.
"Put dese wings on yo' shoulders,
An' save yo' feet."
Slim grin, and he speak up,
"Thankye, Pete."
Den Peter say, "Go
To Hell an' see,
All dat is doing, and
Report to me.
"Be sure to remember
How everything go."
Slim say, "I be seein' yuh
On de late watch, bo."
Slim got to cavortin'
Swell as you choose,
Like Lindy in de Spirit
Of St. Louis Blues.
He flew an' he flew,
Till at last he hit
A hangar wid de sign readin'
DIS IS IT.
Den he parked his wings,
An' strolled aroun',
Gittin' used to his feet
On de solid ground.
II
Big bloodhound came aroarin'
Like Niagry Falls,
Sicked on by white devils
In overhalls.
Now Slim warn't scared
Cross my heart, it's a fac',
An de dog went on a bayin'
Some po' devil's track.
Den Slim saw a mansion
An' walked right in;
De Devil looked up
Wid a sickly grin.
"Suttinly didn't look
Fo' you, Mr. Greer,
How it happens you comes
To visit here?"
Slim say---"Oh, jes' thought
I'd drop by a spell."
"Feel at home, seh, an' here's
De keys to hell."
Den he took Slim around
An' showed him people
Rasin' hell as high as
De first Church Steeple.
Lots of folks fightin'
At de roulette wheel,
Like old Rampart Street,
Or leastwise Beale.
Showed him bawdy houses
An' cabarets,
Slim thought of New Orleans
An' Memphis days.
Each devil was busy
Wid a devilish broad,
An' Slim cried, "Lawdy,
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd."
Took him in a room
Where Slim see
De preacher wid a brownskin
On each knee.
Showed him giant stills,
Going everywhere,
Wid a passel of devils
Stretched dead drunk there.
Den he took him to de furnace
Dat some devils was firing,
Hot as Hell, an' Slim start
A mean presspirin'.
White devils with pitchforks
Threw black devils on,
Slim thought he'd better
Be gittin' along.
An' he says---"Dis makes
Me think of home---
Vicksburg, Little Rock, Jackson,
Waco and Rome."
Den de devil gave Slim
De big Ha-Ha;
An' turned into a cracker,
Wid a sheriff's star.
Slim ran fo' his wings,
Lit out from de groun'
Hauled it back to St. Peter,
Safety boun'.
III
St. Peter said, "Well,
You got back quick.
How's de devil? An' what's
His latest trick?"
An' Slim Say, "Peter,
I really cain't tell,
The place was Dixie
That I took for hell."
Then Peter say, "you must
Be crazy, I vow,
Where'n hell dja think Hell was,
Anyhow?
"Git on back to de yearth,
Cause I got de fear,
You'se a leetle too dumb,
Fo' to stay up here. . ."
Comments : Found this poem in a delightful anthology of poems by African - American poets that is (in a most politically incorrect manner) titled 'The Black Poets'. The chatty, casual tone and language in the first few verses of this poem had me hooked - imagine someone casually saying, “Thank ye, Pete” or “I be seein’ yuh on de late watch,bo” to St. Peter ! Slim’s experiences in Hell had me chuckling away and I knew this was one poem I wanted to share. What a marvellously humorous and sarcastic way to skewer a region and a way of life !
Also, I felt that since this was on the theme of discrimination based on the colour of one’s skin, there was a somewhat tenuous link to the last poem run on the blog, which was favoured by a president incarcerated for the colour of his skin.
- By Zen
For more information on Sterling Brown, read this article. This site has a brief biography, the text of some of his poems etc.
More information about Slim Greer from this website, some snippets from the same pasted below :
Jean Wagner
Among all his humorous poems, in which he exercises his comic vein at the expense of whites no less than of blacks, the most remarkable are assuredly those which relate the adventures of Slim Greer. By uniting this new hero of the tall tale, Brown provided Paul Bunyan and John Henry with a younger brother fully worthy of them. For Slim shows extraordinary skill in extracting himself from the most unbelievable situations. He brings to naught the vigilance of the most vigilant, and at the same time exposes the oddities of the people he brushes up against.
Thus he succeeds, in Arkansas, in passing as a white man, though his skin color is "no lighter than a dark midnight." The white woman he set up house with thinks he is a Spaniard or a Frenchman. He is found out at last, not because of his color, but through his way of playing the blues:
An' he started a-tinklin'
Some mo’nful blues,
An' a-pattin' the time
With No. Fourteen shoes.
The cracker listened
An' then he spat
An' said, "No white man
Could play like that. . ."
But he is more agile than the whites and makes his getaway, of course without suffering the least hurt.
..........
We meet Slim again in Atlanta, where the whites have passed laws "for to keep all de niggers from laughin' outdoors":
Hope to Gawd I may die
If I ain't speakin’ truth
Make de niggers do deir laughin’
In a telefoam booth.
When told about this rule on his arrival in Atlanta, he feels he is going to explode with laughter. He barely has time to skip past the queue waiting outside the phone booth and to dash inside--after dragging out the Negro who was there already. He laughs for hours on end, and the Negroes waiting in the lengthening queue groan in anguish as they wait their turn. In the end, Slim has to be taken away in an ambulance at the state's expense, so that things may return to normal in Atlanta.
John Edgar Tidwell
Slim Greer is both a literary character created by Sterling A. Brown and the term designating his memorable series of satiric poems. In the cycle are five poems: "Slim Greer," "Slim Hears ‘the Call’," "Slim in Atlanta," "Slim in Hell," and "Slim Lands a Job?," all of which were published between 1930 and 1933. These poems reveal Brown's careful study of oral and written literatures, from Moliére's satire to Mark Twain's humor, and his absorption of less formal teaching from a gallery of African American raconteurs. After graduation from Harvard University (MA, 1923), he immersed himself in the cultural life and lore of Black folk by frequenting barbershops, "jook-joints," and isolated farms. In these places, "master liars" like "Preacher," Duke Diggs, and an actual Slim Greer transformed mundane, prosaic experiences into performances of high art. The results of their informal instruction are readily discerned in Brown's poems.
The Slim Greer poems represent the principal concern in nearly all of Brown's work: reclaiming the humanity of African Americans to insure the completion of selfhood. To accomplish this purpose, Brown adapts features of the American tall tale, including Vernacular language, "deadpan" manner of narration, development from plausibility to frantic impossibility, and the snapper climax or exposure at the end. As in the best tall tales, these poems achieve their success by laughing the reader/listener into an awareness of practices that prevent the self from attaining wholeness, such as religious hypocrisy and the absurdity of racial segregation. In so doing, Brown makes his Slim Greer do in poetry what Langston Hughes's Simple does in short fiction.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Invictus
By William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Comments : I watched the movie 'Invictus' yesterday and thought it very good. Had to return, google and read the poem once more. - Zen
Random facts :
The latin word 'Invictus' means 'unconquered'.
The poem was written in 1875 and originally bore no title. Early printings contained only the dedication To R. T. H. B.—a reference to Robert Thomas Hamilton Bruce, a successful Scottish flour merchant and baker who was also a literary patron.The title "Invictus" was added by Arthur Quiller-Couch when he included the poem in The Oxford Book Of English Verse (1900).
In the movie 'Invictus', Mandela gives the "Invictus" poem to his national rugby team's captain Francois Pienaar before the start of the Rugby World Cup. In reality, Mandela provided Pienaar with an extract from Theodore Roosevelt's "The Man in the Arena" speech from 1910.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Comments : I watched the movie 'Invictus' yesterday and thought it very good. Had to return, google and read the poem once more. - Zen
Random facts :
The latin word 'Invictus' means 'unconquered'.
The poem was written in 1875 and originally bore no title. Early printings contained only the dedication To R. T. H. B.—a reference to Robert Thomas Hamilton Bruce, a successful Scottish flour merchant and baker who was also a literary patron.The title "Invictus" was added by Arthur Quiller-Couch when he included the poem in The Oxford Book Of English Verse (1900).
In the movie 'Invictus', Mandela gives the "Invictus" poem to his national rugby team's captain Francois Pienaar before the start of the Rugby World Cup. In reality, Mandela provided Pienaar with an extract from Theodore Roosevelt's "The Man in the Arena" speech from 1910.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
In Praise of the Sausage
By Ruskin Bond
I like a good sausage, I do;
It's a dish for the chosen and few.
Oh, for sausage and mash,
And of mustard a dash
And an egg nicely fried - maybe two ?
At breakfast and lunch, or at dinner,
The sausage is always a winner;
If you want a good spread
Go for sausage on bread,
And forget all your vows to be slimmer.
(Written for Victor and Maya Bannerjee, who excel at making sausage breakfasts)
Comments - My sentiments exactly ! Especially with a sunday morning with a lazy sunday breakfast soon to follow. - Zen
I like a good sausage, I do;
It's a dish for the chosen and few.
Oh, for sausage and mash,
And of mustard a dash
And an egg nicely fried - maybe two ?
At breakfast and lunch, or at dinner,
The sausage is always a winner;
If you want a good spread
Go for sausage on bread,
And forget all your vows to be slimmer.
(Written for Victor and Maya Bannerjee, who excel at making sausage breakfasts)
Comments - My sentiments exactly ! Especially with a sunday morning with a lazy sunday breakfast soon to follow. - Zen
Sunday, February 14, 2010
One Old Oxford Ox
By Anonymous
One old Oxford ox opening oysters;
Two tee-totums totally tired of trying to trot to Tadbury;
Three tall tigers tippling tenpenny tea;
Four fat friars fanning fainting flies;
Five frippy Frenchmen foolishly fishing for flies;
Six sportsmen shooting snipes;
Seven Severn salmons swallowing shrimps;
Eight Englishmen eagerly examining Europe;
Nine nimble noblemen nibbling nonpareils;
Ten tinkers tinkling upon ten tin tinder-boxes with ten tenpenny tacks;
Eleven elephants elegantly equipt;
Twelve typographical typographers typically translating types.
Comments : Alliteration Allowed to run Amok is not Always Awesome ! - Zen
One old Oxford ox opening oysters;
Two tee-totums totally tired of trying to trot to Tadbury;
Three tall tigers tippling tenpenny tea;
Four fat friars fanning fainting flies;
Five frippy Frenchmen foolishly fishing for flies;
Six sportsmen shooting snipes;
Seven Severn salmons swallowing shrimps;
Eight Englishmen eagerly examining Europe;
Nine nimble noblemen nibbling nonpareils;
Ten tinkers tinkling upon ten tin tinder-boxes with ten tenpenny tacks;
Eleven elephants elegantly equipt;
Twelve typographical typographers typically translating types.
Comments : Alliteration Allowed to run Amok is not Always Awesome ! - Zen
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
LINES
WRITTEN WHEN SAILING IN A BOAT AT EVENING
By William Wordsworth
How rich the wave, in front, imprest
With evening twilights summer hues,
While, facing thus the crimson west,
The boat her silent path pursues!
And see how dark the backward stream!
A little moment past, so smiling!
And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,
Some other loiterer beguiling.
Such views the youthful bard allure;
But, heedless of the following gloom,
He deems their colours shall endure
'Till peace go with him to the tomb.
--And let him nurse his fond deceit,
And what if he must die in sorrow!
Who would not cherish dreams so sweet,
Though grief and pain may come to-morrow?
Comments - Loved the image the first four lines of this poem conjured up. - Zen.
By William Wordsworth
How rich the wave, in front, imprest
With evening twilights summer hues,
While, facing thus the crimson west,
The boat her silent path pursues!
And see how dark the backward stream!
A little moment past, so smiling!
And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,
Some other loiterer beguiling.
Such views the youthful bard allure;
But, heedless of the following gloom,
He deems their colours shall endure
'Till peace go with him to the tomb.
--And let him nurse his fond deceit,
And what if he must die in sorrow!
Who would not cherish dreams so sweet,
Though grief and pain may come to-morrow?
Comments - Loved the image the first four lines of this poem conjured up. - Zen.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
My True Love Hath My Heart, And I Have His
By Sir Philip Sidney
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange, one for the other giv'n.
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driv'n.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his, because in me it bides.
His heart his wound received from my sight:
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;
For as from me, on him his hurt did light,
So still me thought in me his hurt did smart:
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss:
My true love hath my heart and I have his.
By Wendy Cope
My true love hath my heart and I have hers
We swapped last Tuesday and felt quite elated
But now whenever one of us refers
To 'my heart' things get rather complicated.
Comments : You did not seriously think I was going to post only the soppy Sir Philip Sidney poem, did you ? Isn't Wendy Cope's wry take on it refreshing ? Not to mention, sensible ! - Zen
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange, one for the other giv'n.
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driv'n.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his, because in me it bides.
His heart his wound received from my sight:
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;
For as from me, on him his hurt did light,
So still me thought in me his hurt did smart:
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss:
My true love hath my heart and I have his.
By Wendy Cope
My true love hath my heart and I have hers
We swapped last Tuesday and felt quite elated
But now whenever one of us refers
To 'my heart' things get rather complicated.
Comments : You did not seriously think I was going to post only the soppy Sir Philip Sidney poem, did you ? Isn't Wendy Cope's wry take on it refreshing ? Not to mention, sensible ! - Zen
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