Leaves of Grass
by
Walt Whitman

This is one of my mum's favourite poems. I love it because it gives a dignity to we who work in the entertainments industry. It is an incantation; a rallying cry to maintain our solidarity and sense of purpose in front of change. It reminds us to maintain a scope and perspective; to see that we are related to what has gone before and what may be coming after.It helps me maintain a faith in the processes of this crazy, cruel and beautiful world. Gene Wilder also quotes it in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory when Veruca Salt quizzes him about Snozberries.

Arthur O'Shaughnessy. 1844–1881

6. Ode

WE are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth; 20
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

dear heart,
this is the poem i'd like you to post on yer web site:

I Saw Myself
by
lew welch

I saw myself
a ring of bone
in the clear stream
of it all

and vowed
always to be open to it
that all of it
might flow through

and then heard
"ring of bone" where
ring is what a

Dear Jac,
I've picked a well-known poem by the Irish writer William Butler Yeats. I love The Song Of Wandering Aengus because though profound and beautiful in a spell-casting way, it is clear and straightforward, making word pictures that we can all share and invest with the colours of our own imagination.
I love the invocation of the wood in the first verse, I love the delicate description of the vision in the second - and I love that the aged narrator, by the third verse, is possessed of a hunger every part as intense and powerful as the hungers of youth.
love
Mike

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS

I went out to the hazel wood
because a fire was in my head
and cut and peeled a hazel wand
and hooked a berry to a thread
and when white moths were on the wing
and moth-like stars were flickering out
I dropped the berry in a stream
and caught a little silver trout

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame
but something rustled on the floor
and someone called me by my name
It had become a glimmering girl
with apple blossom in her hair
who called me by my name and ran
and faded through the brightening air

Though I am old with wandering
through hollow lands and hilly lands
I will find out where she has gone
and kiss her lips and touch her hands
and walk among long dappled grass
and pluck, till time and times are done,
the silver apples of the moon
the golden apples of the sun

The poem I've selected to share is "The History of One Tough Motherfucker," by my favorite drunk genius, Charles Bukowski. I love this piece because it is about a mangy and seemingly broken little cat who appears at Hank's door one day and reveals himself to be Bukowski's spirit animal. To me, this tattered kitten represents every artist--bruised, beaten, and breathtakingly brawny despite life's myriad travails. This creature is my patron saint and I hope he becomes yours.

The History Of One Tough Motherfucker by Charles Bukowski

I Carry Your heart With Me

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

And here is the poem I send you...
It is by John.
It is about what astonishes us.
How that is always something from the future, each day that rises.
And of course it is also a poem about the mountains, the Haut Savoie, where he lives in France.

'In reality we are always between two times: that of the body and of consciousness. Hence the distinction made in all other cultures between body and soul. The soul is first, and above all, the locus of another time.'

What astounds cannot be
the remnant of what
has been.
Tomorrow still blind
advances slowly.
Sight and light
race towards each other,
and from their embrace
is born the day,
eyes open
tall as a foal.

Murmuring river
clasps the mist
for a moment more.
The peaks are signing on
the sky.
Stop and hear
the milking machines
designed to suck like calves.
In the first heat
the forested hills calculate
their steepness.
The lorry driver is taking the road
to the pass which leads
surprisingly
with its own familiarity
to another homeland.
Soon the grass will be
warmer
than the cows' horns.
The astounding comes
towards us
outrider of death and birth.

John Berger

Cease to resist, giving my goodbye
drive my car into the ocean
you'll think I'm dead, but I sail away
on a wave of mutilation
a wave
wave

"Most of Primo Levi's work is based on the Holocaust as he's been a survivor of Auschwitz, the infamous death camp in Nazi-occupied Poland. That poem "If this is a man" was written to bear witness to the horrors of the Holocaust. It makes us think about our commitment to humanity and the most important it challenges us to REMEMBER. It's a simple poem but I feel really concerned by its message. My grandfather was prisoner in a concentration camp during World War Two. I only found out his story when he passed away and when I read that poem it's as if I can finally understand the look in his eyes, a look asking me to NEVER forget, to REMEMBER. He is not there anymore to be a witness but I think it is important that WE all remember that the Holocaust has happened in order to prevent such horrors from happening again."

IF THIS IS A MAN by Primo Levi

You who live secure
In your warm houses
Who return at evening to find
Hot food and friendly faces:

Consider whether this is a man,
Who labours in the mud
Who knows no peace
Who fights for a crust of bread
Who dies at a yes or a no.
Consider whether this is a woman,
Without hair or name
With no more strength to remember
Eyes empty and womb cold
As a frog in winter.

Consider that this has been:
I commend these words to you.
Engrave them on your hearts
When you are in your house, when you walk on your way,
When you go to bed, when you rise.
Repeat them to your children.
Or may your house crumble,
Disease render you powerless,
Your offspring avert their faces from you.

"I really enjoy Emily Dickinson's (ED) poems. Most of ED's work is her perception of life, love, and humanity. When asked what poem has truly inspired me, it would be this one of her's. I read this for encouragement and strength when I get genuinely afraid, sad, or want to fight instead of being compassionate (you know what I mean Bobble head :-). To summarize the poem: why be afraid to truly live, take risks, see the beauty in the little things, and enjoy every moment (carpe diem: seize every opportunity) when God gave you your life. Also, why be afraid of death and the afterlife when one knows where they are going. This poem reminds me of two things: to be honest with God & myself in how I feel and to choose to live what I say I believe. I push this belief on no one but hold myself accountable and it has carried my family and I through many a rough time."
JAMI-JON

Time and Eternity
XXIV.

Afraid? Of whom am I afraid?
Not death; for who is he?
The porter of my father's lodge
As much abasheth me.
Of life? 'T were odd I fear a thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or more existences
At Deity's decree.
Of resurrection? Is the east
Afraid to trust the morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my crown!

SONNET 91
William Shakespeare