My Poem>A Freeze
A deepest winter night,
the lean little woman
hardly made her stiff hands warmed
in the hollow corner.
Her infant laying quiet in the narrow cradle
is silent, and just
has been stared at it's mother long;
listening to her thin repeat
to breathe out a spring coming.
then a chill wind opens the door suddenly,
with a wreath the fair flowery woman walks into and
passes by, around the dark house
white candles come and brightened
and on their faces soon turn bright and
glow with heaps of
glorious SMILES.
2009/11/14
2009/11/02
Reading>Poem: A Little Budding Rose
A Little Budding Rose
By Emily Bronte
It was a little budding rose,
Round like a fairy globe,
And shyly did its leaves unclose
Hid in their mossy robe,
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell,
It breathed from its heart invisible.
The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,
Its root has felt a worm,
And like a heart beloved and slighted,
Filed, faded, shrunk its form.
Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,
I stole thee from thy natal bower.
I was the worm that withered thee
Thy tears of dew all fell for me;
Leaf and silk and rose are gone,
Exile earth they died upon
Yes, that last breath of balmy scent
With alien breezes sadly blent!
http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Bront%C3%AB
By Emily Bronte
It was a little budding rose,
Round like a fairy globe,
And shyly did its leaves unclose
Hid in their mossy robe,
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell,
It breathed from its heart invisible.
The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,
Its root has felt a worm,
And like a heart beloved and slighted,
Filed, faded, shrunk its form.
Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,
I stole thee from thy natal bower.
I was the worm that withered thee
Thy tears of dew all fell for me;
Leaf and silk and rose are gone,
Exile earth they died upon
Yes, that last breath of balmy scent
With alien breezes sadly blent!
http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Bront%C3%AB
Reading>Poem: A Dead Rose
A Dead Rose
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning
O Rose! who dare to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat, ---
Kept seven years in a drawer--thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day, ---
If breathing now, ---unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn, ---
If shining now, ---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was, ---
If dropping now, ---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,
Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now, ---would coldly overrun thee.
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive, ---
If passing now, ---would blindly overlook thee.
The beat doth recognize thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete, ---
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee.
http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Barrett_Browning
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning
O Rose! who dare to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat, ---
Kept seven years in a drawer--thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day, ---
If breathing now, ---unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn, ---
If shining now, ---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was, ---
If dropping now, ---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,
Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now, ---would coldly overrun thee.
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive, ---
If passing now, ---would blindly overlook thee.
The beat doth recognize thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete, ---
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee.
http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Barrett_Browning
2009/11/01
＊My Poem>Rain
Rain, is the major festival around the world,
The delight belongs to the heaven, at least.
Lasting existence, against the cognition
Flowing out my decades.
They kiss a little stone
On the road staring at the stars
And taste hunger and hardship on those
Guests' senseless faces or covering with
Another calling. They sign the couple
to leave or re-encounter;
Even on the cement floor a drop
Became into a dark mask and renders
Its deep shock
after a caught charged to Nature
can be doing a nameless suitor.
Rainning is indeed the time for celebrating,
There JOY ended.
Twisting and spreading out a wet handkerchief,
Taste and swallow up the sweet rainbow
For rainning is exactly the time, much earlier or later,
Which suits with keeping on dancing in earth
With those who beating their pair of white wings.
The delight belongs to the heaven, at least.
Lasting existence, against the cognition
Flowing out my decades.
They kiss a little stone
On the road staring at the stars
And taste hunger and hardship on those
Guests' senseless faces or covering with
Another calling. They sign the couple
to leave or re-encounter;
Even on the cement floor a drop
Became into a dark mask and renders
Its deep shock
after a caught charged to Nature
can be doing a nameless suitor.
Rainning is indeed the time for celebrating,
There JOY ended.
Twisting and spreading out a wet handkerchief,
Taste and swallow up the sweet rainbow
For rainning is exactly the time, much earlier or later,
Which suits with keeping on dancing in earth
With those who beating their pair of white wings.
2009/10/31
Reading>Poem:Song of the Powers
Song of the Powers
By David Mason (1954-)
Mine, said the stone,
mine is the hour.
I crush the scissors,
such is my power.
Stronger than wishes,
my power, alone.
Mine, said the paper,
mine are words
that smother the stone
with imagined birds,
reams of them, flown
from the mind of the shaper.
Mine, said the scissors,
mine all the knives
gashing through paper's
ethereal lives;
nothing's so proper
as tattering wishes.
As stone crushes scissors
as paper snuffs stone
and scissors cut paper,
all end alone.
So heap up your paper
and scissor your wishes
and uproot the stone
from the top of the hill.
They all end alone
as you will, you will.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Mason_(writer)
"You" is the symbol of the human kind and your knowledge and intelligence overcome obstacles.
By David Mason (1954-)
Mine, said the stone,
mine is the hour.
I crush the scissors,
such is my power.
Stronger than wishes,
my power, alone.
Mine, said the paper,
mine are words
that smother the stone
with imagined birds,
reams of them, flown
from the mind of the shaper.
Mine, said the scissors,
mine all the knives
gashing through paper's
ethereal lives;
nothing's so proper
as tattering wishes.
As stone crushes scissors
as paper snuffs stone
and scissors cut paper,
all end alone.
So heap up your paper
and scissor your wishes
and uproot the stone
from the top of the hill.
They all end alone
as you will, you will.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Mason_(writer)
"You" is the symbol of the human kind and your knowledge and intelligence overcome obstacles.
Reading>Poem: Bright Star
Bright Star By John Keats (1795-1821)
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art---
Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors---
No---yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel forever its soft fall and swell,
Awake forever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
What a beautiful poem it is---I like it.
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art---
Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors---
No---yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel forever its soft fall and swell,
Awake forever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
What a beautiful poem it is---I like it.
2009/10/30
Reading>Poem: Reapers
Reapers by Jean Toomer(1894-1967)
Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening scythes, I see them place the hones
In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done,
And start their silent swinging, one by one.
Black horses drive a mower through the weeds,
And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds,
His belly close to ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.
The poem presents two examples of cutting down vegetation; one is human-made and anthor is the black horses-driven. And the rat in the field was killed by the later, this made me feeling terrible owning to it happened under the cold nature from inferior species. However, the inferior species were tamed by humen. It is very sorry to read such thing-a "innocent" wild animal was killed by human behavior.
The author: Jean Toomer
Jean Toomer (December 26, 1894–March 30, 1967) was an American poet and novelist and an important figure of the Harlem Renaissance.
Born Nathan Pinchback Toomer in Washington, D.C., mixed racial and ethnic descent (Dutch, French, Native American, African-American, Welsh, German, Jewish). His parents were Nathan Toomer and Nina Pinchback. His maternal grandfather was Louisiana Governor P. B. S. Pinchback, the first African American to become Governor of a U.S. state. He spent his childhood attending both all-white and all-black segregated schools. In his early years, Toomer resisted racial classifications and wished to be identified only as an American after going to an all-black school in Washington D.C., then an all-white school in New Rochelle N.Y., then an all-black school in Washington D.C. again. Toomer attended six institutions of higher education between 1914 and 1917 (the University of Wisconsin, the Massachusetts College of Agriculture, the American College of Physical Training in Chicago, the University of Chicago, New York University, and the City College of New York) studying agriculture, fitness, biology, sociology, and history, but he never completed a degree. The readings that he would undertake and the lectures he attended during his college years shaped the direction his writing would take. After leaving college, Toomer published some short stories, devoted several months to the study of Eastern philosophies and took a job as a principal in Sparta, Georgia. The segregation Toomer experienced in the South led him to identify more strongly as an African American.
In 1923, Toomer published the novel Cane, an important work of High Modernism. It is considered by many scholars to be his best work. A series of poems and short stories about the black experience in America, Cane was hailed by critics and is seen as an important work of both the Harlem Renaissance and the Lost Generation.
His 1936 Whitmanesque long poem The Blue Meridian dramatically foreshadows the racial discourse of the 21st Century and the 2008 Presidential campaign.
Toomer found it harder and harder to get published throughout the 1930s and in 1940 moved with his second wife to Doylestown, Pennsylvania where he joined the Religious Society of Friends and began to withdraw from society. Toomer wrote a small amount of fiction and published essays in Quaker publications during this time, but devoted most of his time to serving on Quaker committees. Toomer stopped writing literary works after 1950. He died in 1967 after several years of poor health.
A close and longtime friend of American painter Georgia O'Keeffe, Toomer appears as a character in the 2009 television movie Georgia O'Keeffe. However, in this regard he has no dialogue. He speaks only in about a half dozen outtakes available exclusively on the Lifetime Television website. Toomer not only helped O'Keeffe recover from a crucial nervous breakdown but was important in giving her the courage to live independently and develop her best work. So his excision is significant. Additionally, the lead characters played by Jeremy Irons and Joan Allen are made to look quite close to their historical counterparts. Henry Simmons, cast in the Toomer role, looks nothing like Jean Toomer. Vernal Bagneris, who plays Toomer in the 1991 Public Television version, A Marriage: Georgia O'Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz offers a much more credible representation.
＊http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Toomer
Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening scythes, I see them place the hones
In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done,
And start their silent swinging, one by one.
Black horses drive a mower through the weeds,
And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds,
His belly close to ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.
The poem presents two examples of cutting down vegetation; one is human-made and anthor is the black horses-driven. And the rat in the field was killed by the later, this made me feeling terrible owning to it happened under the cold nature from inferior species. However, the inferior species were tamed by humen. It is very sorry to read such thing-a "innocent" wild animal was killed by human behavior.
The author: Jean Toomer
Jean Toomer (December 26, 1894–March 30, 1967) was an American poet and novelist and an important figure of the Harlem Renaissance.
Born Nathan Pinchback Toomer in Washington, D.C., mixed racial and ethnic descent (Dutch, French, Native American, African-American, Welsh, German, Jewish). His parents were Nathan Toomer and Nina Pinchback. His maternal grandfather was Louisiana Governor P. B. S. Pinchback, the first African American to become Governor of a U.S. state. He spent his childhood attending both all-white and all-black segregated schools. In his early years, Toomer resisted racial classifications and wished to be identified only as an American after going to an all-black school in Washington D.C., then an all-white school in New Rochelle N.Y., then an all-black school in Washington D.C. again. Toomer attended six institutions of higher education between 1914 and 1917 (the University of Wisconsin, the Massachusetts College of Agriculture, the American College of Physical Training in Chicago, the University of Chicago, New York University, and the City College of New York) studying agriculture, fitness, biology, sociology, and history, but he never completed a degree. The readings that he would undertake and the lectures he attended during his college years shaped the direction his writing would take. After leaving college, Toomer published some short stories, devoted several months to the study of Eastern philosophies and took a job as a principal in Sparta, Georgia. The segregation Toomer experienced in the South led him to identify more strongly as an African American.
In 1923, Toomer published the novel Cane, an important work of High Modernism. It is considered by many scholars to be his best work. A series of poems and short stories about the black experience in America, Cane was hailed by critics and is seen as an important work of both the Harlem Renaissance and the Lost Generation.
His 1936 Whitmanesque long poem The Blue Meridian dramatically foreshadows the racial discourse of the 21st Century and the 2008 Presidential campaign.
Toomer found it harder and harder to get published throughout the 1930s and in 1940 moved with his second wife to Doylestown, Pennsylvania where he joined the Religious Society of Friends and began to withdraw from society. Toomer wrote a small amount of fiction and published essays in Quaker publications during this time, but devoted most of his time to serving on Quaker committees. Toomer stopped writing literary works after 1950. He died in 1967 after several years of poor health.
A close and longtime friend of American painter Georgia O'Keeffe, Toomer appears as a character in the 2009 television movie Georgia O'Keeffe. However, in this regard he has no dialogue. He speaks only in about a half dozen outtakes available exclusively on the Lifetime Television website. Toomer not only helped O'Keeffe recover from a crucial nervous breakdown but was important in giving her the courage to live independently and develop her best work. So his excision is significant. Additionally, the lead characters played by Jeremy Irons and Joan Allen are made to look quite close to their historical counterparts. Henry Simmons, cast in the Toomer role, looks nothing like Jean Toomer. Vernal Bagneris, who plays Toomer in the 1991 Public Television version, A Marriage: Georgia O'Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz offers a much more credible representation.
＊http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Toomer
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