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Writing Club
  1. What's new in this club
  2. . Recollecting a Visit to W. B. Yeats It is most pitiful to watch men go In search of beauty with despairing eyes, And what it is they lack as this world lies Open before their gaze they do not know. These porcelain skies with billows of graven snow They paint on cold, thin cups, and draw from strings Voices of mourning winds and sense of wings; From woods rob sad-faced flowers and bid them grow Nearer their souls; ay, creep out in the night And steal the stars and the bright Moon from Heaven, And bring them home to decorate th
  3. Any native speakers of Spanish willing to help me with my attempts to translate Lorca...? I guess I can dive in. I'm wondering how to tell when the verb verter means to transfer liquid, as opposed to when it means to translate (or, move something from one language to another).
  4. What a wonderful poem. Thank you so much for sharing it! I particularly liked these lines - I am drawn to them, and the memories they bring to me. Thanks again.
  5. "A poem for a November day" Oh, for a day of burning noon And a sun like a glowing ember; Oh, for one hour of golden June, In the heart of this chill November. I can scarcely remember the Spring's soft breath Or imagine the Summer hazes. The yellow woods are so damp with death That I have forgotten the daisies. Oh, to lie watching the sky again, From a nest of hot grass and clover, Till the stars come out like golden rain When the lazy day is over. And crowning the night with an aureole, As the cl
  6. [Epilogue] O true and tried, so well and long, Demand not thou a marriage lay; In that it is thy marriage day Is music more than any song. Nor have I felt so much of bliss Since first he told me that he loved A daughter of our house; nor proved Since that dark day a day like this; Tho' I since then have numbered o'er Some thrice three years: they went and came, Remade the blood and changed the frame, And yet is love not less, but more; No longer caring to embalm In dying songs a dead regret, But lik
  7. Thanks @chris191070for reading these. We are nearing the end of In Memoriam
  8. 129. O living will that shalt endure When all that seems shall suffer shock, Rise in the spiritual rock, Flow through our deeds and make them pure, That we may lift from out of dust A voice as unto him that hears, A cry above the conquered years To one that with us works, and trust, With faith that comes of self-control, The truths that never can be proved Until we close with all we loved, And all we flow from, soul in soul. Tennyson
  9. 128. Thy voice is on the rolling air; I hear thee where the waters run; Thou standest in the rising sun, And in the setting thou art fair. What art thou then? I cannot guess; But though I seem in star and flower To feel thee some diffusive power, I do not therefore love thee less: My love involves the love before; My love is vaster passion now; Though mixed with God and Nature thou, I seem to love thee more and more. Far off thou art, but ever nigh; I have thee still, and I rejoice; I prosper, circled
  10. 127. Dear friend, far off, my lost desire, So far, so near in woe and weal; O loved the most, when most I feel There is a lower and a higher; Known and unknown; human, divine; Sweet human hand and lips and eye; Dear heavenly friend that canst not die, Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine; Strange friend, past, present, and to be; Loved deeplier, darklier understood; Behold, I dream a dream of good, And mingle all the world with thee. Tennyson
  11. 126. The love that rose on stronger wings, Unpalsied when he met with Death, Is comrade of the lesser faith That sees the course of human things. No doubt vast eddies in the flood Of onward time shall yet be made, And throned races may degrade; Yet, O ye mysteries of good, Wild Hours that fly with Hope and Fear, If all your office had to do With old results that look like new; If this were all your mission here, To draw, to sheathe a useless sword, To fool the crowd with glorious lies, To cleave a cre
  12. No. 125 speaks to our times directly, although it describes the beginning of the world-changing year of 1848. The "February Revolution" began in France, but by the end of the year, democracy movements had been initiated and quashed in a dozen European countries, including the UK, sadly. The brutal repression that followed, and the doubling down on "empire" by the people in charge, led one Women's Rights activist to mourn in this way: At the end of 1849 The bells resound mute at the end of a year, Which in these hard and baleful times of woe, Must
  13. 125. And all is well, though faith and form Be sundered in the night of fear; Well roars the storm to those that hear A deeper voice across the storm, Proclaiming social truth shall spread, And justice, ev'n though thrice again The red fool-fury of the Seine Should pile her barricades with dead. But ill for him that wears a crown, And him, the lazar, in his rags: They tremble, the sustaining crags; The spires of ice are toppled down, And molten up, and roar in flood; The fortress crashes from on high,
  14. Why this part brought a new tune to my head, I cannot say. But it’s beautiful.
  15. 124. Love is and was my Lord and King, And in his presence I attend To hear the tidings of my friend, Which every hour his couriers bring. Love is and was my King and Lord, And will be, though as yet I keep Within his court on earth, and sleep Encompassed by his faithful guard, And hear at times a sentinel Who moves about from place to place, And whispers to the worlds of space, In the deep night, that all is well. Tennyson
  16. 123. Whatever I have said or sung, Some bitter notes my harp would give, Yea, tho' there often seemed to live A contradiction on the tongue, Yet Hope had never lost her youth; She did but look through dimmer eyes; Or Love but played with gracious lies, Because he felt so fixed in truth: And if the song were full of care, He breathed the spirit of the song; And if the words were sweet and strong He set his royal signet there; Abiding with me till I sail To see
  17. 122. That which we dare invoke to bless; Our dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt; He, They, One, All; within, without; The Power in darkness whom we guess; I found Him not in world or sun, Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye; Nor through the questions men may try, The petty cobwebs we have spun: If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep, I heard a voice `believe no more' And heard an ever-breaking shore That tumbled in the Godless deep; A warmth within the breast would melt
  18. Please don't miss this one by @BDANR https://gayauthors.org/story/bdanr/loving-fiercely-how-i-resist/15
  19. 121. There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go. But in my spirit will I dwell, And dream my dream, and hold it true; For though my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell. Tennyson
  20. Yes! Thank you for saying this! I have no where read that Tennyson's In Memoriam influenced Whitman, but to me it's obvious. More than that, Tennyson's book "explains" the sudden conversion of city-swell Whitman -- spending his days and nights at the opera and writing reviews - into a poet at all. Just as the transcendental nature of In Memoriam is usually overlooked, so too are the many influences of this book on the first edition of Leaves of Grass. Haha, another essay for me to tackle, lol
  21. I had a breakthrough in my understanding of In Memoriam yesterday. (I'm sorry I don't have time to cite the sections of the work in what I'm about to write, but I think you'll be able to follow my thesis.) If you glance through any of the analysis of Tennyson's love poem, printed or posted anywhere -- even the briefest examples -- the subject of how In Memoriam is structured around the "weddings" comes up. This means first, how the older of Tennyson's sisters was engaged to Hallam, and how she married another man soon(ish) after Henry's death. And two, near the conclusion of In Memoriam,
  22. This is heart filling; it reminds me of something from Whitman, in a way.
  23. 120 Oh, wast thou with me, dearest, then, While I rose up against my doom, And yearned to burst the folded gloom, To bare the eternal Heavens again, To feel once more, in placid awe, The strong imagination roll A sphere of stars about my soul, In all her motion one with law; If thou wert with me, and the grave Divide us not, be with me now, And enter in at breast and brow, Till all my blood, a fuller wave, Be quickened with a livelier breath, And like an inconsiderate boy, As in the former flash of jo
  24. 119. Sad Hesper o'er the buried sun And ready, thou, to die with him, Thou watchest all things ever dim And dimmer, and a glory done: The team is loosened from the wain, The boat is drawn upon the shore; Thou listenest to the closing door, And life is darkened in the brain. Bright Phosphor, fresher for the night, By thee the world's great work is heard Beginning, and the wakeful bird; Behind thee comes the greater light: The market boat is on the stream, And voices hail it from the brink; Thou hear'st
  25. 118. I trust I have not wasted breath: I think we are not wholly brain, Magnetic mockeries; not in vain, Like Paul with beasts, I fought with Death; Not only cunning casts in clay: Let Science prove we are, and then What matters Science unto men, At least to me? I would not stay. Let him, the wiser man who springs Hereafter, up from childhood shape His action like the greater ape, But I was born to other things. Tennyson
  26. 117. Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, not as one that weeps I come once more; the city sleeps; I smell the meadow in the street; I hear a chirp of birds; I see Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn A light-blue lane of early dawn, And think of early days and thee, And bless thee, for thy lips are bland, And bright the friendship of thine eye; And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh I take the pressure of thine hand. Tennyson
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