A Poem - Don't worry, I didn't write it!

While rediscovering all my old teenage angsty poetry today, I also had the good fortune to come across a couple of poems that I absolutely adore, and as I've not shared any poetry lately, here's one for you!

As I Walked Out One Evening 

As I walked out one evening,

Walking down Bristol Street,

The crowds upon the pavement

Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river

I heard a lover sing

Under an arch of the railway:

'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you

Till China and Africa meet,

And the river jumps over the mountain

And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean

Is folded and hung up to dry

And the seven stars go squawking

Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,

For in my arms I hold

The Flower of the Ages,

And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city

Began to whirr and chime:

'O let not Time deceive you,

You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare

Where Justice naked is,

Time watches from the shadow

And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry

Vaguely life leaks away,

And Time will have his fancy

To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley

Drifts the appalling snow;

Time breaks the threaded dances

And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,

Plunge them in up to the wrist;

Stare, stare in the basin

And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,

The desert sighs in the bed,

And the crack in the tea-cup opens

A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes

And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,

And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,

And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror?

O look in your distress:

Life remains a blessing

Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window

As the tears scald and start;

You shall love your crooked neighbour

With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,

The lovers they were gone;

The clocks had ceased their chiming,

And the deep river ran on.

W.H Auden

Auden is actually the poet who introduced me to the beauty of poetry, and so I have much to be thankful to him for. It was his poem Funeral Blues in the film Four Weddings and a Funeral that made me want to read poetry (so I guess I also owe some thanks to John Hannah and his beautiful voice), enabling me to realise that I actually have a great fondness for this often overlooked genre. Admittedly, I don't read anywhere near as much poetry as I should, and since graduating, hardly at all, and I feel bad about that. There are certain passages in poetry that are just so perfectly worded that I end up sitting and thinking about three or four lines for an hour at a time - the fifth stanza of this poem is a good example of that. There's very little that makes me feel as good as really well formed poetry does. Geeky, probably, but true. It's also (interestingly, I think) about the only time I don't make vomit noises at sentiments of love. Generally, I'm really not into the whole over the top 'I love you so much I can't live without you, you are my entire life' kind of expression. Those kind of feelings, I'd rather keep private, but when it comes to poets putting that kind of thing into (gorgeous) words, I just love it!

I'm hoping to feature more of my favourite poems, both old and new, on the blog as I get back into reading poetry again, wish me luck!

How do other people feel about poetry? Got any favourites?

Just as a by the way...

Back in the good old teenage angsty days, when I used to look to poetry for the deeper meanings of life, (I still do, to some extent, although I hope in a far less angsty way!)I came across this little gem, which I then proceeded to read to anybody and everybody who passed by me, whether or not they wanted to hear it. Here it is again, lest it should be forgotten :

The Box
Once upon a time, in the land of Hush-A-Bye,
Around about the wondrous days of yore,
They came across a kind of box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labeled "Kindly do not touch; it's war."
A decree was issued round about, and all with a flourish and a shout
And a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on before.
Don't fiddle with this deadly box,Or break the chains, or pick the locks.
And please don't ever play about with war.
The children understood. Children happen to be good
And they were just as good around the time of yore.
They didn't try to pick the locksOr break into that deadly box.
They never tried to play about with war.
Mommies didn't either; sisters, aunts, grannies neither
'Cause they were quiet, and sweet, and pretty
In those wondrous days of yore.
Well, very much the same as now,
And not the ones to blame somehow
For opening up that deadly box of war.
But someone did. Someone battered in the lid
And spilled the insides out across the floor.
A kind of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags
And all the tears, and horror, and death that comes with war.
It bounced right out and went bashing all about,
Bumping into everything in store.And what was sad and most unfair
Was that it didn't really seem to care
Much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly. And I'll tell you this quite plainly,
It bumps them every day and more, and more,
And leaves them dead, and burned, and dying
Thousands of them sick and crying.
'Cause when it bumps, it's really very sore.
Now there's a way to stop the ball. It isn't difficult at all.
All it takes is wisdom, and I'm absolutely sure
That we can get it back into the box,And bind the chains, and lock the locks.
But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.
Well, that's the way it all appears, 'cause it's been bouncing round
for years and years
In spite of all the wisdom wizzed since those wondrous days of yore
And the time they came across the box,
Bound up with chains and locked with locks,
And labeled "Kindly do not touch; it's war."

Lascelles Abercrombie