 Poetry: June 11, 2008 Issue [#2446] |
  Poetry
This week: Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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The Frog and the Golden Ball
by Robert Graves
She let her golden ball fall down the well
And begged a cold frog to retrieve it;
For which she kissed his ugly, gaping mouth -
Indeed, he could scarce believe it.
And seeing him transformed to his princely shape,
Who had been by hags enchanted,
She knew she could never love another man
Nor by any fate be daunted.
But what would her royal father and mother say?
They had promised her in marriage
To a cousin whose wide kingdom marched with theirs,
Who rode in a jeweled carriage.
'Our plight, dear heart, would appear past human hope
To all except you and me: to all
Who have never swum as a frog in a dark well
Or have lost a golden ball.'
'What then shall we do now?' she asked her lover.
He kissed her again, and said:
'Is magic of love less powerful at your Court
Than at this green well-head?'
On July 24, 1895 Alfred Perceval Graves and Amalie von Ranke welcomed Robert Graves into their family. Graves had one brother and one half brother. He was educated in public schools and had a hard time fitting in there. He won a scholarship to St. John’s College in Oxford. When World War I started in August 1914, he enlisted. His first volume of poem was written while he served, Over the Brazier was published in 1916. After being injured Graves went to England where he met Nancy Nicholson. The two married in 1918 and had four children, Jenny, David, Catherine and Sam. In 1926 they separated and Graves began a relationship with poet Laura Riding.
Riding and Graves founded the literary journal Epilogue followed by A Survey of Modernist Poetry published in 1927 and Pamphlet Against Anthologies published in 1928. Graves also published Lawrence and the Arabs, that same year. Ten Poems More was published in 1930 followed by Poems 1926-1930 in 1931 and Poems 1930-1933 in 1933. In 1934 Graves published I, Claudius followed by its sequel Claudius the God in 1935. Graves and Riding left Majorca and moved to the U.S. The couple’s relationship began to fall apart and Graves returned to England where he met Beryl Hodge.
Beryl Hodge was married to Alan Hodge. Alan worked on The Long Week-End with Graves, published in 1941. Alan also worked with Graves on The Reader Over Your Shoulder, published in 1943. In 1946 Graves married Beryl Hodge and the couple moved to Deya, Majorca. They had four children together, William, Lucia, Juan, and Tomas. His book King Jesus was published in 1946. In 1948 he published The White Goddess followed by Seven Days in New Crete in 1949. Poems and Satires published in 1951. Then in 1953 he published The Nazarene Gospel Restored with Joshua Podro. Two years later in 1955, he published The Greek Myths. That next year, he published a volume of short stories Catacrok! Mostly Stories, Mostly Funny. In 1960, The Penny Fiddle: Poems for Children was published. Graves was invited to Oxford in 1961 where he became professor of poetry until 1966.
On December 7, 1985 at the 90, Graves died. Graves had been ill for a long time and had gradually developed mental degeneration. Graves and his wife Beryl are buried in Deia, Majorca.
Symptoms of Love
by Robert Graves
Love is universal migraine,
A bright stain on the vision
Blotting out reason.
Symptoms of true love
Are leanness, jealousy,
Laggard dawns;
Are omens and nightmares -
Listening for a knock,
Waiting for a sign:
For a touch of her fingers
In a darkened room,
For a searching look.
Take courage, lover!
Could you endure such pain
At any hand but hers?
The Cool Web
by Robert Graves
Children are dumb to say how hot the day is,
How hot the scent is of the summer rose,
How dreadful the black wastes of evening sky,
How dreadful the tall soldiers drumming by.
But we have speech, to chill the angry day,
And speech, to dull the rose's cruel scent.
We spell away the overhanging night,
We spell away the soldiers and the fright.
There's a cool web of language winds us in,
Retreat from too much joy or too much fear:
We grow sea-green at last and coldly die
In brininess and volubility.
But if we let our tongues lose self-possession,
Throwing off language and its watery clasp
Before our death, instead of when death comes,
Facing the wide glare of the children's day,
Facing the rose, the dark sky and the drums,
We shall go mad no doubt and die that way.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
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The lips my lips have kissed are picturesque--
A flash of red amidst a touch of breath--
--Your touch of breath,
So sweet...
So warm...
So divine...
You draw me in and your warmth
Caresses my chin,
And I rest in the aroma
Of cherry lip gloss,
Beneath a pale night sky--
Intertwining with orchids and iris
Of a season that never lasts--
And heat lightning strikes
The clouds and twirls
Them in her currents,
As you've pulled me in,
And twirl your hair so surely,
As we stand upon the promenade
Of midnight in the city--
So sweet...
So warm...
So divine....
And nobody knows
What you don't let them know--
Could this ever be so vile?
Then so as not to cry,
You laugh and simply smile...
Honorable mention:
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