National Poetry Day.
3 Oct 2013 06:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Today is National Poetry Day and the theme is water.
So have a couple of my mother's favourite poems, both by John Masefield. I can remember her being able to recite both off by heart when I was a child. She probably still can!
Cargoes
Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.
Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.
Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.
Sea Fever
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
So have a couple of my mother's favourite poems, both by John Masefield. I can remember her being able to recite both off by heart when I was a child. She probably still can!
Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.
Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.
Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
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Date: 03/10/2013 05:55 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 03/10/2013 07:15 pm (UTC)And there is a real Elvish feel there.
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Date: 03/10/2013 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 03/10/2013 08:00 pm (UTC)I'd forgotten that Masefield also wrote that first one! I loved its rhythms and imagery as a child.
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Date: 03/10/2013 08:19 pm (UTC)I loved the Quinquireme of Nineveh when I was younger, too, for those very reasons - it is just so good to read aloud.
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Date: 03/10/2013 10:28 pm (UTC)'High Flight' by John Gillespie Magee:
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark, or even eagle flew;
And while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space;
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
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Date: 04/10/2013 04:17 am (UTC)One of our local T.V. stations used to use a recitation of High Flight to end the broadcast day. I think I have it on a book mark somewhere.
All are a little evocative.
Huggs,
Lynda
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Date: 04/10/2013 10:52 am (UTC)We still have a lot of coasters - but they are mainly quite clean, and rarely have smoke stacks these days! Apart from which they no longer load coal on the Tyne, so sad in some ways.
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Date: 05/10/2013 12:41 pm (UTC)I would have liked to post something for National Poetry Day as well, but it happened to be not quite that sort of day.
These are lovely.
The first one reminded me of this:
BUNCHES OF GRAPES
by Walter de la Mare
'Bunches of grapes,' says Timothy;
'Pomegranates pink,' says Elaine;
'A junket of cream and a cranberry tart
For me,' says Jane.
'Love-in-a-mist,' says Timothy;
'Primroses pale,' says Elaine;
'A nosegay of pinks and mignonette
For me,' says Jane.
'Chariots of gold,' says Timothy;
'Silvery wings,' says Elaine;
'A bumpity ride in a wagon of hay
For me,' says Jane.
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Date: 06/10/2013 09:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 05/10/2013 11:28 pm (UTC)I had never come across"High Flight' before, and it is an outstanding evocation of flight.
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Date: 06/10/2013 09:28 am (UTC)And I was really pleased that Jay added High Flight - it was new to me, too, and goes so well with the original two.
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Date: 06/10/2013 10:01 pm (UTC)Just checked Wikipedia and learned that he joined the Royal Canadian Air Force before America entered the 2nd world War, he was killed in a mid air collision over Lincolnshire.
Lynda
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Date: 06/10/2013 10:51 pm (UTC)