Poetry in Notion

April 8, 2011 at 2:25 PM | Posted in Books, Writing | 2 Comments
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Just came across a new book today through Goodreads.com. Beautiful and Pointless is a guide book about the dying art of poetry. It shows readers how to approach and appreciate the beauty of poetry. I would love to read this book (as soon as I finish the ones I’m reading now). For me, poetry is not pointless. It is an outlet for pouring emotions – whether positive or negative. It inspires you and can give you insight about anything and everything.

I like reading poetry, especially the classic ones. Though I also read contemporary poetry. I myself have written a few poems through the years, mostly about personal stuff. Two of my favorite contemporary poems are Sylvia Plath’s “I Am Vertical” and Pablo Neruda’s “The Saddest Poem.” I know they are sad poems but there’s just something about the way they were written and the emotions that they evoke which make them appealing to me. Below are the two poems courtesy of neuroticpoets.com and poemhunter.com.

 

I Am Vertical

By Sylvia Plath

But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one’s longevity and the other’s daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them —
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.

————————————————–

The Saddest Poem

By Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

2 Comments »

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  1. ★★★★★

  2. I came across this book when I read the author’s essay in the New York Times – planning to read it soon.


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