Rhyme Time: For Better and For Verse

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but currently I am working as part of an ICMR (Indian Council of Medical Research) Project on Thalassemia. I’ve been a part of this project for nearly 2 years. And now that the project will be ending on January 13, 2013  I’m looking forward to that day with both excitement and apprehension.

While I’m excited to be entering a new phase with new opportunities to make new decisions, I find that I’m more confused and unsure about the future than I’ve ever been so far. After having worked in a hospital for nearly 2 years, I feel sure that I cannot bear to work in a hospital setting any longer. But what else can I do? I like business and everyone I meet tells me that I’ve got a very enterprising mind. But how do I start? I like writing. But what do I write about? Should I simply continue studying? If life came with a rewind button I’d rewind to a time when decision making was much simpler.

This poem by D.H. Lawrence captured my heart with its beautiful imagery. It’s also special because it gently stirs up feelings that the person in the poem is feeling as well – nostalgia.

Piano

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;

Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see

A child sitting under the piano,in the boom of the tingling strings

And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song

Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong

To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside

And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour

With the great black piano apassionato. The glamour

Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast

Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

- D.H. Lawrence, 1918

Rhyme Time: For Better and For Verse

I read this poem a while ago and I really liked it. Although I’ve been wanting to share it ever since I first read it I’ve been saving it for the right moment.  And since I don’t have a more specific definition of the right moment than a strong gut feeling, I am sharing it today.

Alabaster

Like this alabaster box whose art

Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart,

Carven with delicate dreams and wrought

With many a subtle and exquisite thought.

Therein I treasure the spice and scent

Of rich and passionate memories blent

Like odours of cinnamon, sandal and clove,

Of song and sorrow and life and love.

- Sarojini Naidu 

Rhyme Time: For Better and For Verse

The Universe

I heard a little child beneath the stars

Talk as he ran along

To some sweet riddle in his mind that seemed

A-tiptoe into song

In his dark eyes lay a wild universe, –

Wild forests, peaks, and crests;

Angels and fairies, giants, wolves and he

Were that world’s only guests.

Elsewhere was home and mother, his warm bed: –

Now, only God alone

Could, armed with all His power and wisdom, make

Earths richer than his own.

O Man! – thy dreams, thy passions, hopes, desires! –

He in his pity keep

A homely bed where love may lull a child’s

Fond Universe asleep!

- Walter De La Mare

 

 

Rhyme Time: For Better and For Verse

For  today’s Rhyme Time session I’ve decided to share a poem from one of my brother’s favourite books from when he was little. I’ll be sharing a rhyme about Mr. Greedy from Roger Hargreaves’ Mr. Men Book of Silly Rhymes!

I can’t help it! I like children’s poetry. Even more, I like silly rhymes that make me smile and have me repeating them to every other person I meet. Also, this poem speaks to me considering that I’m always on the lookout for something fun to eat. And ever since the weather’s turned for the wetter (It’s been raining nearly non stop for the past two days!) everything that’s edible seems like fun food to me!

Mr Greedy lives to eat!

Mr Greedy likes his meat!

Potatoes, too, by the score.

And when he’s done, he asks for more!

Mr Greedy’s quite a size.

Mr Greedy loves French fries!

Mr Greedy’s tooth is sweeter.

Mr Greedy!

What an eater!

Ice cream sundaes!

Mondays, too!

On candy bars, he likes to chew!

Baked beans on toast,

And in between,

Plates and plates of rich ice cream!

Fish and chips, with sauce on top.

Mr Greedy cannot stop.

Mr Greedy!

Quite a figure!

Day by day he’s getting bigger!

But, all in all, one mustn’t grumble.

Except about his tummy rumble! 

Rhyme Time: For Better and For Verse

As I Grew Older

It was a long time ago.

I have almost forgotten my dream.

But it was there then,

In front of me,

Bright like a sun –

My dream.

And then the wall rose,

Rose slowly,

Slowly,

Between me and my dream.

Rose until it touched the sky –

The wall.

Shadow.

I am black.

I lie down in the shadow.

No longer the light of my dream before me,

Above me.

Only the thick wall.

Only the shadow.

My hands!

My dark hands!

Break through the wall!

Find my dream!

Help me to shatter this darkness,

To smash this night,

To break this shadow

Into a thousand lights of sun,

Into a thousand whirling dreams

Of sun!

- Langston Hughes 

Poetry for a Blissful Afternoon

I was calmly preparing to write a book review yesterday afternoon when it struck me that I needed to choose a poem for Tuesday’s Rhyme Time. So, of course, I put away my writing material and pulled out a few poetry books from the growing stack of books on my table.

I really wasn’t in the mood for Keats. Spike Mulligan didn’t interest me at the moment either. I felt like reading something in between solemnly beautiful and crazily funny. Something light and entertaining, but not too entertaining either – I just didn’t have the energy for it right then. And although I didn’t think R.L. Stevenson suitable to the mood I was in, I decided to flip through a collection of his poems anyway.

Up until now my exposure to R.L. Stevenson was limited to ‘A Child’s Garden of Verses’. And what I was reading this fortunate afternoon was a random collection of his poems, a book I’d picked up on a whim at the Delhi book market for the simple reason that it was sold to me for ten Rupees. But after having spent the afternoon reading aloud nearly the entire book (it isn’t a very large book) I was extremely glad – for two reasons. I’d found the perfect verses to suit my mood and second, the business side of me was completely satisfied that I had got more than my money’s worth for this amazing book!

After some difficulty in choosing which poem to post today I’ve finally settled on this one poem. I hope you will like it as much as I do.

To Any Reader

As from the house your mother sees

You playing round the garden trees,

So you may see, if you will look

Through the windows of this book,

Another child, far, far away,

And in another garden, play.

But do not think you can at all,

By knocking on the window, call

That child to hear you. He intent 

Is all on his play-business bent.

He does not hear; he will not look,

Nor yet be lured out of this book.

For, long ago, the truth to say,

He has grown up and gone away,

And it is but a child of air

That lingers in the garden there.

- R.L. Stevenson 

Love and Friendship by Emily Bronte

I happened to come across this poem by Emily Bronte and I’m really glad I did. For years now, I’ve had an inexplicable aversion to the Bronte sisters. It’s baseless and another of those silly things about me where I have difficulty exploring things outside my comfort zone. So this year I’ve decided that come what may I will bring myself to read Wuthering Heights.

Until I found this poem I’d been looking with dread to the day I began reading Wuthering Heights. This charming poem has made me eager to explore more of Emily Bronte’s writings.

Love and Friendship

Love is like the wild rose-briar;

Friendship like the holly tree.

The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,

But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,

Its summer blossoms scent the air;

Yet wait till winter comes again,

And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,

And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,

That, when December blights thy brow,

He still may leave thy garden green.

- Emily Bronte 

Poems for Valentine’s Day

I had more difficulty than usual in choosing a poem for today’s Rhyme Time, today having been Valentine’s Day. With so many beautiful poems written on love it wasn’t easy picking just one. I had already chosen a poem by Edgar Allan Poe when I came across an old poem from far and forgotten school days, Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 -Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments … When I first read it I thought it very romantic and dreamy. I remember reading it out loud to my friend and both of us discussing it with such passion while her brother sat sighing and moaning over how we always talked so much about love and other such nonsense  (he was her younger brother and was usually forced to study around the same time we sat down to our work). I still like it very much, though, probably with less passion. That’s why it wasn’t my first choice to share today.

I’ve finally decided to share both poems. Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘Romance’ is neither cloistering nor sappy and it brings to mind a bright yet very pleasant morning. William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 speaks of love as it ideally should be.

Romance 

Romance, who loves to nod and sing

With drowsy head and folded wing

Among the green leaves as they shake

Far down within some shadowy lake,

To me a painted paroquet

Hath been -most familiar bird-

Taught me my alphabet to say,

To lisp my very earliest word

While in the wild wood I did lie,

A child -with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal condor years

So shake the very Heaven on high

With tumult as they thunder by,

I have no time for idle cares

Through gazing on the unquiet sky;

And when an hour with calmer wings

Its down upon my spirit flings,

That little time with lyre and rhyme

To while away -forbidden things-

My heart would feel to be a crime

Unless it trembled with the strings.

-Edgar Allan Poe 

Sonnet CXVI

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edges of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

-William Shakespeare

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

Since February is considered especially romantic owing to Valentine’s day, I’ve decided to feature poems suitable for the season. When it comes to poetry I generally tend to favour the less serious, the more playful, and the funnier poems. And it’s not very often that I read poetry unless it’s the Roald Dahl or the Dr.Seuss kind. So this might be the month I discover new poems, and I’m looking forward to it.

For today’s featured poem I’ve chosen one that I’ve known and loved for a few years now. A very well known sonnet written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning for her husband Robert Browning, this poem is one of my favourites to read out loud.

Sonnet XLIII

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, –I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! –and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Snow-White and the Seven Dwarfs

I’ve always loved reading out loud to other people. When we were little and my brother used to fall ill I’d take it upon myself to read him stories, regardless of whether he wanted it or not. (I think I’ve mentioned before that I’m the quintessential bossy older sister). Eventually though he began to enjoy it and I was able to read out loud to him even when he wasn’t helpless and without choice.

In high school Roald Dahl’s Revolting Rhymes was our favourite book to read out loud. I remember my brother, my mother, and I would spend hours reading and re-reading these wicked rhymes laughing through it all. And even now, though I don’t find time to read them often enough, these rhymes are still one of my favourite mood elevators.

As you’ve probably guessed already, today’s featured poem is taken from Roald Dahl’s Revolting Rhymes. In this favourite book Roald Dahl re-tells some of the well known fairy tales in rhyme form. I’ve chosen to share his version of Snow-White and the Seven Dwarfs. And because I want you to enjoy it as much as I do let me add that this poem is best read out loud with expression.

Snow-White and the Seven Dwarfs

When little Snow-White’s mother died, 

The king, her father, up and cried,

‘Oh, what a nuisance! What a life!

‘Now I must find another wife!’

(It’s never easy for a king

To find himself that sort of thing.)

He wrote to every magazine 

And said, ‘I’m looking for a Queen.’

At least ten thousand girls replied

And begged to be the royal bride.

The king said with a shifty smile,

‘I’d like to give each one a trial.’

However, in the end he chose

A lady called Miss Maclahose,

Who brought along a curious toy

That seemed to give her endless joy-

This was a mirror framed in brass,

A MAGIC TALKING LOOKING-GLASS.

Ask it something day or night,

It always got the answer right.

For instance, if you were to say,

‘Oh Mirror, what’s for lunch today?’

The thing would answer in a trice,

‘Today it’s scrambled egg and rice.’

Now every day, week in week out, 

The spoiled and stupid Queen would shout, 

‘Oh Mirror Mirror on the wall,

‘Who is the fairest of them all?’

The Mirror answered every time,

‘Oh Madam, you’re the Queen sublime.

‘You are the only one to charm us,

‘Queen, you are the cat’s pyjamas.’

For ten whole years the silly Queen

Repeated this absurd routine.

Then suddenly, one awful day,

She heard the Magic Mirror say,

‘From now on, Queen, you’re Number Two.

‘Snow-White is prettier than you!’

The Queen went absolutely wild.

She yelled, ‘I’m going to scrag that child!’

‘I’ll cook her flaming goose! I’ll skin ‘er!

‘I’ll have her rotten guts for dinner!’

She called the Huntsman to her study.

She shouted at him, ‘Listen, buddy!

‘You drag that filthy girl outside,

‘And see you take her for a ride!

‘Thereafter slit her ribs apart

‘And bring me back her bleeding heart!’

The Huntsman dragged the lovely child

Deep deep into the forest wild.

Fearing the worst, poor Snow-White spake.

She cried, ‘Oh please give me a break!’

The knife was poised, the arm was strong,

She cried again, ‘I’ve done no wrong!’

The Huntsman’s heart began to flutter.

It melted like a pound of butter.

He murmured, ‘Okay, beat it, kid,’

And you can bet your life she did.

Later, the Huntsman made a stop

Within the local butcher’s shop,

And there he bought, for safety’s sake,

A bullock’s heart and one nice steak.

‘Oh Majesty! Oh Queen!’ he cried,

‘That rotten little girl has died!

‘And just to prove I didn’t cheat,

‘I’ve brought along these bits of meat.’

The Queen cried out, ‘Bravissimo!

‘I trust you killed her nice and slow.’

Then (this is the disgusting part)

The Queen sat down and ate the heart!

(I only hoped she cooked it well.

Boiled heart can be as tough as hell.)

While all of this was going on,

Oh where, oh where had Snow-White gone?

She’d found it easy, being pretty,

To hitch a ride into the city,

And there she’d got a job, unpaid, 

As general cook and parlour-maid

With seven funny little men,

Each one not more than three foot ten,

Ex horse-race jockeys, all of them.

These Seven Dwarfs, though awfully nice,

Were guilty of one shocking vice-

They squandered all of their resources

At the race-track backing horses.

(When they hadn’t backed a winner,

None of them got any dinner.)

One evening, Snow-White said, ‘Look here,

‘I think I’ve got a great idea.

‘Just leave it all to me, okay?

‘And no more gambling till I say.’

That very night, at eventide,

Young Snow-White hitched another ride,

And then, when it was very late,

She slipped in through the Palace gate.

The King was in his counting house

Counting out his money,

The Queen was in the parlour

Eating bread and honey,

The footmen and the servants slept

So no one saw her as she crept

On tip-toe through the mighty hall

And grabbed THE MIRROR off the wall.

As soon as she had got it home,

She told the Senior Dwarf (or Gnome)

To ask it what he wished to know.

‘Go on!’ she shouted. ‘Have a go!’

He said, ‘Oh Mirror, please don’t joke!

‘Each one of us is stony broke!

‘Which horse will win tomorrow’s race,

‘The Ascot Gold Cup Steeplechase?’

The Mirror whispered sweet and low,

‘The horse’s name is Mistletoe.’

The Dwarfs went absolutely daft,

They kissed young Snow-White fore and aft,

Then rushed away to raise some dough

With which to back old Mistletoe.

They pawned their watches, sold the car,

They borrowed money near and far,

(For much of it they had to thank

The manager of Barclays Bank.)

They went to Ascot and of course

For once they backed the winning horse.

Thereafter, every single day,

The Mirror made the bookies pay.

Each Dwarf and Snow-White got a share,

And each was soon a millionaire,

Which shows that gambling’s not a sin

Provided that you always win.

-Roald Dahl