General Chat

Hi Ann I think it might have been set to music, not sure, I will try and remember to ask my tutor Dee ;-))

It was set to music. We have it on CD and OH used to play it in his folky days. Gwynne

A poem I have always loved that has resonance for me today - Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on that sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas

Thank you Gwynne, I shan't have to ask my tutor now Dee ;-)

thanks to Google- This is a bittersweet poem about a friendship that didn't last very long. When Ewan MacColl wrote it in 1968, he was inspired by a line from the classic Disney Movie Mary Poppins: 'I shall stay until the wind changes.' At the time of the song's initial release in 1968, there were only 9 verses. By 1970, when the British press got a hold of Ewan's song, rumors in the tabloids reported that it was about a love affair that Ewan was having with another woman while still married to his wife Peggy. In 1972, a new version was published, this time, having been extended from 9 verses to 15 verses. The person who published the extended version was a local Londoner who read the rumors in the tabloids about the song. It was also noted that this song was part of a play made in London and loosely based on William Shakespeare's Romeo And Juliet. The 9 verse version of this song was Ewan MacColl's original version of the poem. However, it is the 15 verse version that has been recorded by many artists, such as The Dubliners, Planksty, Allison Brown, The Johnstons, The Clancy Brothers, as well as many other rare artists. However, it is the 9 verse version that is most well-known in Ewan MacColl's hometown of Salford, England. We have it by Planksty and the Johnstons. Gwynne

Gwynne Dylan Thomas Do not go Gentle. One of my favourites of his. ann Glos

May I add a poem that sums up my feelings on war and military conflicts? i.e there are those that make the decisions, but others that have to carry them out. Elegy in a Country Churchyard The men that worked for England They have their graves at home: And bees and birds of England About the cross can roam. But they that fought for England, Following a falling star, Alas, alas for England They have their graves afar. And they that rule in England, In stately conclave met, Alas, alas for England, They have no graves as yet. Gilbert Keith Chesterton Jay

I enjoyed this one :-) I am a child of the Dreamtime People Part of the Land like the gnarled gum tree I am the river, softly singing Chanting out songs on the way to the sea My spirit is the dust-devils Mirages that dance on the plain I’m the snow, the wind and the falling rain I’m part of the rocks and red desert earth Red as the blood that flows in my veins I am eagle, crow and snake that glides Through the rainforest that clings to the mountainside I awakened here when the earth was new There was emu, wombat, kangaroo No other man of a different hue I am this land And this land is me I am Australia Hyllus Marus Australia

thank you everyone who has brought this thread back !! Maz. XX

Well it is that time of the year again and my garden is full of very noisy starlings. Pam Ayres describes them so well in her poem 'I'm a starling - me darling' ________________________ We're starlings, the misses, meself and the boys, We don't go round hopin', we walks. We don't go in for this singing all day, And twittering about, we just squawks. We don't go in for these fashionable clothes, Like old Missel Thrush, and his spots, Me breast isn't red, there's a crest on me head, We've got sort of, hardwearing...dots. We starlings, the misses, meself and the boys, We'll eat anything that's about, Well anything but that old half coconut, I can't hold it still. I falls out. What we'd rather do, is wait here for you, To put out some bread for the tits, And then when we're certain, you're there by the curtain, We flocks down and tears it to bits. But we starlings, the misses, meself and the boys, We reckon that we're being got at, You think for two minutes, them finches and linnets, You never sees THEM being shot at. So the next time you comes out to sprinkle the crumbs out, And there's starlings there, making a noise, Don't you be so quick to heave half a brick, It's the misses, meself and the boys! --- Pam Ayres. Dee x

I feel like this one today:- --From Biography-- Best trust the happy moments. What they gave Makes man less fearful of the certain grave, And gives his work compassion and new eyes, The days that make us happy make us wise. --John Maesfield--

Four years today since I heard that my friend *John* had taken his own life. A Dead Friend I. Gone, O gentle heart and true, Friend of hopes foregone, Hopes and hopeful days with you Gone? Days of old that shone Saw what none shall see anew, When we gazed thereon. Soul as clear as sunlit dew, Why so soon pass on, Forth from all we loved and knew Gone? II. Friend of many a season fled, What may sorrow send Toward thee now from lips that said 'Friend'? Sighs and songs to blend Praise with pain uncomforted Though the praise ascend? Darkness hides no dearer head: Why should darkness end Day so soon, O dear and dead Friend? III. Dear in death, thou hast thy part Yet in life, to cheer Hearts that held thy gentle heart Dear. Time and chance may sear Hope with grief, and death may part Hand from hand's clasp here: Memory, blind with tears that start, Sees through every tear All that made thee, as thou art, Dear. IV. True and tender, single-souled, What should memory do Weeping o'er the trust we hold True? Known and loved of few, But of these, though small their fold, Loved how well were you! Change, that makes of new things old, Leaves one old thing new; Love which promised truth, and told True. V. Kind as heaven, while earth's control Still had leave to bind Thee, thy heart was toward man's whole Kind. Thee no shadows blind Now: the change of hours that roll Leaves thy sleep behind. Love, that hears thy death-bell toll Yet, may call to mind Scarce a soul as thy sweet soul Kind. VI. How should life, O friend, forget Death, whose guest art thou? Faith responds to love's regret, How? Still, for us that bow Sorrowing, still, though life be set, Shines thy bright mild brow. Yea, though death and thou be met, Love may find thee now Still, albeit we know not yet How. VII. Past as music fades, that shone While its life might last; As a song-bird's shadow flown Past! Death's reverberate blast Now for music's lord has blown Whom thy love held fast. Dead thy king, and void his throne: Yet for grief at last Love makes music of his own Past. Algernon Charles Swinburne Sleep tight. Gwynne

My favourite by wartime codebreaker Leo Marks The Life That I Have The life that I have Is all that I have And the life that I have Is yours The love that I have Of the life that I have Is yours and yours and yours. A sleep I shall have A rest I shall have Yet death will be but a pause For the peace of my years In the long green grass Will be yours and yours and yours. Leo Marks

Added to celebrate the centenary of the poet’s birth on 28th August How To Get On In Society John Betjeman Phone for the fish knives, Norman As Cook is a little unnerved: You kiddies have crumpled the serviettes And I must have things daintily served Are the requisites all in the toilet? The frills round the cutlets can wait Till the girl has replenished the cruets And switched on the logs in the grate It’s ever so close in the lounge, dear But the vestibule’s comfy for tea And Howard is out riding on horseback So do come and take some with me Now here is a fork for your pastries And do use the couch for your feet; I know what I wanted to ask you – Is trifle sufficient for sweet? Milk and then just as it comes dear? I’m afraid the preserves full of stone’s Beg pardon, I’m soiling the doileys With afternoon tea cakes and scones

--Wishes of an Elderly Man-- I wish I loved the Human Race; I wish I loved its silly face; I wish I liked the way it walks; I wish I liked the way it talks; And when I'm introduced to one I wish I thought WHAT JOLLY FUN! --Walter Raleigh--

I have been reading up about workhouses and the poor law for my course and came across this, thought I would share it A cautionary tale Thomas Hardy The Curate’s Kindness A Workhouse Irony I thought they’d be strangers aroun’ me, But she’s to be there! Let me jump out o’ wagon and go back and drown me At Pummery or Ten-Hatches Weir I thought: ‘Well, I’ve come to the Union – The workhouse at last – After honest hard work all the week, and Communion O’Zundays, these fifty years past ‘’Tis hard; but,’ I though, ‘never mindit: There’s gain in the end: And when I get used to the place I shall find it A home, and may find there a friend ‘Life there will be better than t’other, For peace is assured. The men in one wing and their wives in another Is strictly the rule of the Board.’ Just then one young Pa’son arriving Steps up out of breath To the side o’ the wagon wherein we were driving To Union; and calls out and saith: ‘Old folks, that harsh order is altered, Be not sick of heart! The Guardians they poohed and they pished and they paltered When urged not to keep you apart ‘ “It is wrong,” I maintained, “to divide them, Near forty years wed,” “Very well, sir. We promise, then, they shall abide them In one wing together,” they said.’ Then I sank – knew ‘twas quite a foredone thing That misery should be To the end!….To get freed of her there was the one thing Had made the change welcome to me To go there was ending but badly; ‘Twas shame and ‘twas pain; ‘But anyhow,’ thought I, ‘thereby I shall gladly Get free of this forty years’ chain.’ I thought they’d be strangers aroun’ me, But she’s to be there! Let me jump out o’ wagon and go back and drown me At Pummery or Ten-Hatches Weir

Thanks Dee. Ann Glos

A timely poem... Lonely and bare and desolate, Stretches of muddy filtered green, A silence half articulate Of all that those dumb eyes have seen. A battered trench, a tree with boughs Smutted and black with smoke and fire, A solitary ruined house, A crumpled mass of rusty wire. And scarlet by each ragged fen Long scattered ranks of poppies lay, As though the blood of the dead men Had not been wholly washed away. --Alec Waugh--