Arthur Hughes, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
This is the first in a series alternating with my musings; reflecting my enduring love of poetry and what it can bring us. I will jump about a bit as I recall poems I have loved, poems I have in my archive and new ones that I find in the course of this exploration.
I loved the old poets at school – Dryden, Donne, Pope, Marvell, Goldsmith, Milton as well as the writings of Chaucer.
Later I found the ‘Modern’ poets and now lots of contemporary writers who have made a valid if unheralded mark upon today’s literature.
I am of the school that believes good poetry should rhyme and scan. However, there are lots of examples of brilliant poems written in a more relaxed but structured style which make a great contribution.
I have seen many ;poems’ which, to my mind, are pretentious crap but lauded by the ‘Lovies That Be’, even to the extent of winning prizes. A case of The emperor has no clothes in my estimation.
This first short poem was sent to me by my lady who inspired the ‘Embers’ series: I treasure it greatly. She is always there in my thoughts.
Si tu etais triste
Je t’amuserais
Si tu etais malade
Je te soignerais
Si tu etais perdu
Je te trouverais
Et si tu etais mon amour
Je t’aimerais toute ma vie.
Unknown
Some lines stuck in my mind from the age of 14-15 : –
‘Great wits are sure to madness near allied
and thin partitions do their bounds divide
else why should he, with wealth and honour blest,
refuse his age the needful hours of rest.’ – Dryden
‘But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near.
And yonder all before us lye
Deserts of vast Eternity.’ – Marvell
‘The more they looked the more their wonder grew
that one small head could carry all he knew.’ – Goldsmith
‘The student, giving way to whim,
put out his hand and caught her by the quim.’ – Chaucer
Not to neglect foreign poets. This a translation of a work by Abou El Kacem CHEBBI the renowned Tunisian poet :
I knocked at your door
I knocked at your heart
So that I may have a good bed,
So that I may have a warm fire
Why do you refuse me?
Let me in brother!
Why do you ask
If I am African
If I am American
If I am Asian
If I am European?
Let me in brother!
Why do you ask
The length of my nose
The thickness of my mouth
The colour of my skin
And the name of my gods?
Let me in brother!
I am not black
I am not red
I am not white
But I am only a man
Let me in brother!
Let me in your door
Let me into your heart
Because I am a man
The man of all times
the man of all the heavens
the man who resembles you
It may appear a little counter-productive to conclude with a couple of downbeat poems, but they may bring some comfort to past tragedy (54 years for me) and I hope to others.
Perhaps
(To R.A.L. Died of Wounds in France 23 December 1915)
Perhaps someday the sun will shine again,
And I shall see that still the skies are blue,
And feel once more I do not live in vain,
Although bereft of you.
Perhaps the golden meadows at my feet
Will make the sunny hours of Spring seem gay,
And I shall find the white May blossoms sweet,
Though you have passed away.
Perhaps the Summer woods will shimmer bright
And crimson roses once again be fair,
And Autumn harvest fields a rich delight,
Although you are not there.
Perhaps some day I shall not shrink in pain
To see the passing of the dying year,
And listen to the Christmas songs again,
Although you cannot hear.
But though Kind Time may many joys renew.
There is one greatest joy I shall not know
Again, because my heart for loss of You
Was broken, long ago.
Vera Brittain 1893 – 1970 Mother of Shirley Williams Labour Cabinet Minister
Do not stand
By my grave, and weep.I am not there,
I do not sleep-
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the day transcending soft night.
Do not stand
By my grave, and cry- I am not there.
I did not die.
Clare Harner
© Gillygangle 2025
