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I just saw this previously unpublished Laurie Lee poem in an email from Penguin books, thought I'd share it, because I think it's beautiful:
Ah Well
Ah well, I think, even the chestnuts are breaking, there is a soft down upon the cry of birds, and they slip covertly, with intent gentleness, among the bushes; life is full in the green ear and brilliant with chance, what of the mere grain blown out and forgotten, rotting or ripening in a shroud of grass?
I have lived in important places, times When great events were decided, who owned That half a rood of rock, a no-man's land Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims. I heard the Duffys shouting "Damn your soul!" And old McCabe stripped to the waist, seen Step the plot defying blue cast-steel - "Here is the march along these iron stones." That was the year of the Munich bother. Which Was more important? I inclined To lose my faith in Ballyrush and Gortin Till Homer's ghost came whispering to my mind. He said: I made the Iliad from such A local row. Gods make their own importance.
Patrick Kavanagh
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National Poetry Day on 15:48 - Oct 3 with 3879 views
Westlin' Winds by the wonderful bard of Scotland, Robert Burns, is my favourite autumn poem. It's a fantastic song too, sung by many folk singers down the ages.
Now westlin winds and slaught’ring guns Bring Autumn’s pleasant weather; The moorcock springs on whirring wings Amang the blooming heather: Now waving grain, wide o’er the plain, Delights the weary farmer; And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, To muse upon my charmer.
The partridge loves the fruitful fells, The plover loves the mountains; The woodcock haunts the lonely dells, The soaring hern the fountains: Thro’ lofty groves the cushat roves, The path of man to shun it; The hazel bush o’erhangs the thrush, The spreading thorn the linnet.
Thus ev’ry kind their pleasure find, The savage and the tender; Some social join, and leagues combine, Some solitary wander: Avaunt, away! the cruel sway, Tyrannic man’s dominion; The sportsman’s joy, the murd’ring cry, The flutt’ring, gory pinion!
But, Peggy dear, the ev’ning’s clear, Thick flies the skimming swallow, The sky is blue, the fields in view, All fading-green and yellow: Come let us stray our gladsome way, And view the charms of Nature; The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, And ev’ry happy creature.
We’ll gently walk, and sweetly talk, Till the silent moon shine clearly; I’ll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, Swear how I love thee dearly: Not vernal show’rs to budding flow’rs, Not Autumn to the farmer, So dear can be as thou to me, My fair, my lovely charmer!
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National Poetry Day on 16:03 - Oct 3 with 3861 views
Always been a fan of Cautionary Tales and this is by far my favourite... and it rhymes XD Matilda told such Dreadful Lies, It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes; Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth, Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth, Attempted to Believe Matilda: The effort very nearly killed her, And would have done so, had not She Discovered this Infirmity. For once, towards the Close of Day, Matilda, growing tired of play, And finding she was left alone, Went tiptoe to the Telephone And summoned the Immediate Aid Of London's Noble Fire-Brigade. Within an hour the Gallant Band Were pouring in on every hand, From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow. With Courage high and Hearts a-glow, They galloped, roaring through the Town, 'Matilda's House is Burning Down!' Inspired by British Cheers and Loud Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd, They ran their ladders through a score Of windows on the Ball Room Floor; And took Peculiar Pains to Souse The Pictures up and down the House, Until Matilda's Aunt succeeded In showing them they were not needed; And even then she had to pay To get the Men to go away!
It happened that a few Weeks later Her Aunt was off to the Theatre To see that Interesting Play The Second Mrs. Tanqueray. She had refused to take her Niece To hear this Entertaining Piece: A Deprivation Just and Wise To Punish her for Telling Lies. That Night a Fire did break out— You should have heard Matilda Shout! You should have heard her Scream and Bawl, And throw the window up and call To People passing in the Street— (The rapidly increasing Heat Encouraging her to obtain Their confidence) — but all in vain! For every time she shouted 'Fire!' They only answered 'Little Liar!' And therefore when her Aunt returned, Matilda, and the House, were Burned.
The grass is always greener.
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National Poetry Day on 16:06 - Oct 3 with 3852 views
Halfway down the stairs is a stair where i sit. there isn't any other stair quite like it. i'm not at the bottom, i'm not at the top; so this is the stair where I always stop.
Halfway up the stairs Isn't up And it isn't down. It isn't in the nursery, It isn't in town. And all sorts of funny thoughts Run round my head. It isn't really Anywhere! It's somewhere else Instead!
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National Poetry Day on 16:11 - Oct 3 with 3845 views
Here's one I wrote for my youngest son when he was about 6...
Podgy wodgy spider, clinging to the wall. Podgy wodgy woman, sitting in the hall. Podgy wodgy spider's web, melted by the sun. Podgy wodgy spider fell, and landed on her tum. Yelled podgy wodgy woman, shouting angily "I'll not have podgy spiders landing on the wodgy parts of me!"
Aged 11, he subsequently plagiarised it for an English assignment, and the teacher loved it so much that he was asked to read in out in school assembley. Little git!
''On the Ning Nang Nong Where the Cows go Bong! and the monkeys all say BOO! There's a Nong Nang Ning Where the trees go Ping! And the tea pots jibber jabber joo. On the Nong Ning Nang All the mice go Clang And you just can't catch 'em when they do! So its Ning Nang Nong Cows go Bong! Nong Nang Ning Trees go ping Nong Ning Nang The mice go Clang What a noisy place to belong is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!''
My Father had a profound influence on me, he was a lunatic.
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National Poetry Day on 20:14 - Oct 3 with 3635 views
Matthew Arnold's Oxford Elegy is wonderful and too long for me to put on here. It was set to music by Vaughn Williams. It's been recorded four times and I have all four. One is American with the narrator putting on an English accent which is weird but possibly my favourite.
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National Poetry Day on 20:54 - Oct 3 with 3568 views
Halfway down the stairs is a stair where i sit. there isn't any other stair quite like it. i'm not at the bottom, i'm not at the top; so this is the stair where I always stop.
Halfway up the stairs Isn't up And it isn't down. It isn't in the nursery, It isn't in town. And all sorts of funny thoughts Run round my head. It isn't really Anywhere! It's somewhere else Instead!
National Poetry Day on 16:11 - Oct 3 by SimonJames
Here's one I wrote for my youngest son when he was about 6...
Podgy wodgy spider, clinging to the wall. Podgy wodgy woman, sitting in the hall. Podgy wodgy spider's web, melted by the sun. Podgy wodgy spider fell, and landed on her tum. Yelled podgy wodgy woman, shouting angily "I'll not have podgy spiders landing on the wodgy parts of me!"
Aged 11, he subsequently plagiarised it for an English assignment, and the teacher loved it so much that he was asked to read in out in school assembley. Little git!
[Post edited 3 Oct 16:12]
Ha Ha Ha...I once wrote a short essay for my youngest girl when she was in elementary / primary school. It was supposed to be an example for a school competition she had entered, expecting herself to write her own stuff, or at least rearrange mine to suit her 10/11 year-old mind. The only thing she changed was adding her name to the bottom of the paper.
It won the school prize. They then put it forward to a State education board thingy -and er, she won again.
So, for a brief period of my life, I knew I wrote better than any 11 year old in Massachusetts.
I'll be running round Wembley with my willy hanging out...
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