Tell me a story of deep delight. A Way to Love God Here is the shadow of truth, for only the shadow is true. And the line where the incoming swell from the sunset Pacific First leans and staggers to break will tell all you need to know About submarine geography, and your father's death rattle Provides all biographical data required for the Who's Who of the dead. I cannot recall what I started to tell you, but at least I can say how night-long I have lain under the stars and Heard mountains moan in their sleep.
By daylight, They remember nothing, and go about their lawful occasions Of not going anywhere except in slow disintegration. At night They remember, however, that there is something they cannot remember. So moan. Theirs is the perfected pain of conscience that Of forgetting the crime, and I hope you have not suffered it. I have. I do not recall what had burdened my tongue, but urge you To think on the slug's white belly, how sick-slick and soft, On the hairiness of stars, silver, silver, while the silence Blows like wind by, and on the sea's virgin bosom unveiled To give suck to the wavering serpent of the moon; and, In the distance, in plaza, piazza, place, platz , and square, Boot heels, like history being born, on cobbles bang.
Everything seems an echo of something else.
And when, by the hair, the headsman held up the head Of Mary of Scots, the lips kept on moving, But without sound. The lips, They were trying to say something very important. Their eyes Stared into nothingness. In that mist-diffused light their eyes Were stupid and round like the eyes of fat fish in muddy water, Or of a scholar who has lost faith in his calling.
Their jaws did not move. Shreds Of dry grass, gray in the gray mist-light, hung From the side of a jaw, unmoving.
You would think that nothing would ever again happen. That may be a way to love God. Robert Penn Warren Evening Hawk From plane of light to plane, wings dipping through Geometries and orchids that the sunset builds, Out of the peak's black angularity of shadow, riding The last tumultuous avalanche of Light above pines and the guttural gorge, The hawk comes.
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His wing Scythes down another day, his motion Is that of the honed steel-edge, we hear The crashless fall of stalks of Time. The head of each stalk is heavy with the gold of our error. Long now, The last thrush is still, the last bat Now cruises in his sharp hieroglyphics. His wisdom Is ancient, too, and immense. The star Is steady, like Plato, over the mountain. If there were no wind we might, we think, hear The earth grind on its axis, or history Drip in darkness like a leaking pipe in the cellar. True Love In silence the heart raves. It utters words Meaningless, that never had A meaning.
Selected Poems by E.E. Cummings
I was ten, skinny, red-headed, Freckled. In a big black Buick, Driven by a big grown boy, with a necktie, she sat In front of the drugstore, sipping something Through a straw. There is nothing like Beauty. It stops your heart. With poems pulled from her early chapbooks, her debut Locutions , and her most recent work, Lineage , poet Susan McCaslin is back with a book for fans new and old.
Into the Open: Poems New and Selected is a vast collection of beautiful trinkets for readers to adorn their thoughts with. McCaslin accompanies us just as much as we accompany her on her spiritual and artistic journeys. McCaslin is a metaphysical poet by way of the Romantics.
The poems highlight an ongoing, unresolved tension between mere acceptance and transcendence. Reading Into the Open is a rewarding encounter with an original voice and likewise with the sublime. Porter, www. For the sake of a single poem, you must see many cities, many people and things. You must know the animals, you must feel how the birds fly You need to see an object, or a being, in its fullness, but also its surround, its interconnections and interdependencies.
You need to know words intimately, their textures and sounds; you need to know birds and trees and dogs; you need to be able to enter lives foreign to yours as if they were your own. When she writes about William Blake, she becomes Blake or someone in his circle. She is always open to the unexpected and the quiet unannounced miracles of the day.
It is hinted that the land to which the speaker looks forward to going, is very different from the land the beloved is used to inhabiting. This has echoes of the classical concept of Hades. More on Rossetti's attitude to death:. Remember can be read as highlighting the passive role expected of women in Victorian society. If the speaker is female, we see her as the recipient of the dominant male's actions, who:. They may well trouble the beloved, who can only smile if he ignores them.
Considering the high mortality rate in Victorian Britain, it is fair to suppose that, like Rossetti herself, most of her early readers would have had some experience of death, whether of a parent, sibling, friend or lover. Although her devotional writings express a firm hope in the promises of heaven and eternal life that the Bible offers, many of Rossetti's non-devotional poems attempt to reconcile this hope with the emotion of grief that is natural when a person loses someone close to them through death.
The speaker suggests that, when she is dead, it will be too late to pray for her line 8. Whilst Roman Catholic tradition teaches that prayer s should be offered for people that have died, offering prayers for the dead is not encouraged in the Anglican Church. This is an example of apocalyptic literature, full of colourful imagery and symbolism. It contains seven letters to churches in Asia Minor modern Turkey who are commended for their zeal or criticised for lack of it. The overall message is that kingdom of God will triumph in the battle against evil and the book ends with a beautiful description of the Heavenly Jerusalem as the symbol of God's presence among humankind in a new heaven and earth.
Christina Rossetti, selected poems Poems for study Remember 'Remember' - Imagery, symbolism and themes. L ' - Synopsis and commentary More on the identity of L. L ' - Language, tone and structure 'L. The idea of silence can suggest both positive and negative associations: Rest, sleep and tranquillity. The final book of the New Testament , Revelation , describes heaven as a place of rest for all who enter Revelation Absence of life and communication. It is a place where there can be no more intimacy, talking of future dreams or holding hands.
How can you relate these associations to the meaning of the poem? What do you imagine this place to consist of? What effect does this create? Why do you think that the speaker changes her mind about being remembered in the last part of the poem? Why would or wouldn't you recommend the poem to someone who is struggling with grief?
And they had John to assist them. Immediately mist and darkness fell upon him, and he went about seeking people to lead him by the hand. And John left them and returned to Jerusalem, 14 but they went on from Perga and came to Antioch in Pisidia. And on the Sabbath day they went into the synagogue and sat down.