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I Took the Road Less Travelled Here

  
By:  Buzz of the Orient  •  one month ago  •  32 comments


I Took the Road Less Travelled Here
 

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I Took the Road Less Travelled Here

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If I were to pick three famous poems from the many that I know they would be these three:

009488729_1-6338c9013b2984cc396d4a8b3f8d0657-768x994.png thematic-analysis-and-devices-snake-by-d-h-lawrence.jpg

A snake came to my water-trough

On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,

To drink there.

 

In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree

I came down the steps with my pitcher

And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough

            before me.

 

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom

And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over

            the edge of the stone trough

And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,

And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,

He sipped with his straight mouth,

Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,

Silently.

 

Someone was before me at my water-trough,

And I, like a second-comer, waiting.

 

He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,

And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,

And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused

             a moment,

And stooped and drank a little more,

Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels

            of the earth

On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.

 

The voice of my education said to me

He must be killed,

For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold

            are venomous.

 

And voices in me said, If you were a man

You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.

 

But must I confess how I liked him,

How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink

            at my water-trough

And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,

Into the burning bowels of this earth?

 

Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?

Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?

Was it humility, to feel so honoured?

I felt so honoured.

 

And yet those voices:

If you were not afraid, you would kill him!

 

And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,

But even so, honoured still more

That he should seek my hospitality

From out the dark door of the secret earth.

 

He drank enough

And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,

And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,

Seeming to lick his lips,

And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,

And slowly turned his head,

And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,

Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round

And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

 

And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,

And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders,

            and entered farther,

A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into

            that horrid black hole,

Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing

            himself after,

Overcame me now his back was turned.

 

I looked round, I put down my pitcher,

I picked up a clumsy log

And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.

 

I think it did not hit him,

But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed

            in an undignified haste,

Writhed like lightning, and was gone

Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,

At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.

 

And immediately I regretted it.

I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!

I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

 

And I thought of the albatross,

And I wished he would come back, my snake.

 

For he seemed to me again like a king,

Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,

Now due to be crowned again.

 

And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords

Of life.

And I have something to expiate:

A pettiness.


I chose that poem because it took me through the most hidden depths of his mind, it displayed his emotions, thoughts of horror, fascination, desire, loss, regret. and fantasy.


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I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

 

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

 

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.


Is there a time in your past that you loved so much you wished Scotty would beam you back there?  This poem brings that feeling to life.



Kubla-Khan-by-Samuel-Taylor-Coleridge.jpg





Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.







In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

   Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round;

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.


But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:

And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;

And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

   The shadow of the dome of pleasure

   Floated midway on the waves;

   Where was heard the mingled measure

   From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!


   A damsel with a dulcimer

   In a vision once I saw:

   It was an Abyssinian maid

   And on her dulcimer she played,

   Singing of Mount Abora.

   Could I revive within me

   Her symphony and song,

   To such a deep delight ’twould win me,

That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.


Can a poem conjure up in your mind visions of a magical land?  It did for me, and maybe that was one of the reasons I was able to immediately take advantage of the opportunity to be in that magical land when the opportunity arose.


Are there any aspiring poets, or those who have favourite poems to tell us about?  Let's hear from you - take advantage of this opportunity.










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Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
1  author  Buzz of the Orient    one month ago

I wandered lonely as a cloud

And now that poems are allowed

I thought I’d post this on NT

In hopes for members all to see

That we don’t need to spend our days

In hostile rancour but to raise

The quality of how we treat

Each other when we often meet.

Instead then let us change our tune

And cause this home that is a boon

To grow and prosper more and more

Then for us the best’s in store.

If poetry be the food of love, let's have a feast, and post your poetry or favourite poems here.

 
 
 
Thomas
PhD Guide
2  Thomas    one month ago

Hey, Buzz. This post is not meant to detract from the wonderful poetry above, but add to it

This is the youtube video for Rush - Xanadu, but I know that you cannot see it. I tell you because if there is some alternate way that you can listen to this, please do.  

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
2.1  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Thomas @2    one month ago

Thanks, Thomas, I just watched Rush perform it live in Germany on Yukou. Here is the link -> Rush - Xanadu (Live in Germany 2004)-音乐-高清完整正版视频在线观看-优酷

 
 
 
Ed-NavDoc
Professor Quiet
3  Ed-NavDoc    one month ago

The only two that come to mind right off the top of my head are High Flight by John Gillespie and In Flanders Fields by John McCrae.

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
3.1  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Ed-NavDoc @3    one month ago

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds,—and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air ....
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew—
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
.
As for In Flanders Fields, written by Canadian WW1 officer and surgeon John McCrae, is a poem posted by me on NT every Remembrance Day November 11th.
 
 
 
Ed-NavDoc
Professor Quiet
3.1.1  Ed-NavDoc  replied to  Buzz of the Orient @3.1    one month ago

First time I ever got to ride the back seat of a TA-4J Skyhawk jet trainer was on a cloudy day with scattered cumulous clouds in the sky over MCAS Yuma, AZ. The Marine pilot knew it was my first time and wanted to make it special for me and he did. Spent almost an hour doing climbs, slow rolls, dives and other maneuvers in and between the clouds. Even let me take the controls briefly. A unforgettable experience with words to High Flight in my mind the whole time. Did other flights, but none as memorable as that one. It was the first.

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
3.1.2  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Ed-NavDoc @3.1.1    one month ago

I can only imagine the feeling, because driving a car is nowhere near it.  However, driving my bowrider around the lake is about as close as I could get to the "experience".  One doesn't get it as a passenger in an airliner, but having been flown from Nassau to Eleuthera in a Cessna was different 

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
4  author  Buzz of the Orient    one month ago

LOL.  So it took more than a day for as many as TWO NT members to indicate that they are literate.  I should have realized that it was a mistake here of NOT having posted a POLITICAL poem, so here you go...

next to of course god america i
E.E. Cummings
“next to of course god america i
love you land of the pilgrims’ and so forth oh
say can you see by the dawn’s early my
country ’tis of centuries come and go
and are no more what of it we should worry
in every language even deafanddumb
thy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorry
by jingo by gee by gosh by gum
why talk of beauty what could be more beaut-
iful than these heroic happy dead
who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter
they do not stop to think they died instead
then shall the voice of liberty be mute?”
He spoke. And drank rapidly a glass of water

                            
 
 
 
afrayedknot
Senior Quiet
5  afrayedknot    one month ago

“Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now consumed, Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable, Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused....”

from I Sing the Body Electric by Walt Whitman

…great post, my friend…

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
5.1  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  afrayedknot @5    one month ago

Thank you.  Now THREE rather than just two. 

 
 
 
afrayedknot
Senior Quiet
5.1.1  afrayedknot  replied to  Buzz of the Orient @5.1    one month ago

another favorite and as relevant today as the day it was penned…

Tact by Ralph Waldo Emerson:

What boots it, thy virtue,
What profit thy parts,
While one thing thou lackest,
The art of all arts!

The only credentials,
Passport to success,
Opens castle and parlor,
Address, man, Address.

The maiden in danger
Was saved by the swain,
His stout arm restored her
To Broadway again:

The maid would reward him,--
Gay company come,--
They laugh, she laughs with them,
He is moonstruck and dumb.

This clenches the bargain,
Sails out of the bay,
Gets the vote in the Senate,
Spite of Webster and Clay;

Has for genius no mercy,
For speeches no heed,--
It lurks in the eyebeam,
It leaps to its deed.

Church, tavern, and market,
Bed and board it will sway;
It has no to-morrow,
It ends with to-day.


And thanks to you, Buzz, in your efforts to elevate the level of conversation hereabouts…guessing Hallux is lurking…

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
5.1.2  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  afrayedknot @5.1.1    one month ago

You're welcome, and I'm sure we'll hear from my fellow Canuck. 

 
 
 
JohnRussell
Professor Principal
6  JohnRussell    one month ago

Invictus

By  William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.
 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
6.1  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  JohnRussell @6    one month ago

Thanks JR.  I knew I could count on you.  I guess it's time to stop counting - NT DOES have literate members. 

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
7  author  Buzz of the Orient    one month ago

LOL.  With 6 or 7 articles on the Front (Home) Page about Biden's pardon, it's good to see that there are NT members who are still interested in more cultured pursuits than political vitriol.  In fact there are at this moment 515 "Visitors" (non-members) noted at the bottom of this page. 

 
 
 
Robert in Ohio
Professor Guide
8  Robert in Ohio    one month ago

It is a song rather than a poem, but it always reminds me of a small town (full of coal miners, steel workers and farmers) that I grew up in -  

Well, we grew up down by the railroad tracks
Shootin' B.B.'s at old beer cans
Chokin' on the smoke from a lucky strike
Somebody lifted off of his old man
We were football flunkies, southern rock junkies
Crackin' up the stereos
Singin' loud and proud to Gimme Three Steps
Simple Man and Curtis Lou, we were good you know
We got some discount knowledge at the junior college
Where we majored in beer and girls
It was all real funny 'til we ran out of money
And they threw us out into the world
Yeah, the kids that thought they'd run this town
Ain't runnin' much of anything
Just lovin' and laughin', and bustin' our asses
And we call it all livin' the dream
These are my people, this is where I come from
We're givin' this life everything we've got and then some
It ain't always pretty, but it's real
It's the way we were made wouldn't have it any other way
These are my people
Well, we take it all week on the chin with a grin
'Til we make it to a Friday night
And it's church league softball holler 'bout a bad call
Preacher breakin' up the fight
Then later on at the green light tavern
Well, everybody's gatherin' as friends
And the beer is pourin' until Monday mornin'
Then we start all over again
And these are my people, this is where I come from
We're givin' this life everything we've got and then some
It ain't always pretty, but it's real
It's the way we were made wouldn't have it any other way
These are my people
We fall down and we get up
We walk proud and we talk tough
We got heart and we got nerve
Even if we are a bit disturbed
Woo!
C'mon
These are my people, this is where I come from
We're givin' this life everything we've got and then some
It ain't always pretty, but it's real
It's the way we were made wouldn't have it any other way, oh no
These are my people, yeah, woo!

These Are My People

Song by   Rodney Atkins

 
 
 
charger 383
Professor Silent
8.1  charger 383  replied to  Robert in Ohio @8    one month ago

good song

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
8.2  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Robert in Ohio @8    one month ago

Perfectly acceptable as literature.  Did you notice that I posted an amazing biography of Leonard Cohen on this Literature group?   His songs are as profound as his novels and poetry.  

 
 
 
Robert in Ohio
Professor Guide
8.2.1  Robert in Ohio  replied to  Buzz of the Orient @8.2    one month ago

Thanks - Cohen is an American treasure for sure

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
8.2.2  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Robert in Ohio @8.2.1    one month ago

LOL  Perhaps you meant NORTH American treasure - he's a Canadian, born in Montreal, and he had no other citizenship.

 
 
 
Robert in Ohio
Professor Guide
8.2.3  Robert in Ohio  replied to  Buzz of the Orient @8.2.2    one month ago

I did indeed know he was Canadian and was making the point that he is considered a treasure in the United States

I apologize if I misled anyone with my comment

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
8.2.4  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Robert in Ohio @8.2.3    one month ago

No problem.  My comment was just in case anyone was unaware of where he was actually from. 

 
 
 
Thomas
PhD Guide
9  Thomas    one month ago

Well, I don't know how famous this is. When I was a child, circumstances led to my reading- a lot. One day while ensconced on the throne in my house's reading room, I came across a poem by Ogden Nash in one of my mother's magazines. 

Where There's a Will, There's Velleity 
Seated one day at the dictionary I was pretty weary and also pretty ill at ease,
Because a word I had always liked turned out not to be a word at all, and suddenly I found myself among the v's.
And suddenly among the v's I came across a new word which was a word called velleity,
So the new word I found was better than the old word I lost, for which I thank my tutelary deity,
Because velleity is a word which gives me great satisfaction,
Because do you know what it means, it means low degree of volition not prompting to action,
And I always knew I had something holding me back but I didn't know what,
And it's quite a relief to know it isn't a conspiracy, it's only velleity that I've got,
Because to be wonderful at everything has always been my ambition,
Yes indeed, I am simply teeming with volition,
So why I never was wonderful at anything was something I couldn't see
While all the time, of course, my volition was merely volition of a low degree,
Which is the kind of volition that you are better off without it,
Because it puts an idea in your head but doesn't prompt you to do anything about it.
So you think it would be nice to be a great pianist but why bother with practicing for hours at the keyboard,
Or you would like to be the romantic captain of a romantic ship but can't find time to study navigation or charts of the ocean or the seaboard;
You want a lot of money but you are not prepared to work for it,
Or a book to read in bed but you do not care to go into the nocturnal cold and murk for it;
And now if you have any such symptoms you can identify your malady with accurate spontaneity:
It's velleity,
So don't forget to remember that you're velleitous, and if anybody says you're just lazy,
Why, they're crazy.
 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
9.1  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Thomas @9    one month ago

WOW!!!  Did YOU just bring back my past.  "Velleity" is a derivation of the Latin word "velle" and it means volition in its weakest form.  But the word "velle" means "to wish" or "to will".  The reason I know this is because the motto of the high school I graduated from was "Velle est posse" which means "To will is to be able", which is a positive expression, whereas "velleity", used by Nash, is negative. 

 
 
 
Thomas
PhD Guide
9.1.1  Thomas  replied to  Buzz of the Orient @9.1    one month ago
To will is to be able", which is a positive expression, whereas "velleity", used by Nash, is negative. 

I am not so sure, because that is one of my favorite poems even though I rose above the vellatious minimum and posted it ... jrSmiley_4_smiley_image.png

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
9.1.2  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Thomas @9.1.1    one month ago

Oh, and I forgot to say that "To will is to be able" is more commonly expressed as "Where there's a will, there's a way".

 
 
 
Igknorantzruls
Sophomore Quiet
9.1.3  Igknorantzruls  replied to  Buzz of the Orient @9.1.2    one month ago

Where there is a Will, there is no way, was what I would express to a guy named Bill, as he was an avid Trumpster, but I guess I'm left with the check, as this country is a let down, and I prefer hard rock, and it violently does rock away at the sentiment of the sediment, so the check will be paid, but not by the words i've done say'ed

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
9.1.4  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Igknorantzruls @9.1.3    one month ago

Thanks for the poem. 

 
 
 
Waykwabu
Freshman Silent
10  Waykwabu    one month ago

"Sea Fever"

I remember in my composite grade 3/4 our whole class having to recite this poem, time and time again.  Also, without fail, we recited it at our annual end-of-year concert.

It was obviously a favourite of our teacher , as  year after year, his class would have to give the same rendition !!

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
10.1  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Waykwabu @10    one month ago

I never made my class recite it, but now that I think of it, maybe I should have.

 
 
 
Ella S
Freshman Silent
11  Ella S    one month ago

Forever long, but a small excerpt from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, by Lord Byron:

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society where none intrudes,

By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:

I love not Man the less, but Nature more,

From these our interviews, in which I steal

From all I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the Universe, and feel

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll!

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;

Man marks the earth with ruin—his control

Stops with the shore;—upon the watery plain

The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain

A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,

When for a moment, like a drop of rain,

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,

Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

 
 
 
Buzz of the Orient
Professor Expert
11.1  author  Buzz of the Orient  replied to  Ella S @11    one month ago

A poem that takes us on a trip from the greatness of nature to a depressing note of what man has wrought.  Good choice.

 
 

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