(no subject)

[gilana]

I've actually been enjoying my New Year's habit of reading a poem every morning, but I'm heading off to Arisia today and it seemed silly to bring my whole poem-a-day book just for two pages. I don't want to go looking for poems online, because I don't want to read them ahead of time. So, if you've got a poem you like, post it here -- I figure I can print this out with reading it and bring it along to read this weekend. Thanks!

Comments

The art of losing isn't hard to master

[lillibet.livejournal.com]

This is one that meant something very different to me when I first read it in high school than it does now. I really should get a collection of her poetry some day--I only know this and one other and like them both.

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

-- Elizabeth Bishop

I have a book that you might enjoy. It's adult poems for kids, illustrated with works from the Met. Let me know if you'd like to borrow it someday.

Casabianca

[heliopsis.livejournal.com]

I love this Elizabeth Bishop poem, inscribed in the bricks at Davis Square. It alludes to a poem that my mother recalls reciting in school when she was a child, a grotesque, maudlin Victorian thing about a child who remains aboard a burning boat, faithfully waiting for his (dead) father to give him permission to leave. Ms. Bishop transforms this monstrosity:

Casabianca

Love's the boy stood on the burning deck, trying to recite
"The boy stood on the burning deck."
Love's the son stood, stammering elocution
While the poorer ship, in flames, went down.

Love's the obstinate boy, the boat
Even the swimming sailors who
Would like a schoolroom platform, too,
Or an excuse to stay on deck and
Love's the burning boy.

Re: The art of losing isn't hard to master

[gilana]

That poem is referred to in a book I read, but I don't think I ever read the whole thing. I definitely like it, both the writing and the sentiments. And I'd love to borrow the book some time, thanks.