Has The Energy Price Cap Discouraged...
Business & Finance0 min ago
Night Poem From Khandro (Sat.)
10 Answers
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
Wallace Stevens 1879-1955
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
Wallace Stevens 1879-1955
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
Answers
1 to 10 of 10
Best Answer
No best answer has yet been selected by Khandro. Once a best answer has been selected, it will be shown here.
For more on marking an answer as the "Best Answer", please visit our FAQ.
The Owl
BY EDWARD THOMAS [1917]
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.
Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry
Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.
And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.
BY EDWARD THOMAS [1917]
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.
Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry
Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.
And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.
'Coat' by Vicki Feaver ..
https:/
https:/
eleanor2: //Khandro, I love poetry, and thank you for posting! But this offering I can't really get in to the meaning of?//
Something which seems put a lot of people off poetry is that they see it as a 'problem' which needs 'solving'. Like all forms of art, poetry can mean what you feel that it means: - all art is orphaned at birth :0)
Wallace Stevens is considered to be one of the most significant American poets of the 20th century & believe me he isn't trying to fool you.
Don't search for a 'meaning', try reading it out loud & simply enjoy speaking the words, feeling the cadences within it & the images it throws up in your mind.
Please do & come back.
Something which seems put a lot of people off poetry is that they see it as a 'problem' which needs 'solving'. Like all forms of art, poetry can mean what you feel that it means: - all art is orphaned at birth :0)
Wallace Stevens is considered to be one of the most significant American poets of the 20th century & believe me he isn't trying to fool you.
Don't search for a 'meaning', try reading it out loud & simply enjoy speaking the words, feeling the cadences within it & the images it throws up in your mind.
Please do & come back.
Just because someone is considered to be ‘the most significant poet of the 20th century’ doesn’t mean you have to like their work. I like some poetry by ‘significant poets’ and not by others. I also like some poetry by ‘insignificant poets’ and not by others. Some poems just evoke an immediate response in me, like the ones posted here by Mamy and Ellipsis and this, for me, is what makes a good poem.
Today’s poem just seems a bit pretentious to me I’m afraid.
Today’s poem just seems a bit pretentious to me I’m afraid.
Yes that's true Khandro. I felt the image of 1 & 3 .. the stillness of a vast open space covered in bright white snow & the quick movement of the blackbirds eye. I loved the thought of the blackbirds being a small part of the pantomime of Autumn. The other verses I can't conjure anything from. The is Khandro, I will take on board what you said x
1 to 10 of 10
