The Diary Of A Nobody (The Diary Of A Nobody)

Kahlil Gibran - On Freedom

Written in: The Prophet (Knopf, 1923)

Summary & Story:

Almustafa (character from The Prophet) answers an orator who asks him to speak of freedom. Because people worship freedom, the prophet says, they have become like a slave to freedom. They praise what is really "a yoke and a handcuff." The desire for freedom is so great that seeking it "becomes a harness to [them]." People wish to free themselves from care, want, and grief. But true freedom comes from accepting and rising above them. True freedom is in the soul. (coursehero, 2022)

To be free, people cannot abolish, erase, or cast off the things of this world. They are part of someone and of humanity's making—things people have created, chosen, or held in their hearts. All a person would desire and all they would escape reside within, moving in pairs, like lights and shadows. When a shadow fades, the light remains. It then becomes the shadow of a greater light toward which someone climbs. (coursehero, 2022)

Poem:

And an orator said, Speak to us of Freedom.

T.S. Eliot - Ash Wednesday (part three) 

Originally published: 1930

Theme: The poem was written by Eliot as a result of his conversion to Anglicanism in 1927. 

Poem:

At the first turning of the second stair I turned and saw below

The same shape twisted on the banister

Under the vapour in the fetid air

Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears

The deceitful face of hope and of despair.

At the second turning of the second stair

I left them twisting, turning below;

There were no more faces and the stair was dark,

Damp, jagged, like an old man’s mouth drivelling, beyond repair,

Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.

At the first turning of the third stair

Was a slotted window bellied like the fig’s fruit

And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene

The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green

Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.

Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,

Lilac and brown hair;

Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair,

Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair

Climbing the third stair.

Lord, I am not worthy

Lord, I am not worthy

but speak the word only.

Credits: T.S. Eliot (1930)

T.S. Eliot - Ash Wednesday (part one) 

Originally published: 1930

Theme: The poem was written by Eliot as a result of his conversion to Anglicanism in 1927. 

Poem:

Because I do not hope to turn againBecause I do not hopeBecause I do not hope to turnDesiring this man's gift and that man's scopeI no longer strive to strive towards such things(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)Why should I mournThe vanished power of the usual reign?Because I do not hope to knowThe infirm glory of the positive hourBecause I do not thinkBecause I know I shall not knowThe one veritable transitory powerBecause I cannot drinkThere, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there isnothing againBecause I know that time is always timeAnd place is always and only placeAnd what is actual is actual only for one timeAnd only for one placeI rejoice that things are as they are andI renounce the blessèd faceAnd renounce the voiceBecause I cannot hope to turn againConsequently I rejoice, having to construct somethingUpon which to rejoiceAnd pray to God to have mercy upon usAnd pray that I may forgetThese matters that with myself I too much discussToo much explainBecause I do not hope to turn againLet these words answerFor what is done, not to be done againMay the judgement not be too heavy upon usBecause these wings are no longer wings to flyBut merely vans to beat the airThe air which is now thoroughly small and drySmaller and dryer than the willTeach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our deathPray for us now and at the hour of our death.

Credits: T.S. Eliot (1930)

Lord Byron - All Is Vanity, Saith the Preacher

Written/Published in: Hebrew Melodies nr. 21 1815

Theme: Lord Byron’s poem is inspired by the Book of Qohelet. He transfers Qohelet’s feeling of life into a psalm, thereby condensing the Biblical material in his own way. He makes Qohelet, whom he conventionally identifies with King Solomon, look back at the happy times in his life. He interprets the Preacher’s resignation and depression by introducing the serpent from Genesis 3; this aspect helps to generalize Qohelet‘s pessimistic outlook on human life. Zsengellér, J. 2022. Understanding Texts in Early Judaism: Studies on Biblical, Qumranic, Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature in Memory of Géza Xeravits. Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110768534

Poem:

I.Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine,And health and youth possess'd me;My goblets blush'd from every vine,And lovely forms caress'd me;I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes,And felt my soul grow tender:All earth can give, or mortal prize,Was mine of regal splendour.II.I strive to number o'er what daysRemembrance can discover,Which all that life or earth displaysWould lure me to live over.There rose no day, there roll'd no hourOf pleasure unembitter'd;And not a trapping deck'd my powerThat gall'd not while it glitter'd.III.The serpent of the field, by artAnd spells, is won from harming;But that which coils around the heart,Oh! who hath pwer of charming?It will not list to wisdom's lore,Nor music's voice can lure it;But there it stings for evermoreThe soul that must endure it.

Credits: Lord Byron 1815, József Zsengellér 2022

Mark Strand - Lines For Winter

Written/Published: 1979, Selected Poems

Theme: "The echo of “as it gets cold” implies the language could be seen as appealing to readers for separate stages of understanding, not just the physical “cold” of winter, but also the coldness that comes with loss of emotion and possibly death, or at least accompanying the sober recognition of one’s own mortality. Surely, images of winter or night frequently signal acknowledgement of one’s mortality and the “gray” in line two hints at a common sign of ageing. Even the poem’s title, “Lines of Winter,” may be seen as reference to later life’s facial lines, those wrinkles gained through age and experience, particularly for anyone who has endured a history of painful events." (Edward Byrne, 2008)

Poem:

W.S. Merwin - Thanks

Published: 2005 in Migration: New and Selected Poems

Theme & Story:

Reads as an expression of gratitude for the bounty of his life. Merwin voices his thanks in an effusive manner that stays consistent whether bowing from bridges, addressing the water or remembering wars. It begins with the simple word “Listen” and goes on to describe a variety of beautiful moments:

with the night falling we are saying thank youwe are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railingswe are running out of the glass roomswith our mouths full of food to look at the skyand say thank you

While the second stanza takes a more somber tone, Merwin doesn’t fail to stop and give thanks amid the darker aspects of life, as well:

back from a series of hospitals back from a muggingafter funerals we are saying thank youafter the news of the deadwhether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

Credits: Rachel Jones, 2021  / W.S.Merwin, 2005

Poem:

A heartfelt Sunday morning poem emerged from the depths of my being, inspired by the lessons I've gleaned and the challenges I've faced. Its purpose is to rekindle the flickering flame within, to celebrate the boundless love and genuine essence of life's grace. I offer this intimate poem with the hope that it resonates with your spirit, illuminating your path and filling your heart with inspiration and profound grace.

In the tapestry of existence, it is not solely about the interplay between good and evil, for both hold significance within the grand tapestry of life. It is in uncovering the truth hidden within their depths that the true essence of our journey unfolds. Embracing the profound meaning embedded within every experience, we traverse the path of discovery, seeking the profound wisdom that lies within the duality of existence. May this realization accompany you on your journey, infusing each step with purpose and guiding you towards the profound truth that life graciously bestows upon us.

Lord Byron - Childe Harold's Pilgrimage [There is a pleasure in the pathless woods]

Written/Published: 3rd March 1812

Theme:

In these lines of ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,’ the poet engages with themes of change, the sea, and power. The latter is used to reference the power of the sea as well as humankind’s lack of power in the face of the indomitable ocean. It has raged the same since the dawn of creation, and no human force can control or tame it. This is something that brings the speaker great joy rather than fear. He relishes in the idea of what the ocean harbours and its ability to refuse humankind that which it desires. The sea represents true freedom to the speaker and to Byron. It’s untamed, pathless, and unpredictable, like the woods in which no one has ever tread. By the end of the poem, Byron admits that things have changed. He and his speaker are not the same as they were at the beginning of the poem, at the beginning of Byron’s journeys, or at the beginning of life. It’s time to move on, he says.(PoemAnalysis, 2022)

Poem:

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 feelWhat 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.

   His steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields   Are not a spoil for him,--thou dost arise   And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields   For earth's destruction thou dost all despise,   Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,   And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray   And howling, to his gods, where haply lies   His petty hope in some near port or bay,And dashest him again to earth: —there let him lay.

Credits: George Gordon Byron - Lord Byron (1812), PoemAnalysis (2022), Poets.org (2022)

Edgar Allan Poe - The City in the Sea

Published: 1831

Theme: 

The poem takes the reader through Death’s city. He rules this place from a throne and towers over it “gigantically”. The city is lit by nothing but the light from the sea. By following its progression a reader can see the towers, palaces, friezes, and spires that fill the city-scape. Towards the end of the poem, a change comes over the usually very still ocean. It starts to move, as does the city itself. The city sinks, slowly, down into the water, consumed by its shiny surface. This dark place is compared to a more terrible version of hell in the last lines. A place that hell would worship. (PoemAnalysis.com (2022)

Poem:

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently- Gleams up the pinnacles far and free- Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls- Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls- Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers- Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathed PoemAnalysis.com (2022)

Don McLean - Crossroads (Song) 

Written/Released: 1971

Album: American Pie

Theme & Story: "I think this line is the essence of the pop ballad; the sense of regret, the wish to turn back time, the fear of the road lying ahead. Textually, the song is about a man who returns to a long lost love and begs for salvation. But that’s far too linear interpretation. I read the entire second verse in a far more spiritual way. Hope and salvation lie with anything that will join you on the inevitable journey of life. But it doesn’t necessarily have to be a person – it can be an idea, a thought, an emotion and even an absence. Sometimes absences are stronger than presences. “But there’s no need for turning back, ’cause all the roads lead to where I stand.”" (inartematt.com,2019) 

Lyrics:

I've got nothing on my mind,Nothing to remember,Nothing to forget.And I've got nothing to regret.But I'm all tied up on the inside,No one knows quite what I've got,And I know that on the outsideWhat I used to beI'm notanymore.You know I've heard about people like meBut I never made the connection.They walk one road to set them freeAnd find they've gone the wrong direction.But there's no need for turning backCause all roads lead to where I stand;And I believe I'll walk them allNo matter what I may have planned.Can you remember who I was?Can you still feel it?Can you find my pain?Can you heal it?Then lay your hands upon me nowAnd cast this darkness from my soul.You alone can light my way.You alone can make me wholeOnce again.We've walked both sides of every streetThrough all kinds of windy weather;But that was never our defeatAs long as we could walk together.So there's no need for turning backCause all roads lead to where we stand;And I believe we'll walk them allNo matter what we may have planned.

Listen to the original song by Don McLean HERE

Credits: Don McLean, 1971, American Pie

William Ernest Henley - Invictus

Written in: 1875

Originally published: 1888 in the author's first volume of poetry, Book of Verses, in the section Life and Death (Echoes).

Theme and Story

Invictus is a poem by William Ernest Henley that translates from Latin as "unconquerable" or "undefeated." This poem is about maintaining one's dignity despite life's indignities and having courage in the face of death. 

Henley had to have his left leg amputated when he was 16 years old due to complications from TB. When he went to Margate for treatment for issues with his other leg in the early 1870s, he was informed that a similar procedure would be needed. 

Instead, he made the decision to fly to Edinburgh in August 1873 to seek the assistance of renowned English surgeon Joseph Lister, who, after extensive foot surgery, was able to save Henley's remaining leg. He was inspired to create the words that eventually became the poem "Invictus" when he was getting better in the hospital. "Invictus" continues to be a cultural classic because it is a memorable portrayal of Victorian stoicism—the "stiff upper lip" of self-discipline and fortitude under adversity, which popular culture transformed into a British character attribute. 

(source: Wikipedia) 

Poem:

Out of the night that covers meBlack as the pit from pole to pole,I thank whatever gods may beFor my unconquerable soul.In the fell clutch of circumstance,I have not winced nor cried aloud.Under the bludgeonings of chanceMy head is bloody, but unbowed.Beyond this place of wrath and tearsLooms but the Horror of the shade,And yet the menace of the yearsFinds, and shall find, me unafraid.It matters not how strait the gate,How charged with punishments the scroll,I am the master of my fateI am the captain of my soul.

Credits: William Ernest Henley (1888)

Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Published: 1969, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Themes: 

"Strong themes are present throughout "Caged Bird." Racist oppression, freedom against captivity, and joy versus grief are examples of themes. Through the picture of the two birds, one free and one imprisoned, Angelou weaves together all of these concepts in "Caged Bird." 

The caged bird is an extended metaphor for the Black community in America and across the world. Angelou references the oppressive practices used by individuals in positions of authority, including physical, mental, and economic violence, that have affected millions of men, women, and children since the dawn of time. 

Black men, women, and children see “through…bars” while the free bird sores in the sky. The bird sings from a place of sadness rather than joy to convey a broader history of sorrow." (source: poemanalysis.com, 2022)

Poem: 

A free bird leapson the back of the wind   and floats downstream   till the current endsand dips his wingin the orange sun raysand dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalksdown his narrow cagecan seldom see throughhis bars of ragehis wings are clipped and   his feet are tiedso he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   with a fearful trill   of things unknown   but longed for still   and his tune is heard   on the distant hill   for the caged bird   sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breezeand the trade winds soft through the sighing treesand the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawnand he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   with a fearful trill   of things unknown   but longed for still   and his tune is heard   on the distant hill   for the caged bird   sings of freedom.

Credits: Angelou, Maya (1969). I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. New York: Random House

Dragos Radu - Home

Written: 2022

Summary & Story:

Throughout my life, I had many moments where I missed my home. Not home in the sense of a birthplace, people or things that I've been closely acquainted with during my life, but home within, the altar within each of us. The place that always calls us back to ourselves, to inquire, to be curious. The place that is most meaningful to us as only by knowing it and not merely acknowledging it, can we get to know ourselves. This is a poem about that. I hope you enjoy it.

Poem:

There is a sun

I die to see again.

Not the sun that

Sets and rises,

But the one always up

And shining,

Illuminating all beings

From within.

The sun, which makes life move,

And energy flow,

Tirelessly in the soul.

I crave it so much

I crave it as a home.

Now the lights are off

And my soul is blinded

By the never-ending winter

Of the night.

There is calm,

But there’s no peace.

There is hope,

But there’s no light to guide it.

I miss the sun,

I miss its warmth and grace,

I miss my home.

There’s a bell ringing

In the night.

A state of alert

Established in the meadow

Where I sit dreaming

Of light and peace.

The sound breaks

My dreaming.

It awakens me

From a restless sleep,

That seemed endless at first.

As I open my eyes,

Light breaks in

So radiant, so powerful,

And with a rush of adrenaline

It stands me up,

Sun-gazing, filling every cell

Of my body with light,

Peace,

And ultimately freedom.

I now can hear the birds sing,

The caressing wind blowing

Softly through my hair,

The vibrant air of a new spring day.

I feel at home, and I feel safe.

I have always been.

I will always be,

Despite the depths and darkness of my dreams.

Once I open my eyes,

There will always be light,

There will always be sun.

There will always be peace

And I will always be home / I have a home waiting for me.

What is life if not just a walk in the dark,

Where one’s path is always lit up by the light of his soul. 

Credits: Dragos Radu (2022, The Diary Of A Nobody)

Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi - Because I Cannot Sleep

Written: cca. 1207-1273

Poem: 

Because I cannot sleepI make music at night.I am troubled by the onewhose face has the color of spring flowers.I have neither sleep nor patience,neither a good reputation nor disgrace.A thousand robes of wisdom are gone.All my good manners have moved a thousand miles away.The heart and the mind are left angry with each other.The stars and the moon are envious of each other.Because of this alienation the physical universeis getting tighter and tighter.The moon says, "How long will I remainsuspended without a sun?"Without Love's jewel inside of me,let the bazaar of my existence be destroyed stone by stone.O Love, You who have been called by a thousand names,You who know how to pour the wineinto the chalice of the body,You who give culture to a thousand cultures,You who are faceless but have a thousand faces,O Love, You who shape the facesof Turks, Europeans, and Zanzibaris,give me a glass from Your bottle,or a handful of being from Your Branch.Remove the cork once more.Then we'll see a thousand chiefs prostrate themselves,and a circle of ecstatic troubadours will play.Then the addict will be freed of craving.and will be resurrected,and stand in awe till Judgement Day.

Credits: Jalal al-Din Rumi, 1207-1273

Anonymous St Swithun's Parishioner - The Messiah

Source: It was published in a parish newsletter of St Swithun's church. 

Story:

Most of us are familiar with the words and music of the great Oratorio but Bill Jones of Golcar, a little village in the West Riding of Yorkshire, had never been to a performance and he tried to persuade a friend to go with him to the Huddersfield Town Hall to hear the famous Choral Society, but his friend refused. “Nay” he said “that sort ‘o music’s nowt in my line.  I like a good comic song or a lively jig, but I reckon nowt to this sacred stuff as they call it.  It’s beyond me. An’ another thing – there’1l be none of our sort there. It’1l be mostly religious folk and swells done up in boiled shirts and wimmen wi’ nowt much on.  Nay, you go by theesen and then you can tell me all about it sometime”.

So Bill went by himself.

The next time the old pals met, the fo1lowing conversation took place.  “Well cum on, how did you get on at Messiah? 

“Ee well” said Bill – “It were fair champion. I would’na missed it for al’t tea in China.  When I got there, Town Hall were crowded, it was chock full and I had a job to get a seat, and no wonder, it were all them singers – they took up half the gallery.  There were a chap larkin’ about on the organ.  He weren’t playing anythin’ in particular, just runnin’ his ‘ands up and down as if he was practising.  Well after a while a lot of chaps came in carrying fiddles.  Then…….they brought in the Messiah!

Wel1 – that’s what I took it to be.  It were’t biggest instrument on the platform and it were covered in a big green bag.  Any road, they took bag off it and then a bloke rubbed its belly wi’ a stick and you should have heard it groan. It were summat like the last expiring moments of a dying cow.  I were just thinking of going when a little chap came on, all dolled up in a white waistcoat and wi’ a flower in his buttonhole and everything went dead quiet.  You could have heard a pin drop.  He ‘ad a stick in his ‘and and he started waving it about and all the singers stared at him.  I reckon they was wondering what were the matter we ‘im.

Then they started to sing and they hadn’t been going long before they were fighting like cats.  I reckon he should have walloped one or two of them with that  stick.  First one side said they were King o’ Glory, then the t’other side said they were, and they went at it hammer and tongs.  But it fizzled out, so I’ve no idea which side won.  Then there was a bit of bother about some sheep that was lost. I don’t know who they belonged to but one lot of singers must have been very fond of mutton ‘cos they kept on singing  “All we like sheep “.  I couldn’t help saying to the chap sitting next to me that sheep’s alright in moderation but I like a bit of beef meself and he looked daggers at me and said “Shush!!” – so I shushed.

Then a bloke stood up and sang by hisself.  They must have been his sheep ‘cos he said every mountain and hill should be made low and I thought they’d be sure to find them.  Then the organist started banging, and the rest of the band was just as mad, ‘cos the way they were sawing them fiddles I thought they were going to go through ’em.  I bet everyone was glad when that chap sat down.

A lot of wimmen stood up after that and all of ’em looked as is they were well – getting on a bit.  Some of ’em must a bin 65 if they were a day.  They sang, “Unto us a child is born” and the chaps shouted back “Wonderful”, and I thought “Wonderful? It’s a blummin miracle”.  After that they sobered down a

Dragos Radu - The War

Written: 2022

Summary & Story:

Sometimes, we are all fighting a war. A war can -internally speaking- seem, at times, catastrophically never-ending. The warrior portrays an image where each of us has found ourselves at a point where an inevitable change must happen. A point where one has to be reborn and rise from the ashes. The warrior reflects that point. The horse, or the mind, a dear companion, follows in the dark. Through the tears, he tries to evade this change, yet, that is not always possible, if at all. The eagle depicts the act of transformation. The change that is thirsty for our blood -experience- and only through blood can the eagle turn into a dove -rebirth-. I hope you enjoy this poem as much as I enjoyed writing it for you.

Poem:

The war is over

The iron skies now cracked, and rays of sun overwhelm the field

that was once covered in daffodils.

A small stream that crossed the valley

and supplied it with life

has now dried out.

What was once a dreamy scenery

has now become the aftermath

of a nightmare.

The once clear waters of the stream

have now turned red 

and dry. 

Only one man is standing.

One man, lonesome, weeping.

His hair, covered in dried blood,

his armor shattered by the wrath of the war,

create an image of time standing still. 

He dismounts his black horse, dizzy

and sickened by the smell of lifeless bodies.

He walks and pulls his horse behind.

His cry is loud, breaking the silence.

Looking around, looking for hope,

he realises that there’s no one to hold.

His wounds rush shivers through his spine.

He lost too much blood.

He lost too much life.

the horse’s breath is heavy too;

he’s tired and wounded as well.

The horse stops and kneels

behind his master.

Tears roll over his dark figure

as his hero kneels next to him

and with a warm embrace

the two weep along each other,

into deep sleep.

A strange breeze awakens them. 

The hero hastily rushes to stand up.

With his hand on his sword, 

he’s ready to fight and defend themselves. 

But there’s nothing to be found. 

The breeze murmurs in a low tone,

voices from the past, he hears

in the deadly silence of the field.

It feels like a virus

expanding its dread inside their minds

and hearts,

restlessly demolishing everything

that has brought them to this place,

to this moment.

They have lost.

They won the battle,

yet lost the war.

An eagle scouts from above,

cutting through the now abyssal night skies.

His wings glimmer,

showered in the moonlight. 

His sight meets the warrior’s,

staring hopelessly at the skies

in wonder.

A sky so clear,

a mind so troubled,

a landscape so paradoxical.

Memories are not here to stay

but to navigate the wings of time.

Same as life and death,

always on the run, always here,

always there. 

The cycle moves on and on,

with its never-ending loop,

with its skies clear,

with its mind troubled,

beginning anew. 

Life is a tale, 

a mystery,

troubled minds we are, 

seeking          

our place among the skies.

Seeking home. 

Now the warrior draws his last breath

lying next to his wounded companion

in the deep eternal sleep

until the cycle will be reborn 

until the eagle 

thirsty for death

turns into a dove.

Credits: Dragos Radu (2022, The Diary Of A Nobody)

Sara Teasdale - A Winter Bluejay

Written/Published: 1915 in Rivers to the Sea

Theme:

The poem begins by placing the couple in a snow-covered landscape, walking through the “whisper[ing]” snow, enjoying a quiet moment. Their shadows are “danc[ing]” behind them, creating a beautiful pattern of light. It is clear that this moment is not one that comes often. 

They continue on their walk and come upon skaters on a frozen lake who gracefully, without fault, weave around one another. Their grace and effortless beauty mimic the day and improve upon it still. Finally, the speaker asks if they have reached the “highest point” of their happiness and she decides that they have not as her companion points out a bluejay. The jay is proud of it’s own form and fearless in its assertions of life. The bird is like their love is that day, without worry for the future and enjoying the perfect moment the day has brought. 

The poem concludes with an optimistic statement about happiness. That when one believes they have reached the pinnacle of their life, in which nothing could increase their joy, there may be more around the corner waiting for them. Read more @ PoemAnalysis.com (PoemAnalysis.com, 2022)

Poem:

Crisply the bright snow whispered,Crunching beneath our feet;Behind us as we walked along the parkway,Our shadows danced,Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.Across the lake the skatersFlew to and fro,With sharp turns weavingA frail invisible net.In ecstasy the earthDrank the silver sunlight;In ecstasy the skatersDrank the wine of speed;In ecstasy we laughedDrinking the wine of love.Had not the music of our joySounded its highest note?But no,For suddenly, with lifted eyes you said,“Oh look!”There, on the black bough of a snow flecked maple,Fearless and gay as our love,A bluejay cocked his crest!Oh who can tell the range of joyOr set the bounds of beauty?

Credits: Sara Teasdale 1915 / PoemAnalysis.com 2022

Charles Bukowski - Roll The Dice

Written: ca. 1970-1990

Published in: What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire (1999)

Theme:

“Roll the Dice” by Charles Bukowski is one of the most motivational poems in American History. During the 1950-60s people were headed on the path of being different. Whether that meant listening to different music or growing long hair, each poem is telling the people that if you are going to do something go all the way, or else there is no point in doing it. Being different is something that can not be done if you are not willing to go all the way. Bukowski makes a strong statement by saying “do it, do it, do it. do it.” This is one of the most powerful quotes from the poem, that showed people not to have fear, and to take the risk." (grade10americanpoetry.com, 2022)

Poem:

if you’re going to try, go all theway.otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all theway.this could mean losing girlfriends,wives, relatives, jobs andmaybe your mind.

go all the way.it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.it could mean freezing on apark bench.it could mean jail,it could mean derision,mockery,isolation.isolation is the gift,all the others are a test of yourendurance, ofhow much you really want todo it.and you’ll do itdespite rejection and the worst oddsand it will be better thananything elseyou can imagine.

if you’re going to try,go all the way.there is no other feeling likethat.you will be alone with the godsand the nights will flame withfire.

do it, do it, do it.do it.

all the wayall the way.

you will ride life straight toperfect laughter, itsthe only good fightthere is.

Credits: Charles Bukowski, 1999 What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire

The theme of "Love After Love" by Derek Walcott is self-rediscovery and self-love after a period of loss or heartbreak. The poem is a gentle and reassuring meditation on the importance of reconnecting with oneself, emphasizing the need for self-acceptance and the idea that true love for oneself can be found within.

Walcott writes about a future moment when you will meet "yourself arriving at your own door," symbolizing a reunion with the parts of yourself that may have been neglected or forgotten. The poem encourages readers to "feast on your life"—to cherish their own experiences, memories, and identities rather than seeking fulfillment solely from external relationships.

Ultimately, "Love After Love" speaks to the healing process of learning to love oneself again after facing the pain of separation or emotional hardship. It beautifully conveys the idea that wholeness and peace come from within.

Robert Frost - The Road Not Taken

Published: 1915

Theme: 

"Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” is often interpreted as an anthem of individualism and nonconformity, seemingly encouraging readers to take the road less traveled. This interpretation has long been propagated through countless song lyrics, newspaper columns, and graduation speeches. But as Frost liked to warn his listeners, “You have to be careful of that one; it’s a tricky poem—very tricky.” In actuality, the two roads diverging in a yellow wood are “really about the same,” according to Frost, and are equally traveled and quite interchangeable." (theatlantic.com, 2018)

Poem:

Dylan Thomas - Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Written in: 1947

Published in: 1951 in the journal Botteghe Oscure (wikipedia, 2022)

Theme & Story:

"In the first stanza of "Do Not Go Gentle", the speaker encourages their father not to "go gentle into that good night" but rather to "rage, rage against the dying of the light." Then, in the subsequent stanzas, they proceed to list all manner of men, using terms such as "wise", "good", "wild", and "grave" as descriptors, who, in their own respective ways, embody the refrains of the poem. In the final stanza, the speaker implores their father, whom they observe upon a "sad height", begging him to "Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears", and reiterates the refrains once more." (source: wikipedia, 2022)

Poem:

Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right,Because their words had forked no lightning theyDo not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how brightTheir frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,Do not go gentle into that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sightBlind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height,Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.Do not go gentle into that good night.Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Credits: Dylan Thomas (1951 - Botteghe Oscure Journal)

A simple poem of a chilly April evening when wonder passed by.

Enjoy!

David M. Romano - When/If Tomorrow Starts Without Me

Theme:

David Romano's poignant poem, "When Tomorrow Starts Without Me," encapsulates the theme of coping with loss and finding solace in the belief of an afterlife. Through its heartfelt verses, the poem urges us to cherish life's fleeting moments and to appreciate the loved ones who enrich our journey. It reminds us to live with integrity and to embrace each day with love and gratitude, for tomorrow is never promised. As we navigate the complexities of grief, the poem offers reassurance that our departed loved ones remain ever-present in our hearts, guiding us with their enduring love and memories.

Poem:

When tomorrow starts without meAnd I’m not here to seeIf the sun should rise and find your eyesAll filled with tears for meI wish you wouldn’t cryThe way you did todayWhile thinking of the many thingsWe did not get to sayI know how much you love meAs much as I love youEach time that you think of meI know you will miss me tooWhen tomorrow starts with out mePlease try to understandThat an angel came and called my nameAnd took me by the handThe angel said my place was readyIn heaven far aboveAnd that I would have to leave behindAll those I dearly loveBut when I walked through Heaven’s GatesI felt so much at homeWhen God looked down and smiled at meFrom his golden throneHe said this is eternityAnd all I promised youToday for life on earth is doneBut here it starts a newI promise no tomorrowFor today will always lastAnd since each day’s the exact same wayThere is no longing for the pastSo when tomorrow starts without meDo not think we’re apartFor every time you think of meRemember I’m right here in your heart

Credits: David M. Romano - Date: unknown

*There's limited information about the poem itself in terms of publishing/writing date as well as the author. The interpretation of the theme in the description is solely an interpretation I came up with and should be taken only as such. 

Berton Braley - Opportunity

Written: circa 1917

Theme:

No matter where you live, or where you have been born whether that is into a wealthy family or to dirt poor parents, opportunities are available. The sad truth is that those who believe what their family roots did or did not give them have little to nothing to do with what lies ahead. Many of you have heard about the "cycle of poverty" but that cycle can be broken. How? The real opportunity lies within. That's right. The genuine possibility is for you to see; for you to plan to achieve, and for you to grasp hold of so strong that nothing will ever dissuade you from succeeding. But, bear in mind that just because you can envision a dream coming true does not mean that from now on everything will be a bed of roses. Why? Because within that bed of roses lie thorny branches.So, what does this all mean? AS Berton Braley says, "Don't worry and fret, faint hearted, the chances have just begun," for it is recognizing that chances are abundant that keeps the spark of good fortune alive. For each chance, there is another new avenue to pursue or another path around the obstacle in the way. Defeat, or failure, is only an opportunity to reload from past mistakes taking forward those parts that showed promise or sprouted new ways towards accomplishment.Thus, this is a poem of encouragement for anyone who has doubts about the opportunity that each of us has. Berton Braley motivates us in this poem by delineating that each and every one of us has the opportunity to do the best and to take that chance because we never know what we can accomplish. Let his words motivate you to take action towards the dreams and goals that you may have! (Stresslesscountry.com, 2023)

Poem:

With doubt and dismay you are smittenYou think there's no chance for you, son?Why, the best books haven't been writtenThe best race hasn't been run,The best score hasn't been made yet,The best song hasn't been sung,The best tune hasn't been played yet,Cheer up, for the world is young!No chance? Why the world is just eagerFor things that you ought to createIts store of true wealth is still meagreIts needs are incessant and great,It yearns for more power and beautyMore laughter and love and romance,More loyalty, labor and duty,No chance- why there's nothing but chance!For the best verse hasn't been rhymed yet,The best house hasn't been planned,The highest peak hasn't been climbed yet,The mightiest rivers aren't spanned,Don't worry and fret, faint hearted,The chances have just begun,For the Best jobs haven't been started,The Best work hasn't been done.

Credits: Berton Braley, 1917 / Stresslesscountry.com, 2023

T.S. Eliot - Ash Wednesday (part two) 

Originally published: 1930

Theme: The poem was written by Eliot as a result of his conversion to Anglicanism in 1927. 

Poem:

Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree

In the cool of the day, having fed to satiety

On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained

In the hollow round of my skull. And God said

Shall these bones live? shall these

Bones live? And that which had been contained

In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:

Because of the goodness of this Lady

And because of her loveliness, and because

She honours the Virgin in meditation,

We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled

Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love

To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.

It is this which recovers

My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions

Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn

In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.

Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.

There is no life in them. As I am forgotten

And would be forgotten, so I would forget

Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said

Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only

The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping

With the burden of the grasshopper, saying

Lady of silences

Calm and distressed

Torn and most whole

Rose of memory

Rose of forgetfulness

Exhausted and life-giving

Worried reposeful

The single Rose

Is now the Garden

Where all loves end

Terminate torment

Of love unsatisfied

The greater torment

Of love satisfied

End of the endless

Journey to no end

Conclusion of all that

Is inconclusible

Speech without word and

Word of no speech

Grace to the Mother

For the Garden

Where all love ends.

Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining

We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,

Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,

Forgetting themselves and each other, united

In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye

Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity

Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.

Credits: T.S. Eliot (193

Charles Bukowski - Bluebird

Written:

Bluebird was written in the 1990s, published as part of Bukowski’s 1992 poetry collection The Last Night of the Earth Poems. This was one of the last collections Bukowski released before his death in 1994. The poem reflects a more contemplative side of Bukowski’s work as he faced the later years of his life, exploring themes of mortality, introspection, and the complexities of human emotion.

Theme: 

The theme of Bluebird by Charles Bukowski revolves around vulnerability, emotional suppression, and the conflict between one’s inner self and societal expectations. The "bluebird" in the poem symbolizes Bukowski’s softer, more sensitive side, which he keeps hidden from the world. Bukowski was known for his gritty, tough persona and raw, unapologetic writing style, often portraying himself as a hardened, cynical character. However, in Bluebird, he reveals a gentler, more introspective side, suggesting that beneath his rugged exterior lies a desire for love, acceptance, and tenderness. The poem captures the struggle to maintain this vulnerable self in a world that often demands strength and resilience, highlighting the human tendency to guard one's emotions and present a fortified facade.

Poem:

there’s a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I’m too tough for him,I say, stay in there, I’m not goingto let anybody seeyou.there’s a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I pour whiskey on him and inhalecigarette smokeand the whores and the bartendersand the grocery clerksnever know thathe’sin there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I’m too tough for him,I say,stay down, do you want to messme up?you want to screw up theworks?you want to blow my book sales inEurope?there’s a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I’m too clever, I only let him outat night sometimeswhen everybody’s asleep.I say, I know that you’re there,so don’t besad.then I put him back,but he’s singing a littlein there, I haven’t quite let himdieand we sleep together likethatwith oursecret pactand it’s nice enough tomake a manweep, but I don’tweep, doyou?

Credits: poem by Charles Bukowski, 1990. / many thanks for the music and its creator, Chillpac / @chillpac_.

Artist links:

https://www.instagram.com/chillpac_/

https://open.spotify.com/artist/3k8dN7ttBtz3ce20RS6BQl?si=Grhd8zqsRYO9pV0NNt4y0g

Kabir Das - Songs of Kabir (songs 6 and 9)

Written: 1398 - 1518

Published: One Hundred Poems of Kabir 1915

Translated: Rabindranath Tagore

Theme: 

Songs:

Song 6 

I.83 candā jhalkai yahi ghat māhīn 

The moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it: The moon is within me, and so is the sun.

The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it. 

So long as man clamours for the I and the Mine, his works are as naught:

When all love of the I and the Mine is dead, then the work of the Lord is done.

For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge:

When that comes, then work is put away. 

The flower blooms for the fruit: when the fruit comes, the flower withers.

The musk is in the deer, but it seeks it not within itself: it wanders in quest of grass. 

Song 9 

I.104 aisā lo nahīn taisā lo 

O How may I ever express that secret word?

O how can I say He is not like this, and He is like that?

If I say that He is within me, the universe is ashamed:

If I say that He is without me, it is falsehood.

He makes the inner and the outer worlds to be indivisibly one;

The conscious and the unconscious, both are His footstools.

He is neither manifest nor hidden, He is neither revealed nor unrevealed:

There are no words to tell that which He is.

Credits: Songs of Kabir. Authored by: Kabir Das (Trans. by Rabindranath Tagore). 

T.S. Eliot - Burnt Norton Pt. 1

Written in: Burnt Norton is the first poem of the 4 Quartets of T.S. Eliot. This quartet was published in 1936 and in 1943 appeared together with the other 3 quartets. (source: poemanalysis.com, 2022)

Theme:

The main theme of ‘Burnt Norton is the nature of time, its relation to salvation, and the contrast between the experience of the modern man and spirituality. The lyrical voice meditates on life and the need to subscribe to the universal order. The poem’s structure and form are similar to T. S. Eliot’s The Wasteland, as several fragments of poetry are put together and set as one. The rhyme and meter rely on the repetition and circularity of language, which corresponds to the conception of time introduced in the poem. Light and dark, movement and stillness, and roses are some of the motifs that appear in ‘Burnt Norton’. (source: poemanalysis.com, 2022)

Poem: 

Time present and time pastAre both perhaps present in time future,And time future contained in time past.If all time is eternally presentAll time is unredeemable.What might have been is an abstractionRemaining a perpetual possibilityOnly in a world of speculation.What might have been and what has beenPoint to one end, which is always present.Footfalls echo in the memoryDown the passage which we did not takeTowards the door we never openedInto the rose-garden. My words echoThus, in your mind.But to what purposeDisturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leavesI do not know.Other echoesInhabit the garden. Shall we follow?Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,Round the corner. Through the first gate,Into our first world, shall we followThe deception of the thrush? Into our first world.There they were, dignified, invisible,Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,And the bird called, in response toThe unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the rosesHad the look of flowers that are looked at.There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,Along the empty alley, into the box circle,To look down into the drained pool.Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,The surface glittered out of heart of light,And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.Go, go, go, said the bird: human kindCannot bear very much reality.Time past and time futureWhat might have been and what has beenPoint to one end, which is always present.

Credits: T.S. Eliot 1936/1943 - Four Quartets and poemanalysis.com, 2022

Dragos Radu - Do Not Close Your Eyes

Written: 27th December 2022, Bucharest

Theme & Story:

This poem was inspired by a sentiment of longing and emptiness for one person in my life whom I got to know for only the first 6 years of my life, my grandfather. Since I was a child, I have been looking up to him; he was a pilot, so, at that time, I desired to become one too. Thanks to him, I know how to play chess and ride a bike. When I was 5 years old, and he was teaching me chess, I used to steal some of his pieces from the board; he was never happy about that, as aside from learning chess, he wanted me to be a fair and honest person. No actual winning comes with shortcuts. It's all a process. I realised all these things through the years, yet most at the previous year's end when I visited his resting place. Why then? Well, I was different. I sat down there and talked. Went there like a child, the 5-year-old that once made his life difficult where he made my life unforgettable. It was one of the first people in my life, aside from my mother and grandmother, that had an impact on me, left a trace, and truly loved me. I have never forgotten him, so I wrote this poem in his memory and in the memory of all of you listening who had or have such people in your lives who play(ed) an irreplaceable role. 

Enjoy, and thank you for being here.

Dragos

Poem: 

Do not close your eyes while the sky is still blue,

As then, the sound of the birds is sweetest. 

Do not close your eyes when there is no hope,

As then, something new is born.

Do not close your eyes when you’re overwhelmed by loneliness,

As then, someone who’s once loved you is there with you.

Do not close your eyes when the sun is setting,

As then, stars will come up to show your way.

Do not close your eyes when your heart is broken,

As then, light will seep inside you. 

Do not close your eyes while we are together,

As we do not know if we will ever meet again. 

Credits: Dragos Radu, 2022 / The Diary Of A Nobody, 2022

Mary Frye / Clare Harner / Unknown Author - Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

Possibly written in: ca. 1932/1934 (Mary Frye / Clare Harner) 

Note: The author of the poem has not been determined. Therefore, the poem may well belong to Mary Frye, Clare Harner, or other unknown author. The two possible authors are the only ones who claimed the poem to be written by them.   

Poem:

Do not stand

By my grave, and weep.

I am not there,

I do not sleep—I am the thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints in snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle, autumn rain.

As you awake with morning’s hush,

I am the swift, up-flinging rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight,

I am the day transcending night.

Do not standBy my grave, and cry—

I am not there,

I did not die.  

Credits: Unknown / Mary Frye (1932 ??) / Clare Harner (1934 ??)

T.S. Eliot - Burnt Norton Pt. 2

Written in: Published in 1943 in the 4 Quartets of T.S. Eliot. (source: poemanalysis.com, 2022)

Theme:

The main theme of ‘Burnt Norton is the nature of time, its relation to salvation, and the contrast between the experience of the modern man and spirituality. The lyrical voice meditates on life and the need to subscribe to the universal order. The poem’s structure and form are similar to T. S. Eliot’s The Wasteland, as several fragments of poetry are put together and set as one. The rhyme and meter rely on the repetition and circularity of language, which corresponds to the conception of time introduced in the poem. Light and dark, movement and stillness, and roses are some of the motifs that appear in ‘Burnt Norton’. (source: poemanalysis.com, 2022)

Poem:

Garlic and sapphires in the mudClot the bedded axle-tree.The trilling wire in the bloodSings below inveterate scarsAppeasing long forgotten wars.The dance along the arteryThe circulation of the lymphAre figured in the drift of starsAscend to summer in the treeWe move above the moving treeIn light upon the figured leafAnd hear upon the sodden floorBelow, the boarhound and the boarPursue their pattern as beforeBut reconciled among the stars.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.The inner freedom from the practical desire,The release from action and suffering, release from the innerAnd the outer compulsion, yet surroundedBy a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,Erhebung without motion, concentrationWithout elimination, both a new worldAnd the old made explicit, understoodIn the completion of its partial ecstasy,The resolution of its partial horror.Yet the enchainment of past and futureWoven in the weakness of the changing body,Protects mankind from heaven and damnationWhich flesh cannot endure.Time past and time futureAllow but a little consciousness.To be conscious is not to be in timeBut only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,The moment in the draughty church at smokefallBe remembered; involved with past and future.Only through time time is conquered.

Credits: T.S. Eliot 1943 - Four Quartets and poemanalysis.com, 2022

Rudyard Kipling - If

Written: ca. 1895 in ‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies

Theme and Story:

In his autobiography Something of Myself (1937), Kipling claimed that the phrase "If—" had its beginnings in the unsuccessful Jameson raid of 1895–1896, which was when British colonial statesman Leander Starr Jameson led an attack against the South African (Boer) Republic during the New Year weekend. Jameson wanted to trigger his fellow British citizens in the Transvaal to rebel against the Boer administration, but they were unwilling to do so. Instead, Jameson's poorly executed military action contributed to the environment that, a few years later, would spark the Second Boer War. Kipling knew Jameson, and recorded in Something of Myself: ‘Among the verses in Rewards was one set called “If” …

They were based on Jameson's persona and provided advice that was ideal and simple to impart. The Jameson raid's influence on "If" might easily be overstated, and it appears that Kipling's (posthumously published) memoir is the first place this connection is brought up.

If—should first and foremost be interpreted as a poem addressed to a younger man, listing the qualities a man should acquire or cultivate in order to be a paragon of manly virtue. The poem's final words, "you'll be a man, my son," suggest that the poem is addressed to Kipling's actual son.(source: Link)

Poem: