\u00a0<\/b>\u00a0 Here’s another recycled piece from my 2011 Bracelet of Bright Hair.\u00a0 I left it out of the finished volume because for complicated reasons Emily Dickinson’s poetry I think is still in copyright, though I don’t suppose anyone will track me down here.\u00a0 Probably my list of Desert Island poems would be different now, but this is what it was then.<\/p>\n
Lying awake last night, (or that dead time in the very early morning when your mind seems to run rather nerdishly into list-making, ) I thought of the question I\u2019d been asking other people- and if someone had asked me for a favourite poem, what would it be.\u00a0 Easy to ask, hard to answer. Instead, I tried to chose a DesertIsland eight. And that isn\u2019t easy either.<\/p>\n
The first ones come smoothly enough. There must be a Shakespeare sonnet, and it would probably be no 29,\u00a0 When in disgrace with Fortune and Men\u2019s Eyes<\/i>, if only for the wonderful lift of those last lines:
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Haply I think on thee, and then my state<\/i><\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Like to the lark at break of day arising<\/i><\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 From sullen earth\u2026 <\/i><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n
There\u2019d be a Donne, probably The Sunne Rising. <\/i>\u00a0It\u2019s one of the first I remember reading, and I recall my startled delight ; poetry can do this!\u00a0 And without one of his nasty little anti-woman gibes \u2013 an undiluted love song.\u00a0 There\u2019d be Coleridge\u2019s Frost at Midnight,<\/i> simply because\u00a0 it\u2019s one of the greatest English poems. There\u2019d be Arnold\u2019s Dover<\/i> <\/i>Beach<\/i>, <\/i>\u00a0because\u00a0 it sums up so movingly a crucial turning point in Western consciousness.<\/p>\n
Okay \u2013 so that\u2019s four. Probably The Bailey Beareth the <\/i>Bell<\/i> away<\/i> because it\u2019s beautiful, mysterious and works at a level you can\u2019t quite fathom. Lyric poems only work in the moment \u2013 they are gorgeous, then they stop; the ripples cease and the shining water closes over them; they don\u2019t go on working in your head like a \u2018real\u2019 poem \u2013 but beauty earns them a place.<\/p>\n
There\u2019d have to be W.H. Auden\u2019s\u00a0 As I walked out one evening, <\/i>\u00a0a ballad turning suddenly sinister, which for years I treasured in an EP record (remember them?) read mesmerically by Dylan Thomas in his outrageously plummy voice.<\/p>\n
Then at this stage, the poems start competing, and vying for space, raising hands and jumping above the crowd, shouting Choose me! Choose me!<\/i>\u00a0 While you\u2019re aware that the quiet one saying nothing at the back is the overlooked one you really want\u2026.<\/p>\n
Yeats\u2019 \u00a0Long-legged Fly .<\/i>\u00a0 though the second two verses don\u2019t quite match the eerie and concentrated focus of the first verse.<\/p>\n
Something by Emily Dickinson. What?\u00a0 Wild Nights\u2026.\u00a0 A Narrow Fellow in the Grass\u2026\u00a0 There\u2019s a certain slant of light\u2026the Soul Selects her Own <\/i>\u00a0Society\u2026<\/i>\u00a0 Impossible. But I\u2019ve set myself this silly task, so I\u2019ll choose A Narrow Fellow<\/i>, because of the precision of her metaphors, the light conversational tone,\u00a0 and the heart-stopping last line.<\/p>\n
How many is that? And still no Seamus Heaney, no Gillian Clarke. Have I room for Denise Levertov\u2019s The Secret? <\/i>\u00a0\u00a0Elizabeth Bishop\u2019s One Art?<\/i><\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/i>What moron would even try and do something like this?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A Narrow Fellow in the Grass:\u00a0\u00a0 Emily Dickinson<\/b><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/b>A narrow Fellow in the Grass<\/p>\n
Occasionally rides-<\/p>\n
You may have met Him \u2013 did you not<\/p>\n
His notice sudden is \u2013<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Grass divides as with a Comb \u2013<\/p>\n
A spotted shaft is seen \u2013<\/p>\n
And then it closes at your feet<\/p>\n
And opens further on \u2013<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He likes a Boggy Acre<\/p>\n
A Floor too cool for Corn \u2013<\/p>\n
Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot \u2013<\/p>\n
I more than once at Noon<\/p>\n
Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash<\/p>\n
Unbraiding in the sun<\/p>\n
When stooping to secure it<\/p>\n
It wrinkled, and was gone\u00a0 –<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Several of Nature\u2019s People<\/p>\n
I know, and they know me \u2013<\/p>\n
I feel for them a transport<\/p>\n
Of cordiality \u2013<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But never met this Fellow<\/p>\n
Attended, or alone<\/p>\n
Without a tighter breathing \u2013<\/p>\n
And Zero at the Bone –<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u00a0\u00a0 Here’s another recycled piece from my 2011 Bracelet of Bright Hair.\u00a0 I left it out of the finished volume because for complicated reasons Emily Dickinson’s poetry I think is still in copyright, though I don’t suppose anyone will track me down here.\u00a0 Probably my list of Desert Island poems would be different now, but […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-301","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/francesthomas.org\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/301","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/francesthomas.org\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/francesthomas.org\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/francesthomas.org\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/francesthomas.org\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=301"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/francesthomas.org\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/301\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":303,"href":"https:\/\/francesthomas.org\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/301\/revisions\/303"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/francesthomas.org\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=301"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/francesthomas.org\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=301"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/francesthomas.org\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=301"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}