Blue No More

Blue

He threw his set up to the sky,
Threw Crip and sported blue.
He thought that he would never die-
And this at twenty-two!

And now he sleeps among the shells,
Along with vile germs.
Within his belly dwells the snails,
Within his head, the worms.

-jwm

Fireside Poet

That's right! Another poet's birthday- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, born this day in 1807.

A Fireside poet, he's one of the best metronomist to set ink to verse. Some of his best works were poems that were specifically 'American' and dealt with topics such as the Civil War (e.g. Paul Revere's Ride) and the life of Native Americans (e.g. Hiawatha).

As a poet, he experienced his fame during his lifetime- a fame that was international!

Happy date of birth, big guy!


******


To-day We Make the Poet's Words Our Own

To-day we make the poet's words our own,
And utter them in plaintive undertone;
Nor to the living only be they said,
But to the other living called the dead,
Whose dear, paternal images appear
Not wrapped in gloom, but robed in sunshine here;
Whose simple lives, complete and without flaw,
Were part and parcel of great Nature's law;
Who said not to their Lord, as if afraid,
"Here is thy talent in a napkin laid,"
But labored in their sphere, as men who live
In the delight that work alone can give.
Peace be to them; eternal peace and rest,
And the fulfilment of the great behest:
"Ye have been faithful over a few things,
Over ten cities shall ye reign as kings."

-HWL

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 – 1950)

Loved this girl the first time I read her! Totally dig her poems- might even have a slight crush (kidding). Anyhow, happy date of birth, lady ...


One thing I really like about Millay is that she explores a wide range of styles and meter. I’ve held on to the poem below for about the last four months because the rhythm, meter, and rhyme scheme are simply gorgeous (take the rhyme scheme for example, abaaab … totally cool, like something Poe would do).

Anyhow, check it out, you’ll dig it, I promise …


Sorrow

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain--
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.

Kurt Cobain

Kurt Donald Cobain (1967 – 1994)

Everyone that knows me knows that I’m completely committed to your music and your style- but you had to go and kill yourself.

The lyrics to every single song you sang, and the way you sung them, reminds me of the genius of insanity, Roethke's poetry, the movie Dreamscape, and the color black … and I dig the hell out of all of it- but you shouldn’t have killed yourself, dude.

I wish you were still here, producing more excellent hits, doing more ‘unplugged’ concerts, and pouring more creative audacity into the mixing bowl. But you’re not. You would have been 45 years old today. It feels awkward and creepy to want to say happy birthday to you considering your death … and so, I reluctantly wont.

Really though, you shouldn’t have killed yourself …