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Langston Hughes was a black poet from Missouri born in 1902, died (on my birthday!) in 1967.
This one touched me today.
Dreams
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
A Silly Poem
Said Hamlet to Ophelia,
I’ll draw a sketch of thee,
What kind of pencil shall I use?
2B or not 2B?
Spike Milligan
I cam across this poem when I was living in Edinburgh in the early 2000’s. I always liked it. Hope you do too…
O Tell Me The Truth About Love
Some say love’s a little boy,
And some say it’s a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that’s absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn’t do.
Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.
Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It’s quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I’ve found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.
Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.
I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn’t over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton’s bracing air.
I don’t know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn’t in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.
Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.
When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I’m picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
Found this one today. Fits my current disillusionment of all things about cities…
Rimbaud was a French Poet of the late 1800’s. Did most of his work between age 10 and 20, and died aged 37.
City
I am an ephemeral
and a not too discontented citizen
of a metropolis considered modern
because all known taste
has been evaded in the furnishings
and the exterior of the houses
as well as in the layout of the city.
Here you will fail to detect the least trace
of any monument of superstition.
Morals and language
are reduced to their simplest expression,
at last! The way these millions of people,
who do not even need to know each other,
manage their education, business,
and old age is so identical
that the course of their lives
must be several times less long
than that which a mad statistics
calculates for the people of the continent.
And from my window I see new specters rolling through
the thick eternal smoke–
our woodland shade, our summer night!–
new Eumenides in front of my cottage
which is my country and all my heart
since everything here resembles it,–
Death without tears,
our diligent daughter and servant,
a desperate Love, and a pretty
Crime howling in the mud in the street.
Short & Sweet today.
Mark Twain’s long been something of a hero of mine. Not for his books, but for his wit and wisdom.
This seems apt for today:-
“Now, isn’t imagination a precious thing? It peoples the earth with all manner of wonders, strange beasts and birds, angels, cherubim and seraphim. And it has to be exercised. No child should be permitted to grow up without exercise for imagination. It enriches life for him. It makes things wonderful and beautiful.”
- speech in Elmira, April 1907 (reprinted in Mark Twain in Elmira by Jerome & Wisbey)
More Mark Twain quotes at: TwainQuotes
Henry Lawson, great Australian poet, wrote this in 1905. Sort of rounds out how I feel about home. (Feeling nostalgic for Aussie today.)
Waratah And Wattle
Though poor and in trouble I wander alone,
With a rebel cockade in my hat;
Though friends may desert me, and kindred disown,
My country will never do that!
You may sing of the Shamrock, the Thistle, and Rose,
Or the three in a bunch if you will;
But I know of a country that gathered all those,
And I love the great land where the Waratah grows,
And the Wattle bough blooms on the hill.
Australia! Australia! so fair to behold
While the blue sky is arching above;
The stranger should never have need to be told,
That the Wattle-bloom means that her heart is of gold,
And the Waratah red blood of love.
Australia! Australia! most beautiful name,
Most kindly and bountiful land;
I would die every death that might save her from shame,
If a black cloud should rise on the strand;
But whatever the quarrel, whoever her foes,
Let them come! Let them come when they will!
Though the struggle be grim, ’tis Australia that knows,
That her children shall fight while the Waratah grows,
And the Wattle blooms out on the hill.
how do you describe such glorious noise?
Last night we primped and preened and headed out for a 10min drive to Lizotte’s. Owned by Diesel’s brother, this cabaret venue was fairly small, but the food was lovely (tho the service a bit slow – they did have a full house, and it was a Church gig, so all is forgiven!). Ate leek & shitake mushroom spring rolls, and chicken so tender and flavourful, YUM! but my eyes were definitely bigger than my stomach, and I couldn’t eat everything :(
After dinner, Mark Moldre took the stage. He’s the singer of local band Hitchcocks Regret, and did a lovely acoustic set supported by banjo and slide guitar. Delicate soulful music, wonderfully melancholy, a good foil to the Church-iness to come. I’ll be checking out his soon-to-be-released album.
The Church took the stage, and we were immediately stunned by the Grizzly Adams-ness of Marty! The man’s got himself hair down to there and a full beard! Steve’s looking fit and healthy, Koppes must’ve tapped into his Eternal Youth potion – he hasn’t changed a bit, and a beanied Tim looked fit and eager. From the start they exuded a warmth and humility, followed with dry wit that had the place cackling. Charisma, an infinite watchability, and soundscapes to die for. How do you describe such glorious noise? I’m no poet, but imagine putting yourself inside a glistening throbbing bubble of rapture. Honestly now, I’ve been to a lot of church gigs, I’ve been to lots of Steve and Marty solo gigs and I’ve listened to a hell of a lot of Church over the years. I have to say that last night was one of the best gigs I’ve ever been to – Church or non-Church. They played for about 90mins and did a wonderfully jazzy version of Reptile, Under the Milky Way was a tad spanish with a definite flamenco vibe, and I’ve never heard Block live, but was blown away. Really. I was in bits and pieces and literally had to put muself together after the show. Also played Unified Field, Grind and Metropolis, and ended the show with Day 5 – and ‘exited quietly’.
They were rapturously received, a very appreciative audience. Apparently the gig sold out in record time. I can honestly and sincerely say that I had a truly fantastic time, and I have some awesome memories – tho the camera didn’t seem to like the place much, the photos I took are a bit dark. Not to fret - that gig will be in my head for a long time yet. Said G’day and thanks heaps to Marty afterwards, he said that they can really get it to come together in the small places, and that he felt very happy about the show.. :)
Got back to Nell’s and chilled for a bit watching the Malasian F1 Grand Prix, and have to say bloody well done to Mark Weber for kicking the stuck-up Spaniard’s ass all over the track! :) YEAH BABY! Raikonnen 1st, Kubica 2nd and Kovaleinen 3rd. Interesting race, not as good as Australia, but enjoyable.
Also got a picture message from Scarah – it’s bloody well snowing at home in Cambridge!! Whoo! And I’m in 30deg sunshine!! WHOOHOO! :) But those at home have my honest sympathies, and I wish you could be here. :) In the meantime, tho, I can only say, na na na na na in an obnoxious voice and giggle maniacally :)
Had a good sleep then rose and headed off to Crowne Plaza Terrigal for a breakfast with the rich and famous. Well, one of them anyway. There’s a show onTV here called The Biggest Loser, where they take teams of the overweight and chllenge them to lose it. Their weight, not their minds – but sometimes the lines are a bit blurred. Anyway, one of the trainers on the show, Shannon (?) was also breakfasting, with his arm around some footballers-wife/Double-Bay bimbo who couldn’t be bothered to even lift her feet when she walked. (one of my pet hates). He was also loaded down with bacon, sausages and croissants! For shame! What sort of example is he setting!?! :) Nice to see that everyone loses it occasionally. Restores some faith in the human race.
So today we’re lazing a bit, tho I’ve again dipped my body into the bottle of sunblock, before heading out to the beach this afternoon for a swim before dinner. again wish you could be here. photos soon. xx
