Feeling Poetry - Blog #4

Here are a few poems which I have read and below is a catalogue of how they made me feel. Enjoy.

"Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night" by Dylan Thomas

After reading this poem, I felt both saddened and angry. Sad that the poets father was dying and also, angry that there was nothing he could do about it, but to keep admonishing him to fight and 'rage against the dying of the light'. I chose this picture from 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire' as I thought it encapsulated the feeling of the poem in its entirety. At this point in the movie (for those who have not seen it) Harry's godfather, having engaged in a vicious battle to protect Harry, is killed by one of their aggressors. He then drifts off beyond a dark veil, although Harry pines after him, trying to get him to stay. It is an all too familiar feeling to me to say the least, having lost my father as well and knowing the feeling of an emotional concoction of denial, anger and greif.

"We Real Cool" by Gwendolyn Brooks

Now here is a poem which had me thinking 'these pretty little things don't know what they are getting themselves into'. It evoked pity in me and literally made me shake my head at how these little shool children reject an education to pursue a lifestyle which they were no where near ready to handle, just to look cool. Then, I thought 'I sound like my mother!' And I wondered if this is how she felt when she observed me engaging in something that I could not understand the

consequences of in the fearlessness of my youth. The picture I associated with this poem comes from Cycle 9 of 'America's Next Top Model', where they did a photo shoot about the effects of smoking. Although some of the models don't look it, they are actually 18 and 19 year olds who have left high school or taken time off of college to pursue a career in modeling. In this image, they portray the 'coolness and glamour' which is associated with smoking with their current selves, whereas, the image in the mirror shows what they do not know; that they are harming themselves irreperably and this is the future which awaits them. 'Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?'

"I Felt a Funeral, in my Brain' by Emily Dickinson

Dazed and confused is how I felt after reading this poetic jem (sarcasm). I take this time to apologize to all the Emily Dickinson fans out there because I just might be ripping her to shreds for the rest of this section. So here goes. I read the poem the first time, and I was confused. I read it a second time and I felt my brain get knocked sideways, and I was dazed. I read it a third time and somewhere within myself (for my brain was dazed) I willed myself to stop before I went crazy. And that is the conclusion I came to about Ms. Emily Dickinson: THIS BITCH IS CRAZY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But in the spirit of trying to illustrate the feeling of the poem, I came up with the piece 'The Scream'. I believe that in the instant that my subconscious took control of my body and retrained me from further reading to avoid permanent mental damage, I related to Ms. Dickinson in a small (much emphasis on that word) way. We both lost control of ourselves for a moment and something more basic took over. We were essentially trapped within ourselves, completely at the mercy of something we could not control but that something was ourselves and we, although numb to stop it, were conscious of the whole occurrence. Confused? Now you get what I'm talking about.

'The Road Not Taken' by Robert Frost

Robert Frost made me feel something I have also felt before; the feeling of no matter what decision I make, I would have regretted not making the other. I felt that there is no clear or concise way of dealing with the situation and that everything is grey. I chose this picture because it represents to me the picture of the two roads which diverged in the wood which Frost had described.

'If The World Was Crazy' by Shel Silverstein

I felt happier than I had ever felt in my adult life (7 months since my 21st birthday). It brought back happy childhood memories and made me reminisce about simpler days, when things did not have to make sense and imagination was the greatest asset I possessed. The Mad Hatter definitely came to mind from the off when I read this poem as he moreso symbolizes the meaning of the poem than the concept of Wonderland. The poem rolled along stating unconventional ideas and concepts like there was nothing wrong with them, but just to appease the conventional thinkers, it states these things with the proverbial 'grain of salt' that is the line: 'If the world was crazy'. I found this to be similar to the Mad Hatter since he rolled along, doing unconventional things (as was his nature) and personifies 'If the world was crazy' in his natural way of being.

Thus brings the end of feeling poems from my perspective. I hope you can do the same when you read them.

Note: I was given permission to hand in this assignment after class time. Thanks alot! = )

Poetry - Blog No.3

According to www.dictionary.com , poetry is the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, elevative or imaginative thoughts.


In my mind, a poem must have a message to convey to the reader whether the tone of the poem is serious or otherwise. Also, it should be the baring of one's soul on paper in a few verses and in it's words, show hidden aspects of the writer to a reader and possibly touch the soul of the reader in turn by revealing something within themselves. On the other hand, if a bit of writing fails to do this, is just a rambling, or is too long, I do not consider it to be true poetry but the beginnings of a short story or essay or just incomplete thoughts.

After researching a few poets, I came across two in whom I am particularly interested and have compiled some facts about them.

Born Marguerite Johnson on April 4th 1928 in St. Louis Missouri, Maya Angelou is very accomplished in many facets of the arts, from poetry to play writing, books to movie producing and directing, singing and dancing. Her book I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and her collection of poems Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'fore "I Diiie, were nominated for both the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize respectively. In addition, as the first black female director in Hollywood, she wrote the original film Georgia, Georgia, as well as several other award-winning documentaries and won the Golden Eagle award for Afro-Americans in the Arts. She was also a part of the civil rights movement in the United States, when on the request of Dr. Martin Luther King, she became the Northern Coordinator of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference.

Langston Hughes, born James Langston Hughes, was born in Joplin, Missouri on February 1st, 1902. He was raised by his grandmother after his parents got divorced until he turned thirteen. He then moved to Lincoln, Illinois to live with his mother and stepfather and began writing poetry. Hughes spent a year in Mexico and Columbia University eventually ending up in Washington, DC where he had his first book The Weary Blues, published. He was also influential in the Harlem Renaissance, writing about the struggle of African-Americans whilst inputting his own personal experiences and won the Harmon Gold Medal for Literature for Not Without Laughter in 1930. However, Hughtes died on May 22nd, 1967, in New York from prostate cancer. His former residence in Harlem has since been named as a landmark named "Langston Hughes Place".

Here are a coouple of poems which I like personally and consider 'my type of poetry' for lack of a better term.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

The free bird leaps on the back of the wind

And floats downstream till the current ends

And dips his wings in the orange suns rays

And dares to claim the sky.




But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage

Can seldom see throguh his bars of rage

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.




The free bird thinks of another breeze

And the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn

And names the sky his own.




But the 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 open 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 Weary Blues by Langston Hughes




Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,

Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,

I heard a Negro play.

Down on Lenox Avenue the other night

By the pale, dull palor of an old gas light

He did a lazy sway...

He did a lazy sway...

To the tune o' those Weary Blues.

With his ebony hands on each ivory key

He made that poor piano moan with melody.

O Blues!

Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool

He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.

Sweet Blues!

Coming from a black man's soul.

O Blues!

In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone

I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan--

"Ain't nobody in all this world,

Ain't got nobody but ma self.

I's gwine to quit ma frownin'

And put ma troubles on the shelf."





Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.

He played a few chords then he sang some more--

"I got the Weary Blues

And I can't be satisfied--

I ain't happy no mo'

And I wish that I had died."

And far into the night he crooned that tune.

The stars went out and so did the moon.

The singer stopped playing and went to bed

While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.

He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.

I chose these poems because they resonated somewhere within me. I remember reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, and thinking that it was a message to me from a kindred spirit; someone who knew my innermost thoughts and feelings at that time in my life and had been able to put into words what I effectively could not. With regards to The Weary Blues, I felt like I could relate to the singer and his contemplations about his troubles, how they made him feel and how he would try to deal with them. And how he, like me, cried from his soul (only he did so in song).