26 Matching Annotations
  1. Dec 2021
    1. I began to shift my left hand, too, moving the pattern of hand-drop around a bit, but intentionally not paying attention to where my fingers were landing. Eyes closed now. My attention was on the sound, and the small gaps where dissonance and tension opened up into something clearer, and my simple melody lines of my right hand continued to dance over the top of those “chords” of my left hand.

      I love how the words just swing and sway here. I sense a big kraken of a poem in this paragraph.

    1. Whatever dies, was not mixed equally

      In Galen's medicine, disease and death were the consequence of a disproportion in one's constituent elements, the 4 humors: black bile, yellow bile, blood, and phlegm.

    2. eye

      The another spherical image in the poem

      Each eye, which is able to be interpreted as each hemisphere, is really a perfect world because, though they are not combined into one, when facing each other, contains both lovers (the one who is reflected and one who reflects is in unity in the eye).

      Source: The Visual Paradigm of 'The Good-Morrow': Donne's Cosmographical Glasse (1986)

    3. THE GOOD-MORROW

      The Good-Morrow is an aubade, a love poem sung at dawn that greets the morning by recalling the pleasant night spent with the lover and the togetherness they shared while also lamenting as they realize that they should soon be parted.

      In The Good-Morrow the greeting aspect of aubade is particularly emphasized, celebrating the astonishing power of love that transcended them from individuals who dwelled on the unsophisticated pleasure to wholesome, perfectly balanced souls that are awakened in a new world.

      To read other examples of John Donne's aubade, see The Sunrising.

      Source: https://poets.org/glossary/aubade

    4. troth

      Truth

      It can also be interpreted as a marital oath, implying that the previous night they spent together is not an ordinary one but a wedding night. The plausible addressee of this poem is Donne's wife , Anne More.

  2. Nov 2021
    1. “I Love the Look of Words” By Maya Angelou

      Popcorn leaps, popping from the floor of a hot black skillet and into my mouth. Black words leap, snapping from the white page. Rushing into my eyes. Sliding into my brain which gobbles them the way my tongue and teeth chomp the buttered popcorn.

      When I have stopped reading, ideas from the words stay stuck in my mind, like the sweet smell of butter perfuming my fingers long after the popcorn is finished. I love the book and the look of words the weight of ideas that popped into my mind. I love the tracks of new thinking in my mind.

  3. Sep 2021
  4. feralatlas.supdigital.org feralatlas.supdigital.org
    1. A Story Begun Wislawa Szymborska The world's never ready For the birth of a child. Our ships are still not back from Windland. Ahead of us lies the Saint Gothard pass. We must outwit the guards on the desert of Thor, Fight through the sewers to Warsaw's centre, Win an audience with King Harald, And wait for the fall of Minister Fouche. Only in Acapulco Can we begin again. Our supplies are exhausted, Of matches, engine spares, reasons, and water. We have neither trucks, nor the blessing of the Mings. With this thin horse we'll never bribe the sheriff. There's no news of the Tartars' captives. We've no warm cave for winter, Or anyone who speaks Harari. We don't know who to trust in Nineveh, What the Cardinal will demand, Or whose names lie in Beria's files. They say Charles the Hammer will strike at dawn. So we must appease Cheops, Volunteer - of our own free will, Change our faith, Pretend we're friends of the Doge And that nothing links us with the Kwabe tribe. It's time to light the fire, Send a message to grandma in Zabierzow. And take down the tents. May the birth be easy, And the child grow strong. Let him take what happiness he can, Leap the abysses, Have strength to endure, And think far ahead. But not so far, As to see the future. From that one gift, O heavenly powers, Spare him.
  5. Aug 2021
    1. I have planted by the stars in defiance of the experts,

      Today is August 30, 2021:

      'tis a poor sign

      for planting.

      The stars are in Gemini,

      the arms.

      Just weed and cut and dock and castrate

      now

      or not.

      Who the hell is the mad poet

      and farmer of words,

      you

      or some rubbish Muse?

      I thought so.

  6. Feb 2021
    1. This is not a game.It's just a thing.It's nothing to do with cash.Luckily, it's free.Don't pay a dime in this.it's not a game.It's just... more.It's just more.Not in a good way.Nor in a bad way.Sometimes more is just more.This is more. More snore.Is it a good snooze?You decide.I recommend you decide for yourself.After you give it a try.It's free.A free what though?This is not a game.
  7. Oct 2020
    1. How To Write This Poem

      begin here …with TIME

      where words

      are layered with text

      where the pen

      etches into screen …

      then go here …

      (https://www.vialogues.com/vialogues/play/61205)

      … only to leap from one place

      to another,

      where my mind goes

      I hardly every know,

      only that it ventures forward …

      (https://paper.dropbox.com/doc/How-to-Read-a-Poem-by-me--A9AH3OSbHZqKqxia0PQOSa1~Ag-pHyO4XNCl1aIq4KoX22Be)

      … heard by hearts,​​

      and scattered stars,

      ​​where I see the sky fall,​​

      you find the debris …

      our thoughts.

      (https://nowcomment.com/documents/234044)

      Might we be permitted them?

      The dragonfly

      rarely yields her ground

      to the critics among

      us.

    2. Kevin's Response

      How To Write This Poem

      begin here …with TIME

      where words

      are layered with text

      where the pen

      etches into screen …

      then go here … https://www.vialogues.com/vialogues/play/61205

      ... only to leap from one place to another, where my mind goes I hardly every know, only that it ventures forward ...

      https://paper.dropbox.com/doc/How-to-Read-a-Poem-by-me--A9AH3OSbHZqKqxia0PQOSa1~Ag-pHyO4XNCl1aIq4KoX22Be

      … heard by hearts, ​​and scattered stars, ​​where I see the sky fall, ​​you find the debris …. ​​https://nowcomment.com/documents/234044

      Your thoughts?

    1. Instructions for navigating page and for working with the poem.

      1) Read the poem and annotate with Hypothes.is

      2) Listen to a recording of the poet performing the poem. Respond in Hypothes.is

      3) Read our discussion of the poem in Hypothes.is

      4) Then join others reflecting on what others say.

  8. May 2020
    1. d the mother often says “Don’t be like niggers” when the children are bad. A frequent phrase from the father is, “Look how well a white man does things.”

      They are taught that the n-word is shameful and bad while acting white is somewhat a higher class that they should be aiming for. This passage reminds me of a poem that I read in the past named Incident by Countee Cullen. In it is the incidents of the narrators encounters with racism and how it affected them even by an older age. This passage is similar as in the mother telling her children how to act in a certain way according to a certain ethnicity is impactful in a negative way.

  9. Dec 2019
    1. But the bitterest disgrace Is to see forever the face     Of the Monk of Ephesus! The unconquerable will This, too, can bear;--I still     Am Belisarius! 
  10. Jul 2019
    1. THE PLAINS - A PROPHECY Joaquin Miller. Rome, 1874.

      Go ye and look upon that land, That far vast land that few behold, And none beholding understand- That old, old land which men call new-Go journey with the seasons through Its wastes, and learn how limitless. The solemn silence of that plain Is, oh! so eloquent. The blue And bended skies seem built for it, And all else seems a yesterday, An idle tale but illy told. Its story is of God alone, For man has lived and gone away And left but little heaps of stone. Lo! here yon learn how more than fit And dignified is silence, when You hear the petty jeers of men. Its awful solitndes remain Thenceforth for aye a part of you, And you have learned your littleness.

      Some silent red men cross your track; Some sun-tanned trappers come and go; Some rolling seas of buffalo Break thunder-like and far away Against the foot-hills, breaking back Like breakers of some troubled bay; Some white-tailed antelope blown by So airy like; some foxes shy And shadow-like move to and fro Like weavers' shuttles as you pass; And now and then from out the grass You hear some lone bird cluck, and call A sharp keen call for her lost brood, That only makes the solitude Seem deeper still, and that is all.

      That wide domain of mysteries And signs that men misunderstand; A land of space and dreams; a land Of sea-salt lakes and dried-up seas; A land of caves and caravans And lonely wells and pools; a land That hath its purposes and plans, That seems so like dead Palestine, Save that its wastes have no confine Till pushed against the leveled skies; A land from out whose depths shall rise The new-time prophets; the domain From out whose awful depths shall come, All clad in skins, with dusty feet, A man fresh from his Maker's hand, A singer singing oversweet, A charmer charming very wise; And then all men shall not be dumb-Nay, not be dumb, for he shall say, "Take heed, for I prepare the. way For weary feet i" and from this land The Christ shall come when next the race Of man shall look upon his face.

  11. May 2019
  12. Sep 2018
    1. “Archaic Torso of Apollo.”

      Archaic Torso of Apollo Rainer Maria Rilke, 1875 - 1926

      We cannot know his legendary head with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso is still suffused with brilliance from inside, like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

      gleams in all its power. Otherwise the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could a smile run through the placid hips and thighs to that dark center where procreation flared.

      Otherwise this stone would seem defaced beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur:

      would not, from all the borders of itself, burst like a star: for here there is no place that does not see you. You must change your life.

  13. Jun 2018
    1. Here is my sense of the topics that resonated most clearly:

      Here is my sense of what you say in translation:

      A Numbered LIst

      1. I am aware, so aware, that definitions rule. They make us imagine our practice.
      2. I am aware that less is so often more.
      3. The R&D arm of each generation is already at work constraining and cajoling.
      4. Our poets and dogs drag home the damndest things: bones, mirrors and seeds.
      5. And still it is not enough.
      6. The margins are a moving target that even its authors may no longer recognize.
      7. Even if Yeats is right and the best lack all conviction and the worst are full of passionate hootery, we still note our thanks, we continue to add to the pile, and we keep open and keep on. and get down now.

      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BARAHLk-8dk

  14. Sep 2017
    1. Calling people out using the constructionist ideals — The American government is not living up to their high ideals.

      Poetry as a way to express frustration when there is no way to go up against actual US military power. A weapon of the weak; a powerful message.

  15. Feb 2017
  16. Jan 2017
      1. What is the speaker saying about the perspectives of a grown-up?
      2. To what extent would you consider the poet's use of humour successful?
  17. Oct 2016
  18. Apr 2016
  19. Jul 2015
  20. May 2015
    1. The Flyting of Grief and Joy

      Flyting is fighting with words, a verbal contest between two adversaries who trade barbed insults and boasts, often in verse (Wikipedia entry). In working with this form, Alasdair Roberts is very probably inspired by Hamish Henderson's sung poem The Flyting o' Life and Daith (words, recording). The Tobar an Duchlais site notes that

      Hamish Henderson finished this poem in 1963, having drawn on an anonymous German poem he had seen in 1939. Referring to the melody that he composed in order for it to be performed as a song, he stated: "[it] somewhat resembles the 'urlar' (or 'ground') of a pibroch". The poem was first published in 'The Scottish Broadsheet' (May, 1963).

  21. Mar 2015