Skip to main content

Introduction to poetry

Introduction to poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

Or press an ear against its hive

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out

Or walk inside a poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is to tie the poem to a chair with  rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
-Billy Collins

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ask me no more

Ask me no more Ask me no more:the moon may draw the sea; The clouds may stoop from heaven and take the shape, with fold to fold,of mountain or,of cape; But O too fold,when have I answer'd thee? Ask me no more, Ask me no more:what answe should I give? I love not hollow cheek or faded eye, Yet O my friend,I will not have thee die! Ask me no more;legt I should bid thee live; Ask me no more. Ask me no more;thy fate and mine are seal'd: I strove against the stream and all in vain; Let the great river take me to the main: No more,dear love,for at a touch I yield; Ask me no more.  -Tennyson

Come not when I am dead

Come not when I am dead Come not,when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou woudst not save. There let the wind sweep and plover cry; But thou,go by Child,if it were thine error or thy crime I care no longer,being all unblest; Wed whom thou will,but I am sick of Time, And I desire to rest. Pass on,weak heart,and leave to where I lie: Go by,go by. -Tennyson

In memoriam,Go sleep I give my powers away

In memorim ,Go sleep I give my powers away To sleep I give my powers away, My will is bondsman to the dark; I sit within a hemless bark, And my heart l muse and say, O heart,how fares it with thee now, That I thou should fail from the desire, Who scarcely derest to imagine, What makes he beat so low, Something it is which thou houst lost, Some pleasure from thine early gelrs, Break thou deep vase of chilling leys That grief hath shaken into frost, Such clouds of nameless trouble cross All night below the darkened eyes. with morning wakes the will,and cries thou shalth, not be the fall of loss.  -Tennyson