PHENOMENAL WOMAN

Estándar

Rosalía de Castro would probably enjoy the 20th century poem “Phenomenal Woman”  by the American poet, author, civil rights activist, dancer, film and television producer, playwright, film director, actress and professor Maya Angelou.

phenomenal_woman_by_tmac_fair-d4vijkq (1)
Click here if you prefer a free style music version or the famous song version by Ruthie Foster.

What’s due this time?

As commented in class, it would be really nice if you could contribute with some poems in English that will be distributed during next week’s breaks to celebrate

UNESCO WORLD POETRY’S DAY NEXT 21st MARCH

Remember you can also write song lyrics if they keep a poetic standard.

38 responses »

  1. “KNOCKIN’ ON HEAVEN’S DOOR” by BOB DYLAN

    Mama, take this badge off of me
    I can’t use it anymore.
    It’s gettin’ dark, too dark to see
    I feel I’m knockin’on heaven’s door.

    Knock, knock, knockin’on heaven’s door
    Knock, knock, knockin’on heaven’s door
    Knock, knock, knockin’on heaven’s door
    Knock, knock, knockin’on heaven’s door.

    Mama, put my guns in the ground
    I can’t shoot them anymore.
    That long black cloud is comin’down
    I feel I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door.

    Knock, knock, knockin’on heaven’s door
    Knock, knock, knockin’on heaven’s door
    Knock, knock, knockin’on heaven’s door
    Knock, knock, knockin’on heaven’s door

    Video about the poem – song: http://is.gd/J06aPd
    Some information about Bob Dylan: http://is.gd/MY5evV

  2. “IN THE BAZAARS OF HYDERABAD” by SAROJINI NAIDU

    What do you sell, O ye merchants?
    Richly your wares are displayed,
    Turbans of crimson son silver,
    Tunics of purple brocade,
    Mirror with panels of amber,
    Daggers with handles of jade

    What do you weigh, O ye vendors?
    Saffron and lentil and rice.
    What do you grind, O ye maidens?
    Sandalwood, henna and spice.
    What do you call, O ye pedlars?
    Chessmen and ivory dice.

    What do you make, O ye goldsmiths?
    Writlet and anklet and ring,
    Bells for the feet of blue pigenons,
    Frail as a dragon-fly’s wing,
    Girdles of gold for the dancers,
    Citron, pomegranate and plum.
    What do you play, O musicians?
    Cithar, sarangi and drum.

    What do you cry, O ye fruitmen?
    Citron, pomegranate and plum.
    What do you play, O musicians?
    Cithar, sarangi and drum.

    What do you chant, O magicians?
    Spells for the aeons to come.
    What do you weave, O ye flower-girls?
    With tassels of azure and red?
    Crowns for the brow of a bridegroom,
    Chaplets to garland his bed,
    Sheets of white blossoms new-gathered
    To perfume the sleep of the dead.

    Some information about Sarojini Naidu: http://is.gd/PXbfmB

  3. “I STOOD TIP-TOE UPON A LITTLE HILL” by JOHN KEATS

    I stood tip-toe upon, a little hill,
    The air was cooling, and so very still,
    That the sweet buds which with a modest pride
    Bull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,
    Their, scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems,
    Had not yet lost those starry diadems
    Caught from the early sobbing of the morn.
    The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn,
    And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept
    On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept
    A little noiseless noise among the leaves,
    Born of the very sigh that silence heaves:
    For not the faintest motion could be seen
    Of all the shades that slanted o’er the green.
    There was wide wand’ring for the greediest eye,
    To peer about upon variety;
    Far round the horizon’s crystal air to skim,
    And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim;
    To picture out the quaint, and curious bending
    Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending;
    Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves,
    Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves.
    I gazed awhile, and felt as light, and free
    As though the fanning wings of Mercury
    Had played upon my heels: I was light-hearted,
    And many pleasures to my vision started;
    So I straightway began to pluck a posed
    Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy.

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/M0Sa4m
    Some information about John Keats: http://is.gd/INSwHK

  4. “THE AD-DRESSING OF CATS” by T.S. ELIOT

    You’ve read of several kinds of Cat,
    And my opinion now is that
    You should need no interpreter
    to understand their character.
    You now have learned enough to see
    That Cats are much like you and me
    And other people whome we find
    Possessed of various types of mind.
    For some are sane and some are mad
    And some are good and some are bad
    And some are better, some are worse –
    But all may be described in verse.
    You’ve seen them both at work and games,
    And learnt about their proper names,
    Their habits and their habitat:
    But
    How would you ad-dress a Cat?
    So first, your memory I’ll jog,
    And say: A CAT IS NOT A DOG.

    Now dogs pretend they like to fight;
    They often bark, more seldom bite;
    But yet a Dog is, on the whole call a simple soul.
    Of course I’m not including Pekes,
    And such fantastic canine freaks.
    The usual Dog about the Town
    Is much inclined to play the clown
    And far from showing too much pride
    Is frequently undignified.
    He’s very easily taken in-
    Just chuck him underneath the chin
    Or slap hisback or shake his paw,
    He such an easy-going lout,
    He’ll answer any hail or shout.

    Again I must remind you that
    A Dog’s a Dog – A CAT’S A CAT.

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/Gej7SW
    Some information about T.S. Eliot: http://is.gd/cc0SEd

  5. “OLIPHAUNT” by J.R.R. TOLKIEN

    Grey as a mouse.
    Big is a house.

    Nose like snake.
    I make the earth shake.

    As I tramph through the grass
    Trees crackas I pass.

    With horns in my mouth
    I walk in te south.

    Flapping big ears
    Beyond count of years.

    I stump round and round
    Never lie on the ground.

    Not even to die
    Oliphaunt am I.

    Biggest of all
    Huge, old and tall.

    If ever you´d met me
    You would not forget me.

    If you never do
    You won´t think I´m true

    But old Oliphaunt am I
    And I never die.

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/rq2pyA
    Some information about J.R.R. Tolkien: http://is.gd/bhsTNl

  6. “LEISURE” by W.H.DAVIES

    What is this life if, full of care,
    We have no time to stand and stare.

    No time to stand beneath the boughs
    And stare as long as sheep or caws.

    No time to see, when woods we pass,
    Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

    No time to see, in broad daylight,
    Streams full of stars like skies at night.

    No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
    And watch her feet, how they can dance.

    No time to wait till her mouth can
    Enrich that smile her eyes began.

    A poor life this if, full of care,
    We have no time to stand and stare.

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/y3uUqd
    Some information about W.H. Davies: http://is.gd/2SzZ5l

  7. “ALONE” by EDWAR ALLAN POE

    From childhood’s hour I have not been
    As others were; I have noy seen
    As others saw; I could not bring
    My passions from a commom spring.
    From the same source I have not taken
    My sorrow; I could not awaken
    My heart to joy at the same tone;
    And all I loved, I loved alone.
    Then-in my childhood, in the dawn
    Of a most stormy life- was drawn
    From every depth of good anf ill
    The mystery which binds me still:
    From the torrent, or the fountain,
    From the red cliff of the mountain,
    From the sun that round me rolled
    In its autumn tint of gold,
    From the lightning in the sky
    As it passed me flying by,
    From the thunder and the storm,
    And the cloud that took the form
    (When the rest of Heaven was blue)
    Of a demon in my view.

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/MMyFjF
    Some information about Edgar Allan Poe: http://is.gd/ApC19Z

  8. “NO!” by THOMAS HOOD

    No sun – no moon!
    No morn – no noon –
    No drawn – no dusk – no proper time of day
    No sky – no earthly view –
    No distance looking blue –
    No road – no street – no’ t’ other side the way
    No end to any Row –
    No indication where the Crescents go
    No top to any steeple –
    No recognitions of familiar people
    No courtesies for showing ’em
    No knowing ’em!
    No travelling at all-no locomotion,
    No inkling of me way – no notion
    No go – by land or ocean
    No mail -no post-
    No news from any foreign coast-
    No park – no ring – no afternoon gentility –
    No company – no nobility –
    No warmth , no cheerfulness , no healthful ease ,
    No comfortable feel in any member –
    No shade , no shine , no butterflies , no bees,
    No fruit , no flower , no leaves , no birds –
    November!

    Video about the poem done by some students: http://is.gd/7tXAk9
    Some information about Thomas Hood: http://is.gd/C5F2vs

  9. “FOOLISH LOVE” by Rufus Wainwright

    I don’t want to hold you and feel so helpless
    I don’t want to smell you and lose my senses
    And smile in slow motion
    With eyes in love

    I twist like a corkscrew
    The sweetness rising
    I drink from the bottle,weeping
    Why won’t you last?
    Why can’t you last

    So i will walk without care
    Beat my snare
    Look like a man who means business
    Go to all the poshest places
    With their familiar faces
    Terminate all sings of weakness
    Oh,all for the sake of a foolish love

    I will take my coffee black
    Never snack
    Hang with the wolves who are sheepish
    Flow through the veins of town
    Always frown
    Me and my mistress, the princess
    Oh, all for the sake of a foolish love

    So the day noah’s ark floats down park
    My eyes will be simply glazed over
    Or better yet
    I’ll wear shades on sunless days
    And when the sun’s out, I’ll stay in and slumber
    Oh,all for the sake of folish love
    All for the sake of a foolish love

    Cause i don’t want to hold you and feel so helpless
    I don’t want to smell you and lose my senses
    And smile in slow motion
    With eyes in love

    Poem – song video: http://is.gd/eY9AgV
    Some information about Rufus Wainwright: http://is.gd/59YQCc

  10. “SONG” by JOHN DONNE

    Go and catch a falling star,
    Get with child a mandrake root,
    Tell me where all past years are,
    Or who cleft the devil”s foot,
    Teach me to hear mermaids singing
    Or to keep off envy stinging,
    And Find
    What wind
    Serves to advance an honest mind.

    It thou be”st born to strange sights,

    Things invisible go see
    Ride ten thousand days and nights
    Till Age snow white hairs on thee
    Thou,when thou teturn st,wilt tell me
    All strange wonders that befell thee,
    And swear
    No where
    Lives a woman true and fair

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/Ztc8fR
    John Donne’s biography: http://is.gd/logQYg

  11. “OUR GRANDFATHER” by OLIVER SHELLEY

    Our grandfather by the sea, blind.
    His deck chair settles our rug on the stones
    and his face takes sunlight like thirst.
    We always play games that need speaking ;
    each of our cards and moves are told.
    And he smile in his taking part.
    We are saying our childhood to this old man
    and his beautiful face, liver-marked and shy,
    has no end in its space, no end in its gentleness,
    to hold a whole life of listening left to do.

    Some information about Oliver Shelley: http://is.gd/4iA2O5

  12. “A CHILD SAID, WHAT IS THE GRASS?” by WALT WHITMAN

    A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
    hands;
    How could I answer the child? . . . I do not know what it
    is any more than he.

    I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
    green stuff woven.

    Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
    A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
    Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we
    may see and remark, and say Whose?

    Or I guess the grass is itself a child . . . the produced babe
    of the vegetation.

    Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
    And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
    zones,
    Growing among black folks as among white,
    Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
    same, I receive them the same.

    And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

    Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
    It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
    It may be if had known them Iwould have loved them;
    It may be you are from old people and from women, and
    from offspring taken soon out of their mother’s laps,
    And here you are the mother’s laps.

    This is grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old
    mothers,
    Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
    Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

    O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
    And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
    for nothing.

    I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
    and women,
    And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
    taken soon out of their laps.

    What do you think has become of the young and old men?
    What do you think has become of the women and
    children?

    They are alive and well somewhere;

    The smallest srouts show there is really no death,
    And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
    at the end to arrest it,
    And ceased the moment life appeared.

    All goes anward and outward . . . and nothing collapses,
    And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
    luckier.

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/VSli63
    Some information about Walt Whitman: http://is.gd/wgMjvS

  13. “NIRUPAM UNCLE” by DAVID HORSBURGH

    Nirupam uncle, wherever he goes

    Wears his spectacles on his nose

    Carries a stick with a silver band

    And a silver box in the other hand.

    Nirupam uncle is tall and thin

    His eye is as bright as a new-made pin.

    His dhoti is white and his waistcoat is brown,

    His shoes are the shiniest in the town.

    He comes to our house when he’s had his lunch

    And usually brings me a sweet to munch.

    He sits himself down in the shade of a tree

    And always leaves a space for me.

    And then he starts! The stories he tells

    Are better than music or drums or bells;

    They ring in my head the whole night long.

    A story by uncle is just like a song.

    He tells me about the days of old,

    Of kings and robbers and stolen gold,

    Of ships that sail the sea so blue,

    Of Rama and Sita and Lakshman, too.

    There are stories of goblins, and owls wise,

    And of how poor Kannapan lost his eyes;

    Of fairies, and Rakshasas huge and tall;

    But sitting near uncle I don’t mind at all.

    ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he always cries,

    And smiles again with his twinkling eyes.

    For Nirupam uncle, wherever he goes.

    Wears his spectacles on his nose.

    And when the last story is finished and done.

    And the courtyard is yellow with setting sun,

    He smiles and says, ‘Goodbye, my boy!’

    And waves his stick and laughs with joy.

    Some information about David Horsburgh: http://is.gd/iNFKvh

  14. “THE POOR GHOST” by CHRISTINA ROSETTI

    “Oh whence do you come, my dear friend, to me
    Whith your golden hair all fallen below your knee,
    And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea,
    And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?”

    “From the other worl I come back to you,
    My locks are uncurled whit drepping drenching dew.
    You know the old, whilst I know the new:
    But tomorrow you shall know this too.”

    “Oh not tomorrow into the dark, I pray;
    Oh not tomorrow, too soon to go away:
    Here I fell warm and well-content and gay:
    Give me another year, another day.”

    “Am I so changed in a day and a night
    That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright,
    Is fain to turn away to left or right
    And cover up his eyes from the sight?”

    “Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend,
    I loved you for life, but life has an end;
    Thro sickness I was ready to tend:
    But death mars all, which we cannot mend.

    “Indeed I loved you, I love you yet
    If you will stay where your bed is set,
    Where I have planted a violet
    Whitch the wind waves, which the dew makes wet”

    “Life is gone, then love too is gone,
    It was a reed that I leant upon:
    Never doubt I will leave you alone
    And not make you rattling bone with bone.

    “I go home alone to my bed,
    Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head,
    Roofed in with a load of lead,
    Warm enough for the forgotten dead.

    “But why did your tears soak throo the clay,
    And why did your sobs wake me where I lay?
    I was away, far enough away:
    Let me sleep now till the Judment Day.”

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/qRBIZ3
    Some information about Christina Rosetti: http://is.gd/AFqIIa

  15. “MOON-WIND” by TED HUGHES

    There is no wind on the moon at all

    Yet things get blown about.

    In utter utter stillness

    Your candle shivers out.

    In utter stillness
    A giant marquee
    Booms and flounders past you
    Like a swan at sea.
    In utter utter stillness
    While you stand in the street
    A squall of hen and cabbages
    Knocks you off your feet.
    In utter utter stillness
    While you stand agog
    A tearing twisting sheet of pond
    Clouts you with a frog.
    A camp of caravans suddenly
    Squawks and takes off.
    A ferris wheel bounds along the skyline
    Like a somersaulting giraffe.
    Roots and foundations, nails and screws,
    Nothing can hold fast,
    Nothing can resist the moon’s
    Dead-still blast.

    Some information about Ted Hughes: http://is.gd/aCUm2U

  16. “I CANNOT REMEMBER MY MOTHER” by RABINDRANATH TAGORE

    I cannot renember my mother
    only sometimes in the midst of my play
    a tune seems to hover over my playthings,
    the tune of some song that she used to
    hum while rocking my cradle.

    I cannot renember my mother
    but when in the early auntunm morning
    the smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air
    the scent of the morning service in the temple
    comes to me as the scent of my mother

    I cannot renember my mother
    only when from my bedroom window I send
    my eyes into the blue of the distant sky,

    I feel that the stillness of
    my mother’s gaze on my face
    has spread all over the sky.

    Some information about Rabindranath Tagore: http://is.gd/li0FKu

  17. “SADIE” by JOANNA NEWSOM (fragment)

    This is an old song,
    these are old blues.
    This is not my tune,
    but it´s mine to use.
    And the seabirds
    where the fear once grew
    will flock with a fury,
    and they will bury what´d come for you
    Down where I darn with the milk-eyed mender
    you and I, and love so tender,
    is stretched-on the hoop where I stich-this adage:
    “Bless this house and its heart so savage.”
    And all that I want, and all that I need
    and all that I´ve got is scattered like seed.
    And all that I knew is moving away from me.
    [and all that I know is blowing
    like tumbleweed]
    And the mealy worms
    in the brine will burn
    in a salty pyre,
    among the fauns and ferns.
    And the love we hold,
    and the love we spurn,
    will never grow cold
    only taciturn.

    Poem – song video: http://is.gd/bf5Hys
    Some information about Joanna Newsom: http://is.gd/sGhjiE

  18. “IF” by RUDYARD KIPLING

    If you can keep your head when all around you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;

    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
    Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

    If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
    If you can meet with triumph and disaster
    And treat those two imposters just the same;
    If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
    Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;

    If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
    And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
    If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,
    And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

    If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
    Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;
    If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
    If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run

    Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man my son!

    Video about the poem:http://is.gd/QZarzk
    Some information about Rudyard Kipling: http://is.gd/ZPnbRF

  19. “WHAT DO WOMEN WANT?” by KIM ADDONIZIO

    I want a red dress.
    I want it flimsy and cheap,
    I want it too tight, I want to wear it
    until someone tears it off me.
    I want it sleeveless and backless,
    this dress, so no one has to guess
    what’s underneath. I want to walk down
    the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
    with all those keys glittering in the window,
    past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
    donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
    slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
    hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
    I want to walk like I’m the only
    woman on earth and I can have my pick.
    I want that red dress bad.
    I want it to confirm
    your worst fears about me,
    to show you how little I care about you
    or anything except what
    I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
    from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
    to carry me into this world, through
    the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
    and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
    it’ll be the goddamned
    dress they bury me in.

    Video 1 about the poem: http://is.gd/arIhla
    Video 2 about the poem: http://is.gd/PmYOJc

    Some information about Kim Addonizio: http://is.gd/F5dq9g

  20. “KNEES OF MY BEES” by ALANIS MORISETTE

    We share a culture same vernacular

    Love of physical humor and time spent alone
    You with your penchant for spontaneus advents
    For sticky and raspy,unearthed and then gone

    You are a gift renaissance with a wink

    With tendencies for conversations that raise bars
    You are sage who is fueled by compassion
    Comes to nooks and crannies as balm for all scars

    You make the knees of my bees weak,tremble and buckle

    You make the knees of my bees weak

    You are a spirit that knows of no limit

    That knows of no ceiling who balks at dead-ends
    You are a wordsmith who cares for his brothers
    Not seduced by illusion or fair-weather friends

    You make the knees of my bees weak,tremble and bukcle

    You make the knees of my bees weak

    You are a vision who lives by the signals of

    Stomach and intuition as your guide
    You are a sliver of god on a platter
    Who walks what he talks and who cops when he´s lied

    You make the knees of my bees weak,tremble and buckle

    You make the knees of my bees weak
    You make the knees of my bees weak,tremble and buckle
    You make the knees of my bees weak
    You make the knees of my bees weak,tremble and buckle
    You make the knees of muy bees weak

    Poem – Song Video: http://is.gd/IG0mqc
    Some information about Alanis Morisette: http://is.gd/oEaDiM

  21. “THY DAYS ARE DONE” by LORD BYRON

    Thy data are ,thy dame begun;
    Thy contraseña Straits record
    The triumphs of her chosen Son
    The slaughter of his sword!
    The deeds he did, the fields he won,
    The freedom he restored!

    Though thou art fall’n, while we are free
    Thou shalt not taste of death!
    The generous blood that flow’d from thee
    Disdain’d to sink beneath:
    Within our veins its currents be,
    Thy spirit on our breath!

    Thy name, our charging hosts along,
    Shall be the battle-word!
    Thy fall, the theme of choral song
    From virgin voices pour’d!
    To weep would do thy glory wrong :
    Thou shalt not be deplored.

    More information about Lord Byron: http://is.gd/GZOQV4

  22. “THE END” by JIM MORRISON

    This is the end,
    Beautiful friend,
    This is the end,
    My only friend,
    The end…of our elaborate plans,
    The end…of everything that stands,
    The end…no safety or suprise,
    The end…I’ll nevere look into your eyes
    Again
    Can you picture what will be,
    So lomitless and free,
    Deseperately in need of some
    Stranger’s hand
    I Im a desperate hand.
    Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
    And all the children are insane
    All the children are insane:
    Waiting for the summer rain

    Song – poem Video “The End” – The Doors http://is.gd/ym04bF
    Some information about Jim Morrison: http://is.gd/aQ1A1J

  23. “ON TEARS” by JACK KEROUAC

    Tears is the break of my brow

    The moony tempestuous

    Sitting downln dark railyards

    When to see my mother’s face

    Recalling from the waking vision

    I wept to understand

    The trap mortality

    And personal blood of earth

    Which saw me in-Father father

    Why hast thou forsaken me?

    Mortality & unpleasure

    Roam this city-

    Unhappiness my middle name

    I want to be saved,-

    Sunk-can`t be

    Won`t be

    Never was made-

    So retch!

    Some information about Jack Kerouac: http://is.gd/SSM5pk

  24. “AS I WENT OUT ONE MORNING” by BOB DYLAN

    As I went out one morning
    To breathe the air around Tom Paine’s
    I spied the fairest damsel
    That ever did walk in chains
    I offer’d her my hand
    She took me by the arm
    I knew that very instant
    She meant to do me harm.

    “Depart from me this moment”
    I told her with my voice
    Said she, “But I don’t wish to”
    Said I, “But you have no choice”
    “I beg you, sir”, she pleaded
    From the corners of her mouth
    “I will secretly accept you
    And together we’ll fly south”.

    Just then Tom Paine, himself
    Came running from across the field
    Shouting at this lovely girl
    And commanding her to yield
    And as she was letting go her grip
    Up Tom Paine did run
    “I’m sorry, sir”, he said to me
    “I’m sorry for what she’d done.

    Video about the song – poem: http://is.gd/UsnvwV
    Some information about Bob Dylan: http://is.gd/MY5evV

  25. “MAD GIRL’S LOVE SONG” by SYLVIA PLATH

    “I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
    I lift my lids and all is born again.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
    And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

    I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
    And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
    Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

    I fancied you’d return the way you said,
    But I grow old and I forget your name.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
    At least when spring comes they roar back again.
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)”

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/qUI8aq
    Some information about Sylvia Plath: http://is.gd/ZGUITf

  26. “MAD SONG” by WILLIAM BLAKE (fragment)

    The wild wind weeps
    And the night is a-cold;
    Come hither, Sleep,
    And my griefs infold:
    But lo! The morning peeps
    Over the eastern steps,
    And the rustling birds of dawn
    The earth do scorn.

    Lo! To the vault
    Of paved heaven
    With sorrow fraught
    My notes are driven:
    They strike the ear of night,
    Make weep the eyes of day;
    They make mad the roaring winds,
    And with tempests play.

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/RBPSVD
    Some information about William Blake: http://is.gd/8rI7le

  27. “WE TEACH LIFE, SIR” by RAFEEF ZIADAH

    Today,my body was a TV´d massacre.
    Today, my body was a TV´d massacre that had ton fit into sound-bites and word limits.
    Today, my body was a TV´d massacre that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits filles enough with statisticsto counter measuredresponse.
    And I perfected my English and I lerned my UN resolutions.
    But still,he asked me, Ziadah, don´t you think that everithing would be resolved if you would just stop teaching so much hatres to your cildren?
    Pause
    Ilook inside of me for strength to be patient but patience is not at the tip of my
    tongue as the bombs drop over
    Gaza.
    Patience has just escaped me.
    Pause.Smile.
    We teach life, sir!
    Raeef, remenber top smile.
    Pause.
    We teach life ,sir!
    We Palestinians teach life after they have occupied the last sky.
    We teach life after they have built their settlements and apartheid walls, after the last skies.
    We teach life, sir!
    But today,my body was a TV´d massacre made to fit into sound-bites and word limits.
    And just give us a history, a human history.
    This is not political.
    We just want to tell people about you an your people so give us a human story.
    Don´t mention that word “apartheid”and “ocupation”.
    This is not political.
    You have to help me us a journalist to help you tell your story wich is not a political story.
    Today, my body was a TV´d massacre.
    How about you give us a story of a woman in Gaza who needs medication?
    How about you?
    Do you have enough bone-broken limbs to cover the sun?
    Hand me over your dead and give me the list of their names in one thousand two hundred word limits.
    Today, my body was a TV´d massacrer that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits and move those that are desensitized to terrorist blood.
    But they felt sorry.
    They felt sorry for the cattle of Gaza.
    So,Igive them UN resolutions and statistics and we condemn and we deplre and we reject.
    And these are not two equal sides: occupier and occupied.
    And a hundred dead,two hundred dead, and a thousend dead.
    And between that,war crime and massacre, I went out words and smile “not exotic”, smile,”not terrorist”.
    And I recount a hundred dead , two hundred dead, a thousend dead.
    Is anyone out there?
    Will anyone listen?
    I wish I could veil over their bodies.
    I wish could just run barefoot in every refuee camp and hold every child, cover their esars so they wouldnt have to hear the sound of bombing for the rest of their life the way I do.
    Today, my body was a TV´d massacre
    And let me just tell you, there´s nothing you UN resolutions have ever done about this.
    And no sound-bite, no sound-bite I come up with, no matter how good my English gets, no sound-bite, no sound-bite, no sound-bite, no sound-bite will bring them back to life.
    No sound-bite will fix this.
    We teach life, sir!
    We teach life, sir!
    We Palestinians wake up every morning to teach the rest of the world life, sir!

    Video about the poem (subtitled in Spanish): http://is.gd/0zMtHG

  28. “IMAGINE” by JOHN LENNON

    Imagine there’s no Heaven
    It’s easy if you try
    And no Hell below us
    Above us only sky

    Imagine all the people
    Living for today
    Imagine there’s no country
    It isn’t hard to do

    Nothing to kill or die for
    And no religion too
    Imagine all the people
    Living life in peace

    You may say I’m a dreamer
    But I’m not the only one
    I hope someday you will join us
    And the world will be as one

    Imagine no posessions
    I wonder if you can
    No need for greed or hunger
    Or Brotherhood of Man

    Imagine all the people
    Sharing all the world
    You may say that I’m a dreamer
    But I’m not the only one

    I hope someday you will join us
    And the world will be as one.

    Video about the poem – song: http://is.gd/opM1u2
    Some information about John Lennon: http://is.gd/umKRN7

  29. “I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS” by MAYA ANGELOU

    “A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
    and floats downstream till the current ends
    and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.

    But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
    can seldom see through 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 he names the sky his own.

    But a 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 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.”

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/3NfB4B
    Some information about Maya Angelou: http://is.gd/ZTxRFC

  30. “STILL I RISE” by MAYA ANGELOU

    You may write me down in history
    With your bitter, twisted lies,
    You may trod me in the very dirt
    But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

    Does my sassiness upset you?
    Why are you beset with gloom?
    ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
    Pumping in my living room.

    Just like moons and like suns,
    With the certainty of tides,
    Just like hopes springing high,
    Still I’ll rise.

    Did you want to see me broken?
    Bowed head and lowered eyes?
    Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
    Weakened by my soulful cries.

    Does my haughtiness offend you?
    Don’t you take it awful hard
    ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
    Diggin’ in my own back yard.

    You may shoot me with your words,
    You may cut me with your eyes,
    You may kill me with your hatefulness,
    But still, like air, I’ll rise.

    Does my sexiness upset you?
    Does it come as a surprise
    That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
    At the meeting of my thighs?

    Out of the huts of history’s shame
    I rise
    Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
    I rise
    I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
    Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
    Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
    I rise
    Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
    I rise
    Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
    I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
    I rise
    I rise
    I rise.

    Video about the poem: (From minute 0:46 on) http://is.gd/9xECVQ
    Video – song about the poem: http://is.gd/mFl3GP
    Some information about Maya Angelou: http://is.gd/ZTxRFC

  31. “O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!” by WALT WHITMAN

    O CAPTAIN!my Captain!our fearful trip is done;
    The ship has weather´d every rack, the price we soughtis won;
    The port is near, the bells Ihear, the people all exulting,
    While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim grim and daring:
    But O heart! heart! heart!
    Othe bleeding drops of red,
    Where on the deck my Captain lies,
    Fallen cold and dead.

    O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
    Rise up–for you the flag is flung–for you the bugle trills;10
    For you bouquets and ribbon´d wreaths–for you the shores a-crowding;
    For you they call, the swaying mass,their eager faces turning;
    Here Captain! dear father!
    This arm beneath your head;
    It is some dream that on the deck,
    You´ve fallen cold and dead.

    My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
    My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
    The ship is anchor´d safe and sound,itsvoyage closed and done;
    From fearful trip, the victor ship,comes in with objectwon; 20
    Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
    But I, with mournful tread,
    Walk the deck my Captain lies,
    Fallen cold and dead.

    Video about the poem: http://is.gd/tYOb7j
    Some information about Walt Whitman: http://is.gd/wgMjvS

  32. “FROG AUTUMN” by SYLVIA PLATH

    Summer grows old, cold-bloodeb mother
    The insects sre scant,skinny.
    In these palustral homes we only
    Croak and winther.

    Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother.
    The insects are scant, skinny.
    In these palustral homes we only
    Croak and wither.

    Mornings dissipate in somnolence.
    The sun brightens tardily
    Among the pithless reeds. Flies fail us.
    he fen sickens.

    Frost drops even the spider. Clearly
    The genius of plenitude
    Houses himself elsewhwere. Our folk thin
    Lamentably.

    Video about the poem: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8djzPD2rRQ
    Some information about Sylvia Plath: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Plath

  33. “THE ROAD NOT TAKEN” by ROBERT FROST

    Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
    And sorry I could not travel both
    And be one traveler,long I stood
    And looked down one as far as I cloud
    To where it bent in the undergrowth;

    The took the other,as just as fair,
    And having perhaps the better claim
    Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
    Though as for that the passing there
    Had worn them really about the same,

    And both that morning equally lay
    In leaves no step had trodden black.
    Oh, I kept the first for another day!
    Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
    I doubted if I should ever come back.

    I shall be telling this with a sigh
    Somewhere ages and ages hence:
    Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
    I took the one less traveled by,
    And that has made all the difference.

    Video about the poem: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2v4M73_WKl4
    Some information about Robert Frost: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Frost

  34. “GO AND CATCH A FALLING STAR” by JOHN DONNE

    Go and catch a falling star,
    Get with child a mandrake root,
    Tell me where all past years are,
    Or who cleft the devil’s foot,
    Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
    Or to keep off envy’s stinging,
    And find
    What wind
    Serves to advance an honest mind.

    If thou be’st born to strange sights,
    Things invisible to see,
    Ride ten thousand days and nights,
    Till age snow white hairs on thee,
    Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me,
    All strange wonders that befell thee,
    And swear,
    No where
    Lives a woman true, and fair.

    If thou find’st one, let me know,
    Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
    Yet do not, I would not go,
    Though at next door we might meet;
    Though she were true, when you met her,
    And last, till you write your letter,
    Yet she
    Will be
    False, ere I come, to two, or three.

    Video about the poem: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d14NQ1bvTpA
    Some information about John Donne: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Donne

  35. “NOTHIN BUT LOVE” by TUPAC SHAKUR (Fragment)

    When I was young I used to want to be a dealer see
    Cause the gold and cars they appealed to me
    I saw our brothers getting rich slangin crack to folks
    And the square’s getting big for these sack of dope
    Started thinking bout a plan to get paid myself
    So I made myself, raised myself
    Til the dealer on the block told me, “That ain’t cool
    You ain’t meant to slang crack, you a rapper fool”
    I got my game about women from a prostitute
    And way back used to rap on the block for loot
    I tryed to make my way legit, haha
    But it was hard, cause rhymes don’t pay the rent
    And uhh, it was funny how I copped out
    I couldn’t make it in school, so finally I dropped out
    My family on welfare
    I’m steady thinking, since don’t nobody else care
    I’m out here on my own
    At least in jail I have a meal and I wouldn’t be alone
    I’m feelin like a waste, tears rollin down my face
    Cause my life is filled with hate
    Until I looked around me
    I saw nothing but family, straight up down for me
    Panthers, Pimps, Pushers and Thugs
    Hey yo, that’s my family tree, I got nuttin but love

    Video about the song – poem: http://is.gd/hhytKf
    Some information about Tupac Shakur: http://is.gd/FobsPM

  36. “HOW THE LITTLE KITE LEARNED TO FLY” by Katherine Pyle

    ” I never can do it “, the little kite said , as he looked at the others high over his head .

    ” I know i should fall if tried to fly ”

    ” Try “, said the big kite , only try !

    ” Or fear you never will learn at all “.

    But the little kite said: ” i m afraid i ll fall”

    The big kite nodded : ” ah, well, good – by;

    ” I am off” . And rose toward the tranquil sky.

    Then the little kite s paper stirred at the sight.

    And trembling he shook himself free for fligth.

    First whirling and frightened, then braver grown,

    Up, up he rose thouhg the air alone,

    till the big kite looking down could see

    the little one rising steadily.

    Then how the little kite thrilled with pride,

    as he sailed with the big kite side by side!

    While far below he could see the ground,

    And the boys like small sport moving round.

    They rested high in the quiet air,

    And only the birds and clouds were there.

    ” Oh, how happy i am , ” the little kite cried.

    ” And all because i was brave and tried. ”

    Some information about Katharine Pyle: http://is.gd/xbYkNk

  37. “DIGGING” by SEAMUS HEANEY

    Between my finger and my thumb
    The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.

    Under my window a clean rasping sound
    When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
    My father, digging. I look down

    Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
    Bends low, comes up twenty years away
    Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
    Where he was digging.

    The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
    Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
    He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
    To scatter new potatoes that we picked
    Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
    By God, the old man could handle a spade,
    Just like his old man.

    My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
    Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
    Once I carried him milk in a bottle
    Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
    To drink it, then fell to right away
    Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
    Over his shoulder, digging down and down
    For the good turf. Digging.

    The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
    Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
    Through living roots awaken in my head.
    But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

    Between my finger and my thumb
    The squat pen rests.
    I’ll dig with it.

    Video about the poem: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EuLnm2OZyY0
    Some information about Seamus Heaney: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seamus_Heaney

  38. Hour after hour, day after day,
    Between heaven and earth than are
    Eternal sentinels.
    As stream that plunges
    Spend life.

    Devolvedle the flower its perfume
    After withered;
    Of waves kissing the beach
    And one after another kissing expire
    Gather up the rumors, complaints,
    And on bronze engrave their harmony.

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