Sep 5, 2009

11th Virtual Poetry Circle

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And now, for the eleventh edition of the Virtual Poetry Circle:

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

It's a return to the classics today. William Wordsworth was considered one of the English Romantic Poets, and his most famous poem, which he worked on for many years, is The Prelude.

A Poet's Epitaph

ART thou a Statist in the van
Of public conflicts trained and bred?
--First learn to love one living man;
'Then' may'st thou think upon the dead.

A Lawyer art thou?--draw not nigh!
Go, carry to some fitter place
The keenness of that practised eye,
The hardness of that sallow face.

Art thou a Man of purple cheer?
A rosy Man, right plump to see?                             10
Approach; yet, Doctor, not too near,
This grave no cushion is for thee.

Or art thou one of gallant pride,
A Soldier and no man of chaff?
Welcome!--but lay thy sword aside,
And lean upon a peasant's staff.

Physician art thou? one, all eyes,
Philosopher! a fingering slave,
One that would peep and botanise
Upon his mother's grave?                                    20

Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece,
O turn aside,--and take, I pray,
That he below may rest in peace,
Thy ever-dwindling soul, away!

A Moralist perchance appears;
Led, Heaven knows how! to this poor sod:
And he has neither eyes nor ears;
Himself his world, and his own God;

One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling
Nor form, nor feeling, great or small;                      30
A reasoning, self-sufficing thing,
An intellectual All-in-all!

Shut close the door; press down the latch;
Sleep in thy intellectual crust;
Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch
Near this unprofitable dust.

But who is He, with modest looks,
And clad in homely russet brown?
He murmurs near the running brooks
A music sweeter than their own.                             40

He is retired as noontide dew,
Or fountain in a noon-day grove;
And you must love him, ere to you
He will seem worthy of your love.

The outward shows of sky and earth,
Of hill and valley, he has viewed;
And impulses of deeper birth
Have come to him in solitude.

In common things that round us lie
Some random truths he can impart,--                         50
The harvest of a quiet eye
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

But he is weak; both Man and Boy,
Hath been an idler in the land;
Contented if he might enjoy
The things which others understand.

--Come hither in thy hour of strength;
Come, weak as is a breaking wave!
Here stretch thy body at full length;
Or build thy house upon this grave.  

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.


4 comments:

Anna said...

Wordsworth isn't my favorite of the romantic poets. I have trouble with all those thees and thous. LOL

--Anna
Diary of an Eccentric

Serena said...

I think the main crux of this poem is that the muse can be anything from a lawyer to a brook.

I could be wrong, but I think the epitaph is saying that the man that lies in the grave found inspiration in many things.

Jeanne said...

It must be the exhaustion of the first weeks of the new semester at the college where I work--I can't get the line "sleep in thy intellectual crust" out of my mind. As if the thinking we do builds a wall around us that lasts even after death!

Serena said...

Jeanne: I hadn't thought about that image. Thanks for pointing that out. I really like it.