Comments on: Poetry Doesn’t Suck, I Swear http://fauxrealtho.com/2007/06/28/poetry-doesnt-suck-i-swear/ Wed, 20 Aug 2008 21:17:21 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.6 By: Hugo http://fauxrealtho.com/2007/06/28/poetry-doesnt-suck-i-swear/#comment-62356 Hugo Fri, 29 Jun 2007 17:23:32 +0000 http://fauxrealtho.com/2007/06/28/poetry-doesnt-suck-i-swear/#comment-62356 And when I was Ethan's age, I loved Yeats' "Isle of Innisfree" (the first adult poem I understood) and of course, of course, Blake's Tiger, which I loved for the rhythm when my Mama read it aloud. Tiger! Tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? and what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tiger! Tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? And when I was Ethan’s age, I loved Yeats’ “Isle of Innisfree” (the first adult poem I understood) and of course, of course, Blake’s Tiger, which I loved for the rhythm when my Mama read it aloud.

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

]]> By: E to the M http://fauxrealtho.com/2007/06/28/poetry-doesnt-suck-i-swear/#comment-62268 E to the M Fri, 29 Jun 2007 12:54:06 +0000 http://fauxrealtho.com/2007/06/28/poetry-doesnt-suck-i-swear/#comment-62268 One of the benefits of having is 6 year old is that I have to worry less about the appropriateness of the poetry and more about an engaging rhythm. I found the text of Old Possum'e et al <a href="http://coral.lili.uni-bielefeld.de/Classes/Summer97/SemGS/WebLex/OldPossum/oldpossumlex/" rel="nofollow">here</a>. One of the benefits of having is 6 year old is that I have to worry less about the appropriateness of the poetry and more about an engaging rhythm.
I found the text of Old Possum’e et al here.

]]> By: jeffaclitus http://fauxrealtho.com/2007/06/28/poetry-doesnt-suck-i-swear/#comment-62167 jeffaclitus Fri, 29 Jun 2007 05:07:16 +0000 http://fauxrealtho.com/2007/06/28/poetry-doesnt-suck-i-swear/#comment-62167 I assume The Wasteland was a joke, but Eliot did publish a book of poems more or less for children, <i>Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.</i> If I've ever read any of it, I've forgotten, so I can't say if any of the cats pine away for lost loved ones. I assume The Wasteland was a joke, but Eliot did publish a book of poems more or less for children, Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats. If I’ve ever read any of it, I’ve forgotten, so I can’t say if any of the cats pine away for lost loved ones.

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