Category: On Poetry

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Something for Thursday

Sticking with the theme for this month (which I’ve only just now decided was a theme for this month), here in National Poetry Month, I’ll continue exploring the intersection of music and poetry. Back when I was a serious music student, I sometimes thought about setting favorite poems to music, including what is likely my favorite poem of all time, “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe. This complex and meaning-laden poem has thrilled me ever since I first read it, likely in 11th grade:

It was many and many a year ago,
   In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
   By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
   Than to love and be loved by me.
 
I was a child and she was a child,
   In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
   I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
   Coveted her and me.
 
And this was the reason that, long ago,
   In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
   My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
   And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
   In this kingdom by the sea.
 
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
   Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
   In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
 
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
   Of those who were older than we—
   Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
   Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
 
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
   In her sepulchre there by the sea—
   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

So when I went searching for settings of “Annabel Lee”, one of the first ones I discovered was…a bluegrass setting.

And it works. Listen for yourself!

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Tuesday Tones

In keeping with National Poetry Month, here is one of my favorite poems: “The Splendour Falls” by Alfred Lord Tennyson, who also happens to be my favorite poet.

The splendor falls on castle walls
   And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
   And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,
   And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar
   The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugles; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
   They faint on hill or field or river;
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
   And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

I don’t remember not loving that poem. And here it is, set for chorus by Frederick Delius. I love the way the setting captures the repeated “dying, dying, dying….” with falling chords and delayed resolution.

 

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National Poetry Month, 1

April is National Poetry Month. I can’t promise I’ll share a poem every day, but I’ll give it a shot. First up is a short poem that packs quite a punch the more you mull it over:

The Lover in Winter Plaineth for the Spring

Western wind, when will thou blow
The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again!

 

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An Irish Poem

For St. Patrick’s Day, obviously.

All the words that I utter,
    And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
    And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
    And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
    Storm-darken’d or starry bright.

–William Butler Yeats

 

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“Returning feet and voices at the door”

A poem by JRR Tolkien. This appears in The Fellowship of the Ring, recited by Bilbo just after he has given Frodo his old sword and his old shirt of mithril. Remember that when Bilbo left The Shire, early in the book, it was in hopes of venturing far and wide again, perhaps as far as Laketown and the Lonely Mountain again, places he had visited in his earlier adventures. But once he was past the influence of the One Ring, all of his accumulated years caught up with him and he lived out most of his old age as a guest in Rivendell.

This poem speaks to me a little more each time I encounter it, and I consider this any time anyone questions JRRT’s skill as a writer.

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