Guess what? I wrote this and forgot to publish it, until Roger goosed me. Oops.

Today ends National Poetry Month, and I considered writing some kind of summation, but I’ll just leave it at this: Read poetry. It isn’t hard and doesn’t have to make you feel like you’re back in English class. (Unless you liked English class, as I did, in which case, hey, it can totally feel like you’re back in English class!)

Here is one of my favorite of Tennyson’s poems, whose concluding lines are often quoted in inspirational settings. It’s a wonderful paean to the eternal desire for new life and new experiences, even when we are nearing the dusk of our lives.

See you next April!

Ulysses
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

     This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

     There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
‘T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

If poetry is dead, as they say, why do so many people still write poetry? Why is there so much poetry in social media outlets like Tumblr and Instagram?

I’m guessing it’s because poetry isn’t dead.

Like many readers, I discovered the poetry of Lang Leav through Tumblr, where she posts her own work. She’s not just a Tumblr poet, but rather an artist who has been honing her craft for years, but it’s amazing how much of her audience — for poetry, one of the oldest art forms — comes from so recent a development as Tumblr.

Poetry absolutely abounds online. Is it all good? Of course not. But much of it is intended as poetry has always often been intended: a snapshot, through words, of the thoughts and feelings of a certain soul.

it is a terrible thing
to love the unreachable;

i found this out
on a friday night
where in a whole room of people
the world starts and ends
on your lips and
i knew i was staring at
the dusting of your freckles
but couldn’t resist

it is a terrible thing to love
your friends

i am burning alive
for it.

(via)

at the tender age of 23
i received the Nobel Prize
for daydreaming
and everyone applauded
a standing ovation
and then i woke up
standing in the kitchen in my underwear
in front of an open refrigerator
with one hand on the door
and the other loosely in my side
as if i was just looking for some midnight snack
i looked down
at my body
in the pale refrigerator light
didn’t remember how I got here
must have been sleepwalking again
didn’t even know
for how long i was standing there
but my body felt
intensely cold

(via)

My favorite author, Guy Gavriel Kay, has a new novel coming out next month!

One reason I love Kay’s writing is his luminous prose, which is greatly informed and shaped by his love of poetry and verse. Some years ago, Kay (or GGK as his fans call him) released a collection of his own poems, Beyond This Dark House, and below is a selection from that collection.

Wow…Poetry Month is almost over….

And Diving
by Guy Gavriel Kay

Late night
in a cold bed,
far away.

Yesterday I dreamed
that you had died,

arcing from a bridge
to black water.

I arrived too late
and diving,

could only bring
your body back to be
whitened by moonlight.

I was crying, holding
your still hands.

Late night,
cold bed, telling myself
I do not love you,

remembering your voice,
your hands in my hair.

Are song lyrics also poetry?

This isn’t quite as easy a question as it seems up front. Here’s an interesting article on the subject, and a key point is this:

Words in a poem take place against the context of silence (or maybe an espresso maker, depending on the reading series), whereas, as musicians like Will Oldham and David Byrne have recently pointed out, lyrics take place in the context of a lot of deliberate musical information: melody, rhythm, instrumentation, the quality of the singer’’s voice, other qualities of the recording, etc. Without all that musical information, lyrics usually do not function as well, precisely because they were intentionally designed that way.

Song lyrics, then, should not be assessed as a whole outside of their intended musical context, at least according to this particular view. I’m somewhat sympathetic to this, but I also think that it’s too easy to undervalue lyrics as well. I’ve been guilty of this in the past, to the point that many times, I’ve completely ignored lyrics in songs, in favor of the musical elements.

Lyrics, though, almost always use the same literary devices that poetry uses. Lyrics employ rhyme schemes; they can make use of literary allusion; they have rhythm — in fact, they really must have rhythm (or meter). So…are song lyrics poetry? I’ll say this: I think it’s far easier to make the case that they are than it is that they are not.

Here are some that I like. These are taken from musicals, but I think the point can stand for any musical genre.

The Sadder by Wiser Girl For Me,
from The Music Man,
by Meredith Willson (YouTube)

No sweet and pure, angelic lass or me.
That kinda gal can spin a web you see
She trades on wholesome innocence galore.
But it’s my independence that she’s trading for
The only affirmative she will file
Refers to marching down the aisle.
No golden, glorious, gleaming pristine goddess–
No sir!
For no Diana do I play faun.
I can tell you that right now.
I snarl, I hiss: How can ignorance be compared to bliss?
I spark, I fizz for the lady who knows what time it is.
I cheer, I rave for the virtue I’m too late to save
The sadder-but-wiser girl for me.
No bright-eyed, blushing, breathless baby-doll baby
No sir.
That kinda child ties knots no sailor ever knew.
I prefer to take a chance on a more adult romance.
No dewy young miss
Who keeps resisting all the time she keeps insisting!
No wide-eyed, wholesome innocent female.
Why, she’s the fisherman, I’m the fish you see?
I flinch, I shy, when the lass with the delicate air goes by
I smile, I grin, when the gal with a touch of sin walks in.
I hope, and I pray, for Hester to win just one more “A”
The sadder-but-wiser girl for me.
No giggling ice cream soda drinker out to hook you line and sinker
No honey brooded beaconing siren
I plug me ears and I grab my horns and I flee
I cheer and I boo at the puritan hearted aun jeune
I yearn, I long for the women who’s pa says what went wrong
I root and I clap for the dame in the gown less evening strap
The sadder-but-wiser girl’s the girl for me.
The sadder-but-wiser girl for me.

C’est Moi
from Camelot
by Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe (YouTube)

Camelot! Camelot!
In far-off France I heard your call.
Camelot! Camelot!
And here am I to give my all.
I know in my soul what you expect of me,
And all that and more I shall be.

A knight of the Table Round should be invincible,
Suceed where a less fantastic man would fail.
Climb a wall no one else can climb,
Cleave a dragon in record time,
Swim a moat in a coat of heavy iron mail.
No matter the pain, he ought to be unwinceable,
Impossible deeds should be his daily fare.
But where in the world
Is there in the world
A man so *extraordinaire*?

C’est moi! C’est moi, I’m forced to admit.
‘Tis I, I humbly reply.
That mortal who
These marvels can do,
C’est moi, c’est moi, ’tis I.
I’ve never lost
In battle or game;
I’m simply the best by far.
When swords are crossed
‘Tis always the same:
One blow and au revoir!
C’est moi! C’est moi! So adm’rably fit!
A French Prometheus unbound.
And here I stand, with valour untold,
Exeption’ly brave, amazingly bold,
To serve at the Table Round!

The soul of a knight should be a thing remarkable,
His heart and his mind as pure as morning dew.
With a will and a self-restraint
That’s the envy of ev’ry saint
He could easily work a miracle or two.
To love and desire he ought to be unsparkable,
The ways of the flesh should offer no allure.
But where in the world
Is there in the world
A man so untouched and pure?
(C’est moi!)

C’est moi! C’est moi, I blush to disclose.
I’m far too noble to lie.
That man in whom
These qualities bloom,
C’est moi, c’est moi, ’tis I.
I’ve never strayed
From all I believe;
I’m blessed with an iron will.
Had I been made
The partner of Eve,
We’d be in Eden still.
C’est moi! C’est moi! The angels have chose
To fight their battles below,
And here I stand, as pure as a pray’r,
Incredibly clean, with virtue to spare,
The godliest man I know!
C’est moi!

The Last Night of the World
from Miss Saigon
by Claude-Michel Schoenberg and Alain Boublil (YouTube)

Chris
In a place that won’t let us feel
In a life where nothing seems real
I have found youI have found you

Kim
In a world that’s moving too fast
In a world where nothing can last
I will hold you
I will hold you

Chris
Our lives will change, when tomorrow comes

Kim
Tonight our hearts drown the distant drums

Chris
And we have music, all right
Tearing the night

Both
A song
Played on a solo saxophone
A crazy sound
A lonely sound
A cry that tells us
Love goes on and on
Played on a solo saxophone
It’s telling me
To hold you tight
And dance
Like it’s the last night
Of the world

Chris
On the other side of the earth
There’s a place where life still has worth
I will take you

Kim
I’ll go with you

Chris
You won’t believe all the tings you’ll see
I know ’cause you’ll see them all with me

Both
If we’re together, that’s when
We’ll hear it again
A song
Played on a solo saxophone
A crazy sound
A lonely sound
A cry that tells us
Love goes on and on
Played on a solo saxophone
It’s telling me
To hold you tight
And dance
Like it’s the last night
Of the world

Kim
Dreams were all I ever knew

Chris
Dreams you won’t need when I’m through

Both
Anywhere we may be
I will sing with you
A song

Both
So stay with me
And hold me tight
And dance
Like it’s the last night of the world

Alexander Hamilton
from Hamilton
by Lin-Manuel Miranda (YouTube)

[BURR]
How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a
Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a
Forgotten spot in the Caribbean by providence
Impoverished, in squalor
Grow up to be a hero and a scholar?

[LAURENS]
The ten-dollar founding father without a father
Got a lot farther by working a lot harder
By being a lot smarter
By being a self-starter
By fourteen, they placed him in charge of a
Trading charter

[JEFFERSON]
And every day while slaves were being slaughtered and carted
Away across the waves, he struggled and kept his guard up
Inside, he was longing for something to be a part of
The brother was ready to beg, steal, borrow, or barter

[MADISON]
Then a hurricane came, and devastation reigned
Our man saw his future drip, dripping down the drain
Put a pencil to his temple, connected it to his brain
And he wrote his first refrain, a testament to his pain

[BURR]
Well, the word got around, they said, “This kid is insane, man”
Took up a collection just to send him to the mainland
“Get your education, don’t forget from whence you came, and
The world is gonna know your name. What’s your name, man?”

[HAMILTON]
Alexander Hamilton
My name is Alexander Hamilton
And there’s a million things I haven’t done
But just you wait, just you wait…

[ELIZA]
When he was ten his father split, full of it, debt-ridden
Two years later, see Alex and his mother bed-ridden
Half-dead sittin’ in their own sick, the scent thick

[COMPANY]
And Alex got better but his mother went quick

[WASHINGTON]
Moved in with a cousin, the cousin committed suicide
Left him with nothin’ but ruined pride, something new inside
A voice saying

[WASHINGTON]
“You gotta fend for yourself.” [COMPANY]
“Alex, you gotta fend for yourself.”
[WASHINGTON]
He started retreatin’ and readin’ every treatise on the shelf

[BURR]
There would have been nothin’ left to do
For someone less astute
He woulda been dead or destitute
Without a cent of restitution
Started workin’, clerkin’ for his late mother’s landlord
Tradin’ sugar cane and rum and all the things he can’t afford
Scammin’ for every book he can get his hands on
Plannin’ for the future see him now as he stands on
The bow of a ship headed for a new land
In New York you can be a new man

[COMPANY]
In New York you can
Be a new man—
In New York you can
Be a new man—

[COMPANY]
Scammin’

Plannin’
Oooh…

[HAMILTON]
Just you wait!

Just you wait!

[COMPANY]
In New York you can be a new man—

[WOMEN]
In New York—

[MEN]
New York—

[HAMILTON]
Just you wait!

[COMPANY]
Alexander Hamilton

We are waiting in the wings for you

You could never back down
You never learned to take your time!

Oh, Alexander Hamilton

When America sings for you
Will they know what you overcame?
Will they know you rewrote the game?
The world will never be the same, oh

[BURR]
The ship is in the harbor now
See if you can spot him

Another immigrant
Comin’ up from the bottom

His enemies destroyed his rep
America forgot him [COMPANY]
Alexander Hamilton

Waiting in the wings for you

You never learned to take your time!

Oh, Alexander Hamilton
Alexander Hamilton…
America sings for you
Will they know what you overcame?
Will they know you rewrote the game?
The world will never be the same, oh

[MEN]
Just you wait

[COMPANY]
Just you wait

[MULLIGAN/MADISON & LAFAYETTE/JEFFERSON]
We fought with him

[LAURENS/PHILIP]
Me? I died for him

[WASHINGTON]
Me? I trusted him

[ELIZA & ANGELICA & PEGGY/MARIA]
Me? I loved him

[BURR]
And me? I’m the damn fool that shot him

[COMPANY]
There’s a million things I haven’t done
But just you wait!

[BURR]
What’s your name, man?

[COMPANY]
Alexander Hamilton!