WS Merwin - Green Fields

By this part of the century few are left who believe
in the animals for they are not there in the carved parts
of them served on plates and the pleas from the slatted trucks
are sounds of shadows that possess no future
there is still game for the pleasure of killing
and there are pets for the children but the lives that followed
courses of their own other than ours and older
have been migrating before us some are already
far on the way and yet Peter with his gaunt cheeks
and point of white beard the face of an aged Lawrence
Peter who had lived on from another time and country
and who had seen so many things set out and vanish
still believed in heaven and said he had never once
doubted it since his childhood on the farm in the days
of the horses he had not doubted it in the worst
times of the Great War and afterward and he had come
to what he took to be a kind of earthly
model of it as he wandered south in his sixties
by that time speaking the language well enough
for them to make him out he took the smallest roads
into a world he thought was a thing of the past
with wildflowers he scarcely remembered and neighbors
working together scything the morning meadows
turning the hay before the noon meal bringing it in
by milking time husbandry and abundance
all the virtues he admired and their reward bounteous
in the eyes of a foreigner and there he remained
for the rest of his days seeing what he wanted to see
until the winter when he could no longer fork
the earth in his garden and then he gave away
his house land everything and committed himself
to a home to die in an old chateau where he lingered
for some time surrounded by those who had lost
the use of body or mind and as he lay there he told me
that the wall by his bed opened almost every day
and he saw what was really there and it was eternal life
as he recognized at once when he saw the gardens
he had made and the green fields where he had been
a child and his mother was standing there then the wall would close
and around him again were the last days of the world.

WS Merwin, publ. February 1995

Online Source: http://www.theatlantic.com/unbound/poetry/antholog/merwin/green.htm


 

William Shakespeare - The Marriage of True Minds

Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixéd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose Worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


William Shakespeare, 1564–1616
publ. 1609



SUPPLEMENTAL NOTES

http://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/shakesonnets/section7.rhtml

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonnet_116


 

To the Renewal of All Things (Rev 21.1-4) - Matt Harding, "Let Us Dance!"

Let Us Dance!

by Matt Harding

(Stay on current video before checking out the 2006 or 2012 editions)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY

The Renewal of All Things: "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.' " (Rev 21.1-4)

WS Merwin - Worn Words

The late poems are the ones
I turn to first now
following a hope that keeps
beckoning me
waiting somewhere in the lines
almost in plain sight.

it is the late poems
that are made of words
that have come the whole way
they have been there.

WS Merwin

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WS_Merwin


 

WS Merwin - The Pinnacle

Both of us understood
what a privilege it was
to be out for a walk
with each other
we could tell from our different
heights that this
kind of thing happened
so rarely that it might
not come round again
for me to be allowed
even before I
had started school
to go out for a walk
with Miss Giles
who had just retired
from being a teacher all her life.

she was beautiful
in her camel hair coat
that seemed like the autumn leaves
our walk was her idea
we liked listening to each other
her voice was soft and sure
and we went our favorite way
the first time just in case
it was the only time
even though it might be too far
we went all the way
up the Palisades to the place
we called the pinnacle
with its park at the cliff's edge
overlooking the river
it was already a secret
the pinnacle
as we were walking back
when the time was later
than we had realized
and in fact no one
seemed to know where we had been
even when she told them
no one had heard of the pinnacle.

and then where did she go.

by WS Merwin
from The Shadow of Sirius
Copper Canyon Press, 2008

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WS_Merwin


 

Ralph Waldo Emerson - Concord Hymn

Ralph Waldo Emerson
Sung at the Completion of the Concord Monument, April 19th, 1836

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Concord_Hymn
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_North_Bridge
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ralph_Waldo_Emerson


By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream that seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set today a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.


Ralph Waldo Emerson was a key early American philospher, poet and writer, particularly known for his appreciation of individualism, self-reliance and intuition. He wrote this poem, which was sung as a hymn at a July 4, 1837 ceremony to mark the completion of the Concord Monument, to immortalize the resistance of American Minutemen to British forces on April 19, 1775. The poem's phrase "shot heard round the world" is now internationally famous for its description of the philosphical importance of the American revolution.

The North Bridge, often colloquially called the Old North Bridge, across the Concord River in Concord, Massachusetts, is a historical site in the Battle of Concord, the first day of battle in the Revolutionary War. The bridge is located off Monument Street in Concord. It spans the Concord River.

Farewell Sonnet

Sonnet II: Farewell Song

by Sukasah Syahdan

Let me for somewhere I should stroll
Bid thee farewell. You, eternal wonder
that enthralls my soul, will always tolls
like a muezzin’s serene call yonder.
Who can really reckon the lines on the palm?
But I must believe in voices that compel
That at the end of the tunnel, a day will come
When I know: this farewell fares us well.
The ominous hands of Time and Distance
(That once taught us to paint desire)
Shall make us yearn at each other's absence
Yet they'll see how immortal we are.
Our moments together have tuned a song
A sacred one for each of us to sing alone.

This is my prayer...

Hillsong United - Desert Song 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlgUUeQh0CQ

Desert Song Lyrics 

by Hillsong

Verse 1:
This is my prayer in the desert
And all that's within me feels dry
This is my prayer in the hunger in me
My God is a God who provides.

Verse 2:
And this is my prayer in the fire
In weakness or trial or pain
There is a faith proved
Of more worth than gold
So refine me Lord through the flames.

Chorus:
And I will bring praise
I will bring praise
No weapon forged against me shall remain.

I will rejoice
I will declare
God is my victory and He is here.

Verse 3:
And this is my prayer in the battle
And triumph is still on it's way
I am a conqueror and co-heir with Christ
So firm on His promise I'll stand.

Bridge:
All of my life
In every season
You are still God
I have a reason to sing
I have a reason to worship.

Verse 4:
This is my prayer in the harvest
When favor and providence flow
I know I'm filled to be emptied again
The seed I've received I will sow.

TS Eliot - Little Gidding, No. 4 of "Four Quartets"

Little Gidding
(No. 4 of 'Four Quartets')

T.S. Eliot

Part V

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from. And every phrase
And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,
Taking its place to support the others,
The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,
An easy commerce of the old and the new,
The common word exact without vulgarity,
The formal word precise but not pedantic,
The complete consort dancing together)
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph. And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England.

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this
Calling

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

to read the complete poem see the sidebar below "Poets and Poetry" for the link to
Eliot's Four Qaurtets or go here: http://www.tristan.icom43.net/quartets/index.html

to read J.B. Burnett's review of Four Quartets see this blog's review section - http://reslater.blogspot.com/2011/04/review-ts-eliot-four-quartets.html

to read the biography of TS Eliot see this blog's biography section - http://reslater.blogspot.com/2011/04/biography-ts-eliot.html

 

 

 

Waddie Mitchell - Range Riders of the Night

Mustangs on the Move, Red Desert, Wyoming

Range Riders of the Night
by Waddie Mitchell


The rim rocks tower high...
The air is clear,
The wind blows cold...
There's only the horses tonight.

Withers swim like a silver sea
In the light of a big full moon,
In the strong and clear that comes to me
In the lilt of the first guard­'s tune.

S. Omar Barker - A Workin' Man's Roan

A Workin' Man's Roan

by S. Omar Barker, author, 1928

recited by Larry Schutte

You rode horses like that,

Kind of thin never got fat.

The old breed with a mustache on his lip,

Kind of high at the withers but low at the hip.

His ears are way up, he had bright wicked eyes,

Don't forget he's plenty cow-wise.

Cold mornings he'd buck, sometimes he'd kick,

No horse for a kid or a man that was sick.

Lord what a bundle of muscle and bone,

A horse for a cowboy that little blue roan.

Sue Wallis - Snowy Days

Snowy Days
by Sue Wallis

We liked the days when the snow blows in
From every way and shuts us in the house,
For then we'd have good eats
Like popcorn balls and mixed-nut meats,
And cake and fudge and other sweets.

We liked the days when the snow blows fast,
We'll build that man of snow at last –
So fat and sleek and cold clear through,
He looks just like our bankers do.

Wallace McRae - Days Long Ago

Days Long Ago

by Wallace McRae

Come with me to my home town, Cold Shrift, Montana.

Remember that sand rock on Emil's crik',
Where dad carved his name in '13?
It's been blasted down into rubble and
Interred by a drag-line machine.

Where Phetel's lived at the old Miler place
Where us kids stole melons at night?
We dozed it up in a funeral pire,
We torched it - it's gone alright.

There's a railroad lug in the cold storage shed
Where the bison kill-site use to be,
McGive's place is gone and Ambose's too –
Abel Fortzes' a ranch refugee.

But things are boomin' - we've got this new school
That's envied across the whole state!
When folks up and ask 'How's things go’ in down there'
I grin like a fool and say 'Great!'
Great God how we're do’ in, we're rollin' in dough!
As they tear and they ravage the earth –
And nobody knows... and nobody cares...
About things of intrinsic worth.

S. Omar Barker - Cow'pin Moo-sic

Cowboy with Range Cattle

Cow'pin Moo-sic

S. Omar Barker, author, 1928
as recited by Larry Schutte


You ask me "Well, what's a beller?"
A beller's a bawl,
It ain't exactly like a moo
Nor yet quite like a squall.
 
Cows sure'll 'moo to coax their calves
From close by in the brush,
And bawl at night at weanin' time
Until it was that she hush.
 
But when she beller's -
That's got a heap more meanin'
Than just plain “cow'pin moo-sic”
You hear when calves are weaning.
 
For instance, let a range cow smell
Fresh blood from some dead critter,
Than she'll sure “enough beller”
Like she thinks all hell will get her.
 
Find it down about her foot –
And the weird sounds she makes,
It's enough to give a man
The chills and shakes.

Then all the cattle 'round about
Will come snuffing at a trot,
To help her beller' for the dead
When they reach that spot.

There ain't no squall a banshee makes
To make your neck hair rise
Like that there bovine blood call
As it echoes to the skies.
 
A calf will beller' when
He's roped or branded –
And a cow she'll beller'
When she's on the prod.
 
And I better tell ya' how to tell a beller'
From a bawl for it ain't alone that sound,
'Cause a bawl is mostly pointed up –
But a beller's toward the ground.
 
And if yer still somewhat in doubt
Of these beller' facts,
A bawl becomes a beller'
When it's tongue is stickin' out.

Ever curious cows

Riding Range at Day’s End

A settling winter’s day over snow-capped peaks

Sue Wallis - A Thousand Pretty Ponies

Rangeland Horses

A Day Often Spoke Of,

A Thousand Pretty Ponies

by Sue Wallis

Come on you little darlin's and let's go watch your daddy gather

A thou­sand head of horses out of grassy Garven Basin.

They are running altogether as they have been all this winter

And it is a sight that we may never chance to see again.

So let's hurry up the mountain, watch and sit and wait there

To see a thousand pretty ponies pouring down off Garven's Range.

A hard day of riding o'er a bunch of fresh horses and finally

We have them all lined out and lopin'.

We lead them toward the trail and we cut off their choices,

'till they headed uphill just like we'd been hopin'.

Now I see my sweetheart, the kid's and they're a'waving –

Even the wee one's from thereon are bidin'.

I thought that they would like the sight of us gatherin'

A good thou­sand horses is the sight worth the trip.

Over yonder see them comin' there's your daddy and he's running

With a thousand head of horses down from grassy Graven Basin.

They are ripplin' like a river with their manes and tails a'flying,

Flashing, glinting colors, proudest thing I've ever seen!

And see your daddy swaying as he comes a'riding hard an' spurring

Leading all those pretty ponies pouring down off Garven's Range.