20 January 2013

When I Heard at the Coming of Twilight


When I first read this poem, it impacted me. On reflection, I wondered if it could be improved by rhyming.

When I Heard at the Coming of Twilight
14 January 2013
Original by Walt Whitman

When I heard with the coming of twilight
How my name had been received as luminary
In the capitol, still it was not a happy night
For me that followed; and else, when I made merry
Or when my plans were fully completed
Still I was not entirely glad.
But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed
Of perfect health, refreshed, singing,
Drinking in all that was to be had
Of the ripe breath of autumn's bringing,
When I saw the full moon above the land
Grow pale and disappear in the morning light,
When I wandered alone over the seastrand
And undressing, bathed, laughing with delight
In the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,
And when I thought of how my dear friend,
My lover, was on his way, a prize,
Oh, then I was happy to no end.
Then each breath tasted much sweeter—
And all that day my food nourished
Me more—and the beautiful day passed fleeter,
And the next came equally flourished—
And with the next, at evening, ecstasy,
My friend came. Later as an underscore,
While all was still, I heard the sea
Roll slowly, continually up the shore.
I heard the hissing, rustling liquidly
Upon the sands, as directed to me, murmuring
To congratulate me, for the one I love avidly
Lay sleeping by me under the same covering.
In the cool of the night, without sound,
In the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined
Towards me, and his arm lay lightly around
My breast—and that night was happiness enshrined.


When I heard at the Close of the Day
(No. 11, from ‘Calamus’ written circa 1859)
by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

WHEN I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd
        with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night
        for me that follow'd;
And else, when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd, still
        I was not happy;
But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health,
        refresh'd, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn,
When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in the
        morning light,
When I wander'd alone over the beach, and undressing, bathed,
        laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,
And when I thought how my dear friend, my lover, was on his way
        coming, O then I was happy;
O then each breath tasted sweeter—and all that day my food nourish'd
        me more—and the beautiful day pass'd well,
And the next came with equal joy—and with the next, at evening, came
        my friend;
And that night, while all was still, I heard the waters roll slowly
        continually up the shores,
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands, as directed to
        me, whispering, to congratulate me,                        


For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in
        the cool night,
In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined
        toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast—and that night I was happy.

15 January 2013

Competition Disposition


Last year I won the first place gold medal prize from World Poetry Movement. Recently I got an email requesting a submission for this year. I looked thru the poems I had written in 2012 and narrowed my choice down to three: Afternoon Swoon, Resident's Absence and View Adieu.


Competition Disposition
Original by Robert Frost
14 January 2013

Three poems lay on my desk of wood
And sorry I could not submit them all,
Limited to one entry as I understood,
I read them and thought as hard as I could
About which to send in answer to the call.

Each having its own rhythm and rhyme
And all equally appealing
As suited to the subject and paradigm
Of a requested poem at this time,
My quandary proved to be revealing.

The more I looked the less I was sure
Of which was the best to submit
And which one had the most allure.
So I tried the familiar procedure
Of asking the people most proximate.

I shall be telling with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Three poems lay on wood and I --
I used my own judgement to go by
And that has made all the difference.
_______________________________

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost (1920)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.