Category Archives: Literature

“Dreamland” by Lewis Carroll [w/ Audio]

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When midnight mists are creeping,
   And all the land is sleeping,
 Around me tread the mighty dead,
   And slowly pass away.

Lo, warriors, saints, and sages,
   From out the vanished ages,
 With solemn pace and reverend face
   Appear and pass away.

The blaze of noonday splendour,
   The twilight soft and tender,
 May charm the eye: yet they shall die,
   Shall die and pass away.

But here, in Dreamland's centre,
   No spoiler's hand may enter,
 These visions fair, this radiance rare,
   Shall never pass away.

I see the shadows falling,
   The forms of old recalling;
 Around me tread the mighty dead,
   And slowly pass away.

“Cleansed” [Poetry Style #7] by Sikong Tu [w/ Audio]

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It's as if ones gone mining --
   From lead, silver refining.
 That's how one cleanses a heart:
   With pure love, not pining.

Like a pond from Spring rainfall:
   Mirror to heavens and all,
 Without defect of image --
   True as the moon's bright, white ball.

Stargazing across night skies;
   Singing songs of hermits, wise;
 The water flowing today
   Will know that bright moonrise.

NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a crude translation of the seventh of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 洗炼, and it has been variously entitled: “Clean,” “Refining,” and “Wash — Smelt.”

BOOKS: “The Song of Hiawatha” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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The Song of HiawathaThe Song of Hiawatha by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Project Gutenberg edition

This epic poem borrows from American Indian folklore and legend to build a fictional life story for the protagonist, Hiawatha. (There was an actual Hiawatha, but his life story apparently in no way resembles that of Longfellow’s Hiawatha, which is good because the fictional one had to deal with ghosts, tricksters, and deities.) The poem is part hero’s trials, part love story, and part tale of the supernatural, blending real world type tragedy with an otherworldly form.

The choice of trochaic tetrameter makes the poem rhythmically readable, while evoking a drumming sound that contributes to atmospherics.

When the poem came out in the mid-19th century, it faced some controversy. It was claimed that it was a knock off of the Kalevala of Finland. Longfellow’s reply was that he was influenced by that poem’s rhythm (the Kalevala is also trochaic,) but that all the plot events where from his conversations with American Indians and researchers, thereof, (or, presumably his own imagination,) and that any coincidence of events was owing to the broad brushstrokes of them both being heroic tales.

I enjoyed reading this poem and would highly recommend it for poetry readers and lovers of American Literature.






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“All overgrown by cunning moss,” (146) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

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All overgrown by cunning moss,
   All interspersed with weed,
 The little cage of "Currer Bell"
   In quiet "Haworth" laid.

This Bird -- observing others
   When frosts too sharp became
 Retire to other latitudes --
   Quietly did the same --

But differed in returning --
   Since Yorkshire hills are green --
 Yet not in all the nests I meet --
   Can Nightengale be seen --

“Meditation” by Amy Lowell [w/ Audio]

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A wise man,
 Watching the stars pass across the sky,
  Remarked:
 In the upper air the fireflies move more slowly.

“A Glimpse” by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

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A glimpse through an interstice caught,
 Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-
   room around the stove late of a winter night,
   and I unremark'd seated in a corner,
 Of a youth who loves me and whom I love,
   silently approaching and seating himself near,
   that he may hold me by the hand,
 A long while amid the noises of coming and 
   going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest,
 There we two, content, happy in being together,
   speaking little, perhaps not a word.

“Cicada’s Cry” by Matsuo Bashō [w/ Audio]

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the stillness --
 soaking into stones
  cicada's cry

Translation from: Higginson, William J. 1985. The Haiku Handbook: How to Write, Share, and Teach Haiku. Tokyo: Kodansha Int. p. 11

“One’s-Self I Sing” by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

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One's-Self I sing, a simple separate person,
 Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.

Of physiology from top to toe I sing,
 Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is 
      worthy for the Muse, I say the Form complete
      is worthier far,
 The Female equally with the Male I sing.

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
 Cheerful, for freest action form'd under the laws
      divine,
 The Modern Man I sing.

“Ancient” [Poetry Style #5] by Sikong Tu [w/ Audio]

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Immortals ride truth
   With lotus in hand,
 As chaos unfolds
   Unlogged above land.

Moonrise in the East
   As good winds are fanned.
 Hill shrine in blue night,
   Bell rings clear and grand.

The god is now gone
   Beyond border lands
 Huangdi* is not there 
   Great Age to wasteland.

NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a crude translation of the fifth of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 高古 (Gāo Gǔ,) and it was translated as “Height – Antiquity” by Herbert Giles.

*Huangdi is a name for the Yellow Emperor that is more syllabically friendly than “Yellow Emperor.” In a great oversimplification for the sake of speed and alignment of context, the Yellow Emperor was China’s King Arthur — a mythical leader of great virtue and heroism. The Tang emperors tried to trace lineages back to the Yellow Emperor, but such imagined linkages to the perfect leader are hard to maintain when an Emperor like Xuanzong crashes the ship of state.

“Ah! Sun-flower” by William Blake [w/ Audio]

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Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,
 Who countest the steps of the Sun:
 Seeking after that sweet golden clime
 Where the travellers journey is done.

Where the Youth pined away with desire,
 And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow:
 Arise from their graves and aspire,
 Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.