Tag Archives: Philosophical Poetry

BOOKS: “The Black Riders and Other Lines” by Stephen Crane

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The Black Riders and Other LinesThe Black Riders and Other Lines by Stephen Crane
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Project Gutenberg Site

This collection consists of sixty-eight free verse poems, most of which are short (though a small number take up more than a page.) Crane’s poetry is philosophical and often surreal. It’s poetry that’s as likely to spur rumination as it is to evoke intense emotional experience. Some may find Crane’s poetry irreverent because it takes on formal religion and dogmatic groupthink, more generally, but – for others of us – therein lies its appeal.

This collection includes “In the Desert” as well as a number of Crane’s other well-known poems.

I’d highly recommend this collection for poetry readers, particularly those who enjoy poetry of a philosophical bent.

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“I saw a man pursuing the horizon” by Stephen Crane [w/ Audio]

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I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
 Round and round they sped.
 I was disturbed at this;
 I accosted the man.
 "It is futile," I said,
 "You can never ---"

"You lie," he cried,
 And ran on.

“A Man Said to the Universe” by Stephen Crane [w/ Audio]

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A man said to the universe:
 "Sir, I exist!"
 "However," replied the universe,
 "The fact has not created in me
    A sense of obligation."

“The Builders” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]

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All are architects of Fate,
   Working in these walls of Time,
 Some with massive deeds and great,
   Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low;
   Each thing in its place is best;
 And what seems but idle show
   Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
   Time is with materials filled;
 Our to-days and yesterdays
   Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;
   Leave no yawning gaps between;
 Think not, because no man sees,
   Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,
   Builders wrought with greatest care
 Each minute and unseen part;
   For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,
   Both the unseen and the seen;
 Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
   Beautiful, entire, and clean. 

Else our lives are incomplete,
   Standing in these walls of Time,
 Broken stairways, where the feet
   Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
   With a firm and ample base;
 And ascending and secure
   Shall tomorrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain
   To those turrets where the eye
 Sees the world as one vast plain,
   And one boundless reach of sky.

In Homage to Leaves of Grass

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You're my Analects,
           my Gita,
           my Dao De Jing,
           my sutras,
           my Meditations,
           and my Republic
 all rolled into one.

You are the scripture by which I live.

You present a path to that rare place:
            extreme confidence
            which tears no one down,

            but, rather, lifts all.

You achieve this by crushing 
            the ordinary.

Nothing is common.

Everything is a miracle. 
            (Even those leaves of grass
                      you repeatedly reference.)

No one is so rough
             or promiscuous
             or simple
as to be lowly.

Your author's unbridled enthusiasm 
             glowed with the insane confidence
             of an adolescent boy,
but his awesomeness was never gained
             by subtracting from others.
Rather by seeing the bright, beautiful spark 
             in each body,
             mind,
             pair of hands,
             & burdened shoulder. 

You are America,
             the America we want to be.

The America that labors,
             but which takes time to see
             its natural wonders. 

The America that heard what Jesus said,
             and became less excelled at stone-throwing,
             and more at cheek-turning.

The America that could see beyond dogma
             and hard-edged tribalism,
             and could learn from all the 
             grand & glorious people 
             who reached its shores --

So that we could be the best version of ourselves
            through the strengths of all of us,
            and not be stymied by missing 
            the great beauty & knowledge
           among us. 

You pair away the extraneous burdens
            which tax the mind,
and show us what the world looks like
             unfiltered. 

You teach one to see a beauty
            that is so well hidden 
            that its own possessor doesn't 
                      recognize it.

You are the song of a life well lived.

Bury the Ordinary [Free Verse]

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Bury the ordinary,
 but make sure to 
  chop it out at the roots.

Nothing grows back more tenaciously
 than the commonplace or the quotidian.

Sometimes what grows 
 back from those roots 
  looks entirely different,
   but it's still mundane.

It has the same feel,
 even when it has a 
  very different look.

Kill it.
 Murder it.
  Chop it up.
    Bury it, 
     and let it die the death
       of the forgotten.