EmmaMaree.com YA Writer, Tech Support Girl & Tea Addict

Poetry: “Hope is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickenson

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

(i have nothing to say here, this poem really says it all.)

Poetry! “Nothing Gold Can Stay” by Robert Frost

It's Robert Frost time again, and an even shorter poem. This one reminds me of the fleetingness of life, and of the New Found Glory album by the same name.

Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Poetry Spotlight! More Edgar Allan Poe, “A Dream With In A Dream”

You can never have enough Edgar Allan Poe-try, right?

A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Poetry Spotlight! “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe

Okay, everyone knows this one, but I'm giving it a post anyway because I love it to pieces. This is my favourite poem of all time, and I have a feeling it may always be that way.

Above, there's a video of "The Raven", an upcoming fictionalised movie where Edgar Allan Poe chases a serial killer.

"The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Poetry Spotlight! “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”

A dark and winter-y poem today by the fittingly named Robert Frost. The last verse of this poems makes me think both about suicide and about humanity's pressing urge to keep living and breathing and achieving.

Readers - what does this poem mean to you?

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST

Poetry Spotlight! T.S. Eliot’s “The Hollow Men”

This is a long poem, but a great one that I reference far too often for my own good. It's also seasonal, because Guy Fawkes night is tomorrow!

Doctor Who is responsible for getting me hooked on this poem, which I only knew vaguely before watching The Lazarus Experiement. Some notes about the story behind the poem are here, and it's interesting to see how often the poem appears in popular culture.

All the acts lead up to an excellent poem, but the final act is most peoples favourite - mine too, it just captures so much emotion so well.

Poetry Spotlight! “To A Mouse” Robert Burns

After re-reading an old post of mine about Burns Night, and Ryan's brilliant taste in poems, I was inspired to share some of my favourite poems. "To A Mouse" is written in the Scottish dialect - I'm posting the original below, the same way it was read to me by my English teacher way back when, but you can also view a standard English translation here to help it all make sense.

Rabbie Burns - who made a living through farm work, not his poetry - turned up a mouse's nest while ploughing, inspiring him to write about it.

It also inspired the title of "Of Mice and Men", a very fine and often underrated book (I still remember those beautiful opening descriptions).

Here's a video of it pronounced in the broad Scots accent, which can be played along with the poem to get an idea of the rhythm and pronunciations. (I've been tempted to do a recording myself, but I'm very self-conscious about my accent...)

To A Mouse. 
On turning her up in her nest with the plough, November 1785.

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murdering pattle.

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
An' fellow mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't.

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's win's ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld.

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!