I must confess, that more than the news part, I like the other sections better.
Sections with articles, short stories, poems, people voicing their opinions, personal experiences, travelogues, recipes, guest columns by artists, celebrities, authors etc.
These are really interesting sometimes, even humorous, thought provoking.
One such section has these
I enjoy listening to music. I love to read through the song in my mind, and delve into the profound meaning of the song. The songs these days lack that weight and depth - they are quite frivolous.
But oldie-goldies are very rich in the 'depth' department.
In my teen years, I was swept off by the magic of poetry.
I enjoyed reading poetry and its interpretation. Many of my language classes in school had these exercises in ample, and we were blessed with teachers who encouraged free thought and individual expression. It was never textbook education for them. I think those years nurtured and imbibed the love of language in me.
Some poems have stayed in fragments of images and emotions in my mind, I am posting them below.
Every time I think of this poem, I imagine lot of colours, lot of sunlight, and laughter.
I Remember, I Remember
-By Thomas Hood
I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birth-day,--
The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!
I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heav'n
Than when I was a boy.
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The Death Bed
-By Thomas Hood
This is one is the anti-image of the previous one. Earlier one is about childhood, carefree days and bright and light. This one is all gloom , sorrow, old age and the dread and chill of death.
What pictures can a few words create!
The Death Bed.
We watch'd her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.
So silently we seem'd to speak,
So slowly moved about,
As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.
Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied--
We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.
For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,
Her quiet eyelids closed--she had
Another morn than ours.
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A Wish
- By Samuel Rogers
Reading this poem is like looking at a watercolour picture of a idyllic day in countryside. Hills, flowers, brook and water mill, thatched roof cottage, lady in blue apron tending a small patch of land in front of her 'ivied porch' - and yes the village church as well.
I see myself retiring to a place like this with C. *wink*
A Wish.
Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.
The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing
In russet-gown and apron blue.
The village-church, among the trees,
Where first our marriage-vows were given,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point with taper spire to heaven.
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The Miller's Daughter
-by Lord Tennyson
And this one is the far cuter and sweeter version of Bryan Adams' 'I wanna be'
Every time I listen to that song, this poem flicks through my mind - same desires, but what a huge difference in expressions! I wonder if Bryan Adams read this poem and thought bringing it out as his song - in a saucier version.
The Miller's Daughter.
It is the miller's daughter,
And she is grown so dear, so dear,
That I would be the jewel
That trembles in her ear:
For hid in ringlets day and night,
I'd touch her neck so warm and white.
And I would be the girdle
About her dainty dainty waist,
And her heart would beat against me,
In sorrow and in rest:
And I should know if it beat right,
I'd clasp it round so close and tight.
And I would be the necklace,
And all day long to fall and rise
Upon her balmy bosom,
With her laughter or her sighs,
And I would lie so light, so light,
I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.
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Readers, what are your favourite poems?
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