My Favorite Poem (What's your favorite poem and why)

Replies to This Discussion

Permalink Reply by Cherrie J Webb on January 3, 2009 at 10:28am

My tastes are so eclectic when it comes to poetry. I even look at song lyrics as poetry. And if that were the case it would be India Arie's "Brown Skin". But there are really so many. I used to love Def Poetry Jam and often dreamed of being in front of the mic with my voice being heard, my story being told.

I don't want to offend anyone. But this was by far my favorite poem this year: Maya Angelou

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Permalink Reply by EssentialU on January 3, 2009 at 9:13pm

My favorite poem is Circle of Breath by William Stafford.

Circle of Breath

The night my father died the moon shone on the snow
I drove in from the west; mother was at the door.
All the light in the room extended like a shadow.
Truant from knowing, I stood where the great dark fell.

There was a time before, something we used to tell-
how we parked the car in a storm and walked into a field
to know how it was to be cutt off, out in the dark alone.
My father and I stood together while the storm went by.

A windmill was there in the field giving its little cry
while we stood calm in ourselves, knowing we could go home.
But I stood on the skull of the world the night he died, and knew
that I leased a place to live with my white breath.

Truant no more, I stepped forward and learned of his death.

William Stafford

It is my favorite poem because I can fully understand the concept of being "truant" from knowledge and "truant no more" from the same information. I also love how William Stafford tells us all the details of what he saw, heard and felt at the moment.

I went to Lewis and Clark College and William Stafford is part of the history of Lewis and Clark's English department. His worked played an influential role in my poet voice.

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Permalink Reply by Synolve Craft on January 3, 2009 at 9:50pm

Please explain the "truant no more" line in the poem. It is a very interesting concept. Is he saying we are truant from this world or the next? Can't wait til you respond!!!

EssentialU said:

My favorite poem is Circle of Breath by William Stafford.

Circle of Breath

The night my father died the moon shone on the snow
I drove in from the west; mother was at the door.
All the light in the room extended like a shadow.
Truant from knowing, I stood where the great dark fell.

There was a time before, something we used to tell-
how we parked the car in a storm and walked into a field
to know how it was to be cutt off, out in the dark alone.
My father and I stood together while the storm went by.

A windmill was there in the field giving its little cry
while we stood calm in ourselves, knowing we could go home.
But I stood on the skull of the world the night he died, and knew
that I leased a place to live with my white breath.

Truant no more, I stepped forward and learned of his death.

William Stafford

It is my favorite poem because I can fully understand the concept of being "truant" from knowledge and "truant no more" from the same information. I also love how William Stafford tells us all the details of what he saw, heard and felt at the moment.

I went to Lewis and Clark College and William Stafford is part of the history of Lewis and Clark's English department. His worked played an influential role in my poet voice.

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Permalink Reply by Synolve Craft on January 3, 2009 at 9:53pm

We had an interesting discussion in my an English lit. class that I took last semester. The professor talked about whether rap and songs should be considered poetry. I definitely think so!!!

Wouldn't it be interesting if songs could be entered in Poetry contests and will national awards...Not that I want the competition. But wouldn't that be interesting?

What do you think?

AfriDigiDiva said:

My tastes are so eclectic when it comes to poetry. I even look at song lyrics as poetry. And if that were the case it would be India Arie's "Brown Skin". But there are really so many. I used to love Def Poetry Jam and often dreamed of being in front of the mic with my voice being heard, my story being told.

I don't want to offend anyone. But this was by far my favorite poem this year: Maya Angelou

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Permalink Reply by Dana Neal on January 4, 2009 at 4:37pm

Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost...I can recite it by memory..I fell in love with it from the movie The Outsider's when I was like 12!
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs 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.

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Permalink Reply by Synolve Craft on January 4, 2009 at 7:24pm

Dana:
If the gold can not stay, where does it go? Why can it not stay? This is a very nice poem. Thank you for sharing it! I hadn't read this one before!!!

Dana Neal said:

Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost...I can recite it by memory..I fell in love with it from the movie The Outsider's when I was like 12!
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs 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.

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Permalink Reply by EssentialU on January 4, 2009 at 9:25pm

He is saying that he didn't yet know that his father had died, he was truant from the knowledge. He steps forward and learns of his death. Beautiful.

Synolve Craft said:

Please explain the "truant no more" line in the poem. It is a very interesting concept. Is he saying we are truant from this world or the next? Can't wait til you respond!!!

EssentialU said:

My favorite poem is Circle of Breath by William Stafford.

Circle of Breath

The night my father died the moon shone on the snow
I drove in from the west; mother was at the door.
All the light in the room extended like a shadow.
Truant from knowing, I stood where the great dark fell.

There was a time before, something we used to tell-
how we parked the car in a storm and walked into a field
to know how it was to be cutt off, out in the dark alone.
My father and I stood together while the storm went by.

A windmill was there in the field giving its little cry
while we stood calm in ourselves, knowing we could go home.
But I stood on the skull of the world the night he died, and knew
that I leased a place to live with my white breath.

Truant no more, I stepped forward and learned of his death.

William Stafford

It is my favorite poem because I can fully understand the concept of being "truant" from knowledge and "truant no more" from the same information. I also love how William Stafford tells us all the details of what he saw, heard and felt at the moment.

I went to Lewis and Clark College and William Stafford is part of the history of Lewis and Clark's English department. His worked played an influential role in my poet voice.

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Permalink Reply by mel on January 5, 2009 at 2:47pm

This poem is not the best written or the most moving. But right now it is one of my very favorites for the simple statement it makes. And I really love the voice of the author, like a trusting child. I hope I have that trust, that voice in my life with Christ.

"My life is but a weaving
between my God and me,
I do not choose the colors,
He worketh, steadily,
Oftimes He weaveth sorrow,
and I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
and I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent,
and the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas
and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
in the skillful Weaver's hand
As the threads of gold and silver
in the pattern He has planned."
~Anonymous

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Permalink Reply by mel on January 5, 2009 at 2:53pm

I just wanted to throw my 2 cents into this discussion. Is it possible that the author was "truant" from his family as well. I kind of got the feeling from reading it that he was coming into the warmth of his childhood home from being absent a long time. That the outside world was very cold. So cold he could see his breath. And then he refers to "something they used to tell" as if he had no recent communications to tell but only a long past story. I also got that sense right away when he "drove in from the west." He doesn't go in right away. Like maybe he is unsure. And his mother comes to the door........ Also the image of the coldness of winter contrasted to the light inside the house makes me feel like he is an outsider. I don't know. Maybe I am reading too much into it. Just a feeling I got. In addition to the truancy from knowledge. What do you all think????

EssentialU said:

He is saying that he didn't yet know that his father had died, he was truant from the knowledge. He steps forward and learns of his death. Beautiful.

Synolve Craft said:

Please explain the "truant no more" line in the poem. It is a very interesting concept. Is he saying we are truant from this world or the next? Can't wait til you respond!!!

EssentialU said:

My favorite poem is Circle of Breath by William Stafford.

Circle of Breath

The night my father died the moon shone on the snow
I drove in from the west; mother was at the door.
All the light in the room extended like a shadow.
Truant from knowing, I stood where the great dark fell.

There was a time before, something we used to tell-
how we parked the car in a storm and walked into a field
to know how it was to be cutt off, out in the dark alone.
My father and I stood together while the storm went by.

A windmill was there in the field giving its little cry
while we stood calm in ourselves, knowing we could go home.
But I stood on the skull of the world the night he died, and knew
that I leased a place to live with my white breath.

Truant no more, I stepped forward and learned of his death.

William Stafford

It is my favorite poem because I can fully understand the concept of being "truant" from knowledge and "truant no more" from the same information. I also love how William Stafford tells us all the details of what he saw, heard and felt at the moment.

I went to Lewis and Clark College and William Stafford is part of the history of Lewis and Clark's English department. His worked played an influential role in my poet voice.

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Permalink Reply by Synolve Craft on January 5, 2009 at 3:23pm

That's a good point.....What do you guys think? He is definitely "truant" from many things.......

mel said:

I just wanted to throw my 2 cents into this discussion. Is it possible that the author was "truant" from his family as well. I kind of got the feeling from reading it that he was coming into the warmth of his childhood home from being absent a long time. That the outside world was very cold. So cold he could see his breath. And then he refers to "something they used to tell" as if he had no recent communications to tell but only a long past story. I also got that sense right away when he "drove in from the west." He doesn't go in right away. Like maybe he is unsure. And his mother comes to the door........ Also the image of the coldness of winter contrasted to the light inside the house makes me feel like he is an outsider. I don't know. Maybe I am reading too much into it. Just a feeling I got. In addition to the truancy from knowledge. What do you all think????

EssentialU said:

He is saying that he didn't yet know that his father had died, he was truant from the knowledge. He steps forward and learns of his death. Beautiful.

Synolve Craft said:

Please explain the "truant no more" line in the poem. It is a very interesting concept. Is he saying we are truant from this world or the next? Can't wait til you respond!!!

EssentialU said:

My favorite poem is Circle of Breath by William Stafford.

Circle of Breath

The night my father died the moon shone on the snow
I drove in from the west; mother was at the door.
All the light in the room extended like a shadow.
Truant from knowing, I stood where the great dark fell.

There was a time before, something we used to tell-
how we parked the car in a storm and walked into a field
to know how it was to be cutt off, out in the dark alone.
My father and I stood together while the storm went by.

A windmill was there in the field giving its little cry
while we stood calm in ourselves, knowing we could go home.
But I stood on the skull of the world the night he died, and knew
that I leased a place to live with my white breath.

Truant no more, I stepped forward and learned of his death.

William Stafford

It is my favorite poem because I can fully understand the concept of being "truant" from knowledge and "truant no more" from the same information. I also love how William Stafford tells us all the details of what he saw, heard and felt at the moment.

I went to Lewis and Clark College and William Stafford is part of the history of Lewis and Clark's English department. His worked played an influential role in my poet voice.

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Permalink Reply by Synolve Craft on January 5, 2009 at 3:59pm

Mel: How important is "the reader in the text" to the premise of this poem? In other words, does the poet heavily rely on reader to have certain experiences or knowledge in order to relate to the poem? How effective is the reader in the text when you are the reader of this poem?

mel said:

This poem is not the best written or the most moving. But right now it is one of my very favorites for the simple statement it makes. And I really love the voice of the author, like a trusting child. I hope I have that trust, that voice in my life with Christ.

"My life is but a weaving
between my God and me,
I do not choose the colors,
He worketh, steadily,
Oftimes He weaveth sorrow,
and I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
and I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent,
and the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas
and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
in the skillful Weaver's hand
As the threads of gold and silver
in the pattern He has planned."
~Anonymous

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Permalink Reply by Pamilla deLeon- Lewis on January 6, 2009 at 8:14am

I have several favorite poems. However, -IF by Rudyard Kipling speaks volumes. Enjoy.

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

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