NB! Even though you’re not supposed to write keywords for all of the following poems,
you’re still supposed to read all of them. Remember that reading poetry takes time, so read
the poems multiple times until you can form some kind of interpretation. I’m sorry that the
quality of the copy is rather poor at times./Johan
Poetry Compendium EngA
2
No. 10
DEATH be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better then thy stroke; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleep past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
—John Donne, 1633
She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways
SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
—Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
—William Wordsworth 1799
Poetry Compendium EngA
3
Crossing the Bar
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For though from out our bourn of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1889
IN A STATION OF THE METRO
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
—Ezra Pound, 1913
Poetry Compendium EngA
Robert Frost
4
Poetry Compendium EngA
Muriel Rukeyser
5
Poetry Compendium EngA
Lawrence Ferlinghetti, 1958
6
Poetry Compendium EngA
7
Poetry Compendium EngA
Adrienne Rich
8
Poetry Compendium EngA
Craig Raine
9
Poetry Compendium EngA 10
Rita Dove
Poetry Compendium EngA 11
Strange Fruit
Hallelujah
Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
(Yeah but) Baby I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor,
(You know)
I used to live alone before I knew ya
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
and love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
—Lewis Allan (Abel Meeropol), 193?
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Well there was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me, do ya?
But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Well I heard there was a secret chord
that David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this :
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the
major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Well your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
And she tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
[Interlude]
Maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah . . .
—Leonard Cohen, 1984 (via John Cale to Jeff
Buckley)
Poetry Compendium EngA 12
adam and eve
tonight you stooped to my level
i am your mangy little whore
now you're trying to find your underwear
and then your socks and then the door
and you're trying to find a reason
why you have to leave
but i know it's 'cuz you think you're
adam
and you think i'm eve
you rhapsodize about beauty
and my eyes glaze
everything i love is ugly
i mean really, you would be amazed
just do me a favor
it's the least that you can do
just don't treat me like i am
something that happened to you
i am truly sorry about all this
you put a tiny pin prick
in my big red balloon
and as i slowly start to exhale
that's when you leave the room
i did not design this game
i did not name the stakes
i just happen to like apples
and i am not afraid of snakes
i am truly sorry about all this
i envy you your ignorance
i hear that it's bliss
so i let go the ratio
of things said to things heard
as i leave you to your garden
and the beauty you preferred
and i wonder what of this
will have meaning for you
when you've left it all behind
i guess i'll even wonder
if you meant it
at the time
—Ani Difranco, 1996