101 Poems, Number 16

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

16: “After I Heard You Were Gone,” in Horoscopes for the Dead, 2011, by Billy Collins* (1941–)

So how can Billy Collins know

So much about the shock of loss?

And how does he find words to show—

To make it smoothly come across?

The strangeness when a life is gone—

The loneliness that we all feel

When we can no more look upon
A friend, a love—the world’s surreal.

*Poet Laureate of the United States, 2001–03.

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 17

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

17: “A Narrow Fellow in the Grass,” 1865, by Emily Dickinson (1830–86)

A poem here about a snake—

And about a plain mistake

That sometimes inattentive you

Can make when you do what you do—

Be careless in the woods and grass

Where critters sometimes like to pass.

But don’t you really love the tone

Of lines like “zero at the bone”?

To use few words to say it all?

A stream becomes a.waterfall.

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 18

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

18: “The Silken Tent,” 1939, by Robert Frost (1874–1963)

In ways this is an exercise—

A single sentence tells the tale

Of love (a tale that’s never stale)—

And it’s a sonnet—feast your eyes!

In ways the poet seems to say:

“Just take a look—and you will see

How I have mastered poetry!

A single-sentence sonnet!” Hey,

Now that is an accomplishment—

You can’t deny it: Robert Frost

Has learned the form—has paid the cost—

His lines at times seem heaven-sent.

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 19

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

19: “Reuben Bright,” 1897, by Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935)

A sonnet from the quiet man—

That’s Robinson—withdrawn and shy—

Who wrote as well as humans can—

Then, realizing he must die,

He worked on poems in his bed—

The hospital where he would pass—

And used his verse to battle dread

That comes despite all age and class.

And dread is at the very heart

Of this, his sonnet showing death.

A man who’s told that he must part

From love itself—his lover’s breath.

His wife is dying, and he knows

That nothing can remain the same,

And so this artful sonnet shows

Why all should know this poet’s name!

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 20

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

20: “The House,”* in New Yorker, 31 August 2009, by Richard Wilbur (1921–2017)

A painful poem to recite.

It’s saturated—soaked with love

Of five and sixty years. I fight

The tears that come, for I know of—

A little of—the pain he felt

When she, his loving wife, was gone.

And as I read this, my eyes melt.

He’d no one left to lean upon.

That image—how he sails away

To seek her every single night?

Well, this is why I still must say:

A painful poem to recite.

*A poem for his wife (Mary), who died in 2007; they’d been married for 65 years.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 21

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

21: “It’s Sweet to Be Remembered,” 2007, by Charles Wright (1935–)

So who remembers any rock?

(Perhaps it’s time that we should talk?)

For most of us? Our name will go

When we have gone—and not too slow!*

How brief it is, our earthly fame.

As evanescent as a flame.

If we’re a rock, says poet Wright,

Some kid might launch us into flight.

The best to hope for? (Hope we’ve got!)

Some very pleasant woodland spot.

*I know—should be slowly, but it doesn’t rhyme.

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 22

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

22: “When You Are Old,” 1892, by William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)

A poem that explores regret—

And loss—and, yes, what might have been.

The anguish that we can’t forget—

So strong it will not stay within.

A love that could have been won’t be—

A lover lost who looks ahead

And summons distant memory—

And thinks of how a heart has bled.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 23

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

23: “The Kraken,” 1830, by Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809–92)

I had to learn this, didn’t I?

A kraken poem, Yo!

I can’t ignore such monster verse—

For should the kraken show

Itself to me out on the sea—

And threaten death and all,

I’ll just say, “Kraken—listen, Bro,

I don’t just want to stall

Your dinner now, but listen, Yo,

And let me now rehearse

That poem all about you—yes,

That’s right, I know the verse!”

The kraken, satisfied, will dive

Back deep into the sea,

And I will thank it for my life—

And thank the poetry!

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 24

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

24: “Well, come, my Kate,” from The Taming of the Shrew (4.3—or 4.1, depending on whose edition you consult), 1593(?), by William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

This was among the very first

Of speeches by the Bard I learned.

(Back then I wasn’t too well versed

In Shakespeare lines. But then I turned

Into a total Bard-o-phile

And learned his lines so eagerly.)

Now I remember—now I smile.

Those days when I first came to see

That teaching Shakespeare was a way

To bring to students in my class

A different dawn, a different day—

A different kind of looking glass.

My students* learned this speech as well—

Oh, cruel teacher! What a crime!

But when they did it? I could tell

They had pure pride—not wasted time.

*Harmon (Middle) School; Aurora, Ohio; late 1980s, early 90s.

PETRUCHIO

Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's

Even in these honest mean habiliments:

Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor;

For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;

And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,

So honour peereth in the meanest habit.

What is the jay more precious than the lark,

Because his fathers are more beautiful?

Or is the adder better than the eel,

Because his painted skin contents the eye?

O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse

For this poor furniture and mean array.

if thou account'st it shame. lay it on me;

And therefore frolic: we will hence forthwith,

To feast and sport us at thy father's house.

101 Poems, Number 25

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

25: “When I Was Young and Poor,” in Evidence, 2009, by Mary Oliver (1935–)

A short one here from Oliver—

On whom we all should now confer

Much admiration. (You concur?)

It tells how swiftly life goes by—

A blink or two, a darkening sky—

And then, of course, you cease. You die.

But when you’re young, you just don’t think

This can occur. You eat, you drink.

And then your life begins to shrink—

You hurl some questions into air—

And hope, perhaps, someone will care

Before your bough of life is bare.

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 26

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

26: “Old Ironsides,”1830, by Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809–94)

A poem that I used to teach—

And ask the kids to memorize.

A poem that, I found, could reach

So many of them (no surprise).

I saw the ship in Boston once—

It’s still commissioned, USN.

I toured it. Taught it. (I’m no dunce!)

And learned a lot ’bout Way Back When.

I read a lot of Holmes, as well.

(His novels* can be quite a trip!)

And learned a simple lesson, too:

That poetry can save a ship.

*Elsie Venner (1861), The Guardian Angel (1867), A Mortal Antipathy (1885). Wild and fun to read.

Link to poem.  

101 Poems, Number 27

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

27: “Casabianca” (“The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck”), 1826, by Felicia Hemans (1793–1835)

I’m not sure why I learned these lines—

Perhaps because the very first

Among them very well combines

The image of pure fear—the worst,

Of course, is yet to come—read on!

I’ve learned the poem’s based on fact*—

Historical events long gone.

A naval war—a ship attacked.

I read this first when just a boy—

And fiery death was horror. Pure.

Oh, not a thing I could enjoy—

But still it had a strange allure.

And so, I guess, in later years

I thought that I would memorize

This story that had once brought tears

Into my fearful boyhood eyes.

*the Battle of the Nile, 1798; the poem’s title is the boy’s last name

Link to poem.  

101 Poems, Number 28

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

28: “This Is Just to Say,” 1934, by William Carlos Williams (1883–1963)

A simple poem—just some fruit

The speaker ate one day.

But he apologizes here—

Though has few words to say.

He found some plums—the icebox—

And he ate them, every one.

Then felt some faint ensuing guilt,

Arising with the sun.

Old Williams was among the best

At saying not so much

But saying all—a single breath—

Oh, Williams had the touch!

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 29

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

29: “Autumn Song,” March 1936, by W. H. Auden (1907–73)

“Now the leaves are falling fast”—

And so begins these Auden lines

That swoop me back into the past,

These lines about a season’s signs.

His images—of change, of graves,

Of trolls, of different sorts of birds—

Roll over us like ocean waves—

These combers formed of perfect words.

It’s cycles that he writes about—

In all our lives here on this earth.

We all are on the human route—

What ends with death begins with birth.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 30

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

30: “maggie and millie and molly and may,” from 95 Poems, 1958, by E. E. Cummings (1894–1962)

It seems so simple—girls at play

Down on a friendly beach one day.

And each one sees what each one sees—

And that, for them? Enough to please.

But Cummings is no simple man—

He writes with such a subtle plan.

And here we see felicity

Does not imply simplicity.

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 31

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

31: “Night Clouds,” by Amy Lowell (1874–1925)

I’m not sure when and where I came

Across these lines bizarre,

But soon she’d snagged me, and I rode

A nightmare to a star.

And from that star I saw a horse

Then rearing in the sky.

It neighed: “You cannot catch me, Yo!”

I thought I had to try.

But he was right (the neigh was “Nay!”)—

I tried for all I’m worth.

But, failing, I just drifted down

And floated back to earth.

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 32

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

32: “Alas, poor Yorick!” 1603, from Hamlet, 5.1, by William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

I know: It’s not a poem, but

It also kind of is, as well.

Besides, I’ve memorized it—swell!

And so, right here, I think I’ll … strut.

It’s from that famous graveyard scene—

And we see playful Hamlet mull

About that famous Yorick skull

And what such relics come to mean.

But moments later—awful news.

He learns Ophelia is no more.

The play grows darker—to the core—

Like some deep, painful, fatal bruise.

Link to the lines. (Scroll down to find them.)

101 Poems, Number 33

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

33: “She Walks in Beauty,” 1813, by George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824)

“She walks in beauty, like the night …”—

And so begins these lines—just right.

A poem that in many ways

Is perfect. In my mind it stays

With just a little work each week,

(I know: I’m something of a geek,

The kind who likes to memorize

All kinds of poems—any size!)

But this one’s brief, emotional—

And flows along—is never dull.

Like Byron’s life—oh, far too brief—

An autumn day—a fallen leaf.

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 34

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

34: “Dover Beach,” 1867, by Matthew Arnold (1822–88)

“Where ignorant armies clash by night”—

These words I read in college first—

In college where I saw the light

But didn’t always follow. Thirst

For other drinks than poetry

Would sometimes (often?) supersede,

And so I sometimes found that I

Did what I want, not what I need.

These lines are in a different voice

Than I was listening to. It seemed

That I would need to make a choice:

To learn these words that somehow beamed

At me from days and years long gone—

Or sink into a pit, a slough,

A kind of modern Babylon.

I chose the words, and now I know

That life among them is one way

That I’ve found heaven here on earth.

Yes, words have proved to me each day

There is not just a single birth.

Link to poem.  

101 Poems, Number 35

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

35: Sonnet 111 (“O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide”), 1609, by William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

I memorized this—not too long

Ago.It’s dense. Not like a song

That flows along so sensibly—

Like woodland brooks, so merrily.

It is a plea for pity, see?

“Feel sorry for a writer—me.

My life is really not that grand.”

And then that phrase, “The dyer’s hand”?

Well, that is why these lines I learned:
“My name’s in there! So I’m concerned!”

My ancestors were dyers, see—

They colored things (and not for free).

So now these words are in my head—

I mumble them—sometimes in bed.

And so these words will never leave—

Or so, at least, I must believe.

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 36

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

36: “Travellers,” in Complete Poems, 2012, by Philip Larkin (1922–85)

It was on Writer’s Almanac

(I think) I saw these lines in print.

I saw the train; I saw the track;

I saw what Philip Larkin meant.

We sometimes isolate ourselves—

Do not at all communicate.

We’re unaware (like books on shelves)

That others near are more than freight.

But in these verses Larkin sees

What should be obvious to us:

A stranger makes us feel … unease—

But need not be superfluous.

Link to poem. 

101 Poems, Number 37

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

37: “Home,” in Another World Instead: The Early Poems (2008), by William Stafford (1914–93)

The form is very clipped—

The lines are brief.

And thinking of a rhyme

Is pure relief

When syllables are few—

When lines are short.

A challenge very stern—

Olympic sport!

His father here he writes

About—the debt

He knows he owes to him—

The loss, regret.

So quick to memorize—

Now in my brain.

Not much to puzzle here—

Nor to explain.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 38

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

38: “A Bird Came Down the Walk,” 1862, by Emily Dickinson (1830–86)

A college class—my very first*

(Among the best—no, not the worst).

Yes, this was English 101–

I learned a lot ere it was done.

One summer’s day we read these lines

From Dickinson (I knew her signs:

So short and pithy, odd at times—

With sometimes weird, confusing rhymes.)

“A Bird” was fairly clear to read—

Though something not to do with speed.

But then came “plashless”—What is that?

My mind did flip-flops—then ker-splat!

My brain just fluttered on the floor—

I couldn’t take it anymore.

But years would pass—and I would grow—

And soon enough I’d learn—I’d know—

That Dickinson? One of the best.

And I went on to read the rest

Or all her splendid, magic verse—

Those lines so true, so pure, so terse.

*English 101; Dr. Charles F. McKinley; Summer Session 1, 1962

*And I would find plash (minus the less) again in The Taming of the Shrew when I taught it:

LUCENTIO: for I have Pisa left

And am to Padua come, as he that leaves

A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep

And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst (1.1).

And then I had the thrill of seeing my son deliver those lines as Lucentio, late 1980s, in his high school production of Shrew.

Link to poem.