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101 Poems, Number 75

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

75: “Loveliest of Trees” (No 2 in A Shropshire Lad), 1896, by A. E. Housman (1859–1936)

“Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Is hung with bloom along the bough”—

Oh, these are lines I loved and learned

About the things in spring that turned.

And now, again, it seems it’s spring—

And we know what a spring can bring:

Depression (snow and ice!)—the sun

Can cure it all (yes, Sol’s the one!).

Yes, Housman’s lines—I’ve learned a lot.

(He serves a lot of food for thought.)

And I admire A Shropshire Lad—

So bright, so dark, so hopeful, sad.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 76

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

76: “A Thunderstorm in Town,” 1893, by Thomas Hardy (1840–1928)

It doesn’t really seem too fair

That this guy writes so very well.

His novels, poems—all his fare

So complicated (I can tell!).

I’m not sure why I memorized

This brief one, but these lines I say

(Like many other words I’ve prized)

On almost every single day.

The message here? It’s dated some—

You shouldn’t make a move like this!

In fact, today? It’s more than dumb

To swoop in for a stranger’s kiss.

But still he captures, Hardy does,

Those moments that we call “what-if?”

Those moments we don’t act because

Each person is a hieroglyph …

That we can’t read.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 77

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

77: “Carry Her Over the Water,” 1939(?), by W. H. Auden (1907–73)

“Carry her over the water”—these

Compose the line—refreshing breeze!—

That start this Auden work of art—

A work that I (to do my part)

Have memorized. I’m not sure why

I learned these lines: It seems that I

Had come across them—not sure where?—

Soon needed them—as we need air.

The words are odd—no doubt of that.

He was a verbal acrobat—

Could craft his images—some weird—

But they enlighten. I’ve not feared

Them, no, and I admire the way

He crafts them, for they help him say

What sometimes just cannot be said.

A poem pierces—arrowhead.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 78

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

78: “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night,” 1951, by Dylan Thomas (1914–53)

“Do not go gentle into that good night”—

Yes, I remember when those words I heard

For the first time. In high school. It was right

There in my junior year. And it occurred

That day our English teacher* played for us

A record—Thomas reading. What a voice

He had! We listened. Then he said, “Discuss

The lines you heard.” (We didn’t have a choice.)

Of course, at age 16 what did we know

Of loss and age, of death** and of regret?

It takes a lot of years for things to show

Themselves—things that we really can’t forget

Until the curtain falls, and all is gone.

Our teacher was completing his last year

That day he gave us Thomas. Yes, a dawn

For me. Lines I have loved—despite each tear.

*Mr. Augustus H. Brunelle (1894–1978)

**At our request, my older brother read this at the funeral of my father-in-law.

Link to poem.

Link to recording of Thomas reading the poem.

101 Poems, Number 79

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

79: “Funeral Blues,” 1938, by W. H. Auden (1907–73)

A film first introduced to me

This splendid work of poetry.

Four Weddings?* Yes, I can recall

That day I knew I’d learn it all.

I used to show my class the clip—

The recitation. (Here’s a tip:

On YouTube** you can see it now—

Just watch it, hear it—weep—and how!)

I memorized it—fairly fast.

Such words, I’ve learned, will really last.

I mumble them throughout the week—

And do not cheat—don’t take a peek

At what the poet, Auden, wrote. 

Well, every time a tightened throat.

Oh yes, he found the pain the grief—

And words can sometimes bring relief.

*Four Weddings and a Funeral, 1994

** Link to film clip.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 80

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

80: “The Wild Swans at Coole,” 1917, by William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)

My dad was four when this appeared—

His family farm in Oregon

Was where my dad was firmly reared.

He could not then have come upon

The words of Yeats there on the farm

Back then in 1917.

But I can think so (what’s the harm?)—

And love to think about that scene!

It was a year or so ago

That I began to memorize

These gorgeous words (oh, how they flow!)

That move and also humanize.

And now I mumble them each day—

Before I’ve even fully dressed.

And guess that this is just the way

That I can show that I’m impressed!

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 81

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

81: “The World Is Too Much With Us,” 1807, by William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

“The world is too much with us; late

And soon, getting and spending”—oh,

These lines—this sonnet!—truly great—

A sonnet I just had to know!

And so I learned it—kind of fast:

This happens when the sense is clear—

And words like these are sure to last—

And so it is I hold them dear.

“Have glimpses that would make me less

Forlorn”—and so our Wordsworth nears

The end of all—and I would guess

That when he finished, there were tears.

How could you fail to weep a bit

When you have written such a thing?

And you must sit and savor it—

And weep because you’ve made words sing.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 82

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

82: “On My First Son,” 1616, by Ben Jonson (1572–1637)

So old, the poetry of pain.

And lines like these can help explain

The universal sort of grief

We feel—and how there’s no relief.

Yes, infant death was common then—

But painful still. No matter when

Such loss occurs, the absent child

Makes sufferers feel lost—exiled.

And Jonson finds the words to say

What can’t be said. He’s found the way

To capture in his lines how death

Removes, as well, survivors’ breath.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 83

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

83: “Musée Des Beaux Arts,” 1938, by W. H. Auden (1907–73)

I memorized this when I taught

Some Auden not so long ago.*

His images are bright and taut,

And much depends on what you know.

The Brueghel painting shows the scene—

The tale of Icarus is key

To knowing what the lines can mean—

At least I found this true for me.

What Auden says is often true:

Much pain and woe go on while we

Are focused elsewhere—with no clue

Of suffering humanity.

A boy falls from the sky to sea—

But we are elsewhere occupied

And fail to notice tragedy—

That lad who fell, who wildly cried.

*Western Reserve Academy, 2001–11

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 84

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

84: “Ozymandias,” 1818, by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)

I first learned this one in the days

When I was in my “Shelley Phase”—

A phase I’m still traversing now—

I think it’s infinite somehow!

In English 101* I read

It first—and what young Shelley said

Just stuck. The evanescence of

Our human lives—our dreams, our love.

Years later I would once recite

These lines one lovely summer night

For that same prof who’d once taught me

And wished to hear it. I would see

How Time sometimes gives us a chance

To show that we will not forget

The steps that go to that first dance,

A chance to pay a youthful debt.

*Summer Session at Hiram College; 1962; Prof. Charles F. McKinley

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 85

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

85: “my father moved through dooms of love,” 1940, by E. E. Cummings (1894–1962)

Another one to blame on Joyce—

Who posted this on Father’s Day.

And in her room she heard my voice:

“I gotta learn this thing—some way!”

Some weeks went by while I rehearsed

These lines and images complex—

I slowly sailed the Sea of Worst

While Cummings’ words just puzzled, vexed.

But—slowly! slowly!—sense emerged—

I sailed upon a different sea—

And hope and pleasure through me surged.

And soon I had it—error-free!*

See, even murky things can clear

With effort—this is no surprise.

Yes, I’ve felt fearsome words grow dear—

And this is why I memorize.

*Well …

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 86

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

86: “Concord Hymn,” 1836, by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)

Some poems you learn because of love—

And some for sake of fame.

And this is in the latter group—

The poet: a famous name.

In Concord, Massachusetts—it

Was 1836–

Our Emerson composed these lines—

And not, of course, for kicks.

The monument at Concord to

Commemorate that shot

Heard round the world—revolt is on!—

Of this, we’ve all been taught.

His words were sung that special day—

And ever since, we know,

Some cruel teachers (me!) required

Their kids to undergo

The memorizing of these lines

That now are so well known—

I learned them too and claim—so far—

The verses have not flown!

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 87

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

87: “High School Senior,” 1996, in The Wellspring, by Sharon Olds (1942–)

It was a great discovery—

The poetry of Sharon Olds.

She grabbed my eyes and helped them see

Life’s fabric—with its textures, folds.

A thrill for me: I met her once*—

She visited the place I taught.

Her work rewards the one who hunts

For what is real, for what is not.

Quotidian events flow through

Her poems—from the first to last.

Our daily lives—the things we do

And feel. Yes, we compose her cast.

So, write on, Sharon Olds! Write on!

The weary world requires your verse.

So much civility is gone—

And Poetry’s replaced with Curse.

*She spent the day at Western Reserve Academy on April 19, 2006.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 88

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

88: “Kubla Khan,” 1797 (pub. in 1816), by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834)

I read this poem in college, Yo,

And realized I didn’t know

A lot of things. (Yes, kinda slow.)

Some years then passed—oh, yes, a lot—

And for a reason I have not

A clue about, I kind of thought

I’d memorize these many lines—

I’d try it, see, like foreign wines—

And hoped I’d pay no fatal fines

For doing so. Success! Inside

My head those magic words abide,

And I’m, I guess, so mystified

That I would even try to try

To learn it. And I can’t say why

I did. Perhaps to satisfy

Some urge from very long ago

When I was no real dynamo—

Not butter, just some oleo!

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 89

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

89: “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” 1907, by Robert W. Service (1874–1958)

Such strange things done … the midnight sun …

This poem always was such fun—

Though maybe not for those I taught

In 8^th grade English. “Fun? Oh not!”

I used in our Klondike weeks—

Jack London, Yukon mountain peaks.

We memorized it—first to last—

And many, many of them passed!

This poem still lives in my head—

I hope it does till I am … [you know].

It took some work to get it there—

I wrestled it—a grizzly bear.

But soon (with work) the bear succumbed—

My brain survived! No longer numbed!

So now I trot out “Sam McGee”

And offer no apology!

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 90

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

90: “The Courage That My Mother Had,”draft in 1942, pub. 1954, by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892–1950)

Some poems have a history—

Are piercing with their pain,

And this brought tears into my eyes

So recently—again.

She wrote about her mother’s death

In 1931.

A painful death for Vincent,* who

Knew what it had begun:

The long cortège of loved ones, who

Proceeded to the grave.

A line that swells and soon becomes

A grim, black tidal wave.

When Joyce’s mother died, I said

These lines to praise her life.

I wept as I was doing so—

And so did Joyce, my wife.

Then—just last week—my mother’s turn—

The words she could not hear.

Oh, what I’d give to whisper them

Into her living ear.

I wept again there in that church

As I recited lines

And wished that they could could ever serve

As endless anodynes.

*What all her friends and family called her.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 91

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

91: “Sonnet 18,” 1609, by William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

This was the first of sonnets by the Bard

That I would memorize. At first: No way!

I thought, These lines are really far too hard

For me. There was some stuff I understood—

A summer’s day, rough winds, the sun above.

But some? I felt I had a mind of wood—

Though I was sure the sonnet dealt with love.

And so I worked—and soon (not too) the words

Remained there in that tangled wood (my mind)—

I didn’t fear they’d wing away like birds,

For soon, with branches, they were well entwined.

     And then I wanted to increase the score—

     For in my wood no fear—no, nevermore.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 92

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

92: “My Lost Youth,” 1855, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–82)

It was in high school—junior year*—

That I first heard this poem said.

My English teacher,** who was near

Retirement, one day raised his head

And said he had some words today.

Then he recited “My Lost Youth”—

He’d memorized it—on the way

I sat and listened (this, the truth)

And was so moved by what I heard.

The decades flowed. That teacher died.

And though my mind had somewhat blurred,

I thought of him. And it. I tried

To learn the thing myself. I did.

And when retirement day had come

(My own), I one day stood amid

My students. And that day—deep from

My memory the words returned,

And as I spoke, I heard the voice

Of my old teacher. I had earned

Those words—was glad I’d made the choice:

Remember and then memorize

Those words that meant so much to me—

Those words that brought tears to my eyes—

Those words that are a depthless sea.

Link to poem.

*1960–61
**Augustus H. Brunelle (1894–1978); Hiram High School; Hiram, OH

101 Poems, Number 93

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

93: “If You Were Coming in the Fall,” 1862, by Emily Dickinson (1830–86)

A college friend* and I had thought

That we had futures clear:

We’d be folk singers—famous, too!—

From year to year to year.

This didn’t really happen (duh!)—

But we once made a song

From Dickinson’s so magic verse—

How could this song go wrong?

And we performed it here and there—

And had fun doing so.

But Time advanced (and so did we)—

And dreams, of course, will go.

These words stuck with me through the years—

They would not be forgot.

And I the student learned much more

Than what I ever taught.

*Charlie Rodgers—my roommate and friend from Hiram College days, 1962–66.

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 94

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

94: “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” 1923, by Robert Frost (1874–1963)

This is the first, that I recall,

My students learned, yes, one and all.

And I, their teacher, yes, yes, I

Did learn it, too—a protocol.

To memorize? Well, you must try

To do it firmly—gratify

Yourself: a thrill in working hard—

A thrill that time will magnify.

So I’ve learned poems by the Bard—

I practice them out in the yard—

Recite them to my honor guard—

(The line before? A pure canard.)

Link to poem.

101 Poems, Number 95

Favorite Poems Throughout My Life

95: “anyone lived in a pretty how town,” 1940, by E. E. Cummings (1894–1962)

Back in my student teaching days

At West Geauga High,

I turned a lit-book page and saw

This poem—my, oh my!

I didn’t understand a thing—

My students looked at me.

I said, “Let’s read this Cummings’ thing—

But do it silently.”

They read—or so it seemed they did.

And I then read aloud.

Moved on and feared all questions, for

I was completely cowed.

The years went on—but I could not

Forget that day in class

When I was baffled by those words

And acted like an ass.

And so I memorized the thing,

And working through the lines,

I saw what Cummings was about—
Much truth in tangled vines.

And so it is with many things:

You work—and then you’ve learned.

And these are things more precious than

Whatever else you’ve earned.

Link to poem.