The Woodspurge

From Frances Rossetti’s diary about her son, Dante Gabriel’s funeral, which took place at Birchington-on-Sea on Friday, April 10, 1882.

“I placed on the grave a bunch of simple flowers, among which were woodspurge and forget- me-nots. Christina had gathered these in the grounds and conservatory.”

The Woodspurge

The wind flapped loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill:
I had walked on at the wind's will, —
I sat now, for the wind was still.

Between my knees my forehead was, —
My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
My hair was over in the grass,
My naked ears heard the day pass[.]

My eyes, wide open, had the run
Of some ten weeds to fix upon;
Among those few, out of the sun,
The woodspurge flowered, three cups in one.

From perfect grief there need not be
Wisdom or even memory:
One thing then learnt remains to me, —
The woodspurge has a cup of three.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1856

Posted courtesy of Dinah Roe

Poetic Justice

Blast you.

I won't do what you tell me.

Except buy Killing in the Name Of.

One click to defeat the frightful Cowell. Even Lazy Poets can do that.

Jolly good.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fkuOAY-S6OY

Dinah's Winter Poem

Dear All

We finished last night's Seasonal LPPG with a short and slightly unseasonal reading session. Due to time constraints (and my reading The Lunch Poems almost in their entirety), Dinah was unable to read her poem. Which is a shame as it is incredibly beautiful. Here it is

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

London Library Members Defy Blitz

Frank O'Hara

Poem

Lana Turner has collapsed!
I was trotting along and suddenly
it started raining and snowing
and you said it was hailing
but hailing hits you on the head
hard so it was really snowing and
raining and I was in such a hurry
to meet you but the traffic
was acting exactly like the sky
and suddenly I see a headline
LANA TURNER HAS COLLAPSED!
there is no snow in Hollywood
there is no rain in California
I have been to lots of parties
and acted perfectly disgraceful
but I never actually collapsed
oh Lana Turner we love you get up

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeGqE1sqpn4

A Poetic Bit of Fry and Laurie

Fry: "Time fell wanking to the floor". What does it mean?

Laurie: It's a quotation.

Fry: A quotation? It's not Milton and I'm pretty certain it can't be Wordsworth.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zx_YY_frOvQ

A Lazy Poetic Welcome to Ezra Glaser-Smyth

It is with immense happiness, albeit of a wearying sort, that we welcome Ezra Glaser-Smyth to the LPPG.

Although only a few days old, he is already far smarter than most of the original members, far better behaved, far better-looking and, if that book mark is anything to go by, far better read.

I know all members will summon the requisite vim and welcome him warmly.

To mark the occasion, some verse by his namesake. It is suitably gloomy, but also rather amusing. Congratulations Adam and Eliane!

Song in the Manner of Housman

O woe, woe,
People are born and die,
We also shall be dead pretty soon
Therefore let us act as if we were
dead already.

The bird sits on the hawthorn tree
But he dies also, presently.
Some lads get hung, and some get shot.
Woeful is this human lot.
Woe! woe, etcetera . . . .

London is a woeful place,
Shropshire is much pleasanter.
Then let us smile a little space
Upon fond nature's morbid grace.
Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera . . .