April is Poetry Month: Edgar Allan Poe
Edgar Allan Poe
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
==
Mamacita says: So much of Poe’s works are gruesome without the saving romantic touch, but Annabel Lee is both gruesome AND romantic, and I’ve liked it since I was a very little girl.
Sure, sure, we could parse it within an inch of its life, but poetry is never the same once it’s been dissected, labeled, and sewn together again.
Savor this one. Picture it. Sense it.
Poe’s Annabel Lee is a page of emotional macabre. Dig it.
April is Poetry Month: Eugene Field
Eugene Field (The Children’s Poet)
Little Boy Blue
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands,
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
“And don’t you make any noise!”
So toddling off to his trundle bed
He dreamed of his pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue.
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true.
Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
And the smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.
====
Mamacita says: This one still makes me cry.
I remember when I first understood that this poem was about a little boy whose heartbroken toys were faithfully waiting for him to come back, not understanding that the child was dead. I think perhaps this poem is the main reason why the Toy Story films make me apprehensive.
This poem is also why angels scared me for many years. I was so afraid that an angel would try to wake me, too.
Again, we could talk about rhyme scheme and symbolism and nicknames and references and first person narratives and quotations and the tragic fact that an awful lot of toddlers died for no apparent reason back in Victorian times.
But I think this poem is best appreciated for its very personal, very sweet, very sad, and very vivid description of a deserted toyroom full of rusting, dusty, once-beloved toys that are waiting for a little boy who will never enter that room again.
April is Poetry Month: Oscar Hammerstein, Jr.
Oscar Hammerstein, Jr.
You’ve Got To Be Taught
You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear,
You’ve got to be taught from year to year,
It’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear,
You’ve got to be carefully taught.
You’ve got to be taught to be afraid
Of People whose eyes are oddly made
And people whose skin is a different shade
You’ve got to be carefully taught,
You’ve got to be carefully taught.
You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late.
Before you are six or seven or eight
To hate all the people your relatives hate.
You’ve got to be carefully taught.
You’ve got to be carefully taught.
—–from South Pacific
==
Mamacita says: South Pacific was a landmark show for many reasons, the main one of which (in my opinion) is the attitude it took regarding race. Imagine the looks on the prunes-and-prisms bigots when Lt. Joe Cable fell in love with the beautiful Tonkinese girl, Liat, whose mother turns out to be Bloody Mary. Just think of the shock when prejudiced America discovered that the two little half-breed children were the offspring of the Frenchman, Emile De Becque and his native islander wife, who is deceased. Nellie Forbush, the naive little nurse from Little Rock, can’t deal with it; it’s too far removed from what she knows.
Characters we are supposed to love turn out to harbor horrendous racial prejudices that threaten their futures. I suppose there are still people who think this way; it’s hard for me to comprehend.
The point, I think, is that nobody is born with these, or any other kind, of prejudices. Prejudices are taught to us from an early age by prejudiced people.
Let me repeat: NOBODY IS BORN WITH PREJUDICES. Ever. Carved in stone. Fact.
We fear and hate what we are taught by others to fear and hate, and people who feel it is their duty to teach children to fear and hate are among the worst of humankind. I hope there is a specially horrible circle of hell for parents who deliberately teach their children to hate, fear, and suspect people who are in any way different from themselves.
I had a conversation once, several years ago, with an older lady I loved very much, but any respect I might have had for her convictions was absolutely and 100% negated when she told me that it was possible to be prejudiced AND Christian, for she was both.
I could not, and still can not, sanction that combination. No. I would love this lady always, but nothing she said to me about her religion meant anything after that revelation.
These lyrics are, of course, song lyrics, but my students MIGHT be able to remind you that all songs are also poems, and that anyone who likes even one song likes one poem, too. Each song you like equals another poem you like. I’d wager money, if I had any, that a lot of people who swear they hate poetry would also state that they loved music.
Hypocrites. 🙂 You can’t have one without the other.
I love South Pacific. I love most Broadway musicals, in fact. But these particular lyrics have always hit me in a sensitive spot, and helped me to understand that no, nobody is born prejudiced, and all of those who ARE prejudiced were taught to be so and have actively chosen to remain so.
In other words: no viable excuse, whatsoever.
