Poems for Life (7 page)

What little town by river or sea shore,

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,

Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?

And, little town, thy streets for evermore

Will silent be; and not a soul to tell

Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

V

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede

Of marble men and maidens overwrought,

With forest branches and the trodden weed;

Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought

As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!

When old age shall this generation waste,

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,

Beauty is truth, truth beauty — that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

— John Keats

D
AVID
M
AMET

Dear Ms. Shaw:

Pls. find attached a copy of my poem “The Dog.” I chose it because I could remember it.

Most sincerely yours,

T
HE
D
OG

— David Mamet

J
ASON
M
C
M
ANUS

Dear Candice Gorman:

I'm delighted to join in your poetry project and I've chosen as my favorite one by Emily Dickinson, which I sometimes recite by heart at difficult times. It, to me, is the affirmation of the power of human imagination and creativity, the ability not only to imagine words unseen but to empathize with people unknown, souls unmet — a different way of saying that none of us are islands, we all share the human experience.

With all best wishes,

I
NEVER SAW A MOOR

I never saw a Moor —

I never saw the Sea —

Yet know I how the Heather looks

And what a Billow be.

I never spoke with God

Nor visited in Heaven —

Yet certain am I of the spot

As if the Checks were given —

— Emily Dickinson

J
OAN
S. M
C
M
ENAMIN

Dear Louise,

What a pleasure it is for me to have a letter from you and to hear about the class's wonderful poetry project! I especially admire all this work for refugee children and I am happy to be a part of it.

There are two different poems that are a part of my life. One is in my wallet and has been since I can't remember when.

Life is mostly froth and bubble,

Two things stand like stone;

Kindness in another's trouble,

Courage in your own.

— A. L. Gordon

The other I read for the first time when I was in college, and I copied it then. It beautifully says what I deeply believe, that love is the center of our lives and being.

He that loveth, flieth, runneth, and rejoiceth;

He is free and not “bound” …

Love feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble,

Attempts what is above its strength

Pleads no excuse of impossibility …

For it thinks all things possible.

It is therefore able to undertake all things, and it

Completes many things, and brings them to a conclusion,

Where he who does not love, faints and lies down.

— Thomas à Kempis

Please put in my order for the book when it is ready, and meanwhile this brings love and admiration for all of you for fine work on behalf of refugee youngsters.

Affectionately,

V
ED
M
EHTA

Dear Elizabeth,

Thank you for your letter and for asking me to choose a poem for your collection. My choice is “Dover Beach” by Matthew Arnold. My explanation for this choice is that it was the first poem I read in English (my fourth language) with any degree of understanding, and it was the subject of one of my first papers for an English literature class. I've reread it many times since with increasing pleasure. Also Matthew Arnold was a great figure at Balliol College, Oxford, where I was an undergraduate, and I belonged to a society named after him.

Next time we are in the elevator together, please do introduce yourself.

With warm good wishes,

Yours sincerely,

P.S. We are just leaving for Maine for the summer, so I don't have a copy of the poem to hand, but I'm sure you can find it in any number of anthologies.

D
OVER
B
EACH

The sea is calm tonight.

The tide is full, the moon lies fair

Upon the straits; — on the French coast the light

Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.

Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!

Only, from the long line of spray

Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,

Listen! You hear the grating roar

Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,

At their return, up the high strand,

Begin, and cease, and then again begin,

With tremulous cadence slow, and bring

The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago

Heard it on the Aegean, and it brought

Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow

Of human misery; we

Find also in the sound a thought,

Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore

Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.

But now I only hear

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,

Retreating, to the breath

Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear

And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.

— Matthew Arnold

I
SMAIL
M
ERCHANT