O Nia, this is excellent poem. Thank you and your philospher friend for sharing it with us.Especially that first stanza...exquisite.__Also in regards to the ending of the poem, when I think of burning oil lamp I akin it to the expression 'burning the midnight oil' or being engaged in late night studies, devotional endeavors, (including writing) while others are sleeping, or carosing or partying, or watching late night TV. Not absolutely certain if that was the very same idea in this poem. Have burned a lot of midnight oils, but I'm not sure the 'prescription' or 'product' should be 'silence' _________________ ---
"Please forgive that when I wash your feet with my hair and tears, I am also compelled to tickle them"
Gender: Age: 53 Joined: 16 May 2005 Posts: 5490 Location: Poetry Land of the Universe
Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 6:48 pm Post subject:
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
~Mark Strand, "Eating Poetry," Reasons for Moving, 1968
Last edited by nia on Wed Dec 07, 2005 5:03 pm; edited 1 time in total
Gender: Age: 53 Joined: 16 May 2005 Posts: 5490 Location: Poetry Land of the Universe
Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 7:52 pm Post subject:
The Legend of Oisín and Saint Patrick Oisin (also spelled Ossian), the legendary Celtic hero and poet (This is a continuation of Tír na nÓg - Oisín and Niamh.)
After all the stories were written down, Oisín needed to do something to earn his keep. Old and blind and feeble though he was, Oisín still had the strength of ten normal men, and Patrick put him to work clearing the fields of the big stones that were too heavy for the other men to move. Oisín didn't mind this at all. A real poet enjoys working close to the earth and getting his hands dirty with honest labour. But one day he complained:
"Patrick," he said, "you have me working hard all day moving stones, but you don't feed me properly."
"Oisín," said Patrick, "how can you say that? You get a full quarter of beef each day for your meat. You get a full griddle of bread. And you get a full churn of butter."
Oisín said, "In my day, I've seen a quarter of a blackbird bigger than your quarter of beef. And I've seen an ivy leaf bigger than your griddle of bread. And I've seen a rowan berry bigger than your churn of butter."
"I don't believe that," Patrick said.
Now, to call any man a liar is a great insult. To call a member of the Fianna a liar is a greater insult. But to call a poet a liar is the greatest insult of all, because a poem is the embodiment of truth, and a poet is the designer and creator of that embodiment. If a poet tells a lie, he loses the ability to see truth and to be a poet. And so to call a poet a liar is to deny that he is what he is, to say he is nothing. Oisín was so angry he could hardly speak.
"I'll prove what I said is no word of a lie. The three things the Fianna lived by were the truth in our hearts, the strength in our hands, and fulfilment in our tongues."
Tir na n-Og (the Land of Youth)
The Legend of Oisín and Saint Patrick.htm
Oisin and Patrick.htm
Oisin [Ossian] in Tir na n-Og.htm
Last edited by nia on Sat Sep 09, 2006 7:00 pm; edited 2 times in total
Nia,__Thank you for sharing this Olsin & St. Patrick legend with us. Really enjoyed it. Glad too you are having wonderful time too with music. _________________ ---
"Please forgive that when I wash your feet with my hair and tears, I am also compelled to tickle them"
Gender: Age: 53 Joined: 16 May 2005 Posts: 5490 Location: Poetry Land of the Universe
Posted: Sat May 28, 2005 11:31 pm Post subject:
There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money, either. ~Robert Graves, 1962 interview on BBC-TV, based on a very similar statement he overheard around 1955
Last edited by nia on Wed Dec 07, 2005 5:05 pm; edited 1 time in total
Hi-Nia. O I'm fine. We had a board-sign on our kitchen wall, that all on its own fell down,. and missed my noggin by about two inches. Haha. (Laughing cause it missed me of course.) Have been reading so much poetry my head feels like a Poets Grand Central Station & fret about some the younger poets
like a mama hen. Think I'm going to take a little break for awhile, work on some of my own stuff, for one thing.. Whether that means I'll be away for two hours or two days I'm not sure. This site is addictive. But I'm also working on a new website & should get more done on that. will be back! _________________ ---
"Please forgive that when I wash your feet with my hair and tears, I am also compelled to tickle them"
Gender: Age: 53 Joined: 16 May 2005 Posts: 5490 Location: Poetry Land of the Universe
Posted: Wed Jun 01, 2005 10:45 am Post subject:
THE MEANING OF THE LIFE...
In old times, there was a man who wanted to find the meaning of the life. And he asked to himself many queastions, he searched and looked up in everywhere but he couldn!’t have the answer. So he decided to travel and to ask anyone what was the meaning of the life. He went to many villages, many countries, but unfurtunately there wasn’t the answer what he expected. One day he came a village at the side of a mountain. He asked to everyone his same question what was the meaning of the life. There weren’t also enough words. But someone said to him, he would go up to the mountain because there was the old wise man who lived alone and with his animals. So he walked on the road to the mountain; and climbed also. When he came up there the old wise man saw him with a smile on his face. He asked to him and tried to tell why he was there. The old wise man smiled again and he wanted to know that there was an exam for him, did he accept? The young man acceted to have an exam, because it was very important for him to find the meaning of life. So he would do everything for this kind of endeavour. The old wise man told him that, “take this tea spoon and pour the oil up to the spoon...” He did it. And the old wise man went on to explain what he would have done? “And now, I want to you to walk around my house in the garden a tour. But you will not spill the oil from the spoon. If you do, you will be lost in this exam. Even one drop makes you being lost.”
The young man took the tea spoon with full of oil and turned around the old wise man house in the garden. And came back to him.The old wise man looked his tea spoon, there wasn’t any drop that lost. It was good. But He asked a question to this man, “All right, you did it well. But now tell me what did you see when you walking around the house in the garden?” The young man was surprized, because, “I couldn’t see anything, because I concentrated to the tea spoon for not to pour the oil.” The old wise man asked to him again to go around the house and just now to look the garden and try to see the garden without pouring oil of the tea spoon. The young man walked again and looked to the garden that was so beautiful, it was magnificiant. When he came back to the old wise man, he asked to him again, “what did you see?” He told him, there was a beautiful garden, he noticed that. But the old wise man smiled to him, “You noticed the beauty of the garden, I can see, but there is any oil in the tea spoon now.” Yes, he was surprized for that. He couldn’t keep it this time.
And at the end the old wise man told him that,
- The life gets the meaning with your eyes... If you just look only a point, life goes on and pass through in days you can’t recognize it. If you get the beauties and look them, you really live and the life gets the meaning in your living days. The meaning of the life, is hidden in your touching of looks.
Last edited by nia on Wed Dec 07, 2005 5:08 pm; edited 2 times in total
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