Day 30 - Fly Me to the Moon - by Bart Howard

This is the last day of the 30-Day Poetry Challenge.  It's been so much fun (and educational) that I thought I would do something completely different for the last day.  This is one of my favourite songs.  I'm currently trying to learn how to play it on piano.

Bart Howard (1915 - 2004), born Howard Joseph Gustafson, is probably a name that many people don't know.  He wrote this song (and I'm considering this a poem set to music ;) and called it "In Other Words" but the publisher had to change the title after it became so popularly known as Fly Me to the Moon. The song is probably more remembered by the singers who performed it - like Peggy Lee, Diana Krall, Ella Fitzgerald, and of course Frank Sinatra.

Here is my 'spoken' version of this poem/song - with a little flair for just fun:
https://soundcloud.com/raindrop-11/fly-me-to-the-moon

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Fly Me to the Moon - by Bart Howard

Fly me to the moon
And let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On a Jupiter and Mars

In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby , kiss me

Fill my heart with song
and let me sing forever more
You are all I long for
All I worship and adore

In other words, please be true
In other words, I love you

Fill my heart with song
Let me sing forever more
You are all I long for
All I worship and adore

In other words, please be true
In other words, I love you
In other words, I love you.

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Of course, no one can do this like Frank Sinatra.  Here is his absolutely lovely version:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQR0bXO_yI8

If you want to learn this on piano as well, here is a GREAT tutorial on how to play it!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_zCkzYkNNoo

Day 29 - The Awakening - by Rumi

I love love love Rumi's poetry. Everytime I read it - his writings and his poems, posted on the internet or in books - I get a chill or spill a tear or feel enveloped with some glimmer of a deeper understanding. This man, born in Persia in 1207 AD in what would today be Afganistan, this man understood life, he understood something greater than life, he understood some deep mysterious spiritual connection.

When Rumi was 18, he and his family migrated west due to the mongol invasion. On this journey, he met Attar, one of the most renowned poets of the time. This quote is from Wikipedia:

"Rumi encountered one of the most famous mystic Persian poets, Attar, in the Iranian city of Nishapur, located in the province of Khorāsān. Attar immediately recognized Rumi's spiritual eminence. He saw the father walking ahead of the son and said, "Here comes a sea followed by an ocean." He gave the boy his Asrārnāma, a book about the entanglement of the soul in the material world. This meeting had a deep impact on the eighteen-year-old Rumi and later on became the inspiration for his works."

Rumi passed through Bagdad, made a pilgrimage to Mecca, and finally settled in Turkey. Rumi is buried in Konya, Turkey, where I visited his mausoleum at the Mevlana Musem in 2004.

Here is my spoken version of this poem:
https://soundcloud.com/raindrop-11/the-awakening

THE AWAKENING

In the early dawn of happiness
you gave me three kisses
so that I would wake up
to this moment of love

I tried to remember in my heart
what I’d dreamt about
during the night
before I became aware
of this moving
of life

I found my dreams
but the moon took me away
It lifted me up to the firmament
and suspended me there
I saw how my heart had fallen
on your path
singing a song

Between my love and my heart
things were happening which
slowly slowly
made me recall everything

You amuse me with your touch
although I can’t see your hands.
You have kissed me with tenderness
although I haven’t seen your lips
You are hidden from me.

But it is you who keeps me alive

Perhaps the time will come
when you will tire of kisses
I shall be happy
even for insults from you
I only ask that you
keep some attention on me.

- Rumi

Day 28 - Long Yearning - by Li Bai

I thought I would try a Chinese Poet today. I'm learning Chinese Characters, and have been practicing by trying to recognize these characters in writings on the internet.

Li Bai is a very famous poet. He lived in the 'Golden Age of China' from 701 AD - 762 AD. He was known as one of the Three Wonders (the other two being Pei Min's swordplay and Zhang Xu's calligraphy). Li Bai wrote a thousand poems during the Tang Dynasty, mostly about his friendships, the places he visited, and wine. He began writing poetry before he was ten, which is oddly pleasing to me since that is the age I began writing my own poetry.

It is rumoured that Li Bai died falling out of a boat, maybe after filling his wine cup.  He was so enamored by the reflection of the moon in the Yangtse River than he tried to embrace it.

感之欲嘆息,   Moved by its song I soon began to sigh,
對酒還自傾.   and, as wine was there, I filled my own cup.
浩歌待明月,   Wildly singing I waited for the moon to rise;
曲盡已忘情.   when my song was over, all my senses had gone.

Here are the original Chinese characters of this poem (I think it is anyway). I would love to transcribe this myself, since there are many different translations and interpretations.  In Chinese, the essence of the poem would be retained.  I recognize 'moon' and 'person' and 'sky or heaven'.

长相思，在长安。

络纬秋啼金井阑，
微霜凄凄簟色寒。

孤灯不明思欲绝，
卷帷望月空长叹。

美人如花隔云端，
上有青冥之高天，
下有渌水之波澜。

天长地远魂飞苦，
梦魂不到关山难。
长相思，摧心肝。

Here is my spoken version of this poem:
https://soundcloud.com/raindrop-11/long-yearning

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Long Yearning - by Li Bai

Long yearning,
To be in Chang'an.
The grasshoppers weave their autumn song by the golden railing of the well;
Frost coalesces on my bamboo mat, changing its colour with cold.
My lonely lamp is not bright, I’d like to end these thoughts;
I roll back the hanging, gaze at the moon, and long sigh in vain.
The beautiful person's like a flower beyond the edge of the clouds.
Above is the black night of heaven's height;
Below is the green water billowing on.
The sky is long, the road is far, bitter flies my spirit;
The spirit I dream can't get through, the mountain pass is hard.
Long yearning,
Breaks my heart.

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Day 27 - Crossing the Water - by Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath is known for her autobiographical novel 'The Bell Jar' which I haven't read, but her poetry moves me with her extraordinary use of words that illicit such emotion and imagery. She was born in 1932 in America, but moved to the UK. Her poetry is so full of darkness and sometimes odd dazzling light which must have stemmed from her lifelong bouts of deep depression. Her creativity could not save her from the spiraling darkness.

Although she had two young children at home with her, she closed off the kitchen door, dampened and tucked a towel under the doorway, then turned on the oven and rested her head in it until she succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning.

She won a Pulitzer Prize after her death for The Collected Poems.

Here is my spoken version of this poem:
https://soundcloud.com/raindrop-11/crossing-the-water

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Crossing the Water - by Sylvia Plath

Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people.
Where do the black trees go that drink here?
Their shadows must cover Canada.

A little light is filtering from the water flowers.
Their leaves do not wish us to hurry:
They are round and flat and full of dark advice.

Cold worlds shake from the oar.
The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes.
A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand;

Stars open among the lilies.
Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?
This is the silence of astounded souls.

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Day 26 - Affection - by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

Mary Elizabeth Coleridge, a great grandniece of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, was also friends with Robert Browning, and Lord Tennyson. She wrote hundreds of poems, and various novels and essays, some of which are still unpublished. Mary was born Sep 23, 1861 in London, UK, and taught college literature classes for twelve years. She traveled extensively, but succumbed to an appendicitis in 1907. Her students were so distraught, they refused to accept another teacher and disbanded. She must have been an outstanding teacher and person.

She wrote her first poem when she was thirteen.

Mary appeals to me for two reasons: she published her poems under a pseudonym (Anodos) and she enjoyed 'being in love with the moment', which seems so contradictory. A free spirit limited by social pressure. She didn't want to embarrass her family with her poetry.

Here is my spoken version of this poem:
https://soundcloud.com/raindrop-11/affection

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The Affection

The earth that made the rose,
She also is thy mother, and not I.
The flame wherewith thy maiden spirit glows
Was lighted at no hearth that I sit by.
I am as far below as heaven above thee.
Were I thine angel, more I could not love thee.

Bid me defend thee!
Thy danger over-human strength shall lend me,
A hand of iron and a heart of steel,
To strike, to wound, to slay, and not to feel.
But if you chide me,
I am a weak, defenceless child beside thee.

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Day 25 - Fairy Song - by Louisa May Alcott

What a whimsical poem this is. In reading it, you can just imagine Louisa May Alcott as a wild tumultuous child filling her own imagination with fairies and elves, flowers and feasts, dreams and starlit skies. She wrote poetry from the age of seven as an escape from poverty and her father's strict discipline and later the civil war where she was a nurse. She never married. Perhaps she was too much in love with writing. She is most famous for the book 'Little Women'.

Here is my spoken version of this poem:
https://soundcloud.com/raindrop-11/fairy-song

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Fairy Song - by Louisa May Alcott

The moonlight fades from flower and rose
And the stars dim one by one;
The tale is told, the song is sung,
And the Fairy feast is done.
The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers,
And sings to them, soft and low.
The early birds erelong will wake:
'T is time for the Elves to go.

O'er the sleeping earth we silently pass,
Unseen by mortal eye,
And send sweet dreams, as we lightly float
Through the quiet moonlit sky;--
For the stars' soft eyes alone may see,
And the flowers alone may know,
The feasts we hold, the tales we tell;
So't is time for the Elves to go.

From bird, and blossom, and bee,
We learn the lessons they teach;
And seek, by kindly deeds, to win
A loving friend in each.
And though unseen on earth we dwell,
Sweet voices whisper low,
And gentle hearts most joyously greet
The Elves where'er they go.

When next we meet in the Fairy dell,
May the silver moon's soft light
Shine then on faces gay as now,
And Elfin hearts as light.
Now spread each wing, for the eastern sky
With sunlight soon shall glow.
The morning star shall light us home:
Farewell! for the Elves must go.

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Day 24 - O Captain! My Captain! - by Walt Whitman

I was first introduced to this poem by Robin Williams character in "Dead Poet's Society". The film depicts how one person can make such a huge inspirational change in your life, in your character, in your future self - both for me in watching it, and in the students in the movie. This is what education should strive for, the springing up of thoughts and ideas much greater than you can ever imagine yourself to be.

Did Walt Whitman ever conceive that this poem would break into the masses in such a passionate way?

I had no idea the poem was written about Abraham Lincoln's assassination until I did this poetry challenge. Walt wrote many poems about the civil war. But I am most inspired, not by Walt Whitman's words and rhyming, but the emotion it spawned upon Robin Williams' death. This is my tribute to the man who brought so much joy to people. Rest in Peace, my Captain.

Here is my spoken version of this poem:
https://soundcloud.com/raindrop-11/o-captain-my-captain

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O Captain! My Captain! - By Walt Whitman

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
                         But O heart! heart! heart!
                            O the bleeding drops of red,
                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
                         Here Captain! dear father!
                            This arm beneath your head!
                               It is some dream that on the deck,
                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
                            But I with mournful tread,
                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.

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