I started this thread because I wanted to share a few of the beautiful poems by author
Jo Walton. She posts a lot of them on her journal. I've used part of one of them, 'Nine things about oracles', in my signature.
Let me try to be clear.
The first thing is that nobody wants to know,
and yet you can't stop asking.
The second is you all want reassurance:
be better off with a fortune cookie.
The third is that I don't owe you anything,
you're not what it's about.
I see the tiles, sideways, sometimes,
tessera, tesserae, the way the pattern
plays out in fifths, the beat falling
unchangeably, a glimpse, a riposte in sixte,
and what will be set, sept, set down in stone,
the colours always ambiguous
even in the moment the threads part,
the owls crying in the october meadow
gods and time and weight, wait,
that one instant of vision, the curtain
falling, parting,
there is a whole ocean
crashing towards
that ninth wave. I love the way she messes around with language, integrating all the numbers from one to nine into her poem (tessera is based on the Greek word for 'four', October is based on the Latin word for 'eight').
Here's 'What Persphone Knew'
What Persephone knew is that Spring
always comes back
that leaves
green and then fall
that pomegranates
swell and then ripen
that the year
goes round and round
but death:
death is for always.'By their spaceships ye shall know them' is in memory of science fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke.
Snatch the dreampulse,
the sunbounce
reflecting off fins of slim rocketships
rising from steaming spaceports,
guided by sliderules
(or logbooks,
or ten ton multivax
that take a break to calculate dates
but dream themselves half-way human,)
rising, rising, faster than light,
the double star, the fusion drive flash,
that contrail in the sunset
beauty in mastery,
outward, upward,
to coruscation decoration galaxies,
universe held in our grasp
because we don't need heaven
not while we have
the future perfect.The last three lines of that send shivers down my spine.
She's also very good at writing poetry in a variety of styles. In her
Tir Tanagiri Saga, which is an alternative history version of the Arthurian legend, she begins each chapter with a poem, and the poems draw heavily on medieval Welsh and Anglo-Saxon poetic styles. The medievalist in my sighs in happiness at this.
'The Three Great Queens of the Island of Tir Tanagiri' (Note for those who don't know much about Welsh literature - there is a convention in medieval Welsh literature of listing lots of things in triads: 'The Three Most Devastating Betrayals on the Island of Britain', 'The Three Most Hospitable Kings' etc)
I have been a prize in a game
I have been a queen on a hill
From far and far they flocked to see me.
White I am, amongst the shadows,
My shoulder is noted for its fairness
The two best men in all the world have loved me.
My crown is of apple, bough and blossom.
They wear my favour but my arms are empty.
The boat drifts heedless down the dark stream.The imagery of that is straight out of medieval Celtic poetry.
'The Hymn of Returning'
To the land of the dead, in the dusk returning
all deeds done, time gone, life ending,
no more amending, this is what you are,
this is your name, you know it all at last.
We, who are left on life's shore, mourning
as you walk on, into the dark, not turning,
we cannot go with you, this journey all make alone.
However loved, and you were loved,
however strong, and you were strong,
however brave, and you were brave,
however skilled, and you were skilled,
you will come alone to Lord Death's halls
speak there your names and deeds,
for them to stand alone, for what you were.
You go on, shine bright, begin a new life,
taking from this all of the beauty,
learning from this all of the mistakes.
Do not grieve for us, though we are sundered,
you were what you were, you will be remembered,
learn to be what more you can be,
and we will mourn with the name you left us,
on life's shore, bound by old choices,
go free ahead, on new paths, returning.I think part of the reason why I like her work so much is that it has this undercurrent, this minor key of melancholy running through it. The ideas are so immense, and at the same time so simple. Not a word is out of place. Her poetry is understated, but its themes sing.
What are some of your favourite poems?