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NATIONAL  ENDOWMENT  FOR  THE  ARTS 

and 

POETRY  FOUNDATION 

present 


LUjJJjtf 
I'limiiiH 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST 


THE  ANTHOLOGY 


Poetry  Out  Loud: 
National  Recitation  Contest 


NATIONAL  ENDOWMENT  FOR  THE  ARTS 

and 
THE  POETRY  FOUNDATION 

present 


THE  ANTHOLOGY 


Poems/or 

Poetry  Out  Loud: 
National  Recitation  Contest 


Edited  by 

DAN  STONE 

and 

STEPHEN  YOUNG 


©2005  by  Poetry  Foundation. 

All  rights  reserved. 

Manufactured  in  the  United  States  of  America. 

Printed  by  Science  Press  —  Cadmus  Professional  Communications,  U.S.A. 

isbn:  1-881505-n-i 


DESIGN  BY  WINTERHOUSE  STUDIO 
WINTERHOUSE.COM 


The  National  Endowment  for  the  Arts  is  the  largest  annual  funder 
of  the  arts  in  the  United  States.  An  independent  federal  agency,  the 
nea  is  the  official  arts  organization  of  the  United  States  government, 
dedicated  to  supporting  excellence  in  the  arts  —  both  new  and  estab- 
lished —  bringing  the  arts  to  all  Americans,  and  providing  leadership 
in  arts  education. 


The  Poetry  Foundation  is  an  independent  literary  organization 
committed  to  a  vigorous  presence  for  poetry  in  our  culture.  The 
Foundation  publishes  Poetry  magazine,  sponsors  a  variety  of  public 
programs,  and  supports  creative  projects  in  literature. 


The  ear  is  the  only  true  writer  and  the  only  true  reader. 
— Robert  Frost 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Boston  Library  Consortium  Member  Libraries 


http://archive.org/details/anthologypoemsfoOOston 


INTRODUCTION 


The  Poetry  Out  Loud  Anthology  presents  only  a  fraction  of  the 
poems  available  to  participants.  The  full  selection,  which  will  be 
expanded  regularly,  can  be  found  online  at  www.poetryoutloud.org. 
There,  students  and  teachers  will  find  a  great  variety  of  classic  and 
contemporary  poetry  that  couldn't  be  included  here  because  of  space 
and  copyright  restrictions. 

A  great  poem  may  be  preserved  on  the  page,  but  it  lives  when  it  is 
spoken  and  heard.  For  many  students,  performance  can  be  a  much 
more  exciting  entry  into  literature  than  a  simple  reading  assignment. 
Consider  the  popularity  of  the  slam  and  spoken  word  movement  — 
events  that  create  dynamic  communities  of  speakers  and  listeners. 
Students  who  learn  poems  by  heart  own  them  for  life.  And  they  can 
always  be  shared,  whether  the  audience  is  oneself  or  the  world  at  large. 

The  National  Endowment  for  the  Arts  and  the  Poetry  Foundation 
are  proud  to  present  Poetry  Out  Loud  to  high  school  students  across 
the  nation. 

DAN  STONE 

National  Endowment  for  the  Arts 

STEPHEN  YOUNG 

Poetry  Foundation 


CONTENTS 


POEMS 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD 
W.H.  AUDEN 

APHRA  BEHN 

AMBROSE  BIERCE 

WILLIAM  BLAKE 

LOUISE  BOGAN 

ANNE  BRADSTREET 

EMILY  BRONTE 

RUPERT  BROOKE 

GWENDOLYN  BROOKS 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT 
BROWNING 

ROBERT  BROWNING 

ROBERT  BURNS 

GEORGE  GORDON, 
LORD  BYRON 

THOMAS  CAMPION 

LEWIS  CARROLL 

LADY  MARY  CHUDLEIGH 

JOHN  CLARE 

LUCILLE  CLIFTON 


1 

Dover  Beach 

3 

The  Unknown  Citizen 

4 

The  More  Loving  One 

5 

Love  Armed 

6 

The  New  Decalogue 

7 

The  Tyger 

8 

Women 

9 

To  My  Dear  and  Loving  Husband 

10 

Shall  earth  no  more  inspire  thee 

II 

The  Soldier 

12 

Sadie  and  Maud 

13 

How  do  I  love  thee? 

Let  me  count  the  ways 

14 

My  Last  Duchess 

16 

A  Red,  Red  Rose 

17 

She  Walks  in  Beauty 

18  Follow  thy  fair  sun,  unhappy 

shadow 

1 9  Jabberwocky 

20  To  the  Ladies 

21  I  Am 

22  [  if  mama /could  see] 


SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE 

HART  CRANE 

COUNTEE  CULLEN 

E.E.  CUMMINGS 

TOI  DERRICOTTE 

EMILY  DICKINSON 

JOHN  DONNE 

H.D.  (HILDA  DOOLITTLE) 

RITA  DOVE 

PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

T.S.  ELIOT 

QUEEN  ELIZABETH  I 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

RHINA  P.  ESPAILLAT 

ANNE  FINCH,  COUNTESS 
OF  WINCHILSEA 

ROBERT  FROST 


THOMAS  GRAY 

THOMAS  HARDY 
JOY  HARJO 
MICHAEL  S.  HARPER 
ROBERT  HAYDEN 
GEORGE  HERBERT 
ROBERT  HERRICK 


23 

Kubla  Khan 

25 

My  Grandmother's  Love  Letters 

26 

Yet  Do  I  Marvel 

27 

anyone  lived  in  a  pretty  how  town 

29 

Black  Boys  Play  the  Classics 

30 

"Hope"  is  the  thing  with  feathers 

31 

I  heard  a  Fly  buzz — when  I  died 

32 

The  Good-Morrow 

33 

Song 

34 

Helen 

35 

The  Secret  Garden 

36 

We  Wear  the  Mask 

37 

Preludes 

39 

When  I  was  Fair  and  Young 

40 

Concord  Hymn 

41 

Bilingual/  Bilingue 

42 

Adam  Posed 

43 

The  Road  Not  Taken 

44 

Fire  and  Ice 

45 

Stopping  by  Woods 

on  a  Snowy  Evening 

46        Ode  on  the  Death  of  a 

Favourite  Cat,  Drowned 
in  a  Tub  of  Goldfishes 


48 

Channel  Firing 

50 

Eagle  Poem 

51 

Grandfather 

53 

Those  Winter  Sundays 

54 

The  Pulley 

55 

To  the  Virgins,  to  Make  Much 

of  Time 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 
GERARD  MANLEY  HOPKINS 
A.E.  HOUSMAN 
JULIA  WARD  HOWE 
MARY  HOWITT 
LANGSTON  HUGHES 
JAMES  WELDON  JOHNSON 
BEN  JONSON 
JOHN  KEATS 


JOYCE  KILMER 
YUSEF  KOMUNYAKAA 
EMMA  LAZARUS 
EDWARD  LEAR 
LI-YOUNG  LEE 
SHIRLEY  GEOK-LIN  LIM 
VACHEL  LINDSAY 

HENRY  WADSWORTH 
LONGFELLOW 

RICHARD  LOVELACE 

CHRISTOPHER  MARLOWE 

ANDREW  MARVELL 

DAVID  MASON 

EDGAR  LEE  MASTERS 

CLAUDE  MCKAY 

HERMAN  MELVILLE 

EDNA  ST.  VINCENT 
MILLAY 


56 

Old  Ironsides 

57 

Pied  Beauty 

58 

To  an  Athlete  Dying  Young 

59 

Battle-Hymn  of  the  Republic 

60 

The  Spider  and  the  Fly 

62 

Harlem 

63 

Lift  Ev'ry  Voice  and  Sing 

64 

Song  to  Celia 

65 

When  I  Have  Fears 

That  I  May  Cease  to  Be 

66 

La  Belle  Dame  sans  Merci:  A  Ballad 

68 

Trees 

69 

Kindness 

70 

The  New  Colossus 

71 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat 

73 

The  Gift 

75 

Learning  to  Love  America 

76 

General  William  Booth 

Enters  Into  Heaven 

78 

A  Psalm  of  Life 

80 

To  Althea,  from  Prison 

81 

The  Passionate  Shepherd  to  His  Love 

82 

To  His  Coy  Mistress 

84 

Song  of  the  Powers 

85 

Mrs.  Kessler 

86 

Romance 

87 

The  Maldive  Shark 

88 

I  think  I  should  have 

loved  you  presently 
89       What  lips  my  lips  have  kissed, 
and  where,  and  why 


JOHN  MILTON 

N.  SCOTT  MOMADAY 
MARIANNE  MOORE 
MARILYN  NELSON 
YONE  NOGUCHI 
WILFRED  OWEN 
DOROTHY  PARKER 
KATHERINE  PHILIPS 
EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 
ALEXANDER  POPE 
EZRA  POUND 
SIR  WALTER  RALEGH 

DUDLEY  RANDALL 

EDWIN  ARLINGTON 
ROBINSON 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI 

BENJAMIN  ALIRE  SAENZ 

CARL  SANDBURG 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY 
CHARLOTTE  SMITH 

WALLACE  STEVENS 

JONATHAN  SWIFT 

RABINDRANATH  TAGORE 
SARA  TEASDALE 


90 

When  I  consider  how  my  light 
is  spent 

91 

The  Delight  Song  of  Tsoai-talee 

92 

Poetry 

94 

How  I  Discovered  Poetry 

95 

The  Poet 

96 

Duke  et  Decorum  Est 

97 

One  Perfect  Rose 

98 

Epitaph 

99 

Annabel  Lee 

101 

Ode  on  Solitude 

102 

Envoi 

103 

The  Nymph 's  Reply  to  the 
Shepherd 

104 

Ballad  of  Birmingham 

106 

Miniver  Cheevy 

108 

Up-Hill 

109 

To  the  Desert 

110 

Chicago 

112 

When,  in  disgrace  with  fortune 

and  men's  eyes  (29) 

1 1 3  Not  marble,  nor  the  gilded 

monuments  (55) 

1 1 4  Ozymandias 

1 1 5  Oh,  Hope!  thou  soother  sweet 

of  human  woes 

116  Thirteen  Ways  of  Looking 

at  a  Blackbird 

M9       A  Satirical  Elegy  on  the  Death 
of  a  Late  Famous  General 

120  Gitanjali  35 

1 2 1  Let  It  Be  Forgotten 


ALFRED,  LORD  TENNYSON  122 

DYLAN  THOMAS 


JEAN  TOOMER 

AMY  UYEMATSU 

EDMUND  WALLER 

PHILLIS  WHEATLEY 

WALT  WHITMAN 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 

WILLIAM  CARLOS  WILLIAMS 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH 

SIR  THOMAS  WYATT 

ELINOR  WYLIE 
WILLIAM  BUTLER  YEATS 


122 

The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade 

124 

Do  Not  Go  Gentle  into 

That  Good  Night 

125 

Fern  Hill 

127 

November  Cotton  Flower 

128 

Deliberate 

129 

Song 

130 

On  Virtue 

131 

I  Hear  America  Singing 

132 

Barbara  Frietchie 

135 

Danse  Russe 

136 

The  World  Is  Too  Much  with  Us 

137 

They  flee  from  me  that  sometime 

did  me  seek 

138 

Cold  Blooded  Creatures 

139 

The  Lake  Isle  oflnnisfree 

140 

When  You  Are  Old 

NOTES  &  CREDITS 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTES 

CREDITS 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


144 
164 
169 


POEMS 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD 


Dover  Beach 

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  yEgean,  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. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST 


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. 


POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


W.H.   AUDEN 


The  Unknown  Citizen 

(T0JS/07/M/378 

This  Marble  Monument 

Is  Erected  by  the  State) 

He  was  found  by  the  Bureau  of  Statistics  to  be 

One  against  whom  there  was  no  official  complaint, 

And  all  the  reports  on  his  conduct  agree 

That,  in  the  modern  sense  of  an  old-fashioned  word,  he  was  a  saint, 

For  in  everything  he  did  he  served  the  Greater  Community. 

Except  for  the  War  till  the  day  he  retired 

He  worked  in  a  factory  and  never  got  fired, 

But  satisfied  his  employers,  Fudge  Motors  Inc. 

Yet  he  wasn't  a  scab  or  odd  in  his  views, 

For  his  Union  reports  that  he  paid  his  dues, 

(Our  report  on  his  Union  shows  it  was  sound) 

And  our  Social  Psychology  workers  found 

That  he  was  popular  with  his  mates  and  liked  a  drink. 

The  Press  are  convinced  that  he  bought  a  paper  every  day 

And  that  his  reactions  to  advertisements  were  normal  in  every  way. 

Policies  taken  out  in  his  name  prove  that  he  was  fully  insured, 

And  his  Health-card  shows  he  was  once  in  a  hospital  but  left  it  cured. 

Both  Producers  Research  and  High-Grade  Living  declare 

He  was  fully  sensible  to  the  advantages  of  the  Installment  Plan 

And  had  everything  necessary  to  the  Modern  Man, 

A  phonograph,  a  radio,  a  car  and  a  frigidaire. 

Our  researchers  into  Public  Opinion  are  content 

That  he  held  the  proper  opinions  for  the  time  of  year; 

When  there  was  peace,  he  was  for  peace;  when  there  was  war,  he  went. 

He  was  married  and  added  five  children  to  the  population, 

Which  our  Eugenist  says  was  the  right  number  for  a  parent  of  his 

generation, 
And  our  teachers  report  that  he  never  interfered  with  their  education. 
Was  he  free?  Was  he  happy?  The  question  is  absurd: 
Had  anything  been  wrong,  we  should  certainly  have  heard. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST 


The  More  Loving  One 

Looking  up  at  the  stars,  I  know  quite  well 
That,  for  all  they  care,  I  can  go  to  hell, 
But  on  earth  indifference  is  the  least 
We  have  to  dread  from  man  or  beast. 

How  should  we  like  it  were  stars  to  burn 
With  a  passion  for  us  we  could  not  return? 
If  equal  affection  cannot  be, 
Let  the  more  loving  one  be  me. 

Admirer  as  I  think  I  am 
Of  stars  that  do  not  give  a  damn, 
I  cannot,  now  I  see  them,  say 
I  missed  one  terribly  all  day. 

Were  all  stars  to  disappear  or  die, 
I  should  learn  to  look  at  an  empty  sky 
And  feel  its  total  dark  sublime, 
Though  this  might  take  me  a  little  time. 


POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


APHRA  BEHN 

Love  Armed 

Songfrom  Abdelazar 

Love  in  Fantastic  Triumph  sat, 
Whilst  Bleeding  Hearts  around  him  flowed, 
For  whom  Fresh  pains  he  did  Create, 
And  strange  Tyrannic  power  he  showed; 
From  thy  Bright  Eyes  he  took  his  fire, 
Which  round  about,  in  sport  he  hurled; 
But  'twas  from  mine  he  took  desire 
Enough  to  undo  the  Amorous  World. 

From  me  he  took  his  sighs  and  tears, 
From  thee  his  Pride  and  Cruelty; 
From  me  his  Languishments  and  Fears, 
And  every  Killing  Dart  from  thee; 
Thus  thou  and  I,  the  God  have  armed, 
And  set  him  up  a  Deity; 
But  my  poor  Heart  alone  is  harmed, 
Whilst  thine  the  Victor  is,  and  free. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST 


AMBROSE  BIERCE 


Tlie  New  Decalogue 

Have  but  one  God:  thy  knees  were  sore 
If  bent  in  prayer  to  three  or  four. 

Adore  no  images  save  those 

The  coinage  of  thy  country  shows. 

Take  not  the  Name  in  vain.  Direct 
Thy  swearing  unto  some  effect. 

Thy  hand  from  Sunday  work  be  held — 
Work  not  at  all  unless  compelled. 

Honor  thy  parents,  and  perchance 
Their  wills  thy  fortunes  may  advance. 

Kill  not — death  liberates  thy  foe 
From  persecution's  constant  woe. 

Kiss  not  thy  neighbor's  wife.  Of  course 
There's  no  objection  to  divorce. 

To  steal  were  folly,  for  'tis  plain 
In  cheating  there  is  greater  gain. 

Bear  not  false  witness.  Shake  your  head 
And  say  that  you  have  "heard  it  said." 

Who  stays  to  covet  ne'er  will  catch 
An  opportunity  to  snatch. 


POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


WILLIAM  BLAKE 


The  Tyger 

Tyger!  Tyger!  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night, 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Could  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry? 

In  what  distant  deeps  or  skies 
Burnt  the  fire  of  thine  eyes? 
On  what  wings  dare  he  aspire? 
What  the  hand  dare  seize  the  fire? 

And  what  shoulder,  and  what  art, 
Could  twist  the  sinews  of  thy  heart? 
And  when  thy  heart  began  to  beat, 
What  dread  hand?  and  what  dread  feet? 

What  the  hammer?  what  the  chain? 
In  what  furnace  was  thy  brain? 
What  the  anvil?  what  dread  grasp 
Dare  its  deadly  terrors  clasp? 

When  the  stars  threw  down  their  spears, 
And  watered  heaven  with  their  tears, 
Did  he  smile  his  work  to  see? 
Did  he  who  made  the  Lamb  make  thee? 

Tyger!  Tyger!  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night, 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye, 
Dare  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry? 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST 


LOUISE  BOGAN 


Women 

Women  have  no  wilderness  in  them, 
They  are  provident  instead, 
Content  in  the  tight  hot  cell  of  their  hearts 
To  eat  dusty  bread. 

They  do  not  see  cattle  cropping  red  winter  grass, 
They  do  not  hear 

Snow  water  going  down  under  culverts 
Shallow  and  clear. 

They  wait,  when  they  should  turn  to  journeys, 
They  stiffen,  when  they  should  bend. 
They  use  against  themselves  that  benevolence 
To  which  no  man  is  friend. 

They  cannot  think  of  so  many  crops  to  a  field 
Or  of  clean  wood  cleft  by  an  axe. 
Their  love  is  an  eager  meaninglessness 
Too  tense,  or  too  lax. 

They  hear  in  every  whisper  that  speaks  to  them 
A  shout  and  a  cry. 

As  like  as  not,  when  they  take  life  over  their  door-sills 
They  should  let  it  go  by. 


POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


ANNE  BRADSTREET 


To  My  Dear  and  Loving  Husband 

If  ever  two  were  one,  then  surely  we. 

If  ever  man  were  loved  by  wife,  then  thee. 

If  ever  wife  was  happy  in  a  man, 

Compare  with  me,  ye  women,  if  you  can. 

I  prize  thy  love  more  than  whole  mines  of  gold, 

Or  all  the  riches  that  the  East  doth  hold. 

My  love  is  such  that  rivers  cannot  quench, 

Nor  ought  but  love  from  thee  give  recompense. 

Thy  love  is  such  I  can  no  way  repay; 

The  heavens  reward  thee  manifold,  I  pray. 

Then  while  we  live,  in  love  let's  so  persever, 

That  when  we  live  no  more,  we  may  live  ever. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST 


EMILY  BRONTE 


Shall  earth  no  more  inspire  thee 

Shall  earth  no  more  inspire  thee, 
Thou  lonely  dreamer  now? 
Since  passion  may  not  fire  thee 
Shall  Nature  cease  to  bow? 

Thy  mind  is  ever  moving 
In  regions  dark  to  thee; 
Recall  its  useless  roving — 
Come  back  and  dwell  with  me. 

I  know  my  mountain  breezes 
Enchant  and  soothe  thee  still — 
I  know  my  sunshine  pleases 
Despite  thy  wayward  will. 

When  day  with  evening  blending 
Sinks  from  the  summer  sky, 
I've  seen  thy  spirit  bending 
In  fond  idolatry. 

I've  watched  thee  every  hour; 
I  know  my  mighty  sway, 
I  know  my  magic  power 
To  drive  thy  griefs  away. 

Few  hearts  to  mortals  given 
On  earth  so  wildly  pine; 
Yet  none  would  ask  a  heaven 
More  like  this  earth  than  thine. 

Then  let  my  winds  caress  thee; 
Thy  comrade  let  me  be — 
Since  nought  beside  can  bless  thee, 
Return  and  dwell  with  me. 


10  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


RUPERT  BROOKE 


The  Soldier 


If  I  should  die,  think  only  this  of  me: 

That  there's  some  corner  of  a  foreign  field 
That  is  forever  England.  There  shall  be 

In  that  rich  earth  a  richer  dust  concealed; 
A  dust  whom  England  bore,  shaped,  made  aware, 

Gave,  once,  her  flowers  to  love,  her  ways  to  roam, 
A  body  of  England's,  breathing  English  air, 

Washed  by  the  rivers,  blest  by  suns  of  home. 

And  think,  this  heart,  all  evil  shed  away, 
A  pulse  in  the  eternal  mind,  no  less 

Gives  somewhere  back  the  thoughts  by  England  given; 
Her  sights  and  sounds;  dreams  happy  as  her  day; 
And  laughter,  learnt  of  friends;  and  gentleness, 
In  hearts  at  peace,  under  an  English  heaven. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  II 


GWENDOLYN   BROOKS 


Sadie  and  Maud 

Maud  went  to  college. 
Sadie  stayed  at  home. 
Sadie  scraped  life 
With  a  fine-tooth  comb. 

She  didn't  leave  a  tangle  in. 
Her  comb  found  every  strand. 
Sadie  was  one  of  the  livingest  chits 
In  all  the  land. 

Sadie  bore  two  babies 
Under  her  maiden  name. 
Maud  and  Ma  and  Papa 
Nearly  died  of  shame. 

When  Sadie  said  her  last  so-long 
Her  girls  struck  out  from  home. 
(Sadie  had  left  as  heritage 
Her  fine-tooth  comb.) 

Maud,  who  went  to  college, 
Is  a  thin  brown  mouse. 
She  is  living  all  alone 
In  this  old  house. 


12  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING 


How  do  I  love  thee?  Let  me  count  the  ways 

How  do  I  love  thee?  Let  me  count  the  ways. 

I  love  thee  to  the  depth  and  breadth  and  height 

My  soul  can  reach,  when  feeling  out  of  sight 

For  the  ends  of  being  and  ideal  grace. 

I  love  thee  to  the  level  of  every  day's 

Most  quiet  need,  by  sun  and  candle-light. 

I  love  thee  freely,  as  men  strive  for  right; 

I  love  thee  purely,  as  they  turn  from  praise. 

I  love  thee  with  the  passion  put  to  use 

In  my  old  griefs,  and  with  my  childhood's  faith. 

I  love  thee  with  a  love  I  seemed  to  lose 

With  my  lost  saints.  I  love  thee  with  the  breath, 

Smiles,  tears,  of  all  my  life;  and,  if  God  choose, 

I  shall  but  love  thee  better  after  death. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  13 


ROBERT  BROWNING 


My  Last  Duchess 

FERRARA 

That's  my  last  Duchess  painted  on  the  wall, 

Looking  as  if  she  were  alive.  I  call 

That  piece  a  wonder,  now;  Fra  Pandolf 's  hands 

Worked  busily  a  day,  and  there  she  stands. 

WhTt  please  you  sit  and  look  at  her?  I  said 

"Fra  Pandolf"  by  design,  for  never  read 

Strangers  like  you  that  pictured  countenance, 

The  depth  and  passion  of  its  earnest  glance, 

But  to  myself  they  turned  (since  none  puts  by 

The  curtain  I  have  drawn  for  you,  but  I) 

And  seemed  as  they  would  ask  me,  if  they  durst, 

How  such  a  glance  came  there;  so,  not  the  first 

Are  you  to  turn  and  ask  thus.  Sir,  'twas  not 

Her  husband's  presence  only,  called  that  spot 

Of  joy  into  the  Duchess'  cheek;  perhaps 

Fra  Pandolf  chanced  to  say,  "Her  mantle  laps 

Over  my  lady's  wrist  too  much,"  or  "Paint 

Must  never  hope  to  reproduce  the  faint 

Half- flush  that  dies  along  her  throat."  Such  stuff 

Was  courtesy,  she  thought,  and  cause  enough 

For  calling  up  that  spot  of  joy.  She  had 

A  heart — how  shall  I  say? —  too  soon  made  glad, 

Too  easily  impressed;  she  liked  whate'er 

She  looked  on,  and  her  looks  went  everywhere. 

Sir,  'twas  all  one!  My  favour  at  her  breast, 

The  dropping  of  the  daylight  in  the  West, 

The  bough  of  cherries  some  officious  fool 

Broke  in  the  orchard  for  her,  the  white  mule 

She  rode  with  round  the  terrace — all  and  each 

Would  draw  from  her  alike  the  approving  speech, 

Or  blush,  at  least.  She  thanked  men — good!  but  thanked 

Somehow — I  know  not  how — as  if  she  ranked 

My  gift  of  a  nine-hundred-years-old  name 

With  anybody's  gift.  Who'd  stoop  to  blame 


14  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


This  sort  of  trifling?  Even  had  you  skill 

In  speech — which  I  have  not — to  make  your  will 

Quite  clear  to  such  an  one,  and  say,  "Just  this 

Or  that  in  you  disgusts  me;  here  you  miss, 

Or  there  exceed  the  mark" — and  if  she  let 

Herself  be  lessoned  so,  nor  plainly  set 

Her  wits  to  yours,  forsooth,  and  made  excuse — 

E'en  then  would  be  some  stooping;  and  I  choose 

Never  to  stoop.  Oh,  sir,  she  smiled,  no  doubt, 

Whene'er  I  passed  her;  but  who  passed  without 

Much  the  same  smile?  This  grew;  I  gave  commands; 

Then  all  smiles  stopped  together.  There  she  stands 

As  if  alive.  Will't  please  you  rise?  We'll  meet 

The  company  below,  then.  I  repeat, 

The  Count  your  master's  known  munificence 

Is  ample  warrant  that  no  just  pretense 

Of  mine  for  dowry  will  be  disallowed; 

Though  his  fair  daughter's  self,  as  I  avowed 

At  starting,  is  my  object.  Nay,  we'll  go 

Together  down,  sir.  Notice  Neptune,  though, 

Taming  a  sea-horse,  thought  a  rarity, 

Which  Claus  of  Innsbruck  cast  in  bronze  for  me! 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  15 


ROBERT  BURNS 


A  Red,  Red  Rose 

O  my  Luve  is  like  a  red,  red  rose 
That's  newly  sprung  in  June; 

0  my  Luve  is  like  the  melody 
That's  sweetly  played  in  tune. 

So  fair  art  thou,  my  bonnie  lass, 

So  deep  in  luve  am  I; 
And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry. 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 
And  the  rocks  melt  wi'  the  sun; 

1  will  love  thee  still,  my  dear, 

While  the  sands  o'  life  shall  run. 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve! 

And  fare  thee  weel  awhile! 
And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve, 

Though  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 


16  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


GEORGE  GORDON,   LORD  BYRON 


She  Walks  in  Beauty 

She  walks  in  beauty,  like  the  night 
Of  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies; 

And  all  that's  best  of  dark  and  bright 
Meet  in  her  aspect  and  her  eyes; 

Thus  mellowed  to  that  tender  light 
Which  heaven  to  gaudy  day  denies. 

One  shade  the  more,  one  ray  the  less, 
Had  half  impaired  the  nameless  grace 

Which  waves  in  every  raven  tress, 
Or  softly  lightens  o'er  her  face; 

Where  thoughts  serenely  sweet  express, 
How  pure,  how  dear  their  dwelling-place. 

And  on  that  cheek,  and  o'er  that  brow, 

So  soft,  so  calm,  yet  eloquent, 
The  smiles  that  win,  the  tints  that  glow, 

But  tell  of  days  in  goodness  spent, 
A  mind  at  peace  with  all  below, 

A  heart  whose  love  is  innocent! 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  17 


THOMAS  CAMPION 


Follow  thy  fair  sun,  unhappy  shadow 

Follow  thy  fair  sun,  unhappy  shadow, 

Though  thou  be  black  as  night 

And  she  made  all  of  light, 

Yet  follow  thy  fair  sun  unhappy  shadow. 

Follow  her  whose  light  thy  light  depriveth, 

Though  here  thou  liv'st  disgraced, 

And  she  in  heaven  is  placed, 

Yet  follow  her  whose  light  the  world  reviveth. 

Follow  those  pure  beams  whose  beauty  burneth, 

That  so  have  scorched  thee, 

As  thou  still  black  must  be, 

Till  Her  kind  beams  thy  black  to  brightness  turneth. 

Follow  her  while  yet  her  glory  shineth, 

There  comes  a  luckless  night, 

That  will  dim  all  her  light, 

And  this  the  black  unhappy  shade  divineth. 

Follow  still  since  so  thy  fates  ordained, 

The  Sun  must  have  his  shade, 

Till  both  at  once  do  fade, 

The  Sun  still  proved,  the  shadow  still  disdained. 


18  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


LEWIS  CARROLL 


Jabberwocky 

'Twas  brillig,  and  the  slithy  toves 
Did  gyre  and  gimble  in  the  wabe: 

All  mimsy  were  the  borogoves, 
And  the  mome  raths  outgrabe. 

"Beware  thejabberwock,  my  son! 

The  jaws  that  bite,  the  claws  that  catch! 
Beware  the Jubjub  bird,  and  shun 

The  frumious  Bandersnatch!" 

He  took  his  vorpal  sword  in  hand; 

Long  time  the  manxome  foe  he  sought — 
So  rested  he  by  the  Tumtum  tree 

And  stood  awhile  in  thought. 

And,  as  in  ufftsh  thought  he  stood, 
Thejabberwock,  with  eyes  of  flame, 

Came  whiffling  through  the  tulgey  wood, 
And  burbled  as  it  came! 

One,  two!  One,  two!  And  through  and  through 
The  vorpal  blade  went  snicker-snack! 

He  left  it  dead,  and  with  its  head 
He  went  galumphing  back. 

"And  hast  thou  slain  thejabberwock? 

Come  to  my  arms,  my  beamish  boy! 
O  frabjous  day!  Callooh!  Callay!" 

He  chortled  in  his  joy. 

'Twas  brillig,  and  the  slithy  toves 
Did  gyre  and  gimble  in  the  wabe: 

All  mimsy  were  the  borogoves, 
And  the  mome  raths  outgrabe. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  19 


LADY  MARY  CHUDLEIGH 


To  the  Ladies 

Wife  and  servant  are  the  same, 
But  only  differ  in  the  name: 
For  when  that  fatal  knot  is  tied, 
Which  nothing,  nothing  can  divide: 
When  she  the  word  obey  has  said, 
And  man  by  law  supreme  has  made, 
Then  all  that's  kind  is  laid  aside, 
And  nothing  left  but  state  and  pride: 
Fierce  as  an  Eastern  prince  he  grows, 
And  all  his  innate  rigour  shows: 
Then  but  to  look,  to  laugh,  or  speak, 
Will  the  nuptial  contract  break. 
Like  mutes  she  signs  alone  must  make, 
And  never  any  freedom  take: 
But  still  be  governed  by  a  nod, 
And  fear  her  husband  as  a  God: 
Him  still  must  serve,  him  still  obey, 
And  nothing  act,  and  nothing  say, 
But  what  her  haughty  lord  thinks  fit, 
Who  with  the  power,  has  all  the  wit. 
Then  shun,  oh!  shun  that  wretched  state, 
And  all  the  fawning  flatt'rers  hate: 
Value  your  selves,  and  men  despise, 
You  must  be  proud,  if  you'll  be  wise. 


20  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


JOHN  CLARE 


I  Am 

I  am — yet  what  I  am  none  cares  or  knows; 
My  friends  forsake  me  like  a  memory  lost: 
I  am  the  self-consumer  of  my  woes — 
They  rise  and  vanish  in  oblivious  host, 
Like  shadows  in  love's  frenzied  stifled  throes 
And  yet  I  am,  and  live — like  vapours  tossed 

Into  the  nothingness  of  scorn  and  noise, 
Into  the  living  sea  of  waking  dreams, 
Where  there  is  neither  sense  of  life  or  joys, 
But  the  vast  shipwreck  of  my  life's  esteems; 
Even  the  dearest  that  I  loved  the  best 
Are  strange — nay,  rather,  stranger  than  the  rest. 

I  long  for  scenes  where  man  hath  never  trod 
A  place  where  woman  never  smiled  or  wept 
There  to  abide  with  my  Creator,  God, 
And  sleep  as  I  in  childhood  sweetly  slept, 
Untroubling  and  untroubled  where  I  lie 
The  grass  below — above  the  vaulted  sky. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  21 


LUCILLE  CLIFTON 


[  if  mama / could  see  ] 

if  mama 

could  see 

she  would  see 

lucy  sprawling 

limbs  of  lucy 

decorating  the 

backs  of  chairs 

lucy  hair 

holding  the  mirrors  up 

that  reflect  odd 

aspects  of  lucy. 

if  mama 
could  hear 
she  would  hear 
lucysong  rolled  in  the 
corners  like  lint 
exotic  webs  of  lucysighs 
long  lucy  spiders  explaining 
to  obscure  gods. 

if  mama 

could  talk 

she  would  talk 

good  girl 

good  girl 

good  girl 

clean  up  your  room. 


22         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE 


Kubla  Khan 

Or,  a  vision  in  a  dream.  A  Fragment. 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 
A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree: 
Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran 
Through  caverns  measureless  to  man 

Down  to  a  sunless  sea. 
So  twice  five  miles  of  fertile  ground 
With  walls  and  towers  were  girdled  round; 
And  there  were  gardens  bright  with  sinuous  rills, 
Where  blossomed  many  an  incense-bearing  tree; 
And  here  were  forests  ancient  as  the  hills, 
Enfolding  sunny  spots  of  greenery. 

But  oh!  that  deep  romantic  chasm  which  slanted 

Down  the  green  hill  athwart  a  cedarn  cover! 

A  savage  place!  as  holy  and  enchanted 

As  e'er  beneath  a  waning  moon  was  haunted 

By  woman  wailing  for  her  demon-lover! 

And  from  this  chasm,  with  ceaseless  turmoil  seething, 

As  if  this  earth  in  fast  thick  pants  were  breathing, 

A  mighty  fountain  momently  was  forced: 

Amid  whose  swift  half-intermitted  burst 

Huge  fragments  vaulted  like  rebounding  hail, 

Or  chaffy  grain  beneath  the  thresher's  flail: 

And  mid  these  dancing  rocks  at  once  and  ever 

It  flung  up  momently  the  sacred  river. 

Five  miles  meandering  with  a  mazy  motion 

Through  wood  and  dale  the  sacred  river  ran, 

Then  reached  the  caverns  measureless  to  man, 

And  sank  in  tumult  to  a  lifeless  ocean; 

And  'mid  this  tumult  Kubla  heard  from  far 

Ancestral  voices  prophesying  war! 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         23 


The  shadow  of  the  dome  of  pleasure 
Floated  midway  on  the  waves; 
Where  was  heard  the  mingled  measure 
From  the  fountain  and  the  caves. 

It  was  a  miracle  of  rare  device, 

A  sunny  pleasure-dome  with  caves  of  ice! 

A  damsel  with  a  dulcimer 

In  a  vision  once  I  saw: 

It  was  an  Abyssinian  maid 

And  on  her  dulcimer  she  played, 

Singing  of  Mount  Abora. 

Could  I  revive  within  me 

Her  symphony  and  song, 

To  such  a  deep  delight  'twould  win  me, 
That  with  music  loud  and  long, 
I  would  build  that  dome  in  air, 
That  sunny  dome!  those  caves  of  ice! 
And  all  who  heard  should  see  them  there, 
And  all  should  cry,  Beware!  Beware! 
His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair! 
Weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice, 
And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed, 
And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise. 


24         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


HART  CRANE 


My  Grandmother's  Love  Letters 

There  are  no  stars  tonight 

But  those  of  memory. 

Yet  how  much  room  for  memory  there  is 

In  the  loose  girdle  of  soft  rain. 

There  is  even  room  enough 

For  the  letters  of  my  mother's  mother, 

Elizabeth, 

That  have  been  pressed  so  long 

Into  a  corner  of  the  roof 

That  they  are  brown  and  soft, 

And  liable  to  melt  as  snow. 

Over  the  greatness  of  such  space 
Steps  must  be  gentle. 
It  is  all  hung  by  an  invisible  white  hair. 
It  trembles  as  birch  limbs  webbing  the  air. 

And  I  ask  myself: 

"Are  your  fingers  long  enough  to  play 

Old  keys  that  are  but  echoes: 

Is  the  silence  strong  enough 

To  carry  back  the  music  to  its  source 

And  back  to  you  again 

As  though  to  her?" 

Yet  I  would  lead  my  grandmother  by  the  hand 
Through  much  of  what  she  would  not  understand; 
And  so  I  stumble.  And  the  rain  continues  on  the  roof 
With  such  a  sound  of  gently  pitying  laughter. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         25 


COUNTEE  CULLEN 


Yet  Do  I  Marvel 


I  doubt  not  God  is  good,  well-meaning,  kind, 

And  did  He  stoop  to  quibble  could  tell  why 

The  little  buried  mole  continues  blind, 

Why  flesh  that  mirrors  Him  must  some  day  die, 

Make  plain  the  reason  tortured  Tantalus 

Is  baited  by  the  fickle  fruit,  declare 

If  merely  brute  caprice  dooms  Sisyphus 

To  struggle  up  a  never-ending  stair. 

Inscrutable  His  ways  are,  and  immune 

To  catechism  by  a  mind  too  strewn 

With  petty  cares  to  slightly  understand 

What  awful  brain  compels  His  awful  hand. 

Yet  do  I  marvel  at  this  curious  thing: 

To  make  a  poet  black,  and  bid  him  sing! 


26  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


E.E.   CUMMINGS 


anyone  lived  in  a  pretty  how  town 

anyone  lived  in  a  pretty  how  town 
(with  up  so  floating  many  bells  down) 
spring  summer  autumn  winter 
he  sang  his  didn't  he  danced  his  did. 

Women  and  men(both  little  and  small) 
cared  for  anyone  not  at  all 
they  sowed  their  isn't  they  reaped  their  same 
sun  moon  stars  rain 

children  guessed(but  only  a  few 
and  down  they  forgot  as  up  they  grew 
autumn  winter  spring  summer) 
that  noone  loved  him  more  by  more 

when  by  now  and  tree  by  leaf 
she  laughed  his  joy  she  cried  his  grief 
bird  by  snow  and  stir  by  still 
anyone's  any  was  all  to  her 

someones  married  their  everyones 
laughed  their  cryings  and  did  their  dance 
(sleep  wake  hope  and  then)they 
said  their  nevers  they  slept  their  dream 

stars  rain  sun  moon 

(and  only  the  snow  can  begin  to  explain 
how  children  are  apt  to  forget  to  remember 
with  up  so  floating  many  bells  down) 

one  day  anyone  died  i  guess 
(and  noone  stooped  to  kiss  his  face) 
busy  folk  buried  them  side  by  side 
little  by  little  and  was  by  was 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  27 


all  by  all  and  deep  by  deep 
and  more  by  more  they  dream  their  sleep 
noone  and  anyone  earth  by  april 
wish  by  spirit  and  if  by  yes. 

Women  and  men(both  dong  and  ding) 
summer  autumn  winter  spring 
reaped  their  sowing  and  went  their  came 
sun  moon  stars  rain 


28         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


TOI  DERRICOTTE 


Black  Boys  Play  the  Classics 

The  most  popular  "act"  in 

Penn  Station 

is  the  three  black  kids  in  ratty 

sneakers  &  T-shirts  playing 

two  violins  and  a  cello — Brahms. 

White  men  in  business  suits 

have  already  dug  into  their  pockets 

as  they  pass  and  they  toss  in 

a  dollar  or  two  without  stopping. 

Brown  men  in  work-soiled  khakis 

stand  with  their  mouths  open, 

arms  crossed  on  their  bellies 

as  if  they  themselves  have  always 

wanted  to  attempt  those  bars. 

One  white  boy,  three,  sits 

cross-legged  in  front  of  his 

idols — in  ecstasy — 

their  slick,  dark  faces, 

their  thin,  wiry  arms, 

who  must  begin  to  look 

like  angels! 

Why  does  this  trembling 

pull  us? 

A:  Beneath  the  surface  we  are  one. 

B:  Amazing!  I  did  not  think  that  they  could  speak  this  tongue. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         29 


EMILY  DICKINSON 


"Hope"  is  the  thing  with  feathers 

"Hope"  is  the  thing  with  feathers — 
That  perches  in  the  soul — 
And  sings  the  tune  without  the  words- 
And  never  stops — at  all — 

And  sweetest — in  the  Gale — is  heard- 
And  sore  must  be  the  storm — 
That  could  abash  the  little  Bird — 
That  kept  so  many  warm — 

I've  heard  it  in  the  chillest  land — 
And  on  the  strangest  Sea — 
Yet,  never,  in  Extremity, 
It  asked  a  crumb  of  Me. 


30  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


/  heard  a  Fly  buzz — when  I  died 

I  heard  a  Fly  buzz — when  I  died — 
The  Stillness  in  the  Room 
Was  like  the  Stillness  in  the  Air — 
Between  the  Heaves  of  Storm — 

The  Eyes  around — had  wrung  them  dry — 
And  Breaths  were  gathering  firm 
For  that  last  Onset — when  the  King 
Be  witnessed — in  the  Room — 

I  willed  my  Keepsakes — Signed  away 
What  portion  of  me  be 
Assignable — and  then  it  was 
There  interposed  a  Fly — 

With  Blue — uncertain  stumbling  Buzz — 
Between  the  light — and  me — 
And  then  the  Windows  failed — and  then 
I  could  not  see  to  see — 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  31 


JOHN   DONNE 


The  Good-Morrow 

I  wonder,  by  my  troth,  what  thou  and  I 

Did,  till  we  loved?  Were  we  not  weaned  till  then? 

But  sucked  on  country  pleasures,  childishly? 

Or  snorted  we  in  the  Seven  Sleepers'  den? 

'Twas  so;  but  this,  all  pleasures  fancies  be. 

If  ever  any  beauty  I  did  see, 

Which  I  desired,  and  got,  'twas  but  a  dream  of  thee. 

And  now  good-morrow  to  our  waking  souls, 
Which  watch  not  one  another  out  of  fear; 
For  love,  all  love  of  other  sights  controls, 
And  makes  one  little  room  an  everywhere. 
Let  sea-discoverers  to  new  worlds  have  gone, 
Let  maps  to  other,  worlds  on  worlds  have  shown, 
Let  us  possess  one  world,  each  hath  one,  and  is  one. 

My  face  in  thine  eye,  thine  in  mine  appears, 

And  true  plain  hearts  do  in  the  faces  rest; 

Where  can  we  find  two  better  hemispheres, 

Without  sharp  north,  without  declining  west? 

Whatever  dies,  was  not  mixed  equally; 

If  our  two  loves  be  one,  or,  thou  and  I 

Love  so  alike,  that  none  do  slacken,  none  can  die. 


32  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Song 

Go  and  catch  a  falling  star, 

Get  with  child  a  mandrake  root, 
Tell  me  where  all  past  years  are, 
Or  who  cleft  the  Devil's  foot, 
Teach  me  to  hear  mermaids  singing, 
Or  to  keep  off  envy's  stinging, 
And  find 
What  wind 
Serves  to  advance  an  honest  mind. 

If  thou  be'st  borne  to  strange  sights, 

Things  invisible  to  see, 
Ride  ten  thousand  days  and  nights, 

Till  age  snow  white  hairs  on  thee, 
Thou,  when  thou  return'st,  wilt  tell  me 
All  strange  wonders  that  befell  thee, 
And  swear 
Nowhere 
Lives  a  woman  true,  and  fair. 

If  thou  find'st  one,  let  me  know, 

Such  a  pilgrimage  were  sweet — 
Yet  do  not,  I  would  not  go, 

Though  at  next  door  we  might  meet; 
Though  she  were  true,  when  you  met  her, 
And  last,  till  you  write  your  letter, 
Yet  she 
Will  be 
False,  ere  I  come,  to  two,  or  three. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  33 


H.D.   (HILDA  DOOLITTLE) 


Helen 

All  Greece  hates 

the  still  eyes  in  the  white  face, 

the  lustre  as  of  olives 

where  she  stands, 

and  the  white  hands. 

All  Greece  reviles 

the  wan  face  when  she  smiles, 

hating  it  deeper  still 

when  it  grows  wan  and  white, 

remembering  past  enchantments 

and  past  ills. 

Greece  sees  unmoved, 

God's  daughter,  born  of  love, 

the  beauty  of  cool  feet 

and  slenderest  knees, 

could  love  indeed  the  maid, 

only  if  she  were  laid, 

white  ash  amid  funereal  cypresses. 


34         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


RITA  DOVE 


The  Secret  Garden 


I  was  ill,  lying  on  my  bed  of  old  papers, 
when  you  came  with  white  rabbits  in  your  arms; 
and  the  doves  scattered  upwards,  flying  to  mothers, 
and  the  snails  sighed  under  their  baggage  of  stone  . . . 

Now  your  tongue  grows  like  celery  between  us: 
Because  of  our  love-cries,  cabbage  darkens  in  its  nest; 
the  cauliflower  thinks  of  her  pale,  plump  children 
and  turns  greenish-white  in  a  light  like  the  ocean's. 

I  was  sick,  fainting  in  the  smell  of  teabags, 

when  you  came  with  tomatoes,  a  good  poetry. 

I  am  being  wooed.  I  am  being  conquered 

by  a  cliff  of  limestone  that  leaves  chalk  on  my  breasts. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  35 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


We  Wear  the  Mask 

We  wear  the  mask  that  grins  and  lies, 
It  hides  our  cheeks  and  shades  our  eyes,- 
This  debt  we  pay  to  human  guile; 
With  torn  and  bleeding  hearts  we  smile, 
And  mouth  with  myriad  subtleties. 

Why  should  the  world  be  overwise, 
In  counting  all  our  tears  and  sighs? 
Nay,  let  them  only  see  us,  while 
We  wear  the  mask. 

We  smile,  but,  O  great  Christ,  our  cries 
To  thee  from  tortured  souls  arise. 
We  sing,  but  oh  the  clay  is  vile 
Beneath  our  feet,  and  long  the  mile; 
But  let  the  world  dream  otherwise, 
We  wear  the  mask! 


36  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


T.S.   ELIOT 


Preludes 


The  winter  evening  settles  down 

With  smell  of  steaks  in  passageways. 

Six  o'clock. 

The  burnt-out  ends  of  smoky  days. 

And  now  a  gusty  shower  wraps 

The  grimy  scraps 

Of  withered  leaves  about  your  feet 

And  newspapers  from  vacant  lots; 

The  showers  beat 

On  broken  blinds  and  chimney-pots, 

And  at  the  corner  of  the  street 

A  lonely  cab-horse  steams  and  stamps. 

And  then  the  lighting  of  the  lamps. 


ii 


The  morning  comes  to  consciousness 

Of  faint  stale  smells  of  beer 

From  the  sawdust-trampled  street 

With  all  its  muddy  feet  that  press 

To  early  coffee-stands. 

With  the  other  masquerades 

That  time  resumes, 

One  thinks  of  all  the  hands 

That  are  raising  dingy  shades 

In  a  thousand  furnished  rooms. 


in 


You  tossed  a  blanket  from  the  bed, 
You  lay  upon  your  back,  and  waited; 
You  dozed,  and  watched  the  night  revealing 
The  thousand  sordid  images 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  37 


Of  which  your  soul  was  constituted; 

They  flickered  against  the  ceiling. 

And  when  all  the  world  came  back 

And  the  light  crept  up  between  the  shutters 

And  you  heard  the  sparrows  in  the  gutters, 

You  had  such  a  vision  of  the  street 

As  the  street  hardly  understands; 

Sitting  along  the  bed's  edge,  where 

You  curled  the  papers  from  your  hair, 

Or  clasped  the  yellow  soles  of  feet 

In  the  palms  of  both  soiled  hands. 


IV 


His  soul  stretched  tight  across  the  skies 

That  fade  behind  a  city  block, 

Or  trampled  by  insistent  feet 

At  four  and  five  and  six  o'clock; 

And  short  square  fingers  stuffing  pipes, 

And  evening  newspapers,  and  eyes 

Assured  of  certain  certainties, 

The  conscience  of  a  blackened  street 

Impatient  to  assume  the  world. 

I  am  moved  by  fancies  that  are  curled 
Around  these  images,  and  cling: 
The  notion  of  some  infinitely  gentle 
Infinitely  suffering  thing. 

Wipe  your  hand  across  your  mouth,  and  laugh; 
The  worlds  revolve  like  ancient  women 
Gathering  fuel  in  vacant  lots. 


38  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH  I 


When  I  was  Fair  and  Young 

When  I  was  fair  and  young,  then  favor  graced  me. 

Of  many  was  I  sought  their  mistress  for  to  be. 

But  I  did  scorn  them  all  and  answered  them  therefore: 

Go,  go,  go,  seek  some  other  where;  importune  me  no  more. 

How  many  weeping  eyes  I  made  to  pine  in  woe, 

How  many  sighing  hearts  I  have  not  skill  to  show, 

But  I  the  prouder  grew  and  still  this  spake  therefore: 

Go,  go,  go,  seek  some  other  where,  importune  me  no  more. 

Then  spake  fair  Venus'  son,  that  proud  victorious  boy, 
Saying:  You  dainty  dame,  for  that  you  be  so  coy, 
I  will  so  pluck  your  plumes  as  you  shall  say  no  more: 
Go,  go,  go,  seek  some  other  where,  importune  me  no  more. 

As  soon  as  he  had  said,  such  change  grew  in  my  breast 
That  neither  night  nor  day  I  could  take  any  rest. 
Wherefore  I  did  repent  that  I  had  said  before: 
Go,  go,  go,  seek  some  other  where,  importune  me  no  more. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         39 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

Concord  Hymn 

Sung  at  the  Completion  of  the  Battle  Monument,  July  4,  i8^j 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 

On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  today  a  votive  stone; 
That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 
To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 

Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare 
The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 


40  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


RHINA  P.   ESPAILLAT 


Bilingual/ Bilingiie 

My  father  liked  them  separate,  one  there, 
one  here  (alia  y  aqui),  as  if  aware 

that  words  might  cut  in  two  his  daughter's  heart 
(el  corazon)  and  lock  the  alien  part 

to  what  he  was — his  memory,  his  name 

(su  nombre) — with  a  key  he  could  not  claim. 

"English  outside  this  door,  Spanish  inside," 
he  said,  "y  basta."  But  who  can  divide 

the  world,  the  word  (mundo  y  palabra)  from 
any  child?  I  knew  how  to  be  dumb 

and  stubborn  (testaruda);  late,  in  bed, 
I  hoarded  secret  syllables  I  read 

until  my  tongue  (mi  lengua)  learned  to  run 
where  his  stumbled.  And  still  the  heart  was  one. 

I  like  to  think  he  knew  that,  even  when, 
proud  (orgulloso)  of  his  daughter's  pen, 

he  stood  outside  mis  versos,  half  in  fear 
of  words  he  loved  but  wanted  not  to  hear. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  41 


ANNE  FINCH,   COUNTESS  OF  WINCHILSEA 


Adam  Posed 

Could  our  first  father,  at  his  toilsome  plow, 

Thorns  in  his  path,  and  labor  on  his  brow, 

Clothed  only  in  a  rude,  unpolished  skin, 

Could  he  a  vain  fantastic  nymph  have  seen, 

In  all  her  airs,  in  all  her  antic  graces, 

Her  various  fashions,  and  more  various  faces; 

How  had  it  posed  that  skill,  which  late  assigned 

Just  appellations  to  each  several  kind! 

A  right  idea  of  the  sight  to  frame; 

T'have  guessed  from  what  new  element  she  came; 

T'have  hit  the  wavering  form,  or  given  this  thing  a  name. 


42  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


ROBERT  FROST 


The  Road  Not  Taken 

Two  roads  diverged  in  a  yellow  wood, 
And  sorry  I  could  not  travel  both 
And  be  one  traveler,  long  I  stood 
And  looked  down  one  as  far  as  I  could 
To  where  it  bent  in  the  undergrowth; 

Then  took  the  other,  as  just  as  fair, 
And  having  perhaps  the  better  claim, 
Because  it  was  grassy  and  wanted  wear; 
Though  as  for  that  the  passing  there 
Had  worn  them  really  about  the  same, 

And  both  that  morning  equally  lay 
In  leaves  no  step  had  trodden  black. 
Oh,  I  kept  the  first  for  another  day! 
Yet  knowing  how  way  leads  on  to  way, 
I  doubted  if  I  should  ever  come  back. 

I  shall  be  telling  this  with  a  sigh 
Somewhere  ages  and  ages  hence: 
Two  roads  diverged  in  a  wood,  and  I — 
I  took  the  one  less  traveled  by, 
And  that  has  made  all  the  difference. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         43 


Fire  and  Ice 

Some  say  the  world  will  end  in  fire, 

Some  say  in  ice. 

From  what  I've  tasted  of  desire 

I  hold  with  those  who  favor  fire. 

But  if  it  had  to  perish  twice, 

I  think  I  know  enough  of  hate 

To  say  that  for  destruction  ice 

Is  also  great 

And  would  suffice. 


44  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Stopping  by  Woods  on  a  Snowy  Evening 

Whose  woods  these  are  I  think  I  know. 
His  house  is  in  the  village  though; 
He  will  not  see  me  stopping  here 
To  watch  his  woods  fill  up  with  snow. 

My  little  horse  must  think  it  queer 
To  stop  without  a  farmhouse  near 
Between  the  woods  and  frozen  lake 
The  darkest  evening  of  the  year. 

He  gives  his  harness  bells  a  shake 
To  ask  if  there  is  some  mistake. 
The  only  other  sound's  the  sweep 
Of  easy  wind  and  downy  flake. 

The  woods  are  lovely,  dark  and  deep. 
But  I  have  promises  to  keep, 
And  miles  to  go  before  I  sleep, 
And  miles  to  go  before  I  sleep. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         45 


THOMAS  GRAY 


Ode  on  the  Death  of  a  Favourite  Cat, 
Drowned  in  a  Tub  of  Goldfishes 

'Twas  on  a  lofty  vase's  side, 
Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed 

The  azure  flowers  that  blow; 
Demurest  of  the  tabby  kind, 
The  pensive  Selima,  reclined, 

Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 

Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared; 
The  fair  round  face,  the  snowy  beard, 

The  velvet  of  her  paws, 
Her  coat,  that  with  the  tortoise  vies, 
Her  ears  of  jet,  and  emerald  eyes, 

She  saw;  and  purred  applause. 

Still  had  she  gazed;  but  'midst  the  tide 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide, 

The  genii  of  the  stream; 
Their  scaly  armour's  Tyrian  hue 
Through  richest  purple  to  the  view 

Betrayed  a  golden  gleam. 

The  hapless  nymph  with  wonder  saw; 
A  whisker  first  and  then  a  claw, 

With  many  an  ardent  wish, 
She  stretched  in  vain  to  reach  the  prize. 
What  female  heart  can  gold  despise? 

What  cat's  averse  to  fish? 

Presumptuous  maid!  with  looks  intent 
Again  she  stretch'd,  again  she  bent, 

Nor  knew  the  gulf  between. 
(Malignant  Fate  sat  by,  and  smiled) 
The  slippery  verge  her  feet  beguiled, 

She  tumbled  headlong  in. 


46  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Eight  times  emerging  from  the  flood 
She  mewed  to  every  watery  god, 

Some  speedy  aid  to  send. 
No  dolphin  came,  no  Nereid  stirred; 
Nor  cruel  Tom,  nor  Susan  heard; 

A  Favourite  has  no  friend! 

From  hence,  ye  beauties,  undeceived, 
Know,  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieved, 

And  be  with  caution  bold. 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wandering  eyes 
And  heedless  hearts,  is  lawful  prize; 

Nor  all  that  glisters,  gold. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         47 


THOMAS   HARDY 


Channel  Firing 

That  night  your  great  guns,  unawares, 
Shook  all  our  coffins  as  we  lay, 
And  broke  the  chancel  window-squares, 
We  thought  it  was  the  Judgment-day 

And  sat  upright.  While  drearisome 
Arose  the  howl  of  wakened  hounds; 
The  mouse  let  fall  the  altar-crumb, 
The  worms  drew  back  into  the  mounds, 

The  glebe  cow  drooled.  Till  God  called,  "No; 
It's  gunnery  practice  out  at  sea 
Just  as  before  you  went  below; 
The  world  is  as  it  used  to  be; 

"All  nations  striving  strong  to  make 
Red  war  yet  redder.  Mad  as  hatters 
They  do  no  more  for  Christes  sake 
Than  you  who  are  helpless  in  such  matters. 

"That  this  is  not  the  judgment-hour 
For  some  of  them's  a  blessed  thing, 
For  if  it  were  they'd  have  to  scour 
Hell's  floor  for  so  much  threatening 

"Ha,  ha.  It  will  be  warmer  when 
I  blow  the  trumpet  (if  indeed 
I  ever  do;  for  you  are  men, 
And  rest  eternal  sorely  need)." 

So  down  we  lay  again.  "I  wonder, 
Will  the  world  ever  saner  be," 
Said  one,  "than  when  He  sent  us  under 
In  our  indifferent  century!" 


48         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


And  many  a  skeleton  shook  his  head. 
"Instead  of  preaching  forty  year," 
My  neighbour  Parson  Thirdly  said, 
"I  wish  I  had  stuck  to  pipes  and  beer." 

Again  the  guns  disturbed  the  hour, 
Roaring  their  readiness  to  avenge, 
As  far  inland  as  Stourton  Tower, 
And  Camelot,  and  starlit  Stonehenge. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         49 


JOY  HARJO 


Eagle  Poem 

To  pray  you  open  your  whole  self 

To  sky,  to  earth,  to  sun,  to  moon 

To  one  whole  voice  that  is  you. 

And  know  there  is  more 

That  you  can't  see,  can't  hear; 

Can't  know  except  in  moments 

Steadly  growing,  and  in  languages 

That  aren't  always  sound  but  other 

Circles  of  motion. 

Like  eagle  that  Sunday  morning 

Over  Salt  River.  Circled  in  blue  sky 

In  wind,  swept  our  hearts  clean 

With  sacred  wings. 

We  see  you,  see  ourselves  and  know 

That  we  must  take  the  utmost  care 

And  kindness  in  all  things. 

Breathe  in,  knowing  we  are  made  of 

All  this,  and  breathe,  knowing 

We  are  truly  blessed  because  we 

Were  born,  and  die  soon  within  a 

True  circle  of  motion, 

Like  eagle  rounding  out  the  morning 

Inside  us. 

We  pray  that  it  will  be  done 

In  beauty. 

In  beauty. 


50  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


MICHAEL  S.   HARPER 


Grandfather 

In  1915  my  grandfather's 

neighbors  surrounded  his  house 

near  the  dayline  he  ran 

on  the  Hudson 

in  Catskill,  NY 

and  thought  they'd  burn 

his  family  out 

in  a  movie  they'd  just  seen 

and  be  rid  of  his  kind: 

the  death  of  a  lone  black 

family  is  the  Birth 

of  a  Nation, 

or  so  they  thought. 

His  5 '4"  waiter  gait 

quenched  the  white  jacket  smile 

he'd  brought  back  from  watered 

polish  of  my  father 

on  the  turning  seats, 

and  he  asked  his  neighbors 

up  on  his  thatched  porch 

for  the  first  blossom  of  fire 

that  would  bring  him  down. 

They  went  away,  his  nation, 

spittooning  their  torched  necks 

in  the  shadows  of  the  riverboat 

they'd  seen,  posse  decomposing; 

and  I  see  him  on  Sutter 

with  white  bag  from  your 

restaurant,  challenged  by  his  first 

grandson  to  a  foot-race 

he  will  win  in  white  clothes. 

I  see  him  as  he  buys  galoshes 
for  his  railed  yard  near  Mineo's 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  51 


metal  shop,  where  roses  jump 

as  the  el  circles  his  house 

toward  Brooklyn,  where  his  rain  fell; 

and  I  see  cigar  smoke  in  his  eyes, 

chocolate  Madison  Square  Garden  chews 

he  breaks  on  his  set  teeth, 

stitched  up  after  cancer, 

the  great  white  nation  immovable 

as  his  weight  wilts 

and  he  is  on  a  porch 

that  won't  hold  my  arms, 

or  the  legs  of  the  race  run 

forwards,  or  the  film 

played  backwards  on  his  grandson's  eyes. 


52  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


ROBERT  HAYDEN 


Those  Winter  Sundays 

Sundays  too  my  father  got  up  early 

and  put  his  clothes  on  in  the  blueblack  cold, 

then  with  cracked  hands  that  ached 

from  labor  in  the  weekday  weather  made 

banked  fires  blaze.  No  one  ever  thanked  him. 

I'd  wake  and  hear  the  cold  splintering,  breaking. 
When  the  rooms  were  warm,  he'd  call, 
and  slowly  I  would  rise  and  dress, 
fearing  the  chronic  angers  of  that  house, 

Speaking  indifferently  to  him, 
who  had  driven  out  the  cold 
and  polished  my  good  shoes  as  well. 
What  did  I  know,  what  did  I  know 
of  love's  austere  and  lonely  offices? 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  53 


GEORGE  HERBERT 


The  Pulley 

When  God  at  first  made  man, 
Having  a  glass  of  blessings  standing  by, 
"Let  us,"  said  he,  "pour  on  him  all  we  can. 
Let  the  world's  riches,  which  dispersed  lie, 

Contract  into  a  span." 

So  strength  first  made  a  way; 
Then  beauty  flowed,  then  wisdom,  honour,  pleasure. 
When  almost  all  was  out,  God  made  a  stay, 
Perceiving  that,  alone  of  all  his  treasure, 

Rest  in  the  bottom  lay. 

"For  if  I  should,"  said  he, 
"Bestow  this  jewel  also  on  my  creature, 
He  would  adore  my  gifts  instead  of  me, 
And  rest  in  Nature,  not  the  God  of  Nature; 

So  both  should  losers  be. 

"Yet  let  him  keep  the  rest, 
But  keep  them  with  repining  restlessness; 
Let  him  be  rich  and  weary,  that  at  least, 
If  goodness  lead  him  not,  yet  weariness 

May  toss  him  to  my  breast." 


54         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


ROBERT  HERRICK 


To  the  Virgins,  to  Make  Much  of  Time 

Gather  ye  rose-buds  while  ye  may, 

Old  Time  is  still  a-flying; 
And  this  same  flower  that  smiles  today 

Tomorrow  will  be  dying. 

The  glorious  lamp  of  heaven,  the  sun, 

The  higher  he's  a-getting, 
The  sooner  will  his  race  be  run, 

And  nearer  he's  to  setting. 

That  age  is  best  which  is  the  first, 
When  youth  and  blood  are  warmer; 

But  being  spent,  the  worse,  and  worst 
Times  still  succeed  the  former. 

Then  be  not  coy,  but  use  your  time, 
And  while  ye  may,  go  marry; 

For  having  lost  but  once  your  prime, 
You  may  forever  tarry. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  55 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 


Old  Ironsides 

Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down! 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar; — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more! 

Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood 

Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe, 
When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood 

And  waves  were  white  below, 
No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee; — 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea! 

O,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave; 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set  every  thread-bare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms, — 

The  lightning  and  the  gale! 


56  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


GERARD  MANLEY  HOPKINS 


Pied  Beauty 

Glory  be  to  God  for  dappled  things — 

For  skies  of  couple-colour  as  a  brinded  cow; 

For  rose-moles  all  in  stipple  upon  trout  that  swim; 
Fresh- firecoal  chestnut-falls;  finches'  wings; 

Landscape  plotted  and  pieced — fold,  fallow,  and  plough; 
And  all  trades,  their  gear  and  tackle  and  trim. 

All  things  counter,  original,  spare,  strange; 

Whatever  is  fickle,  freckled  (who  knows  how?) 
With  swift,  slow;  sweet,  sour;  adazzle,  dim; 
He  fathers-forth  whose  beauty  is  past  change: 

Praise  him. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  57 


A.E.   HOUSMAN 


To  an  Athlete  Dying  Young 

The  time  you  won  your  town  the  race 
We  chaired  you  through  the  market-place; 
Man  and  boy  stood  cheering  by, 
And  home  we  brought  you  shoulder-high. 

Today,  the  road  all  runners  come, 
Shoulder-high  we  bring  you  home, 
And  set  you  at  your  threshold  down, 
Townsman  of  a  stiller  town. 

Smart  lad,  to  slip  betimes  away 
From  fields  where  glory  does  not  stay, 
And  early  though  the  laurel  grows 
It  withers  quicker  than  the  rose. 

Eyes  the  shady  night  has  shut 
Cannot  see  the  record  cut, 
And  silence  sounds  no  worse  than  cheers 
After  earth  has  stopped  the  ears. 

Now  you  will  not  swell  the  rout 
Of  lads  that  wore  their  honours  out, 
Runners  whom  renown  outran 
And  the  name  died  before  the  man. 

So  set,  before  its  echoes  fade, 
The  fleet  foot  on  the  sill  of  shade, 
And  hold  to  the  low  lintel  up 
The  still-defended  challenge-cup. 

And  round  that  early-laurelled  head 
Will  flock  to  gaze  the  strengthless  dead, 
And  find  unwithered  on  its  curls 
The  garland  briefer  than  a  girl's. 


58  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


JULIA  WARD  HOWE 


Battle-Hymn  of  the  Republic 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord: 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath  are  stored; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fatal  lightning  of  his  terrible  swift  sword: 
His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hundred  circling  camps; 
They  have  builded  Him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews  and  damps; 
I  can  read  His  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and  flaring  lamps. 
His  Day  is  marching  on. 

I  have  read  a  fiery  gospel,  writ  in  burnished  rows  of  steel: 
"As  ye  deal  with  my  contemners,  so  with  you  my  grace  shall  deal; 
Let  the  Hero,  born  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent  with  his  heel, 
Since  God  is  marching  on." 

He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call  retreat; 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  his  judgment-seat: 
Oh!  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him!  be  jubilant,  my  feet! 
Our  God  is  marching  on. 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me: 
As  he  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free, 
While  God  is  marching  on. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         59 


MARY  HOWITT 


The  Spider  and  the  Fly 

"Will  you  walk  into  my  parlour?"  said  the  Spider  to  the  Fly, 

'Tis  the  prettiest  little  parlour  that  ever  you  did  spy; 

The  way  into  my  parlour  is  up  a  winding  stair, 

And  I've  a  many  curious  things  to  shew  when  you  are  there." 

"Oh  no,  no,"  said  the  little  Fly,  "to  ask  me  is  in  vain, 

For  who  goes  up  your  winding  stair  can  ne'er  come  down  again." 

"I'm  sure  you  must  be  weary,  dear,  with  soaring  up  so  high; 

Will  you  rest  upon  my  little  bed?"  said  the  Spider  to  the  Fly. 

"There  are  pretty  curtains  drawn  around;  the  sheets  are  fine  and  thin, 

And  if  you  like  to  rest  awhile,  I'll  snugly  tuck  you  in!" 

"Oh  no,  no,"  said  the  little  Fly,  "for  I've  often  heard  it  said, 

They  never,  never  wake  again,  who  sleep  upon  your  bed!" 

Said  the  cunning  Spider  to  the  Fly,  "Dear  friend  what  can  I  do, 

To  prove  the  warm  affection  I've  always  felt  for  you? 

I  have  within  my  pantry,  good  store  of  all  that's  nice; 

I'm  sure  you're  very  welcome — will  you  please  to  take  a  slice?" 

"Oh  no,  no,"  said  the  little  Fly,  "kind  Sir,  that  cannot  be, 

I've  heard  what's  in  your  pantry,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  see!" 

"Sweet  creature!"  said  the  Spider,  "you're  witty  and  you're  wise, 
How  handsome  are  your  gauzy  wings,  how  brilliant  are  your  eyes! 
I've  a  little  looking-glass  upon  my  parlour  shelf, 
If  you'll  step  in  one  moment,  dear,  you  shall  behold  yourself." 
"I  thank  you,  gentle  Sir,"  she  said,  "for  what  you're  pleased  to  say, 
And  bidding  you  good  morning  now,  I'll  call  another  day." 

The  Spider  turned  him  round  about,  and  went  into  his  den, 
For  well  he  knew  the  silly  Fly  would  soon  come  back  again: 
So  he  wove  a  subtle  web,  in  a  little  corner  sly, 
And  set  his  table  ready,  to  dine  upon  the  Fly. 


60  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Then  he  came  out  to  his  door  again,  and  merrily  did  sing, 
"Come  hither,  hither,  pretty  Fly,  with  the  pearl  and  silver  wing; 
Your  robes  are  green  and  purple — there's  a  crest  upon  your  head; 
Your  eyes  are  like  the  diamond  bright,  but  mine  are  dull  as  lead!" 

Alas,  alas!  how  very  soon  this  silly  little  Fly, 
Hearing  his  wily,  flattering  words,  came  slowly  flitting  by; 
With  buzzing  wings  she  hung  aloft,  then  near  and  nearer  drew, 
Thinking  only  of  her  brilliant  eyes,  and  green  and  purple  hue — 
Thinking  only  of  her  crested  head — poor  foolish  thing!  At  last, 
Up  jumped  the  cunning  Spider,  and  fiercely  held  her  fast. 
He  dragged  her  up  his  winding  stair,  into  his  dismal  den, 
Within  his  little  parlour — but  she  ne'er  came  out  again! 

And  now  dear  little  children,  who  may  this  story  read, 
To  idle,  silly  flattering  words,  I  pray  you  ne'er  give  heed: 
Unto  an  evil  counsellor,  close  heart  and  ear  and  eye, 
And  take  a  lesson  from  this  tale,  of  the  Spider  and  the  Fly. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  61 


LANGSTON  HUGHES 

Harlem 

What  happens  to  a  dream  deferred? 

Does  it  dry  up 

like  a  raisin  in  the  sun? 

Or  fester  like  a  sore — 

And  then  run? 

Does  it  stink  like  rotten  meat? 

Or  crust  and  sugar  over — 

like  a  syrupy  sweet? 

Maybe  it  just  sags 
like  a  heavy  load. 

Or  does  it  explode? 


62  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


JAMES  WELDON  JOHNSON 


Lift  Ev'ry  Voice  and  Sing 

Lift  ev'ry  voice  and  sing, 

Till  earth  and  heaven  ring, 

Ring  with  the  harmonies  of  Liberty; 

Let  our  rejoicing  rise 

High  as  the  list'ning  skies, 

Let  it  resound  loud  as  the  rolling  sea. 

Sing  a  song  full  of  the  faith  that  the  dark  past  has  taught  us, 

Sing  a  song  full  of  the  hope  that  the  present  has  brought  us; 

Facing  the  rising  sun  of  our  new  day  begun, 

Let  us  march  on  till  victory  is  won. 

Stony  the  road  we  trod, 

Bitter  the  chast'ning  rod, 

Felt  in  the  days  when  hope  unborn  had  died; 

Yet  with  a  steady  beat, 

Have  not  our  weary  feet 

Come  to  the  place  for  which  our  fathers  sighed? 

We  have  come  over  a  way  that  with  tears  has  been  watered, 

We  have  come,  treading  our  path  through  the  blood  of  the  slaughtered, 

Out  from  the  gloomy  past, 

Till  now  we  stand  at  last 

Where  the  white  gleam  of  our  bright  star  is  cast. 

God  of  our  weary  years, 

God  of  our  silent  tears, 

Thou  who  has  brought  us  thus  far  on  the  way; 

Thou  who  has  by  Thy  might, 

Led  us  into  the  light, 

Keep  us  forever  in  the  path,  we  pray. 

Lest  our  feet  stray  from  the  places,  our  God,  where  we  met  Thee, 

Lest  our  hearts,  drunk  with  the  wine  of  the  world,  we  forget  Thee; 

Shadowed  beneath  Thy  hand, 

May  we  forever  stand, 

True  to  our  God, 

True  to  our  native  land. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  63 


BEN  JONSON 


Song  to  Celia 

Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 

And  I  will  pledge  with  mine; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup, 

And  I'll  not  ask  for  wine. 
The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine; 
But  might  I  ofjove's  nectar  sup, 

I  would  not  change  for  thine. 

I  sent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath, 

Not  so  much  honouring  thee 
As  giving  it  a  hope  that  there 

It  could  not  withered  be; 
But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe, 

And  sent'st  it  back  to  me; 
Since  when  it  grows,  and  smells,  I  swear, 

Not  of  itself  but  thee. 


64  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


JOHN  KEATS 


When  I  Have  Fears  That  I  May  Cease  to  Be 

When  I  have  fears  that  I  may  cease  to  be 

Before  my  pen  has  gleaned  my  teeming  brain, 
Before  high-piled  books,  in  charactery, 

Hold  like  rich  garners  the  full  ripened  grain; 
When  I  behold,  upon  the  night's  starred  face, 

Huge  cloudy  symbols  of  a  high  romance, 
And  think  that  I  may  never  live  to  trace 

Their  shadows  with  the  magic  hand  of  chance; 
And  when  I  feel,  fair  creature  of  an  hour, 

That  I  shall  never  look  upon  thee  more, 
Never  have  relish  in  the  fairy  power 

Of  unreflecting  love — then  on  the  shore 
Of  the  wide  world  I  stand  alone,  and  think 
Till  love  and  fame  to  nothingness  do  sink. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         65 


La  Belle  Dame  sans  Merci:  A  Ballad 

Ah,  what  can  ail  thee,  knight-at-arms, 
Alone  and  palely  loitering? 

The  sedge  has  withered  from  the  lake, 
And  no  birds  sing. 

0  what  can  ail  thee,  knight-at-arms, 
So  haggard  and  so  woe-begone? 

The  squirrel's  granary  is  full, 
And  the  harvest's  done. 

1  see  a  lily  on  thy  brow, 

With  anguish  moist  and  fever-dew, 
And  on  thy  cheeks  a  fading  rose 
Fast  withereth  too. 

I  met  a  lady  in  the  meads 
Full  beautiful,  a  fairy's  child; 

Her  hair  was  long,  her  foot  was  light, 
And  her  eyes  were  wild. 

I  made  a  garland  for  her  head, 
And  bracelets  too,  and  fragrant  zone; 

She  looked  at  me  as  she  did  love, 
And  made  sweet  moan. 

I  set  her  on  my  pacing  steed, 

And  nothing  else  saw  all  day  long, 

For  sidelong  would  she  bend,  and  sing 
A  fairy's  song. 

She  found  me  roots  of  relish  sweet, 
And  honey  wild,  and  manna-dew; 

And  sure  in  language  strange  she  said — 
'I  love  thee  true.' 


66  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


She  took  me  to  her  elfin  grot, 

And  there  she  wept  and  sighed  full  sore, 
And  there  I  shut  her  wild  wild  eyes 

With  kisses  four. 

And  there  she  lulled  me  asleep, 

And  there  I  dreamed — Ah!  woe  betide! 

The  latest  dream  I  ever  dreamt 
On  the  cold  hill's  side. 

I  saw  pale  kings  and  princes  too, 

Pale  warriors,  death-pale  were  they  all; 

They  cried — 'La  Belle  Dame  sans  Merci 
Hath  thee  in  thrall!' 

I  saw  their  starved  lips  in  the  gloam 
With  horrid  warning  gaped  wide, 

And  I  awoke  and  found  me  here 
On  the  cold  hill's  side. 

And  this  is  why  I  sojourn  here, 

Alone  and  palely  loitering, 
Though  the  sedge  is  withered  from  the  lake, 

And  no  birds  sing. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  67 


JOYCE  KILMER 

Trees 

For  Mrs.  Henry  Mills  Alden 

I  think  that  I  shall  never  see 
A  poem  lovely  as  a  tree. 

A  tree  whose  hungry  mouth  is  prest 
Against  the  earth's  sweet  flowing  breast; 

A  tree  that  looks  at  God  all  day, 
And  lifts  her  leafy  arms  to  pray; 

A  tree  that  may  in  Summer  wear 
A  nest  of  robins  in  her  hair; 

Upon  whose  bosom  snow  has  lain; 
Who  intimately  lives  with  rain. 

Poems  are  made  by  fools  like  me, 
But  only  God  can  make  a  tree. 


68  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


YUSEF  KOMUNYAKAA 

Kindness 

For  Carol  Rigolot 

I  acknowledge  my  status  as  a  stranger: 

When  deeds  splay  before  us 
precious  as  gold  &  unused  chances 
stripped  from  the  whine-bone, 
we  know  the  moment  kindheartedness 
walks  in.  Each  praise  be 
echoes  us  back  as  the  years  uncount 
themselves,  eating  salt.  Though  blood 
first  shaped  us  on  the  climbing  wheel, 
the  human  mind  lit  by  the  savanna's 
ice  star  &  thistle  rose, 
your  knowing  gaze  enters  a  room 
&  opens  the  day, 
saying  we  were  made  for  fun. 
Even  the  bedazzled  brute  knows 
when  sunlight  falls  through  leaves 
across  honed  knives  on  the  table. 
If  we  can  see  it  push  shadows 
aside,  growing  closer,  are  we  less 
broken?  A  barometer,  temperature 
gauge,  a  ruler  in  minus  fractions 
&  pedigrees,  a  thingmajig, 
a  probe  with  an  all-seeing  eye, 
what  do  we  need  to  measure 
kindness,  every  unheld  breath, 
every  unkind  leapyear? 
Sometimes  a  sober  voice  is  enough 
to  calm  the  waters  &  drive  away 
the  false  witnesses,  saying,  Look, 
here  are  the  broken  treaties  Beauty 
brought  to  us  earthbound  sentinels. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         69 


EMMA  LAZARUS 


The  New  Colossus 


Not  like  the  brazen  giant  of  Greek  fame, 

With  conquering  limbs  astride  from  land  to  land; 

Here  at  our  sea-washed,  sunset  gates  shall  stand 

A  mighty  woman  with  a  torch,  whose  flame 

Is  the  imprisoned  lightning,  and  her  name 

Mother  of  Exiles.  From  her  beacon-hand 

Glows  world-wide  welcome;  her  mild  eyes  command 

The  air-bridged  harbor  that  twin  cities  frame. 

"Keep,  ancient  lands,  your  storied  pomp!"  cries  she 

With  silent  lips.  "Give  me  your  tired,  your  poor, 

Your  huddled  masses  yearning  to  breathe  free, 

The  wretched  refuse  of  your  teeming  shore. 

Send  these,  the  homeless,  tempest-tost  to  me, 

I  lift  my  lamp  beside  the  golden  door!" 


70  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


EDWARD  LEAR 


The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat 


The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat  went  to  sea 

In  a  beautiful  pea-green  boat, 
They  took  some  honey,  and  plenty  of  money, 

Wrapped  up  in  a  five-pound  note. 
The  Owl  looked  up  to  the  stars  above, 

And  sang  to  a  small  guitar, 
'O  lovely  Pussy,  O  Pussy,  my  love, 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are, 
You  are, 
You  are! 
What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are!' 


ii 


Pussy  said  to  the  Owl,  'You  elegant  fowl! 

How  charmingly  sweet  you  sing! 
O  let  us  be  married!  too  long  we  have  tarried: 

But  what  shall  we  do  for  a  ring?' 
They  sailed  away,  for  a  year  and  a  day, 

To  the  land  where  the  Bong-tree  grows 
And  there  in  a  wood  a  Piggy- wig  stood, 

With  a  ring  at  the  end  of  his  nose, 
His  nose, 
His  nose, 
With  a  ring  at  the  end  of  his  nose. 


in 


'Dear  Pig,  are  you  willing  to  sell  for  one  shilling 
Your  ring?'  Said  the  Piggy,  'I  will.' 

So  they  took  it  away,  and  were  married  next  day 
By  the  Turkey  who  lives  on  the  hill. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  71 


They  dined  on  mince,  and  slices  of  quince, 

Which  they  ate  with  a  runcible  spoon; 
And  hand  in  hand,  on  the  edge  of  the  sand, 
They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
The  moon, 
The  moon, 
They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 


72  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


LI-YOUNG  LEE 


The  Gift 

To  pull  the  metal  splinter  from  my  palm 
my  father  recited  a  story  in  a  low  voice. 
I  watched  his  lovely  face  and  not  the  blade. 
Before  the  story  ended,  he'd  removed 
the  iron  sliver  I  thought  I'd  die  from. 

I  can't  remember  the  tale, 
but  hear  his  voice  still,  a  well 
of  dark  water,  a  prayer. 
And  I  recall  his  hands, 
two  measures  of  tenderness 
he  laid  against  my  face, 
the  flames  of  discipline 
he  raised  above  my  head. 

Had  you  entered  that  afternoon 

you  would  have  thought  you  saw  a  man 

planting  something  in  a  boy's  palm, 

a  silver  tear,  a  tiny  flame. 

Had  you  followed  that  boy 

you  would  have  arrived  here, 

where  I  bend  over  my  wife's  right  hand. 

Look  how  I  shave  her  thumbnail  down 

so  carefully  she  feels  no  pain. 

Watch  as  I  lift  the  splinter  out. 

I  was  seven  when  my  father 

took  my  hand  like  this, 

and  I  did  not  hold  that  shard 

between  my  fingers  and  think, 

Metal  that  will  bury  me, 

christen  it  Little  Assassin, 

Ore  Going  Deep  for  My  Heart. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  73 


And  I  did  not  lift  up  my  wound  and  cry, 

Death  visited  here! 

I  did  what  a  child  does 

when  he's  given  something  to  keep. 

I  kissed  my  father. 


74         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


SHIRLEY  GEOK-LIN  LIM 


Learning  to  Love  America 

because  it  has  no  pure  products 

because  the  Pacific  Ocean  sweeps  along  the  coastline 
because  the  water  of  the  ocean  is  cold 
and  because  land  is  better  than  ocean 

because  I  say  we  rather  than  they 

because  I  live  in  California 

I  have  eaten  fresh  artichokes 

and  jacaranda  bloom  in  April  and  May 

because  my  senses  have  caught  up  with  my  body 
my  breath  with  the  air  it  swallows 
my  hunger  with  my  mouth 

because  I  walk  barefoot  in  my  house 

because  I  have  nursed  my  son  at  my  breast 

because  he  is  a  strong  American  boy 

because  I  have  seen  his  eyes  redden  when  he  is  asked  who  he  is 

because  he  answers  I  don't  know 

because  to  have  a  son  is  to  have  a  country 

because  my  son  will  bury  me  here 

because  countries  are  in  our  blood  and  we  bleed  them 

because  it  is  late  and  too  late  to  change  my  mind 
because  it  is  time. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  75 


VACHEL  LINDSAY 


General  William  Booth  Enters  Into  Heaven 

[bass  drum  beaten  loudly] 

Booth  led  boldly  with  his  big  bass  drum — 

(Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

The  Saints  smiled  gravely  and  they  said:  "He's  come." 

(Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

Walking  lepers  followed,  rank  on  rank, 

Lurching  bravoes  from  the  ditches  dank, 

Drabs  from  the  alleyways  and  drug  fiends  pale — 

Minds  still  passion-ridden,  soul-powers  frail: — 

Vermin-eaten  saints  with  mouldy  breath, 

Unwashed  legions  with  the  ways  of  Death — 

(Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

[banjos] 

Every  slum  had  sent  its  half-a-score 

The  round  world  over.  (Booth  had  groaned  for  more.) 

Every  banner  that  the  wide  world  flies 

Bloomed  with  glory  and  transcendent  dyes. 

Big- voiced  lasses  made  their  banjos  bang, 

Tranced,  fanatical  they  shrieked  and  sang: — 

"Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?" 

Hallelujah!  It  was  queer  to  see 

Bull-necked  convicts  with  that  land  make  free. 

Loons  with  trumpets  blowed  a  blare,  blare,  blare 

On,  on  upward  thro'  the  golden  air! 

(Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

[bass  drum  slower  and  softer] 
Booth  died  blind  and  still  by  Faith  he  trod, 
Eyes  still  dazzled  by  the  ways  of  God. 
Booth  led  boldly,  and  he  looked  the  chief 
Eagle  countenance  in  sharp  relief, 
Beard  a-flying,  air  of  high  command 
Unabated  in  that  holy  land. 


76  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


[sweet  flute  music] 

Jesus  came  from  out  the  court-house  door, 
Stretched  his  hands  above  the  passing  poor. 
Booth  saw  not,  but  led  his  queer  ones  there 
Round  and  round  the  mighty  court-house  square. 
Yet  in  an  instant  all  that  blear  review 
Marched  on  spotless,  clad  in  raiment  new. 
The  lame  were  straightened,  withered  limbs  uncurled 
And  blind  eyes  opened  on  a  new,  sweet  world. 

[bass  drum  louder] 
Drabs  and  vixens  in  a  flash  made  whole! 
Gone  was  the  weasel-head,  the  snout,  the  jowl! 
Sages  and  sibyls  now,  and  athletes  clean, 
Rulers  of  empires,  and  of  forests  green! 

[grand  chorus  of  all  instruments. 

tambourines  to  the  foreground] 

The  hosts  were  sandalled,  and  their  wings  were  fire! 

(Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

But  their  noise  played  havoc  with  the  angel-choir. 

(Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

O  shout  Salvation!  It  was  good  to  see 

Kings  and  Princes  by  the  Lamb  set  free. 

The  banjos  rattled  and  the  tambourines 

Jing-jing-jingled  in  the  hands  of  Queens. 

[reverently  sung,  no  instruments] 

And  when  Booth  halted  by  the  curb  for  prayer 

He  saw  his  Master  thro'  the  flag-filled  air. 

Christ  came  gently  with  a  robe  and  crown 

For  Booth  the  soldier,  while  the  throng  knelt  down. 

He  saw  Kingjesus.  They  were  face  to  face, 

And  he  knelt  a-weeping  in  that  holy  place. 

Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb? 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  77 


HENRY  WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW 


A  Psalm  of  Life 

What  the  Heart  of  the  Young  Man 
Said  to  the  Psalmist 

Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 

Life  is  but  an  empty  dream! 
For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 

And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Life  is  real!  Life  is  earnest! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal; 
Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest, 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 

Find  us  farther  than  to-day. 

Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 

Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle! 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife! 

Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead! 
Act, —  act  in  the  living  Present! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead! 


78         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time; 

Footprints,  that  perhaps  another, 
Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 

A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing, 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate; 

Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         79 


RICHARD   LOVELACE 


To  Althea,  from  Prison 

When  Love  with  unconfined  wings 

Hovers  within  my  Gates, 
And  my  divine  Althea  brings 

To  whisper  at  the  Grates; 
When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair, 

And  fettered  to  her  eye, 
The  Gods  that  wanton  in  the  Air, 

Know  no  such  Liberty. 

When  flowing  Cups  run  swiftly  round 

With  no  allaying  Thames, 
Our  careless  heads  with  Roses  bound, 

Our  hearts  with  Loyal  Flames; 
When  thirsty  grief  in  Wine  we  steep, 

When  Healths  and  draughts  go  free, 
Fishes  that  tipple  in  the  Deep 

Know  no  such  Liberty. 

When  (like  committed  linnets)  I 

With  shriller  throat  shall  sing 
The  sweetness,  Mercy,  Majesty, 

And  glories  of  my  King; 
When  I  shall  voice  aloud  how  good 

He  is,  how  Great  should  be, 
Enlarged  Winds,  that  curl  the  Flood, 

Know  no  such  Liberty. 

Stone  Walls  do  not  a  Prison  make, 

Nor  Iron  bars  a  Cage; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  an  Hermitage. 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  Love, 

And  in  my  soul  am  free, 
Angels  alone  that  soar  above, 

Enjoy  such  Liberty. 


80         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


CHRISTOPHER  MARLOWE 


The  Passionate  Shepherd  to  His  Love 

Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove, 
That  Valleys,  groves,  hills,  and  fields, 
Woods,  or  steepy  mountain  yields. 

And  we  will  sit  upon  the  Rocks, 
Seeing  the  Shepherds  feed  their  flocks, 
By  shallow  Rivers  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  Madrigals. 

And  I  will  make  thee  beds  of  Roses 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies, 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle 
Embroidered  all  with  leaves  of  Myrtle; 

A  gown  made  of  the  finest  wool 
Which  from  our  pretty  Lambs  we  pull; 
Fair  lined  slippers  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold; 

A  belt  of  straw  and  Ivy  buds, 
With  Coral  clasps  and  Amber  studs: 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 

The  Shepherds'  Swains  shall  dance  and  sing 
For  thy  delight  each  May-morning: 
If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move, 
Then  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  81 


ANDREW  MARVELL 


To  His  Coy  Mistress 

Had  we  but  world  enough  and  time, 
This  coyness,  lady,  were  no  crime. 
We  would  sit  down,  and  think  which  way 
To  walk,  and  pass  our  long  love's  day. 
Thou  by  the  Indian  Ganges'  side 
Shouldst  rubies  find;  I  by  the  tide 
Of  Humber  would  complain.  I  would 
Love  you  ten  years  before  the  flood, 
And  you  should,  if  you  please,  refuse 
Till  the  conversion  of  the  Jews. 
My  vegetable  love  should  grow 
Vaster  than  empires  and  more  slow; 
An  hundred  years  should  go  to  praise 
Thine  eyes,  and  on  thy  forehead  gaze; 
Two  hundred  to  adore  each  breast, 
But  thirty  thousand  to  the  rest; 
An  age  at  least  to  every  part, 
And  the  last  age  should  show  your  heart. 
For,  lady,  you  deserve  this  state, 
Nor  would  I  love  at  lower  rate. 

But  at  my  back  I  always  hear 
Time's  winged  chariot  hurrying  near; 
And  yonder  all  before  us  lie 
Deserts  of  vast  eternity. 
Thy  beauty  shall  no  more  be  found; 
Nor,  in  thy  marble  vault,  shall  sound 
My  echoing  song;  then  worms  shall  try 
That  long-preserved  virginity, 
And  your  quaint  honour  turn  to  dust, 
And  into  ashes  all  my  lust; 
The  grave's  a  fine  and  private  place, 
But  none,  I  think,  do  there  embrace. 


82  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Now  therefore,  while  the  youthful  hue 
Sits  on  thy  skin  like  morning  dew, 
And  while  thy  willing  soul  transpires 
At  every  pore  with  instant  fires, 
Now  let  us  sport  us  while  we  may, 
And  now,  like  amorous  birds  of  prey, 
Rather  at  once  our  time  devour 
Than  languish  in  his  slow-chapped  power. 
Let  us  roll  all  our  strength  and  all 
Our  sweetness  up  into  one  ball, 
And  tear  our  pleasures  with  rough  strife 
Thorough  the  iron  gates  of  life: 
Thus,  though  we  cannot  make  our  sun 
Stand  still,  yet  we  will  make  him  run. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         83 


DAVID  MASON 


Song  of  the  Powers 

Mine,  said  the  stone, 
mine  is  the  hour. 
I  crush  the  scissors, 
such  is  my  power. 
Stronger  than  wishes, 
my  power,  alone. 

Mine,  said  the  paper, 
mine  are  the  words 
that  smother  the  stone 
with  imagined  birds, 
reams  of  them,  flown 
from  the  mind  of  the  shaper. 

Mine,  said  the  scissors, 
mine  all  the  knives 
gashing  through  paper's 
ethereal  lives; 
nothing's  so  proper 
as  tattering  wishes. 

As  stone  crushes  scissors, 
as  paper  snuffs  stone 
and  scissors  cut  paper, 
all  end  alone. 
So  heap  up  your  paper 
and  scissor  your  wishes 
and  uproot  the  stone 
from  the  top  of  the  hill. 
They  all  end  alone 
as  you  will,  you  will. 


84         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


EDGAR  LEE  MASTERS 


Mrs.  Kessler 


Mr.  Kessler,  you  know,  was  in  the  army, 

And  he  drew  six  dollars  a  month  as  a  pension, 

And  stood  on  the  corner  talking  politics, 

Or  sat  at  home  reading  Grant's  Memoirs; 

And  I  supported  the  family  by  washing, 

Learning  the  secrets  of  all  the  people 

From  their  curtains,  counterpanes,  shirts  and  skirts. 

For  things  that  are  new  grow  old  at  length, 

They're  replaced  with  better  or  none  at  all: 

People  are  prospering  or  falling  back. 

And  rents  and  patches  widen  with  time; 

No  thread  or  needle  can  pace  decay, 

And  there  are  stains  that  baffle  soap, 

And  there  are  colors  that  run  in  spite  of  you, 

Blamed  though  you  are  for  spoiling  a  dress. 

Handkerchiefs,  napery,  have  their  secrets — 

The  laundress,  Life,  knows  all  about  it. 

And  I,  who  went  to  all  the  funerals 

Held  in  Spoon  River,  swear  I  never 

Saw  a  dead  face  without  thinking  it  looked 

Like  something  washed  and  ironed. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         85 


CLAUDE  MCKAY 


Romance 

To  clasp  you  now  and  feel  your  head  close-pressed, 
Scented  and  warm  against  my  beating  breast; 

To  whisper  soft  and  quivering  your  name, 
And  drink  the  passion  burning  in  your  frame; 

To  lie  at  full  length,  taut,  with  cheek  to  cheek, 
And  tease  your  mouth  with  kisses  till  you  speak 

Love  words,  mad  words,  dream  words,  sweet  senseless  words, 
Melodious  like  notes  of  mating  birds; 

To  hear  you  ask  if  I  shall  love  always, 
And  myself  answer:  Till  the  end  of  days; 

To  feel  your  easeful  sigh  of  happiness 
When  on  your  trembling  lips  I  murmur:  Yes; 

It  is  so  sweet.  We  know  it  is  not  true. 

What  matters  it?  The  night  must  shed  her  dew. 

We  know  it  is  not  true,  but  it  is  sweet — 
The  poem  with  this  music  is  complete. 


86  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


HERMAN  MELVILLE 


The  Maldive  Shark 

About  the  Shark,  phlegmatical  one, 
Pale  sot  of  the  Maldive  sea, 
The  sleek  little  pilot-fish,  azure  and  slim, 
How  alert  in  attendance  be. 

From  his  saw-pit  of  mouth,  from  his  charnel  of  maw 
They  have  nothing  of  harm  to  dread, 
But  liquidly  glide  on  his  ghastly  flank 
Or  before  his  Gorgonian  head; 
Or  lurk  in  the  port  of  serrated  teeth 
In  white  triple  tiers  of  glittering  gates, 
And  there  find  a  haven  when  peril's  abroad, 
An  asylum  in  jaws  of  the  Fates! 

They  are  friends;  and  friendly  they  guide  him  to  prey, 
Yet  never  partake  of  the  treat — 
Eyes  and  brains  to  the  dotard  lethargic  and  dull, 
Pale  ravener  of  horrible  meat. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  87 


EDNA  ST.   VINCENT  MILLAY 


/  think  I  should  have  loved  you  presently 

I  think  I  should  have  loved  you  presently, 

And  given  in  earnest  words  I  flung  in  jest; 

And  lifted  honest  eyes  for  you  to  see, 

And  caught  your  hand  against  my  cheek  and  breast; 

And  all  my  pretty  follies  flung  aside 

That  won  you  to  me,  and  beneath  your  gaze, 

Naked  of  reticence  and  shorn  of  pride, 

Spread  like  a  chart  my  little  wicked  ways. 

I,  that  had  been  to  you,  had  you  remained, 

But  one  more  waking  from  a  recurrent  dream, 

Cherish  no  less  the  certain  stakes  I  gained, 

And  walk  your  memory's  halls,  austere,  supreme, 

A  ghost  in  marble  of  a  girl  you  knew 

Who  would  have  loved  you  in  a  day  or  two. 


88         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


What  lips  my  lips  have  kissed,  and  where,  and  why 

What  lips  my  lips  have  kissed,  and  where,  and  why, 

I  have  forgotten,  and  what  arms  have  lain 

Under  my  head  till  morning;  but  the  rain 

Is  full  of  ghosts  tonight,  that  tap  and  sigh 

Upon  the  glass  and  listen  for  reply, 

And  in  my  heart  there  stirs  a  quiet  pain 

For  unremembered  lads  that  not  again 

Will  turn  to  me  at  midnight  with  a  cry. 

Thus  in  the  winter  stands  the  lonely  tree, 

Nor  knows  what  birds  have  vanished  one  by  one, 

Yet  knows  its  boughs  more  silent  than  before: 

I  cannot  say  what  loves  have  come  and  gone, 

I  only  know  that  summer  sang  in  me 

A  little  while,  that  in  me  sings  no  more. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         89 


JOHN  MILTON 


When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent, 

Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 
And  that  one  Talent  which  is  death  to  hide 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  Soul  more  bent 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he  returning  chide; 
"Doth  God  exact  day-labour,  light  denied?" 
I  fondly  ask.  But  patience,  to  prevent 

That  murmur,  soon  replies,  "God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work  or  his  own  gifts;  who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best.  His  state 

Is  Kingly.  Thousands  at  his  bidding  speed 
And  post  o'er  Land  and  Ocean  without  rest: 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 


90         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


N.   SCOTT  MOMADAY 


The  Delight  Song  of  Tsoai-talee 

I  am  a  feather  on  the  bright  sky 

I  am  the  blue  horse  that  runs  in  the  plain 

I  am  the  fish  that  rolls,  shining,  in  the  water 

I  am  the  shadow  that  follows  a  child 

I  am  the  evening  light,  the  lustre  of  meadows 

I  am  an  eagle  playing  with  the  wind 

I  am  a  cluster  of  bright  beads 

I  am  the  farthest  star 

I  am  the  cold  of  dawn 

I  am  the  roaring  of  the  rain 

I  am  the  glitter  on  the  crust  of  the  snow 

I  am  the  long  track  of  the  moon  in  a  lake 

I  am  a  flame  of  four  colors 

I  am  a  deer  standing  away  in  the  dusk 

I  am  a  field  of  sumac  and  the  pomme  blanche 

I  am  an  angle  of  geese  in  the  winter  sky 

I  am  the  hunger  of  a  young  wolf 

I  am  the  whole  dream  of  these  things 

You  see,  I  am  alive,  I  am  alive 

I  stand  in  good  relation  to  the  earth 

I  stand  in  good  relation  to  the  gods 

I  stand  in  good  relation  to  all  that  is  beautiful 

I  stand  in  good  relation  to  the  daughter  of  Tsen-tainte 

You  see,  I  am  alive,  I  am  alive 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  91 


MARIANNE  MOORE 


Poetry 

I  too,  dislike  it:  there  are  things  that  are  important  beyond 
all  this  fiddle. 
Reading  it,  however,  with  a  perfect  contempt  for  it,  one  discovers 

in 
it  after  all,  a  place  for  the  genuine. 
Hands  that  can  grasp,  eyes 
that  can  dilate,  hair  that  can  rise 

if  it  must,  these  things  are  important  not  because  a 

high  sounding  interpretation  can  be  put  upon  them  but 
because  they  are 
useful;  when  they  become  so  derivative  as  to  become 

unintelligible, 
the  same  thing  may  be  said  for  all  of  us,  that  we 
do  not  admire  what 
we  cannot  understand:  the  bat 

holding  on  upside  down  or  in  quest  of  something  to 

eat,  elephants  pushing,  a  wild  horse  taking  a  roll,  a  tireless  wolf  under 
a  tree,  the  immovable  critic  twitching  his  skin  like  a  horse  that 

feels  a  flea,  the  base- 
ball fan,  the  statistician — 
nor  is  it  valid 

to  discriminate  against  "business  documents  and 

school-books";  all  these  phenomena  are  important.  One  must 
make  a  distinction 
however:  when  dragged  into  prominence  by  half  poets,  the  result 

is  not  poetry, 
nor  till  the  poets  among  us  can  be 
"literalists  of 
the  imagination" — above 

insolence  and  triviality  and  can  present 


92  POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


for  inspection,  "imaginary  gardens  with  real  toads  in  them," 
shall  we  have 
it.  In  the  meantime,  if  you  demand  on  one  hand, 
the  raw  material  of  poetry  in 
all  its  rawness  and 
that  which  is  on  the  other  hand 
genuine,  you  are  interested  in  poetry. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         93 


MARILYN   NELSON 


How  I  Discovered  Poetry 

It  was  like  soul-kissing,  the  way  the  words 

filled  my  mouth  as  Mrs.  Purdy  read  from  her  desk. 

All  the  other  kids  zoned  an  hour  ahead  to  3:15, 

but  Mrs.  Purdy  and  I  wandered  lonely  as  clouds  borne 

by  a  breeze  off  Mount  Parnassus.  She  must  have  seen 

the  darkest  eyes  in  the  room  brim:  The  next  day 

she  gave  me  a  poem  she'd  chosen  especially  for  me 

to  read  to  the  all  except  for  me  white  class. 

She  smiled  when  she  told  me  to  read  it,  smiled  harder, 

said  oh  yes  I  could.  She  smiled  harder  and  harder 

until  I  stood  and  opened  my  mouth  to  banjo  playing 

darkies,  pickaninnies,  disses  and  dats.  When  I  finished 

my  classmates  stared  at  the  floor.  We  walked  silent 

to  the  buses,  awed  by  the  power  of  words. 


94         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


YONE  NOGUCHI 


The  Poet 

Out  of  the  deep  and  the  dark, 

A  sparkling  mystery,  a  shape, 

Something  perfect, 

Comes  like  the  stir  of  the  day: 

One  whose  breath  is  an  odor, 

Whose  eyes  show  the  road  to  stars, 

The  breeze  in  his  face, 

The  glory  of  heaven  on  his  back. 

He  steps  like  a  vision  hung  in  air, 

Diffusing  the  passion  of  eternity; 

His  abode  is  the  sunlight  of  morn, 

The  music  of  eve  his  speech: 

In  his  sight, 

One  shall  turn  from  the  dust  of  the  grave, 

And  move  upward  to  the  woodland. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         95 


WILFRED  OWEN 


Duke  et  Decorum  Est 

Bent  double,  like  old  beggars  under  sacks, 
Knock-kneed,  coughing  like  hags,  we  cursed  through 

sludge, 
Till  on  the  haunting  flares  we  turned  our  backs 
And  towards  our  distant  rest  began  to  trudge. 
Men  marched  asleep.  Many  had  lost  their  boots 
But  limped  on,  blood-shod.  All  went  lame;  all  blind; 
Drunk  with  fatigue;  deaf  even  to  the  hoots 
Of  gas-shells  dropping  softly  behind. 

Gas!  GAS!  Quick,  boys! — An  ecstasy  of  fumbling, 
Fitting  the  clumsy  helmets  just  in  time; 
But  someone  still  was  yelling  out  and  stumbling 
And  flound'ring  like  a  man  in  fire  or  lime  . . . 
Dim,  through  the  misty  panes  and  thick  green  light, 
As  under  a  green  sea,  I  saw  him  drowning. 

In  all  my  dreams,  before  my  helpless  sight, 

He  plunges  at  me,  guttering,  choking,  drowning. 

If  in  some  smothering  dreams  you  too  could  pace 
Behind  the  wagon  that  we  flung  him  in, 
And  watch  the  white  eyes  writhing  in  his  face, 
His  hanging  face,  like  a  devil's  sick  of  sin; 
If  you  could  hear,  at  every  jolt,  the  blood 
Come  gargling  from  the  froth-corrupted  lungs, 
Obscene  as  cancer,  bitter  as  the  cud 
Of  vile,  incurable  sores  on  innocent  tongues, — 
My  friend,  you  would  not  tell  with  such  high  zest 
To  children  ardent  for  some  desperate  glory, 
The  old  Lie:  Dulce  et  decorum  est 
Pro  patria  mori.* 


:From  the  Roman  poet  Horace:  "It  is  sweet  and  fitting  to  die  for  one's  country." 


96         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


DOROTHY  PARKER 


One  Perfect  Rose 

A  single  flow'r  he  sent  me,  since  we  met. 

All  tenderly  his  messenger  he  chose; 
Deep-hearted,  pure,  with  scented  dew  still  wet — 

One  perfect  rose. 

I  knew  the  language  of  the  floweret; 

"My  fragile  leaves,"  it  said,  "his  heart  enclose." 
Love  long  has  taken  for  his  amulet 

One  perfect  rose. 

Why  is  it  no  one  ever  sent  me  yet 

One  perfect  limousine,  do  you  suppose? 

Ah  no,  it's  always  just  my  luck  to  get 
One  perfect  rose. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         97 


KATHERINE  PHILIPS 


Epitaph 

On  her  Son  H.P.  at  St.  Syth  's  Church  where  her  body  also  lies  interred 

What  on  Earth  deserves  our  trust? 
Youth  and  Beauty  both  are  dust. 
Long  we  gathering  are  with  pain, 
What  one  moment  calls  again. 
Seven  years  childless  marriage  past, 
A  Son,  a  son  is  born  at  last: 
So  exactly  lim'd  and  fair, 
Full  of  good  Spirits,  Meen,  and  Air, 
As  a  long  life  promised, 
Yet,  in  less  than  six  weeks  dead. 
Too  promising,  too  great  a  mind 
In  so  small  room  to  be  confined: 
Therefore,  as  fit  in  Heaven  to  dwell, 
He  quickly  broke  the  Prison  shell. 
So  the  subtle  Alchemist, 
Can't  with  Hermes  Seal  resist 
The  powerful  spirit's  subtler  flight, 
But  t'will  bid  him  long  good  night. 
And  so  the  Sun  if  it  arise 
Half  so  glorious  as  his  Eyes, 
Like  this  Infant,  takes  a  shrowd, 
Buried  in  a  morning  Cloud. 


98         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


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. 

J  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  kinsmen  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. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         99 


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  her  sepulchre  there  by  the  sea — 

In  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea. 


100       POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


ALEXANDER  POPE 


Ode  on  Solitude 

Happy  the  man,  whose  wish  and  care 

A  few  paternal  acres  bound, 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air, 

In  his  own  ground. 

Whose  herds  with  milk,  whose  fields  with  bread, 

Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire, 
Whose  trees  in  summer  yield  him  shade, 
In  winter  fire. 

Blest,  who  can  unconcernedly  find 

Hours,  days,  and  years  slide  soft  away, 
In  health  of  body,  peace  of  mind, 
Quiet  by  day, 

Sound  sleep  by  night;  study  and  ease, 
Together  mixed;  sweet  recreation; 
And  innocence,  which  most  does  please, 
With  meditation. 

Thus  let  me  live,  unseen,  unknown; 

Thus  unlamented  let  me  die; 
Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a  stone 
Tell  where  I  lie. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         101 


EZRA  POUND 


Envoi 

Go,  dumb-born  book, 

Tell  her  that  sang  me  once  that  song  of  Lawes: 

Hadst  thou  but  song 

As  thou  hast  subjects  known, 

Then  were  there  cause  in  thee  that  should  condone 

Even  my  faults  that  heavy  upon  me  lie 

And  build  her  glories  their  longevity. 

Tell  her  that  sheds 

Such  treasure  in  the  air, 

Recking  naught  else  but  that  her  graces  give 

Life  to  the  moment, 

I  would  bid  them  live 

As  roses  might,  in  magic  amber  laid, 

Red  overwrought  with  orange  and  all  made 

One  substance  and  one  colour 

Braving  time. 

Tell  her  that  goes 

With  song  upon  her  lips 

But  sings  not  out  the  song,  nor  knows 

The  maker  of  it,  some  other  mouth, 

May  be  as  fair  as  hers, 

Might,  in  new  ages,  gain  her  worshippers, 

When  our  two  dusts  with  Waller's  shall  be  laid, 

Siftings  on  siftings  in  oblivion, 

Till  change  hath  broken  down 

All  things  save  Beauty  alone. 


102        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


SIR  WALTER  RALEGH 


The  Nymph 's  Reply  to  the  Shepherd 

If  all  the  world  and  love  were  young, 
And  truth  in  every  Shepherd's  tongue, 
These  pretty  pleasures  might  me  move, 
To  live  with  thee,  and  be  thy  love. 

Time  drives  the  flocks  from  field  to  fold, 
When  Rivers  rage  and  Rocks  grow  cold, 
And  Philomel  becometh  dumb, 
The  rest  complains  of  cares  to  come. 

The  flowers  do  fade,  and  wanton  fields, 
To  wayward  winter  reckoning  yields, 
A  honey  tongue,  a  heart  of  gall, 
Is  fancy's  spring,  but  sorrow's  fall. 

Thy  gowns,  thy  shoes,  thy  beds  of  Roses, 
Thy  cap,  thy  kirtle,  and  thy  posies 
Soon  break,  soon  wither,  soon  forgotten: 
In  folly  ripe,  in  reason  rotten. 

Thy  belt  of  straw  and  Ivy  buds, 
The  Coral  clasps  and  amber  studs, 
All  these  in  me  no  means  can  move 
To  come  to  thee  and  be  thy  love. 

But  could  youth  last,  and  love  still  breed, 
Had  joys  no  date,  nor  age  no  need, 
Then  these  delights  my  mind  might  move 
To  live  with  thee,  and  be  thy  love. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST       103 


DUDLEY  RANDALL 


Ballad  of  Birmingham 

(On  the  bombing  of  a  church  in  Birmingham,  Alabama,  1963) 

"Mother  dear,  may  I  go  downtown 
Instead  of  out  to  play, 
And  march  the  streets  of  Birmingham 
In  a  Freedom  March  today?" 

"No,  baby,  no,  you  may  not  go, 
For  the  dogs  are  fierce  and  wild, 
And  clubs  and  hoses,  guns  and  jails 
Aren't  good  for  a  little  child." 

"But,  mother,  I  won't  be  alone. 
Other  children  will  go  with  me, 
And  march  the  streets  of  Birmingham 
To  make  our  country  free." 

"No,  baby,  no,  you  may  not  go, 
For  I  fear  those  guns  will  fire. 
But  you  may  go  to  church  instead 
And  sing  in  the  children's  choir." 

She  has  combed  and  brushed  her  night-dark  hair, 
And  bathed  rose  petal  sweet, 

And  drawn  white  gloves  on  her  small  brown  hands, 
And  white  shoes  on  her  feet. 

The  mother  smiled  to  know  her  child 
Was  in  the  sacred  place, 
But  that  smile  was  the  last  smile 
To  come  upon  her  face. 

For  when  she  heard  the  explosion, 

Her  eyes  grew  wet  and  wild. 

She  raced  through  the  streets  of  Birmingham 

Calling  for  her  child. 


I04       POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


She  clawed  through  bits  of  glass  and  brick, 
Then  lifted  out  a  shoe. 
"O,  here's  the  shoe  my  baby  wore, 
But,  baby,  where  are  you?" 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        105 


EDWIN  ARLINGTON   ROBINSON 


Miniver  Cheevy 

Miniver  Cheevy,  child  of  scorn, 

Grew  lean  while  he  assailed  the  seasons; 

He  wept  that  he  was  ever  born, 
And  he  had  reasons. 

Miniver  loved  the  days  of  old 

When  swords  were  bright  and  steeds  were  prancing; 
The  vision  of  a  warrior  bold 

Would  set  him  dancing. 

Miniver  sighed  for  what  was  not, 

And  dreamed,  and  rested  from  his  labors; 

He  dreamed  of  Thebes  and  Camelot, 
And  Priam's  neighbors. 

Miniver  mourned  the  ripe  renown 

That  made  so  many  a  name  so  fragrant; 

He  mourned  Romance,  now  on  the  town, 
And  Art,  a  vagrant. 

Miniver  loved  the  Medici, 

Albeit  he  had  never  seen  one; 
He  would  have  sinned  incessantly 

Could  he  have  been  one. 

Miniver  cursed  the  commonplace 

And  eyed  a  khaki  suit  with  loathing; 
He  missed  the  mediaeval  grace 

Of  iron  clothing. 


106        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Miniver  scorned  the  gold  he  sought, 
But  sore  annoyed  was  he  without  it; 

Miniver  thought,  and  thought,  and  thought, 
And  thought  about  it. 

Miniver  Cheevy,  born  too  late, 

Scratched  his  head  and  kept  on  thinking; 
Miniver  coughed,  and  called  it  fate, 

And  kept  on  drinking. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        107 


CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI 


Up-Hill 

Does  the  road  wind  up-hill  all  the  way? 

Yes,  to  the  very  end. 
Will  the  day's  journey  take  the  whole  long  day? 

From  morn  to  night,  my  friend. 

But  is  there  for  the  night  a  resting-place? 

A  roof  for  when  the  slow  dark  hours  begin. 
May  not  the  darkness  hide  it  from  my  face? 

You  cannot  miss  that  inn. 

Shall  I  meet  other  wayfarers  at  night? 

Those  who  have  gone  before. 
Then  must  I  knock,  or  call  when  just  in  sight? 

They  will  not  keep  you  standing  at  that  door. 

Shall  I  find  comfort,  travel-sore  and  weak? 

Of  labour  you  shall  find  the  sum. 
Will  there  be  beds  for  me  and  all  who  seek? 

Yea,  beds  for  all  who  come. 


108        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


BENJAMIN  ALIRE  SAENZ 


To  the  Desert 

I  came  to  you  one  rainless  August  night. 
You  taught  me  how  to  live  without  the  rain. 
You  are  thirst  and  thirst  is  all  I  know. 
You  are  sand,  wind,  sun,  and  burning  sky, 
The  hottest  blue.  You  blow  a  breeze  and  brand 
Your  breath  into  my  mouth.  You  reach — then  bend 
Your  force,  to  break,  blow,  burn,  and  make  me  new. 
You  wrap  your  name  tight  around  my  ribs 
And  keep  me  warm.  I  was  born  for  you. 
Above,  below,  by  you,  by  you  surrounded. 
I  wake  to  you  at  dawn.  Never  break  your 
Knot.  Reach,  rise,  blow,  Sdlvame,  mi  dios, 
Trdgame,  mi  tierra.  Salva,  traga,  Break  me, 
I  am  bread.  I  will  be  the  water  for  your  thirst. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST       109 


CARL  SANDBURG 


Chicago 

Hog  Butcher  for  the  World, 

Tool  Maker,  Stacker  of  Wheat, 

Player  with  Railroads  and  the  Nation's  Freight  Handler; 

Stormy,  husky,  brawling, 

City  of  the  Big  Shoulders: 

They  tell  me  you  are  wicked  and  I  believe  them,  for  I 
have  seen  your  painted  women  under  the  gas  lamps 
luring  the  farm  boys. 
And  they  tell  me  you  are  crooked  and  I  answer:  Yes,  it 
is  true  I  have  seen  the  gunman  kill  and  go  free  to 
kill  again. 
And  they  tell  me  you  are  brutal  and  my  reply  is:  On  the 
faces  of  women  and  children  I  have  seen  the  marks 
of  wanton  hunger. 
And  having  answered  so  I  turn  once  more  to  those  who 
sneer  at  this  my  city,  and  I  give  them  back  the  sneer 
and  say  to  them: 
Come  and  show  me  another  city  with  lifted  head  singing 

so  proud  to  be  alive  and  coarse  and  strong  and  cunning. 
Flinging  magnetic  curses  amid  the  toil  of  piling  job  on 
job,  here  is  a  tall  bold  slugger  set  vivid  against  the 
little  soft  cities; 
Fierce  as  a  dog  with  tongue  lapping  for  action,  cunning 
as  a  savage  pitted  against  the  wilderness, 
Bareheaded, 
Shoveling, 
Wrecking, 
Planning, 

Building,  breaking,  rebuilding, 
Under  the  smoke,  dust  all  over  his  mouth,  laughing  with 
white  teeth, 


MO        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Under  the  terrible  burden  of  destiny  laughing  as  a  young 
man  laughs, 

Laughing  even  as  an  ignorant  fighter  laughs  who  has 
never  lost  a  battle, 

Bragging  and  laughing  that  under  his  wrist  is  the  pulse, 
and  under  his  ribs  the  heart  of  the  people, 
Laughing! 

Laughing  the  stormy,  husky,  brawling  laughter  of 
Youth,  half-naked,  sweating,  proud  to  be  Hog 
Butcher,  Tool  Maker,  Stacker  of  Wheat,  Player  with 
Railroads  and  Freight  Handler  to  the  Nation. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST  III 


WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE 


When,  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes  (29) 

When,  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes, 
I  all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  state, 
And  trouble  deaf  heaven  with  my  bootless  cries, 
And  look  upon  myself  and  curse  my  fate, 
Wishing  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope, 
Featured  like  him,  like  him  with  friends  possessed, 
Desiring  this  man's  art  and  that  man's  scope, 
With  what  I  most  enjoy  contented  least; 
Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despising, 
Haply  I  think  on  thee,  and  then  my  state, 
(Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising 
From  sullen  earth)  sings  hymns  at  heaven's  gate; 
For  thy  sweet  love  remembered  such  wealth  brings 
That  then  I  scorn  to  change  my  state  with  kings. 


112         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Not  marble,  nor  the  gilded  monuments  (55) 

Not  marble,  nor  the  gilded  monuments 
Of  princes,  shall  outlive  this  powerful  rhyme 
But  you  shall  shine  more  bright  in  these  contents 
Than  unswept  stone,  besmeared  with  sluttish  time. 
When  wasteful  war  shall  statues  overturn, 
And  broils  root  out  the  work  of  masonry, 
Nor  Mars  his  sword  nor  war's  quick  fire  shall  burn 
The  living  record  of  your  memory. 
'Gainst  death  and  all-oblivious  enmity 
Shall  you  pace  forth;  your  praise  shall  still  find  room 
Even  in  the  eyes  of  all  posterity 
That  wear  this  world  out  to  the  ending  doom. 
So,  till  the  Judgement  that  yourself  arise, 
You  live  in  this,  and  dwell  in  lovers'  eyes. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         113 


PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY 


Ozymandias 

I  met  a  traveller  from  an  antique  land, 
Who  said:  "Two  vast  and  trunkless  legs  of  stone 
Stand  in  the  desert.  Near  them,  on  the  sand, 
Half  sunk,  a  shattered  visage  lies,  whose  frown, 
And  wrinkled  lip,  and  sneer  of  cold  command, 
Tell  that  its  sculptor  well  those  passions  read 
Which  yet  survive,  stamped  on  these  lifeless  things, 
The  hand  that  mocked  them  and  the  heart  that  fed; 
And  on  the  pedestal  these  words  appear: 
"My  name  is  Ozymandias,  king  of  kings; 
Look  on  my  works,  ye  mighty,  and  despair!" 
Nothing  beside  remains.  Round  the  decay 
Of  that  colossal  wreck,  boundless  and  bare 
The  lone  and  level  sands  stretch  far  away. 


114         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


CHARLOTTE  SMITH 


Oh,  Hope!  thou  soother  sweet  of  human  woes 

Oh,  Hope!  thou  soother  sweet  of  human  woes! 

How  shall  I  lure  thee  to  my  haunts  forlorn! 
For  me  wilt  thou  renew  the  withered  rose, 

And  clear  my  painful  path  of  pointed  thorn? 
Ah  come,  sweet  nymph!  in  smiles  and  softness  drest, 

Like  the  young  hours  that  lead  the  tender  year 
Enchantress  come!  and  charm  my  cares  to  rest: 

Alas!  the  flatterer  flies,  and  will  not  hear! 
A  prey  to  fear,  anxiety,  and  pain, 

Must  I  a  sad  existence  still  deplore? 
Lo!  the  flowers  fade,  but  all  the  thorns  remain, 

'For  me  the  vernal  garland  blooms  no  more.' 
Come  then,  'pale  Misery's  love!'  be  thou  my  cure, 
And  I  will  bless  thee,  who  though  slow  art  sure. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         115 


WALLACE  STEVENS 


Thirteen  Ways  of  Looking  at  a  Blackbird 


Among  twenty  snowy  mountains, 
The  only  moving  thing 
Was  the  eye  of  the  blackbird. 


ii 


I  was  of  three  minds, 

Like  a  tree 

In  which  there  are  three  blackbirds. 


in 


The  blackbird  whirled  in  the  autumn  winds. 
It  was  a  small  part  of  the  pantomime. 


IV 


A  man  and  a  woman 

Are  one. 

A  man  and  a  woman  and  a  blackbird 

Are  one. 


I  do  not  know  which  to  prefer, 
The  beauty  of  inflections 
Or  the  beauty  of  innuendoes, 
The  blackbird  whistling 
Or  just  after. 


116         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


VI 

Icicles  filled  the  long  window 

With  barbaric  glass. 

The  shadow  of  the  blackbird 

Crossed  it,  to  and  fro. 

The  mood 

Traced  in  the  shadow 

An  indecipherable  cause. 

VII 

0  thin  men  of  Haddam, 

Why  do  you  imagine  golden  birds? 
Do  you  not  see  how  the  blackbird 
Walks  around  the  feet 
Of  the  women  about  you? 

VIII 

1  know  noble  accents 

And  lucid,  inescapable  rhythms; 
But  I  know,  too, 
That  the  blackbird  is  involved 
In  what  I  know. 


IX 


When  the  blackbird  flew  out  of  sight, 
It  marked  the  edge 
Of  one  of  many  circles. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         117 


At  the  sight  of  blackbirds 
Flying  in  a  green  light, 
Even  the  bawds  of  euphony 
Would  cry  out  sharply. 

XI 

He  rode  over  Connecticut 

In  a  glass  coach. 

Once,  a  fear  pierced  him, 

In  that  he  mistook 

The  shadow  of  his  equipage 

For  blackbirds. 

XII 

The  river  is  moving. 

The  blackbird  must  be  flying. 

XIII 

It  was  evening  all  afternoon. 

It  was  snowing 

And  it  was  going  to  snow. 

The  blackbird  sat 

In  the  cedar-limbs. 


118         POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


JONATHAN  SWIFT 


A  Satirical  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Late  Famous  General 

His  Grace!  impossible!  what  dead! 

Of  old  age  too,  and  in  his  bed! 

And  could  that  mighty  warrior  fall? 

And  so  inglorious,  after  all! 

Well,  since  he's  gone,  no  matter  how, 

The  last  loud  trump  must  wake  him  now: 

And,  trust  me,  as  the  noise  grows  stronger, 

He'd  wish  to  sleep  a  little  longer. 

And  could  he  be  indeed  so  old 

As  by  the  newspapers  we're  told? 

Threescore,  I  think,  is  pretty  high; 

'Twas  time  in  conscience  he  should  die 

This  world  he  cumbered  long  enough; 

He  burnt  his  candle  to  the  snuff; 

And  that's  the  reason,  some  folks  think, 

He  left  behind  so  great  a  stink. 

Behold  his  funeral  appears, 

Nor  widow's  sighs,  nor  orphan's  tears, 

Wont  at  such  times  each  heart  to  pierce, 

Attend  the  progress  of  his  hearse. 

But  what  of  that,  his  friends  may  say, 

He  had  those  honours  in  his  day. 

True  to  his  profit  and  his  pride, 

He  made  them  weep  before  he  died. 

Come  hither,  all  ye  empty  things, 
Ye  bubbles  raised  by  breath  of  kings; 
Who  float  upon  the  tide  of  state, 
Come  hither,  and  behold  your  fate. 
Let  pride  be  taught  by  this  rebuke, 
How  very  mean  a  thing's  a  Duke; 
From  all  his  ill-got  honours  flung, 
Turned  to  that  dirt  from  whence  he  sprung. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         119 


RABINDRANATH  TAGORE 


Gitanjali  35 

Where  the  mind  is  without  fear  and  the  head  is  held  high; 
Where  knowledge  is  free; 
Where  the  world  has  not  been  broken  up  into  fragments  by 

narrow  domestic  walls; 
Where  words  come  out  from  the  depth  of  truth; 
Where  tireless  striving  stretches  its  arms  towards  perfection; 
Where  the  clear  stream  of  reason  has  not  lost  its  way  into  the 

dreary  desert  sand  of  dead  habit; 
Where  the  mind  is  led  forward  by  thee  into  ever-widening 

thought  and  action — 
Into  that  heaven  of  freedom,  my  Father,  let  my  country  awake. 


120        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


SARA  TEASDALE 


Let  It  Be  Forgotten 

Let  it  be  forgotten,  as  a  flower  is  forgotten, 
Forgotten  as  a  fire  that  once  was  singing  gold, 

Let  it  be  forgotten  for  ever  and  ever, 

Time  is  a  kind  friend,  he  will  make  us  old. 

If  anyone  asks,  say  it  was  forgotten 

Long  and  long  ago, 
As  a  flower,  as  a  fire,  as  a  hushed  footfall 

In  a  long  forgotten  snow. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         121 


ALFRED,   LORD  TENNYSON 


The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade 


Haifa  league,  half  a  league, 
Haifa  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"Forward,  the  Light  Brigade! 
Charge  for  the  guns!"  he  said. 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


ii 


"Forward,  the  Light  Brigade!" 
Was  there  a  man  dismayed? 
Not  though  the  soldier  knew 
Someone  had  blundered. 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die. 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 
Rode  the  six  hundred. 


in 


Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered; 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well, 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  hell 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


122        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


IV 


Flashed  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flashed  as  they  turned  in  air 
Sab 'ring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Plunged  in  the  battery-smoke 
Right  thro'  the  line  they  broke; 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reeled  from  the  sabre  stroke 

Shattered  and  sundered. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not 

Not  the  six  hundred. 


v 


Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered; 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
While  horse  and  hero  fell. 
They  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  through  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  six  hundred. 


VI 


When  can  their  glory  fade? 
O  the  wild  charge  they  made! 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Honour  the  charge  they  made! 
Honour  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  hundred! 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        123 


DYLAN  THOMAS 


Do  Not  Go  Gentle  into  That  Good  Night 

Do  not  go  gentle  into  that  good  night, 

Old  age  should  burn  and  rave  at  close  of  day; 

Rage,  rage  against  the  dying  of  the  light. 

Though  wise  men  at  their  end  know  dark  is  right, 
Because  their  words  had  forked  no  lightning  they 
Do  not  go  gentle  into  that  good  night. 

Good  men,  the  last  wave  by,  crying  how  bright 
Their  frail  deeds  might  have  danced  in  a  green  bay, 
Rage,  rage  against  the  dying  of  the  light. 

Wild  men  who  caught  and  sang  the  sun  in  flight, 
And  learn,  too  late,  they  grieved  it  on  its  way, 
Do  not  go  gentle  into  that  good  night. 

Grave  men,  near  death,  who  see  with  blinding  sight 
Blind  eyes  could  blaze  like  meteors  and  be  gay, 
Rage,  rage  against  the  dying  of  the  light. 

And  you,  my  father,  there  on  the  sad  height, 
Curse,  bless,  me  now  with  your  fierce  tears,  I  pray, 
Do  not  go  gentle  into  that  good  night. 
Rage,  rage  against  the  dying  of  the  light. 


124       POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Fern  Hill 

Now  as  I  was  young  and  easy  under  the  apple  boughs 
About  the  lilting  house  and  happy  as  the  grass  was  green, 
The  night  above  the  dingle  starry, 

Time  let  me  hail  and  climb 
Golden  in  the  heydays  of  his  eyes, 
And  honoured  among  wagons  I  was  prince  of  the  apple  towns 
And  once  below  a  time  I  lordly  had  the  trees  and  leaves 
Trail  with  daisies  and  barley 
Down  the  rivers  of  the  windfall  light. 

And  as  I  was  green  and  carefree,  famous  among  the  barns 
About  the  happy  yard  and  singing  as  the  farm  was  home, 
In  the  sun  that  is  young  once  only, 

Time  let  me  play  and  be 
Golden  in  the  mercy  of  his  means, 
And  green  and  golden  I  was  huntsman  and  herdsman,  the  calves 
Sang  to  my  horn,  the  foxes  on  the  hills  barked  clear  and  cold, 
And  the  sabbath  rang  slowly 
In  the  pebbles  of  the  holy  streams. 

All  the  sun  long  it  was  running,  it  was  lovely,  the  hay 
Fields  high  as  the  house,  the  tunes  from  the  chimneys,  it  was  air 
And  playing,  lovely  and  watery 

And  fire  green  as  grass. 
And  nightly  under  the  simple  stars 
As  I  rode  to  sleep  the  owls  were  bearing  the  farm  away, 
All  the  moon  long  I  heard,  blessed  among  stables,  the  nightjars 
Flying  with  the  ricks,  and  the  horses 
Flashing  into  the  dark. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        125 


And  then  to  awake,  and  the  farm,  like  a  wanderer  white 
With  the  dew,  come  back,  the  cock  on  his  shoulder:  it  was  all 
Shining,  it  was  Adam  and  maiden, 

The  sky  gathered  again 
And  the  sun  grew  round  that  very  day. 
So  it  must  have  been  after  the  birth  of  the  simple  light 
In  the  first,  spinning  place,  the  spellbound  horses  walking  warm 
Out  of  the  whinnying  green  stable 
On  to  the  fields  of  praise. 

And  honoured  among  foxes  and  pheasants  by  the  gay  house 
Under  the  new  made  clouds  and  happy  as  the  heart  was  long, 
In  the  sun  born  over  and  over, 

I  ran  my  heedless  ways, 
My  wishes  raced  through  the  house  high  hay 
And  nothing  I  cared,  at  my  sky  blue  trades,  that  time  allows 
In  all  his  tuneful  turning  so  few  and  such  morning  songs 
Before  the  children  green  and  golden 
Follow  him  out  of  grace, 

Nothing  I  cared,  in  the  lamb  white  days,  that  time  would  take  me 
Up  to  the  swallow  thronged  loft  by  the  shadow  of  my  hand, 
In  the  moon  that  is  always  rising, 

Nor  that  riding  to  sleep 
I  should  hear  him  fly  with  the  high  fields 
And  wake  to  the  farm  forever  fled  from  the  childless  land. 
Oh  as  I  was  young  and  easy  in  the  mercy  of  his  means, 
Time  held  me  green  and  dying 
Though  I  sang  in  my  chains  like  the  sea. 


126        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


JEAN  TOOMER 


November  Cotton  Flower 

Boll-weevil's  coming,  and  the  winter's  cold, 
Made  cotton-stalks  look  rusty,  season's  old, 
And  cotton,  scarce  as  any  southern  snow, 
Was  vanishing;  the  branch,  so  pinched  and  slow, 
Failed  in  its  function  as  the  autumn  rake; 
Drouth  fighting  soil  had  caused  the  soil  to  take 
All  water  from  the  streams;  dead  birds  were  found 
In  wells  a  hundred  feet  below  the  ground — 
Such  was  the  season  when  the  flower  bloomed. 
Old  folks  were  startled,  and  it  soon  assumed 
Significance.  Superstition  saw 
Something  it  had  never  seen  before: 
Brown  eyes  that  loved  without  a  trace  of  fear, 
Beauty  so  sudden  for  that  time  of  year. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        127 


AMY  UYEMATSU 


Deliberate 

So  by  sixteen  we  move  in  packs 

learn  to  strut  and  slide 

in  deliberate  lowdown  rhythm 

talk  in  a  syn/co/pa/ted  beat 

because  we  want  so  bad 

to  be  cool,  never  to  be  mistaken 

for  white,  even  when  we  leave 

these  rowdier  L.  A.  streets — 

remember  how  we  paint  our  eyes 

like  gangsters 

flash  our  legs  in  nylons 

sassy  black  high  heels 

or  two  inch  zippered  boots 

stack  them  by  the  door  at  night 

next  to  Daddy's  muddy  gardening  shoes. 


128        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


EDMUND  WALLER 


Song 

Go,  lovely  rose! 
Tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  me, 

That  now  she  knows, 
When  I  resemble  her  to  thee, 

How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

Tell  her  that's  young, 
And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied, 

That  hadst  thou  sprung 
In  deserts,  where  no  men  abide, 

Thou  must  have  uncommended  died. 

Small  is  the  worth 
Of  beauty  from  the  light  retired; 

Bid  her  come  forth, 
Suffer  herself  to  be  desired, 

And  not  blush  so  to  be  admired. 

Then  die!  that  she 
The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

May  read  in  thee; 
How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share 

That  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair! 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        129 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY 


On  Virtue 

0  thou  bright  jewel  in  my  aim  I  strive 

To  comprehend  thee.  Thine  own  words  declare 
Wisdom  is  higher  than  a  fool  can  reach. 

1  cease  to  wonder,  and  no  more  attempt 
Thine  height  t'explore,  or  fathom  thy  profound. 
But,  O  my  soul,  sink  not  into  despair, 

Virtue  is  near  thee,  and  with  gentle  hand 
Would  now  embrace  thee,  hovers  o'er  thine  head. 
Fain  would  the  heaven-born  soul  with  her  converse, 
Then  seek,  then  court  her  for  her  promised  bliss. 

Auspicious  queen,  thine  heavenly  pinions  spread, 

And  lead  celestial  Chastity  along; 

Lo!  now  her  sacred  retinue  descends, 

Arrayed  in  glory  from  the  orbs  above. 

Attend  me,  Virtue,  thro'  my  youthful  years! 

O  leave  me  not  to  the  false  joys  of  time! 

But  guide  my  steps  to  endless  life  and  bliss. 

Greatness,  or  Goodness,  say  what  I  shall  call  thee, 

To  give  an  higher  appellation  still, 

Teach  me  a  better  strain,  a  nobler  lay, 

O  Thou,  enthroned  with  Cherubs  in  the  realms  of  day! 


130        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


WALT  WHITMAN 


J  Hear  America  Singing 

I  hear  America  singing,  the  varied  carols  I  hear, 

Those  of  mechanics,  each  one  singing  his  as  it  should  be  blithe  and 

strong, 
The  carpenter  singing  his  as  he  measures  his  plank  or  beam, 
The  mason  singing  his  as  he  makes  ready  for  work,  or  leaves  off  work, 
The  boatman  singing  what  belongs  to  him  in  his  boat,  the  deckhand 

singing  on  the  steamboat  deck, 
The  shoemaker  singing  as  he  sits  on  his  bench,  the  hatter  singing  as  he 

stands, 
The  wood-cutter's  song,  the  ploughboy's  on  his  way  in  the  morning, 

or  at  noon  intermission  or  at  sundown, 
The  delicious  singing  of  the  mother,  or  of  the  young  wife  at  work,  or 

of  the  girl  sewing  or  washing, 
Each  singing  what  belongs  to  him  or  her  and  to  none  else, 
The  day  what  belongs  to  the  day — at  night  the  party  of  young 

fellows,  robust,  friendly, 
Singing  with  open  mouths  their  strong  melodious  songs. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST         131 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 


Barbara  Frietchie 

Up  from  the  meadows  rich  with  corn, 
Clear  in  the  cool  September  morn, 

The  clustered  spires  of  Frederick  stand 
Green-walled  by  the  hills  of  Maryland. 

Round  about  them  orchards  sweep, 
Apple-  and  peach-tree  fruited  deep, 

Fair  as  a  garden  of  the  Lord 

To  the  eyes  of  the  famished  rebel  horde, 

On  that  pleasant  morn  of  the  early  fall 
When  Lee  marched  over  the  mountain  wall, 

Over  the  mountains  winding  down, 
Horse  and  foot,  into  Frederick  town. 

Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars, 
Forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars, 

Flapped  in  the  morning  wind:  the  sun 
Of  noon  looked  down,  and  saw  not  one. 

Up  rose  old  Barbara  Frietchie  then, 
Bowed  with  her  fourscore  years  and  ten; 

Bravest  of  all  in  Frederick  town, 

She  took  up  the  flag  the  men  hauled  down; 

In  her  attic  window  the  staff  she  set, 
To  show  that  one  heart  was  loyal  yet. 

Up  the  street  came  the  rebel  tread, 
Stonewall  Jackson  riding  ahead. 


132        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Under  his  slouched  hat  left  and  right 
He  glanced:  the  old  flag  met  his  sight. 

"Halt!" —  the  dust-brown  ranks  stood  fast. 
"Fire!" —  out  blazed  the  rifle-blast. 

It  shivered  the  window,  pane  and  sash; 
It  rent  the  banner  with  seam  and  gash. 

Quick,  as  it  fell,  from  the  broken  staff 
Dame  Barbara  snatched  the  silken  scarf; 

She  leaned  far  out  on  the  window-sill, 
And  shook  it  forth  with  a  royal  will. 

"Shoot,  if  you  must,  this  old  gray  head, 
But  spare  your  country's  flag,"  she  said. 

A  shade  of  sadness,  a  blush  of  shame, 
Over  the  face  of  the  leader  came; 

The  nobler  nature  within  him  stirred 
To  life  at  that  woman's  deed  and  word: 

"Who  touches  a  hair  of  yon  gray  head 
Dies  like  a  dog!  March  on!"  he  said. 

All  day  long  through  Frederick  street 
Sounded  the  tread  of  marching  feet: 

All  day  long  that  free  flag  tost 
Over  the  heads  of  the  rebel  host. 

Ever  its  torn  folds  rose  and  fell 

On  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well; 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        133 


And  through  the  hill-gaps  sunset  light 
Shone  over  it  with  a  warm  good-night. 

Barbara  Frietchie's  work  is  o'er, 

And  the  Rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more. 

Honor  to  her!  and  let  a  tear 

Fall,  for  her  sake,  on  Stonewall's  bier. 

Over  Barbara  Frietchie's  grave 
Flag  of  Freedom  and  Union,  wave! 

Peace  and  order  and  beauty  draw 
Round  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law; 

And  ever  the  stars  above  look  down 
On  thy  stars  below  in  Frederick  town! 


134        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


WILLIAM  CARLOS  WILLIAMS 


D arise  Russe 

If  when  my  wife  is  sleeping 

and  the  baby  and  Kathleen 

are  sleeping 

and  the  sun  is  a  flame-white  disc 

in  silken  mists 

above  shining  trees, — 

if  I  in  my  north  room 

dance  naked,  grotesquely 

before  my  mirror 

waving  my  shirt  round  my  head 

and  singing  softly  to  myself: 

"I  am  lonely,  lonely. 

I  was  born  to  be  lonely, 

I  am  best  so!" 

If  I  admire  my  arms,  my  face, 

my  shoulders,  flanks,  buttocks 

against  the  yellow  drawn  shades, — 

Who  shall  say  I  am  not 

the  happy  genius  of  my  household? 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        135 


WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH 


The  World  Is  Too  Much  with  Us 

The  world  is  too  much  with  us;  late  and  soon, 

Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers ;- 

Little  we  see  in  Nature  that  is  ours; 

We  have  given  our  hearts  away,  a  sordid  boon! 

This  Sea  that  bares  her  bosom  to  the  moon; 

The  winds  that  will  be  howling  at  all  hours, 

And  are  up-gathered  now  like  sleeping  flowers; 

For  this,  for  everything,  we  are  out  of  tune; 

It  moves  us  not.  Great  God!  I'd  rather  be 

A  Pagan  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn; 

So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea, 

Have  glimpses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn; 

Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea; 

Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn. 


136        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


SIR  THOMAS  WYATT 


They  flee  from  me  that  sometime  did  me  seek 

They  flee  from  me  that  sometime  did  me  seek 
With  naked  foot,  stalking  in  my  chamber. 
I  have  seen  them  gentle,  tame,  and  meek, 
That  now  are  wild  and  do  not  remember 
That  sometime  they  put  themself  in  danger 
To  take  bread  at  my  hand;  and  now  they  range, 
Busily  seeking  with  a  continual  change. 

Thanked  be  fortune  it  hath  been  otherwise 

Twenty  times  better;  but  once  in  special, 

In  thin  array  after  a  pleasant  guise, 

When  her  loose  gown  from  her  shoulders  did  fall, 

And  she  me  caught  in  her  arms  long  and  small; 

Therewithall  sweetly  did  me  kiss 

And  softly  said,  "Dear  heart,  how  like  you  this?" 

It  was  no  dream:  I  lay  broad  waking. 
But  all  is  turned  thorough  my  gentleness 
Into  a  strange  fashion  of  forsaking; 
And  I  have  leave  to  go  of  her  goodness, 
And  she  also,  to  use  newfangleness. 
But  since  that  I  so  kindly  am  served 
I  would  fain  know  what  she  hath  deserved. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        137 


ELINOR  WYLIE 


Cold  Blooded  Creatures 

Man,  the  egregious  egoist, 
(In  mystery  the  twig  is  bent,) 
Imagines,  by  some  mental  twist, 
That  he  alone  is  sentient 

Of  the  intolerable  load 
Which  on  all  living  creatures  lies, 
Nor  stoops  to  pity  in  the  toad 
The  speechless  sorrow  of  its  eyes. 

He  asks  no  questions  of  the  snake, 
Nor  plumbs  the  phosphorescent  gloom 
Where  lidless  fishes,  broad  awake, 
Swim  staring  at  a  night-mare  doom. 


138        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


WILLIAM  BUTLER  YEATS 


The  Lake  Isle  oflnnisfree 

I  will  arise  and  go  now,  and  go  to  Innisfree, 
And  a  small  cabin  build  there,  of  clay  and  wattles  made; 
Nine  bean-rows  will  I  have  there,  a  hive  for  the  honey-bee, 
And  live  alone  in  the  bee-loud  glade. 

And  I  shall  have  some  peace  there,  for  peace  comes  dropping  slow, 
Dropping  from  the  veils  of  the  morning  to  where  the  cricket  sings; 
There  midnight's  all  a  glimmer,  and  noon  a  purple  glow, 
And  evening  full  of  the  linnet's  wings. 

I  will  arise  and  go  now,  for  always  night  and  day 
I  hear  lake  water  lapping  with  low  sounds  by  the  shore; 
While  I  stand  on  the  roadway,  or  on  the  pavements  grey, 
I  hear  it  in  the  deep  heart's  core. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        139 


When  You  Are  Old 

When  you  are  old  and  grey  and  full  of  sleep, 
And  nodding  by  the  fire,  take  down  this  book, 
And  slowly  read,  and  dream  of  the  soft  look 
Your  eyes  had  once,  and  of  their  shadows  deep; 

How  many  loved  your  moments  of  glad  grace, 
And  loved  your  beauty  with  love  false  or  true, 
But  one  man  loved  the  pilgrim  soul  in  you, 
And  loved  the  sorrows  of  your  changing  face; 

And  bending  down  beside  the  glowing  bars, 
Murmur,  a  little  sadly,  how  Love  fled 
And  paced  upon  the  mountains  overhead 
And  hid  his  face  amid  a  crowd  of  stars. 


140       POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


NOTES  &  CREDITS 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTES 


matthew  Arnold  (1822 -1888),  poet  and  essayist,  sharply  criti- 
cized the  materialism  of  the  Victorians.  "Dover  Beach"  anticipates 
twentieth-century  modernist  poets  in  contemplating  a  world 
where  old  beliefs  and  values  have  withered.  In  his  influential 
Culture  and  Anarchy,  he  argues  that  culture  could  unify  society  by 
making  "the  best  that  has  been  thought  and  known  in  the  world 
current  everywhere." 

w(ystan)  h(ugh)  auden  (1907 -1973)  grew  up  in  Birmingham, 
England  and  was  known  for  his  extraordinary  intellect  and  wit. 
His  first  book,  Poems,  was  published  in  1930  with  the  help  of  T.S. 
Eliot.  Just  before  World  War  11  broke  out,  Auden  emigrated  to  the 
United  States  where  he  met  the  poet  Chester  Kallman  who  became 
his  lifelong  lover.  Auden  won  the  Pulitzer  Prize  in  1948  for  The  Age 
of  Anxiety- 

aphra  behn  (1640  -  1689)  was  the  first  English  woman  to  earn  her 
living  as  a  writer.  Her  fiction  — including  a  work  critical  of  slavery  — 
is  often  political  and  her  plays  are  frequently  bawdy.  She  sometimes 
scandalized  her  audience,  but  her  work  broke  new  literary  ground 
and  sold  well. 

Ambrose  bierce  (1842-1914?)  was  a  journalist,  short  story  writer, 
poet,  and  satirist  who  wrote  about  the  culture  around  him  with  fear- 
lessness and  wit.  He  was  one  of  the  most  popular  writers  of  his 
time,  and  his  book  The  Devil's  Dictionary,  a  collection  of  skewering 
aphorisms,  remains  a  classic.  Bierce  disappeared  mysteriously  after 
deciding  to  go  to  war-torn  Mexico  at  the  age  of  seventy-one. 

william  blake  (1757  - 1827)  was  born  in  London,  where  he  spent 
most  of  his  life  working  as  an  engraver  and  illustrator.  At  about  age 
ten,  Blake  had  his  first  vision:  a  tree  filled  with  angels.  Mysticism  is 
one  of  the  hallmarks  of  his  work.  While  his  poetry  was  not  widely 
known  during  his  lifetime,  his  writing  and  his  art  have  continued  to 
grow  in  popularity. 

louise  bogan  (1897-1970)  published  most  of  her  poetry  before 
age  40.  Her  first  collection,  Body  of  this  Death,  appeared  in  1923  and 


144       POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


her  sixth,  The  Sleeping  Fury,  in  1937.  Her  work  is  often  exactingly 
formal  yet  intensely  personal.  She  reviewed  poetry  for  the  New 
Yorker  for  38  years,  becoming  one  of  America's  most  astute  critics. 

anne  bradstreet  (1612-1672)  is  generally  considered  the  first 
American  poet.  Born  around  1612  near  Northampton,  England,  she 
married  Simon  Bradstreet  at  age  16,  and  the  couple  emigrated  to  the 
New  World  in  1630.  In  such  bestselling  collections  as  The  Tenth 
Muse  Lately  Sprung  Up  in  America,  Bradstreet  wrote  of  her  life  as  a 
mother,  wife,  and  daughter  during  the  establishment  of  the 
Massachusetts  Bay  Colony. 

emily  bronte's  (1818  -  1848)  first  verses  appeared  in  a  book  with 
work  by  her  sisters  Charlotte  and  Anne,  pseudonymously  titled 
Poems  by  Currer,  Ellis,  and  Acton  Bell  in  order  to  conceal  the  authors' 
gender.  Emily's  poems  are  distinguished  from  her  siblings'  by  their 
sober  tone  and  visionary  spirituality,  qualities  also  found  in  her 
famous  novel,  Wuthering  Heights . 

When  rupert  brooke  (1887-1915)  died  at  the  age  of  27,  he  was 
immortalized  as  a  charismatic  poet  whom  W.B.  Yeats  called  "the 
handsomest  young  man  in  England,"  and  as  a  symbol  of  what  would 
be  known  as  the  "Lost  Generation."  His  patriotic  poetry  strength- 
ened support  for  World  Wan,  although  he  did  not  see  much  combat. 

Gwendolyn  brooks  (1917-2000)  was  born  in  Topeka,  Kansas, 
though  she  spent  most  of  her  life  on  Chicago's  south  side,  whose 
Bronzeville  neighborhood  she  memorialized  in  her  poetry.  She 
received  the  Pulitzer  Prize  —  the  first  African  American  so  honored 
—  for  Annie  Allen  in  1950.  One  of  her  best-loved  poems,  "we  real 
cool,"  is  about  the  short,  sad  lives  of  pool-playing  truants.  Brooks  was 
devoted  to  encouraging  young  people  to  write. 

Elizabeth  barrett  browning  (1806-1861)  began  writing  as  a 
young  girl  in  Durham,  England.  Despite  a  nervous  collapse,  a  period 
of  grief  occasioned  by  the  untimely  deaths  of  two  brothers,  and  a  life- 
time of  illness,  she  continued  to  write  poetry  and  essays  about  politics 
and  social  injustices,  eventually  becoming  one  of  the  greatest  writers 


national  recitation  contest      145 


of  the  Victorian  Era.  In  1846  she  eloped  to  Florence,  Italy,  with 
Robert  Browning,  to  whom  she  dedicated  her  best-known  book, 
Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese. 

robert  browning  (1812-1889)  was  born  in  Camberwell, 
England,  and  his  education  mostly  took  place  among  his  father's 
6,000-book  library.  As  a  writer,  Browning  was  regarded  as  a  failure 
for  many  years,  living  in  the  shadow  of  his  wife  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning.  However,  late  in  life  Browning's  brilliant  use  of  dramatic 
monologue  made  him  a  literary  icon.  Today,  his  most  widely  read 
work  is  Men  and  Women,  a  collection  of  dramatic  monologues  dedi- 
cated to  his  wife. 

robert  burns  (1759 -1796)  is  considered  the  unofficial  national 
poet  of  Scotland.  He  wrote  some  poetry  in  standard  English,  but  his 
poems  and  songs  in  Scottish  dialect  are  better  remembered.  His  patri- 
otic poem  "Scots  Wha  Hae"  stirs  Scottish  sentiment  to  this  day,  and 
his  song  "Auld  Lang  Syne"  is  synonymous  with  New  Year's  Eve. 

george  Gordon,  lord  byron's  (1788-1824)  adventurous  life 
overshadows  his  work:  he  became  a  British  peer  at  age  ten,  traveled 
widely,  was  cast  out  of  society  for  scandalous  love  affairs,  and  died 
while  preparing  for  battle.  However,  his  Romantic  poetry  has  inspired 
writers,  composers,  moody  loners,  and  rebels  around  the  world. 
Artists  as  diverse  as  French  composer  Hector  Berlioz  and  Russian  poet 
Alexander  Pushkin  have  cited  his  work  as  a  major  influence. 

thomas  campion  (1567-1620),  born  in  London,  practiced  medi- 
cine to  support  himself,  but  his  passions  were  poetry  and  music. 
Especially  fond  of  epigrams,  he  published  Epigrammatum  Libri  II, 
a  collection  of  453  of  the  short  poems.  Campion  also  published  sever- 
al books  of  ayres,  which  are  non-religious  songs  for  a  solo  voice,  and 
even  wrote  libretti  for  masques  performed  in  King  James's  court. 

Since  Alice's  Adventures  in  Wonderland  first  appeared  in  1865,  lewis 
Carroll's  (Charles  Lutwidge  Dodgson,  1832- 1898)  works  have 
been  loved  by  children  and  adults  alike.  His  nonsense  poetry  and 
invented  language  create  clear  images  of  fantastic  landscapes,  animals, 
and  heroes. 

lady  mary  chudleigh  (1656  - 1710)  was  a  devout  Anglican  who 
educated  herself  and,  ahead  of  her  time,  challenged  traditional  gender 
roles.  "To  the  Ladies"  appeared  in  Poems  on  Several  Occasions  (1703); 


146     poetry  out  loud 


it  echoes  the  feminist  argument  she  set  forth  in  The  Female  Advocate; 
or,  A  Plea  for  the  Just  Liberty  of  the  Tender  Sex  and  Particularly  of 
Married  Women. 

john  clare  (1793-1864)  was  born  into  a  peasant  family  in 
Helpston,  England.  Although  he  was  the  son  of  illiterate  parents, 
Clare  received  some  formal  schooling.  While  earning  money  through 
such  manual  labor  as  ploughing  and  threshing,  he  published  several 
volumes  of  poetry,  including  Poems  Descriptive  of  Rural  Life  and 
Scenery.  After  suffering  from  delusions,  Clare  was  admitted  to  an 
insane  asylum  where  he  spent  the  final  20  years  of  his  life. 

lucille  Clifton  (b.  1936)  was  born  in  Depew,  New  York,  and 
educated  at  Howard  University,  where  she  met  fellow  writers 
Sterling  Brown,  A.B.  Spellman,  and  Toni  Morrison.  Clifton's  free 
verse  lyrics  —  spare  in  form  —  often  concern  the  importance  of  fami- 
ly and  community  in  the  face  of  economic  oppression.  Though 
rooted  in  folktales  and  a  strong  tradition  of  storytelling,  many  of 
Clifton's  poems  are  spirited,  sometimes  spiritual,  explorations  of 
race  and  gender. 

samuel  taylor  coleridge  (1772  - 1834)  published  The  Lyrical 
Ballads  with  William  Wordsworth  in  1798,  an  event  later  seen  as  the 
beginning  of  the  Romantic  movement  in  England.  Coleridge  held 
imagination  to  be  the  vital  force  behind  poetry,  and  distinguished 
among  different  kinds  of  imagination  in  his  long  prose  work 
Biographia  Literaria.  The  haunting  imagery  of  his  poems  "The 
Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner"  and  "Kubla  Khan"  is  familiar  to 
millions  of  readers. 

Born  in  Garrettsville,  Ohio,  hart  crane  (1899 -1932)  left  his 
unhappy  home  for  New  York  before  his  last  year  of  high  school. 
He  planned  —  against  his  father's  wishes  —  to  pursue  a  career  as  a 
poet.  Crane  became  part  of  the  poetry  scene  in  Greenwich  Village 
where  he  produced  his  most  important  work,  the  book-length  poem 
The  Bridge.  At  age  33  Crane  committed  suicide  by  jumping  from 
the  deck  of  a  steamship  en  route  from  Mexico  to  New  York. 

An  orphan  in  New  York  City,  countee  cullen  (1903  -  1946)  was 
adopted  by  a  reverend  and  raised  in  a  Methodist  parsonage.  A  bril- 
liant student,  he  began  writing  poetry  at  age  14  and  as  a  student  at 
New  York  University  wrote  most  of  the  poems  in  his  first  three 
books:  Color,  Copper  Sun,  and  The  Ballad  of  the  Brown  Girl.  Cullen 


national  recitation  contest      147 


became  a  prominent  poet  of  the  Harlem  Renaissance,  although  some 
of  his  peers  criticized  him  for  avoiding  political  and  social  issues. 

e(dward)  e(stlin)  cummings  (1894 -1962)  claimed  to  have 
composed  a  poem  a  day  for  fourteen  years.  Cummings  developed  a 
unique  style  of  writing,  full  of  experimentation  with  form,  spelling, 
syntax,  and  punctuation.  Also  a  painter,  he  called  himself  "an  author  of 
pictures,  a  draughtsman  of  words."  Cummings's  novel  Hie  Enormous 
Room  describes  his  time  spent  in  a  World  War  1  prison  camp. 

Born  in  Michigan,  toi  derricotte  (b.  1941)  is  the  co-founder 
of  the  African-American  writers  retreat,  Cave  Canem,  and  Professor 
of  English  at  the  University  of  Pittsburgh.  A  two-time  poetry  fel- 
lowship recipient  from  the  National  Endowment  for  the  Arts,  her 
literary  memoir,  The  Black  Notebooks,  won  the  1998  Annisfield-Wolf 
Book  Award  for  Nonfiction. 

The  famous  hermit  from  Amherst,  Massachusetts,  emily  Dickinson 
(1830 -1886)  published  only  eight  poems  during  her  lifetime.  Today 
her  nearly  2,000  succinct,  profound  meditations  on  life  and  death, 
nature,  love,  and  art  make  her  one  of  the  most  original  and  important 
poets  in  English. 

There  are  twojOHN  donnes  (1572-1631):  the  brilliant,  pleasure- 
seeking  man-about-town  who  in  his  youth  wrote  frank  love  poems  to 
various  women  along  with  satires  that  jeered  his  fellow  men,  and  the 
sober,  serious  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  an  Anglican  reverend  famed  for  his 
moving  sermons  and  profound  "Holy  Sonnets."  One  of  the 
Metaphysical  poets  (John  Dryden  coined  the  term  half  a  century 
later),  Donne  was  known  for  his  razor  wit  and  his  extended  compar- 
isons, also  called  conceits. 

In  a  career  that  spanned  five  decades,  h.d.  (Hilda  Doolittle,  1886  - 
1961)  was  given  many  labels:  Imagist,  feminist,  mythologist,  and 
mystic.  Her  abiding  concern,  though,  was  to  explore  and  represent 
her  personal  experience  as  a  poet  and  a  woman.  In  addition  to  poetry, 
she  published  novels,  short  stories,  and  two  epic  poems  on  war: 
Trilogy  and  Helen  in  Egypt. 

The  first  African- American  woman  to  be  named  Poet  Laureate  of  the 
United  States,  and  only  the  second  to  win  a  Pulitzer  Prize  for  poetry 
(Thomas  and  Beulah,  1987),  rita  dove  (b.  1952)  has  achieved  a 
great  deal  in  a  career  not  yet  three-decades  old.  Her  multi-layered 


148      poetry  out  loud 


poems  dramatize  the  stories  of  individuals  both  living  and  dead 
against  the  backdrop  of  larger  historical  forces. 

The  son  of  former  slaves,  paul  laurence  dunbar  (1872  -  1906) 
was  the  first  African-American  poet  to  reach  a  wide  audience, 
publishing  prolifically  before  his  early  death.  His  use  of  both 
dialect  and  standard  English  to  portray  his  culture's  folkways,  joys, 
and  travails  distinguishes  him  from  other  writers  of  the  time.  He 
also  spoke  out  against  racism  and  injustice  in  essays  that  appeared 
in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  the  Saturday  Evening  Post,  and  other  main- 
stream publications. 

Arguably  the  most  famous  poet  of  the  Modernist  movement, 
t(homas)  s(tearns)  eliot  (1888-1965)  revolutionized  the  art 
first  with  "The  Love  Song  of  J.  Alfred  Prufrock"  in  19 15  and  then 
with  the  1922  publication  of  his  long,  difficult  poem  The  Waste 
Land.  He  also  became  famous  for  his  criticism  and  later  for  the 
poems  adapted  into  the  Broadway  musical  Cats.  Although  born  in 
St.  Louis,  he  spent  most  of  his  adult  life  in  England,  working  first  in 
banking,  then  in  publishing. 

The  daughter  of  Henry  viii  and  Anne  Boleyn,  queen  Elizabeth  i 
(1533  -  1603)  ascended  to  the  throne  in  1558.  Elizabeth's  artful  use  of 
ambiguity  infuses  her  writing.  She  produced  the  first  English  transla- 
tion of  Horace's  Art  of  Poetry.  Her  respect  for  learning  created  an 
atmosphere  conducive  to  the  arts  and  education,  and  cultural  life 
flourished  during  her  reign.  Edmund  Spenser  wrote  his  powerful 
Faerie  Queen  in  her  honor. 

Born  in  Boston,  ralph  waldo  emerson  (1803  - 1882)  followed  in 
his  father's  footsteps  when  he  became  a  Unitarian  minister.  However, 
after  his  young  wife  died  of  tuberculosis  in  1831,  he  found  his  faith 
shaken.  The  next  year  he  traveled  Europe  where  he  formed  the  basis 
of  his  Transcendentalist  philosophy  —  the  intuitive  belief  in  the  one- 
ness of  the  world  rather  than  in  scientific  rationalism  or  formal  reli- 
gion. After  returning  to  New  England,  Emerson  published 
"Nature,"  "Self-Reliance,"  and  "Experience,"  the  essays  that  estab- 
lished him  as  one  of  the  most  important  thinkers  in  America. 

rhina  p.  espaillat  (b.  1932)  was  born  in  the  Dominican 
Republic  under  the  dictatorship  of  Rafael  Trujillo.  After  Espaillat's 
father  opposed  the  regime,  her  family  was  exiled  to  the  United 
States,  where  they  settled  in  New  York  City.  She  began  writing 


national  recitation  contest     149 


poetry  as  a  young  girl,  first  in  Spanish,  then  English,  and  has  pub- 
lished in  both  languages. 

ANNE   FINCH,   COUNTESS   OF  WINCHILSEA  (1661-I720)  Was  well 

educated  for  a  woman  of  her  time.  She  had  the  privilege  of  living  in 
the  court  of  Charles  n  by  serving  as  a  maid  of  honor  to  Mary  of 
Modena.  During  this  time  Finch  secretly  wrote  poetry  and  published 
anonymously.  Miscellany  Poems  on  Several  Occasions  appeared  in 
1713,  the  first  publication  that  publicly  acknowledged  her 
authorship.  In  1712  her  husband  unexpectedly  inherited  the  title  of 
Earl,  making  Finch  the  Countess  of  Winchilsea. 

robert  frost  (1874-1963)  is  considered  the  bard  of  New 
England.  Casual  readers  sometimes  overlook  the  depth  of  his  poetry 
and  its  technical  accomplishment.  His  apparently  simple  poems  — 
collected  in  volumes  from  A  Boy's  Will  to  In  the  Clearing  —  reveal  a 
darker  heart  upon  close  reading,  and  his  easy  conversational  style  is 
propelled  by  an  unfaltering  meter  and  an  assiduous  sensitivity  to  the 
sounds  of  language. 

thomas  gray  (1716  -1771)  was  born  in  London  and  was  the  only  of 
twelve  siblings  to  survive.  Although  his  family  had  a  modest  income, 
Gray  was  able  to  attend  Eton  and  Cambridge  with  his  uncle's  help.  In 
1742  he  wrote  his  first  important  poems,  including  "Ode  on  a  Distant 
Prospect  of  Eton  College."  When  he  wrote,  he  perfected  each  line 
before  moving  on  to  the  next;  he  took  years  to  complete  "Elegy 
Written  in  a  Country  Churchyard,"  now  one  of  the  most  frequently 
quoted  English  poems. 

thomas  hardy  (1840-1928)  was  born  in  Dorset  County, 
England,  where  he  studied  architecture,  but  he  later  quit  to  pursue  a 
literary  career.  In  order  to  gain  financial  stability,  Hardy  first  pub- 
lished novels,  including  such  classics  as  Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles  and 
Jude  the  Obscure.  Once  he  was  well  known  and  well  off  financially,  he 
returned  to  poetry,  his  first  love.  Hardy's  dark,  bleak  verse  was  at 
odds  with  his  Victorian  contemporaries  who  tended  to  present  more 
optimistic  perspectives  on  life. 

Like  other  Native-American  poets  such  as  N.  Scott  Momaday,  Simon 
Ortiz,  and  Leslie  Marmon  Silko,  joy  harjo  (b.  1951)  writes  in  an 
effort  to  re-establish  lost  connections:  with  the  sacred  land,  powerful 
ancestors,  and  fellow  searchers  along  the  margins  of  contemporary  life. 
She  also  plays  in  a  band  called  Poetic  Justice. 


150     poetry  out  loud 


Deeply  influenced  by  the  blues  and  jazz,  michael  s.  harper  (b. 
1938)  draws  attention  in  his  work  to  the  many  injustices  suffered  by 
African  Americans  over  the  course  of  this  country's  history.  Then, 
like  the  musicians  he  so  admires,  out  of  this  painful  and  even  tragic 
legacy,  he  makes  song. 

Born  Asa  Bundy  Sheffey  into  a  poor  family,  Robert  hay  den's 
(1913-1980)  parents  left  him  to  be  raised  by  foster  parents.  Due 
to  extreme  nearsightedness,  Hayden  turned  to  books  rather  than 
sports  in  his  childhood.  Some  of  his  best-known  poems  can  be  found 
in  his  collection  A  Ballad  of  Remembrance.  Hayden  was  the  first 
African  American  to  be  appointed  as  Consultant  in  Poetry  to  the 
Library  of  Congress. 

While  george  Herbert's  (1593 -1633)  early  adult  life  centered 
around  the  secular  world  of  the  university,  his  later  dedication  to 
Christianity  and  to  poetry  have  had  a  lasting  effect  on  literature.  His 
mother  was  well  acquainted  with  John  Donne,  with  whose  work 
Herbert's  is  often  associated.  Herbert's  poetry,  although  often  for- 
mally experimental,  is  always  passionate,  searching,  and  elegant. 

Robert  herrick  (1591  -  1674)  was  born  in  London  and  may  have 
attended  the  Westminster  School.  At  age  16,  he  was  apprenticed  to 
his  uncle,  a  goldsmith,  but  he  terminated  the  apprenticeship  after  six 
years  and  went  to  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge,  where  he  received 
a  master's  degree.  He  greatly  admired  Ben  Jonson  and  became  part 
of  the  group  known  as  the  "Tribe  of  Ben."  Herrick  never  married; 
many  of  the  women  he  addresses  in  the  poem  in  his  volume 
Hesperides  may  have  been  fictional. 

Oliver  wendell  holmes  (1809-1894),  born  in  Cambridge, 
Massachusetts,  was  a  brilliant  doctor  who  was  well  known  for 
his  witty  lectures  at  Harvard.  Also  a  poet  and  essayist,  Holmes's 
prose  series  "The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table"  first  appeared  in 
the  Atlantic  Monthly  with  its  inaugural  issue  in  1857.  A  year  later 
it  was  published  as  a  book,  which  also  included  some  of  his  most  mem- 
orable poetry. 

gerard  manley  hopkins's  (1844-1889)  family  encouraged  his 
artistic  talents  when  he  was  a  youth  in  Essex,  England.  However, 
Hopkins  became  estranged  from  his  Protestant  family  when  he  con- 
verted to  Roman  Catholicism.  Upon  deciding  to  become  a  priest,  he 
burned  all  of  his  poems  and  did  not  write  again  for  many  years.  His 


national  recitation  contest      151 


work  was  not  published  until  30  years  after  his  death  when  his  friend 
Robert  Bridges  edited  the  volume  Poems. 

Born  in  Worcestershire,  England,  a(lfred)  e(dward)  housman 
(1859-  1936)  was  profoundly  affected  by  his  mother's  death  when 
he  was  12.  Housman  lived  mostly  as  a  recluse.  He  was  a  brilliant  classi- 
cist, first  appointed  Professor  of  Latin  at  University  College,  London, 
then  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  During  his  lifetime  he  only  pub- 
lished two  volumes  of  poetry:  A  Shropshire  Lad  and  Poems. 

julia  ward  howe  (1819  -  1910)  was  a  versatile  writer  and  activist 
who  wrote  "The  Battle-Hymn  of  the  Republic,"  which  became  a 
popular  Union  song  when  it  was  published  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  in 
1862.  She  was  born  in  New  York  City  to  a  banker  father  and  a  poet 
mother.  A  writer  from  age  16,  Howe  was  active  in  the  anti-slavery  and 
women's  suffrage  movements. 

Although  she  wrote  or  translated  over  ioo  books  in  collaboration 
with  her  husband  William,  including  works  of  fiction  and  history,  the 
Englishwoman  mary  howitt  (1799 -1888)  is  remembered  today 
for  a  single  poem  so  familiar  it  comes  as  a  surprise  to  learn  that  any- 
one wrote  it:  her  rhyming,  cautionary  fable  for  children,  "The 
Spider  and  the  Fly." 

langston  hughes  (1902-1967)  is  the  poet  laureate  of  African- 
American  experience  —  a  popular  writer  of  the  Harlem  Renaissance 
who  gave  hopeful  expression  to  the  aspirations  of  the  oppressed,  even 
as  he  decried  racism  and  injustice.  In  addition  to  poetry,  he  published 
fiction,  drama,  autobiography,  and  translations.  His  work  continues  to 
serve  as  a  model  of  wide  empathy  and  social  commitment. 

Born  in  Jacksonville,  Florida,  james  weldon  johnson  (1871- 
1938)  was  the  first  African-American  lawyer  accepted  to  the  Florida 
bar  and  was  among  the  first  African-American  professors  at  New 
York  University.  A  noted  writer,  editor,  statesman,  and  civil  rights 
activist  during  the  Harlem  Renaissance,  he  wrote  the  lyrics  to  the 
famous  anthem  "Lift  Ev'ry  Voice  and  Sing."  His  most  ambitious 
work  is  God's  Trombones,  which  he  wrote  while  serving  as  Executive 
Secretary  of  the  naacp. 

ben  jonson's  (1572  - 1637)  "Song  to  Celia"  is  known  to  millions  as 
"Drink  to  Me  Only  With  Thine  Eyes."  Jonson  was  educated  at  the 
prestigious  Westminster  School  in  London.  He  took  up  acting,  and  by 


152       POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


1597  ne  was  writing  original  plays.  Jonson's  first  widely  acclaimed  play, 
Every  Man  in  His  Humour,  included  William  Shakespeare  in  its  cast. 

john  keats  (1795  -  1821)  was  born  in  London,  where  he  was  raised 
by  a  merchant  after  both  his  parents  died  when  he  was  a  teenager. 
Before  Keats's  tragically  early  death  at  age  25 ,  he  was  already  celebrat- 
ed as  one  of  the  prominent  Romantic  poets.  He  produced  some  of  the 
most  memorable  poems  of  his  time,  including  "Ode  on  a  Grecian 
Urn"  and  the  epic  "Hyperion." 

Journalist  and  poetjOYCE  kilmer  (1886-1918)  was  born  in  New 
Brunswick,  New  Jersey.  Known  for  poetry  that  celebrated  the  com- 
mon beauty  of  the  natural  world  as  well  as  his  religious  faith,  he  was 
killed  in  World  War  1 .  Kilmer  was  awarded  by  the  French  the  presti- 
gious Croix  de  Guerre  (War  Cross)  for  his  bravery. 

yusef  komunyakaa's  (b.  1947)  poems  are  rooted  in  his  experi- 
ences as  an  African  American  growing  up  in  rural  Louisiana  and  his 
service  in  the  Vietnam  War.  Influenced  by  the  jazz  music  he  loves  as 
well  as  by  people's  everyday  speech,  his  poetry  has  won  a  number  of 
awards,  including  the  Pulitzer  Prize  in  1994. 

emma  lazarus  (1849-1887)  was  born  in  New  York  City  to  a 
wealthy  family  and  educated  by  private  tutors.  She  began  writing 
poetry  as  a  teenager  and  took  up  the  cause  —  through  both  poetry  and 
prose  —  against  the  persecution  of  Jews  in  Russia  during  the  1880  s. 
Her  sonnet  "The  New  Colossus"  was  engraved  on  the  pedestal  of  the 
Statue  of  Liberty  in  1886,  memorializing  the  famous  lines,  "Give  me 
your  tired,  your  poor,  /  Your  huddled  masses. . . ." 

edward  lear's  (1812-1888)  father  was  thrown  into  debtor's 
prison  when  the  poet  was  13.  One  of  21  children,  Lear  was  forced  to 
support  himself  by  selling  his  artwork.  During  his  lifetime,  he  was 
best  known  for  his  landscape  paintings,  but  today  he  is  more  remem- 
bered for  his  humorous  poems  such  as  "The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat." 
Lear  also  popularized  the  limerick  in  A  Book  of  Nonsense. 

The  son  of  a  personal  physician  of  Mao  Zedong,  li-young  lee  (b. 
J957)  was  born  in  Jakarta,  Indonesia,  to  Chinese  parents.  After  fleeing 
the  country,  the  family  settled  in  the  United  States  in  1964.  Lee's 
poems  have  received  many  honors.  His  memoir,  The  Winged  Seed:  A 
Remembrance,  won  the  American  Book  Award.  The  poet  lives  in 
Chicago,  Illinois. 


national  recitation  CONTEST      153 


Born  in  Malacca,  Malaysia,  shirley  geok-lin  lim  (b.  1944)  was 
raised  by  her  Chinese  father  and  attended  missionary  schools. 
Although  her  first  languages  were  Malay  and  the  Hokkin  dialect  of 
Chinese,  she  was  able  to  read  English  by  the  time  she  was  six. 
Lim  emigrated  to  the  United  States  after  college,  settling  eventually 
in  California.  Her  several  books  of  poetry  include  Monsoon  History: 
Selected  Poems  and  What  the  Fortune  Teller  Didn  't  Say. 

Nearly  forgotten  today,  vachel  lindsay  (1879-1931)  briefly 
enjoyed  international  acclaim.  In  1920  the  English  Observer  declared 
him  "easily  the  most  important  living  American  poet."  He  owed  this 
fame  to  one  of  the  most  spellbinding  recitation  styles  ever  witnessed, 
and  to  poems  like  "General  William  Booth  Enters  into  Heaven"  and 
"The  Congo,"  which  seem  custom  made  for  dramatic  delivery. 
Lindsay  was  also  one  of  the  first  movie  critics. 

Born  in  Portland,  Maine,  henry  wadsworth  longfellow  (1807- 
1882)  displayed  an  interest  in  linguistics  at  an  early  age,  eventually 
teaching  modern  languages  at  Harvard.  His  idealistic  poetry  struck  a 
chord  with  a  young  country  sharply  divided  over  slavery.  Poems 
such  as  the  narrative  Evangeline  and  "Paul  Re ve re's  Ride"  made 
Longfellow  the  most  popular  19th-century  American  poet. 

Like  the  other  Cavalier  poets  of  17th-century  England,  richard 
lovelace  (1618-1657)  lived  a  legendary  life  as  a  soldier,  lover,  and 
courtier.  Persecuted  for  his  unflagging  support  of  King  Charles  1 ,  he 
died  in  dire  poverty  —  but  not  before  writing  two  of  the  age's  most 
melodic  and  moving  lyrics:  "To  Althea,  from  Prison"  and  "To 
Lucasta,  Going  to  the  Wars." 

Christopher  marlowe  (1564-1593),  the  son  of  a  shoemaker, 
was  educated  at  Cambridge  before  he  joined  the  Lord  Admiral's 
Theatre  Company  in  London.  Like  Shakespeare,  a  contemporary 
whom  he  influenced,  Marlowe  worked  as  an  actor  as  well  as  a  drama- 
tist. He  wrote  beautiful  love  poems  and  heroic  plays,  including  Dr. 
Faustus  and  The  Jew  of  Malta.  His  brilliant  career,  though,  was  cut 
tragically  short  when  he  was  killed  in  a  tavern  fight  at  29 . 

Today  Andrew  marvell  (1621  - 1678)  is  best  known  for  his  carpe 
diem  poem  "To  His  Coy  Mistress."  His  wit  and  humor  make  this 
English  metaphysical  poet's  work  memorable.  Marvell  was  also  a  tal- 
ented statesman  and  worked  as  an  assistant  to  John  Milton  when 
Milton  was  Oliver  Cromwell's  Latin  secretary  for  foreign  affairs. 


154     poetry  out  loud 


Originally  from  Bellingham,  Washington,  david  mason  (b.  1954) 
currently  lives  outside  Colorado  Springs  where  he  teaches  at  his  alma 
mater,  Colorado  College.  Mason's  love  for  travel  —  he  has  lived  in 
Greece  and  hitchhiked  the  British  Isles  —  along  with  such  tragedies  as 
his  brother's  death,  are  major  themes  in  his  work.  Also  a  deft  essayist 
and  critic,  Mason's  poetry  has  been  collected  in  The  Country  I 
Remember  and  Arrivals. 

The  1915  publication  of  Spoon  River  Anthology  made  edgar  lee 
masters  (1868 -1950)  famous  by  bringing  into  American  poetry  a 
scandalous  subject  matter  and  an  innovative  method:  the  secret  lives 
and  loves  of  a  small  town's  citizens,  told  in  their  own  voices  from 
beyond  the  grave.  The  book  was  a  popular  and  critical  triumph;  noth- 
ing Masters  published  subsequently  equaled  its  success. 

After  emigrating  to  America  from  Jamaica,  claude  mckay 
(1890 -1948)  became  a  central  figure  of  the  Harlem  Renaissance. 
Whether  protesting  racial  and  economic  inequities  or  expressing 
romantic  attachment,  his  poetry  communicates  its  themes  through 
vivid  imagery  and  moving  language. 

Although  chiefly  known  for  his  magisterial  novel  Moby-Dick  and  for 
other  prose  works,  Herman  melville  (1819-  1891)  was  also  a  fasci- 
nating poet  who  turned  to  the  art  after  his  serious  fiction  failed  to  find 
appreciative  readers.  His  eccentric  verse  displays  the  complexity  of 
thought  and  verbal  richness  of  his  novels,  which  has  led  some  critics 
to  rank  him  just  below  Walt  Whitman  and  Emily  Dickinson  among 
19th-century  American  poets. 

Born  in  Rockland,  Maine,  edna  st.  vincent  millay  (1892  - 
1950)  as  a  teenager  entered  a  national  poetry  contest  sponsored  by 
The  Lyric  Year  magazine;  her  poem  "Renascence"  won  fourth  place 
and  led  to  a  scholarship  at  Vassar  College.  Millay  was  as  famous 
during  her  lifetime  for  her  red-haired  beauty,  unconventional 
lifestyle,  and  outspoken  politics  as  for  her  poetry.  Yet  her  passion- 
ate, formal  lyrics  are  cherished  by  many  readers  today,  fifty*  years 
after  her  death. 

john  Milton  (1608  -  1674),  born  in  London,  spent  six  years  after 
graduating  from  Cambridge  at  his  father's  country  home  reading  the 
classics  and  writing  poetry.  Ardent  about  morals  and  politics,  he 
wrote  progressive  tracts  on  divorce  and  freedom  of  the  press,  as  well 
as  pamphlets  in  support  of  Oliver  Cromwell  during  England's  Civil 


national  recitation  contest      155 


War.  Milton  wrote  Paradise  Lost,  one  of  the  greatest  epic  poems  in 
English,  after  he  had  gone  completely  blind. 

The  1968  publication  of  his  first  novel  House  Made  of  Dawn  brought 
n.  scott  momaday  (b.  1934)  a  Pulitzer  Prize  and  wide  renown 
as  the  leading  figure  in  a  Native- American  literary  renaissance.  His 
subsequent  works  in  prose  and  poetry  have  shown  what  richness  and 
power  can  result  from  blending  Native-American  oral  traditions  with 
classical  European  forms. 

Considered  "a  poet's  poet"  for  the  subtlety  of  her  thought  and  glit- 
tering verse  technique,  marianne  moore  (1887-1972)  was  also 
a  fascinating  character  who  in  later  life  became  a  literary  celebrity  — 
she  was  recognized  for  her  cape,  three-cornered  hat,  and  baseball 
fanaticism  as  for  anything  she  wrote.  Wide  renown  did  not  come 
until  1951,  when  Moore's  Collected  Poems  won  the  National  Book  and 
Bollingen  Awards  and  the  Pulitzer  Prize. 

Born  in  Cleveland,  Ohio,  marilyn  nelson  (b.  1946)  is  an  accom- 
plished poet,  children's  verse  author,  and  translator.  Her  six  books 
of  poetry  include  Magnificat,  The  Fields  of  Praise,  and  Carver:  A  Life 
in  Poems.  Nelson  is  a  Professor  of  English  at  the  University  of 
Connecticut,  and  is  the  Poet  Laureate  of  the  State  of  Connecticut. 

yone  noguchi  (1875  - 1947)  was  the  first  Japanese-born  writer  to 
publish  poetry  in  English;  The  Pilgrimage  contained  six  haiku,  a  spare 
and  direct  form  that  inspired  Ezra  Pound  and  the  Imagist  movement. 
The  poet  was  also  the  father  of  Isamu  Noguchi,  the  internationally 
renowned  sculptor  and  designer. 

wilfred  owen  (1893  ~  IOI8)  spent  much  of  his  short,  adult  life  as  a 
volunteer  soldier  for  the  British  military  during  World  War  i.  He 
wrote  vivid  and  terrifying  poems  about  modern  warfare.  Owen  was 
killed  by  machinegun  fire  just  days  before  the  end  of  the  war. 

dorothy  parker's  (1893-1967)  biting  wit  made  her  a  legend,  but 
it  also  masked  her  lonely  struggle  with  depression.  A  member  of  the 
Algonquin  Round  Table  group  of  writers,  she  wrote  criticism  for 
Vogue,  Vanity  Fair,  and  later  the  New  Yorker.  During  the  1930s  Parker 
moved  to  Hollywood,  where  she  worked  on  such  films  as  A  Star  Is 
Born,  for  which  she  won  an  Academy  Award. 

One  of  the  first  women  to  acquire  fame  as  a  writer  in  England, 
katherine  philips  (1631-1664)  addressed  poems  of  love  and 


156     poetry  out  loud 


companionship  to  the  women  in  her  circle,  called  "Society  of 
Friendship."  She  was  known  as  "The  Matchless  Orinda"  for  the 
pseudonym  she  adopted  within  the  group  and  as  "the  English 
Sappho"  for  her  similarities  to  the  ancient  Greek  poetess  of  Lesbos. 

edgar  allan  poe  (1809 -1849)  was  born  in  Boston, 
Massachusetts,  and  raised  in  Richmond,  Virginia,  by  a  foster  family. 
In  his  poetry  and  fiction,  Poe  explored  the  dark  inner  workings  of  the 
mind.  He  is  credited  with  being  a  forerunner  of  horror  fiction  and  of 
the  short  story  as  a  literary  form.  After  years  of  depression  and  alco- 
holism, Poe  died  mysteriously  at  age  40. 

Alexander  pope  (1688-1744)  was  born  in  London  to  a  Roman 
Catholic  family.  A  childhood  sickness  left  him  with  stunted  height, 
a  curved  spine,  and  ill  health  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Pope  earned 
fame  and  great  financial  success  as  a  poet,  satirist,  and  translator.  He  is 
perhaps  best  remembered  for  his  mastery  of  the  heroic  couplet,  as  in 
An  Essay  on  Man  and  "The  Rape  of  the  Lock." 

ezra  pound  (18 85 -19 72)  was  born  in  Hailey,  Idaho,  grew  up  near 
Philadelphia,  but  lived  much  of  his  adult  life  overseas.  In  his  early 
career  he  was  the  influential  and  controversial  leader  of  Imagism  and 
Vorticism.  He  also  championed  young  writers,  including  H.D.,  T.S. 
Eliot,  and  Robert  Frost.  Among  his  best-known  works  are  "In  a 
Station  of  the  Metro,"  "Hugh  Selwyn  Mauberley,"  and  The  Cantos,  a 
ranging,  lifelong  work  that  expounded  his  political  and  economic 
theories. 

Before  his  execution  for  treason,  sir  Walter  ralegh  (1552-1618) 
won  fame  as  an  explorer  of  the  New  World  —  both  for  voyages  to 
Roanoke  Island  in  present-day  North  Carolina  (whose  capital  is 
named  after  him),  and  to  Venezuela  in  search  of  El  Dorado,  the  myth- 
ical city  of  gold.  Also  a  scholar  and  a  gifted  lyric  poet,  Ralegh  brought 
glory  to  Elizabethan  England  along  with  the  potatoes  and  tobacco  he 
is  said  to  have  introduced  there. 

Dudley  randall  (1914-2000)  published  his  first  poem  in  the 
Detroit  Free  Press  when  he  was  thirteen.  After  earning  degrees  in 
English  and  library  science,  Randall  worked  as  a  librarian  until  his 
1974  retirement.  He  established  Broadside  Press  in  1965,  which 
became  an  important  publisher  of  African-American  poets  and  polit- 
ical writers.  Randall  translated  Russian  writers,  and  experimented 
with  a  variety  of  styles  in  his  own  poetry. 


national  recitation  contest      157 


edwin  Arlington  robinson  (1869-1935)  is  America's  poet  lau- 
reate of  unhappiness.  In  patiently  crafted  verse  of  great  sonority, 
he  portrays  men  and  women  suffering  from  life's  ordeals  yet  striving 
to  understand  and  master  their  fates.  Robinson's  tragic  vision  had 
its  roots  in  a  youth  spent  in  the  small  town  of  Gardiner,  Maine. 
So  sensitive  he  claimed  he  came  into  the  world  "with  his  skin  inside 
out,"  he  once  told  a  fellow  poet  that  at  six  he  had  sat  in  a  rocking 
chair  and  wondered  why  he'd  been  born. 

Christina  rossetti  (1830  -  1894)  was  born  in  London  to  an  art- 
istic family  —  her  brother  was  the  famous  poet  and  painter  Dante 
Gabriel  Rossetti  and  her  house  was  a  regular  meeting  place  for  the 
group  of  artists  later  called  the  Pre-Raphaelite  Brotherhood.  As  a 
devout  Anglican,  Rossetti  called  off  a  two-year  engagement  when  her 
fiance  converted  to  Roman  Catholicism.  Despite  a  lifetime  of  illness, 
Rossetti  continued  to  write  poetry.  Today  she  is  best  known  for  her 
collection  Goblin  Market  and  Other  Poems. 

Poet,  novelist,  essayist,  and  children's  book  author,  benjamin  alire 
saenz  (b.  1954)  grew  up  on  a  cotton  farm  in  New  Mexico  speaking 
only  Spanish  until  he  started  elementary  school.  Although  his  educa- 
tion eventually  took  him  to  Denver,  Belguim,  Iowa,  and  California, 
Saenz  settled  in  the  border  region  between  Texas  and  New  Mexico  — 
an  area  that  remains  central  to  his  writing. 

Though  first  made  famous  for  the  urban  aesthetic  of  his  poems  about 
the  people  and  city  of  Chicago,  carl  sandburg  (1878  - 1967)  was 
born  with  humble  working  class  roots  in  Galesburg,  Illinois.  An 
activist,  poet,  and  author,  he  won  two  Pulitzer  Prizes,  the  first  in  1940 
for  his  biography  of  Abraham  Lincoln  and  the  second  in  195 1  for  his 
Collected  Poems. 

Actor,  dramatist,  and  poet,  william  Shakespeare  (1564  -  1616)  is 
the  most  highly  regarded  writer  in  the  English  language.  Born  in 
Stratford-Upon-Avon  in  England,  Shakespeare  wrote  38  plays, 
including  Othello,  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Hamlet,  and  Romeo 
and  Juliet.  His  epic  narrative  poems  and  154  sonnets  include  some  of 
the  world's  most  quoted  lines. 

Born  into  a  wealthy  family  in  Sussex,  England,  perc  y  bysshe  shelley 
(1792  - 1822)  was  expelled  from  Oxford  for  writing  The  Necessity  of 
Atheism.  His  radical  lifestyle  at  times  detracted  from  the  appreciation 
of  his  work.  He  called  poets  "the  unacknowledged  legislators  of  the 


158     poetry  out  loud 


world."  In  Shelley's  short  life  —  he  drowned  while  sailing  at  age  29 — 
he  produced  gorgeous  lyrical  poetry  quintessential  of  the  Romantic 
Era.  He  is  perhaps  best  remembered  for  the  mythical  poem  Prometheus 
Unbound  and  for  Adonais,  an  elegy  to  his  friend  John  Keats. 

charlotte  smith  (1749-1806)  wrote  Elegiac  Sonnets  in  1783 
while  she  was  in  debtor's  prison  with  her  husband  and  children. 
William  Wordsworth  identified  her  as  an  important  influence  on  the 
Romantic  movement.  She  published  several  longer  works  that  cele- 
brated the  individual  while  deploring  social  injustice  and  the  British 
class  system. 

Born  in  Reading,  Pennsylvania,  Wallace  stevens  (1879- 1955) 
is  one  of  most  significant  American  poets  of  the  20th  century.  The 
consummate  businessman-poet,  Stevens  had  a  successful  career  as 
a  corporate  lawyer  when  his  first  book  of  poems,  Harmonium,  was 
published  in  1923.  However,  he  did  not  receive  widespread  recogni- 
tion from  the  literary  community  until  the  release  of  his  Collected 
Poems  in  1954. 

Jonathan  swift  (1667-1745)  was  born  to  English  parents  in 
Dublin,  Ireland,  and  his  family  moved  throughout  Great  Britain. 
Deeply  involved  in  politics  and  religion,  Swift  became  one  of  the  first 
prose  satirists.  His  masterpiece  is  Gulliver's  Travels.  Swift's  sharp  wit 
carried  over  into  his  poetry,  as  in  the  mock  elegy  for  himself,  "Verses 
on  the  Death  of  Dr.  Swift." 

A  native  of  Calcutta,  India,  who  wrote  in  Bengali  and  often  translated 
his  own  work  into  English,  rabindranath  tagore  (1861  - 1941) 
won  the  Nobel  Prize  for  Literature  in  19 13  — the  first  Asian  to  receive 
the  honor.  He  wrote  poetry,  fiction,  drama,  essays,  and  songs;  pro- 
moted reforms  in  education,  aesthetics  and  religion;  and  in  his  late 
sixties  he  even  turned  to  the  visual  arts,  producing  2,500  paintings 
and  drawings  before  his  death. 

sara  teasdale  (1884  -  1933)  was  born  in  St.  Louis,  Missouri.  She 
won  fame  in  her  day  as  a  sensitive  soul  whose  simple,  poignant  poems 
addressed  beauty  and  loss.  Teasdale 's  Love  Songs  received  the  first 
Pulitzer  Prize  for  poetry  in  1 918. 

Alfred,  lord  tennyson  (1809-1892)  was  born  one  of  12  chil- 
dren to  a  wealthy  family  in  Lincolnshire,  England.  With  poems  such 
as  In  Memoriam,  an  elegy  for  a  friend,  and  Idylls  of  the  King, 


national  recitation  contest     159 


a  long  narrative,  Tennyson  became  the  most  popular  English  poet  of 
his  time.  Queen  Victoria  made  him  Poet  Laureate  in  1850.  He  is 
buried  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

dylan  thomas  (1914  -  1953)  grew  up  in  Wales,  however,  he  lived 
much  of  his  life  in  London.  At  age  20,  he  published  Eighteen  Poems  to 
instant  acclaim.  Thomas  gave  four  reading  tours  of  the  United  States, 
earning  renown  for  mesmerizing  performances  and  a  boisterous  per- 
sonality. His  last  drinking  binge  at  the  White  Horse  Tavern  in  New 
York  City  led  to  his  death  at  age  39. 

An  important  writer  of  the  Harlem  Renaissance,  jean  toomer 
(1894  - 1967)  was  born  in  Washington,  DC,  and  was  the  grandson 
of  the  first  governor  of  African-American  descent  in  the  United 
States.  A  poet,  playwright,  and  novelist,  Toomer's  most  famous 
work,  Cane,  was  published  in  1923  and  was  hailed  by  critics  for  its 
literary  experimentation  and  portrayal  of  African-American  charac- 
ters and  culture. 

amy  uyematsu  (b.  1947)  grew  up  in  southern  California.  Her 
poetry  grows  out  of  the  conflict  between  her  wish  to  belong  to 
the  culture  around  her  and  her  strong  sense  of  ethnic  identity  — 
like  many  Japanese  Americans  during  World  War  n,  her  parents  and 
grandparents  were  interned.  A  high  school  math  teacher,  she  has  pub- 
lished three  collections:  30  Miles  from  J -Town;  Nights  of  Fire,  Nights  of 
Rain;  and  Stone  Bow  Prayer. 

Elected  to  Parliament  at  age  16,  edmund  waller  (1606 -1687) 
quickly  gained  a  reputation  as  a  masterful  orator.  He  was  also  a  cele- 
brated lyric  poet  long  before  the  publication  of  his  Poems  in  1645. 
Despite  his  eloquent  efforts  to  placate  both  Oliver  Cromwell  and 
Charles  11 ,  Waller  was  forced  into  exile  for  nearly  a  decade.  His  highly 
refined  work,  particularly  his  heroic  couplets,  were  much  admired 
by  Alexander  Pope  and  John  Dryden. 

Born  in  the  Senegal -Gambia  region  of  West  Africa,  phillis  wheat- 
ley  (ca.  1753  - 1784)  arrived  in  Boston  on  a  slave  ship  in  176 1.  When 
Mrs.  Susanna  Wheatley  purchased  her  as  a  personal  servant  she 
named  Phillis  after  the  ship.  After  16  months  Wheatley  could  read 
and  understand  any  part  of  the  Bible,  and  she  began  writing  poetry  at 
age  12.  Her  poem  "To  the  Right  Honorable  William,  Earl  of 
Dartmouth"  compares  her  enslaved  state  with  that  of  the  colonies 
under  Britain's  rule,  denouncing  both. 


160     poetry  out  loud 


walt  whitman  (1819  -  1892)  is  America's  world  poet  —  a  latter- 
day  successor  to  Homer,  Virgil,  Dante,  and  Shakespeare.  In  his  Leaves 
of  Grass,  first  published  in  1855  and  revised  and  expanded  for  the  rest 
of  his  life,  he  celebrated  democracy,  nature,  love,  and  friendship.  This 
monumental  work  chanted  praises  to  the  body  as  well  as  to  the  soul, 
and  found  beauty  and  reassurance  even  in  death. 

The  1866  publication  of  his  long  poem  Snow-Bound  brought 
john  greenleaf  whittier  (1807-1892)  popular  acclaim  and 
financial  security.  But  literary  success  was  of  secondary  importance 
to  him:  his  priorities  were  dictated  by  his  Quaker  faith  and  his  coura- 
geous battle  against  slavery.  Whittier  was  born  and  raised  on  a  farm 
near  Haverhill,  Massachusetts,  and  felt  a  strong  kinship  throughout 
his  life  with  the  hard-working,  rural  poor. 

Born  in  Rutherford,  william  carlos  williams  (1883 -1963) 
spent  almost  his  entire  life  in  his  native  New  Jersey.  He  was  a  medical 
doctor,  poet,  novelist,  essayist,  and  playwright.  With  Ezra  Pound  and 
H.D.,  Williams  was  a  leading  poet  of  the  Imagist  movement  and  often 
wrote  of  American  subjects  and  themes.  Though  his  career  was  ini- 
tially overshadowed  by  other  poets,  Williams  became  an  inspiration 
to  the  Beat  generation  in  the  1950s  and  60s. 

william  wordsworth  (1770  - 1850),  born  in  Cumbria,  England, 
began  writing  poetry  in  grammar  school.  Before  graduating  from  col- 
lege, he  went  on  a  walking  tour  of  Europe,  which  deepened  his  love 
for  nature  and  his  sympathy  for  the  common  man,  both  major  themes 
in  his  poetry.  Wordsworth  is  best  known  for  Lyrical  Ballads,  co-writ- 
ten with  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  and  Lite  Prelude,  a  Romantic  epic 
on  the  "growth  of  a  poet's  mind." 

Born  in  Kent,  England,  sir  thomas  wyatt  (1503 -1542)  was  an 
ambassador  to  France  and  Italy  for  King  Henry  vin.  Wyatt's  travels 
abroad  exposed  him  to  different  forms  of  poetry,  which  he  adapted 
for  the  English  language  —  most  notably,  the  sonnet.  Rumored  to  be 
Anne  Boleyn's  lover,  he  spent  a  month  in  the  Tower  of  London  until 
Boleyn's  execution  for  adultery.  Many  consider  his  poem  "Whoso 
List  to  Hunt"  to  be  about  Boleyn. 

Like  her  friend  Edna  St.  Vincent  Millay,  elinor  wylie  (1885- 
1928)  was  as  famous  during  the  1920s  for  her  exotic  beauty  and  tem- 
pestuous love  life  as  for  her  writing.  Born  in  Somerville,  New 
Jersey,  she  spent  time  in  England,  then  returned  to  New  York, 


national  recitation  contest      161 


where  she  published  her  first  important  book  of  poems,  Nets  to 
Catch  the  Wind.  Before  her  untimely  death  at  43,  she  published  four 
books  of  poems  and  four  novels  —  all  notable  for  their  energy,  clev- 
erness, and  formal  polish. 

Born  in  Dublin,  Ireland,  william  butler  yeats  (1865  -  1939)  was 
an  enormously  influential  poet  and  playwright,  whose  work  formed  a 
clear  link  between  the  Romantic  and  Modern  eras.  His  strong  nation- 
alism appeared  in  his  poetry  through  the  recurrent  themes  of  Irish 
mythology  and  folklore.  Yeats  became  deeply  involved  in  Irish 
politics  and  was  even  appointed  a  senator  of  the  Irish  Free  State.  In 
1923  he  was  awarded  the  Nobel  Prize  for  Literature. 


162        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


CREDITS 


w.h.  auden,  "The  Unknown  Citizen"  and  "The  More  Loving 
One"  from  W.H.  Auden:  Collected  Poems,  edited  by  Edward 
Mendelson.  Copyright  ©1940  and  renewed  ©1968  by  W.H.  Auden. 
Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  Random  House,  Inc. 

Gwendolyn  brooks,  "Sadie  and  Maud"  from  Selected  Poems. 
Reprinted  by  consent  of  Brooks  Permissions. 

lucille  Clifton,  "[if  mama/could  see]"  from  Good  Woman:  Poems 
and  a  Memoir,  1969-1980.  Copyright  ©1987  by  Lucille  Clifton. 
Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  boa  Editions  Ltd.,  www.boaedi- 
tions.org. 

countee  cullen,  "Yet  Do  I  Marvel"  from  Color.  Copyright  1925 
by  Harper  &  Brothers,  renewed  1953  by  Ida  M.  Cullen.  Reprinted 
with  the  permission  of  Thompson  and  Thompson  for  the  Estate  of 
Countee  Cullen. 

e.e.  cummings,  "anyone  lived  in  a  pretty  how  town"  from 
Complete  Poems  1904-1962,  edited  by  George  J.  Firmage.  Copyright 
1926,  1954,  ©1991  by  the  Trustees  for  the  E.E.  Cummings  Trust. 
Copyright  ©1985  by  George  James  Firmage.  Reprinted  with  the  per- 
mission of  Liveright  Publishing  Corporation. 

toi  derricotte,  "Black  Boys  Play  the  Classics"  from  Tender. 
Copyright  ©1997  by  Toi  Derricotte.  All  rights  are  controlled 
by  the  University  of  Pittsburgh  Press,  Pittsburgh,  PA  15260, 
w\vw.pitt.edu/-press/.  Used  by  permission  of  University  of 
Pittsburgh  Press. 

emily  Dickinson,  "'Hope'  is  the  thing  with  feathers"  and  "I  Heard 
a  Fly  buzz — when  I  died"  from  The  Complete  Poems  of  Emily 
Dickinson,  edited  by  Thomas  H.  Johnson.  Copyright  1945,  1951, 
©IQ55>  io79>  iq83  by  the  President  and  Fellows  of  Harvard  College. 
Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  The  Belknap  Press  of  Harvard 
University  Press. 

h.d.  (hilda  doolittle),  "Helen"  from  Collected  Poems 
1912-1944.  Copyright  ©1982  by  The  Estate  of  Hilda  Doolittle. 


164        POETRY  OUT  LOUD 


Reprinted  with  the  generous  permission  of  New  Directions 
Publishing  Corporation. 

rita  dove,  "The  Secret  Garden"  from  Yellow  House  on  the  Corner 
(Pittsburgh:  Carnegie  Mellon  University  Press,  1989).  Copyright 
©1989  by  Rita  Dove.  Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  the  author. 

rhina  p.  espaillat,  "Bilingual/Bilingiie"  from  Where  Horizons  Go 
(Kirksville,  MO:  New  Odyssey  Books,  1998).  Used  with  the  per- 
mission of  the  author. 

joy  harjo,  "Eagle  Poem"  from  In  Mad  Love  and  War.  Copyright 
©1990  by  Joy  Harjo.  Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  Wesley  an 
University  Press,  www.wesleyan.edu/wespress. 

michael  s.  harper,  "Grandfather"  from  Songlines  in  Michaeltree: 
New  and  Collected  Poems.  Copyright  ©2000  by  Michael  S.  Harper. 
Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  the  author  and  the  University  of 
Illinois  Press. 

Robert  hayden,  "Those  Winter  Sundays"  from  Collected  Poems  of 
Robert  Hayden,  edited  by  Frederick  Glaysher.  Copyright  ©1966  by 
Robert  Hayden.  Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  Liveright 
Publishing  Corporation. 

langston  hughes,  "Harlem"  from  Collected  Poems  of  Langston 
Hughes.  Ed.  by  Arnold  Rampersad.  Copyright  ©1994  by  the  Estate 
of  Langston  Hughes.  Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  Alfred  A. 
Knopf,  a  division  of  Random  House,  Inc. 

yusef  komunyakaa,  "Kindness"  from  Poetry  181,  no.  5  (March 
2003).  Copyright  ©2003  by  Yusef  Komunyakaa.  Reprinted  with 
the  permission  of  the  author. 

Li-young  lee,  "The  Gift"  from  Rose.  Copyright  ©1986  by  Li- 
Young  Lee.  Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  boa  Editions  Ltd., 
www.boaeditions.org. 

shirley  geok-lin  lim,  "Learning  to  Love  America"  from  What  the 
Fortune  Teller  Didn't  Say.  Copyright  ©1998  by  Shirley  Geok-lin  Lim. 


national  recitation  contest     165 


Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  West  End  Press,  Albuquerque, 
New  Mexico. 

david  mason,  "Song  of  the  Powers"  from  The  Country  I  Remember. 
Copyright  ©1996  by  David  Mason.  Reprinted  with  the  permission 
of  the  author  and  Story  Line  Press  (www.storylinepress.com). 

n.  scott  momaday,  "The  Delight  SongofTsoai-talee"  from  In  the 
Presence  of  the  Sun:  Stories  and  Poems,  1961-1991.  Copyright  ©1991 
by  N.  Scott  Momaday.  Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  the  author 
and  St.  Martin's  Press,  llc. 

Marianne  moore,  "Poetry"  from  Collected  Poems.  Copyright 
©1935  by  Marianne  Moore,  renewed  1963  by  Marianne  Moore  and 
T.S.  Eliot.  Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  Scribner,  an  imprint  of 
Simon  &  Schuster  Adult  Publishing  Group. 

marilyn  nelson,  "How  I  Discovered  Poetry"  from  The  Fields  of 
Praise:  New  and  Selected  Poems.  Copyright  ©1994, 1995, 1996, 1997 
by  Marilyn  Nelson.  Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  Louisiana  State 
University  Press. 

dorothy  parker,  "One  Perfect  Rose"  from  The  Portable  Dorothy 
Parker,  introduction  by  Brendan  Gill.  Copyright  1926  and  renewed 
1954  by  Dorothy  Parker.  Used  with  the  permission  of  Viking 
Penguin,  a  division  of  Penguin  Group  (us  a)  Inc. 

Dudley  randall,  "Ballad  of  Birmingham"  from  Cities  Burning. 
Copyright  ©1968  by  Dudley  Randall.  Reprinted  with  the  permis- 
sion of  the  Estate  of  Dudley  Randall. 

benjamin  alire  saenz,  "To  the  Desert"  from  Dark  and  Perfect  (El 
Paso:  Cinco  Puntos  Press,  1995).  Copyright  ©1995  by  Benjamin 
Alire  Saenz.  Used  with  the  permission  of  the  author. 

Wallace  stevens,  "Thirteen  Ways  of  Looking  at  a  Blackbird"  from 
The  Collected  Poems  of  Wallace  Stevens.  Copyright  1954  by  Wallace 
Stevens.  Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  Alfred  A.  Knopf,  a  divi- 
sion of  Random  House,  Inc. 

sara  teasdale,  "Let  It  Be  Forgotten"  from  Flame  and  Shadow 
(New  York:  Macmillan,  1924).  Copyright  1924  by  Sara  Teasdale. 
Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  the  Office  for  Resources,  Wellesley 
College,  Wellesley,  Massachusetts. 


166     poetry  out  loud 


dylan  thomas,  "Do  Not  Go  Gentle  into  that  Good  Night"  and 
"Fern  Hill"  from  The  Poems  of  Dylan  Thomas.  Copyright  1939, 1946 
by  New  Directions  Publishing  Corporation.  Reprinted  with  the  per- 
mission of  New  Directions  Publishing  Corporation. 

jean  toomer,  "November  Cotton  Flower"  from  Cane.  Copyright 
1923  by  Boni  &  Liveright,  renewed  1951  by  Jean  Toomer.  Reprinted 
with  the  permission  of  Liveright  Publishing  Corporation. 

amy  uyematsu,  "Deliberate"  from  30  Miles  from  J-Town. 
Copyright  ©1992  by  Amy  Uyematsu.  Reprinted  with  the  permission 
of  the  author  and  Story  Line  Press. 

william  carlos  Williams,  "Danse  Russe"  from  The  Collected 
Poems  of  William  Carlos  Williams,  Volume  I,  1909-1939,  edited  by 
Christopher  MacGowan.  Copyright  1938,  1944,  1945  by  William 
Carlos  Williams.  Reprinted  with  the  permission  of  New  Directions 
Publishing  Corporation. 

elinor  wylie,  "Cold  Blooded  Creatures"  from  Selected  Works  of 
Elinor  Wylie,  edited  by  Evelyn  Helmick  Hively  (Kent,  Ohio:  The 
Kent  State  University  Press,  2005).  Reprinted  with  the  permission 
of  The  Kent  State  University  Press. 


national  recitation  contest      167 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


Many  people  helped  produce  the  Poetry  Out  Loud  Anthology.  Sean 
Francis,  Kimberly  Gooden,  James  McNeel,  Jon  Mooallem,  and 
Amanda  Sumner  wrote  biographies  of  the  poets  for  both  the  print 
and  on-line  editions.  Bill  Drenttel,  Geoff  Halber,  and  Don  Whelan  of 
Winterhouse  Studio  designed  and  typeset  the  book.  Fred  Courtright 
secured  permissions  for  poems  under  copyright.  Dillon  Tracy  helped 
manage  the  production  schedules.  Erika  Koss,  Garrick  Davis,  Pamela 
Kirkpatrick,  and  Elizabeth  Stigler  proofread  the  manuscript  under 
tight  deadlines.  Finally,  thanks  are  due  to  Ian  Lancashire  and  the 
many  other  editors  who  have  contributed  to  the  University  of 
Toronto's  Representative  Poetry  On-Line.  Their  efforts  aided  indirect- 
ly in  producing  this  physical  anthology  and  directly  in  creating  its 
companion  web-based  anthology. 


NATIONAL  RECITATION  CONTEST        169 


A  GREAT  NATION  DESERVES  GREAT  ART. 


This  anthology  provides  students  with  more 

than  100  celebrated  poems  that  are  suitable 

for  performance.  For  the  complete  anthology 

and  program  details,  please  visit 

www.poetryoutIoud.org. 


NATIONAL  ENDOWMENT  FOR  THE  ARTS 


POETRY  FOUNDATION