2020.11.29 10:04
Leo Marks
The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.[1]
2020.11.29 10:11
2020.12.02 18:52
It certainly is a beautiful little poem as you said.
Such moving story!
I like the last phrase, “For the peace of my years In the long green grass Will be yours and yours and yours" most!
So meaningful to touch my heart!
BB Lee
2020.11.29 10:36
William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Meaning of the Poem: “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” is a lyric poem by William Wordsworth. It is Wordsworth’s most famous work. The poem was inspired by an event on 15 April 1802, in which Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy came across a “long belt” of daffodils.
2020.11.29 11:20
10 GREATEST POEMS OF ALL TIME December 28, 2017
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run—
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Meaning of the Poem
This poem by British Nobel laureate Rudyard Kipling, written in 1895; is as a tribute to Leander Starr Jameson. It is a literary example of Victorian-era stoicism. The poem, first published in Rewards and Fairies (1910), is written in the form of paternal advice to the poet’s son, John.
“If—” first appeared in the “Brother Square Toes” chapter of the book Rewards and Fairies, a collection of Kipling’s poetry and short-story fiction, published in 1910. In his posthumously published autobiography, Something of Myself (1937), Kipling said that, in writing the poem, he was inspired by the military actions of Leander Starr Jameson, leader of the failed Jameson Raid against the Transvaal Republic to overthrow the Boer Government of Paul Kruger. The failure of that mercenary coup d’état aggravated the political tensions between Great Britain and the Boers, which led to the Second Boer War (1899–1902).
source: Wikipedia
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Meaning of the Poem
The Life That I Have also known as “Yours” is a short poem written by Leo Marks and used as a poem code in the Second World War. In the war, famous poems were used to encrypt messages. This was, however, found to be insecure because enemy cryptanalysts were able to locate the original from published sources. Marks countered this by using his own written creations. The Life That I Have was an original poem composed on Christmas Eve 1943 and was originally written by Marks in memory of his girlfriend Ruth, who had just died in a plane crash in Canada. On 24 March 1944, the poem was issued by Marks to Violette Szabo, a French agent of Special Operations Executive who was eventually captured, tortured, and killed by the Nazis.
It was made famous by its inclusion in the 1958 movie about Szabo, Carve Her Name with Pride, where the poem was said to be the creation of Violette’s husband Etienne. (Marks allowed it to be used under the condition that its author not be identified.)
Marks writes a poem that is not initially all that complicated—simple words, almost the simplest, really. Not a word of the poem takes up more than one syllable, and there probably isn’t a word here that would be unfamiliar to a first grader. But the depth of feeling here is real, I think. At first, it seems like a love poem you would write for someone still living: Marks is dedicating his life to her, he is giving himself to her. It feels like the kind of thing someone might say as a part of their wedding vows or might whisper on bended knee as a way of preparing to ask for a wedding. The intimacy is too close, almost, for me—I feel I have opened the door on a moment no one else should witness, I am profaning somehow the sanctity of that pure love by eavesdropping like a village gossip.
The poem opens itself up, I think, as some of the phrases turn out to be more complex than they appear at a distance. “The life that I have is yours” is easy enough, but what is “the love that I have of the life that I have”? Is he talking about love in his life? The love he feels in his life or the love others feel toward him? Is it how he loves his life? And what, in any case, does it mean that this love is “yours and yours and yours”? There is something so generous about this kind of self-emptying because it does not feel remotely self-deprecating. This isn’t the kind of sacrifice someone makes when they feel worthless. This is the kind of sacrifice we make when we discover something beyond value, something whose worth we could not begin to calculate.
The third stanza is just a little too trite for me—we’ve heard other poets, better craftsmen and craftswomen, tackle the notion that death is only a sleep, that we have the hope of waking in another world and a better. But then the fourth stanza breaks over us again with that complexity. Is “the peace of my years in the long green grass” him talking about his death, his burial in a cemetery? Or the long life he will have without her, sunny days and picnics in the park, a life lived fully and not cut short like hers was? And again, in either case, what does it mean for that peace to be “yours and yours and yours”? I feel I understand him implicitly, and I have absolutely no way of translating it directly.
This is a beautiful little poem, and I don’t want to overanalyze it. It strikes me not only as a fine start to 1943 but also as a nice poem for Valentine’s Day weekend if any of us are in the mood for talk of real love in the neighborhood of a holiday that beats us over the head with a prepackaged notion of what it looks like. Love can come from a pink card, I know—from the dozen roses and the heart-shaped box of chocolates that make their appearance on doorsteps across the nation. But it also comes from heartbreak and sorrow, from the shaking pen of a 23-year-old who has lost a woman he loved and who worries he may yet lose his country, from a poem tucked inside the coat of a woman who will go to her death bravely. I hope it strikes you as the right poem to ponder this weekend; it’s certainly given me plenty to think about.
(from the Internet)