Balm

After the reunion’s excess
of company and champagne,

just the two of us ease
the canoe into the pond.

September’s leaves light lamps
around us; we paddle

into gold suffusion as if
entering a ripe pear.

Our blades low, we lean
and listen—the surface insects

hectic, the cool still depths.
A pair of wood ducks squawks

away. The fruity air softens,
darkening, as one by one

the reeds extend themselves
exactly by reflection.

– Candice Stover

Postscript:

A surfeit of socializing and gatherings can make you want to get away to a quiet, still place and find yourself again. The natural beauty is a bonus, but the solitude is definitely a needed balm.
This poem is one I came across on a site called Words from the Frontier – Poetry in Maine. You can read more about the poet, Candice Stover, there; you can also hear her read some of her poems out loud, including this one, in a little media player in the bottom right hand corner of the page.

Tiger Hunt

Through the jongole I am went
On shooting Tiger I am bent
Boshtaard Tiger has eaten wife
No doubt I will avenge poor darling’s life.

Too much quiet, snakes and leeches.
But I not fear these sons of beeches.
Hearing loud noise I am jumping with start
But noise is coming from damn fool’s heart

Taking care not to be fright
I am clutching rifle tight with eye to sight.
Should Tiger come I will shoot and fall him down,
Then like hero return to native town.

Then through trees I am espying one cave ,
I am telling self – “Banerjee be brave”
I am now proceeding with too much care
From far I smell this Tiger’s lair

My leg shaking, sweat coming, I start pray
I think I will shoot Tiger some other day.
Turning round I am going to flee
But Tiger giving bloody roar spotting Bengalee

He bounding from cave like footballer Pele
I run shouting “Kali Ma tumi kothay gele”
Through the jongole I am running
With Tiger on my tail closer looming

I am a telling that never in life
I will risk again for my damn wife!!!!

– Anonymous

Submitted by:
Meera, who says “This is a hilarious poem written by a Bengali school teacher. It’s pretty old.”

Postscript:
I tried tracking down who this was written by, and found this poem being run in multiple places without a name against it. Anyone who knows more, please help?

All Day I Hear The Noise Of Waters

All day I hear the noise of waters
Making moan,
Sad as the sea-bird is when, going
Forth alone,
He hears the winds cry to the water’s
Monotone.

The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing
Where I go.
I hear the noise of many waters
Far below.
All day, all night, I hear them flowing
To and fro.

– James Joyce

Postscript:
The thing that struck me about the poem was the unevenness of the lines, and how it broke up the way you would read the poem in an unexpected place. I kept hitting a pattern of 8 and 3, with the lines with 3 syllables give me a sense of pulling up short each time.
Then there’s the rhyme scheme of abcbab cdadcd – the first and second stanza seem to flow into one another for this reason. This is something that happens a fair bit in some poetic structures – villanelles, pantoums, sestinas – because of repetition of the lines or certain words or rhyme schemes. One of my favourite poems is The Shrinking Lonesome Sestina, which is very poignant and compelling because of the way the form has been used.
About Joyce himself, what can I say? In the fine tradition that Ireland has of producing mad, gifted Irishmen, he stands head and shoulder above in the reckoning of most people. You can read about him here and visit a website dedicated to his life and works
here. The man also has a day dedicated to celebrating Leopold Bloom, from Ulysses – you can read more about Bloomsday here.
You can read his works which are in the public domain here on Project Gutenburg, a site dedicated to digitizing out of copyright works and making them available to the public for free.