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The Passionate Transitory
Добавлен 30 янв 2014
The Great Hunger by Patrick Kavanagh (complete)
Kavanagh's epic poem on life in rural Ireland
Просмотров: 9 931
Видео
Come Dance with Kitty Stobling by Patrick Kavanagh
Просмотров 7466 лет назад
Come Dance with Kitty Stobling No, no, no, I know I was not important as I moved Through the colourful country, I was but a single Item in the picture, the name, not the beloved. O tedious man with whom no gods commingle. Beauty, who has described beauty? Once upon a time I had a myth that was a lie but it served: Trees walking across the crest of hills and my rhyme Cavorting on mile-high stilt...
The Hospital by Patrick Kavanagh
Просмотров 8156 лет назад
The Hospital A year ago I fell in love with the functional ward Of a chest hospital: square cubicles in a row Plain concrete, wash basins - an art lover's woe, Not counting how the fellow in the next bed snored. But nothing whatever is by love debarred, The common and banal her heat can know. The corridor led to a stairway and below Was the inexhaustible adventure of a gravelled yard. This is w...
Memory of my Father by Patrick Kavanagh
Просмотров 2,6 тыс.6 лет назад
Memory of My Father Every old man I see Reminds me of my father When he had fallen in love with death One time when sheaves were gathered. That man I saw in Gardiner Street Stumble on the kerb was one, He stared at me half-eyed, I might have been his son. And I remember the musician Faltering over his fiddle In Bayswater, London. He too set me the riddle. Every old man I see In October-coloured...
Shancoduff by Patrick Kavanagh
Просмотров 3,6 тыс.6 лет назад
Shancoduff My black hills have never seen the sun rising, Eternally they look north towards Armagh. Lot's wife would not be salt if she had been Incurious as my black hills that are happy When dawn whitens Glassdrummond chapel. My hills hoard the bright shillings of March While the sun searches in every pocket. They are my Alps and I have climbed the Matterhorn With a sheaf of hay for three per...
Meeting Point by Louis MacNeice
Просмотров 4,6 тыс.7 лет назад
Time was away and somewhere else, There were two glasses and two chairs And two people with the one pulse (Somebody stopped the moving stairs) Time was away and somewhere else. And they were neither up nor down; The stream’s music did not stop Flowing through heather, limpid brown, Although they sat in a coffee shop And they were neither up nor down. The bell was silent in the air Holding its i...
Crow's Nerve Fails by Ted Hughes
Просмотров 6948 лет назад
Crow, feeling his brain slip, Finds his every feather the fossil of a murder. Who murdered all these? These living dead, that root in his nerves and his blood Till he is visibly black? How can he fly from his feathers? And why have they homed on him? Is he the archive of their accusations? Or their ghostly purpose, their pining vengeance? Or their unforgiven prisoner? He cannot be forgiven. His...
Crow's Fall by Ted Hughes
Просмотров 4,3 тыс.8 лет назад
Crow’s Fall When Crow was white he decided the sun was too white. He decided it glared much too whitely. He decided to attack it and defeat it. He got his strength up flush and in full glitter. He clawed and fluffed his rage up. He aimed his beak direct at the sun’s centre. He laughed himself to the centre of himself And attacked. At his battle cry trees grew suddenly old, Shadows flattened. Bu...
The Ship Of Death by DH Lawrence
Просмотров 6818 лет назад
I Now it is autumn and the falling fruit and the long journey towards oblivion. The apples falling like great drops of dew to bruise themselves an exit from themselves. And it is time to go, to bid farewell to one's own self, and find an exit from the fallen self. II Have you built your ship of death, O have you? O build your ship of death, for you will need it. The grim frost is at hand, when ...
The Minotaur by Ted Hughes
Просмотров 8698 лет назад
The Minotaur The mahogany table-top you smashed Had been the broad plank top Of my mother's heirloom sideboard- Mapped with the scars of my whole life. That came under the hammer. That high stool you swung that day Demented by my being Twenty minutes late for baby-minding. 'Marvellous!' I shouted, 'Go on, Smash it into kindling. That's the stuff you're keeping out of your poems!' And later, con...
In Time of ‘The Breaking of Nations’ By Thomas Hardy
Просмотров 2 тыс.8 лет назад
I Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent walk With an old horse that stumbles and nods Half asleep as they stalk. II Only thin smoke without flame From the heaps of couch-grass; Yet this will go onward the same Though Dynasties pass. III Yonder a maid and her wight Come whispering by: War’s annals will cloud into night Ere their story die.
Another September by Thomas Kinsella
Просмотров 6608 лет назад
Dreams fled away, this country bedroom, raw With the touch of the dawn, wrapped in a minor peace, Hears through an open window the garden draw Long pitch black breaths, lay bare its apple trees, Ripe pear trees, brambles, windfall-sweetened soil, Exhale rough sweetness against the starry slates. Nearer the river sleeps St. John’s, all toil Locked fast inside a dream with iron gates. Domestic Au...
Inniskeen Road: July Evening by Patrick Kavanagh
Просмотров 7 тыс.8 лет назад
The bicycles go by in twos and threes - There's a dance in Billy Brennan's barn tonight, And there's the half-talk code of mysteries And the wink-and-elbow language of delight. Half-past eight and there is not a spot Upon a mile of road, no shadow thrown That might turn out a man or woman, not A footfall tapping secrecies of stone. I have what every poet hates in spite Of all the solemn talk of...
The Fisherman by W.B. Yeats
Просмотров 1 тыс.8 лет назад
The Fisherman by W.B. Yeats Although I can see him still- The freckled man who goes To a gray place on a hill In gray Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies- It's long since I began To call up to the eyes This wise and simple man. All day I'd looked in the face What I had hoped it would be To write for my own race And the reality: The living men that I hate, The dead man that I loved, The ...
A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allan Poe
Просмотров 3328 лет назад
A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allan Poe
The Circus Animals' Desertion by William Butler Yeats
Просмотров 3,4 тыс.8 лет назад
The Circus Animals' Desertion by William Butler Yeats
To The Evening Star by William Blake
Просмотров 13 тыс.8 лет назад
To The Evening Star by William Blake
Behind The Closed Eye by Francis Ledwidge
Просмотров 4938 лет назад
Behind The Closed Eye by Francis Ledwidge
The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Просмотров 4,1 тыс.8 лет назад
The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins
This is like an eye-opening experience for me
I love you Patrick❤ I love your passion❤
God A U D
Even more beautiful when put to music. ruclips.net/video/1l-mDwnApTA/видео.htmlsi=Fw8xtbEu83c6BJV2
Sorry - unable to find a solo horse but - ruclips.net/video/0lKhsX2rw64/видео.htmlsi=aRJnnkpyhICvTgPw
Nice picture but the wrong horse!
Just the average mindset of the ever-victim circa 2015 onwards. But this is surely a more considered take
Brilliant. I love it.
Love this)
One of my favourite poems
Excellent. Commenters have noted the nostalga of the rural life, but most people who have actually had to survive with it have a more pessimistic view.
excellent.
This reading is not easy on the ear...Irish can sound very guttural if read thus.
"Opened" soil, not "unopened." The misreading hobbles the poet's intent. "Opened" enriches the delving intent of the poem.
Beautiful; lyrical like his old mate, Wystan, when both were at their best. Thank you, PT.
clay is the word and clay is the flesh...
thank you
Beautiful ❤️
When Gay Byrne had a phone competition live on air, the card that was picked was from a lady whose daughter had been killed the night before in an accident, Byrne and the country were struck silent, after condolences were offered, the lady was asked that given the circumstances if she would like to continue, she said she would, because her daughter had posted the entry card. Kennely was a guest that evening, and recited this beautiful poem in memory of the young woman. It was terribly sad, but beautiful.
Thank you so much... there are so much analysing videos but they hardly pronounce it correctly. This helped a lot specially the words that are in archaic language ❤
Thank you so much... there are so much analysing videos but they hardly pronounce it correctly. This helped a lot specially the words that are in archaic language ❤
Thank you. I first read it 44 years ago. I was fortunate to get to help save the hay on my aunt's farm every summer, near Lough Egish, Co.Monaghan. Some of the best days of my life.
I think you may have missed the nuance of Patrick's rural life...
Beautiful. Silence. Love. Light. God.
💙🤍
What a bad reading. Yikes
this poem is stunning
the master of understatement and bitterness
a great voice of crtitique of post colonial Ireland
he summed it up well "tragedy is just understated comedy" When they got rid of the British oppressor ,they took on another .The eternal post-colonial problem .Buts its more eloquently expressed here ,than any historian could
lovely
When Crow was white he decided the sun was too white. He decided it glared much too whitely. He decided to attack it and defeat it. He got his strength up flush and in full glitter. He clawed and fluffed his rage up. He aimed his beak direct at the sun's centre. He laughed himself to the centre of himself And attacked. At his battle cry trees grew suddenly old, Shadows flattened. But the sun brightened- It brightened, and Crow returned charred black. He opened his mouth but what came out was charred black. "Up there," he managed, "Where white is black and black is white, I won."
Why so dour? I get the tone but I don’t he sooo dour.
yes rip Derek and thanks
Beautiful. RIP Derek. 👏
Great video 10/10
Where's the rest of it?!
better than the author's rendition ! .. qudos
The voice is honestly creepy
What did the fox symbolise?🤔
Inspiration? Imagination? Understanding? Finding a way to express whatever thought or theme was in the poet's mind? Poetry and poets often deal with ideas that forever lie just a breath way from being fully explicable in everyday language . that's why we have and need poets ... to make us think and reach our own conclusions.
alan sturgess Finally a beautiful interpretation!❤️
@@editthisthot4302 I don't know if you're a teacher but, for what they're worth, here are a few ramblings of my own: When I was a teacher, I always tried to use and teach poetry as a way to encourage children to explore ways beyond the obvious with which to express or examine their own feelings or experiences. I now volunteer in a school and still try to do so - especially since poetry has been largely removed from the UK's National Literacy Strategy (idiots). Pre-Covid I was working with a Year 6 class and explained that one of the features of poetry is that you can (with reason) break the usual rules of syntax, tense, spelling etc. if it helps you express yourself. This can apply to prose, but it harder to do or justify with primary pupils. Often, when writing rhyming, rhythmic poetry, you need to swap or adjust word position to maintain sense but, in so doing, traditional syntax might need to be ignored. As long as there is a reason for doing something, the door can be opened as wide as you find necessary. For instance, take the idea of someone remembering how they used to throw pebbles into a stream. A straightforward description might be ... 'If I think back to those days, I remember standing here, throwing pebbles into the stream and then watching circles ripple outwards after each splash.' In a rhyming poem that could becomes ... It seems only yesterday, almost in a dream, that I stood here and with pebbles made splash and circle in the stream. One approach I often took was to either use or adapt Hughes' idea(s) and ask children to imagine a poem as some sort of creature --- in other words, to personify it. Depending upon the class or group I might ask them to imagine watching the creature whilst with others I'd ask them to imagine being the creature. One poem I used from a small sequence called 'What kind of creature is 'a poem'?' ended like this ... Poems are secretive creatures. Each one leaves a special mark. Perhaps there's one beside you, or behind you in the dark? Perhaps there's one inside you, it only takes a spark to provide the fire that calls it like a moth that's drawn to flame fluttering against the window; beating against the pane. What kind of creature is your poem ? But that's rhyming poetry - what about free verse? Is that harder to write, teach or explain? It's certainly better at helping pupils to break away from the usual traps of using rhyme, but it has its own disciplines - despite the tag of being labelled 'free'. Before I launch into an exposition, I'll leave you with a simple example in which, for effect, the ending relies on breaking two rules . . . re-arranging the word-order of a well known phrase and the use of rhyme which isn't usually associated with free verse. (that's always a very interesting rule to break). This poem is one of a group which personifies colours for painting rather than colours in light. If you like this idea, look for an old jazz poetry recording by Ken Nordine called 'Colours' ... ruclips.net/video/GPrfn8WwLqA/видео.html Personally, the use of music in those recordings doesn't add anything for me and is a distraction, but that could be another avenue to explore in school along with movement and mime. Purple was afraid. She'd had too many brushes with pain. Red and Blue were at war. They were always fighting. One day, one of them would kill the other. What would happen to Purple then? She always tried to keep out of it. She played safe. She didn't want to get mixed up with either of them. But what other choice was there? She knew the time would come when she had to make a decision. She couldn't do things on her own. Should she go with Red? Or should she choose Blue? Life, for Purple, has always been such a painful cry and hue.
alan sturgess We Need More Teachers Like You In This World Sir.. Happy Teacher’s Day
@@editthisthot4302 🧡💚
Please sir hindi me vidio banayiye eska
Richard Thomas read this poem on the Walton series. I love that episode .Mama's birthday.
*Gerard Manley Hopkins, not Gerald.
A fine reading. Please fix the distraction of the wrong name.
Once you hear Hughes read his own poetry, his voice becomes ingrained into every word whenever you then read his work. This rendition is OK - but compare it to Hughes and you'll hear what I mean. From about 1.40 ... ruclips.net/video/s49p1K8bqK4/видео.html&start_radio=1
Super
it is so use full
There’s NO way he read it like that. He was surprised. Not scared
Excellent poem
... up there where white is black and black is white, I won
I have an examination today in this poem but , i need clear analysis with simple vocabulary because I understand no thing with this poem .
So you will have been studying this poem for quite some time and still have no idea what it's about, nor how the imagery works? Maybe try a different subhect rather than English Literature and poetry? Why leave it until the day of the exam to wonder about meaning . . . . or are you just a troll who wanted to post something negative? Yes, that, surely, is the only truth.
Dear P.T., Wonderful selection. Wonderful Reading. Wonderful, Wonderful poem. It truly made time go away! Thanks so much, PoetryForce
lapis laguli ki hindi chahiye