Franklin Roosevelt's Favorite Poem

According, at least, to one Web site I perused, one of Franklin Roosevelt's favorite poems was the well known "If," by Rudyard Kipling. Its rhetorical framework is that of a father speaking to a son. I need to say a word on behalf of my colleagues in the field of philosophy, however, who sometimes quite rightly think AND make thoughts their aim. First, the site; then the poem.


http://www.classbrain.com/artbiographies/publish/FDR.shtml


If

by Rudyard Kipling

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 worn-out 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!

Keats's "To Autumn" Read Aloud

Well, here comes fall, often known as autumn in poetic circles, perhaps most famously in Keats's ode "To Autumn," which is read in a traditional (and deep) British voice in the following recording:

http://classicpoetryaloud.podomatic.com/entry/2007-05-28T23_15_03-07_00

If I Were A Werewolf

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(photo: Lon Chaney, Jr., as The Werewolf, in a hirsute werewolf-suit; photo courtesy Corbis)
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That "werewolf" includes the word/verb "were" has interested me for some time, and then I decided to write a poem called "If I Were A Werewolf," but one two-part hurdle I had to get over first is that I kept hearing "If I Were A Werewolf" sung either to the tune of "If I Were A Carpenter" or "If I Were A Rich Man." I shall leave the lyrics to those potential parody-songs to someone else. At any rate, I knew I had to go with free verse instead of anything resembling a ballad.


If I Were A Werewolf

If I were a werewolf, I'd know
where werewolves reside. Most
must hail and howl from
imagination, I imagine, but some
might come from outside Loreville.

Were I a werewolf, how would I behave?
Hirsutely, rudely, carnivoraciously?
I guess so, but maybe less so
than cinema would have it. Perhaps
I'd chiefly want to be alone,

denned up on some steppes, serenading
the loony moon, napping and scratching
like any other mammal. Or maybe
werewolves run in packs like lawyers,
politicians, and beer, in which case

I might have to have a role, a niche,
a boss, a pledge of loyalty, a werewolf
oath or anthem--the usual frightening
stuff that makes the atavistic hair
on the back of the neck stand up.


Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom

Gary Snyder Reading at Noon

Here is a link to a video of Gary Snyder reading at the noon-time series, U.C. Berkeley, not that long ago--and after Snyder had retired from teaching at U.C. Davis:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WxVZxJIYj6o&feature=related

Diane Di Prima Reads

Here is a link to a good video of Diaen Di Prima's reading of a poem about her grandfather. Like many other of her poems, this one contains references to things Italian and things political:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVN9lamJyoQ

Big Mama Thornton and Buddy Guy

Big Mama Thornton doing "Hound Dog" (she recorded it before Elvis did) with Buddy Guy on guitar: what's not to like?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5XUAg1_A7IE

Johnny Cash On Labor Day

No one can touch Tennessee Ernie Ford's recording of "Sixteen Tons." One does wonder, by the way, how many people nowadays even know what "a company store" is. Johnny Cash did all right in covering Ford's song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=boXa8c6OuRQ&feature=related

Brief of History of the Working Class

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Labor Day seems like a good occasion to mention the following book:

A Short History of the U.S. Working Class: From Colonial Times to the Twenty-First Century (Revolutionary Studies), by Paul Le Blanc (Humanity Books, 1999).

Poets Born In September

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Who are/were some poets born in September? I'm glad you asked.

Theodore Storm, German poet. What a great last name for a poet. "Hi. Storm's the name, and poetry's the game."

T.S. Eliot, American and British poet, also known as Tse Tse [fly]--one of Ezra Pound's nicknames for him; and as Old Possum.

Robert Burns, poetic king of Scottish poetry and song. Allesandro Tassoni--Italian, as you might have guessed.

Siegfried Sassoon, British poet and "trench poet" from the Great War. Reed Whittemore--also a translator, if memory serves.

William Carlos Williams, American (of course), and one of those poets from whom other poets may learn a lot (in my opinion).

Michael Ondaatje, Canadian poet and novelist. He published a book of poems with "rat jelly" in the title. How great is that?

Jaroslav Seifert, Czech poet. I wonder if George Siefert, former coach of the San Francisco 49ers, is related to him.

Elinor Wylie--American poet, novelist, and nonfiction writer.

And Edith Sitwell, officially Dame Edith Sitwell, British poet. My favorite poem by her may be "Still Falls The Rain," and I have a recording of her reading it.

So much depends upon the red wheel barrow and on September poetic birthdays. I also have a brother who was born in September. The gift is in the mail, bro.

Ronald Reagan and Poetry

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(the image is of a statue of St. Patrick, who was a native of France)




I ran across an interesting site about President Ronald Reagan and poetry, and the site even includes some poetry Reagan wrote early in live, as well as an excerpt from a eulogy for him by Ron Reagan, one that is written in free verse. Here is a link to the site:

http://www.thehypertexts.com/Ronald_Reagan_Poet_and_Poetry_a_Tribute_Retrospective_and_Memorial.htm




The site also includes this information:

In his travels through Ireland, Ronald Reagan once took note of a graveside epitaph at Castlereagh, the place where St. Patrick erected the first cross in Ireland:

Remember me as you pass by,
For as you are so once was I,
and as I am you soon will be,
So be content to follow me.

The site was established by Michael R. Burch.

Captions Without Drawings

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Here are some captions that are missing their drawings (cartoons), perhaps for good reason:

1. "No, sir, I'm afraid you may not enter our convent."

2. "God spoke to me and said, 'Glenn, you are God.'"

3. "And this just in to our news desk . . . I'm embarrassed to work for this network."

4. "So how does it look? I had the tailor add some Far-Left fringe."

5. "Dude, I thought you said we were going to a dude ranch?"

6. "Senator, it's the crazy constituent calling again with those facts we don't like."

7. "I believe the American people believe no one should use the phrase, 'The American people.'"

8. "Now I know why they call it the Big Apple."

9. "Welcome to the Big Apple, sir. I'm the Big Worm."

10. "After you turn 40, never weigh yourself unless you're in outer space."

11. "My boyfriend said he wanted to start seeing other people, and I said, 'That's cool with me,' and I removed his blindfold--but not the handcuffs."

12. "I couldn't believe it. I was walking down the street minding my own business when suddenly the onus fell on me."

Found Poem: Cabernet Franc

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For a brief found-poem about the wine, cabernet franc, please see . . .

http://redtalesbook.blogspot.com/2009/09/80-cabernet-franc.html

Woman In A Waiting-Room

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Woman In A Waiting-Room

I guess her age to be 80. She's kept
herself looking the best she can: lean
like a late aunt of mine. The gray
hair's tinted blond but cut
with no-nonsensical reserve--the style's
what they used to call "page-boy."

Trousers, a sweater, sensible beige shoes.
Her back hardly lets her bow to examine
magazine-covers on a table. She squints
and scowls so hawkishly, I think for a
moment she's spotted a spider. She
selects none of the magazines: wise.

She sits now and looks out western windows,
lifts her face to muted afternoon light,
takes out a compact, and applies lipstick.
Blue eyes above lightly rouged cheeks look
coolly into the mirror's report. She's not
looking for approval, only information. She

forms her lips as she has done for more
than six decades. Compact and lipstick
disappear. She settles into the chair,
into defiant patience, and waits, newly
painted lips pursed, for her doctor's
nurse to open a door and call her name.


Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom