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Poetry & Music
Transcript of Poetry & Music
Poison Tree. William Blake
Poetry is life distilled
Whitman vs. Del Rey
I Sing the Body Electric
Bob Dylan: "I'm a poet, and I know it"
I sing the body electric (W. Whitman)
Averroes Brit Week
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
& tweet it #britweek
Write your group poem...
There are strong connections between popular music and poetry, as modern-day songwriters like Bob Dylan, Jim Morrison and Jewel have published books of poems.
Poetry is what makes me laugh, cry or yawn,
what makes my toenails twinkle
what makes me do this or that or nothing.
Poetry is What
by Dylan Thomas
I write poetry in order to live more fully
Poetry & Music
Ae Fond Kiss’ (by Robert Burns)
I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.
Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?
A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
Southern trees bear a strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black body swinging in the Southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant South,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,
And the sudden smell of burning flesh!
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.