BIG L - POEMS

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Elective Subject : Literature in English Form 4 & 5 - poems (texts)

Text of BIG L - POEMS

LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

Theme : Conflicts

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

Dulce Et Decorum EstWilfred Owen Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of disappointed shells that dropped behind. GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And floundering like a man in fire or lime.-Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-My friend, you would not tell with such high zest 25 20 15 10 5 1

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

The Man He Killed(From "The Dynasts") Thomas Hardy

"HAD he and I but met By some old ancient inn, We should have sat us down to wet Right many a nipperkin! "But ranged as infantry, And staring face to face, I shot at him as he at me, And killed him in his place. "I shot him dead because Because he was my foe, Just so: my foe of course he was; That's clear enough; although "He thought he'd 'list, perhaps, Off-hand likejust as I Was out of workhad sold his traps No other reason why. "Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down You'd treat, if met where any bar is, Or help to half-a-crown."

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

Death of a RainforestCecil Rajendra

i wrestle with a rhinoceros but no words will come i hear tall trees crashing wild birds screeching the buffalo stampeding but no words will come i hear sawmills buzzing cash registers clicking entrepreneurs yam-seng-ing but no words will come i hear of press conferences of petitions, of signatures of campaigns & lobbying but no words will come i hear the rain pounding into desolate spaces the widowed wind howling but no words will come the rhino is boxed & crated merbok & meranti are gone above, no monkeys swing from no overhead branches

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

below, a pangolin stumbles around amputated trunks an orphaned butterfly surveys the wounded jungle yes, no words can fill this gash of malevolence but a terrible anger squats hugging its knees in silence. 30 25

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

The War against the TreesStanley Kunitz

The man who sold his lawn to standard oil Joked with his neighbors come to watch the show While the bulldozers, drunk with gasoline, Tested the virtue of the soil Under a branchy sky By overthrowing first the privet-row. Forsythia-forays and hydrangea-raids Were but preliminaries to a war Against the great-grandfathers of the town, So freshly lopped and maimed. They struck and struck again, And with each elm a century went down. All day the hireling engines charged the trees, Subverting them by hacking underground In grub-dominions, where dark summers mole Rampages through his halls, Till a northern seizure shook Those crowns, forcing the giants to their knees. I saw the ghosts of children at their games Racing beyond their childhood in the shade, And while the green world turned its death-foxed page And a red wagon wheeled, I watched them disappear Into the suburbs of their grievous age. Ripped from the craters much too big for hearts The club-roots bared their amputated coils, Raw gorgons matted blind, whose pocks and scars

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

Cried Moon! on a corner lot One witness-moment, caught In the rear-view mirrors of the passing cars. 30

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

a quarrel between day and nightOmar Mohd Noor

night proposed to day ill take twelve hours and you take twelve hours day had to accept it for there was no alternative or night will take twenty four hours of fear of dream-thoughts fastening us to deep darkness forever but night cannot be trusted it wanted the stars, moon and all citylights leaving only the sun and one stray star astray in early daylight while day laughs at the wet sun that is why I fear the night always bringing dream-thoughts making one hungry in the chest the next morning, a bad prelude to a working day with only one forty minute break

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together(From The Passionate Pilgrim, XII) William Shakespeare

CRABBED age and youth cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasure, age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, ages breath is short; Youth is nimble, age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame. Age, I do abhor thee, youth, I do adore thee; O! my love, my love is young: Age, I do defy thee: O! sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stayst too long.

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

Theme :Perceptions of Self

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

BirchesRobert Frost

WHEN I see birches bend to left and right Across the line of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm (Now am I free to be poetical?) I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself,

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches; And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, 55 50 45 40 35 30

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. 60

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LITERATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY

FORM 4 & 5

I AmJohn Clare

I am - yet what I am, none cares or knows: My friends forsake me like a memory lost:I am the self-consumer of my woes:They rise and vanish in oblivions host, Like shadows in loves frenzied stifled throes:And yet I am, and live like vapours tossed Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems; Even the dearest, that I love the best Are strange --- nay, rather stranger than the rest. I long for scenes, where man hath never trod A plac