by Allie Esiri
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
24 April • from The Tempest • William Shakespeare
The character of Caliban in Shakespeare’s The Tempest is one of his most controversial and intriguing creations. While he is often described as a monster, Shakespeare also gives him lines which convey a very human, sensitive side.
Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
25 April • Robinson Crusoe’s Wise Sayings • Ian McMillan
Robinson Crusoe, popularly thought of as the very first English novel, was published this day in 1719. Written by Daniel Defoe, the book originally listed ‘Robinson Crusoe’ as its author, and, as the novel wasn’t a familiar form of storytelling, it was read by many people as an authentic autobiography and travel journal. Ian McMillan’s amusing poem extracts wisdom from Robinson’s hardships.
You can never have too many turtle eggs.
I’m the most interesting person in this room.
A beard is as long as I want it to be.
The swimmer on his own doesn’t need trunks.
A tree is a good clock.
If you talk long enough to a rock you’ll fall asleep.
I know it’s Christmas because I cry.
Waving at ships is useless.
Footprints make me happy, unless they’re my own.
25 April • from Henry VIII • William Shakespeare
This poem is taken from Henry VIII, a history play attributed to Shakespeare and John Fletcher. The poem takes as its subject the mythical figure Orpheus and the power of music. In Greek myth, Orpheus was a musician so talented that even inanimate objects such as stones were charmed by his music.
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain tops that freeze,
Bow themselves when he did sing:
To his music plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
26 April • Shakespeare • Matthew Arnold
Shakespeare is regarded by many as the most influential writer in the history of English literature. He even fundamentally altered the English language, inventing over 1,700 new words! Matthew Arnold, a well-respected Victorian poet and critic, remembers Shakespeare in his own sonnet, published in 1849. In it, Arnold expresses his awe at Shakespeare’s writing, marking him as one of the greatest writers of all time and mourning his death. Shakespeare’s astonishing body of work has stood the test of time, and Matthew Arnold’s sonnet is one of many love letters addressed to him, in the form made popular by the man himself.
Others abide our question. Thou art free.
We ask and ask – Thou smilest and art still,
Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill,
Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty,
Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea,
Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place,
Spares but the cloudy border of his base
To the foil’d searching of mortality;
And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know,
Self-school’d, self-scann’d, self-honour’d, self-secure,
Didst tread on earth unguess’d at. – Better so!
All pains the immortal spirit must endure,
All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow,
Find their sole speech in that victorious brow.
26 April • Into my Heart an Air that Kills • A. E. Housman
This poem’s rhetorical questions, about ‘blue remembered hills’, have become widely quoted. The poem is about the inaccessibility of memory and the past – we cannot get back to where we once were, but can only live our lives in the present.
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.
27 April • o by the by • E. E. Cummings
E. E. Cummings wrote around 2,900 poems, all unconventional, and all experimental. Many of his poems don’t seem to make sense at all – but that’s entirely intentional! Instead of trying to get everything to make sense, try just enjoying the flow of words and sounds. In this poem, being with someone is like flying your dreams as you would fly a kite.
o by the by
has anybody seen
little you-i
who stood on a green
hill and threw
his wish at blue
with a swoop and a dart
out flew his wish
(it dived like a fish
but it climbed like a dream)
throbbing like a heart
singing like a flame
blue took it my
far beyond far
and high beyond high
bluer took it your
but bluest took it our
away beyond where
what a wonderful thing
is the end of a string
(murmurs little you-i
as the hill becomes nil)
and will somebody tell
me why people let go
27 April • Child’s Song in Spring • Edith Nesbit
Edith Nesbit was a poet and an author, and she wrote adventure stories such as Five Children and It and The Railway Children, but in this poem her inspiration comes from something more familiar – trees in spring.
The Silver Birch is a dainty lady,
She wears a satin gown;
The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,
She will not live in town.
The English oak is a sturdy fellow,
He gets his green coat late;
The willow is smart in a suit of yellow
While brown the beech trees wait.
Such a gay green gown God gives the larches –
As green as he is good!
The hazels hold up their arms for arches,
When spring rides through the wood.
The chestnut’s proud, and the lilac’s pretty,
The poplar’s gentle and tall,
But the plane tree’s kind to the poor dull city –
I love him best of all!
28 April • Desiderata • Max Ehrmann
‘Desiderata’ is the most well-known work by the American poet Max Ehrmann. It is a prose poem – a type of writing, as
you might expect, somewhere in between poetry and prose. So, while Ehrmann doesn’t use rhyme or metre or regular stanza lengths, he does use the sort of language, imagery and metaphors we associate with poetry. Ehrmann’s words offer advice and encouragement, both spiritual and practical, and at its centre are two words: ‘Be yourself’.
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
28 April • Nostos • Louise Glück
The great American poet Louise Glück received the 2020 Nobel Prize in Literature ‘for her unmistakable poetic voice that, with austere beauty, makes individual existence universal’. That is certainly the case for this wonderfully poignant poem which follows her personal reflections on the natural surroundings that defined her childhood, before inviting us, with a unifying ‘we’, to share in an observation about our collective perceptions and memories.
There was an apple tree in the yard —
this would have been
forty years ago – behind,
only meadows. Drifts
of crocus in the damp grass.
I stood at that window:
late April. Spring
flowers in the neighbor’s yard.
How many times, really, did the tree
flower on my birthday,
the exact day, not
before, not after? Substitution
of the immutable
for the shifting, the evolving.
Substitution of the image
for relentless earth. What
do I know of this place,
the role of the tree for decades
taken by a bonsai, voices
rising from the tennis courts —
Fields. Smell of the tall grass, new cut.
As one expects of a lyric poet.
We look at the world once, in childhood.
The rest is memory.
29 April • Dancing with Life • Shauna Darling Robertson
29 April is International Dance Day, in global celebration of the art of dance – from tap-dance to tango, and ballet to breakdance.
I beckoned to the floor
missed buses and lost races.
We body-popped till sore.
I held out my hand
to every failed exam.
We lindy-hopped. We can-canned.
I slipped my arm around the waist
of chicken, loser, nerd.
We skip-jived at a pace.
I chose the longest, dullest week
and pressed it to my chest
as we cha-cha’d cheek to cheek.
I tipped and doffed my hat
to a hundred horrid haircuts.
We mambo’d, tango’d, tapped.
Feeling bold, I turned to face
my darkest, rawest faults.
I took them in my arms, we bowed
and broke into a waltz.
29 April • The Emperor’s Rhyme • A. A. Milne
This jaunty poem features a fair amount of rhyming, which makes it easy to learn off by heart. Just don’t try to do the sums in your head!
The King of Peru
(Who was Emperor too)
Had a sort of a rhyme
Which was useful to know,
If he felt very shy
When a stranger came by,
Or they asked him the time
When his watch didn’t go;
or supposing he fell
(By mistake) down the well,
Or he tumbled when skating
And sat on his hat,
Or perhaps wasn’t told,
Till his porridge was cold,
That his breakfast was waiting –
Or something like that;
Oh, whenever the Emperor
got into a temper, or
Felt himself sulky or sad,
He would murmur and murmur,
Until he felt firmer,
This curious rhyme which he had:
‘Eight eights are sixty-four;
Multiply by seven.
When it’s done,
Carry one,
And take away eleven.
Nine nines are eighty-one;
Multiply by three.
If it’s more,
Carry four,
And then it’s time for tea.’
So whenever the Queen
Took his armour to clean,
And didn’t remember
To use any starch;
Or his birthday (in May)
Was a horrible day,
Being wet as November
And windy as March;
Or, if sitting in state
With the Wise and the Great
He happened to hiccup
While signing his name,
Or The Queen gave a cough,
When his crown tumbled off
As he bent down to pick up
A pen for the same;
Oh, whenever the Emperor
Got into a temper, or
Felt himself awkward or shy,
He would whisper and whisper,
Until he felt crisper,
This odd little rhyme to the sky.
‘Eight eights are eighty-one;
Multiply by seven.
When it’s done,
Carry one,
And take away eleven.
Nine nines are sixty-four;
Multiply by three.
When it’s done,
Carry one,
And then it’s time for tea.’
30 April • The Hippopotamus’s Birthday • E. V. Rieu
Although E. V. Rieu was well-known for his hugely successful translation of The Odyssey, his humorous poetry for children suggests that he didn’
t spend all of his time on the classics.
He has opened all his parcels
but the largest and the last;
His hopes are at their highest
and his heart is beating fast.
O happy Hippopotamus,
what lovely gift is here?
He cuts the string. The world stands still.
A pair of boots appear!
O little Hippopotamus,
the sorrows of the small!
He dropped two tears to mingle
with the flowing Senegal;
And the ‘Thank you’ that he uttered
was the saddest ever heard
In the Senegambian jungle
from the mouth of beast or bird.
30 April • Facing It • Yusef Komunyakaa
On 30 April 1975, Saigon, the capital of South Vietnam, was captured by Northern Vietnamese forces. This event, known as the Fall of Saigon, marked the defeat of South Vietnam and the US forces which supported them, and ended the Vietnam War – a conflict which had raged for nearly twenty years and resulted in the deaths of approximately four million people. This poem is set inside the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, which honours the American soldiers who lost their lives in the war.
My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn’t,
dammit: No tears.
I’m stone. I’m flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way – the stone lets me go.
I turn that way – I’m inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap’s white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman’s blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird’s
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet’s image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I’m a window.