I have always had the silly habit of thinking that every beautiful word written on paper is worth keeping, no matter how terrible the writing talent of the author. Ever since I can recall writing poems for a class, I have been sneaking graded, unwanted ones from the trashcans. Once I even saved a poem some kid had written in a geometry book. It was half in English and half in Spanish; I couldn't make heads or tails of most of it, but...I just didn't have the heart to let it get erased forever (to tell you the truth, I just couldn't comprehend that one of that sarcastic high-school lot had the...humility? certainly interest...to write a poem on their own). I have desperatly tried to preserve every scrap of writing I've ever done, no matter how dreadful it is. Call it pack-ratish and unnecesary, but it tears me to let words go...
Which reminds me...
I happen to have in my possesion 21 small, blue, ancient books. They are a series from 1922 entitled "The Pocket University". They are collectons of various poems, short stories and other writings by various well-known as well as obscure authors. I'm not sure how well known and/or distributed these books are, but I think it is safe to say that some of their contents are not likely to be found anywhere else.
I would like to start a second series, a series of Forgotten Poetry. Many or most of the poems I put on here will probably not really be forgotten by everyone, but at least by most people. I hope to draw some attention to poetry that many people may never get the chance to read - poetry that actually deserves to be preserved and is not just some silly spluttering of a ninth grader. Of course there's always the chance that anyone who reads these will scoff and cry out "How perfectly absurd! How is it possible that this person really thinks these poems are forgotten? What ignorance! What gall!!!".......but somehow I think not. If you have read any of these, forgive me. At the very least I have refreshed them in your mind. Here is the first one...one that I know for sure is not entirely forgotten.
Which reminds me...
I happen to have in my possesion 21 small, blue, ancient books. They are a series from 1922 entitled "The Pocket University". They are collectons of various poems, short stories and other writings by various well-known as well as obscure authors. I'm not sure how well known and/or distributed these books are, but I think it is safe to say that some of their contents are not likely to be found anywhere else.
I would like to start a second series, a series of Forgotten Poetry. Many or most of the poems I put on here will probably not really be forgotten by everyone, but at least by most people. I hope to draw some attention to poetry that many people may never get the chance to read - poetry that actually deserves to be preserved and is not just some silly spluttering of a ninth grader. Of course there's always the chance that anyone who reads these will scoff and cry out "How perfectly absurd! How is it possible that this person really thinks these poems are forgotten? What ignorance! What gall!!!".......but somehow I think not. If you have read any of these, forgive me. At the very least I have refreshed them in your mind. Here is the first one...one that I know for sure is not entirely forgotten.
The Fool's Prayer
by Edward Rowland Sill
The royal feast was done; the King
Sought some new sport to banish care,
And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!"
The jester doffed his cap and bells,
And stood the mocking court before;
They could not see his bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.
He bowed his head, and bent his knee
Upon the silken stool;
His pleading voice arose: "Oh Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!
"No pity, Lord, could change the heart
From red with wrong to white as wool:
The rod must heal the sin; but, Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!
"'T is not by guilt the onward sweep
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;
'T is by our follies that so long
We hold the earth from heaven away.
"These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end;
These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
Among the heart-strings of a friend.
"The ill-timed truth we might have kept-
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung!
The word we had not sense to say-
Who knows how grandly it had rung!
"Our faults no tenderness should ask,
The chastening stripes must cleanse them all;
But for our blunders-oh, in shame
Before the eyes of heaven we fall.
"Earth bears no balsalm for mistakes;
Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!"
The room was hushed; in silence rose
The King, and sought his gardens cool,
And walked apart, and murmered low,
"Be merciful to me, a fool!"
I've always found the "wise fool" theme to be a very interesting one...for where is knowledge without wisdom? Without wisdom, knowledge (and indeed wealth and power and almost anything else) can be a terrible and dangerous thing. As Alexander Pope wisely observed,
Whereas with wisdom, a little seems to be better then none at all.A little learning is a dangerous thing;drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:there shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,and drinking largely sobers us again.
