Poetry Books

Robert Burns poems - "Ae Fond Kiss, And Then We Sever", "Tom O'Shanter"


David Gest:


TROUBLED superstar Michael Jackson helped make a pop album of Robert Burns poems.

Lifelong pal David Gest said they recorded it at Jackson’s studio in California with top artists giving a 21st century twist to the Bard’s lyrics.

He says Jackson is in love with the poetry of Burns and helped pay for it to be put to music.

Burns died in 1796 and his poems were recently described by Newsnight presenter Jeremy Paxman as “sentimental doggerel”.

But Gest, 55, believes his works are as relevant today as ever. He said: “Our favourite poet in the world is Robbie Burns.

“Michael and I were originally going to do a musical on his life with Gene Kelly directing and Anthony Perkins as executive producer – but they both died.

“So Michael and I put all the poems to contemporary music in his studio in Encino.

“We did Ae Fond Kiss, Tam O’Shanter and all that. We turned his work into show tunes. It is beautiful and I still have the recordings. I am thinking more and more about bringing Red, Red Rose back to life because I went on that bridge when I was last in Scotland looking for Tam O’Shanter.

“I felt like I was a little kid looking for all those things Burns wrote about and the curator let me lay on the bed Burns slept in at his family home. The alarm went off. It was really surreal because Michael and I think of him as one of the most brilliant minds ever.”


David Gest, Sky News

An album of Burns poetry is not true, “I had said in an interview that years ago that Michael had put the poetry to music for a show I had been working on.”

Gest said he spoke to Michael two days before, and said “Do you know you’re going to be doing an album of poems?” to which Michael apparently laughed and joked about it.


Ae Fond Kiss, And Then We Sever

1791
Type: Song
Tune: Rory Dall’s Port.

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.

I’ll ne’er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy:
But to see her was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov’d sae kindly,
Had we never lov’d sae blindly,
Never met-or never parted,
We had ne’er been broken-hearted.

Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweeli alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee.

Poetry by Rabindranath Tagore


Deepak Chopra, Huffington Post, June 26th 2009

That person, whom I considered (at the risk of ridicule) very pure, still survived — he was reading the poems of Rabindranath Tagore when we talked the last time, two weeks ago


Wikipedia Description:

Author of Gitanjali and its “profoundly sensitive, fresh and beautiful verse”, he became the first non-European Nobel laureate by earning the 1913 Prize in Literature. In translation his poetry was viewed as spiritual and mercurial; his seemingly mesmeric persona, floccose locks, and empyreal garb garnered him a prophet-like aura in the West. His “elegant prose and magical poetry” remain largely unknown outside Benga


A link to all the poems of Rabindranath:
http://www.poemhunter.com/rabindranath-tagore/poems/

Sufi Poetry


Deepak Chopra, Huffington Post, June 26th 2009

When we first met, around 1988, I was struck by the combination of charisma and woundedness that surrounded Michael. He would be swarmed by crowds at an airport, perform an exhausting show for three hours, and then sit backstage afterward, as we did one night in Bucharest, drinking bottled water, glancing over some Sufi poetry as I walked into the room, and wanting to meditate.


Wikipedia:

Sufi poetry has been written in many languages, both for private devotional reading and as lyrics for music played during worship, or dhikr. Themes and styles established in Punjabi Poetry, Sindhi Poetry, Arabic poetry and mostly Persian poetry have had an enormous influence on Sufi poetry throughout the Islamic world, and is often part of the Sufi music.


Link to various famous Sufi poems.
http://wahiduddin.net/sufi/sufi_poetry.htm

Thoughts of Love: A Collection of Poems on Love, by Susan Polis Schutz


Found in the Vaccaro vault





Amazon description:

Published 1983

When thoughts of love take up residence in your heart, they bring wonderful feelings of happiness, hope, and tenderness. They transform the world around you into a place where dreams really do come true; they bring a special beauty to each season of your life. Yet as powerful as these thoughts are, they aren’t always easy to express.

THOUGHTS OF LOVE is for anyone who has ever been at a loss for words to describe the overwhelming emotions created by love. The poems and writings collected here portray and celebrate love in all its many facets. This book is a beautiful gift to give, receive, and share between two hearts that know all the happiness a loving relationship can bring.

“Love is an understanding that is so complete that you feel as if you are a part of the other person, accepting the other person just the way they are, and not trying to change them to be something else. Love is the source of unity.” – Susan Polis Schutz

The Children's Hour, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Printed on his souvenir letter set of Neverland.

The Children’s Hour

Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day’s occupations,
That is known as the Children’s Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
O’er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!

The Tyger, by William Blake


Printed in the “Thriller 25″ book.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

The Bridge of Sighs, by Thomas Hood


Michael was inspired to write “Little Susie” based on this poem.


One more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashion’d so slenderly
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.

Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny
Rash and undutiful:
Past all dishonour,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.

Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve’s family—
Wipe those poor lips of hers
Oozing so clammily.

Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses;
Whilst wonderment guesses
Where was her home?

Who was her father?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister?
Had she a brother?
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other?

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
O, it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God’s providence
Seeming estranged.

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

The bleak wind of March
Made her tremble and shiver;
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river:
Mad from life’s history,
Glad to death’s mystery,
Swift to be hurl’d—
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly—
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran—
Over the brink of it,
Picture it—think of it,
Dissolute Man!
Lave in it, drink of it,
Then, if you can!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashion’d so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,
Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!

Dreadfully staring
Thro’ muddy impurity,
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fix’d on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurr’d by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest.—
Cross her hands humbly
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!

Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour!

The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran


Mentioned in a 1978 interview with Patrick Salvo.


Summary via wikipedia:

Research on sales figures is difficult to come by, but sources in the publishing world report that behind Shakespeare and Lao-Tzu, Khalil Gibran is the third most widely read poet in history, having been translated into well over 40 languages. The Prophet is in its 163rd printing and has sold over 100 million copies since its original publication in 1923. The Prophet is one of the best-selling books of all time

The prophet, Al-Mustafa who has lived in the foreign city of Orphalese for 12 years is about to board a ship which will carry him home. He is stopped by a group of people, with whom he discusses topics such as life and the human condition. The book is divided into chapters dealing with love, marriage, children, giving, eating and drinking, work, joy and sorrow, houses, clothes, buying and selling, crime and punishment, laws, freedom, reason and passion, pain, self-knowledge, teaching, friendship, talking, time, good and evil, prayer, pleasure, beauty, religion, and death.