The Guardian Angel Of The Little Utopia Shall I move the flowers again?Shall I put them further to the leftinto the light?Win that fix it, will that arrange thething?Yellow sky. I can still do this. I still do it in my head, completely engrossed, replaying actual games that I played thirty years ago. It is quite unsettling to think that I have managed to store in my head such mundane and quite un-useful details. That silence is the thing, this noise a found word for it; interjection, a jump ofthe breath at that silence; One of the most famous [9] pieces of nostalgic rose-tinted poems is Vitaï Lampada by Sir Henry Newbolt.

In the English-language tradition, a seed-poem for the strategy of spiritual conversation is George Herbert’s“Love (III)”: In Kyoto” by Basho, translated by Jane Hirshfield. Reprinted with the permission of Jane Hirshfield. The passengersfrom Boston to Pariswatching the movie with dawncoming up like statues of honey,having partaken of champagne and steakwhile the world turned like a toy globe,those murderers of the nightgownwould understand. I agree with what I have written above in my earlier review but I did concentrate on one thing that I notice I did not mention previously and perhaps it was just as well for I might just have downgraded my assessment to a two-star rating.

4) Champion of the Game

Life buzzing beneath methough my feeling says the hive is gone, queen gone,the continuum continuing beneath, busy, earnest, in con-versation.

The only useful answer is that I have found a new audience, and I have somehow, unconsciously, and yet, calculatedly, managed to shape my work around this audience. There is something impure, something unessential, something seemingly crass about this confession. I am left wondering what else I have abandoned for America; I wonder what else I have discarded so I can be a poet in America. And how bad is this? How serious a failure is this of my art? The first stanza is also quoted in full by Count Bronowsky in Paul Scott's Raj Quartet novel The Day of the Scorpion.The soldier sat in the youngest's boatand the boat was as heavy as if an iceboxhad been added but the prince did not suspect. And when she mentions nine gates, one is reminded that the human and animal bodies also have nine gates, or openings. The eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and the organs of procreation and elimination. Now, it may not have been her intent to indicate this line of reasoning, but such is poetry. Subject to a diverse array of meanings, peculiar to the individual reader. After I published Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women, people often asked me how the spiritual poetry of women differs from that of men. My answer: more imagery of houses. (The earlier poem here by Izumi Shikibu also uses the image of a house to speak of the experience of self and its boundaries.) To become the authority of one’s own household is no small thing in many women’s lives, even now, and the lives of earlier women poets are almost always marked by some fracturing with the expectations and course of ordinary life. The same is often true for men, of course, especially mystics. The editor has one of his own poems in the selection, 'Still Going Strong' and it is about Joe Hardstaff [junior] who was one of the most elegant batsmen for Nottinghamshire in the 1930s. The poem includes an amusing quote from the batsman about facing "Lol" [Harold Larwood], 'The fastest bowler' in the nets but even so 'Joe modelled Stillness/before lips curved up in a sweet/just-so smile as the ball/dropped safely at his feet.' I must say that even though he was before my time I always regarded Joe Hardstaff as the suave epitome of elegance. A good hooker. Not as interesting as you might think, it means that a batsman is good at hitting the ball away to his leg side.

The dissertation ends on a high note, climaxing with Li-po's, “Zazen on Ching -t'ing Mountain.” “We sit together, the mountain and me, until only the mountain remains.Ms. Hirshfield's exposition reeks of the very spirit that she would have us “know.” How sublimely appropriate. Twice a Week the Winter Thorough Twice a week the winter thorough Here stood I to keep the goal: Football then was fighting sorrow For the young man's soul. She told him not to drink a drop of wineand gave him a cloak that would makehim invisible when the right time came. To Be Amused You ask me to be gay and glad While lurid clouds of danger loom, And vain and bad and gambling mad, Australia races to her doom. Thought is deepened by conversation. The poetry of spiritual dialogue sometimes takes the form of the one-sided conversation we call prayer—when not reduced to convention, a communication of the most pressing kind. In other poems, a dramatized dialogue appears. The writer, of course, knows that he or she inhabits both sides, yet by entering into the language of interchange reaches for a knowledge undiscoverable in any other way.Better to watch the streamthat flows across the floorand is made of sunlight,the forest made of shadows;better to watch the fireplacewhich is now a beach. Lord Relator (born Willard Harris) wrote the "Gavaskar Calypso" to celebrate Gavaskar's first Test series, in West Indies in 1970–71. This was voted at No. 68 at a "Calypso of the Century" poll (although "Victory Calypso" did not feature in the list). [16] Nature Study (for Rona, Jeremy, Sam & Grace)All the lizards are asleep--perched pagodas with tiny triangular tiles,each milky lid a steamed-up window. Vultures in their shabby Sunday suitsfidget with broken umbrellas,while the ape beats his breastand yodels out repentance.