The Well Read Poem

During this season, we thought it appropriate to offer our listeners six poems about family life. The poems selected for this season are quite various in style and manner, and have been chosen for the light they shed on relationships between parents and children, between husbands and wives, brothers and sisters. We hope that these readings will, in their small way, add a measure of comfort and happiness to the lives of our audience during these winter months. Today's poem is "My Sister's Sleep" by Dante Rosetti. Poem reading begins at timestamp 4:13. My Sister's Sleep by Dante Rosetti She fell asleep on Christmas Eve: At length the long-ungranted shade Of weary eyelids overweigh'd The pain nought else might yet relieve.   Our mother, who had lean'd all day Over the bed from chime to chime, Then rais'd herself for the first time, And as she sat her down, did pray.   Her little work-table was spread With work to finish. For the glare Made by her candle, she had care To work some distance from the bed.   Without, there was a cold moon up, Of winter radiance sheer and thin; The hollow halo it was in Was like an icy crystal cup.   Through the small room, with subtle sound Of flame, by vents the fireshine drove And redden'd. In its dim alcove The mirror shed a clearness round.   I had been sitting up some nights, And my tired mind felt weak and blank; Like a sharp strengthening wine it drank The stillness and the broken lights.   Twelve struck. That sound, by dwindling years Heard in each hour, crept off; and then The ruffled silence spread again, Like water that a pebble stirs.   Our mother rose from where she sat: Her needles, as she laid them down, Met lightly, and her silken gown Settled: no other noise than that.   "Glory unto the Newly Born!" So, as said angels, she did say; Because we were in Christmas Day, Though it would still be long till morn.   Just then in the room over us There was a pushing back of chairs, As some who had sat unawares So late, now heard the hour, and rose.   With anxious softly-stepping haste Our mother went where Margaret lay, Fearing the sounds o'erhead—should they Have broken her long watch'd-for rest!   She stoop'd an instant, calm, and turn'd; But suddenly turn'd back again; And all her features seem'd in pain With woe, and her eyes gaz'd and yearn'd.   For my part, I but hid my face, And held my breath, and spoke no word: There was none spoken; but I heard The silence for a little space.   Our mother bow'd herself and wept: And both my arms fell, and I said, "God knows I knew that she was dead." And there, all white, my sister slept.   Then kneeling, upon Christmas morn A little after twelve o'clock We said, ere the first quarter struck, "Christ's blessing on the newly born!"

Welcome the final poem in Season 17 of the Well Read Poem! This season's theme is "When Homer Nods: Bad Poetry by Good Poets." Until this season, our readings on The Well Read Poem have nearly all been drawn from the well of the great, or at least the good, waters of poetry, which would of course take a lifetime and more to exhaust. And so it has been deemed appropriate at summer's close, as we return to school and the daily round, that we should partake slightly of a few select vintages of bad poetry by otherwise accomplished poets for the sake of variety and the amusement of all. Today's selection is "The Dissolution of the Monasteries" by William Wordsworth. Poem readings begin at timestamps 4:40 and 8:32.  To learn more about Thomas Banks, visit https://houseofhumaneletters.com, and to listen to our flagship podcast, head to https://www.theliterary.life. You can also find free downloadable, printable files with all the poems read on the podcast on our poetry page at https://www.theliterary.life/the-well-read-poem/.

Welcome back to Season 17 of the Well Read Poem! This season's theme is "When Homer Nods: Bad Poetry by Good Poets." Until this season, our readings on The Well Read Poem have nearly all been drawn from the well of the great, or at least the good, waters of poetry, which would of course take a lifetime and more to exhaust. And so it has been deemed appropriate at summer's close, as we return to school and the daily round, that we should partake slightly of a few select vintages of bad poetry by otherwise accomplished poets for the sake of variety and the amusement of all. Today's selection is "Poem of a Proposition of Nakedness" by Walt Whitman. Poem reading begins at timestamp 2:51.  To learn more about Thomas Banks, visit https://houseofhumaneletters.com, and to listen to our flagship podcast, head to https://www.theliterary.life. You can also find free downloadable, printable files with all the poems read on the podcast on our poetry page at https://www.theliterary.life/the-well-read-poem/.

Welcome back to Season 17 of the Well Read Poem! This season's theme is "When Homer Nods: Bad Poetry by Good Poets." Until this season, our readings on The Well Read Poem have nearly all been drawn from the well of the great, or at least the good, waters of poetry, which would of course take a lifetime and more to exhaust. And so it has been deemed appropriate at summer's close, as we return to school and the daily round, that we should partake slightly of a few select vintages of bad poetry by otherwise accomplished poets for the sake of variety and the amusement of all. Today's selection is "To a Republican Friend" by Matthew Arnold. Poem readings begin at timestamps 5:27 and 9:52.  To learn more about Thomas Banks, visit https://houseofhumaneletters.com, and to listen to our flagship podcast, head to https://www.theliterary.life. You can also find free downloadable, printable files with all the poems read on the podcast on our poetry page at https://www.theliterary.life/the-well-read-poem/.

Welcome back to Season 17 of the Well Read Poem! This season's theme is "When Homer Nods: Bad Poetry by Good Poets." Until this season, our readings on The Well Read Poem have nearly all been drawn from the well of the great, or at least the good, waters of poetry, which would of course take a lifetime and more to exhaust. And so it has been deemed appropriate at summer's close, as we return to school and the daily round, that we should partake slightly of a few select vintages of bad poetry by otherwise accomplished poets for the sake of variety and the amusement of all. Today's selection is "Sonnet 11: On the Desecration Which Followed My Writing Certain Treatises" by John Milton. Poem readings begin at timestamps .  To learn more about Thomas Banks, visit https://houseofhumaneletters.com, and to listen to our flagship podcast, head to https://www.theliterary.life. You can also find free downloadable, printable files with all the poems read on the podcast on our poetry page at https://www.theliterary.life/the-well-read-poem/.

Welcome back to Season 17 of the Well Read Poem! This season's theme is "When Homer Nods: Bad Poetry by Good Poets." Until this season, our readings on The Well Read Poem have nearly all been drawn from the well of the great, or at least the good, waters of poetry, which would of course take a lifetime and more to exhaust. And so it has been deemed appropriate at summer's close, as we return to school and the daily round, that we should partake slightly of a few select vintages of bad poetry by otherwise accomplished poets for the sake of variety and the amusement of all. Today's selection is "The Death of King Charles II" from "Threnodia Augustalis" by John Dryden. Poem readings begin at timestamps 4:06 and 8:08.  To learn more about Thomas Banks, visit https://houseofhumaneletters.com, and to listen to our flagship podcast, head to https://www.theliterary.life. You can also find free downloadable, printable files with all the poems read on the podcast on our poetry page at https://www.theliterary.life/the-well-read-poem/.

Dive into the quirks of poetry as the host tackles the theme of 'bad' verse by renowned poets. Explore Tennyson's 'On the Jubilee of Queen Victoria,' which is critiqued for feeling more like a formal advertisement than a true homage. Hear reflections on the challenges poets face during public commemorations and the evolving perceptions of Tennyson's work over time. Discover how even less-than-stellar poetry can spark meaningful conversations about artistry and history.

Welcome to the final episode in Season 16 of The Well Read Poem podcast! Since summer is upon us, we thought it right to present six poems written on one subject or another in some way inspired by the present season. These works are of a diversity of hands, times, and moods, and we hope that they will add something pleasant to your reading life as the days and nights grow warmer. Today's poem is "Summer" by Christina Rossetti. Poem reading begins at timestamp 3:06 or 6:44. To learn more about Thomas Banks, visit HouseofHumaneLetters.com, and to listen to our flagship podcast, head to TheLiterary.Life. You can also find free downloadable, printable files with all the poems read on the podcast on our Well Read Poem webpage. Summer by Christina Rossetti Winter is cold-hearted,   Spring is yea and nay, Autumn is a weathercock   Blown every way: Summer days for me   When every leaf is on its tree; When Robin's not a beggar,   And Jenny Wren's a bride, And larks hang singing, singing, singing,   Over the wheat-fields wide,   And anchored lilies ride, And the pendulum spider   Swings from side to side, And blue-black beetles transact business,   And gnats fly in a host, And furry caterpillars hasten   That no time be lost, And moths grow fat and thrive, And ladybirds arrive. Before green apples blush,   Before green nuts embrown, Why, one day in the country   Is worth a month in town;   Is worth a day and a year Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion   That days drone elsewhere.

Welcome back to Season 16 of The Well Read Poem podcast! Since summer is upon us, we thought it right to present six poems written on one subject or another in some way inspired by the present season. These works are of a diversity of hands, times, and moods, and we hope that they will add something pleasant to your reading life as the days and nights grow warmer. Today's poem is "On the Move" by Thom Gunn. Poem reading begins at timestamp 4:01. To learn more about Thomas Banks, visit HouseofHumaneLetters.com, and to listen to our flagship podcast, head to TheLiterary.Life. You can also find free downloadable, printable files with all the poems read on the podcast on our Well Read Poem webpage. On the Move by Thom Gunn The blue jay scuffling in the bushes follows Some hidden purpose, and the gust of birds That spurts across the field, the wheeling swallows, Has nested in the trees and undergrowth. Seeking their instinct, or their poise, or both, One moves with an uncertain violence Under the dust thrown by a baffled sense Or the dull thunder of approximate words.   On motorcycles, up the road, they come: Small, black, as flies hanging in heat, the Boys, Until the distance throws them forth, their hum Bulges to thunder held by calf and thigh. In goggles, donned impersonality, In gleaming jackets trophied with the dust, They strap in doubt – by hiding it, robust – And almost hear a meaning in their noise.   Exact conclusion of their hardiness Has no shape yet, but from known whereabouts They ride, direction where the tyres press. They scare a flight of birds across the field: Much that is natural, to the will must yield. Men manufacture both machine and soul, And use what they imperfectly control To dare a future from the taken routes.   It is a part solution, after all. One is not necessarily discord On earth; or damned because, half animal, One lacks direct instinct, because one wakes Afloat on movement that divides and breaks. One joins the movement in a valueless world, Choosing it, till, both hurler and the hurled, One moves as well, always toward, toward.   A minute holds them, who have come to go: The self-defined, astride the created will They burst away; the towns they travel through Are home for neither bird nor holiness, For birds and saints complete their purposes. At worst, one is in motion; and at best, Reaching no absolute, in which to rest, One is always nearer by not keeping still.   From Collected Poems. Copyright © 1994 by Thom Gunn. Reprinted for educational purposed only.

Welcome back to Season 16 of The Well Read Poem podcast! Since summer is upon us, we thought it right to present six poems written on one subject or another in some way inspired by the present season. These works are of a diversity of hands, times, and moods, and we hope that they will add something pleasant to your reading life as the days and nights grow warmer. Today's poem is "Adlestrop" by Edward Thomas. Poem readings begin at timestamps 3:07 and 6:08. To learn more about Thomas Banks, visit HouseofHumaneLetters.com, and to listen to our flagship podcast, head to TheLiterary.Life. You can also find free downloadable, printable files with all the poems read on the podcast on our Well Read Poem webpage. Adlestrop by Edward Thomas Yes. I remember Adlestrop— The name, because one afternoon Of heat the express-train drew up there Unwontedly. It was late June.   The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat. No one left and no one came On the bare platform. What I saw Was Adlestrop—only the name   And willows, willow-herb, and grass, And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry, No whit less still and lonely fair Than the high cloudlets in the sky.   And for that minute a blackbird sang Close by, and round him, mistier, Farther and farther, all the birds Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.