"Annabel Lee" by E.A.Poe as performed by Sarah Jarosz

Yesterday's newspaper brought word of this 20 year old acoustic musician to my attention. Sarah Jarosz is making herself heard, and known, as a fine musician and performer. This evening will mark her first appearance in Charlotte at one of my favorite venues, Neighborhood Theatre. Having not heard of this remarkable young woman before I went to You Tube and found several very nice arrangements of some well-known songs and ballads. But of all the songs I listened to, this is the one that got me.

Annabel Lee, which seems to be spelled several different ways, depending on where you look, (I have used the spelling from the 1940 Washington Square Press edition of "Great Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe") is one of my favorite poems by Poe, and is probably the first one of his works I ever heard. It has that "sing-song" type of cadence to it which makes it perfect for the second grade, which is where I first heard it. That was 50 years ago.(Thanks, Mrs. Sanders!) But Ms. Jarosz has given it a new and unique quality. Her arrangement actually adds to the drama and mystique of the poem. It was an unexpected treat.

Ms. Jarosz, who is not yet 21, has already performed with Bela Fleck, Shawn Colvin and Vince Gill. That’s quite impressive for someone of her age. Keep your eye on her as her career continues to rise. She covers everyone from Edgar Allan Poe to Tom Waits, as well as writing some of her own compositions. For more information about this Ms. Jarosz, including booking info, use this link;

http://sarahjarosz.com/

"Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

"The House By the Pond"

The little house by the pond, once it stood,
In perfect harmony, with water and wood.
But ravaged by time, and overtaken by vines,
It was at last entombed, by forces combined,
To cheat of it's beauty, but somehow instead,
The house, as it is,has come out ahead!

January 1st, 2012
Mooresville, NC

"The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost

This is another one of my favorite poems. It is also the first poem I ever recall reading that wasn't written in a four line rhyming sequence, as with "Jack and Jill" and all the other poems that are taught in the 1st and 2nd grades. Actually, this one was first introduced to me in 5th Grade by Mrs. Denslow. I don't know where she is today; I could probably find her, or one of her children, to let them know what an impact this poem had upon me. Simply put, it stretched the boundaries of what I accepted as poetry, to something a little bit different; something which would lead me, later on, to appreciate "free verse" and other poetic styles, as valid. And, since the main purpose of this blog is for my grandchildren to know me more fully when they are older, I decided to include it here.

Poetry is the ability to condense our most complex emotions into the fewest words possible, without losing the message. Strictly structured, Haiku poetry is the champion in that regard. There are also epic poems, such as "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner", and Poe's "The Raven", which are a bit more lengthy and have much to say. While I enjoy them, as well as Allen Ginsberg and Lawrence Ferlinghetti, I have always remained enamored of the simple rhyme schemes in poetry by the likes of Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, etc. These poets also capture the same complex emotions as the others, but with one difference; they turn them into song, actually making the words sing. This particular poem always strikes me as the American version of Hartley Coleridge’s “Long Time A Child”, which I have posted here before;

"The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

"Trees" by Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

The author of this wonderful poem was born Alfred Joyce Kilmer on December 6, 1886 in New Brunswick, New Jersey, and passed away during the fighting in the Second Battle of the Marne on July 30, 1918. He was a member of New York's famed "Fighting 69th". Known as an American journalist, poet, critic, and editor, he had already made his mark upon the world when he died at age 31.

Though he is mostly remembered for the above poem "Trees", which he wrote in 1913, he was a most prolific writer, and appears frequently in anthologies of American poetry. Although most critics consider his work too simple, I have always found his words to be direct and compact. I find his style akin to Haiku poetry, where less often means more. He was the workingman's Wordsworth, easily understood by all.

I grew up just a few short blocks from Sgt. Joyce Kilmer Square on Kings Highway and East 12th Street in Brooklyn, New York. There used to be an Armed Forces Recruiting Station located there. Perhaps that is why I have always held his works in such high regard.

Wendell Berry: "Manifesto"

Wendell Berry was born on August 5th, 1934, in Kentucky. He is best known as an American man of letters, political activist, and a farmer. He has written countless novels, short stories and poems. He is a recipient of The National Humanities Medal. He has even been quoted on TV's "Law and Order" in the episode starring Robin Williams. In that show, Mr. Williams, acting as his own defense counsel, quotes from the following poem, which made me an instant fan of Mr. Wendell's. I have italized the portion which was quoted, so aptly, in that episode.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go.

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.