National Poetry Day 2014

The theme for National Poetry Day this year is ‘remember’. What is the poem that you carry around in your head? Tag any line or link you like with #thinkofapoem to join in the poetry celebration, and your research will go to help the Poetry and Memory Project.

Full of Life Day reading
Memory of course is so important for continuing to live a full and varied life as we get older. Yesterday was Full of Life Day and I had a great time reading poems with a lovely group of Castlepoint coffee-morners.

 

Jack image

 

Next up for me  is ‘The Trench Composers’, Monday 6th Oct, 7.30pm St Peter’s Church – an Arts by the Sea Festival event. Joined by fellow poets Anne Peterson and Bob Hill, I’ll be reading poems from the First World War poets during an atmospheric evening of haunting and poignant music from composers who fought in the trenches, performed by Jack Maguire Ensemble. Tickets available here.

On Tues 7th, I’ll be reading at Poetry Corner with Steve Biddle, Poet in Residence at the Hotel Miramar, as part of the Bournemouth Emerging Art Fringe, and on Wed 6th I’m looking forward to attending the opening of John Foster’s new play ‘Shot at Dawn’ by Doppleganger Productions.
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Speaking of Fringe events, the Bournemouth Triangle BIG POEM is now underway, launched recently at the Mad Cucumber Lounge. Thanks to all who have added lines so far. Add your own lines to this big community poem here.

 

Two new poems from me today- First Sight and If I Were the Mayor.

17 poems from Bournemouth poets and local residents, including one from me, on September’s theme of ‘Age’.
Taking our cue from National Poetry Day, next month’s theme will be ‘memories’.
Send your poems here.

Launched today – Poet Profile Pages – a great opportunity for all Bournemouth poets whether known for written work, spoken word or performance, to showcase themselves. Click here for details.

 

So happy National Poetry Day everyone!National Poetry Day Remember

If I close my eyes and try to remember a poem, some of the lines that come back to me are from the last stanza of Yeats’ ‘When You Are Old’.  I’ll post them in the comment box here. Feel free to join me by clicking comment and posting your lines in the box, or better still tweet or post them yourselves remembering to include the hashtag.

May poetry inspire and comfort you today and everyday.

 

 

 

 

 

4 Comments

  1. James

    October 2, 2014 at 8:01 am

    And bending down beside the glowing bars,
    Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
    And paced upon the mountains overheard
    And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
    W.B. Yeats, ‘When You Are Old’
    #thinkofapoem

    • Chrissie Morris Brady

      October 4, 2014 at 2:18 pm

      James I love your choice from Yeats. He is one of my favourite poets but such a complex character. If you had not chosen Yeats I would have chosen Cloths of Heaven#thinkofapoem

      Had I the heaven’s embroidered cloths,
      Enwrought with golden and silver light,
      The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
      Of night and light and the half-light;
      I would spread the cloths under your feet:
      But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
      I have spread my dreams under your feet;
      Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

  2. Chrissie Morris Brady

    October 3, 2014 at 8:56 pm

    Tarantella#thinkof a poem

    Do you remember an Inn,
    Miranda?
    Do you remember an Inn?
    And the tedding and the spreading
    Of the straw for a bedding,
    And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
    And the wine that tasted of tar?
    And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
    (Under the vine of the dark veranda)?
    Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
    Do you remember an Inn?
    And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
    Who hadn’t got a penny,
    And who weren’t paying any,
    And the hammer at the doors and the din?
    And the hip! hop! hap!
    Of the clap
    Of the hands to the swirl and the twirl
    Of the girl gone chancing,
    Glancing,
    Dancing,
    Backing and advancing,
    Snapping of the clapper to the spin
    Out and in–
    And the ting, tong, tang of the guitar!
    Do you remember an Inn,
    Miranda?
    Do you remember an Inn?

    Never more;
    Miranda,
    Never more.
    Only the high peaks hoar;
    And Aragon a torrent at the door.
    No sound
    In the walls of the halls where falls
    The tread
    Of the feet of the dead to the ground,
    No sound:
    But the boom
    Of the far waterfall like doom.

    Hilaire Belloc

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