Goodpoetry

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Sinopsis

Poetry readings from GoodPoetry. Visit us at www.GoodPoetry.org. Find us on Facebook, tweet TDarris on Twitter.com and get the podcast at podmatic.com and iTunes.

Episodios

  • Episode 8: "A HYMN to the Evening" by Phillis Wheatley

    28/11/2021 Duración: 01min

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:From the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3a40394. .----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:A Hymn to the EveningSoon as the sun forsook the eastern mainThe pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,And through the air their mingled music floats.Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dies are spread!But the west glories in the deepest red:So may our breasts wi

  • Episode 6: "A HYMN to the MORNING" by Phillis Wheatley

    28/11/2021 Duración: 01min

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info: From the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3a40394. .----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:A Hymn to the MorningATTEND my lays, ye ever honour'd nine,Assist my labours, and my strains refine;In smoothest numbers pour the notes along,For bright Aurora now demands my song.Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies,Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies:The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays;Harmonious lays the feather'd race resume,Dart the bri

  • Episode 3: "Thursday" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

    25/11/2021 Duración: 37s

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Edna St. Vincent Millay, photographed by Carl Van Vechten, 1933----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:And if I loved you Wednesday,   Well, what is that to you?I do not love you Thursday—   So much is true. And why you come complaining   Is more than I can see.I loved you Wednesday,—yes—but what   Is that to me?

  • Episode 4: "Travel" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

    24/11/2021 Duración: 48s

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Edna St. Vincent Millay in Mamaroneck, NY, 1914, by Arnold Genthe.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:TravelThe railroad track is miles away,     And the day is loud with voices speaking, Yet there isn't a train goes by all day     But I hear its whistle shrieking. All night there isn't a train goes by,     Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming, But I see its cinders red on the sky,     And hear its engine steaming. My heart is warm with the friends I make,     And better friends I'll not be knowing; Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't t

  • Episode 3: "Tavern" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

    22/11/2021 Duración: 51s

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Edna St. Vincent Millay passport photograph----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:I'll keep a little tavern    Below the high hill's crest, Wherein all grey-eyed people    May set them down and rest.There shall be plates a-plenty,    And mugs to melt the chill Of all the grey-eyed people    Who happen up the hill.There sound will sleep the traveller,    And dream his journey's end, But I will rouse at midnight    The falling fire to tend.Aye, 'tis a curious fancy—    But all the good I know Was taught me out of two grey eyes    A long time ago.

  • Episode 2: "Afternoon on a Hill" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

    21/11/2021 Duración: 42s

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Edna St. Vincent Millay in Mamaroneck,[3] NY, 1914, by Arnold Genthe.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:I will be the gladdest thing     Under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers     And not pick one.I will look at cliffs and clouds     With quiet eyes, Watch the wind bow down the grass,     And the grass rise.And when lights begin to show     Up from the town, I will mark which must be mine,     And then start down!

  • Episode 1: The Unexplorer by Edna St. Vincent Millay

    21/11/2021 Duración: 44s

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Edna St. Vincent Millay, photographed by Carl Van Vechten, 1933----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:The UnexplorerThere was a road ran past our house Too lovely to explore. I asked my mother once—she said That if you followed where it led It brought you to the milk-man’s door. (That’s why I have not traveled more.)“The Unexplorer” was published in A Few Figs From Thistles (Harper & Brothers, 1922). This poem is in the public domain.

  • Episode 51: "The Negro Speaks of Rivers" by Langston Hughes

    12/11/2021 Duración: 57s

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Langston Hughes in 1936 by Carl Van Vechten----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:The Negro Speaks of Rivers (To W.E.B. DuBois)I’ve known rivers:I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flowof human blood in human veins.My soul has grown deep like the rivers.I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosomturn all

  • Episode 50: "Kids Who Die" by Langston Hughes

    10/11/2021 Duración: 56s

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Portrait of American writer and activist Langston Hughes in 1943 (US Library of Congress Archives)----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:Kids Who DieThis is for the kids who die, Black and white, For kids will die certainly. The old and rich will live on awhile, As  Always, Eating blood and gold, Letting kids die.Kids will die in the swamps of Mississippi Organizing sharecroppers Kids will die in the streets of Chicago Organizing workers Kids will die in the orange groves of California Telling others to get together Whites and Filipinos, Negroes and

  • Episode 49: "Harlem" by Langston Hughes

    09/11/2021 Duración: 35s

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Portrait of American writer and activist Langston Hughes in 1943 (US Library of Congress Archives)----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:"Harlem"What happens to a dream deferred?Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet?Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.Or does it explode?

  • Episode 48: "Dreams" by Langston Hughes

    08/11/2021 Duración: 30s

    EPISODE DESCRIPTIONRead and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Portrait of American writer and activist Langston Hughes in 1943 (US Library of Congress Archives)----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:"Dreams"Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly.Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.

  • Episode 47: "American Heartbreak" by Langston Hughes

    07/11/2021 Duración: 25s

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Langston Hughes in 1936 by Carl Van Vechten----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:American HeartbreakI am the American heartbreak— Rock on which Freedom Stumps its toe— The great mistake That Jamestown Made long ago.

  • Episode 46: "My People" by Langston Hughes

    06/11/2021 Duración: 33s

    "My People" by Langston HughesRead and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Photograph Info:Langston Hughes in 1936 by Carl Van Vechten----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Poem:My PeopleThe night is beautiful,So the faces of my people.The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people.Beautiful, also, is the sun. Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

  • Episode 45: "When Sue Wears Red" by Langston Hughes

    04/11/2021 Duración: 40s

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.--------------------------------When Sue Wears RedWhen Susanna Jones wears red Her face is like an ancient cameo Turned brown by the ages.Come with a blast of trumpets, Jesus!When Susanna Jones wears red A queen from some time-dead Egyptian night Walks once again.Blow trumpets, Jesus!And the beauty of Susanna Jones in red Burns in my heart a love-fire sharp like pain.Sweet silver trumpets, Jesus!

  • Episode 44: Theme for English B by Langston Hughes

    31/10/2021 Duración: 02min

    Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.--------------------------------"Theme for English B" by Langston HughesThe instructor said,Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true.I wonder if it’s that simple? I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem. I went to school there, then Durham, then here to this college on the hill above Harlem. I am the only colored student in my class. The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem, through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas, Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y, the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator up to my room, sit down, and write this page:It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you: hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page. (I hear New York, too.) Me—who? Well, I like to eat,

  • Episode 43: "The Washer-Woman" by Otto Leland Bohanan

    03/02/2021 Duración: 38s

    #GoodPoetry​ presents an excerpt from Phillis Wheatley's poem, entitled "To the Right Honourable William, Earl of Dartmouth". This poem was published in Phillis Wheatley's poetry book, entitled, "Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral" in 1773. This poem is in the public domain.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------This colored illustration of Phillis Wheatley is in the public domain.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Here is the text for the excerpt of Phillis Wheatley's poem, entitled, "To the Right Honourable William, Earl of Dartmouth":Should you, my lord, while you peruse my song,Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,Whence flow these wishes for the common good,By feeling hearts alone best understood,I, young in life, by seeming cruel fateWas snatch'd from Afric's fancy'd happy seat:What pangs excruciating must molest,What sorrows labour in my parent's breast?Steel'd was that soul and by no misery mo

  • "Ars Poetica" by Archibald Macleish

    27/05/2020 Duración: 01min

    Ars PoeticaBY ARCHIBALD MACLEISHA poem should be palpable and mute As a globed fruit,DumbAs old medallions to the thumb,Silent as the sleeve-worn stoneOf casement ledges where the moss has grown—A poem should be wordless As the flight of birds. * A poem should be motionless in time As the moon climbs,Leaving, as the moon releasesTwig by twig the night-entangled trees,Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves, Memory by memory the mind—A poem should be motionless in time As the moon climbs. * A poem should be equal to:Not true.For all the history of griefAn empty doorway and a maple leaf.For loveThe leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—A poem should not mean But be.

  • "One's-Self I Sing" by Walt Whitman, read by Teyuna Trynea Darris

    08/06/2019 Duración: 50s

    One’s-Self I sing, a simple separate person, Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse. Of physiology from top to toe I sing, Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say the Form complete is worthier far, The Female equally with the Male I sing. Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful, for freest action form’d under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing. -------------------------------------- Listen to GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org and on Stitcher, Google Podcasts, Apple Podcasts and iTunes.

  • "There is no Frigate like a book" by Emily Dickinson

    01/01/2019 Duración: 28s

    There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands away Nor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry – This Traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of Toll – How frugal is the Chariot That bears the Human Soul –

  • "When I Was One-and-Twenty" by A.E. Housman

    26/12/2018 Duración: 47s

    "When I Was One-and-Twenty" BY A. E. HOUSMAN When I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say, “Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies But keep your fancy free.” But I was one-and-twenty, No use to talk to me. When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again, “The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain; ’Tis paid with sighs a plenty And sold for endless rue.” And I am two-and-twenty, And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.

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