Far from the din of madding crowd,
And away from the bustle of city streets,
I withdrew into a solitary spot,
To turn my thoughts into dazzling verse.
Shelley and Shakespeare came in view,
Emily and Eliot fell in line,
Their verse ringing loud and clear,
Their energy fanning fire within.
I dreamt of putting proper words,
To clothe my thoughts in striking notes,
Longed to pour my loaded heart,
In powerful verse to move the hearts.
But as I started scrawling down,
All that I had stored in hoards -
Ebbed out into mere froth and foam,
Leaving bits of broken thoughts.
I sallied out for a stunning theme,
And stroked my pen to put it down,
But topics eluded me one by one,
Unable to decide on what to dwell,
I rummaged my memory for apt words,
And dallied round with lofty themes.
Yet nothing other than splintered thoughts,
And hackneyed phrases came alive.
I strained hard to give them life,
And laboured in vain to make them rhyme,
‘The Blazing Sun' and ‘the Brilliant Star',
Both faded out with no trace of glow.
I envisioned before me the Sacred Mount,
To drink from the fountain gushing down,
But hot lava spurted out,
And the wings of fancy burnt outright!
No Muse appeared to enliven me,
Nor my fantasy lingered long,
I stared blank into the scroll in front,
Unable to scribble even a moving thought.
Like a soldier vanquished in war,
I put away my paper and pen.
Blowing out my urge to write,
I bowed before all Bards so famed.
But as I started scrawling down, All that I had stored in hoards - Ebbed out into mere froth and foam, Leaving bits of broken thoughts. Wow. What an an image Valsa. You are writing with the whole literary heritage at the back of your mind. You used eloquent references and intellectual hints. I liked it so much, Valsa.
Hi Valsa! That was an amazing poem. It is not the death of a poet. In fact, it is the rebirth or the resurgence of a wonderful poetess called Valsa! You have paid tribute to all the great poets of the yore. Here, is a bouquet of roses for this masterpiece!
Just hang in there, your muse will come, just give it a liitle vacation. After reading this I doubt your need for a muse.A little libation might help- not to much though This is worth a 10 for effort
Like a soldier vanquished in a war... the striking line of this poem. Appreciated the esteemed poet Mondal's meticulous review of this poem.
" Unable to scribble even a moving thought" The confusion of every writer Is truly reflected in this poem Proving her talent
Like a soldier vanquished in war, I put away my paper and pen. Blowing out my urge to write, I bowed before all Bards so famed.......so touching and impressive. As per the title you have so impressively and incisively delineated the poem. Marvelous one.10
hey, someone else used from the madding crowd in something i read very recently! ! ! oh, well. WORD COINCIDENCE. favorite lines so far: All that I had stored in hoards - Ebbed out into mere froth and foam, Leaving bits of broken thoughts. try brilliant sun or blazing star. that always works for me! beware! the lava! ! is the title to be taken figuratively? i was hoping for blood and guts, under the wheels of an oncoming freight train! i'll put this into November's showcase, Section C. THANKS. bri :)
Topics eluded me one by one, being on the threshold of a vision and have them vanish before we can enter is a place where all poets at times have been...a wonderful poem, I really enjoyed reading each threshold you described.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a beautiful poem on this subject! I loved how you began with Gray's 'Elegy' and perhaps a bit of Hardy in there too, silently making their presence being felt, while Shakespeare, Shelley, Emily Dickinson, and Thomas Sterns Eliot make a direct appearance as we move along... I am not sure whether the 'The Blazing Sun' is a reference from our favourite nursery rhyme or someone else's work... But as the great E. M. Foster once mentioned in his book 'Aspects of the Novel' that all novelists from all ages can be imagined to be writing simultaneously in a single room, or Eliot's famous saying that a poet should have the 'entire literature of Europe from Homer to present in his bones', I could feel a river of history of the English poets running through this poem... The finale of looking at the Muse for inspiration is something that reminds me of Philip Sidney... And the reference to the 'Bards' is wonderfully crafted too... A beautiful poem that fuses both intellect and passion with perfection.. Thank you very much for sharing this ma'am...