Flying Crooked Poem by Robert Graves

Flying Crooked

Rating: 3.3

The butterfly, the cabbage white,
(His honest idiocy of flight)
Will never now, it is too late,
Master the art of flying straight,
Yet has — who knows so well as I? —
A just sense of how not to fly:
He lurches here and here by guess
And God and hope and hopelessness.
Even the aerobatic swift
Has not his flying-crooked gift.

Kathy Millard 01 July 2019

dreadful reading of a magnificent poem she even misread now for know and, for shame for it all- it is these non- readers who have turned off students from poetry for a lifetime. How could this be allowed!

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Diana Wandelt 08 September 2018

This was the first poem I ever loved, probably because I understood it completely on first reading it. Occasionally, we have those moments when we think to ourselves, Somebody out there truly empathises with what I am feeling... Still my favourite poem to this day, and still one of my favourite poets: as for the others, Gerard Manley Hopkins, William Blake, and Benjamin Zephania are all worth a look as all three are deeply perceptive of and receptive to the human condition.

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Toolate Dave 05 August 2017

Coda - written on broccoli being consumed by cabbage white caterpillars: The caterpillar, hairy, green, Whose appetite is all too keen, Has not this honest gift, alas, And heads straight for the Brassicas.

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Robert Graves

Robert Graves

London / England
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