Robert Graves

(1895 - 1985 / London / England)

Flying Crooked - Poem by Robert Graves

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.

Comments about Flying Crooked by Robert Graves

  • Kathy Millard (7/1/2019 8:13:00 PM)

    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! (Report)Reply

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  • Diana Wandelt (9/8/2018 6:00:00 AM)

    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. (Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
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  • Toolate Dave (8/5/2017 8:18:00 AM)

    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.

    2 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 1, 2010

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