Convergence of the Twain

It's my turn to post a poem, dear readers, but at the moment I don't have a suitable one written. Also, Camille and I ran across a truly amazing poem in British Literature class this afternoon. In combination of these two factors, what I'm going to share with you today is not original material; rather, it's far better than anything I could do. It was written by Thomas Hardy, an English poet and novelist who died in 1928. You can read more about him here.

Before I give you the poem, I think it will be helpful to understand what's going on in the first five stanzas (at least, it was for me). As we learned this afternoon, Hardy is describing the wreck of the Titanic lying at the bottom of the sea. He then switches to telling about its earlier existence. And now for the poem...

Convergence of the Twain

In a solitude of the sea, 

Deep from human vanity,

And the Pride of Life that planned her stilly couches she.

Steel chambers late the pyres 

Of her salamandrine fires,

Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

Over the mirrors meant

To glass the opulent

The sea-worm crawls—grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

Jewels in joy designed

To ravish the sensuous mind

Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

Dim moon-eyed fishes near

Gaze at the gilded gear

And query: "What does this vaingloriousness down here?"

Well: while was fashioning

This creature of cleaving wing

The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything

Prepared a sinister mate

For her—so gaily great—

A Shape of Ice, for the time fat and dissociate.

And as the smart ship grew

In stature, grace, and hue,

In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

Alien they seemed to be.

No mortal eye could see

The intimate welding of their later history.

Or sign that they were bent

By paths coincident

On being anon twin halves of one august event,

Till the Spinner of the Years

Said 'Now!' And each one hears,

And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.


Thomas Hardy, 1915

Nine Eleven

Hi all here is my first poem for our new blog! Enjoy!

Nine Eleven

He was a firefighter big and strong, he fought fires all day long. On September eleven two thousand and one, he was sent to a fire that in the Twin Towers had begun.The air was hot, dusty and stale, as people passed him scared and pale. But he kept climbing right up to the top, for there was a fire that he must stop. When he got to the fire he was in for a shock, a moment later the tower began to tremble and rock. He began to hurry down to the ground, where his friends were safe and sound. Then the debris started falling on his head, and soon he knew he would be dead. He cried out to God, "Take care of my family, my children, my wife, and all of my friends who are a part of my life." The tower then fell down to the ground, where in the debris only a few were found. Many firefighters went in the towers were trapped and died, many a soul went to hell because from God no one can hide. But he was one of the blessed few who went to heaven, on that day we call Nine Eleven.

Camille Sterzer, 2011

Lessons from a Bee

I, Allison Young, am pleased to bring you Carmina's very first post. We are now officially commencing our weekly poems! For most of you, this is your first time to visit, so please explore! There's not much to see yet, but read all about us and link back if you like what you read.


And now for the first poem.

Lessons from a Bee


Walking by an apple tree, 

I came upon a honey bee.

She rubbed her legs and flicked her wings

with the charm of all small things,

then drank the nectar of a bloom

within its airy petal-room.

I bent and watched, beneath the tree,

my happy black and yellow bee,

until she fell up to the air

and floated off without a care.

I thought about her for a while,

wand’ring down a grassy aisle.

I should have pondered on my ills—
on burning hearts and clashing wills;

yet I could not rid my mind

of this small bee and of her kind.

If I could be as meek as they,

I’d drink from flowers every day;

and men perhaps would learn from me

what I’ve learned from this little bee.

Allison Young, 2012