Got a Favorite Poem? Come Share, or Even Find a New Favorite!
Whether a poetry fanatic or not a fan of poetry, everyone can have a favorite poem. I’d like to share mine and my reasons why it is my favorite, and I’d love to hear yours as well. So, here is my favorite:
Richard Cory
by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
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I discovered this poem during one of my English classes back in high school, and have liked it ever since, even though I’m not a big fan of poetry. It is short and has a strong ending, both of which I like, as well as the fact that it is deceiving in the sense that the first time I read the ending, I was entirely surprised. I think part of the reason I like it is I find it similar to my style of writing, or perhaps how I want my style of writing to be. Another reason is that I identify with the character – when I struggled with clinical depression (I talk more about this here, if you want to read more) I often went through the same process of internalizing everything and showing a happy face when I was interacting with others, all the while considering the morbid option to end my problems. While I have since recovered, that hasn’t changed my appreciation of the poem.
This has been my favorite poem since 9th grade (Other than "Said the Shotgun to the Head). It's called "These Things Are How You Make Me Feel" and it is by Anis Mojgani. I first heard it at a charity concert where he performed some of his poetry.
A nuclear reactor power plant that harnesses not any strange harmful energy,
But rather the energy of the sun. Of daisies. Of golden marbles.
Filled up past the brim. Behind me, there is a rainbow.
The nuclear reactor that I am harnesses the power of the rainbow.
Capturing a whole spectrum of colour and light.
This is how she makes me feel.
Like a great, grey, stone tall tower rising up out of the ocean.
From my room at the top of that tower I watch the world.
There is nothing but ocean for so far.
From up here, the ocean looks like it is the biggest thing in the universe.
From up here, it is the universe.
From my window, sitting atop the top of the universe,
Watching its waves of water move in unison together,
I feel like maybe I am bigger.
This is how she makes me feel.
Like I was seventeen, running in slow motion through a field lit with light.
Particles of dust moving through the air, the sun burning their bodies.
Perhaps it is dust. Perhaps it is magic dust.
Perhaps this magical dust is what I am made from.
I open my eyes and everything I see floats.
I am on a boat. It is night.
The world has calmed itself just to hold me inside all that is dark,
Just to rock me gently.
This is how she makes me feel.
The subway chambers of Moscow. I am vaulted.
I have giant chandeliers hanging from my underground ceilings.
I glow with so much light. I am a ballroom for the trains of Russia.
If you happen to be a child that has climbed down my steps to yell into my body,
Those echoes will bounce their way across those vaulted underground ceilings.
This happens all the time.
My dark tunnels are filled with these sounds.
This is how she makes me feel.
Like I will live forever. Like there is nothing that can possibly harm me.
Like this body will somehow stay so young, so perfect.
There are cities growing inside my chest.
The cities all look like New York in the fifties.
Every building is tall enough to touch a cloud.
Every automobile is a convertible.
All the men wear hats and neckties.
The women all have beautiful shapes of colour upon them.
Someone has saved a baby. There is a parade.
Someone has saved every baby – there is the biggest parade moving through my streets.
The sky explodes with ticker tape, strangers kiss on every corner.
Their kisses are what make me live forever.
This is how she makes me feel.
Like honey and trombones. Like honey and trombones.
Excellent post!