reading three of my favourite poems (with analysis)

[@faheemahammed6480]

'Home' by Warshan Shire is one of my favorite poem too... Its just so moving and its makes you think about refugee crisis in a different and humane way that the media or society never portrays..... Loved the video, Jack🙂😊

[@thfgfvvvvcvv698]

I love hearing Jack talking about poems and books

[@Olivia_Rose_1308]

I could literally listen to you read poetry all day! This video has definitely made me more appreciative of poetry, and of its deeper meaning.

[@redmapelleaf]

Thank you Jack! I truly enjoyed listening to these poems. There are so many things that could be said about each of them. As for the first two, both are so incredibly heartbreaking. Especially the second one really spoke to me, the analogies in it were so powerful. The third one was very light and sunny, it painted a colourful picture, the Basque coast, the paintings mentioned, the feelings that it created... I think a poem has to get to you in the right moment to fulfil it's full potential. And every person finds something new and different in a poem.

[@user-iw5ou5yo6u]

You can tell how much Jack loves these poems because he’s glowing! Thank you so much for this video❤️

[@Bob-wr4ep]

I loved hearing these. Especially the second. Great video. Id love a part 2

[@seraphinetan7673]

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh 'Home' was my unseen poetry assignment for my weighted assignment. The poem really left me feeling a sense of loss as i walked out of the classroom, it really impacted me in a way that i still cannot put a word on.

[@trhodes1319]

These poems made me cry, they're so beautiful and touching

[@danielafigueiredo9350]

The poems are really touching in very different ways, loved them all. Thank you so much for reading them to us, you should make it a series on your own channel!! :)

[@emmelinemacdonald3005]

thank you so much for this video- it's opened my eyes to more poetry and made me more motivated to learn about literature :)

[@audrey3155]

frank o’hara is my favorite poet. somehow he perfectly encapsulates pure love of life perfectly.

[@affirmwithangela]

i love listening to your analysis of poetry and books :)) it’s beautiful!

[@hannahgrier4472]

I loved this 🥰 makes me think I should read more poetry

[@aishikamitra]

I didn't realize that this was on the StudyTube channel. I knew about the last poem, so the other two were good discoveries. After getting my Masters' in Journalism, I am rethinking about doing a Masters' in English Lit. There are times when I feel like hanging by a thread when it comes to having a fully academic discourse. But, the love for knowing new things and discovering new literature keeps me still. Thank you so much, Jack.

[@sunflowerthebunbunbunny]

I just got on winter holidays today and I’m excited to be productive during them, this is really cool Jack!!

[@_C____]

So, "Home" almost made me cry and also reminded me of "Litany for Survival" by Audre Lorde: For those of us who live at the shoreline standing upon the constant edges of decision crucial and alone for those of us who cannot indulge the passing dreams of choice who love in doorways coming and going in the hours between dawns looking inward and outward at once before and after seeking a now that can breed futures like bread in our children’s mouths so their dreams will not reflect the death of ours; For those of us who were imprinted with fear like a faint line in the center of our foreheads learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk for by this weapon this illusion of some safety to be found the heavy-footed hoped to silence us For all of us this instant and this triumph We were never meant to survive. And when the sun rises we are afraid it might not remain when the sun sets we are afraid it might not rise in the morning when our stomachs are full we are afraid of indigestion when our stomachs are empty we are afraid we may never eat again when we are loved we are afraid love will vanish when we are alone we are afraid love will never return and when we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard nor welcomed but when we are silent we are still afraid So it is better to speak remembering we were never meant to survive.

[@aaliyah_mars]

Warsan Shire is my favourite poet & the first I read 'Home' I got chills from it. I would really recommend reading some of her other works - they explore similar themes to Home & I love how she gives a voice to an increasingly unfairly demonised group

[@nanyprincesa]

Originally, I didn't watch this because I get anxiety from watching people do things that make me anxious (such as reading a poem in a "poetic" way, the personality and courage you have to have to do that is A LOT), but man. I'm happy I watched this, I loved the poems and loved your smile when discussing them.

[@dacostacelia9299]

Really nice video ! They are so moving and powerful. I’d love to have some recommendations on beginner friendly poetry and classical books ;) Thanks for making such diverse videos

[@wintrywhiff]

you’re doing an amazing job, thank you so much

[@jessh5111]

cried at the second poem 😥

[@derrickpang3680]

he basically spoke a whole essay on a DASH

[@AO2437.]

❤️❤️❤️ I'm learning and loving a lot of new things during lockdown. Tiara was amazing! Kind of relatable too. Home struck a chord with me too. So sad and scary, really relevant too. Made the struggles of refugees really come alive. Wish we as a society could do more to help them. Having a Coke With You really reminded me of someone... I loved it. A nice end to the video. I've been to the Frick once, they have some amazing masterpieces for sure.

[@sheilanojawani]

No exaggeration, but the best video on the StudyTube project so far.

[@Realisticallyliteral]

What you said about Tiara, it giving so much insight into this life, reminded me of The orange by Wendy Cope. I love her style and The orange is just such a beautiful poem that makes me feel like I am seeing life through her eyes.

[@infinebow7810]

"Fourteen men between your legs" This reminds me of a line from "A sonnet upon sonnets" by Robert burns but I feel like there's a story behind it that I'm unaware of. "Fourteen good years - a woman gives us life; Fourteen good men - we lose that life again." Would love for someone to give their own analysis of it.

[@sanaafzalmir]

I really loved the poem “Home” by Wole Shokynka. Thanks for sharing it.

[@ameliamullins8915]

The poems where beautiful and so touching and made me reflect and think about lots of things like how lucky I am. There are a fiew books that are related to racisim that I have read that I really recomend. "the help" is comical yet teaches an important message. "the secret life of bees" is beautiful,devastating and I love the wording the author uses. I am now reading "the invention of wings" about slavery, well written. Thank you for the video.

[@miaheffernan1128]

gorgeous video - I loved it so much! SO powerful! Amazing!

[@BUKCOLLECTOR]

Very much enjoyed your poetry discussion and the poets you reacted to. I, too, am a poet ( and also a fiction story writer which I’ll elaborate shortly ) but for now let me say I write mostly Japanese format poems i.e. haiku , senryu, tanka/kyoka, haibun etc. I hope you don’t mind me sharing a Tanka and a haiku dedicated to Matshuo Bashō’s frog with added insightful commentary by the late AHA founder and poet Jane Reichhold who considered my haiku among her 10 favorite haiku of all time! What an honor. Here’s the Bashō poem with Jane Reichhold’ insightful insightful commentary: Bashō’s frog four hundred years of ripples At first the idea of picking only 10 of my favorite haiku seemed a rather daunting task. How could I review all the haiku I have read in my life and decide that there were only 10 that were outstanding? Then realized I was already getting a steady stream of excellent haiku day by day through the AHA forum. The puns and write-offs based on Basho's most famous haiku are so numerous I would have said that nothing new could be said with this method, but here Al Fogel proved me wrong. Perhaps part of my delight in this haiku lies in the fact that I agree with him. Here he is saying one thing about realism-ripples are on a pond after a frog jumps in, but because it refers back to Basho and his famous haiku, he is also saying something about the haiku and authors who have followed him. We, and our work, are just ripples while Basho holds the honor of inventing the idea of the sound of a frog leaping is the sound of water As haiku spreads around the world, making ripples in more and larger ponds, its ripples are wider-including us all. But his last word reminds us that we are ripples and our lives ephemeral. It will be the frogs that will remain. ~~ Now the tanka: returning home from a Jackson Pollock exhibition I smear paint on my face and turn into art ~~ Finally, the fictional story that I alluded to earlier. It not only should appeal to Afro-Americans but all individual and groups that experience racial discrimination. It is based on a true incident that took place in the 1950s when racial prejudice was rampant. My story has an unexpected heartwarming ending that coincides with my own belief akin to Dr Martin Luther King’s in a non-violent approach and resolution to racial injustice Titled “ Eloise , Edna And The Chicken Coop” ELOISE, EDNA & THE CHICKEN COOP There was once a Black lady named Eloise who inherited from her grandmother a parcel of land in the suburbs of Compton California at a time when there was strong racial prejudice against women of color-especially those Black women who owned property in predominately white neighborhoods. It happened there lived adjacent to Eloise’s land a white woman named Edna who did not like the fact that this Black woman owned land next to hers. Eloise would try to be friendly because she believed Jesus when He said “Love Thy Neighbor” and to Eloise that meant even if your neighbor was unfriendly. But whenever Eloise saw Edna, Edna would turn her back in disdain. In fact, ever since her husband died a decade ago, Edna became mean and unfriendly to everyone in the neighborhood. But to Eloise, she was so hateful and full of animosity that one night when all the lights in Eloise home were off Edna went to her own backyard where she kept her chicken coop and gathered up all the manure and dumped it on Eloise land and upon her tomatoes and her greens and everything she was growing, in an attempt to destroy it. And when Eloise realized the next morning that there was all this manure, instead of becoming angry, she decided to rake and mix it in with the soil and use it as fertilizer. Every night Edna would dump the manure from her chicken coop litter box and Eloise would get up in the morning and turn it over and mix it. This went on for almost a month until one morning Eloise noticed there was no manure in her yard. Then one of the neighbors informed Eloise that Edna had fallen ill. But because Edna was so mean and unfriendly , no one came to see her when she was sick. But when Eloise heard about Edna’s condition she picked the best flowers from her garden, walked to Edna’s house , knocked on her front door and when Edna opened the door, she was in complete shock that this Black Woman who she had been so cruel to, would be the only neighbor to visit her and bring flowers. Edna was deeply moved by Eloise kindness. Then Eloise handed the flowers to Edna who said, “These are the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen! Where’d you get them?” Eloise replied, “You helped me make them, Edna, because when you were dumping in my yard, I decided to plant some roses and use your manure as fertilizer.“ This genuine act of kindness opened the floodgate of Edna’s heart that had been closed for so long. “When I’m feeling better, I would love to have you over for tea,” Edna told Eloise. “Thank you, “ Edna replied, assuring her she would come. And then added, “I will pray for your speedy recovery every night.” And with those words Eloise departed. It’s amazing what can blossom from manure. There are some who allow manure to fall on them and do nothing. But then there are others-like Eloise -who “turn the other cheek” when abused or in this case “turn over the soil” to make something new like those bevy of beautiful red roses that opened a white woman’s heart. ~~ -All love in isolation from Miami Beach, Florida, -Al

[@CinnamonToast]

this literally brought tears to my eyes, I'm trash for poetry

[@MikeFuller-ok6ok]

Here are my 3 favourite poems - 'Love In Their Little Veins Inspires' by Thomas Shadwell ( c.1642 - 1692 ) 'The Blind Boy' by Colley Cibber ( 1671 - 1757 ) 'Sonnet To England' by Alfred Austin ( 1835 - 1913 )

[@sophiemartin5757]

I loved this video! Thanks Jack

[@almedin3852]

The best video on the channel so far! Please make this into series on your personal channel!

[@shesthunderstormsx]

I've loved this video, I told you in a comment in a video of your channel that you should upload more literary content because you have so much to say! And this reminds me of my favourite part in Spanish class (I'm from Spain) when we read and analysed poems 🥺❤ that line about how no one would put their kid in a boat if it was safer on the ground reminded me of a lyric by the 1975 in their song loving someone. That mention to San Sebastian in the last poem made me smile, such a beautiful city in País Vasco 😍 that Frank O' Hara poem is one of the most beautiful romantic poems I've ever read, I would die if someone wrote that to me 🥺 Sending lots of love!

[@nathanmendoza7430]

Read Elegy of a Teenage Melodrama. It has been the best poetry collection I have read this year!

[@marlieshogeveen]

I love the diversity of the videos on this channel! And I don’t know if I remember it correctly, but didn’t you (or someone else of the team) said that you guys were running out of submission videos? If so, I just submitted a video about key Dutch phrases (I’m a native speaker), so I hope it will be good enough to go on the channel. At least I had fun making the video!

[@Ozgipsy]

Your “privilege” comes from the efforts of your ancestors and the wisdom of your culture. It wasn’t given, it was earned over generations.

[@litstudyvlogs6554]

Loved this!!!

[@alzheimersgaming6094]

hi does anyone about a long poem about a guy discovering drugs(blue pills) during his teenage years and the poem ends like,"as he stares into the night sky with the blue pills in his hand he takes everything and kills himself on a stone" or something like. if uk the poem please reply

[@laughstox3773]

Read “the view from halfway down” from bojack horseman

[@BUKCOLLECTOR]

I hope you don’t mind me sharing the following poem, one of my all time favorite meta poetic poems by a poet named “Howard Dull” titled “Suibhne Gheilt” that I recently chanced upon. When I read it, I became speechless. And most of my poetry friends consider this as one of their all time favorites. It was published in a 1970s anthology titled “ Open Poetry” and proves that once Poetry hits you in your heart, you could be the worst nefarious scoundrel with kings at your bidding and Empires at your command but you will be transformed and never again return to your former Self. ~~ Suibhne Gheilt 1 He has haunted me now for over a year that madman Suibhne Gheilt who in the middle of a battle looked up and saw something that made him leap up and fly over swords and trees - a poet gifted above all others - 11 How could a proud loud mouth who yelled KILL KILL KILL as he plowed done the enemy - heads rolling off of his sword - be so lifted up ( or fly up as those below saw it - wings beating) be so suddenly gifted with poetry and nest so high in Ireland’s tall trees? Is there a point where all paths cross? And why am I so drawn to him that all my questions seem shot in his direction? “And they ran into the woods and threw their lances and shot their arrows up through the branches” What parallels could I ever hope to find - my refusal to fight ( weaseling out on psychiatric grounds)? my leaving my country behind? my poetry? “and my wife wept on the path below. . . Oh memory is sweet but sweeter is the sorrel in the pool in the path below” I fly down every night to eat 111 Sweeney like the rest of us would have been better off if he had never anything to do with women. But the point of it lies hidden in a pool of milk in a pile of shit for you to see when a milkmaid smiles Sweeney like the rest of us flies down and when she pours the milk into the hole her heel made in the cowdung Sweeney like the rest of us kneels down and drinks and dies on the horn the cowherd hid in it. So before you have anything to do with women remember Sweeney the bird of Ireland lying on his back in the middle of that path in the moonlight. 1V And on my way home this morning ( my wife waiting) my shadow racing up the path ahead of me I saw something ( a black stone?) thrown at the back of its head ducked and spun around so fast I almost fell down - it was a bird flying up into a tree V No good could come out of this war out of what burns in the heart of our highly disciplined John Q. Killer as a whole village bursts into one flame - the villagers streaming like tears towards the forest cover his helicopter’s blades blow the leaves off and and the flame towards. . . as we sit in front of our bubbles watching our president ( whose bubbletalk no one can escape and he is a little bit mad -calling the reporters in for an interview while he’s sitting on the bubble having a bubble movement) and first lady climb into their big bubble bed an Lucy, born of their own bubbles, crawls in between - “ Mah daddy has so many troubles turning the world into a bubble and sick of crossfire - the cries of the women and children flying over his head - he stumbled down to the riverbank and found, the wreckage twisted around the tree behind, his skull. . . Noises, there are noises, noises that can of themselves drive a man mad -NOISES! But last night the Stockhausen penetrated from the four sides of the auditorium, stripping each layer of feeling and thought until all that was left was something the size of a nut - so tiny, so hard, so impenetrable it was alone in the middle of an infinite space. . . -Howard Dull ~~ ps: Howard Dull was such an obscure poet that he never published a book and ( to my knowledge) never published another poem. But OMG, this was so brilliant that in my opinion it should be read and studied at the college level. All love in isolation from Miami Beach, Florida, Al

[@sromonasengupta9-c512]

Sir can you kindly check out the poems of erin hanson..?

[@audreyng0629]

I love love this video

[@johnryan8173]

I missed abit from my poem falling convetti and Jezebel's

[@OMGitsShrimp]

I’m getting into writing poetry and I gotta say it’s so confusing lol 😅 I can never tell if what I’m writing is good or if I’m improving. Does anyone else feel this way?

[@rondoflicflac]

What a video!!!

[@johnryan8173]

Great stuff here is one of my poems I wrote myself in lovers corner he was caught with the vicars daughter how they was both made to go up the alter wedding bells wedding vows bride's maid's dresses and Jezebel's it was a shot gun wedding that went wrong the best man didn't turn up the bride's waters broke a baby boy was born

[@zaram7755]

Is he back at Uni?

[@warlorddk2070]

Censuring parts of a poem to me is an insult to the poet, the poet chose it to be there. Its the same with punctuation linebreaks. The sacond you change the poem its not the same poem anymore.

[@BUKCOLLECTOR]

Brief Bio: I’m Al Fogel born in 1945 and at an early age began writing poems. In 1962 I was introduced to a neighbor who just returned from Avatar Meher Baba’s “ East west” gathering and handed me a book titled “The Everything and the Nothing” that included brief but powerful passages by Meher Baba that touched me deeply and i became a “ Baba Lover” I continued writing poems and in 2010 while on Jane Reichhold’s AHA website workshopping poems I befriended a Chinese man who helped me perfect my Senryu and Haibun. Subsequently I am now considered one of the nations leading authorities on Tanka , Senryu, and Haibun. Here are some examples of each of my specialties senryu ~ dentist chair the hygienist removes my Bluetooth ~ Internet argument all his words in CAPS hers in EMOTICONS ~ after the divorce he spends more time at the dollar store ~ damsel in distress clarke kent still searching for a phone booth ~ cauliflower ears once a contender now boxing vegetables ~ under the influence - moonshine ~ Audubon sale all variety of seeds. . . early birds welcome ~ Buddhist fortune cookie the unfolded paper reads “ better luck next birth!” ~ sudden downpour. . . the adults run for shelter ** as you can see, senryu is usually humorous, but it can also be serious. For example, the following two of mine are horrific and heartbreaking ( dealing with the Holocaust): ~ cattle cars between the slats human eyes ~ stutthof - the stench of burnt hair from the chimneys ~ Tanka ( I already posted the Jackson Pollock one about painting his face but here’s another Tanka ~ Here is another Tanka: thrift store purchase inside the leather jacket a tarnished half-heart ~ Haibuns The Mathematics of Retribution “Karma is i fathomable,” I inform her It’s late and our conversation turns heavy “ Seems simple to me, “my girlfriend responds. “If I murder you, then it’s reasonable that I will be murdered in this or another life to balance the ledger.” “ Not necessarily so” I’m quick to rejoin. “What if you murdered me in this life because I murdered you in a prior life karmic debts and dues are now equalized.” “But what if I get caught and I go to jail for life. Where’s the equal payback in that?” “As I said, karma is unfathomable.” We continue discussing reincarnation and then add the possibilities of “group karma” to the mix Finally, at about midnight, we fall asleep Stutthof - the stench of burnt hair from the chimneys ~~ Mama There were days when I pretended to be too sick to go to school - - just for mamas loving embrace -her arms the heat of home Even with the onset of dementia, her cheerfulness was so contagious it was a joy being around her despite the illness. She made everyone laugh with her spontaneous unpredictable behavior. nursing home bumper wheelchair her favorite pastime Once a week I would whisk her away from the assisted-living facility and we would spend several hours together -grabbing a meal or frequenting some of her favorite second-hand stores where she loved to shop and donate clothes. When we drove to her favorite thrift in November, her dementia worsened. thrift store the dress mama donated she wants to buy On a cold December morn mama passed. The funeral was simple. There was a light drizzle as the family gathered at the gravesite. One by one, with eyes full of rain, we said our last goodbyes. autumn twilight - oh mama tuck me under hug me one more time ~ ‘Round Midnight It was a huge ballroom on the top floor of a building on Broadway --an important midtown crossroads in the heart of the Great White Way. My uncle still talks with reverence about how -in his heyday -he would travel by rail to the corner of Lenox and walk inside to the beat of jungle music. Who knew what to expect? One night you might be listening with rapt attention to Theloneous Monk and Dizzy Gillespie the godfathers of bebop in their signature beret caps, or the Nicholas Brothers flashing their wild acrobatic spins and splits, or enchanted by the sweet taste of Brown Sugar -with Bojangles out front. And when the Bird was in flight, even the moon was not high enough. But in 1940 the ballroom closed its doors to make way for a commercial housing development and another kind of night. new Harlem the a-train replaced by the bullet ~ Atlantic City New Jersey I had just graduated from high school I remember stopping for saltwater taffy -as evening journeyed slowly into night. Nearing curfew, we sat on a protruded sandy enclave--holding hands, looking out at the ocean, not saying much. In the distance the lights from an ocean liner flickered as the night kept coming on in... first “french kiss” under the boardwalk “over the moon!” ~~ All love, Al

[@noramcnabb1361]

First

[@madiehughes]

For once the person who said "first" is actually first. Congratulations my friend :)

[@e1retrorampage399]

rate my poem: conceived into this intriguing viability, with no prompts of ownership or staunch reality, my architect, my donor of life, so irksome and entrancing yet so compressive to strife, eternal torments anguished from death, nowt of many, why so pressed? as amiable signs of dim demise, your heart, your blood starts to disguise, a hemisphere of warmth promised by you to hath, I now perceive was riddled with lies.