What Are The 10 Greatest Poems?

 

Poetry seems to be almost dead in the modern world. I do not think that this is true. The poets of today are songwriters.

What do you think are the ten greatest poems? My preliminary list:

  1. King David, Psalm 13
  2. King David, Psalm 22
  3. Kipling, The Gods of the Copybook Headings
  4. Henry van Dyke/Beethoven, Hymn to Joy, (musical performance with lyrics; music by Beethoven)
  5. Macauley, Horatius at the Bridge
  6. Whitman, O Captain, My Captain
  7. John McCrae, In Flanders Fields
  8. Kipling, If
  9. Wordsworth, She Was A Phantom Of Delight
  10. Trent Reznor, Hurt (musical performance by Johnny Cash, with lyrics)

It was hard to keep Kipling down to two. It was really hard to keep King David down to two.

As with my post on Great Books, I ask that you not just toss out poems that you think are good. Prioritize. I’d like to see your Top Ten list — or if you prefer, what you would add to and take off from my list.

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  1. The Reticulator Member
    The Reticulator
    @TheReticulator

    I’d replace Ode to Joy, a totalitarian anthem, with the one that starts, Roses are Red…

    Oh, I see you said Hymn to Joy. Maybe that’s different. I don’t really know. 

    • #1
  2. Arizona Patriot Member
    Arizona Patriot
    @ArizonaPatriot

    The Reticulator (View Comment):

    I’d replace Ode to Joy, a totalitarian anthem, with the one that starts, Roses are Red…

    Oh, I see you said Hymn to Joy. Maybe that’s different. I don’t really know.

    Same music — totally different lyrics.

    • #2
  3. DonG Coolidge
    DonG
    @DonG

    Any Limerick with “Nantucket”.

    • #3
  4. Cow Girl Thatcher
    Cow Girl
    @CowGirl

    Love Is Not All: It Is Not Meat nor Drink

    Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink

    Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;

    Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink

    And rise and sink and rise and sink again;

    Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath,

    Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;

    Yet many a man is making friends with death

    Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.

    It well may be that in a difficult hour,

    Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,

    Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,

    I might be driven to sell your love for peace,

    Or trade the memory of this night for food.

    It well may be. I do not think I would.

    – Edna St. Vincent Millay –

    • #4
  5. Podkayne of Israel Inactive
    Podkayne of Israel
    @PodkayneofIsrael

    “Musee des Beaux Arts” by W.H. Auden

    And Tehillim are sui generis. They do not fall under the heading of mere mortal poetry.

    • #5
  6. Stina Member
    Stina
    @CM

    Isaiah 61 – Beauty for Ashes

    (My favorite chapter in scripture, so powerful in its imagery and symbolism)

    Psalm 23 – The Lord is my Shepherd

    Twila Paris – How Beautiful (its pivot of the body of Christ from the physical to the symbol)

    Again, I’m fluffy on this stuff and only read children’s poetry like Robert Frost. I liked Whitman.

    If you asked for top 10 pieces of music, i might pull that one off with something more substantial than pop music.

    • #6
  7. Michael Brehm Lincoln
    Michael Brehm
    @MichaelBrehm

    This is one of my favorites:

    The Stars Go Over The Lonely Ocean by Robinson Jeffers

    Unhappy about some far off things
    That are not my affair, wandering
    Along the coast and up the lean ridges,
    I saw in the evening
    The stars go over the lonely ocean,
    And a black-maned wild boar
    Plowing with his snout on Mal Paso Mountain.

    The old monster snuffled, “Here are sweet roots,
    Fat grubs, slick beetles and sprouted acorns.
    The best nation in Europe has fallen,
    And that is Finland,
    But the stars go over the lonely ocean,”
    The old black-bristled boar,
    Tearing the sod on Mal Paso Mountain.

    “The world’s in a bad way, my man,
    And bound to be worse before it mends;
    Better lie up in the mountain here
    Four or five centuries,
    While the stars go over the lonely ocean,”
    Said the old father of wild pigs,
    Plowing the fallow on Mal Paso Mountain.

    “Keep clear of the dupes that talk democracy
    And the dogs that talk revolution,
    Drunk with talk, liars and believers.
    I believe in my tusks.
    Long live freedom and damn the ideologies,”
    Said the gamey black-maned boar
    Tusking the turf on Mal Paso Mountain.

    • #7
  8. Randy Webster Inactive
    Randy Webster
    @RandyWebster

    I think I’d substitute Sons of Martha for If and still keep your Kipling to two.

    • #8
  9. Stad Coolidge
    Stad
    @Stad

    Paradise Lost should be on the list . . .

    • #9
  10. Stina Member
    Stina
    @CM

    Michael Brehm (View Comment):
    This is one of my favorites:

    This is why I can’t do poetry.

    Somewhere in literary history, it became gauche to write with rhythm and meter. A lot of American poetry (outside of children’s) has no rhythm and it is just awful to read (as poetry).

    Make it prose. It isn’t poetry.

    (I don’t mean to pick on you, but that piece is so emblematic of what I mean. The imagery is pleasing, though.)

    • #10
  11. danok1 Member
    danok1
    @danok1

    I would drop the Whitman and add The Second Coming by Yeats.

    Maybe drop one of the Kiplings (probably If) and add something by Burns; Tam O’Shanter or To a Mouse.

    • #11
  12. Franz Drumlin Inactive
    Franz Drumlin
    @FranzDrumlin

    The Second Coming by Yeats: 

         Turning and turning in the widening gyre
   
         The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
   
         Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
   
         Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
   
         The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
   
         The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
   
         The best lack all conviction, while the worst
   
         Are full of passionate intensity.
       
         Surely some revelation is at hand;
   
         Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
   
         The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
   
         When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
   
         Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   
         A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
   
         A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
   
         Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
   
         Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
     
         The darkness drops again but now I know
   
         That twenty centuries of stony sleep
   
         Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
   
         And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
                                  Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

     

    This was written in 1919, a year after the first world war, a time when the world should be looking to the future with optimism. Yet Yeats envisioned a coming nightmare. And what is that Rough Beast?

    • #12
  13. Stad Coolidge
    Stad
    @Stad

    Stina (View Comment):

    Michael Brehm (View Comment):
    This is one of my favorites:

    This is why I can’t do poetry.

    Somewhere in literary history, it became gauche to write with rhythm and meter. A lot of American poetry (outside of children’s) has no rhythm and it is just awful to read (as poetry).

    Make it prose. It isn’t poetry.

    (I don’t mean to pick on you, but that piece is so emblematic of what I mean. The imagery is pleasing, though.)

    To me, poetry has to have rhythm and rhyming.

    • #13
  14. Raxxalan Member
    Raxxalan
    @Raxxalan

    Being a Heathen I have not read the Psalms.  So in No particular Order

    1. Fire and Ice – Frost
    2. Harlem – Hughs
    3. In Flanders Field – McCrea
    4. Gestheme (I only want to say) From Jesus Christ Superstar – Lloyd Weber, Tim Rice
    5. Anabelle Lee – Poe
    6. Ulysses  – Tennyson
    7. Second Coming – Yates
    8. Chorus from the Rock – Eliot  (Particularly the X stanza)
    9. The Gods of the Copybook Headings – Kipling
    10. The Cremation of Sam McGee – Service

     

    • #14
  15. She Member
    She
    @She

    Tennyson: Ulysses.

    Donne: A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning.

    Chaucer: The Canterbury Tales.  

    Yeats: The Second Coming

    Frost: The Road Not Taken

    Keats: Ode on a Grecian Urn

    KJV: Psalm 23

    Shakespeare: Sonnet 30

    Arnold: Dover Beach

    Blake: The Tyger/The Lamb

    Trouble is, if you asked me next week, my list might be different.  And there are many good suggestions in previous comments too.

    • #15
  16. Raxxalan Member
    Raxxalan
    @Raxxalan

    She (View Comment):

    Trouble is, if you asked me next week, my list might be different. And there are many good suggestions in previous comments too.

    Agreed.  Poetry is highly suggestive of mood and there is so much that is great. 

    • #16
  17. Stina Member
    Stina
    @CM

    She (View Comment):
    Tennyson: Ulysses.

    Oh Tennyson! My favorite poem is the Lady of Shallott.

    I also love Lord Byron’s The Fall of Sennacherib.

    • #17
  18. She Member
    She
    @She

    Stina (View Comment):

    She (View Comment):
    Tennyson: Ulysses.

    Oh Tennyson! My favorite poem is the Lady of Shallott.

    It is my favorite, too.  (Shameless self-promotion alert.)  But I think Ulysses is, in its underpinnings, perhaps a greater one.

    I also love Lord Byron’s The Fall of Sennacherib.

    So do I.

     

    • #18
  19. Arizona Patriot Member
    Arizona Patriot
    @ArizonaPatriot

    Franz Drumlin (View Comment):

    The Second Coming by Yeats:

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

     

    This was written in 1919, a year after the first world war, a time when the world should be looking to the future with optimism. Yet Yeats envisioned a coming nightmare. And what is that Rough Beast?

    I don’t understand the attraction of this one.  I agree that many people find it moving.  I think that the “rough beast” represents despair and nihilism, after the abandonment of Christianity.  He wants a second coming, but doesn’t actually believe in the first coming and doesn’t believe that anything good can actually come.  At least that’s the way it looks to me.

    • #19
  20. Arizona Patriot Member
    Arizona Patriot
    @ArizonaPatriot

    Randy Webster (View Comment):

    I think I’d substitute Sons of Martha for If and still keep your Kipling to two.

    Another good one.  Thanks.  Here‘s a link.

    • #20
  21. Arizona Patriot Member
    Arizona Patriot
    @ArizonaPatriot

    Stina (View Comment):

    Isaiah 61 – Beauty for Ashes

    (My favorite chapter in scripture, so powerful in its imagery and symbolism)

    Psalm 23 – The Lord is my Shepherd

    Twila Paris – How Beautiful (its pivot of the body of Christ from the physical to the symbol)

    Again, I’m fluffy on this stuff and only read children’s poetry like Robert Frost. I liked Whitman.

    If you asked for top 10 pieces of music, i might pull that one off with something more substantial than pop music.

    I think that Psalm 23 would be the first choice of most people, among the Psalms.  I like it, but prefer others with more angst.

    Here is #1 on my list, Psalm 13:

    How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
    How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
    and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
    How long will my enemy triumph over me?

    Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
    Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
    and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
    and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

    But I trust in your unfailing love;
    my heart rejoices in your salvation.
    I will sing the Lord’s praise,
    for he has been good to me.

    I find this extraordinary because David is not hiding his pain, fear, and disappointment.  He’s not pretending to be happy in disaster.  Nor does he get an answer.  He firmly decides to trust in God, in the midst of the catastrophe of life.

    • #21
  22. Douglas Pratt Coolidge
    Douglas Pratt
    @DouglasPratt

    Nice list. I would agree with most, but I have four favorite poets that would have to make any list of mine: Roger Zelazny, Ogden Nash, Dorothy Parker, and Walter Brooks writing as Freddy the Pig.

    • #22
  23. Taras Coolidge
    Taras
    @Taras

    The Kiplings are great; but in my list I would replace them with two that make my hair stand on end: Recessional and The Song of the Dead. 

    Also, I consider the choice of Psalms 13 & 22 a typographical error.  You  obviously meant Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd”.

     When I finally listened  to the entire Old Testament, not long ago, one of my major disappointments was that the other Psalms were not at the level of that one.   Mostly, they seemed to be of the (unselfconsciously contradictory) form, “O Lord be merciful to me — and mercilessly punish my enemies.“

     Having freed up one of the King David slots, I would include William Dunbar‘s Lament for the Makaris.

    • #23
  24. She Member
    She
    @She

    Arizona Patriot (View Comment):

    Franz Drumlin (View Comment):

    The Second Coming by Yeats:

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

     

    This was written in 1919, a year after the first world war, a time when the world should be looking to the future with optimism. Yet Yeats envisioned a coming nightmare. And what is that Rough Beast?

    I don’t understand the attraction of this one. I agree that many people find it moving. I think that the “rough beast” represents despair and nihilism, after the abandonment of Christianity. He wants a second coming, but doesn’t actually believe in the first coming and doesn’t believe that anything good can actually come. At least that’s the way it looks to me.

    I don’t know that he “wants a second coming.” I think it’s more that he believes that the opposing forces of history (outer and inner gyres) expand and contract against each other, and that he saw the end of one age and the beginning of another.  The end of science, rationalism, civility (many different ideas), and the uprising of a more primal and mystical force.  Many think it’s foolish, some think it’s profound.  I think it’s interesting.  And provocative.

     

     

    • #24
  25. PHenry Inactive
    PHenry
    @PHenry
    1. Adam Had’em
    2. The Cremation of Sam McGee

    All the rest on my list are song lyrics so they don’t count! 

    • #25
  26. Taras Coolidge
    Taras
    @Taras

    #24 —  If I had to guess, Yeats is  looking toward the rebirth of pagan barbarism (the Sphinx) as the Christian era (twenty centuries of stony sleep)  draws to a close.  

    Note that in 1919, there were communist revolutions going on in various places.

    • #26
  27. Arizona Patriot Member
    Arizona Patriot
    @ArizonaPatriot

    Taras (View Comment):

    Also, I consider the choice of Psalms 13 & 22 a typographical error. You obviously meant Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd”.

    Nope, no typo.  I’d probably put #23 among my top 5 psalms, but not in the top 2.

    • #27
  28. Hang On Member
    Hang On
    @HangOn

    Shakespeare’s sonnets.

    My favorite anthology is Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters. Poignant and at times humorous dealing with memories of every day past life. That’s why Our Town is one of my favorite plays.

     

    • #28
  29. Kay of MT Inactive
    Kay of MT
    @KayofMT

    Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie

    poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

    Evangeline: A Tale Of Acadie – Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
    Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
    Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
    Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
    Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
    Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

    This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
    Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
    Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,–
    Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
    Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
    Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
    Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
    Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o’er the ocean
    Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

    Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
    Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman’s devotion,
    List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
    List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

    • #29
  30. Hang On Member
    Hang On
    @HangOn

    Taras (View Comment):

    #24 — If I had to guess, Yeats is looking toward the rebirth of pagan barbarism (the Sphinx) as the Christian era (twenty centuries of stony sleep) draws to a close.

    Note that in 1919, there were communist revolutions going on in various places.


     But it’s Ireland and the struggles of a new nation and casting off British rule. The glorious Michael Collins and his assassination.

    • #30
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