What is a poem that has special significance or relevance for you?

Question

Not just the poem, but the story behind it. Thanks!

Answer 1

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played
At wrestling in a ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’t is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

--Emily Dickinson

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There are several versions of this poem, but this one is my favorite. A good many years ago, I had to miss teaching several days when my sister died of leukemia. On the day that I returned to class, coincidentally this was one of the poems assigned on the syllabus.

I had to take a brief break before I could go on with the class. My sister could not stop for death; she was a busy woman with teenage children and a new grandchild on the way. She was always a loving, thoughtful, careful, methodical woman, capturing every minute of every day, making notes on all her journeys--a kind of diary. I heard her speak to me through the words of Dickinson's poem.

We will never want "to stop" for death. We will always be too busy: papers to grade, letters to write, another book to read, children and grandchildren to love and care for, another life to live. We never will have had "world enough and time." So the gentleman Death kindly stops for us--he and Immortality. We put away our labor and our leisure too. We pass all of life: childhood (school, wrestling), maturity (field of grain), ageing (setting sun). It's a long, long day when we first surmise "the horses' heads / [are] toward eternity."

I taught the poem; I have never forgotten one word of it. I have lived a rich, full life (every day), for I have always kept in the back of my mind, "the horses' heads / [are] toward eternity."

I hope you find--as I have--many meaningful poems along the way.

Answer 2

Alfred Tennyson's The Lady of Shalott

The discovery of the poem is a little story itself.

I like the paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites very much: the themes, the flower-symbolism, the compositions...This July I spent a week in London, and I went to see the Pre-Raphaelitan collection in Tate Britain. I was amazed when Waterhouse's painting, The Lady of Shalott (one of the most reproduced works of the period, one of my favorites) was hanging in front of me.
Going back to my host family in the night, I shared my happiness and excitement with the guy from the host family. He asked my if I knew the poem which inspired the artist. I didn't. He than gave me Tennyson's poem. The poem is beautiful, and so is the the tragical story behind it: love, creation, the consequence of our decisions, sacrifice...
For me it is a wonder how an image (the painting), the fragment of something bigger but still a whole on its own can condense the whole story, and how it led me to the poem.

This discovery will also remind me of a wonderful journey that shaped me a lot.

Answer 3

She Walks In Beauty Like The NIght by Lord Byron
It was the first poem I ever sought out to read after hearing someone recite a snippet of it. I liked the imagery and upon reading it I decided then and there I wished to become a poet, some 12 years later I'm still writing. The impact it had upon me directly was discerning that poetry (for me) was where the truth of
life lay in that it relates the multitude and complexity of feeling into
something that can be experienced without fear, honest without modesty or apology, laying bare the innermost secluded thought in a way that captivates the imagination, drawing you into that moment that will live on in that work forever.
The signifigance of where I first read it also comes into play
A Treasury Of Great Poems compiled by Louis Untermeyer
it's a who's who of the worlds foremost masters of the written word and it opened my mind to the works of people like Edna St. Vincent Millay, John Clare,Dylan Thomas and a host of others.
I reccomend it to anyone that wants to add something of merit to their bookshelf.

Answer 4

This poem I'm about to type is a poem I learned in 6 th grade. I can't remember who wrote it.It was an english assignment.It has stuck with me forever and is still my favorite poem.
"Hold on to the dreams within your heart
keep one,still secret spot
where dreams may go
and be sheltered so
where doubt and fear are not
oh keep a place apart
within your heart
for little dreams to go!"

Answer 5

I'm partial to "Touched the Face of God" because of how it was used to describe the memory of the space shuttle Challenger explosion.....
I remember watching the launch on t.v. in grammar school and couldn't believe such a tragedy had happened.


John Gillespie Maggee, killed in action at the age of 19
was serving with the Royal Canadian Air Force,
some days before his death wrote:

“Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the trembling mirth of sun-split clouds
– and done 100 things you have not dreamed of
– wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence.

Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept hills with easy grace,
Where never lark, or even eagle flew;

And, while with silent, lifting mind, I trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God!”

Answer 6

Why
Why does it have to hurt so bad.

Not knowing if you will become a mother.

Not knowing if you will become a father.

People say maybe you weren't meant to be a parent.

Maybe god has a different plan for you.

Why does it have to hurt so bad.

My husband and I have so much love to give.

Why does it have to hurt so bad?

You have a god given right to be a mother.

You have a god given right to be a father.

Why is it stolen away from us?

Why does it have to hurt so bad?

The one dream my husband and I have.

We want to give our love to a child.

Why does it have to hurt so bad?

I wish someone knew how I felt but they don't.

The thought of never being a mother.

The thought of my husband never being a father.

Please someone tell me why does this all have to hurt so bad?

Judy Boge

A poem written from my life.

Answer 7

La figlia che piange by ts eliot. it reminds me of a special female that i used to like and all girls that i will someday like but never be with.

"she turned away, but with the autumn weather compelled my imagination many days, many days and many hours, her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers,

How should they have ever been together,

I should have lost a gesture and a pose, sometimes these cogitations still amaze the troubled midnight and the noon's repose."

Ahh, to think of the poem gives me chills. That dinky chick left me for a some tennis playing, retard.

Answer 8

All of the poems by Sylvia PLath. They are very dark poems, and take time to interpret, but when it comes down to it they have a lot of meaning.

Answer 9

miss me but let me go..anonymous author. it is significant since it is on the bulletin of my friends funeral

when I come to the end of the road
and the sun has set for me
I want no nights in a gloom-filled room:
Why cry for a soul set free!

Miss me a little-but not too long
and not with your head bowed low
remember the love we once shared
miss me- but let me go

for this is a journey we all must take
and each must go alone
it's all part of the Master's plan:
a stop on the way home

when you are lonely and sick of heart
go to the friends we know
and bury your sorrow in doing deeds!
miss me -but let me go

wow I almost cried typing that..today would have been his 30th birthday.

Answer 10

turn on the switch, everything is fine
no lips no more tongue
no more tears, no more eyes
naked blue angel peers through the blinds
dissapear into the night in a clear blue light