"On the way back our faces froze on the other side. The sun came out for just a minute." (and then she makes the sand erupt in multi-colors before endless ocean winds). What can be cooler than that!
The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster, Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. - Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. Elizabeth Bishop
This poem is one of my favourites. What an insight into the hard work in crafting and writing poetry. Cant understand the rubbish that's been peddled today as poetry when it clearly is not. Slam Poetry being published...really. Bet you they never read or listened to the real thing. If they did they would never call their stuff 'poetry again"
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Thank you for sharing this fascinating analysis of the poem and additional commentary on the poet's work and life. I watched transfixed.
Simply love and adore listening to you and l feel her in your voice ♥️
Annika Bard/Sweden
My favorite poem, thank you!
beautiful reading. thank you very much.
"All the untidy activity continues,
awful but cheerful." is written on the back of her gravestone.
Thank you, Alice Methfessel, Angela G. Dorenkamp, Laura Menides, Carle Johnson and Aldo Gatti, the stonecutter.
I love this! Thank you 🙏
I am breathless.
"On the way back our faces froze on the other side.
The sun came out for just a minute." (and then she makes the sand erupt in multi-colors before endless ocean winds). What can be cooler than that!
One day, I hope I can visit Vassar and see her manuscripts.
We hope so, too!
Why isn't this woman a full professor?
One Art Related Poem Content Details
BY ELIZABETH BISHOP
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
Elizabeth Bishop, “One Art” from The Complete Poems 1926-1979. Copyright © 1979, 1983 by Alice Helen Methfessel. Reprinted with the permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC.
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
Elizabeth Bishop
I know this poem by heart. i used to murmur it before i go to sleep years ago.
This poem is one of my favourites. What an insight into the hard work in crafting and writing poetry. Cant understand the rubbish that's been peddled today as poetry when it clearly is not. Slam Poetry being published...really. Bet you they never read or listened to the real thing. If they did they would never call their stuff 'poetry again"
Very cool
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2 camels 1 tiny car!
the illness is implied...ugh...i barely got through Mary Kinzie at Northwestern
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