Poetry Corner

Torsion Jim Dec 30, 2018

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  1. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    I didnt want to bombard Hyper Acid's avant-garde poetry thread with off-topic stanzas. SO it is here where we open the floor to ANY sort of poetry that moves you. I will be begin by consolidating all of the random poem threads that i have posted over the years. BTW i have set up a new poetry thread as the old one hadnt had a post in nearly ten years.

    Wordsworth: The World is too Much with Us

    The world is too much with us; late and soon,
    Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
    Little we see in Nature that is ours;
    We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
    This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
    The winds that will be howling at all hours,
    And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
    For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
    It moves us not.—Great God! I’d rather be
    A pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
    So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
    Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
    Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
    Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
     
    Last edited: Dec 30, 2018
  2. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    TS Eliot - The Hollow Men


    Mistah Kurtz-he dead
    A penny for the Old Guy



    I

    We are the hollow men
    We are the stuffed men
    Leaning together
    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
    Our dried voices, when
    We whisper together
    Are quiet and meaningless
    As wind in dry grass
    Or rats' feet over broken glass
    In our dry cellar

    Shape without form, shade without colour,
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
    Remember us-if at all-not as lost
    Violent souls, but only
    As the hollow men
    The stuffed men.


    II

    Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
    In death's dream kingdom
    These do not appear:
    There, the eyes are
    Sunlight on a broken column
    There, is a tree swinging
    And voices are
    In the wind's singing
    More distant and more solemn
    Than a fading star.

    Let me be no nearer
    In death's dream kingdom
    Let me also wear
    Such deliberate disguises
    Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
    In a field
    Behaving as the wind behaves
    No nearer-

    Not that final meeting
    In the twilight kingdom


    III

    This is the dead land
    This is cactus land
    Here the stone images
    Are raised, here they receive
    The supplication of a dead man's hand
    Under the twinkle of a fading star.

    Is it like this
    In death's other kingdom
    Waking alone
    At the hour when we are
    Trembling with tenderness
    Lips that would kiss
    Form prayers to broken stone.


    IV

    The eyes are not here
    There are no eyes here
    In this valley of dying stars
    In this hollow valley
    This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

    In this last of meeting places
    We grope together
    And avoid speech
    Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

    Sightless, unless
    The eyes reappear
    As the perpetual star
    Multifoliate rose
    Of death's twilight kingdom
    The hope only
    Of empty men.


    V

    Here we go round the prickly pear
    Prickly pear prickly pear
    Here we go round the prickly pear
    At five o'clock in the morning.


    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    Between the conception
    And the creation
    Between the emotion
    And the response
    Falls the Shadow
    Life is very long

    Between the desire
    And the spasm
    Between the potency
    And the existence
    Between the essence
    And the descent
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    For Thine is
    Life is
    For Thine is the

    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    Not with a bang but a whimper.
     
  3. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    Gerard Nolst Trenité - The Chaos

    Dearest creature in creation
    Studying English pronunciation,
    I will teach you in my verse
    Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

    I will keep you, Susy, busy,
    Make your head with heat grow dizzy;
    Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear;
    Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

    Pray, console your loving poet,
    Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!
    Just compare heart, hear and heard,
    Dies and diet, lord and word.

    Sword and sward, retain and Britain
    (Mind the latter how it's written).
    Made has not the sound of bade,
    Say-said, pay-paid, laid but plaid.

    Now I surely will not plague you
    With such words as vague and ague,
    But be careful how you speak,
    Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak ,

    Previous, precious, fuchsia, via
    Recipe, pipe, studding-sail, choir;
    Woven, oven, how and low,
    Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.

    Say, expecting fraud and trickery:
    Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,
    Branch, ranch, measles, topsails, aisles,
    Missiles, similes, reviles.

    Wholly, holly, signal, signing,
    Same, examining, but mining,
    Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
    Solar, mica, war and far.

    From "desire": desirable-admirable from "admire",
    Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier,
    Topsham, brougham, renown, but known,
    Knowledge, done, lone, gone, none, tone,

    One, anemone, Balmoral,
    Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel.
    Gertrude, German, wind and wind,
    Beau, kind, kindred, queue, mankind,

    Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather,
    Reading, Reading, heathen, heather.
    This phonetic labyrinth
    Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.

    Have you ever yet endeavoured
    To pronounce revered and severed,
    Demon, lemon, ghoul, foul, soul,
    Peter, petrol and patrol?

    Billet does not end like ballet;
    Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
    Blood and flood are not like food,
    Nor is mould like should and would.

    Banquet is not nearly parquet,
    Which exactly rhymes with khaki.
    Discount, viscount, load and broad,
    Toward, to forward, to reward,

    Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet?
    Right! Your pronunciation's OK.
    Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
    Friend and fiend, alive and live.

    Is your r correct in higher?
    Keats asserts it rhymes Thalia.
    Hugh, but hug, and hood, but hoot,
    Buoyant, minute, but minute.

    Say abscission with precision,
    Now: position and transition;
    Would it tally with my rhyme
    If I mentioned paradigm?

    Twopence, threepence, tease are easy,
    But cease, crease, grease and greasy?
    Cornice, nice, valise, revise,
    Rabies, but lullabies.

    Of such puzzling words as nauseous,
    Rhyming well with cautious, tortious,
    You'll envelop lists, I hope,
    In a linen envelope.

    Would you like some more? You'll have it!
    Affidavit, David, davit.
    To abjure, to perjure. Sheik
    Does not sound like Czech but ache.

    Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
    Rachel, loch, moustache, eleven.
    We say hallowed, but allowed,
    People, leopard, towed but vowed.

    Mark the difference, moreover,
    Between mover, plover, Dover.
    Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
    Chalice, but police and lice,

    Camel, constable, unstable,
    Principle, disciple, label.
    Petal, penal, and canal,
    Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal,

    Suit, suite, ruin. Circuit, conduit
    Rhyme with "shirk it" and "beyond it",
    But it is not hard to tell
    Why it's pall, mall, but Pall Mall.

    Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron,
    Timber, climber, bullion, lion,
    Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
    Senator, spectator, mayor,

    Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
    Has the a of drachm and hammer.
    Pussy, hussy and possess,
    Desert, but desert, address.

    Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants
    Hoist in lieu of flags left pennants.
    Courier, courtier, tomb, bomb, comb,
    Cow, but Cowper, some and home.

    "Solder, soldier! Blood is thicker",
    Quoth he, "than liqueur or liquor",
    Making, it is sad but true,
    In bravado, much ado.

    Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
    Neither does devour with clangour.
    Pilot, pivot, gaunt, but aunt,
    Font, front, wont, want, grand and grant.

    Arsenic, specific, scenic,
    Relic, rhetoric, hygienic.
    Gooseberry, goose, and close, but close,
    Paradise, rise, rose, and dose.

    Say inveigh, neigh, but inveigle,
    Make the latter rhyme with eagle.
    Mind! Meandering but mean,
    Valentine and magazine.

    And I bet you, dear, a penny,
    You say mani-(fold) like many,
    Which is wrong. Say rapier, pier,
    Tier (one who ties), but tier.

    Arch, archangel; pray, does erring
    Rhyme with herring or with stirring?
    Prison, bison, treasure trove,
    Treason, hover, cover, cove,

    Perseverance, severance. Ribald
    Rhymes (but piebald doesn't) with nibbled.
    Phaeton, paean, gnat, ghat, gnaw,
    Lien, psychic, shone, bone, pshaw.

    Don't be down, my own, but rough it,
    And distinguish buffet, buffet;
    Brood, stood, roof, rook, school, wool, boon,
    Worcester, Boleyn, to impugn.

    Say in sounds correct and sterling
    Hearse, hear, hearken, year and yearling.
    Evil, devil, mezzotint,
    Mind the z! (A gentle hint.)

    Now you need not pay attention
    To such sounds as I don't mention,
    Sounds like pores, pause, pours and paws,
    Rhyming with the pronoun yours;

    Nor are proper names included,
    Though I often heard, as you did,
    Funny rhymes to unicorn,
    Yes, you know them, Vaughan and Strachan.

    No, my maiden, coy and comely,
    I don't want to speak of Cholmondeley.
    No. Yet Froude compared with proud
    Is no better than McLeod.

    But mind trivial and vial,
    Tripod, menial, denial,
    Troll and trolley, realm and ream,
    Schedule, mischief, schism, and scheme.

    Argil, gill, Argyll, gill. Surely
    May be made to rhyme with Raleigh,
    But you're not supposed to say
    Piquet rhymes with sobriquet.

    Had this invalid invalid
    Worthless documents? How pallid,
    How uncouth he, couchant, looked,
    When for Portsmouth I had booked!

    Zeus, Thebes, Thales, Aphrodite,
    Paramour, enamoured, flighty,
    Episodes, antipodes,
    Acquiesce, and obsequies.

    Please don't monkey with the geyser,
    Don't peel 'taters with my razor,
    Rather say in accents pure:
    Nature, stature and mature.

    Pious, impious, limb, climb, glumly,
    Worsted, worsted, crumbly, dumbly,
    Conquer, conquest, vase, phase, fan,
    Wan, sedan and artisan.

    The th will surely trouble you
    More than r, ch or w.
    Say then these phonetic gems:
    Thomas, thyme, Theresa, Thames.

    Thompson, Chatham, Waltham, Streatham,
    There are more but I forget 'em-
    Wait! I've got it: Anthony,
    Lighten your anxiety.

    The archaic word albeit
    Does not rhyme with eight-you see it;
    With and forthwith, one has voice,
    One has not, you make your choice.

    Shoes, goes, does *. Now first say: finger;
    Then say: singer, ginger, linger.
    Real, zeal, mauve, gauze and gauge,
    Marriage, foliage, mirage, age,

    Hero, heron, query, very,
    Parry, tarry fury, bury,
    Dost, lost, post, and doth, cloth, loth,
    Job, Job, blossom, bosom, oath.

    Faugh, oppugnant, keen oppugners,
    Bowing, bowing, banjo-tuners
    Holm you know, but noes, canoes,
    Puisne, truism, use, to use?

    Though the difference seems little,
    We say actual, but victual,
    Seat, sweat, chaste, caste, Leigh, eight, height,
    Put, nut, granite, and unite.

    Reefer does not rhyme with deafer,
    Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
    Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,
    Hint, pint, senate, but sedate.

    Gaelic, Arabic, pacific,
    Science, conscience, scientific;
    Tour, but our, dour, succour, four,
    Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

    Say manoeuvre, yacht and vomit,
    Next omit, which differs from it
    Bona fide, alibi
    Gyrate, dowry and awry.

    Sea, idea, guinea, area,
    Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
    Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,
    Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

    Compare alien with Italian,
    Dandelion with battalion,
    Rally with ally; yea, ye,
    Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay!

    Say aver, but ever, fever,
    Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.
    Never guess-it is not safe,
    We say calves, valves, half, but Ralf.

    Starry, granary, canary,
    Crevice, but device, and eyrie,
    Face, but preface, then grimace,
    Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.

    Bass, large, target, gin, give, verging,
    Ought, oust, joust, and scour, but scourging;
    Ear, but earn; and ere and tear
    Do not rhyme with here but heir.

    Mind the o of off and often
    Which may be pronounced as orphan,
    With the sound of saw and sauce;
    Also soft, lost, cloth and cross.

    Pudding, puddle, putting. Putting?
    Yes: at golf it rhymes with shutting.
    Respite, spite, consent, resent.
    Liable, but Parliament.

    Seven is right, but so is even,
    Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,
    Monkey, donkey, clerk and jerk,
    Asp, grasp, wasp, demesne, cork, work.

    A of valour, vapid vapour,
    S of news (compare newspaper),
    G of gibbet, gibbon, gist,
    I of antichrist and grist,

    Differ like diverse and divers,
    Rivers, strivers, shivers, fivers.
    Once, but nonce, toll, doll, but roll,
    Polish, Polish, poll and poll.

    Pronunciation-think of Psyche!-
    Is a paling, stout and spiky.
    Won't it make you lose your wits
    Writing groats and saying "grits"?

    It's a dark abyss or tunnel
    Strewn with stones like rowlock, gunwale,
    Islington, and Isle of Wight,
    Housewife, verdict and indict.

    Don't you think so, reader, rather,
    Saying lather, bather, father?
    Finally, which rhymes with enough,
    Though, through, bough, cough, hough, sough, tough??

    Hiccough has the sound of sup...
    My advice is: GIVE IT UP!
     
  4. onestone

    onestone Member

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    I wish I could understand poetry. Limericks is my limit.
     
  5. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    I wouldn't sell yourself short. I'll dig out a poem later that I'm sure you'll get
     
  6. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    @onestone

    This Be The Verse
    BY Philip Larkin



    They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
    They may not mean to, but they do.
    They fill you with the faults they had
    And add some extra, just for you.

    But they were fucked up in their turn
    By fools in old-style hats and coats,
    Who half the time were soppy-stern
    And half at one another’s throats.

    Man hands on misery to man.
    It deepens like a coastal shelf.
    Get out as early as you can,
    And don’t have any kids yourself.
     
  7. onestone

    onestone Member

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    Yes, that I can understand because it's short, simple and it rhymes.
     
  8. floatyhippyflower

    floatyhippyflower Free spirit, lost soul.

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    Kolob, in the twinkling of an eye.
    Some classics here - thanks for the reminder. Also, cool thread! I'm game.

    Just finished Soft Engineering by a poet hitherto unknown called Kate Foley and enjoy how she describes things, including times when I was not fussed by or didn't grasp the underlying sentiment. She's not a rhymer, but the imagery is accessible, partly because she displays a certain economy and has a tendency to boil down rather than dress up, so the words 'feel' direct even if you're not sure how to interpret them. This is one I like:

    Witnessess

    All things are made of the same stuff -
    if I see, why can't they?
    Why doesn't the newspaper fold up,
    angular with despair, like an origami
    albatross, weeping ashes?
    Why doesn't the earth
    slough us off like gangrene?
    Why doesn't the sea leap up
    like the great wall of China
    and cough out our rubbish?

    They say that sub-atomic particles
    have memory. How can they be
    so stolid? Why not, trembling
    with rage, dance to a new pattern -
    melt us down?

    Silent witnesses - things - absorb,
    soak up, watch, apparently unchanged,
    their blind molecular clocks
    ticking unmoved.

    But sometimes, at the dead of night,
    I have heard heavy furniture
    cry like a frightened child;
    or seen daylight, stones
    made catatonic with old pain.
    And panic flares, mixed with hope
    that somewhere, deep beneath
    its passive skin, our world's not mocked.



    In citing her descriptive style, what I'm referring to are nuggety little phrases such as, "angular with despair", "weeping ashes", "blind molecular clocks", "passive skin" etc., of which there are many throughout the book: poetic, yet earthed; poignant, but earned.

    As snapshots of relationships, I also think these two are very well-drawn.


    After the visitors

    After the door shuts
    we snap back together
    into the elastic twang
    of our row. I turn up
    the light, see white coffee cups,
    single lotuses; see your

    frown etched in metal.
    You see my set face,
    concrete hard, ribbed,
    slatted against you.
    Glasses with dregs,
    our eyes drained
    of communication
    ring in this room, now
    peeled of friendly presences.

    Rage is narcotic.
    I forget why I hate you,
    why our furniture
    has killing edges,
    why the colour has gone.

    From the corner of my eye
    I see your fisted hand
    suddenly uncurl its fingers,
    flutter towards me.
    I remember who you are,
    and why I hate you,
    but my fingers, like
    a time lapsed photograph
    have a life of their own,
    and uncurl slowly towards you.



    -------


    Well, Daughter

    hoping this, a line
    aimed deeper
    than a wrinkle in time,
    finds you -

    Never mind that you
    weren't a plum coloured
    bawling baby, braided
    with birth blood,
    a child, clean
    as a new pinny,
    rinsed with wind
    from long-legged kites
    walking the common;
    a teenager, collecting
    worldly smuts,
    angles and pain;

    somewhere you are;
    on the other side
    of a closed door.
    Somewhere is the parcel
    of birth pangs, chicken-pox,
    petulance, estrangement,
    and painful love,
    that belongs to me.

    I am rich with its loss;
    absence creates
    a room for echoes.

    Deep in the mirror
    of my own face
    you look for me.



    In the former, it's all about "peeled of friendly presences" . What a great description, I thought, placed intuitively at the poem's beating heart out of which all other mental images bleed. In the latter, it's that final three-line sentence.

    Summation: I probably won't go looking for more of her work on purpose (this book was acquired, not purchased), but if I happened to come across other publications on my travels, e.g. browsing a chazza shop, I'd be up for it.

    Dori, if that's what your preferences are, then that's where you should dive in!
     
  9. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    The Tyger by William Blake

    Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
    In the forests of the night,
    What immortal hand or eye
    Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

    In what distant deeps or skies
    Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
    On what wings dare he aspire?
    What the hand, dare sieze the fire?

    And what shoulder, & what art,
    Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
    And when thy heart began to beat,
    What dread hand? & what dread feet?

    What the hammer? what the chain?
    In what furnace was thy brain?
    What the anvil? what dread grasp
    Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

    When the stars threw down their spears,
    And water’d heaven with their tears,
    Did he smile his work to see?
    Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

    Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
    In the forests of the night,
    What immortal hand or eye
    Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
     
  10. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    In Praise Of Limestone (May 1948) - W.H. Auden


    If it form the one landscape that we, the inconstant ones,
    Are consistently homesick for, this is chiefly
    Because it dissolves in water. Mark these rounded slopes
    With their surface fragrance of thyme and, beneath,
    A secret system of caves and conduits; hear the springs
    That spurt out everywhere with a chuckle,
    Each filling a private pool for its fish and carving
    Its own little ravine whose cliffs entertain
    The butterfly and the lizard; examine this region
    Of short distances and definite places:
    What could be more like Mother or a fitter background
    For her son, the flirtatious male who lounges
    Against a rock in the sunlight, never doubting
    That for all his faults he is loved; whose works are but
    Extensions of his power to charm? From weathered outcrop
    To hill-top temple, from appearing waters to
    Conspicuous fountains, from a wild to a formal vineyard,
    Are ingenious but short steps that a child's wish
    To receive more attention than his brothers, whether
    By pleasing or teasing, can easily take.


    Watch, then, the band of rivals as they climb up and down
    Their steep stone gennels in twos and threes, at times
    Arm in arm, but never, thank God, in step; or engaged
    On the shady side of a square at midday in
    Voluble discourse, knowing each other too well to think
    There are any important secrets, unable
    To conceive a god whose temper-tantrums are moral
    And not to be pacified by a clever line
    Or a good lay: for accustomed to a stone that responds,
    They have never had to veil their faces in awe
    Of a crater whose blazing fury could not be fixed;
    Adjusted to the local needs of valleys
    Where everything can be touched or reached by walking,
    Their eyes have never looked into infinite space
    Through the lattice-work of a nomad's comb; born lucky,
    Their legs have never encountered the fungi
    And insects of the jungle, the monstrous forms and lives
    With which we have nothing, we like to hope, in common.
    So, when one of them goes to the bad, the way his mind works
    Remains comprehensible: to become a pimp
    Or deal in fake jewellery or ruin a fine tenor voice
    For effects that bring down the house, could happen to all
    But the best and the worst of us...
    That is why, I suppose,
    The best and worst never stayed here long but sought
    Immoderate soils where the beauty was not so external,
    The light less public and the meaning of life
    Something more than a mad camp. `Come!' cried the granite wastes,
    `How evasive is your humour, how accidental
    Your kindest kiss, how permanent is death.' (Saints-to-be
    Slipped away sighing.) `Come!' purred the clays and gravels,
    `On our plains there is room for armies to drill; rivers
    Wait to be tamed and slaves to construct you a tomb
    In the grand manner: soft as the earth is mankind and both
    Need to be altered.' (Intendant Caesars rose and
    Left, slamming the door.) But the really reckless were fetched
    By an older colder voice, the oceanic whisper:
    `I am the solitude that asks and promises nothing;
    That is how I shall set you free. There is no love;
    There are only the various envies, all of them sad.'


    They were right, my dear, all those voices were right
    And still are; this land is not the sweet home that it looks,
    Nor its peace the historical calm of a site
    Where something was settled once and for all: A back ward
    And dilapidated province, connected
    To the big busy world by a tunnel, with a certain
    Seedy appeal, is that all it is now? Not quite:
    It has a worldy duty which in spite of itself
    It does not neglect, but calls into question
    All the Great Powers assume; it disturbs our rights. The poet,
    Admired for his earnest habit of calling
    The sun the sun, his mind Puzzle, is made uneasy
    By these marble statues which so obviously doubt
    His antimythological myth; and these gamins,
    Pursuing the scientist down the tiled colonnade
    With such lively offers, rebuke his concern for Nature's
    Remotest aspects: I, too, am reproached, for what
    And how much you know. Not to lose time, not to get caught,
    Not to be left behind, not, please! to resemble
    The beasts who repeat themselves, or a thing like water
    Or stone whose conduct can be predicted, these
    Are our common prayer, whose greatest comfort is music
    Which can be made anywhere, is invisible,
    And does not smell. In so far as we have to look forward
    To death as a fact, no doubt we are right: But if
    Sins can be forgiven, if bodies rise from the dead,
    These modifications of matter into
    Innocent athletes and gesticulating fountains,
    Made solely for pleasure, make a further point:
    The blessed will not care what angle they are regarded from,
    Having nothing to hide. Dear, I know nothing of
    Either, but when I try to imagine a faultless love
    Or the life to come, what I hear is the murmur
    Of underground streams, what I see is a limestone landscape.
     
  11. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
    What hours, O what black hoürs we have spent
    This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
    And more must, in yet longer light's delay.
    ⁠With witness I speak this. But where I say
    Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
    Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
    To dearest him that lives alas! away.


    ⁠I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree
    Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;
    Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.
    ⁠Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
    The lost are like this, and their scourge to be
    As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.



    Two Gerard Manley Hopkins poems ^^ is untitled.




    The Windhover:

    To Christ our Lord

    I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
    ⁠dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
    ⁠Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
    High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
    In his ecstacy! then off, off forth on swing,
    ⁠As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
    ⁠Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
    Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!


    Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
    ⁠Buckle! and the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
    Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!


    ⁠No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
    Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
    ⁠Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
     
  12. floatyhippyflower

    floatyhippyflower Free spirit, lost soul.

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    Kolob, in the twinkling of an eye.
    This is beautiful.
     
  13. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    All the infections that the sun sucks up

    From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him

    By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,

    And yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,

    Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i’ th’ mire,

    Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark

    Out of my way, unless he bid ’em; but

    For every trifle are they set upon me;

    Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me,

    And after bite me; then like hedgehogs which

    Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount

    Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I

    All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues

    Do hiss me into madness.


    The Tempest, Act II, scene II
     
  14. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    Now, whether it were by peculiar grace,
    A leading from above, a something given,
    Yet it befell that, in this lonely place,
    When I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
    Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven
    I saw a Man before me unawares:
    The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.


    As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie
    Couched on the bald top of an eminence;
    Wonder to all who do the same espy,
    By what means it could thither come, and whence;
    So that it seems a thing endued with sense:
    Like a Sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf
    Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself.

    William Wordsworth Leech–Gatherer (1802)
     
  15. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    Ernest Dowson

    Non Sum Qualis Eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae

    Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
    There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
    Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
    And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
    Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
    I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

    All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
    Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
    Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
    But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
    When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
    I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

    I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
    Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
    Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
    But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
    Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
    I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

    I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
    But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
    Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
    And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
    Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
    I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.





    Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam


    They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
    Love and desire and hate:
    I think they have no portion in us after
    We pass the gate.

    They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
    Out of a misty dream
    Our path emerges for a while, then closes
    Within a dream.

     
  16. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

    Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    ''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door-
    Only this, and nothing more.'

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
    ''Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
    This it is, and nothing more.'

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    'Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you'- here I opened wide the door;-
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
    fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 'Lenore!'
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 'Lenore!'-
    Merely this, and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
    'Tis the wind and nothing more.'

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
    flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
    he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
    'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, 'art sure no
    craven,
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
    Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as 'Nevermore.'

    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
    Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'other friends have flown
    before-
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
    Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.'

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    'Doubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
    Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
    Of 'Never- nevermore'.'

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
    door;
    Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
    What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.'

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
    hath sent thee
    Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!'
    Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'

    'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
    devil!-
    Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
    On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
    Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!'
    Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'

    'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
    devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.'
    Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'

    'Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,' I shrieked,
    upstarting-
    'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
    door!'
    Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
    floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted- nevermore!
     
  17. floatyhippyflower

    floatyhippyflower Free spirit, lost soul.

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    I recently finished Crow by Ted Hughes. He began writing the collection a few years after Plath’s death following a relatively dormant period. By the time it was published, his new partner had also committed suicide, taking their young daughter with her – Crow is dedicated to their memory.

    When I first read it last year, I thought that I had not absorbed much because life was proving hectic, though a couple of pages did stick in my mind and I remember really enjoying the some of the titles, so the decision was made to revisit at some point.

    I am now inclined to think there was more to it than that. During the reread, it became swiftly evident that although the language is very vivid overall, deeper meaning frequently escaped me, both within individual pieces and in relation to the book’s broader vision. Crow is presented as an actual character, but his experiences are so intertwined with Christian myths about creation that effectively Hughes rewrites them with something akin to a pagan slant (possibly a reflection of his own reemergence, one wonders?). In doing so, I felt that he was not only subverting religion, but openly attacking it in places. For example, god is represented as a bit of a wet fart that does not seem to know what he is doing, prone to little temper tantrums and dozing off when he should be on the job, at which point Crow is wont to playing naughty tricks.

    Overall, however, I found it a rather opaque book and quite sure this is merely scratching the surface of what it has to offer. For these reasons, I will post three examples of poems I really liked, one underneath this review and two in a separate post, rather than those I think are representative of the entire collection, because I cannot claim to understand what that is yet.

    One thing worthy of note in the event anyone feels inspired to read it someday is that Hughes often keeps punctuation to a minimum, commas especially, so sentences blend into each other and it can be difficult to know how to frame each line or when to draw breath. I found it was usually best to have a practise run-through just to get a feel for the rhythms and be a little more prepared for passages such as these in advance, otherwise I was prone to tripping over his complex phrasing.

    To sum up, it is an interesting work, but one I suspect will continue to mystify me for many rereads to come – book pile pending, I plan revisit yet again sometime in the next few months and capitalise on this fresher outlook.


    Examination at the Womb-door

    Who owns those scrawny little feet? Death.
    Who owns this bristly scorched-looking face? Death.
    Who owns these still-working lungs? Death.
    Who owns this utility coat of muscles? Death.
    Who owns these unspeakable guts? Death.
    Who owns these questionable brains? Death.
    All this messy blood? Death.
    These minimum-efficiency eyes? Death.
    This wicked little tongue? Death.
    This occasional wakefulness? Death.

    Given, stolen, or held pending trial?

    Held.

    Who owns the whole rainy, stony earth? Death.
    Who owns all of space? Death.

    Who is stronger than hope? Death.
    Who is stronger than the will? Death.
    Stronger than love? Death.
    Stronger than life? Death.

    But who is stronger than Death?
    Me, evidently.


    Pass, Crow.
     
  18. floatyhippyflower

    floatyhippyflower Free spirit, lost soul.

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    Apple Tragedy

    So on the seventh day
    The serpent rested,
    God came up to him.
    "I've invented a new game," he said.

    The serpent stared in surprise
    At this interloper.
    But God said: "You see this apple?"
    I squeeze it and look-cider."

    The serpent had a good drink
    And curled up into a question mark.
    Adam drank and said: "Be my god."
    Eve drank and opened her legs

    And called to the cockeyed serpent
    And gave him a wild time.
    God ran and told Adam
    Who in drunken rage tried to hang himself in the orchard.

    The serpent tried to explain, crying "Stop"
    But drink was splitting his syllable.
    And Eve started screeching: "Rape! Rape!"
    And stamping on his head.

    Now whenever the snake appears she screeches
    "Here it comes again! Help! O Help!"
    Then Adam smashes a chair on his head,
    And God says: "I am well pleased"

    And everything goes to hell.





    Lovesong

    He loved her and she loved him.
    His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
    He had no other appetite
    She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
    She wanted him complete inside her
    Safe and sure forever and ever
    Their little cries fluttered into the curtains

    Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
    Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
    He gripped her hard so that life
    Should not drag her from that moment
    He wanted all future to cease
    He wanted to topple with his arms round her
    Off that moment's brink and into nothing
    Or everlasting or whatever there was
    Her embrace was an immense press
    To print him into her bones
    His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
    Where the real world would never come
    Her smiles were spider bites
    So he would lie still till she felt hungry
    His words were occupying armies
    Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
    His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
    His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
    His whispers were whips and jackboots
    Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
    His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
    Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
    And their deep cries crawled over the floors
    Like an animal dragging a great trap

    His promises were the surgeon's gag
    Her promises took the top off his skull
    She would get a brooch made of it
    His vows pulled out all her sinews
    He showed her how to make a love-knot
    Her vows put his eyes in formalin
    At the back of her secret drawer
    Their screams stuck in the wall

    Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
    Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop

    In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
    In their dreams their brains took each other hostage

    In the morning they wore each other's face

     
  19. floatyhippyflower

    floatyhippyflower Free spirit, lost soul.

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    I know wine and roses well, but Cynara is new to me - I really like it! "Desolate and sick of old passion" is a great line.
     
    Last edited: Feb 17, 2019 at 11:08 AM
  20. Torsion Jim

    Torsion Jim inter-dimensional pest control

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    I think it's a reference to illness brought on by alcoholism, but I'm not totally sure of that
     
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