Poetry on the Forum

My Uncle Paul of Pimlico

My Uncle Paul of Pimlico
Has seven cats as white as snow,
who sit at his enormous feet
And watch him for a special treat,
Play the piano upside-down,
In his delightful dressing gown;
The firelight leaps, the parlour glows,
And, while the music ebbs and flows,
they smile (while purring the refrains),
At little thoughts that cross their brains.

MERVYN PEAKE

=^.^=

'no reason' by Billy Childish

'there must be a reason'
she said
'theres no damn reason'
i said
'but i-want-to-be-loved'
she sobbed
'go suck a pigs teet'
i said
'2 years'
she said
'2 1/2'
i said
'oooooooh'
she said
'hell'
i said
'but i want sex and i
only want it with you'
she said
'big deal'
i said
'ive unloaded my missery
onto you
and youve unloaded your
missery onto me
and now theres nothing left
but missery - its finished'
i said

p.s i was rong
there is allways more missery

'Intimates' by D.H. Lawrence

Don't you care for my love? She said bitterly

I handed her the mirror, and said:
Please address these questions to
the proper person!

Please make all requests to headquarters!
In all matters of emotional importance
please approach the supreme
authority direct!-
-So I handed her the mirror.

And she would have broken it over my head,
but she caught sight of her
own refection
and that held her spellbound for two seconds
while I fled.

quote:

Originally posted by dsteady:
Beautiful! I've always thought of that final image, "in the isolation of the sky" of the pigeons as they "sink/ downward to darkness, on extended wings" -- challenging us, as it does, to glory in the ambiguity of darkness, as it is carved out in the positive, natural flight of those birds -- as a great affirmation of a kind of poetic humanism.

"Let the lamp affix it's beam!"

daniel

Hi Daniel

I won't attempt to elaborate on that sentiment, which you so eloquently express. As I suggested earlier, I admire his poetry all the more, knowing that he was grounded in the mundane(?) world of the insurance business. As an ex-philosopher, I also respond to the metaphysical and epistemological themes in Stevens' poetry. All this without ever degenrating into tedious solemnity - he's one of the most linguistically playful poets I've read.

quote:

And this, O Fate, is I think the most vicious circle that thou ever sentest,
That Man has to go continually to the dentist to keep his teeth in good
condition when the chief reason he wants his teeth in good condition
is so that he won't have to go to the dentist.

Thanks Rob - excellent!

Droodzilla (has an appointment, in April, for three fillings)

(A mildly inappropriate smilie perhaps? )

Rob

Motto by Bertholt Brecht

In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will be singing
About the dark times.

The Pig

In England once there lived a big
And wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn't read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn't puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found,
Till suddenly one wondrous night,
All in a flash, he saw the light.
He jumped up like a Ballet dancer
And yelled,"By gum, I've got the answer"!

"They want my bacon slice by slice
To sell at a tremendous price!
They want my tender juicy chops
To put in all the butchers' shops!
They want my pork to make a roast
And that's the part'll cost the most!
They want my sausages in strings!
They even want my chitterlings!
The butcher's shop! The carving knife!
That is the reason for my life!"
Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great peace of mind.

Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And Piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor...
Now comes the rather grizzly bit
So let's not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he'd finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a smile, he said,
"I had a fairly powerful hunch
That he might have me for his lunch.
And so, because I feared the worst,
I thought I'd better eat him first".

ROALD DAHL

The Clod & the Pebble
by William Blake



‘Love seeketh not Itself to please,
‘Nor for itself hath any care;
‘But for another gives its ease,
‘And builds a heaven in Hell's despair.’


So sang a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet :
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet :


‘Love seeketh only Self to please,
‘To bind another to its delight ;
‘Joys in another's loss of ease,
‘And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.’

Posted by DaleRider1(www.mtbr.com) on November 04, 1999 at 16:48:42:

If I can't ride I'll close my eyes
and coast beneath some sun drenched skys
On twisty, rooted single tracks
on hairy steeps and outs and backs.
I'll make the drops I never do
and climb a harder hill or two
then bomb back down at breakneck speed
drifting corners on my steed.
I'll change a flat in record time
swap out parts much more sublime
I'll kick my partner's butt all over
and laugh with him when it's all over.
I'll take on whoops and dips and drops
like sponsored riders at their tops
Each one I'll fly with no remorse
and hustle my intended course.
My bike and I will feel like one
the ride this time goes on and on
My lungs have room to venture farther
my legs have muscles grown much larger
Invincible me on my trusted machine
will find out nothing I can't clean
as all the dreaded rocks and heads
disappear beneath my knobby treads.
Ahhhh the power I feel in this my dream
hopping over rushing streams
hardly touching ground at all
never dabbing and never to fall.
I am to all a shimmering light
a wisp of wind on errant flight
a fleeting moment lost in time
a journey with no reason or rhyme
This is my most epic ride
it's endless sweetness is my pride
What's left, in the end, depite my might
is me, my thoughts, my trusted bike.

RIP.

Some wonderful poetry!

One of the many poets I adore is the American T.S.Eliot who had this to say on the subject of poetry...

quote:

Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.

quote:

Originally posted by Voltaire:
Some wonderful poetry!

One of the many poets I adore is the American T.S.Eliot

... though he did think of himself as English for most of his life.

quote:

Originally posted by rupert bear:

quote:

Originally posted by Voltaire:
Some wonderful poetry!

One of the many poets I adore is the American T.S.Eliot

... though he did think of himself as English for most of his life.

Oh no you don't! He's ours. Okay, he did expatriate to England, marry and an Englishwoman and die a British subject, but only after a formative life as an American -- he didn't arrive in England until 1911, at 26.

There is no doubt that he wanted to be an Englishman, but since when has that qualified a Yank in the eyes of most native-born Englishman -- maybe it has something to do with his being one of the world's great poets?

Anyway, "Prufrock" and "The Waste Land" were written when he was still an American, but you all can claim "Ash Wednesday" and "The Four Quartets."

Is that fair?

Shantih.

dn'l

quote:

Originally posted by droodzilla:
Hi Daniel

I won't attempt to elaborate on that sentiment, which you so eloquently express. As I suggested earlier, I admire his poetry all the more, knowing that he was grounded in the mundane(?) world of the insurance business. As an ex-philosopher, I also respond to the metaphysical and epistemological themes in Stevens' poetry. All this without ever degenrating into tedious solemnity - he's one of the most linguistically playful poets I've read.

It really is amazing that he had this other a career in insurance, a career he seemed pretty content with too. (I think he turned down a teaching post at Harvard because he didn't want to leave his firm). He's been criticized for his lack of solemnity -- called a "mere wordsmith," etc. -- but I love this about him too. Many American poets and critics backed away from him in the 60s because he suddenly epitomized the Bourgeoisie, yet very few of them will be remembered as he will be. I have a first ed. of "Ideas of Order" which I cherish, along with my first of "Poems" (1911) by Rupert Brooke.

dn'l

This is possibly the oddest poem I have ever come across, to the extent that I wonder if it actually has some subtle ironic subplot that I've missed rather than just being completely crap! Assuming someone isn't going to correct my failings, I think it is almost in the "so bad it's good" category though. Sounds like something that John Hegley might have written...

"To A Pekinese" by Barbara Cartland

You were so soft, so sweet, so small,
And yet you gave your heart and all
Your love - until you died
Walking along the wrong side
Of the road.

The car didn't stop and I found you there.
Your eyes were closed and your long white fur
Was covered in blood and you didn't stir
When I called.

Such a little life, so little time
To live and yet you were a part of mine.
And I can never can walk in the mud or rain
Without seeing you lying dead again
In the road.

quote:

Anyway, "Prufrock" and "The Waste Land" were written when he was still an American, but you all can claim "Ash Wednesday" and "The Four Quartets."

Is that fair?

Sounds fair to me Daniel. I'll even throw in "Ash Wednesday" - in return for that first edition of "Ideas of Order" you mentioned in your other post.

Deal?

quote:

"To A Pekinese" by Barbara Cartland

You were so soft, so sweet, so small,
And yet you gave your heart and all
Your love - until you died
Walking along the wrong side
Of the road...

Emily Dickinson, eat your heart out.

I think that Christopher Smart's tribute to his pet cat, is better:

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.

I found this quirky gem in Howard Bloom's "Greatest Poems in English" anthology, earlier today.

quote:

Originally posted by droodzilla:

I found this quirky gem in Howard Bloom's "Greatest Poems in English" anthology, earlier today.

Well-known to music lovers as the text for 'Rejoice in the Lamb' by Benjamin Britten.

Thanks Rupert - I didn't know that.

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert... Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

For many reasons, one of my favorite poets is Robert Creeley. One of those reasons is concision. Is there anything more concise and lovely than this?



Love Comes Quietly

Love comes quietly,
finally, drops
about me, on me,
in the old ways.

What did I know
thinking myself
able to go
alone all the way.

- Robert Creeley



I've set this poem to song, the instrumental version of which appears on my Naim album Dreamhouse. One day I hope to record the vocal version.

All best,
Fred

Apologies for lowering the tone after such a moving and romantic poem, with this poem of seduction..

To His Coy Mistress


Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turns to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Andrew Marvell

quote:

Originally posted by fred simon:


For many reasons, one of my favorite poets is Robert Creeley. One of those reasons is concision. Is there anything more concise and lovely than this?



Love Comes Quietly

Love comes quietly,
finally, drops
about me, on me,
in the old ways.

What did I know
thinking myself
able to go
alone all the way.

- Robert Creeley



I've set this poem to song, the instrumental version of which appears on my Naim album Dreamhouse. One day I hope to record the vocal version.

All best,
Fred

Good one Fred. I've liked Creeley, since I read his poem "Operation" in the "Penguin Book of Modern America", which was one of my most heavily thumbed books at the time (>20 years ago):

By Saturday I sid you would be better on Sunday.
The insistence was part of a reconciliation.

Your eyes bulged, the grey
light hung on you, you were hideous.

My involvement is just an old
Habitual relationship.

Cruel, cruel to describe
What there is no need to describe.

Did you know that Creeley has made at least two albums with the jazz bassist Steve Swallow - both are highly successful fusions of his poetry and contemporary jazz, and are well worth seeking out if you enjoy Creeley's work.

quote:

Originally posted by droodzilla:

Did you know that Creeley has made at least two albums with the jazz bassist Steve Swallow - both are highly successful fusions of his poetry and contemporary jazz, and are well worth seeking out if you enjoy Creeley's work.

Yes, I have and love both Home and So There.

All best,
Fred

The writer of this powerful poem is def American....I think

quote:

Grass

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work—
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?

I am the grass.
Let me work.

G