Public Service Announcement

[Tzara]

I'm still trying to figure out where the cliches are in that Yeats. Don't some people have long heavy hair? (I do.) How else might one describe it to maintain the image? Weighty tresses of length? Yuck! And I rather like the image that "passion-dimmed eyes" evokes. I can't remember having heard that particular combination elsewhere--most people I know don't use the expression, but if they did would that make it bad in this poem? Maybe if I came from somewhere where the curlews were flying (I assume they are some kind of sea bird--I dunno, really), then it would be bad to use "curlew" in a poem?

I'm agreeing with you. Also, I love Yeats.

It all becomes a bit ridiculous. I refuse to put any word--and that does include "love," "soul," "bones," and "rainbow" on a no-no list. The problem isn't the words. The problem is when they're all jumbled together saying nothing--or nothing remarkable.

In my opinion.

Ssshh, ssshhh, Ange! This was a cleverly constructed straw man argument to lure 1201 into a trap where I could slice his feeble intellect into ribbons. (Oops! Clichéd phrasing there. Sorry. Perhaps I could chop his response in a Ronco Dice-a-Matic? Oh, nevermind.)

My point, if I have one and since I am usually speaking (er, writing) from a position of almost complete total ignorance about poetry, poetics, aesthetics, or meterology (though not a weatherman, I often don't know which way the wind blows, thank you Bob Z.) is, I think, pretty much congruent with yours.

This poem, I think, if written by someone with lesser skills would be cliché. The basic subject (bird call/I'm sad/sexual memories of lover/I'm lonely/wind also makes me sad) is not particularly fresh. Could I quote examples where this particular sequence of theme was used poorly? No. Not the point.

The point is more, if you agree with my thesis that the theme is potentially cliché, how does Yeats avoid it? If he does.

I think what makes this poem is the central image, the lines:

passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair
That was shaken out over my breast​

These lines work for me, actually make the poem for me. The phrase "passion-dimmed eyes" evokes an image I have been fortunate enough to see occasionally. I had a girlfriend who would get a kind of heavy lidded, look up at me, very sexual look in her eyes. So it is very evocative. But, how Yeats phrases it is very important. "[P]assion-dimmed eyes" both is kind of erotically euphonal (nnnnn, mmmmm, zzzzz) but "dimmed" is excellent. The light in the eyes has gone down a bit, but oh boy the electricity is still there in spades.

Had he said "passion-slitted eyes" instead, it wouldn't work. While that has kind of the same overall meaning, the assonance is gone, and "slitted" is, I think, cliché in context.

Similarly, he could have said "long thick hair" (which, combined with "passion-slitted eyes" would keep the syllable count the same, if not the scansion). But again, that kills the image. "[L]ong heavy hair" sounds heavy--the syllables landing plunk, plunk, plunk. Very evocative. "[L]ong thick hair" is nowhere near the same image, though fairly close, again, on meaning.

Oh, I'm babbling again.

 

[Angeline]

Ssshh, ssshhh, Ange! This was a cleverly constructed straw man argument to lure 1201 into a trap where I could slice his feeble intellect into ribbons. (Oops! Clichéd phrasing there. Sorry. Perhaps I could chop his response in a Ronco Dice-a-Matic? Oh, nevermind.)

My point, if I have one and since I am usually speaking (er, writing) from a position of almost complete total ignorance about poetry, poetics, aesthetics, or meterology (though not a weatherman, I often don't know which way the wind blows, thank you Bob Z.) is, I think, pretty much congruent with yours.

This poem, I think, if written by someone with lesser skills would be cliché. The basic subject (bird call/I'm sad/sexual memories of lover/I'm lonely/wind also makes me sad) is not particularly fresh. Could I quote examples where this particular sequence of theme was used poorly? No. Not the point.

The point is more, if you agree with my thesis that the theme is potentially cliché, how does Yeats avoid it? If he does.

I think what makes this poem is the central image, the lines:

passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair
That was shaken out over my breast​

These lines work for me, actually make the poem for me. The phrase "passion-dimmed eyes" evokes an image I have been fortunate enough to see occasionally. I had a girlfriend who would get a kind of heavy lidded, look up at me, very sexual look in her eyes. So it is very evocative. But, how Yeats phrases it is very important. "[P]assion-dimmed eyes" both is kind of erotically euphonal (nnnnn, mmmmm, zzzzz) but "dimmed" is excellent. The light in the eyes has gone down a bit, but oh boy the electricity is still there in spades.

Had he said "passion-slitted eyes" instead, it wouldn't work. While that has kind of the same overall meaning, the assonance is gone, and "slitted" is, I think, cliché in context.

Similarly, he could have said "long thick hair" (which, combined with "passion-slitted eyes" would keep the syllable count the same, if not the scansion). But again, that kills the image. "[L]ong heavy hair" sounds heavy--the syllables landing plunk, plunk, plunk. Very evocative. "[L]ong thick hair" is nowhere near the same image, though fairly close, again, on meaning.

Oh, I'm babbling again.

I think Ronco Dice-A-Matic has the makings of an excellent same title poetry challenge.

 

[Tzara]

Yeats does nothing for me, well he does, he actually makes me vomit. Does that mean the cliches don't work for me and are therefore bad?

O yoo dear man. Such an artiste.

So Yeats don't speak to you. Seems to act like Ipecac, actually. Well, better avoid him. Don't want to upset that tum, do we?

It's kind of different strokes for different folks. My personal bane is Wordsworth. Tried, tried, tried to read the bastard but it still comes out too song. Or Hallmark, actually. Doesn't work for me.

Not everthing does.

Hey, did I tell you that the draftsmanship (draughtmanship?) of your last posted prints remind me of Thiebaud (Toy Box, specifically)? Hope that isn't an insult. I like him, liked them. Yours. Makes me think of Jane Hammond, also. More imagery, there, rather than draftsmanship. And not as much as Thiebaud.

You had mentioned you found some people outside the mainstream you liked (poetry). Care to mention who?

 

[The_Fool]

How do you know I don't look good in mozzarella?

I'm sure you look good in anything or nothing at all...

 

[Tzara]

How do you know I don't look good in mozzarella?

Oh, my!

Any woman would look good in mozzarella, or even parmesan.

O shaves of parmesan
on you, on the divan...

Hmmm. Where's that Fetish thread again?

 

[bogusbrig]

I had a girlfriend who would get a kind of heavy lidded, look up at me, very sexual look in her eyes. So it is very evocative.

Oh, I'm babbling again.

Apparently when women are aroused and certainly during orgasm, their eyelids and lips do swell (I'm looking for female volunteers for my own personal study). This is why women like Marilyn Monroe and Sophia Loren became sex icons, their facial features had the classic look of women aroused. OK I've had a misspent education and is the stuff one actually learns at art college. I assume it's so we could graduate from art college and paint women having orgasms. Though at such times, I've rarely, if ever, had the inclination to get my brushes out. Well certainly not out for painting anyway.

The poem still sounds yuck and cliched to me but I accept that time might not have done it any favours. The image is certainly not fresh and lacks the feel of being timeless but very much of a period.

 

[Angeline]

I'm sure you look good in anything or nothing at all...

You should see me in about mid-January in 16 layers of sweaters, down jackets, and my snow-kickin ll Bean boots. To die for!

Hiya fooly.

 

[Angeline]

Oh, my!

Any woman would look good in mozzarella, or even parmesan.

O shaves of parmesan
on you, on the divan...

Hmmm. Where's that Fetish thread again?

divan?

you got a broccoli fetish?

 

[twelveoone]

With a strong opinion such as Jawa's I'm surprised you are having to wait with such impatience for a punch up 1201.

THE DOYEN OF DOGMA


VS


THE DOGE OF DOGGERAL

12 rounds for the title of light heavyweight bullshit artist of the world​

non-sanctioned​

Eco on Clichés

My "pathetic""customer" philosophy of poetry reduced to its lowest level is make it interesting, if the subject matter is not of interest to me, let me admire the construction. Take me someplace.
If I am to figure out a two line profundity that relies on an association of the word "silver"; to arrive at a destination of "Oh what a clever person" - Fuck that, I've done "silver" better. This tells me his objectives are limited.

On the otter side, when senna surfaces, his pronouncements on poetry have greater interest to me than this reign of drivel that has spread across multi-threads. His words have great value to anyone trying to write, well worth consideration.
His directness is refreshing. And I agree, some things should be scrapped - why I don't post often, if I know it is garbage, incomplete, why subject the audience?

No, Tzara, senna cannot lure me into a trap where he can slice my feeble intellect into ribbons. It would be more like Karl Marx vs the Marx brothers, if I would find myself at a loss for words (he wouldn't), I would just squeeze the bulb and go
HONK
HONK

 

[bogusbrig]

THE DOYEN OF DOGMA


VS


THE DOGE OF DOGGERAL

12 rounds for the title of light heavyweight bullshit artist of the world​

non-sanctioned​

Eco on Clichés

My money is on Doggeral who is far more subversive and intelligent under the guise of court jester, than the pompous pontifications of the grandees of the court of poetry.

Let the entertainment commence is my thought for the day.

 

[Tzara]

divan?

you got a broccoli fetish?

Nope. Linguini.

Oh limpid pasta, bathed in cream,
Entwirled around my fork, you seem
delightful. But, though, fattening.

 

[Tzara]

Apparently when women are aroused and certainly during orgasm, their eyelids and lips do swell (I'm looking for female volunteers for my own personal study).

Ah, physiology!

Well, that explains Klimt then, doesn't it?

The poem still sounds yuck and cliched to me but I accept that time might not have done it any favours. The image is certainly not fresh and lacks the feel of being timeless but very much of a period.

Well, our different feelings about this probably speaks volumes about our differences in experience--my familiarity with sitting around lonely evenings moonily wanking off 'cuz I didn't have a girlfriend while at the same time fretting over my next calculus test versus your Dionysian romps with models and artist groupies while bathing in litres of vins rouge et blanc. A comparison that don't put me in the best of lights, then do it?

No wonder I prefer cricket to futbol.

But

o, I have such a sensitive soul.

Nope. That line didn't work in college, neither.

 

[champagne1982]

I have written cliche-riddled poems on purpose, you may say they appeal to an audience, but that's fine. Who am I writing for anyway?

As others have said before me (aha! cliche cliche, touche en garde!), it's not how you say what needs to be said, but WHAT you say.

My doggerel.

 

[bogusbrig]

Well, our different feelings about this probably speaks volumes about our differences in experience--my familiarity with sitting around lonely evenings moonily wanking off 'cuz I didn't have a girlfriend while at the same time fretting over my next calculus test versus your Dionysian romps with models and artist groupies while bathing in litres of vins rouge et blanc. A comparison that don't put me in the best of lights, then do it?

No wonder I prefer cricket to futbol.

But

o, I have such a sensitive soul.

Nope. That line didn't work in college, neither.

Well art college wasn't a completely wasted education, though it wasn't the education ones parents might have had in mind. Most of the education was done in the college bar, where the delinquents and perverts of the education system assembled such as Miss Cole who was partial to the sculpture dept. football team and not for their footballing talents either.

There was a young lady
With the surname of Cole
Who looked into my sorrowful soul
She said, now look Keith
You're really quite bold
Cum shoot into my open goal!

Then there was Elizabeth, a daughter of a vicar from Manchester who was something of an exhibitionist and would do anything to model for the boys and expected one to behave like Rodin. You studied her and kneaded her and then quote the famous sculptor 'Now it's time to enter the Cathedral.'

Elizabeth had a quite delightful Cathedral. *BB gives a whimsical sigh*

Then there was Annemeke who used to drop her jeans to show you she really did have an arse like a boy's, though she was somewhat androgenous, her arse felt pretty OK to me.

Then there was...oh I don't want to bore you with Jenny who used to insist on masturbating while would draw her. Very off putting.

Oh where are they all, now that I need them.*sigh*

Calculus, now that's where my eductaion failed me.

 

[Tzara]

'Now it's time to enter the Cathedral.'

Well, I could have at one time calculated the bearing loads to support the arch of Notre Dame. The struts, supports, and statics.

Hem.

And haw. A misspent youth! Who cares? The damn thing's standing anyway and what I think, compute, or calc will not change that.

O, Brig!

A few hours with your 'Liz I would
exchange for all the trig
and analytics I subsumed.
To calculate the moon's attraction
to the Earth? Who gives a shit?
Dick Dawkins was alert
to this and penned The Selfish Gene
wherein our DNA
imperious defines our leanings
sexual and we, base, preening,
compelled comply. Were I to lie
with girls genetically unseemly
I might destroy our species' place
in things essential.

Oh what the hell.

I remain jealous, though.
Take pictures, send me some
so vicariously I come
to understand your artist's point of view.
Understand me?
I'll send Super Glue
to attach your dreams
and earthy pictures
along the seams of
my desparate parts.

My heart is only one of those
and yet it's not the prime.

Goodnight.

 

[bogusbrig]

I remain jealous, though.
Take pictures, send me some
so vicariously I come
to understand your artist's point of view.

We gather once a year
In the pub by London Fields
Where we slap eachothers backs
Tell jokes that are crap
And reminisce
About our fornicating years

And when the night has gone by
And the beer has been drunk
We wander to our studios alone
Where we are greeted by walls
Covered in victories of yor
And a bed that lies empty and cold

So where have all the women gone?
They've married accountants and doctors
Stock brokers and lawyers
And one married the calculus man

So isn't it sad
To have been a bit of a lad
And spent all of your cum
In three years


Well no
It's not really that bad
Tomorrow new students enroll

 

[twelveoone]

As a public service:
From Merriam-Webster
Main Entry: cli·chéd
Pronunciation: -'shAd
Function: adjective
1 : marked by or abounding in clich és
2 : HACKNEYED

One entry found for cliché.
Main Entry: cli·ché
Variant(s): also cli·che /klE-'shA, 'klE-", kli-'/
Function: noun
Etymology: French, literally, printer's stereotype, from past participle of clicher to stereotype, of imitative origin
1 : a trite phrase or expression; also : the idea expressed by it
2 : a hackneyed theme, characterization, or situation
3 : something (as a menu item) that has become overly familiar or commonplace

to those good writers I have marked down for I apologise, to those that keep insisting - I will comment.

This is (and it is my fucking opinion) the worst sin in poetry, AND one of the easiest things to turn around, try it, just requires a little thought.

Next def will be pander

pan·der ( P ) Pronunciation Key (pndr)
intr.v. pan·dered, pan·der·ing, pan·ders

1. To act as a go-between or liaison in sexual intrigues; function as a procurer.
2. To cater to the lower tastes and desires of others or exploit their weaknesses: “He refused to pander to nostalgia and escapism” (New York Times).


see also New Poems Reviews

 

[bogusbrig]

pan·der ( P ) Pronunciation Key (pndr)
intr.v. pan·dered, pan·der·ing, pan·ders

1. To act as a go-between or liaison in sexual intrigues; function as a procurer.
2. To cater to the lower tastes and desires of others or exploit their weaknesses: “He refused to pander to nostalgia and escapism” (New York Times).


see also New Poems Reviews

I have to agree 100% with your point. (If I'm understanding you correctly.)

It is as though we are all happy to exist on something akin to a collective consumption of 'somnolent' in Huxley's Brave New World and so we are kept in a somnambulant state, remaining happy with the mediocre.

Most of us will never rise above the mediocre but that is no excuse for not aspiring to better it and it's no excuse settling on something that puts the brain to sleep, like watching dreary churned out formuliac, cops and robbers TV programmes.

 

[flyguy69]

pan·der ( P ) Pronunciation Key (pndr)
intr.v. pan·dered, pan·der·ing, pan·ders

1. To act as a go-between or liaison in sexual intrigues; function as a procurer.
2. To cater to the lower tastes and desires of others or exploit their weaknesses....

Yup. Both definitions fit the poetry here at Lit. And I am being neither ironic nor judgemental.

 

[annaswirls]

guilty as charged

Yup. Both definitions fit the poetry here at Lit. And I am being neither ironic nor judgemental.

ah is this why my ears were burning?

burlap banded
kindling and tinder
more of the same, I
only have so many

tie my hands
leave me my eyes
my sentence usually hits me blind
and days pass before I can pry myself from the mud
to see what hit me

leave me my eyes
to witness the crisping of my skin
the dripping of the grease that falls
to flames before soaking wood

if I have done one good thing
leave me my eyes
to search the ashes
for the transcript of the trial
and silver fillings from my teeth

find the one with the oils
and blood, we arranged this, we arranged this rebirth
gather the ash and chip
kneed me into a ball
kick me on my way downhill
through the tar fields

please give me this

the polish cracks
on my toes

 

[flyguy69]

You appeal
to my lower tastes, the squalid
hunger for words pulled from the gut,
words that drip
the blood and grease
of their birth, words that stand
trial and define their own sentance.

ah is this why my ears were burning?

burlap banded
kindling and tinder
more of the same, I
only have so many

tie my hands
leave me my eyes
my sentence usually hits me blind
and days pass before I can pry myself from the mud
to see what hit me

leave me my eyes
to witness the crisping of my skin
the dripping of the grease that falls
to flames before soaking wood

if I have done one good thing
leave me my eyes
to search the ashes
for the transcript of the trial
and silver fillings from my teeth

find the one with the oils
and blood, we arranged this, we arranged this rebirth
gather the ash and chip
kneed me into a ball
kick me on my way downhill
through the tar fields

please give me this

the polish cracks
on my toes

 

[Tzara]

pan·der ( P ) Pronunciation Key (pndr)
intr.v. pan·dered, pan·der·ing, pan·ders

1. To act as a go-between or liaison in sexual intrigues; function as a procurer.
2. To cater to the lower tastes and desires of others or exploit their weaknesses: “He refused to pander to nostalgia and escapism” (New York Times).


see also New Poems Reviews

Pandarus, you nut,
we all seek the slut
god of approval. All

write for audience
even if the sense
of it is self alone.

Taste can't be lower
than love I shower
on my favored writer,

me.

 

[anonamouse]

Pandarus, you nut,
we all seek the slut
god of approval. All

write for audience
even if the sense
of it is self alone.

Taste can't be lower
than love I shower
on my favored writer,

me.

that's funny we have the same favorite, me!
no wait, not me!
yeah that number guy DoD

 

[twelveoone]

As a public service:
From Merriam-Webster
Main Entry: cli·chéd
Pronunciation: -'shAd
Function: adjective
1 : marked by or abounding in clich és
2 : HACKNEYED

One entry found for cliché.
Main Entry: cli·ché
Variant(s): also cli·che /klE-'shA, 'klE-", kli-'/
Function: noun
Etymology: French, literally, printer's stereotype, from past participle of clicher to stereotype, of imitative origin
1 : a trite phrase or expression; also : the idea expressed by it
2 : a hackneyed theme, characterization, or situation
3 : something (as a menu item) that has become overly familiar or commonplace

to those good writers I have marked down for I apologise, to those that keep insisting - I will comment.

This is (and it is my fucking opinion) the worst sin in poetry, AND one of the easiest things to turn around, try it, just requires a little thought.

Next def will be pander

to those that keep insisting - I will comment.
Known as fair warning

 

[Kaishaku]

At the risk of sounding cliche'

I think Anne would approve...