Word Order Game

[Angeline]

And with plain we are here,
swept by as on a darkling
struggle of confused
alarms and ignorant flight,
where night armies clash

Dover Beach
Matthew Arnold

 

[Tzara]

O Ange, O Cat!
What! Two of you!
I can't
Imagine how to scat-
ter meanings that you two can't get!

So (heh heh heh). Here's the nuclear option. Get

this you clever women! Hah!

heimsleg snø og heimsleg granskog er tale om

Give me some sat-
isfaction that you can't
divine this. I'll then go back
to poems that you might guess.

But, I digress.

I think of this thread fondly now
as poems to recommend, I guess.

(You can look here.
That's one big hint, you know.)

 

[Angeline]

O Ange, O Cat!
What! Two of you!
I can't
Imagine how to scat-
ter meanings that you two can't get!

So (heh heh heh). Here's the nuclear option. Get

this you clever women! Hah!

heimsleg snø og heimsleg granskog er tale om

Give me some sat-
isfaction that you can't
divine this. I'll then go back
to poems that you might guess.

But, I digress.

I think of this thread fondly now
as poems to recommend, I guess.

(You can look here.
That's one big hint, you know.)

Well hell I was gonna say Beowulf. I have read a little Anglo-Saxon and it is Norse, right? Is it from that poem you posted in translation?

Arrrgh...and this before coffee.

 

[Tzara]

Well hell I was gonna say Beowulf. I have read a little Anglo-Saxon and it is Norse, right? Is it from that poem you posted in translation?

Arrrgh...and this before coffee.

Yep. Well, Nynorsk, anyway. And Yep.

Just checking that you two aren't telepathic:



TZARA (peering intently into obscure book of poetry)
.....Here's a poem they won't know!

.....(hesitantly begins to copy line from obscure poem)

.....a....

ANGELINE AND *CATBABE* (in delightful chorus)
.....Jackson MacLow!
.....2nd Light Poem: For Diane Wakoski -- 10 June 1962!!

TZARA
.....O! Mephistophilis!

(The sound of gentle laughter, like rose petals swirled in spring breeze.)

 

[Angeline]

Yep. Well, Nynorsk, anyway. And Yep.

Just checking that you two aren't telepathic:



TZARA (peering intently into obscure book of poetry)
.....Here's a poem they won't know!

.....(hesitantly begins to copy line from obscure poem)

.....a....

ANGELINE AND *CATBABE* (in delightful chorus)
.....Jackson MacLow!
.....2nd Light Poem: For Diane Wakoski -- 10 June 1962!!

TZARA
.....O! Mephistophilis!

(The sound of gentle laughter, like rose petals swirled in spring breeze.)

I don't know that I would have guessed the poem, but I saw Diane Wakoski read at St. Mark's about a million years ago.

as I pass on the road, a tree
not the colour of blood,
with its berries a rare
and exceptional colour,
but I see ash
given only to plants
not the colour of any jewel

?

 

[wildsweetone]

kindly cushioned about on the years

 

[duckiesmut]

Kipling "Our Fathers Also"

Cushioned about on the kindly years





...
and human grime man's the death grime was but no locomotives

 

[duckiesmut]

It looks like I killed this thread again.

Nobody likes Ginsberg?


Perhaps someone else would like to post a quote?

 

[Jennifer C]

while I dreary upon weary once a weak midnight and pondered

 

[Lauren Hynde]

while I dreary upon weary once a weak midnight and pondered

God, is there a more easily recognisable poem in the world?

The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe

First Published in 1845

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 someone 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 forevermore.

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 the 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, something 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 the 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 blessed 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 that 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 sad soul 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."

Thus 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, O 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 of 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!

I can't read this without hearing Christopher Walken's voice - anymore.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Last stair upon the night I saw

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Was it my turn to kill the thread?

 

[duckiesmut]

Hughes Mearns

Last night I saw upon the stair



***
soft open basins water the tore dogfish the of

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Hughes Mearns

Last night I saw upon the stair

The Little Man Who Wasn't There

Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
Oh, how I wish he'd go away...

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn't see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door...

Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
Oh, how I wish he'd go away!



OK, back to the program:
soft open basins water the tore dogfish the of

 

[wildsweetone]

soft open basins water the tore dogfish the of




Dogfish by Mary Oliver

Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing
kept flickering in with the tide
and looking around.
Black as a fisherman's boot,
with a white belly.

If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile
under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin,
which was rough
as a thousand sharpened nails.

And you know
what a smile means,
don't you?

*

I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,

whoever I was, I was

alive
for a little while.

*

It was evening, and no longer summer.
Three small fish, I don't know what they were,
huddled in the highest ripples
as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body
one gesture, one black sleeve
that could fit easily around
the bodies of three small fish.

*

Also I wanted
to be able to love. And we all know
how that one goes,
don't we?

Slowly

*

the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.

*

You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.

And anyway it's the same old story - - -
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.

Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.

And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.

*

And look! look! look! I think those little fish
better wake up and dash themselves away
from the hopeless future that is
bulging toward them.

*

And probably,
if they don't waste time
looking for an easier world,

they can do it.




~~~~~
and the new one...

blowing gay flowers and her brows were on

 

[BooMerengue]

~~~~~
and the new one...

blowing gay flowers and her brows were on

Her gay brows were blowing on flowers?

How do y'all do this? How many books of poems would I have to read to find this? And can you tell a gay person by their brows?

 

[wildsweetone]

you can google it if the words don't ring any bells for you. this thread's great for upping your(my) poetry reading.