Dances with poetry

[twelveoone]

Tzara,

"Ce n'est point avec des idées, mon cher Dégas, que l'on fait des vers. C'est avec des mots."- Mallarmé

An analysis about Carl Sandburg's "fog"
count the words;

the words count.

If we count the words we arrive at something at what I mistakenly gave SJ credit for a 10/90 ratio. But, the poem generated the analysis and if we apply "weighing" principles it becomes a 50/50.

... brume, Nebel, neblina, kiri,...
And for you Senna, a sweet little paragraph about the problem of translation. From one language to another, no in effect the whole essay is about translation from English to Poetry.

And Note: not a word about scansion, form; nada, nyet. Nyah!

It always struck me as absurd to sit down with the idea that someone would sit down to write a form poem. First an idea, then the words then a stucture to amplify the effect of the words.

 

[foehn2]

somehow, that made a lot of sense.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Tzara,

"Ce n'est point avec des idées, mon cher Dégas, que l'on fait des vers. C'est avec des mots."- Mallarmé

An analysis about Carl Sandburg's "fog"
count the words;

the words count.

If we count the words we arrive at something at what I mistakenly gave SJ credit for a 10/90 ratio. But, the poem generated the analysis and if we apply "weighing" principles it becomes a 50/50.

... brume, Nebel, neblina, kiri,...
And for you Senna, a sweet little paragraph about the problem of translation. From one language to another, no in effect the whole essay is about translation from English to Poetry.

And Note: not a word about scansion, form; nada, nyet. Nyah!

It always struck me as absurd to sit down with the idea that someone would sit down to write a form poem. First an idea, then the words then a stucture to amplify the effect of the words.

I must be absurd.

I sit down with the idea that someone would sit down to write a form poem on a regular basis.

It's much easier than standing up when considering that sort of thing. And I've never written a form poem standing, that I know of. However, I'm a grrrl and do several things sitting down for which others might stand up.

But my being absurd is not really news.

bijou

 

[foehn2]

for what it's worth, you're not absurd.

 

[FifthFlower]

An analysis about Carl Sandburg's "fog"
count the words;

The article reminded me of going to church and hearing the pastor recite two or three lines from the Bible only to expand it into a 45 minute sermon.

Based on the evidence, however, I think I can conclude that the writer/reader ratio, now, is closer to 136/-23.

 

[anonamouse]

Who Wrote This Shit?

To be men! That is the Stalinist law! . . .
We must learn from Stalin
his sincere intensity
his concrete clarity. . . .
Stalin is the noon,
the maturity of man and the peoples.
Stalinists, Let us bear this title with pride. . . .
Stalinist workers, clerks, women take care of this day!
The light has not vanished.
The fire has not disappeared,
There is only the growth of
Light, bread, fire and hope
In Stalin's invincible time! . . .
In recent years the dove,
Peace, the wandering persecuted rose,
Found herself on his shoulders
And Stalin, the giant,
Carried her at the heights of his forehead. . . .
A wave beats against the stones of the shore.
But Malenkov will continue his work.

at least he didn't write Ode to an Icepick
I'll give you a hint, he won a couple of prizes, one for literature

 

[Tathagata]

To be men! That is the Stalinist law! . . .
We must learn from Stalin
his sincere intensity
his concrete clarity. . . .
Stalin is the noon,
the maturity of man and the peoples.
Stalinists, Let us bear this title with pride. . . .
Stalinist workers, clerks, women take care of this day!
The light has not vanished.
The fire has not disappeared,
There is only the growth of
Light, bread, fire and hope
In Stalin's invincible time! . . .
In recent years the dove,
Peace, the wandering persecuted rose,
Found herself on his shoulders
And Stalin, the giant,
Carried her at the heights of his forehead. . . .
A wave beats against the stones of the shore.
But Malenkov will continue his work.

at least he didn't write Ode to an Icepick
I'll give you a hint, he won a couple of prizes, one for literature

Churchill?

 

[MTVM]

To be men! That is the Stalinist law! . . .
We must learn from Stalin
his sincere intensity
his concrete clarity. . . .
Stalin is the noon,
the maturity of man and the peoples.
Stalinists, Let us bear this title with pride. . . .
Stalinist workers, clerks, women take care of this day!
The light has not vanished.
The fire has not disappeared,
There is only the growth of
Light, bread, fire and hope
In Stalin's invincible time! . . .
In recent years the dove,
Peace, the wandering persecuted rose,
Found herself on his shoulders
And Stalin, the giant,
Carried her at the heights of his forehead. . . .
A wave beats against the stones of the shore.
But Malenkov will continue his work.

at least he didn't write Ode to an Icepick
I'll give you a hint, he won a couple of prizes, one for literature

Kipling, singing of empire. He won the Noble Prize.

Stalin! Stalin! Stalin!
Stern Marxist father, supreme leader of men!
Tho' we've knelt an' even prayed t'you,
By our Lenin, God that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Comrade Stalin!​

 

[unpredictablebijou]

The article reminded me of going to church and hearing the pastor recite two or three lines from the Bible only to expand it into a 45 minute sermon.

Based on the evidence, however, I think I can conclude that the writer/reader ratio, now, is closer to 136/-23.

BWAH!

I had missed this one. I think I might agree with you. Those are some numbers that make sense.

Hey if there's no monthly poetry challenge yet for October, how bout a Kipling-style piece about something Scary?

quote:
In recent years the dove,
Peace, the wandering persecuted rose,
Found herself on his shoulders
And Stalin, the giant,
Carried her at the heights of his forehead. . . .


I am completely confused now. doves and roses, shoulders and foreheads. All I really want to know at this point is whether his epaulettes are still clean.

bj

 

[anonamouse]

Kipling, singing of empire. He won the Noble Prize.

Stalin! Stalin! Stalin!
Stern Marxist father, supreme leader of men!
Tho' we've knelt an' even prayed t'you,
By our Lenin, God that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Comrade Stalin!​

the big grin and the smiley seem a little weak for this. ROFL doesn't quite cut it
either. Great. Speakin' of Marx....

Feel like pitchin in in a rewrite of the Divine Comedy done it the voice of Chico Marx?

 

[anonamouse]

To be men! That is the Stalinist law! . . .
We must learn from Stalin
his sincere intensity
his concrete clarity. . . .
Stalin is the noon,
the maturity of man and the peoples.
Stalinists, Let us bear this title with pride. . . .
Stalinist workers, clerks, women take care of this day!
The light has not vanished.
The fire has not disappeared,
There is only the growth of
Light, bread, fire and hope
In Stalin's invincible time! . . .
In recent years the dove,
Peace, the wandering persecuted rose,
Found herself on his shoulders
And Stalin, the giant,
Carried her at the heights of his forehead. . . .
A wave beats against the stones of the shore.
But Malenkov will continue his work.

at least he didn't write Ode to an Icepick
I'll give you a hint, he won a couple of prizes, one for literature

Pablo Neruda

It may have lost something in either translation or a full stomach.

 

[twelveoone]

The English Poet

who wrote?

She grapples with his adder
He wrestles with her udders

She shudders like a Guernsey girl

 

[champagne1982]

who wrote?

She grapples with his adder
He wrestles with her udders

She shudders like a Guernsey girl

I don't know. I didn't know you were including cowboy poetry here though.

 

[annaswirls]

who wrote?

She grapples with his adder
He wrestles with her udders

She shudders like a Guernsey girl

Bruce Springstein?

oh wait, that was Jersey girl

 

[Angeline]

Bruce Springstein?

oh wait, that was Jersey girl

Written by Tom Waits, actually, though popularized by Bruce. Anyway you wouldn't want to mention those lines as being "Joisey" to some Jersey girls I know. They'd snap their gum at you till you lost your hearing and beat you senseless with their shellacked heads. You lived close enough to NJ to know exactly what I mean.

 

[Tzara]

who wrote?

She grapples with his adder
He wrestles with her udders

She shudders like a Guernsey girl

I'm utterly addled by these adders and udders.

Is it Auden? Writing a poem about an audit? Odd, if.

 

[Angeline]

who wrote?

She grapples with his adder
He wrestles with her udders

She shudders like a Guernsey girl

Hmmm. Someone late 17th or early 18th century, right? I keep thinking Alexander Pope, but I bet that's wrong.

 

[twelveoone]

What! No one guessed Ted Hughes?

he didn't write it either

I did, reading Ted Hughes and listening to Bruce Springstein.
half point, and half pint for Anna.

I do like Auden's audit.

I'll get back to Hughes, anybody ever read Crow?