Treasure Island

Poetics and Poetry Discussion

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  • Professor Plum Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 10:06:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    " Acker" (and friend) can delete all the posts he wants (remember the " personas" used to do that too?The racist/hater/fool?) , but the smart ones are on to his games. Does it matter?Hell no. Not one bit. Just don't be fooled, members. Or DO be fooled. Who cares! Just don't pretend you're " discussing poetry" with a real person. I've always said " cold shoulder" , and I still say that.

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  • Jefferson Carter Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 9:01:00 PM) Post reply | Read 5 replies

    For all you faithful out there:


    The Old Testament says
    his testicles were like unto
    a donkey’s, swollen gray
    pomegranates, his emissions
    like unto a river in full spate.

    My ancestor?Yours?No, don’t
    He’s a lie, a lie invented
    by a dry prophet. But as any pastor
    worth his salt won’t tell you, it’s
    not a lie if you believe it.

    Replies for this message:
    • Jefferson Carter Rookie - 1st Stage (9/29/2014 10:38:00 AM) Post reply

      Hey, I took the first stanza from the Old Testament—modified a little but basically a quote, some creepy old patriarch's fantasy about a slutty wife's dream of her lover.... I can be faith-based too.

    • Peter Stavropoulos Rookie - 1st Stage (9/29/2014 7:49:00 AM) Post reply

      By some miracle I believe in You The miracle Of You By some stroke Of luck I found You To believe in

    • Gulsher John Rookie - 1st Stage (9/29/2014 2:30:00 AM) Post reply

      I wish to join this orchestra (of Mike, Snow, Sherri and other) and tune my own, but i know these are unending monologues, wouldn't help us, ... religion is a complex phenomena, full of unexplained m ... more

    • Mike Acker Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 9:49:00 PM) Post reply

      For sanity's sake, the bible instructs a ... more

    • Sherrie Kolb Cassel Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 9:18:00 PM) Post reply

      The biblespeak is too obvious. The best ... more

  • Jefferson Carter Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 2:09:00 PM) Post reply

    And, Sherrie, Adam is able to post his poems for public viewing not because he is brave but because he has neither the humility nor the taste to be ashamed of his verse.

  • Jefferson Carter Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 1:41:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Here's Lamont-the-mulish babbling about form and content: " For me, if I feel a poem... uses banal figures of speech, it fails in my eyes, regardless of the content." Please, Monty, figures of speech ARE content as is banality. WTF are you burbling about?

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    • Lamont Palmer Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 4:08:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Content is primarily WHAT the poem is saying, the subject matter, the theme, the tone, the assertions and the meaning of the poem. Form speaks to everything else: language, syntax, music, constructio ... more

  • Jefferson Carter Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 1:28:00 PM) Post reply

    Auden's " In Praise of Limestone" and " In Memory of W.B. Yeats" are two of the great poems in the English language.

  • Sherrie Kolb Cassel Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 9:33:00 AM) Post reply


    C. P. Cavafy

    In a chest or wardrobe of precious ebony, I shall place and keep my life’s clothing.
    The blue garments. And then the red?these the most beautiful. And afterwards the yellow. And finally the blue again, only much more faded, these, than the first.
    I shall keep them with reverence and with great sorrow.
    When I come to put on black garments and live in a black house, in a dark room, I shall sometimes open the wardrobe with joy, with longing, with despair.
    I shall gaze on the garments, and I shall recall the great feast?which by then will be completely over.
    Completely over. The furniture scattered in disarray through the great rooms. Broken plates and glasses on the floor. All of the candles burnt down to their ends. All of the wine drunk. All of the guests gone. Some who are tired will sit by themselves, all alone, like me, in dark houses; others, even more tired, will have gone to bed.

  • Gulsher John Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 6:13:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    I'm bored with it all.

    I heard when i was young
    that 'never underestimate the resolve of a child
    who is a 'time-rich and cash-poor.'
    And i did, of my own...
    I want to float like a satellite gone wild in space,
    (and disdain all ethical traits) , but IT revealed
    unto me that nothing is as tedious as the limping
    and lingering days on this cockney island.
    Did not that perpetual happiness-Mr Adam once had,
    in the Garden of Eden
    get so boring that eating the APPLE justified?
    O! let my flesh be perished with me, and let me not transmit
    to anyone the boredom and ignominiousness of life.
    Only depression is the most faithful mistress I have known.
    Flaubert, Kierkegaard and some other have been rephrased(or chopped) here, and i'm sure Mr Palmer(if he honors) would complain that some essential features will keep 'THIS THING' from being poetry, as there is no obvious rhythm or music here, and neither a pretty good diction.I noticed on this page that few of our good poets love 'flirting with words' (i'm not good at it) rather than content/ message. I don't know is it a good gesture or not?

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  • Mike Acker Rookie - 1st Stage (9/27/2014 11:12:00 PM) Post reply

    I like people who are mature and consistent, and not all over the place like a chicken with its head cut off(as they say) .

    Sherrie Gonzalez to Mike Acker:
    " Sorry, Mike.....I was deleting all of my snarky comments...and I may have deleted some that weren't snarky....I will go back and put some comments on some of your other work....good constructive criticism...and NOT condescending comments, okay.


    Sherrie Gonzalez to Mike Acker:
    " Mike, again, you may post your poems on our blog. I like this's experimental and very good."

    Sherrie Gonzalez to Mike Acker:
    " Hey Mike...just a few suggestions...still all YOUR work....still think the last line needs more power....but you can fiddle with that. I don't know why it's not single spacing it...but I'm sure you can figure it out. This poem is deliciously mean. I love it."

  • Mike Acker Rookie - 1st Stage (9/27/2014 8:32:00 PM) Post reply | Read 7 replies

    Funeral Blues
    by W.H. Auden

    Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
    Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
    Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
    Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

    Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
    Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
    Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
    Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

    He was my North, my South, my East and West,
    My working week and my Sunday rest,
    My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
    I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

    The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
    Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
    Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
    For nothing now can ever come to any good.

    Above is one of the GREATEST poets, as you referred to him. I am using this poem as just an example. It is OK, nothing spectacular.(RELIGIOUS, what ever that means)

    On the other hand, if we look at Stevens' poetry, who was of course an atheist and " considered to be one of America's most respected poets" we finally see the magic great poetry has to have. Palmer, Gonzalez, your poetry will never have that " magic" needed because you are and always be nothing more than mediocrities(as described in my poem of the same name) . It is because of your root beliefs. They are outdated and shallow.

    Here is great poetry by a non-religious and most likely atheist poet) :

    Sunday Morning


    Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
    Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
    And the green freedom of a cockatoo
    Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
    The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
    She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
    Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
    As a calm darkens among water-lights.
    The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
    Seem things in some procession of the dead,
    Winding across wide water, without sound.
    The day is like wide water, without sound,
    Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
    Over the seas, to silent Palestine,
    Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.


    Why should she give her bounty to the dead?
    What is divinity if it can come
    Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
    Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
    In pungent fruit and bright green wings, or else
    In any balm or beauty of the earth,
    Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
    Divinity must live within herself:
    Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
    Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
    Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
    Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
    All pleasures and all pains, remembering
    The bough of summer and the winter branch.
    These are the measure destined for her soul.


    Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
    No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave
    Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.
    He moved among us, as a muttering king,
    Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
    Until our blood, commingling, virginal,
    With heaven, brought such requital to desire
    The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
    Shall our blood fail?Or shall it come to be
    The blood of paradise?And shall the earth
    Seem all of paradise that we shall know?
    The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
    A part of labor and a part of pain,
    And next in glory to enduring love,
    Not this dividing and indifferent blue.


    She says, 'I am content when wakened birds,
    Before they fly, test the reality
    Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
    But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
    Return no more, where, then, is paradise?'
    There is not any haunt of prophecy,
    Nor any old chimera of the grave,
    Neither the golden underground, nor isle
    Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
    Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
    Remote on heaven's hill, that has endured
    As April's green endures; or will endure
    Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
    Or her desire for June and evening, tipped
    By the consummation of the swallow's wings.


    She says, 'But in contentment I still feel
    The need of some imperishable bliss.'
    Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
    Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams
    And our desires. Although she strews the leaves
    Of sure obliteration on our paths,
    The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
    Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
    Whispered a little out of tenderness,
    She makes the willow shiver in the sun
    For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
    Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
    She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
    On disregarded plate. The maidens taste
    And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.


    Is there no change of death in paradise?
    Does ripe fruit never fall?Or do the boughs
    Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,
    Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,
    With rivers like our own that seek for seas
    They never find, the same receding shores
    That never touch with inarticulate pang?
    Why set pear upon those river-banks
    Or spice the shores with odors of the plum?
    Alas, that they should wear our colors there,
    The silken weavings of our afternoons,
    And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!
    Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,
    Within whose burning bosom we devise
    Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.


    Supple and turbulent, a ring of men
    Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn
    Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
    Not as a god, but as a god might be,
    Naked among them, like a savage source.
    Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,
    Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
    And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
    The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
    The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,
    That choir among themselves long afterward.
    They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
    Of men that perish and of summer morn.
    And whence they came and whither they shall go
    The dew upon their feet shall manifest.


    She hears, upon that water without sound,
    A voice that cries, 'The tomb in Palestine
    Is not the porch of spirits lingering.
    It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.'
    We live in an old chaos of the sun,
    Or old dependency of day and night,
    Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
    Of that wide water, inescapable.
    Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail
    Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
    Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
    And, in the isolation of the sky,
    At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
    Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
    Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
    Wallace Stevens

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    • Lamont Palmer Rookie - 1st Stage (9/29/2014 2:14:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Jim, though I do love interesting abstractions, and have been heavily influenced by French Symbolism, (my Collected Mallarme is always in arm's reach) I am not at all opposed to clarity, particularly ... more

    • Jim Hogg Rookie - 1st Stage (9/29/2014 10:55:00 AM) Post reply

      Re The Later Yeats by CJ, I have to agree Lamont..though his ruthless pursuit of clarity means he uses more everyday language than some would prefer - however deftly he uses it.. His critical work ha ... more

    • Jim Hogg Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 3:36:00 AM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

      Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen I. MANY ingenious lovely things are gone That seemed sheer miracle to the multitude, protected from the circle of the moon That pitches common things about. Ther ... more

    • Jim Hogg Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 3:27:00 AM) Post reply

      Fridge Magnet Sonnets ... more

    • Jim Hogg Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 3:20:00 AM) Post reply

      SEPTEMBER 1,1939 by W.H. Auden I ... more

    • Mike Acker Rookie - 1st Stage (9/27/2014 11:38:00 PM) Post reply

      I pick one of Auden's poems(randomly) , ... more

    • Lamont Palmer Rookie - 1st Stage (9/27/2014 10:15:00 PM) Post reply

      I should've known you'd do something int ... more

  • Lamont Palmer Rookie - 1st Stage (9/27/2014 6:16:00 PM) Post reply | Read 7 replies

    I hate to disappoint the atheists here, (and this needn't devolve into believers versus nonbelievers; as John said, it doesn't belong on the forum) but Christian poets have been some of the GREATEST poets ever to put pen to paper, and that includes the 20th century, not just in Milton's day. One's faith has nothing to do with one's sense of craft. I'm pretty stunned there is someone who doesn't know that. Just sticking with the modernists, Eliot and Auden were both men of faith and spoke about it fairly openly in their work. Poetry gets no greater than that. -LP

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    • Lamont Palmer Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 9:35:00 AM) Post reply

      Gentlemen, I never would've needed to make such an obvious point; not to mention there's enough to battle over that pertains to poetry without having to throw religion in the mix. But as usual, 'Acker ... more

    • Jim Hogg Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 7:49:00 AM) Post reply

      Hi... I don't know what the stats are but I suspect that during the last 500 years the number of believers in western societies was much larger than that of atheists and that alone probably accounted ... more

    • metamorphhh (aka jim crawford) Rookie - 1st Stage (9/28/2014 6:37:00 AM) Post reply

      Yeah, I gotta give you this one, Lamont, and this from an atheist tried and true. :)

    • Mike Acker Rookie - 1st Stage (9/27/2014 11:43:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

      said the born-again christian........... ... more

    • John Westlake Veteran Poet - 3rd Stage (9/27/2014 11:16:00 PM) Post reply

      We are in agreement on this. It's not t ... more

    • Frank Ovid Rookie - 1st Stage (9/27/2014 7:21:00 PM) Post reply


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