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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4) |
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#1301 |
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#1302 |
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AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR
by: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824) Share133 Tweet8 4 Share2.5K ND thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth; And form so soft, and charms so rare, Too soon return'd to Earth! Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed, And o'er the spot the crowd may tread In carelessness or mirth, There is an eye which could not brook A moment on that grave to look. I will not ask where thou liest low, Nor gaze upon the spot; There flowers or weeds at will may grow, So I behold them not: It is enough for me to prove That what I lov'd, and long must love, Like common earth can rot; To me there needs no stone to tell, 'T is Nothing that I lov'd so well. Yet did I love thee to the last As fervently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal, Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine: The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep; Nor need I to repine That all those charms have pass'd away, I might have watch'd through long decay. The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd Must fall the earliest prey; Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, The leaves must drop away: And yet it were a greater grief To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, Than see it pluck'd to-day; Since earthly eye but ill can bear To trace the change to foul from fair. I know not if I could have borne To see thy beauties fade; The night that follow'd such a morn Had worn a deeper shade: Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd, And thou wert lovely to the last, Extinguish'd, not decay'd; As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high. As once I wept, if I could weep, My tears might well be shed, To think I was not near to keep One vigil o'er thy bed; To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again. Yet how much less it were to gain, Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain, Than thus remember thee! The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity Returns again to me, And more thy buried love endears Than aught except its living years. |
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#1303 |
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Quote:
You got that right - a class Larkin poem.
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#1304 |
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Ode to Beauty
The scent of freshly-mown and moistened grass, Romantic lines encouraging the coy, A winter’s scene with ponds resembling glass, A burst of morning sunlight bringing joy. An anthem for the grey defeated lands, The art of meanings no command can cease, Fine furniture produced by expert hands That carved and crafted every tiny piece. The girl whose strange effect on me would last And surely haunted countless other men; The random face I noticed as she passed, I glimpsed her once and never once again. The brightness of the berry near its leaf, The shore where tides surrender with a sigh, Perceptions that accommodate relief And force the mind to stop and wonder why. A tender whispered requiem of loss With words to ease uncertain days ahead, Engravings partly stolen by the moss While dusk descends into a dream of red. This universe, miraculous and wide, A mist creating heaven on a lake, The mills of my emotion turn inside So constantly to beauty that I ache. © |
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#1305 |
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Quote:
I'm convinced Ponch passed on negative traits to some of the next generation Biz - major anger issues, control freak tendencies, alcoholism among them. I needed to write a poem about him, as he's still very strong but invisible.
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Ode to Beauty
©
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#1306 |
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Quote:
Just goes to prove that not only dead poets have/had the gift.
![]() I like to think the poetry gene comes from one of my Scottish ancestors
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#1307 |
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Hoots mon.
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#1308 |
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Sorry Lynne, for some reason I don't understand, my reply doesn't seem able to get through to you, though I have received yours - and the copy today. So sorry about that. Good to hear from you. Do come in and post.
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#1309 |
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Quote:
Hoots mon.
![]() A change of plan has occurred Biz, it means two volumes coming out this year. I've put the Avebury project on hold as we need more photos and the weather's against it.Instead, I've started selecting material for a big book today If I'm going to approach publishers, I might as well do it with a weighty tome. Also, it'll be nice to have a definitive 'best of' or portfolio. It should be easy to produce, as there are no pictures
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#1310 |
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Get a move on then.
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#1311 |
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Quote:
Get a move on then.
![]() I am Biz, I am ![]() The new file has opened and I'm copying and pasting like a demon
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#1312 |
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Quote:
I'm copying and pasting like a demon
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#1313 |
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Right Musty! I hope you had a good night's sleep and are now busy copying and pasting. Seize the day.
![]() I'll be including a few pieces from The Designer, with very minor changes where needed.Oh by the way, that scary poem came through I knocked the whole thing off in Costa Coffee today, my favourite writing venue. As ever Biz, I'm posting it after dark - so you might want to catch it tomorrow
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#1314 |
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As much as I love Byron and the Romantics, I find some of their work so long-winded I struggle to get through it. The above poem's a good example; full of heart-felt and beautiful meanings, but my attention wanders from his words. Longer poems need great impact for me to stick with them. The Ballad Of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde does just that, I had to keep reading it as the story was so compelling.
It's my problem, not the great poets' though
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#1315 |
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Quote:
As much as I love Byron and the Romantics, I find some of their work so long-winded I struggle to get through it. The above poem's a good example; full of heart-felt and beautiful meanings, but my attention wanders from his words. Longer poems need great impact for me to stick with them.
It's my problem, not the great poets' though ![]() ![]() . It's my problem too, perhaps we're not interlekchul enough. Must admit, I also stopped reading the above poem half-way through. Life's too short. I do value poetry greatly, but don't admire pretension. PS I have just read it through again, and it is very lovely and touching - just a different style. |
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#1316 |
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My favourite poet...
The Purist by Ogden Nash I give you now Professor Twist, A conscientious scientist, Trustees exclaimed, "He never bungles!" And sent him off to distant jungles. Camped on a tropic riverside, One day he missed his loving bride. She had, the guide informed him later, Been eaten by an alligator. Professor Twist could not but smile. "You mean," he said, "a crocodile." ___________________________________ |
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#1317 |
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Quote:
I have just read it through again, and it is very lovely and touching - just a different style.
Endymion, which is in my John Keats collection, is 60 pages long! And I've got no chance with Blake's epic Milton and Jerusalem ![]() Quote:
Professor Twist could not but smile.
"You mean," he said, "a crocodile." ___________________________________ Some of Ogden Nash's poems are really short, just a few lines
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#1318 |
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Quote:
Brilliant, just brilliant McMahauld
Some of Ogden Nash's poems are really short, just a few lines ![]()
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#1319 |
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#1320 |
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Quote:
My favourite poet...
The Purist by Ogden Nash ![]() Be careful of copyright by the way. |
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#1321 |
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Here's one of mine...
SHAKESPEARE Love him Or hate him They quote him verbatim When it comes To The Bard It's hard to equate him. © |
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#1322 |
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Quote:
That it is Biz
Endymion, which is in my John Keats collection, is 60 pages long! And I've got no chance with Blake's epic Milton and Jerusalem ![]()
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#1323 |
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Quote:
He was a bit of a joker wasn't he? My favourite is "The Tale of the Custard Dragon". Which tells you all you need to know about me.
![]() ![]() I love the way Ogden Nash 'forced' words to rhyme... e.g. 'Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda, For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.' 'Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.' |
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#1324 |
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Quote:
My favourite is "The Tale of the Custard Dragon". Which tells you all you need to know about me.
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When it comes
To The Bard It's hard to equate him. You've got to join the thread Mac
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#1325 |
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Quote:
Maybe one day when you're relaxing on your yacht - in the meantime, you've other things to focus on.
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