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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4)


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Old 20-01-2014, 01:23
McMahauld
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That's how it's done.
You got that right - a class Larkin poem.
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Old 20-01-2014, 02:04
Hogface
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AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR

by: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

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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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Old 20-01-2014, 02:06
mr. mustard
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You got that right - a class Larkin poem.
I like Philip Larkin, especially his observations on modern life
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Old 20-01-2014, 02:08
mr. mustard
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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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Old 20-01-2014, 11:26
Biz
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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.
It's a lottery which genes we inherit. I wonder where your poetry gene came from.

Ode to Beauty

©
Just goes to prove that not only dead poets have/had the gift.
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Old 20-01-2014, 13:59
mr. mustard
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Just goes to prove that not only dead poets have/had the gift.
Thanks Biz I like to think the poetry gene comes from one of my Scottish ancestors
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Old 20-01-2014, 14:55
Biz
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Hoots mon.
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Old 20-01-2014, 15:01
Biz
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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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Old 20-01-2014, 18:54
mr. mustard
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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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Old 20-01-2014, 19:48
Biz
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Get a move on then.
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Old 20-01-2014, 20:52
mr. mustard
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Get a move on then.
Blimey I am Biz, I am

The new file has opened and I'm copying and pasting like a demon
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Old 21-01-2014, 10:59
Biz
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I'm copying and pasting like a demon
Right Musty! I hope you had a good night's sleep and are now busy copying and pasting. Seize the day.
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Old 21-01-2014, 16:20
mr. mustard
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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 did thanks Biz and the project's well underway 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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Old 21-01-2014, 16:26
mr. mustard
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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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Old 21-01-2014, 16:41
Biz
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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.

It's my problem, not the great poets' though
Oooh! That was good timing.
.
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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Old 21-01-2014, 16:58
McMahauld
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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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Old 21-01-2014, 17:13
mr. mustard
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I have just read it through again, and it is very lovely and touching - just a different style.
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

Professor Twist could not but smile.
"You mean," he said, "a crocodile."
___________________________________
Brilliant, just brilliant McMahauld Some of Ogden Nash's poems are really short, just a few lines
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Old 21-01-2014, 17:19
McMahauld
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Brilliant, just brilliant McMahauld Some of Ogden Nash's poems are really short, just a few lines
You're no slouch either, Mr. Mustard!
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Old 21-01-2014, 17:20
mr. mustard
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You're no slouch either, Mr. Mustard!
Thank you Mac *blushes*
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Old 21-01-2014, 17:25
Biz
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My favourite poet...

The Purist
by Ogden Nash
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.

Be careful of copyright by the way.
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Old 21-01-2014, 17:26
McMahauld
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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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Old 21-01-2014, 17:28
Biz
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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
Maybe one day when you're relaxing on your yacht - in the meantime, you've other things to focus on.
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Old 21-01-2014, 17:38
McMahauld
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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.
Yes, I see.

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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Old 21-01-2014, 17:39
mr. mustard
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My favourite is "The Tale of the Custard Dragon". Which tells you all you need to know about me.
I shall look it up later Biz

When it comes
To The Bard
It's hard to equate him.
Bloody hilarious You've got to join the thread Mac
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Old 21-01-2014, 17:42
mr. mustard
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Maybe one day when you're relaxing on your yacht - in the meantime, you've other things to focus on.
Yeah, otherwise evening cocktails on the yacht won't happen
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