RP Listener Forum

Posted: Nov 15, 2004 - 6:23pm

For what it is worth....and out here in the open...

I'd like to see both of you stay.
I'd like to see both of you continue to share your words with the rest of us.

I'd like to know if there is anything I can say or do that will end this in a positive way?
This makes me sad.

Posted: Nov 15, 2004 - 6:10pm

samiyam wrote:

Greetings to all you PC assholes!

I won't address you or this thread again but I do have 3 honest and sincere wishes for you:

... as you grow up, you will begin to realize that your talent for writing is a Godly
gift but when used to try to hurt people it is reduced to a base form of self mockery.

... you break the bondage of spite and bad will and find peace.

... your fine ability to create will eventually heal whatever wound is causing
you so much fear and pain.

Posted: Nov 15, 2004 - 3:49pm

I was going to say that defining precisely what does and does not constitute poetry would be like saying what is and what is not jazz. And I was going to say that MBE's writing reminds me of Billy Collins and say what you will I love Billy Collins. So of course there's a Billy Collins poem that says all that.
____________

I Chop Some Parsley While Listening to Art Blakey's Version of "Three Blind Mice"

And I start wondering how they came to be blind.
If it was congenital, they could be brothers and sister,
and I think of the poor mother
brooding over her sightless young triplets.

Or was it a common accident, all three caught
in a searing explosion, a firework perhaps?
If not,
if each came to his or her blindness separately,

how did they ever manage to find one another?
Would it not be difficult for a blind mouse
to locate even one fellow mouse with vision
let alone two other blind ones?

And how, in their tiny darkness,
could they possibly have run after a farmer's wife
or anyone else's wife for that matter?
Not to mention why.

Just so she could cut off their tails
with a carving knife, is the cynic's answer,
but the thought of them without eyes
and now without tails to trail through the moist grass

or slip around the corner of a baseboard
has the cynic who always lounges within me
up off his couch and at the window
trying to hide the rising softness that he feels.

By now I am on to dicing an onion
which might account for the wet stinging
in my own eyes, though Freddie Hubbard's
mournful trumpet on "Blue Moon,"

which happens to be the next cut,
cannot be said to be making matters any better.

--Billy Collins

Posted: Nov 15, 2004 - 3:39pm

Sounds like I missed a good pissing contest. Truth be told though... 95% of this forum is filled with fluff anyway.

Posted: Nov 15, 2004 - 3:23pm

Ode To Bad Poetry

Confusion caked upon a web of sounds,
A scattered marking, like a liquid shat.
Useless musings covering the ground,
Letters wasted on page by noxious brat.

A relationship of feelings meant to emote,
Ideas fleshed and finally understood.
Is not a hosed plastering of words remote,
Spread willy-nilly for no earthly good.

We poets don't get paid by quantity spewed,
So why use more when less will do?
Reaping scorn when scribblings are viewed,
So richly earned by shoveling poo.

Without a metered flow or well-reasoned point,
A so-called poem is public pulling at your joint.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner

Posted: Nov 15, 2004 - 11:05am

: )

Posted: Nov 15, 2004 - 10:44am

Well, it looks like I missed out on some interesting discussion over the weekend.
Still, this reminds me of the old days when, as students, we relied so heavily
on the critique and commentary of our peers. And today, as a moderately successful
writer, I find I need to be reminded that there still may valuable insight in
those opinions whether they come from an young, insecure novice or a hard-assed
editor. I regret so many posts were censured; who knows what nuggets of
wisdom one might have gleaned from them.

Posted: Nov 14, 2004 - 11:21am

What are these songs
straining at sense
you the consequence?

Louis Zukovsky

Posted: Nov 14, 2004 - 9:49am

Edited

Posted: Nov 14, 2004 - 8:33am

Edited

Posted: Nov 14, 2004 - 8:28am

oh i see.

geez, stuart. still....that is your perception. why does it have to be the only answer?

samiyam wrote:

Ultimately that is the crux, were you entertaining? If not, try writing letters to friends.

Stuart

Posted: Nov 14, 2004 - 8:26am

Edited

Posted: Nov 14, 2004 - 8:20am

Edited

i

Posted: Nov 14, 2004 - 7:34am

Posted: Nov 14, 2004 - 4:51am

well said jan

i'm very surprised at your elitist attitude, stuart. especially about something like art and expression.

yes, we all respect your power and talent with the word. but you don't corner the market on that. IMO, manbirdexperiment's poems are lovely. quite different from yours, obviously, but no less poignant. i see lots of talent there.

Posted: Nov 13, 2004 - 10:45pm

Edited

Posted: Nov 13, 2004 - 9:20pm

samiyam wrote:

What exactly is the point?

IMHO
Rarely will a poet engage in rationalizing and explaining his/her work... but some might offer the suggestion that if the reader distills nothing from any given work then said work probably holds nothing for that reader, therefore there would be no "point".

Posted: Nov 13, 2004 - 9:08pm

Edited

Posted: Nov 13, 2004 - 9:01pm

What The Angel Said

we

will

have

no

meal

we

have

no

shepherd

in

our

field

we

have

no

wheel

or

steel

we

have

no

grace

no

place

no

abbey

no

cloister

no

shelter

no

peace

no

war

we

have

no

voice

no

psalm

or

requiem

or

mass

or

grace

no

anthem

no

aria

no

air

we

have

no

passion

or

power

no

effect

no

cause

we

have

no

town

no

tower

no

state

we

pledge

no

oath

of

loyalty

we

have

no

roof

no

floor

no

exit

no

welcome

we

have

no

gun

no

harp

no

children

no

name

no

relativity

we

leave

no

legacy

we

have

no

consistency

no

pattern

no

clarity

we

have

no

thought

we

have

no

fear

we

have

no

sin

no

guilt

no

joy

we

have

no

time

we

have

no

skin

no

earth

no

void

no

wind

or

heat

or

cloth

no

feet

no

headstone

no

history

we

have

no

X

no

8

we

write

no

poem

we

eat

no

grass

we

have

no

age

no

ghost

no

past

we

have

no

memory

no

weal

no

welt

no

scream

no

plea

no

late

night

apothecary

we

have

no

piss

or

shit

or

filth

or

pus

we

have

no

wing

no

flight

no

I

ching

we

have

no

language

we

have

no

rage

we

have

no

heart

no

faith

no

unity

no

division

we

do

not

cross

we

do

not

stay

we

do

not

pray

or

be

or

die

- R. C. Diebold

Posted: Nov 13, 2004 - 8:47pm

Delirium Trementine

If I had seen your demons
My Love
My Trementine
I would never have said
That you were weak

Your fear is like dough
From the roof of your mouth
Bitter to your hoof-beat heart
And your eyes... those screwed up almonds
Like diamonds
Screwed in too tight with pain
To rehydrate
Too tight to radiate
Although I hold you

I love you

And you convulse
And my tears fly off
I can not give you comfort
You have drunk it all
Your fluids replaced
By shifting muscle
And a thyroid storm
I must ride you
Deep into night
And whisper
into the hot cotton spiral
Of sweet yellow sheets
I can see your teeth
And smell
The chips and stains
Breaking off your broken throated
Delirium shattered dreams
And I am breaking too
See the sun my love
See the sun and
See your Father
And feel the wind

I hear morning bells toll
As I release the soft white down
From your eyes
And mouth
And rest you near the blackberry bush

- R. C. Diebold