Sunday, March 18, 2012

One of the killed young British poets of WW I.


March 18 Birthday of Wilfred Owen (1893 - Nov 4, 1918), one of the young, British, killed poets of WW I.

. . .
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Friday, March 16, 2012

Three bright and lovely children is enough





Three bright and lovely children is enough

for effacing and unassuming me


well nearly since life can be quite rough

be nice to have a bit of sound money



a big house too couple of friendly dogs
a yard and garden two cars on the street
or better a garage don't think us hogs
bad weather makes them rust under your feet

plazma telly three compu’s a great room
not grand just great so we can all enjoy
view of the woods land quiet as a tomb
essential as we read on download toys

three children lovely completed life I boast
that other stuff? no - ’xcuse off to the Coast

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

What is the purpose of poetry?


What is the purpose of poetry? Not that hard to figure out. Is it?

"When criticism becomes a pursuit separate from poetry, those who follow it are apt to forget that the legitimate ends of the art for which they lay down rules are instruction and delight, and these points being obtained by what road soever, entitled the poet to claim the prize of successful merit."

Walter Scott
Memoirs 
also 
The Dramatic Work of John Dryden


Scott was a literary heavyweight, much neglected these days.



Monday, February 20, 2012

EZRA POUND on WALT WHITMAN









A PACT

I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman - 

I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a grown child
Who has had a pig-headed father;
I am old enough now to make friends.
It was you that broke the new wood,
Now is a time for carving.
We have one sap and one root - 
Let there be commerce between us. 



Source:



Why did Pound ever "detest" Whitman?



Sunday, February 19, 2012

Ezra Pound, "A Retrospect" 1913





"It is better to present one Image in a lifetime 
than to produce voluminous works."

"Pay no attention to the criticism of men who have 
never themselves written a notable work."

"The scientist does not expect to be acclaimed as a great scientist until he has discovered something. He begins by learning what has been discovered already. He goes from that point onward. He does not bank on being a charming fellow personally. He does not expect his friends to applaud the results of his freshman class work. Freshmen in poetry are unfortunately not confined to a definite and recognizable class room. They are 'all over the shop'. Is it any wonder 'the public is indifferent to poetry?"

"A rhyme must have in it some slight element of surprise 
if it is to give pleasure, it need not be bizarre or curious, 
but it must be well used if used at all."

"That part of your poetry which strikes upon the imaginative eye 
of the reader will lose nothing by translation 
into a foreign tongue; 
that which appeals to the ear can reach 
only those who take it in the original."

"Consider the definiteness of Dante's presentation, 
as compared with Milton's rhetoric."

"Read as much of Wordsworth as does not 
seem too unutterably dull."

"Don't mess up the perception of one sense 
by trying to define it in terms of another. 
This is usually only the result of being 
too lazy to find the exact word."

"Rhythm. - I believe in an 'absolute rhythm', 
a rhythm, that is, in poetry which corresponds exactly 
to the emotion or shade of emotion to be expressed."

"Symbols. - I believe that the proper and perfect 
symbol is the natural object . . ."

"Technique. - I believe in technique as 
the test of a man's sincerity . . ."

"Form. - I think there is a 'fluid' as well as a 'solid' content, 
that some poems may have form as a tree has form, 
some as water poured into a vase."

" . . . a vast number of subjects cannot be precisely, 
and therefore not properly rendered 
in symmetrical forms."

 "I am constantly contending that it took two centuries 
of Provence and one of Tuscany to develop 
the media of Dante's masterwork, 
that it took the latinists of the Renaissance, Pleiade, 
and his own age of painted speech to prepare 
Shakespeare his tools."

"It is tremendously important that great poetry be written, 
it makes no jot of difference who writes it." 

" . . . no one produces much that is final . . ."

"As for 'adaptations'; one finds that all the old masters 
of painting recommend to their pupils that 
they begin by copying masterwork, 
and proceed to their own composition."

"As for 'Every man his own poet', the more every man knows 
about poetry the better. I believe in every one writing poetry 
who wants to; most do."

"I believe in every man knowing enough of music 
to play 'God bless our home' on the harmonium, 
but I do not believe in every man giving concerts 
and printing his sin."

"The mastery of any art is the work of a lifetime. 
I should not discriminate between the 'amateur' 
and the 'professional' [. . .] but I should discriminate 
between the amateur and the expert."

"If a certain thing was said once for all in Atlantis or Arcadia, 
in 450 Before Christ or in 1290 after, it is not for us moderns 
to go saying it over, or to go obscuring the memory of the dead 
by saying the same thing with less skill and less conviction."

"All that the critic can do for the reader or audience 
or spectator is to focus his gaze or audition."

 "Surely it is better for me to name over the few 
beautiful poems that still ring in my head than 
for me to search my flat for back numbers of periodicals 
and rearrange all that I have said about 
friendly and hostile writers."

SOURCE:

&




Monday, February 6, 2012

The guy who brought the boar’s head to the queen




The guy who brought the boar’s head to the queen,
Her hunter, trusted for ferocity.
Bring me Snow White’s heart on a platter clean.
Your Highness’ wish is my precosity.


The hunter found the virgin in the glen.
In this account, not spoil her on the spot.
At hazard, brought a boar back to her den,
Where Queeny ate its heart straight from the pot.



A prince and seven munchkins lace this tale,
Which proves the risk of women to their sex.
Until the guys end feminine betrayal,
And rich boy gets to poke her b’low the plex.



Our culture is of course the best can be,
And brothers Grimm assure us, she needs he.

On Not Questioning My Grandmother


Now questions break like spray in grand cascade.
How could they not? Blanche died before I asked
Of James and Arabelle, the pair her made.
Distracted, young, my declarations fast.


Now old, slow, I’d give years to here her voice.
Were your folks sweet to you, dear Blanche? I’d say
When you picked Cecil, they approve your choice?
James wore the Blue, Cec’ dad boasted the Gray.


When Arabelle died, you blame God or fate?
You go with Cecil just to get away?
You knew James’ mother? Simple not ornate.
At least the one picture we have would state.


Drenched in old age and ignorance, I fret,
Loosed from this moil, might I get answers yet?