Karla / Sonnet
Karla
You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
To parse a warning when another gist
Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
The hazy border that would know its end,
Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
So loosed the firefly afar from home:
It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
Karla
Will Dockery
This is really good, sparkles of Ferlinghetti & Joan Rawshanks in the
fog, Corso running Ginsberg down a big hill-street over on the North
end... the myth of Frisco, which I know the natives hate to hear it
referred to, but is there, anyhow.
And the Sonnet, really liking the Sonnet form, these days, making my
way through WS's work, currently on #101, a mighty fine one & very
close hitting to home for me. Have a look:
Sonnet #101
Posted:
CI.
O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say
'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermix'd?'
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so; for't lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,
And to be praised of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shows now.
-WS
--
"Truck Stop Woman" by Will Dockery (the video)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvtQEf7bnfs
Karla
>
>
>"Karla" <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote in message
>news:734kg597v7l3u439m...@4ax.com...
>
>want my opinion?
>
>mdc
Yes. All opinions/comments welcome.
Thanks,
Karla
Karla
Will Dockery says...
>
>On Nov 22, 11:33=A0pm, Karla <karl...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
>> Sonnet
>>
>> You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
>> Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
>> They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
>> Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
>> Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
>> Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
>> To parse a warning when another gist
>> Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
>> We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
>> The hazy border that would know its end,
>> Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
>> Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
>> So loosed the firefly afar from home:
>> It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
>>
>> Karla
>
>This is really good, sparkles of Ferlinghetti & Joan Rawshanks in the
>fog, Corso running Ginsberg down a big hill-street over on the North
>end... the myth of Frisco, which I know the natives hate to hear it
>referred to, but is there, anyhow.
Thank you.
Karla
BLACKPOOLJIMMY
Should I stay or should I go now.....
The ayes have it.
Will Dockery
Mick Jones... what an overlooked poet he is/was.
--
"Waking Up Now" by Will Dockery (the video):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8_Yp-dIPCY
Will Dockery
>"Karla" <karl...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote in message
> >news:734kg597v7l3u439m...@4ax.com...
>
>> Sonnet
>
> >> You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
> >> Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
> >> They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
> >> Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
> >> Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
> >> Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
> >> To parse a warning when another gist
> >> Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
> >> We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
> >> The hazy border that would know its end,
> >> Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
> >> Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
> >> So loosed the firefly afar from home:
> >> It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
>
> >> Karla
>
> >hmm,
>
> >want my opinion?
>
> >mdc
You might want to ask Karla's permission before you decide to make a
recording of it & post it on your website, though, Michael... when Tom
Bishop emulated your working methods on KR's poem a while back, it
didn't work out so well for him.
--
"Waking Up Now" by Will Dockery (the video):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8_Yp-dIPCY
> --
> "Red Lipped Stranger" & other stories:
BLACKPOOLJIMMY
>
> - Show quoted text -
Skip Ewing also comes to mind:
Will Dockery
> On Nov 23, 2:19 pm, Will Dockery wrote:
> > On Nov 23, 1:41 pm, BLACKPOOLJIMMY <Chippandf...@aol.com> wrote:
> > > On Nov 22, 11:33 pm, Karla <karl...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
>
> > > > Sonnet
>
> > > > You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
> > > > Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
> > > > They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
> > > > Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
> > > > Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
> > > > Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
> > > > To parse a warning when another gist
> > > > Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
> > > > We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
> > > > The hazy border that would know its end,
> > > > Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
> > > > Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
> > > > So loosed the firefly afar from home:
> > > > It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
>
> > > > Karla
>
> > > Should I stay or should I go now.....
>
> > > The ayes have it.
>
> > Mick Jones... what an overlooked poet he is/was.
>
> > --
>
> > - Show quoted text -
>
> Skip Ewing also comes to mind:
>
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uPS1B6vqLEk
I remember Skip best from his days with Mojo Nixon... if my mem'ry
serves me well. Thanks for the link, I'll go now and have a look/
listen...
--
Truck Stop Woman video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvtQEf7bnfs
prettystuzz
Karla <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
The first quatrain invokes the beginning of Donne's The Ecstasy:
Where, like a pillow on a bed,
A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest
The violet's reclining head,
Sat we two, one another's best.
Our hands were firmly cemented
By a fast balm, which thence did spring;
Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread
Our eyes upon one double string.
But you've inverted things, most importantly the point of view, as
though we are hearing Donne's silent mistress's response. Much later in
the third quatrain and the sonnet's concluding couplet we hear a not too
subtle rebuke of Donne's patronizing ways - despite his extraordinary
talents, and self-evident love and devotion for his wife, his use of
women for his songs and some sonnets, even in retrospect, must be called
reprehensible, as it is here, even while invoking Dar Williams (who
would know) at the last.
We leave the art of literature as the second quatrain heralds a time and
place made before our own but nearer, whose architecture may not last as
long as the much older poetry has lasted. The poetics of 'buried'
complicates everything in this sonnet, it would usually get picked apart
for its inappropriateness, and more, for its seeming impossibility. A
critic like yourself might say it betrays a laziness of thought and a
lack of rewriting for clarity. But we have your own pleas for metaphor
and figure in poetry; and while we are also cautioned to not mistake a
poem's speaker for its author, we also shouldn't take that critical
axiom to mean that the author is not also the poet; and more, in a
sonnet, we have little choice but to hear the speaker as the poet.
"Buried', then, is more than apt; it is key.
As Donne waits lines, or stanzas, or strophes, or as Shakespeare waits
quatrains, before the verses complete the extended metaphor, we see how
your second quatrain continues the 'flicker' and 'glints' in ways most
of us can 'perceive', through haze or fog at night. But the quatrain
comprises a grammatical fragment, there is no assertiveness, nothing
completed. If it's an error of composition, it's a felix culpa in light
of, or in view of, the off and on imagery and what it represents
emotionally from the first quatrain.
It's a fine touch how the third quatrain reverts to the first quatrain's
recall of that time of golden poetry, by recalling Herrick's
masterworks, Herrick perhaps being the last of that extraordinary
development. I should say 'hearkens', as Donne employs 'roam' in his
Valediction masterpiece; but I have to explain my earlier mention of Dar
Williams, who said we drink in parking lots "because".
That, however, reviews superficially only the sonnet's superficial
level, its mental output, the window to the poet's brain, as Sidney
would have it. Beneath it or inside it would be the poet's heart, which
is there for the taking, as it were, but that some may only guess at.
Ordinarily, a formal critical analysis would begin with a review of the
literature, but this one will end with it. Calling your poem 'Sonnet'
seems to give away the farm, as though you've forgotten that you
seconded the delightful Cythera's move to condemn the Leisha/George
poem's title 'Mind Games' for leaving little or nothing for the reader
to do or to find. I'm more than happy that you've repudiated Cythera's
nonsense and recanted your own concurrence. (Yes, I watched without
blinking once or ever exhaling all 120 minutes of A Man For All Seasons
the other night.) I'm no fool or corner newsboy, but I had no idea what
to anticipate with Mind Games; and I knew the Masters and Houston book
(I have a first edition), I knew John's song, which came well after the
book, and has no apparent correspondence to the book; and I am quite
conversant with Eric Berne's breakthrough seminal work, which his
student later degraded with that I'm O.K./You're O.K. spin ripoff. On
the contrary, I was surprised to see how their (or really, Leisha's)
poem turned that trite phrase into delightful wit. Had I seen Leisha's
original posting, I might have commented then. The talented and gifted
Will Dockery's baiting over Mind Games led nowhere: nothing in the poem
has anything to do with the Masters and Houston work or with Lennon's
song, nor can I find anything you could say derives from Berne's
analyses of what he calls ego states - except that he says every
inter-personal encounter involves an exchange as child to child, or
parent to child, adult to child, adult to adult, and so forth, during
which all exchanges except child to child are subconscious or
intentional ways to avoid intimacy.
Are you familiar with Walter Jackson Bates's The Burden Of The Past And
The English Poet? It's a small but classic work based on a series of
lectures he gave in 1969 at the University of Toronto. Yes, what's left
to do or say, especially since Milton not only closed out the
Rennaisance but also etherealized it?
I didn't know it was Leonardo who said 'The eyes are the windows to the
soul' (but not in those exact words). I learned it last night when I was
looking for something I think Arthur C. Clarke had said about the rings
of Saturn being formed some three million years ago, which is also when
Mind first appeared on Earth. I couldn't find Clarke's comment; maybe I
synthesized some things myself, maybe I'm the one who thinks the
momentum of Mind was strong enough to pull away pieces of Saturn, after
Clarke had pointed out that the number of stars in our Milky Way
universe (his term) pretty much equals the number of souls (his term
again) that have lived on Earth since our first direct ancestors awoke
with something like consciousness.
More than any other poetic genre, the formal sonnet is the window to the
mind; its other functions are filler, more or less something like making
the Platonic Ideal become Real. Jonson, and Shakespeare at times,
believed that the Ideal could be achieved only in poetry, as Jonson's
careful and logical To Penshurst makes plain and manifest.
Your 'Sonnet' is a Very Fine example of the species. Very Fine is a
grading term for assessing the value of coins, based on their physical
and perceived condition. C.S. Lewis wrote famously (and, as it happened,
controversially) about Tudor and Elizabethan poetry using the
descriptive terms 'Drab' and 'Golden'. He calls Wyatt and Surrey - the
originators of English's first sonnet forms - Drab poets; he saves
'Golden' for Sidney and those who followed. In Sidney's first sonnet of
Astrophel and Stella, we can hardly miss the poet's showing and telling
simultaneously how his mind is working, or rather, trying to work.
Within the rigid form, when it is done right and well, we get to see
precisely how the poet's mind is working. It's one of the exhilarating
joys of poetry, and I would say it's unique to the sonnet.
I can't say your sonnet is more or better than Very Fine. The highest
grade is Mint, and that grade has some eight or ten gradations. But for
your sonnet to be in Mint condition would mean it would have to be still
in your mind, like the Pleasure Dome was still in Kubla's mind before
the poem's "So twice five miles...", somewhere just before the Logos
fully formed. The next grade would be Brilliant Uncirculated (BU), then
Uncirculated; but your poem was posted and read, so only your earliest
drafts would be Uncirculated. The highest grade of a circulated coin is
called Very Fine.
Before saying 'good job', I have to add that I'm very impressed with
your choice of the Coit Tower imagery, not so much for its landmark fame
or for its perceived iconography, but for its lesser-known feature of
the statue of Christopher Columbus at its base, subtly employing in the
poem's not-said part that benighted 'discoverer', with those
most-important 'hard c's', which direct any careful student of poetry,
nay, of any artistic endeavor, to the Kris Kristofferson world of hidden
cookies.
Good job, Karla.
spazzmattick
news:734kg597v7l3u439m...@4ax.com...
all due respect to the lovely and talented karla rogers.
and, here's a bonus by the equally and lovely talented JS Carter...
for those who like this usenet legend stuff.
(and, karla's been around for quite awhile...blessing
this space with working mans poetry the whole time...who cares
and who doesn't care..?you choose...)
The Love Bug
Well, if you hear me sniffle then you'll know
your love has struck me down, just like a bug,
on Nova or some other science show,
that turns its victims blue, or swells or plugs
whatever orifice you need the most.
I would forgive a scientist gone mad
like Wilder's Frankenstein, but not the host
of adolescents making programs plaid
with cruel cross-purposes, then poking fun
at we who hope that we are truly loved
and leap to read the affirmation, stunned
by your deceit. But I've donned rubber gloves
to check your bio-illogical play.
Here's hoping you get hepatitis-A.
George Dance
>
> Sonnet
The title does nothing, but I’d consider it a working title only; I
expect the real title will reveal itself after a few rereads.
> You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
A good first line: sounds perfectly natural. It starts banal – ‘You
look at me with eyes’ (what else?) – but that’s quickly blown away
with ‘I can’t perceive’, and becomes a paradox – “eyes I can’t
perceive”. That’s an interesting paradox – he (I’ll call him ‘he’ for
convenience, because I’m thinking of the speaker as ‘she’) – is
looking at her, she knows he’s looking, but she can’t perceive his
eyes. Why not? I want to know, so I’m already hooked.
> Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
This is exactly the type of line I like to read and to write myself.
Again it sounds like all natural speech, except that one phrase,
‘pillowed fortress’, an language choice that one would never hear in
natural speech. That draws all the attention to that phrase; a good
thing because it’s (1) an arresting image of contrasts – pillows are
so soft and a fortress so hard and forbidding – that calls out for a
sustained look. needs some sustained thought. ‘Pillowed’ makes me
think of bed, which makes the meaning of the paradox clear: she can’t
read him except when they’re in bed. But why is the bed a ‘fortress’?
That connotes troubles surrounding their relationship; I get the idea
this is an illicit affair of some kind (which could be why she worries
about what he’s thinking). .
> They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
Again natural speech except for one phrase ‘flicker ciphers’; again to
put all the weight of the line on the one phrase, ‘flicker ciphers.’
Which is (1) another arresting image, (2) interesting sonically
because of the assonance/near-rhyme ‘flicker ciphers’, and (3) fully
explains the 1st line’s paradox: she can see his eyes, but she can’t
*read* them.
> Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
A third line in the same vein: ordinary speech (though ‘contrived’
stands out a bit, as it fits the rhythm so well) except for the one
phrase that leaps out: ‘wanton glints’. ‘Wanton’ is excellent: the
lust shines out (making me think of ‘bedroom eyes’, while scrupulously
avoiding that cliche).
‘Glints’ is also a great word, one I used once (in a sonnet but a
completely different context) – like ‘flicker’, it tells me these
looks are momentary things, that come and are gone in an instant..
I’d swirch ‘have’ here with ‘make’ in the other line. ‘Have’ could
include passivity or indifference, while ‘make’ connotes action and
will, and I think it’s the action or will that would get her to leave,
while indifference would get her to leave. Aside from that, though the
meaning is clear from both L2 and L4: she doesn’t know what he’s
thinking except when he looks at her with lust. An excellent first
quatrain all around.
> Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
‘San Francisco’ is a beautiful touch, for the sound; it simply rolls
into its metrical place, and for the evoking the scene of a city
‘buried in the mist’. It’s a good cognate: going through her
relationship, not knowing what he’s really thinking, is like moving
through mist without being able to see the landmarks.
> Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
I don’t know Coit Tower, but I can imagine the lights winking on and
off like on our CN Tower, which is enough of a visual image for me. It
brilliantly extends the ‘mist’ metaphor: all one can see is the
momentary winking on and off of the lights, just as all she can see in
the relationship is the flickering and glinting of the signals from
his eyes.
> To parse a warning when another gist
This is the first line that sounds a tad artificial; maybe that’s
because it loses me a bit. I get that the lights ‘parse’ as in spell
out a warning, but (like his eyes) they don’t always do that. And
what’s ‘another gist’? ‘Gist’ makes me think of ‘nub’, the main point
(so there shouldn’t be more than one). I looked the word up and got
‘machine translation’ or ‘intestimal tumor’, none of which seem to
fit. It looks like nothing more than a way to avoid the obvious rhyme
of ‘kissed.’
> Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
‘Forecasts’ makes me think the ‘gist’ was a translation: in some way
the driftwood is telling her about the relationship is like, if she
could only read it. But that’s all tentative; the meaning is starting
to slip away from me.
Why driftwood on a beach? Is that where they are, down by the bay
looking at Coit Tower and the city buried in the mist?
> We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
‘Trans-shifting’ is an interesting word, which I think I’d have to
read and think a bit more before understanding. Is their relationship
turning into the mist or the night, being buried in it like San
Francisco?
> The hazy border that would know its end,
‘Hazy border’ is nice because it again makes me think of the mist; but
now I’m starting to think I’m the one in the mist. How or why would
the border know its end? It feels like I’ve moved to a different
sonnet; I’ve shifted, in the mist, over to a Hammes-style one where
the meaning is being deliberately hidden for me to decode.
> Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
More of the same. 'Dawning' works well with 'night' previously. But:
What’s the ‘roar’? And why is it ‘dawning’? I’m grasping here, but
I’ll try: the ‘roar’ is the tumult their bed was the ‘fortress’
against: the scandal that knowledge of their relationship would bring
on; and ‘dawning’ means its approaching inevitably. This relationship
is going to have grim consequences, which she knows all to well. Hence
her ambivalence, which she’s been projecting onto him earlier; or
maybe he knows it too, hence his ambivalence?
> Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
A beautiful line, sonically. The repeat of ‘re’ makes both words stand
out magnificently. In sense, the line also makes me think of a coming
scandal, when the world finds out about this relationhip.
> So loosed the firefly afar from home:
This is the first line that sounds artificial: the alliteration of
‘firefly afar’ sounds like it’s just in there for the sake of
alliteration, the meaning is unclear – do fireflies even have homes? –
and the word choices don’t obviously fit: Why a firefly? Because it
glints, flickrs, and winks? OK, but so what? Why is it ‘loosed’ from
its home? What does it mean for it be ‘loosed’ (freed? Is its home a
prison?) All I can think the line means is “Lost like the firefly
afar ...”. I can see why you’d want to avoid that, because you don’t
want to use ‘like’ again, but why ‘loosed’, with its connotations of
escape and getting away, rather than lost?
> It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
I’ve completely lost the sense. This line doesn’t even parse:
‘because ... may roam’? The ‘glimmer’ looks like an obvious tie-in
back to the flashing and glinting of his eyes – ah, his eyes are like
fireflies (I might even steal that, as I think it could be done
better.) But the ending, ‘may roam’, makes me think her main worry,
the ‘gist’ of it, is that he’ll be unfaithful; which is anti-climactic
to the extreme, given what the last quatrain seemed to be portending.
In short, I see a definite decline in readibility throughout: 1-4
impressed me and got me thoroughly engaged with the poem; 9-14 came
across as unclear and contrived; and 5-8 fell in the middle. Still,
1-4 were so good that I’m left with the feeling that I’m the one at
fault for missing the gist of the ending; and that that last is a gist
it would reward me (as much as 1-4 rewarded me for reading) to puzzle
out.
So this is a sonnet I believe I will come back to and reread – and,
bottom line, that’s what makes a good poem, innit?
Will Dockery
wrote:
<snip for brevity>
> and, here's a bonus by the equally and lovely talented JS Carter...
> for those who like this usenet legend stuff.
>
> The Love Bug
>
> Well, if you hear me sniffle then you'll know
> your love has struck me down, just like a bug,
> on Nova or some other science show,
> that turns its victims blue, or swells or plugs
> whatever orifice you need the most.
> I would forgive a scientist gone mad
> like Wilder's Frankenstein, but not the host
> of adolescents making programs plaid
> with cruel cross-purposes, then poking fun
> at we who hope that we are truly loved
> and leap to read the affirmation, stunned
> by your deceit. But I've donned rubber gloves
> to check your bio-illogical play.
> Here's hoping you get hepatitis-A.
Interesting, my friend and collaborator, Gini Woolfolk, is currently
making a big splash with her song Love Bugs... here's the video for
that one, check her out.
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=3960114&id=692998932#/video/video.php?v=173116661558
--
"Truck Stop Woman" by Will Dockery (the video):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvtQEf7bnfs
prettystuzz
"Michael Cook" <mic...@ypsiarbor.com> wrote:
> "Karla" <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote in message
> news:734kg597v7l3u439m...@4ax.com...
> I did not like it a tall, not a sot.
>
> "You look at me with eyes I can't perceive"
Go on where
enjambment can
be your friend.
>
> That line left me wondering if eyes were looking or you could not perceive
> some unknown, perhaps its my ADD. In any case; "can't" for gods sake
> change it to cannot.
Well, in the first place, your wish fulfilled wouldn't scan; and in the
second, she did write 'cannot' (or 'can not', as she would put it, being
smart), but you don't know what apostrophes do, do you? I HEART
apostrophe's!
>
> The next two lines: esoteric, they ask nothing of me, me the reader, the
> lover of poetry, they simply tell me things I already know, and wherein lies
> the fun?
>
> If the subject matter (and yes matter matters) were about you and I then the
> poem knows no bounds, but alas it is not to be, tis yet another you or more
> correctly "I" poem from which I can neither take nor leave. Perhaps it was
> not meant to be read?
Good Christ in your pudding already. Why "about you and I" instead of
the literate 'about you and me'? So you prefer Eliot to Rogers, but when
have you ever projected your reading inadequacies onto his writing? He
deserves worshippers like you, and he sure has enough f them.
> Like stolen love letters, or confessions, or a daughters diary.
>
> "I knew a woman once, lovely in her bones"
>
> Think that's an "I"?
>
> " How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
> She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand,"
>
> naa, not an "I" it's a we!
>
> pfft!..
Why don't you just admit you don't understand anything about sonnets or
lyric poetry instead of pretending not to be stupid?
>
> "Like San Francisco buried in the mist"
>
> "The mist" what the?????????
> Buried in a mist, a mist!
> I don't know the same mists as you, see?
Why don't you just admit you don't understand anything about figurative
language instead of pretending not to be stupid?
>
> The first part is muddled, past line 9 things improve
> But the shared "mist" and eyes looking you cant [sic] see have tainted.
>
> "Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach"
>
> Not my reach!
>
> Thanks for posting
> mdc
=z=
> In article <T4idnUmn28QRFJbWnZ2dnUVZ_v2dn...@giganews.com>,
> "Michael Cook" <mich...@ypsiarbor.com> wrote:
>
>
>
>
>
> > "Karla" <karl...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote in message
>
> - Show quoted text -- Hide quoted text -
>
> - Show quoted text -
i can't "weigh” in like the rest...but for what it's worth karla i
enjoyed that piece a lot...the lines "Outside the pillowed fortress
where we play" - "We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore" were
very interesting to experience…thanks for posting it.
=z=
Will Dockery
"prettystuzz" <leic...@bellsouth.net> wrote in message
news:leichtes-351517...@news.giganews.com...
The post you're responding to isn't appearing on Google Groups...I suppose
Cook changed his mind and Cythera'd it?
--
"Red Lipped Stranger & other stories" by Will Dockery:
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery
Will Dockery
"Michael Cook" <mic...@ypsiarbor.com> wrote in message
news:T4idnUmn28QRFJbW...@giganews.com...
>
> "Karla" <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote in message
> news:734kg597v7l3u439m...@4ax.com...
So, does that mean you will or will not be stealing it?
prettystuzz
"Will Dockery" <shado...@knology.net> wrote:
He's showing off his collage degree, by-passing Google or deleting
inside that very narrow window between Google's being pinged and posting
it. On the other front, the Internets have ate too much stuffing and cat
hair. Stuff shows up on Google Groups but not my news server, stuff I
post from my news server doesn't show up on my server or Google Groups
until much later. It's the opposite of right after 9/11 when all flights
were grounded for three days and climatologists could study
warming/cooling effects of air traffic for the first time ever.
Yesterday and today everyone who could text texted like all day plus
everyone who could send pics of their burnt birds sent, and that all
includes Black Friday shoppers and loiterers with their wireless gizmos
doing all that wherever they were. Hopefully Google who depends on
third-party servers will have learned stuff from these two days.
Evidently Mister Cook didn't want you and only you to see his (cough)
critique.
Will Dockery
> "Will Dockery" wrote:
> > "prettystuzz" <leich...@bellsouth.net> wrote in message
> >news:leichtes-351517...@news.giganews.com...
> > > In article <T4idnUmn28QRFJbWnZ2dnUVZ_v2dn...@giganews.com>,
> > > "Michael Cook" <mich...@ypsiarbor.com> wrote:
Ah, thanks for explaining all that, Stuart... interesting &
intelligent.
Karla
says...
How grand that you thought of Donne's The Extasie! All the better, which is to
admit that any nod to TE was unconscious. And I am not sure if it's a good thing
or not that Shakespeare isn't mentioned. I began this sonnet partly to don the
mind of Shakespeare the sonnet writer, to put to use what I've read and observed
lately. I didn't force a contemporary tone and didn't worry about it sounding
like it does for the most part. Several lines came to me at once, and have all
been included, though in different order, and one line appearing near the end.
It was a fun exercise. What you mention is what I learned: we are dependent and
a part of all who wrote and listened and paid court before us.
>We leave the art of literature as the second quatrain heralds a time and
>place made before our own but nearer, whose architecture may not last as
>long as the much older poetry has lasted. The poetics of 'buried'
>complicates everything in this sonnet, it would usually get picked apart
>for its inappropriateness, and more, for its seeming impossibility. A
>critic like yourself might say it betrays a laziness of thought and a
>lack of rewriting for clarity. But we have your own pleas for metaphor
>and figure in poetry; and while we are also cautioned to not mistake a
>poem's speaker for its author, we also shouldn't take that critical
>axiom to mean that the author is not also the poet; and more, in a
>sonnet, we have little choice but to hear the speaker as the poet.
>"Buried', then, is more than apt; it is key.
I don't know what it means that 'buried' is the only word in the whole poem that
I didn't turn in my mind, this way, that way, substituting, reinstating, etc.
Perhaps that it's key in ways inexplicable?
>As Donne waits lines, or stanzas, or strophes, or as Shakespeare waits
>quatrains, before the verses complete the extended metaphor, we see how
>your second quatrain continues the 'flicker' and 'glints' in ways most
>of us can 'perceive', through haze or fog at night. But the quatrain
>comprises a grammatical fragment, there is no assertiveness, nothing
>completed. If it's an error of composition, it's a felix culpa in light
>of, or in view of, the off and on imagery and what it represents
>emotionally from the first quatrain.
Some certainly will consider your conclusion kind and generous, as if a fragment
could be intended. It is, though. And thanks.
>It's a fine touch how the third quatrain reverts to the first quatrain's
>recall of that time of golden poetry, by recalling Herrick's
>masterworks, Herrick perhaps being the last of that extraordinary
>development. I should say 'hearkens', as Donne employs 'roam' in his
>Valediction masterpiece; but I have to explain my earlier mention of Dar
>Williams, who said we drink in parking lots "because".
Ah yes, she does. That's from "Are You Out There", right?
Donne, Herrick and Dar Williams form a lovely heart, and I am complimented!
I'm sure that you left Blake out for a good reason. He, better than anyone -- my
intended third of the trinity -- commented pointedly and elusively on Donne and
Herrick. But to utter directly the how and why of my echo of him, the
whisperings of secrets, is to remind all of the words of Paul in the epistles
(For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against
powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual
wickedness in high places. Eph. 6:12) taking us out of the cocooned world of the
lovers.
It would seem that where you were loathe to guess at the poet's heart, there for
the taking, you find no hesitancy in shredding the critic's words! When Will
Dockery has learned as much as you, he too will forgo his ubiquitous 'hypocrite'
for your 'repudiated' and 'recanted'. How are you, Will or anyone else to know
that I'm still thinking about a title for the sonnet unless I write it here, as
I've done now?
>Are you familiar with Walter Jackson Bates's The Burden Of The Past And
>The English Poet? It's a small but classic work based on a series of
>lectures he gave in 1969 at the University of Toronto. Yes, what's left
>to do or say, especially since Milton not only closed out the
>Rennaisance but also etherealized it?
No, I'm not familiar with it. Do you recommend it?
>I didn't know it was Leonardo who said 'The eyes are the windows to the
>soul' (but not in those exact words). I learned it last night when I was
>looking for something I think Arthur C. Clarke had said about the rings
>of Saturn being formed some three million years ago, which is also when
>Mind first appeared on Earth. I couldn't find Clarke's comment; maybe I
>synthesized some things myself, maybe I'm the one who thinks the
>momentum of Mind was strong enough to pull away pieces of Saturn, after
>Clarke had pointed out that the number of stars in our Milky Way
>universe (his term) pretty much equals the number of souls (his term
>again) that have lived on Earth since our first direct ancestors awoke
>with something like consciousness.
That's so pretty!
One can only hope that others read your review of my poem, especially the last
three paragraphs which instruct more than they review, all to our benefit.
Thanks too for grading it as high as you did. I began writing it weeks ago, let
it sit, took it up again, and in the middle of all that read how you, years ago
in early RAP, decided to write a sonnet to be proud of. You mentioned pain too.
I swear, during the writing of this one, helping someone move seemed less
painful.
Thank you,
Karla
Karla
BLACKPOOLJIMMY says...
Thanks for reading.
Karla
Karla
Thanks for reminding us how good JS Carter's sonnets are. I miss her writing and
comments. In turn, this one reminded me of a song from my favorite musical, Guys
and Dolls, called Adelaide's Lament. Have a listen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCSl7rw4ERI
Will Dockery
A pleasure, Karla.
BTW, here's the latest Shakespeare sonnet sent me, #103, interesting musings
on the muse:
Sonnet #103
Posted:
CIII.
Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
O, blame me not, if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other pass my verses tend
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit
Your own glass shows you when you look in it.
-Wm. Shakespeare
--
"Dream Tears" / Will Dockery & The Shadowville All-Stars
Written by Will Dockery & Brian Mallard / Guitar - Brian Mallard /
Harmonica - Gary Frankfurth / Flute - John Joiner / Vocal - Will Dockery.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX035Ybafx4
Will Dockery
"Karla" <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
>
> When Will Dockery has learned as much as you
When you learn to stop pretending to read my mind, you'll be getting
somewhere, Karla... or maybe you're just suffering from After-Thanksgiving
confusion, again?
Karla
George Dance says...
>
>On Nov 22, 11:33=A0pm, Karla <karl...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
>>
>> Sonnet
>>
>> You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
>> Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
>> They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
>> Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
>> Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
>> Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
>> To parse a warning when another gist
>> Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
>> We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
>> The hazy border that would know its end,
>> Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
>> Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
>> So loosed the firefly afar from home:
>> It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
>>
>> Karla
>
>> Sonnet
>
>expect the real title will reveal itself after a few rereads.
>
>> You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
>
>look at me with eyes=92 (what else?) =96 but that=92s quickly blown away
>with =91I can=92t perceive=92, and becomes a paradox =96 =93eyes I can=92t
>perceive=94. That=92s an interesting paradox =96 he (I=92ll call him =91he=
>=92 for
>convenience, because I=92m thinking of the speaker as =91she=92) =96 is
>looking at her, she knows he=92s looking, but she can=92t perceive his
>eyes. Why not? I want to know, so I=92m already hooked.
>
>> Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
>
>This is exactly the type of line I like to read and to write myself.
>Again it sounds like all natural speech, except that one phrase,
>natural speech. That draws all the attention to that phrase; a good
>so soft and a fortress so hard and forbidding =96 that calls out for a
>sustained look. needs some sustained thought. =91Pillowed=92 makes me
>think of bed, which makes the meaning of the paradox clear: she can=92t
>read him except when they=92re in bed. But why is the bed a =91fortress=92?
>That connotes troubles surrounding their relationship; I get the idea
>this is an illicit affair of some kind (which could be why she worries
Thanks for liking my two first lines. I don't understand why both you and
Michael want to read the sonnet line by line. The punctuation doesn't limit you.
Since I didn't place a comma at the end of the first line, wouldn't that signal
that you should keep reading? Stuart tags it elsewhere: enjambment.
[btw, are you using only plain text? I'm responding in plain text but it's
picking up HTML or Word code.]
>> They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
>
>Again natural speech except for one phrase =91flicker ciphers=92; again to
>put all the weight of the line on the one phrase, =91flicker ciphers.=92
>Which is (1) another arresting image, (2) interesting sonically
>because of the assonance/near-rhyme =91flicker ciphers=92, and (3) fully
>explains the 1st line=92s paradox: she can see his eyes, but she can=92t
>*read* them.
>
>> Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
>
>A third line in the same vein: ordinary speech (though =91contrived=92
>stands out a bit, as it fits the rhythm so well) except for the one
>phrase that leaps out: =91wanton glints=92. =91Wanton=92 is excellent: the
>lust shines out (making me think of =91bedroom eyes=92, while scrupulously
>avoiding that cliche).
>=91Glints=92 is also a great word, one I used once (in a sonnet but a
>completely different context) =96 like =91flicker=92, it tells me these
>looks are momentary things, that come and are gone in an instant..
>
>I=92d swirch =91have=92 here with =91make=92 in the other line. =91Have=92 =
>could
>include passivity or indifference, while =91make=92 connotes action and
>will, and I think it=92s the action or will that would get her to leave,
>while indifference would get her to leave. Aside from that, though the
>meaning is clear from both L2 and L4: she doesn=92t know what he=92s
>thinking except when he looks at her with lust. An excellent first
>quatrain all around.
>
>> Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
>
>=91San Francisco=92 is a beautiful touch, for the sound; it simply rolls
>into its metrical place, and for the evoking the scene of a city
>=91buried in the mist=92. It=92s a good cognate: going through her
>relationship, not knowing what he=92s really thinking, is like moving
>through mist without being able to see the landmarks.
>
>> Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
>
>I don=92t know Coit Tower, but I can imagine the lights winking on and
>off like on our CN Tower, which is enough of a visual image for me. It
>brilliantly extends the =91mist=92 metaphor: all one can see is the
>momentary winking on and off of the lights, just as all she can see in
>the relationship is the flickering and glinting of the signals from
>his eyes.
>
>> To parse a warning when another gist
>
>This is the first line that sounds a tad artificial; maybe that=92s
>because it loses me a bit. I get that the lights =91parse=92 as in spell
>out a warning, but (like his eyes) they don=92t always do that. And
>what=92s =91another gist=92? =91Gist=92 makes me think of =91nub=92, the ma=
>in point
>(so there shouldn=92t be more than one). I looked the word up and got
>=91machine translation=92 or =91intestimal tumor=92, none of which seem to
>fit. It looks like nothing more than a way to avoid the obvious rhyme
>of =91kissed.=92
I will consider. Thanks. I can say with no hint of defensiveness at all that
"kissed" was never under consideration.
>> Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
>
>=91Forecasts=92 makes me think the =91gist=92 was a translation: in some w=
>ay
>the driftwood is telling her about the relationship is like, if she
>could only read it. But that=92s all tentative; the meaning is starting
>to slip away from me.
>Why driftwood on a beach? Is that where they are, down by the bay
>looking at Coit Tower and the city buried in the mist?
My "like" is meant for all four lines. They stand in for the first four lines.
>> We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
>
>=91Trans-shifting=92 is an interesting word, which I think I=92d have to
>read and think a bit more before understanding. Is their relationship
>turning into the mist or the night, being buried in it like San
>Francisco?
>
>> The hazy border that would know its end,
>
>=91Hazy border=92 is nice because it again makes me think of the mist; but
>now I=92m starting to think I=92m the one in the mist. How or why would
>the border know its end? It feels like I=92ve moved to a different
>sonnet; I=92ve shifted, in the mist, over to a Hammes-style one where
>the meaning is being deliberately hidden for me to decode.
If you indeed felt a shift while reading it, even if it's not understood, then
I'm half happy. I write elsewhere to Stuart that I'm writing a sonnet as I
imagine Shakespeare would write one, and my play with words, and shifts of
meaning are as I'd imagine him writing. It's my exercise. I'm not unhappy with
it, but I also note what isn't working for my reader.
>> Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
>
>More of the same. 'Dawning' works well with 'night' previously. But:
>What=92s the =91roar=92? And why is it =91dawning=92? I=92m grasping here, =
>but
>I=92ll try: the =91roar=92 is the tumult their bed was the =91fortress=92
>against: the scandal that knowledge of their relationship would bring
>on; and =91dawning=92 means its approaching inevitably. This relationship
>is going to have grim consequences, which she knows all to well. Hence
>her ambivalence, which she=92s been projecting onto him earlier; or
>maybe he knows it too, hence his ambivalence?
>
>> Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
>
>A beautiful line, sonically. The repeat of =91re=92 makes both words stand
>out magnificently. In sense, the line also makes me think of a coming
>scandal, when the world finds out about this relationhip.
>
>> So loosed the firefly afar from home:
>
>This is the first line that sounds artificial: the alliteration of
>=91firefly afar=92 sounds like it=92s just in there for the sake of
>alliteration, the meaning is unclear =96 do fireflies even have homes? =96
>and the word choices don=92t obviously fit: Why a firefly? Because it
>glints, flickrs, and winks? OK, but so what? Why is it =91loosed=92 from
>its home? What does it mean for it be =91loosed=92 (freed? Is its home a
>prison?) All I can think the line means is =93Lost like the firefly
>afar ...=94. I can see why you=92d want to avoid that, because you don=92t
>want to use =91like=92 again, but why =91loosed=92, with its connotations o=
>f
>escape and getting away, rather than lost?
>
>> It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
>
>I=92ve completely lost the sense. This line doesn=92t even parse:
>=91because ... may roam=92? The =91glimmer=92 looks like an obvious tie-in
>back to the flashing and glinting of his eyes =96 ah, his eyes are like
>fireflies (I might even steal that, as I think it could be done
>better.) But the ending, =91may roam=92, makes me think her main worry,
>the =91gist=92 of it, is that he=92ll be unfaithful; which is anti-climacti=
>c
>to the extreme, given what the last quatrain seemed to be portending.
>
>In short, I see a definite decline in readibility throughout: 1-4
>impressed me and got me thoroughly engaged with the poem; 9-14 came
>across as unclear and contrived; and 5-8 fell in the middle. Still,
>1-4 were so good that I=92m left with the feeling that I=92m the one at
>fault for missing the gist of the ending; and that that last is a gist
>it would reward me (as much as 1-4 rewarded me for reading) to puzzle
>out.
>
>So this is a sonnet I believe I will come back to and reread =96 and,
>bottom line, that=92s what makes a good poem, innit?
I hope it is something you'll come back to, reread and make sense out of, and
ultimately enjoy.
Thank you for talking through the poem with us.
Karla
Karla
>
>
>"Karla" <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote in message
>news:734kg597v7l3u439m...@4ax.com...
>
>
>some unknown, perhaps its my ADD. In any case; "can't" for gods sake
>change it to cannot.
I'd suggest reading the poem as it's punctuated rather than line by line. As
already commented, I've employed enjambment.
>The next two lines: esoteric, they ask nothing of me, me the reader, the
>lover of poetry, they simply tell me things I already know, and wherein lies
>the fun?
>
>If the subject matter (and yes matter matters) were about you and I then the
>poem knows no bounds, but alas it is not to be, tis yet another you or more
>correctly "I" poem from which I can neither take nor leave. Perhaps it was
>not meant to be read?
>Like stolen love letters, or confessions, or a daughters diary.
Since you've mentioned subject matter as well as personal pronouns, I'm
wondering if you also dislike Shakespeare sonnets? What motivated me to write a
sonnet recently is my reading through the Shakespeare sonnets. I tried to write
from Shakespeare's mind, with his toolbox, his vernacular. I mention this
because a great many sonnets are you and I poems about nothing new at all. Am I
not understanding your point?
>"I knew a woman once, lovely in her bones"
>
>Think that's an "I"?
>
>" How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
>She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand,"
>
>naa, not an "I" it's a we!
>
>pfft!..
>
>"Like San Francisco buried in the mist"
>
>"The mist" what the?????????
>Buried in a mist, a mist!
>I don't know the same mists as you, see?
>
>The first part is muddled, past line 9 things improve
>But the shared "mist" and eyes looking you cant [sic] see have tainted.
>
> "Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach"
>
>Not my reach!
>
>Thanks for posting
>mdc
Someone's dislike of a poem can be just as helpful as a critique. Thank you for
reading and commenting.
Karla
Karla
>
>
>"Karla" <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
>>
>> When Will Dockery has learned as much as you
>
>When you learn to stop pretending to read my mind, you'll be getting
>somewhere, Karla... or maybe you're just suffering from After-Thanksgiving
>confusion, again?
Will, that wasn't meant as an insult. I'm sorry you took it that way.
Karla
Will Dockery
> In article <7db4$4b145804$d8baf760$13...@KNOLOGY.NET>, Will Dockery says...
>
> >> When Will Dockery has learned as much as you
>
> >When you learn to stop pretending to read my mind, you'll be getting
> >somewhere, Karla... or maybe you're just suffering from After-Thanksgiving
> >confusion, again?
>
> Will, that wasn't meant as an insult. I'm sorry you took it that way.
Ah, thanks for the quick response, Karla... and to the point, I'd be
proud to someday learn as much as Stuart knew, say 30-40 years ago.
prettystuzz
<5db42f8e-a8ba-48d3...@n35g2000yqm.googlegroups.com>,
Will Dockery <will.d...@gmail.com> wrote:
> On Nov 30, 6:55�pm, Karla <karl...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
> > In article <7db4$4b145804$d8baf760$13...@KNOLOGY.NET>, Will Dockery says...
> > >"Karla" <karl...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
> >
> > >> When Will Dockery has learned as much as you
> >
> > >When you learn to stop pretending to read my mind, you'll be getting
> > >somewhere, Karla... or maybe you're just suffering from After-Thanksgiving
> > >confusion, again?
> >
> > Will, that wasn't meant as an insult. I'm sorry you took it that way.
>
> Ah, thanks for the quick response, Karla... and to the point, I'd be
> proud to someday learn as much as Stuart knew, say 30-40 years ago.
>
Wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then.
Will Dockery
> Will Dockery wrote:
> > On Nov 30, 6:55 pm, Karla <karl...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
> > > In article <7db4$4b145804$d8baf760$13...@KNOLOGY.NET>, Will Dockery says...
> > > >"Karla" <karl...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
>
> > > >> When Will Dockery has learned as much as you
>
> > > >When you learn to stop pretending to read my mind, you'll be getting
> > > >somewhere, Karla... or maybe you're just suffering from After-Thanksgiving
> > > >confusion, again?
>
> > > Will, that wasn't meant as an insult. I'm sorry you took it that way.
>
> > Ah, thanks for the quick response, Karla... and to the point, I'd be
> > proud to someday learn as much as Stuart knew, say 30-40 years ago.
>
> Wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then.
Bust that up into three pieces & you have a poem.
prettystuzz
Karla <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
> >Are you familiar with Walter Jackson Bates's The Burden Of The Past And
> >The English Poet? It's a small but classic work based on a series of
> >lectures he gave in 1969 at the University of Toronto. Yes, what's left
> >to do or say, especially since Milton not only closed out the
> >Rennaisance but also etherealized it?
>
> No, I'm not familiar with it. Do you recommend it?
It was intended for his fellow "critics and historians". Doesn't the
hierarchy look something like this?
Titans
Gods
Muses
Poets
Critics & Historians
I would want to add Curators, expecting no disagreement; I would add
after that, Cul-de-Sac, but expect disagreement. When Bate delivered his
lectures in 1969, Germaine Greer was concluding her doctoral studies as
a Shakespearian scholar; Camille Paglia was beginning her graduate
studies at Yale; and Philip Roth was defending Portnoy's Complaint.
The Serena Cant Vermeer book I can recommend without reservation (still
$19.99 at Borders Books, where it lies on the floor in a stack): she
reads his work as a literary critic reads a poem or novel, as a great
film critic reads a great film, while being better than most.
Last night Borders was empty, so I was accosted by a sales associate
offering to help me with "Hi! Can I help you find anything?" I said yes
(normally I say 'What a coincidence!') and asked for the 10th
anniversary edition of Naomi Klein's No Logo and Wil Haygood's Sweet
Thunder: The Life And Times Of Sugar Ray Robinson. The look on her face
- you should have seen the look on her face. So she said "We'll see if
we have that". 'That', she said. At her terminal, she asked me to tell
her again, saying 'that one' again. I said "There are two". She said,
"Ted, I'm with a customer now" into her long bolo tie with its teensy
mic. One of her ears had a black cockroach clipped to it, wanting to
crawl inside. "Who's the author?" "Naomi Klein, the prolific author of
two books, three including a collection". "With a C?" "No. K,l,e,i,n".
The size and display of Atlas Shrugged I can only call obnoxious. I
apologized that "It might not be released yet since it - " "We have one.
And the other?" "Wil Haygood. Sweet Thunder: The Life And Times Of Sugar
Ray Robinson". Yes, I now speak in ITunes and Amazon.com titling format
style. "We have one copy of that, it's upstairs in Sports, in Boxing,
I'll tell Ted you'll be up". She couldn't find No Logo where it's
supposed to be, in Sociology. "It should be right here. It's listed in
Sociology". "Maybe she's reading it", I said, nodding in the direction
of a woman reading a very thick book in an upholstered chair, and added,
"No, it's not a big book". On my way to the stairs, the sales associate
brought No Logo to me with the kind of battlefield joy that would surely
mandate my response to the cashier's later 'Have-great-day' to be 'I
already have!' Upstairs, Ted was at the Boxing stack and had the book in
his hand for me, also with the same cockroach clipped to his ear, though
to look at him you'd swear it was actually a family of tapeworms. No
shame that he had no idea who Sugar Ray Robinson was (some might blame
Martin Scorcese for that, but Ray fought his last fight nearly 20 years
before Raging Bull), yet I had no stomach for telling Ted that the
book's subtitle refers largely to Ray's friends Lena Horne, Langston
Hughes, and Miles Davis. I don't talk to sales associates about our
(cough) shared (cough) culture. I stopped 22 years ago, in 1987: A sales
associate at the tobacco store at the Mall looked stunning in her broad
shoulder-padded pencil stripe gray suit, with her brown hair styled
exactly like Lauren Bacall's in To Have And Have Not, a style I
complimented her about. "Who?" "Lauren Bacall?" I said with that
Canadian rising intonation. "Who's that?" "Lauren Bacall. You know,
Humphrey Bogart's wife?" Who's 'Humphrey Bogart'?
Will Dockery
> In article <hf1jt90...@drn.newsguy.com>,
"Interesting & smart."... when my coffee brews I have a thing or two
more to comment.
--
"Writing is creative lying." -Harlan Ellison said that.
"When cheating is for losers, and playing straight's for fools... you
never know which way to go." -I said that.
From "Black Crow's Brother" by Will Dockery & Gini Woolfolk, now
playing on MySpace:
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery
Peter J Ross
<kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
> Sonnet
>
> You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
> Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
Two very stilted lines. Can you imagine ever speaking them aloud in
real life?
> They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
> Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
"make" and "have" mean the same thing here.
> Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
> Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
> To parse a warning when another gist
> Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
> We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
> The hazy border that would know its end,
> Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
> Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
> So loosed the firefly afar from home:
> It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
I like "Dover Beach" a lot, but it's never occurred to me to convert
it into a dull sonnet.
I'm trying to find something to like here, but all I can see is crap
like "hazy border", "vows repent" and (unforgivably) "afar from home".
It's a joke. It must be a joke. Tell me it's a joke,
>
> Karla
--
PJR :-)
Peter J Ross
prettystuzz <leic...@bellsouth.net> wrote:
> The first quatrain invokes the beginning of Donne's The Ecstasy:
No it doesn't, you pretentious wanker.
Fuck off, Stuart.
prettystuzz
Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
> In alt.arts.poetry.comments on Mon, 23 Nov 2009 16:58:19 -0500,
> prettystuzz <leic...@bellsouth.net> wrote:
>
> > The first quatrain invokes the beginning of Donne's The Ecstasy:
>
> No it doesn't, you pretentious wanker.
Yes, it does, if I say it does. Your semiliteracy gulls only your fellow
half-literate, terrified friends.
>
> Fuck off, Stuart.
You and Robert Maughan have a way with words, the very same words, the
same way; consider yourself lucky today.
Karla
wrote:
>In alt.arts.poetry.comments on Mon, 23 Nov 2009 16:58:19 -0500,
>prettystuzz <leic...@bellsouth.net> wrote:
>
>> The first quatrain invokes the beginning of Donne's The Ecstasy:
>
>No it doesn't, you pretentious wanker.
>
>Fuck off, Stuart.
PJR, why doesn't it invoke it?
Karla
wrote:
>In alt.arts.poetry.comments on Sun, 22 Nov 2009 20:33:53 -0800, Karla
><kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
>
>> Sonnet
>>
>> You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
>> Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
>
>Two very stilted lines. Can you imagine ever speaking them aloud in
>real life?
Moreso than other lines of iambic pentameter I've read (Milton comes to
mind) and no, not really. I'm trying to think of a sonnet where I'd speak
the lines. Do you have an example?
>> They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
>> Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
>
>"make" and "have" mean the same thing here.
You don't think 'make' connotes force and control while 'have' is softer,
carrying an added sexual nuance?
>> Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
>> Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
>> To parse a warning when another gist
>> Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
>> We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
>> The hazy border that would know its end,
>> Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
>> Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
>> So loosed the firefly afar from home:
>> It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
>
>I like "Dover Beach" a lot, but it's never occurred to me to convert
>it into a dull sonnet.
If there's one positive I can take from your reading and comments, it's
that my poor sonnet invoked Dover Beach for you!
>I'm trying to find something to like here, but all I can see is crap
>like "hazy border", "vows repent" and (unforgivably) "afar from home".
>
>It's a joke. It must be a joke. Tell me it's a joke,
It failed miserably for you! What to do . . . I rather like it.
As I wrote Michael, dislike can be just as helpful as praise.
Thanks for reading & commenting.
Karla
>> Karla
prettystuzz
Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
> In alt.arts.poetry.comments on Sun, 22 Nov 2009 20:33:53 -0800, Karla
> <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
>
> > Sonnet
> >
> > You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
> > Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
>
> Two very stilted lines. Can you imagine ever speaking them aloud in
> real life?
>
> > They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
> > Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
>
> "make" and "have" mean the same thing here.
You're a permanent moron, Ross, a stupid interloper. Hopefully Karla
will tell you why.
>
> > Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
> > Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
> > To parse a warning when another gist
> > Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
> > We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
> > The hazy border that would know its end,
> > Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
> > Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
> > So loosed the firefly afar from home:
> > It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
>
> I like "Dover Beach" a lot, but it's never occurred to me to convert
> it into a dull sonnet.
>
> I'm trying to find something to like here, but all I can see is crap
> like "hazy border", "vows repent" and (unforgivably) "afar from home".
>
> It's a joke. It must be a joke. Tell me it's a joke,
Many years ago I used to correct your stupid critiques of women's poems
on rap, stupid for not understanding the poem and for pretending that
you had understood. Perhaps they were impressed with your don manner of
reiterating textbook and handbook gloss along with your other imitations
of Edwardian jokesters. But Karla is not impressed, being better-read
than you, and a far better student than you were or can be. I know
that's all obvious; and she is too good to suggest why you chose (so
late) to try to humiliate her.
Buck up, cunt, you may yet recover a shred of the clout others
attributed to you though only a fool would bet on it.
>
>
> >
> > Karla
Karla
wrote:
<snip>
>The Serena Cant Vermeer book I can recommend without reservation (still
>$19.99 at Borders Books, where it lies on the floor in a stack): she
>reads his work as a literary critic reads a poem or novel, as a great
>film critic reads a great film, while being better than most.
I checked out the Borders near me last night, the stacks, the display, the
shelves, the discount big books downstairs, and came up empty, as did the
helpful help. There's a Borders in Palo Alto which I may get to before
Christmas. Amazon sellers have them beginning at $30+ without shipping. Was
it cheaper at Borders?
prettystuzz
Karla <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
> >The Serena Cant Vermeer book I can recommend without reservation (still
> >$19.99 at Borders Books, where it lies on the floor in a stack): she
> >reads his work as a literary critic reads a poem or novel, as a great
> >film critic reads a great film, while being better than most.
>
> I checked out the Borders near me last night, the stacks, the display, the
> shelves, the discount big books downstairs, and came up empty, as did the
> helpful help. There's a Borders in Palo Alto which I may get to before
> Christmas. Amazon sellers have them beginning at $30+ without shipping. Was
> it cheaper at Borders?
If "$19.99 at Borders Books" suggests "cheaper at Borders?", I'd have to
say yes. If you could order it from the local Borders here, the cost of
their sending it would be huge enough to make Amazon's deal worthwhile.
It's worth $30 + s&h. It's lying open on my dining room table, Cant's
uncanny text on the left, Officer And Laughing Girl on the right,
together the same size as my flat-screen TV, which last night displayed
84 Charing Cross Road to me for my first viewing of that 25-year-old
movie. Amazing stuff: it's presented so that you know the entire 'story'
from the start, and thereby you can wallow in its details. It's like
watching a great movie or reading a great story or novel a second or
third time. And the details are the only story. Last week (25 years
older) Anthony Hopkins sat next to TCM's Robert Osborne explaining why
he admired The Treasure Of The Sierra Madre. I doubt it was for the
money. I can't say I've ever seen a finer actor, certainly none who can
make the close-up work to such unspoken advantage. Anne Bancroft
performs a perfect impression at the end, just before she grins broadly
and speaks across the proscenium to Frank, of Anthony's sparkling
countenance. The resemblances are jaw-dropping. She becomes his twin
sister at that moment. The movie keeps bludgeoning us with two-by-fours
to show little else but endless ordinary civility, and how ordinary
civility seems to demand ordinary compassion (tolerance is for the weak
and lazy, a euphemism for apathy). I kept trying to remember the author,
someone like Douglas Bush or C.S. Lewis, and the exact words he wrote to
the effect that much blood has been spilled by lovers of Christ but
seldom by lovers of books. I suppose in 1987 the movie was reflective
about the late 1940's up to 1970 or so, like its true-story memoir and
stage versions had been, but for me in 2009 it was tragic and prescient.
Frank's annoyance over the Carnaby Street crush excluded The Beatles ("I
rather like The Beatles") enough for him to commit himself in writing
about them. I can't begin to imagine the storm of terror in Marlowe's
brain: Faustus would sooner burn his books than repent. Like, you know?
Who cares.
Ringo Red Giant
news:734kg597v7l3u439m...@4ax.com...
>
> You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
> Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
> Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
> Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
> To parse a warning when another gist
> Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
> We feast in nights trans-shifting and explore
> The hazy border that would know its end,
> Whose ears to close against the dawning roar,
> Where vows repent and acts soon reprehend.
> So loosed the firefly afar from home:
> It sparks because, but glimmer tricks, may roam.
>
"you look at me with eyes i can't perceive..."
obviously this is a lie...for, only from the perspective
of knowing is not-knowing possible. that's up to and including
experience beyond human perception, or "private experience"...aldus huxley
already covered this ground and came back to tell the tale. same with ren�
Descartes, ludwig wittgenstien, edmund husserl, emmanuel kant, joseph stalin
and adolph hitler...the last two were here to prove that no matter how many
people you kill, the regenerative force of life isn't moved. (the personal
experience is always moved...but, that's the observation in a nutshell.)
line 2:
ah...the pillowed fortress is the clue to the initial lie...only eyes
that recognize through experience can to the "perceiving"in the first place.
they've been disclosed for what they are...a private experience...you're
attempting to take a clich� and make it into a sonnet...that's not the
problem...the problem is, it doesn't work. and, since the meter checks, it
begs a question: who are you trying to "fool?" yourself or the reader..?
unfortunately, the rest of the poem falls like a house of cards.
you've got the meter down, now try to move past personal experience
and into the realms of true poetic reception...you're a radio antenna
as a poet...let it come through the scansion as opposed to getting stopped
up by the dam of pure logic games...somebody will figure it out...as a poet,
you're already past that...move on, out and away from private experience.
make it possible...laughter helps...lots of laughter....especially at
yourself.
Pina Colada
My therapist would have to agree.
Peter J Ross
<kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
> On Thu, 3 Dec 2009 01:56:59 +0000, Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid>
> wrote:
>
>>In alt.arts.poetry.comments on Sun, 22 Nov 2009 20:33:53 -0800, Karla
>><kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
>>
>>> Sonnet
>>>
>>> You look at me with eyes I can't perceive
>>> Outside the pillowed fortress where we play,
>>
>>Two very stilted lines. Can you imagine ever speaking them aloud in
>>real life?
>
> Moreso than other lines of iambic pentameter I've read (Milton comes to
> mind) and no, not really. I'm trying to think of a sonnet where I'd speak
> the lines. Do you have an example?
My own sonnets, obviously. :-)
>>> They flicker ciphers meant to make me leave
>>> Or wanton glints contrived to have me stay.
>>
>>"make" and "have" mean the same thing here.
>
> You don't think 'make' connotes force and control while 'have' is softer,
> carrying an added sexual nuance?
No. I don't think that.
>>> Like San Francisco buried in the mist,
>>> Coit Tower winking just beyond our reach,
"Like San Francisco in the mist,
Coit Tower,"
"buried", "winking" and the odiously trite "just beyond our reach" are
insufferably bad.
>>> To parse a warning when another gist
>>> Forecasts in driftwood scattered on the beach.
On second thoughts, these two lines are on the right side of the
cliche wall.
>>> We feast
This is where you really spoil it. You don't even say what you're
feasting *on*!
<...>
> If there's one positive I can take from your reading and comments, it's
> that my poor sonnet invoked Dover Beach for you!
"on the beach", "dawning roar" etc. I didn't intend a compliment.
Peter J Ross
<kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
I suspect that by "invokes" Stuart meant "evokes". But he's not very
literate, so one can't be sure.
invocation != evocation
Also, Stuart is so pretentious, and so devoted to wanking, that he
didn't notice that there was no "first quatrain" in your poem. It
wasn't divided, or divisible, into quatrains, was it?
I wish the know-nothing morons would shut up.
Peter J Ross
prettystuzz <leic...@bellsouth.net> wrote:
Poor Stuart. Is "envy" or "jealousy" the most appropriate word to use
when discussing the motivation for the above rant?
Poor Stuart. I hate to tell you this, but I've treated you as a mere
slurper of the Dockery/Lysaght/Bishop kook-axis for several years now.
You've spent most of those several years in my killfile, but perhaps
you'll be fun to play with for a while now.
Will Dockery
>
What was that about Irony Meters exploding, again?
For Karla, Sonnet #107:
Sonnet #107
Posted:
CVII.
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
-Wm. Shakespeare
--
"Truck Stop Woman" by Will Dockery (the video)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvtQEf7bnfs
Peter J Ross
Dockery <will.d...@gmail.com> wrote:
> Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
>>
>> Stuart is so pretentious
>
> What was that about Irony Meters exploding, again?
Mine hasn't exploded recently, but it's just bleeped to inform me that
you're rather vague about what "pretentious" means.
prettystuzz
Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
> In alt.arts.poetry.comments on Wed, 02 Dec 2009 19:59:56 -0800, Karla
> <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
>
> > On Thu, 3 Dec 2009 02:01:06 +0000, Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid>
> > wrote:
> >
> >>In alt.arts.poetry.comments on Mon, 23 Nov 2009 16:58:19 -0500,
> >>prettystuzz <leic...@bellsouth.net> wrote:
> >>
> >>> The first quatrain invokes the beginning of Donne's The Ecstasy:
> >>
> >>No it doesn't, you pretentious wanker.
> >>
> >>Fuck off, Stuart.
> >
> > PJR, why doesn't it invoke it?
>
> I suspect that by "invokes" Stuart meant "evokes". But he's not very
> literate, so one can't be sure.
You would also be including Karla, who presumes that 'invokes' makes
sense to her, right? But you didn't answer her question because you
can't.
Stuart's provably far more literate than you pretend to be, see:
>
> invocation != evocation
No. Karla and the sonnet invoke Donne, Herrick, and Dar Wiliams; you
evoke pity.
>
> Also, Stuart is so pretentious, and so devoted to wanking, that he
> didn't notice that there was no "first quatrain" in your poem. It
> wasn't divided, or divisible, into quatrains, was it?
Are you trying to get a Jesus fuck out of me, or what?
>
> I wish the know-nothing morons would shut up.
Says Ross the invoker of chuckie-poo.
Will Dockery
> > Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
>
>
> > What was that about Irony Meters exploding, again?
>
> Mine
"We know." -Dennis M. Hammes, Litt. D.
--
New poetry & music recordings by Will Dockery
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery
