Poetry
nm...@uwpg02.uwinnipeg.ca
Joanna
Thanks. I was remembering the images rather than the title.
Glad he makes it at least a little ways down south.
Mir Unruh
Theresia Quigley
Desire is spent,
but the sharing
remains: it is beautiful to hear them
bickering, knowing the hurt will not last,
all will be forgiven, all has been accepted,
yet the sparks fly
when, as he puts it,
they rub one another
the wrong way__
it is beautiful to watch them
knowing their forty years
in the same house
have not solved the mystery,
have not extinguished
the last spark of passion.
It is beautiful to think
how, after we are gone
and cannot see or hear them,
they will make their peace
like two proud old warriors.
Alden Nowlan
Linda
is very short; will try to post tomorrow.
* = * = * = * = * = * = * = * = * = * = * = * = * = * = * =
= Linda A. Dudley *
* University of Georgia ~ ~ =
= School of Law @ @ *
* Athens GA 30602-6012 ^ =
= Voice (706) 542-5182 \_/ *
* E-Mail dud...@jd.lawsch.uga.edu =
= Fax (706) 542-5556 Hi! *
* =
= "For myself, I am never satisfied that I have handled *
* a subject properly till I have contradicted myself =
= at least three times." John Ruskin, 1858 *
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Richard West
poet of carnality and sexual love as well as tenderness, this stanza from
"Friends" on the love of his life, Maud Gonne:
"And what of her that took
All till my youth was gone
With scarce a pitying look?
How could I praise that one?
When day begins to break
I count my good and bad
Being wakeful for her sake,
Remembering what she had,
What eagle look still shows,
While up from my heart's root
So great a sweetness flows
I shake from head to foot."
And at dinner one night with Maud, Yeats scribbled "A Drinking Song" on the
tablecloth:
"Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh."
Jon Browning
war story: I do a number of kinds of poetry. In fact, I did the final act
of the Antitrust skit that will be played at 10 locations in Exxon all in
poetry. So, when I came onto the Internet about six weeks ago one of the
first groups I subsribed to was Poetry. I unsubscribed about three weeks
later. There, about the only kind of poetry was blank verse, and unlike
Chicago and other good blank verse it had no form or meter--that was about
10% of the group, the rest was noise with four or five people shooting at
each other. Good poetry like good art has form and substance. A wedding
should have those things that are beautiful in form and sentiment appropriate
to the occassion. McKuen's peoms are about love and relationships.
jon browning
Ken Koester
>For people who like poetry, McKuen certainly works.
Well, actually, I have to disagree with that; I certainly like poetry, but
McKuen does not work for me in the slightest.
Timothy Bowden
That's because you didn't perhaps catch his greatest work, the day he called a
press conference and threatened to have his comedian friends make up jokes
about Amoeba Bryant (I have trouble spelling historic names) unless she backed
off her attack of gays. When reporters asked if he was gay, he said sorta.
That one stands with the gathering of the Six at that Berkeley church in 1955
which launched the West Coast Renaissance.
Also, to the challenge of whether I have been married, therefore presumably
understand romance, I once ironically attended a Rod McKuen `concert' at Fair
Park in Dallas in the company of my wife. She's my ex-wife now, and the two
facts are not entirely unrelated.
Just more of Uncle Timmie's fun facts....
=========================================================
tcbo...@clovis.felton.ca.us (Timothy Bowden)
uunet!scruz.ucsc.edu!clovis.felton.ca.us!tcbowden
Clovis in Felton, CA
=========================================================
Colin Morton
Then, too, poetry sometimes lasts longer than love, like this by Don Coles:
Abandoned Lover
Whether he rushes vainly, or
Crawls to weep, she is there.
In his belly or ribs she may
Any minute begin again that walk
Towards him, wearing that dress.
Her voice knows a hundred ways
To start. Along his forearms, perhaps,
Her naked body surges in their
Last lovemaking. Probably
This is worst. No, worst is
Remembering she is somewhere
Doing new things.
--
S.PAIN
I have arms
attached to them
hands
and to them
fingers
I put the
fingers of my
hands into my
pockets
as I watch
Mr Treherne
lop the
bough of a beech
saw the branch
into sections
then feeling
an itch
I reach for
the handkerchief
but with
disbelief
I have neither
fingers,
hands,
arms.
Stephen Pain in New Poetry Number 45 1979
A Water Spout
Maybe the marble head
is mine
Maybe I have drunk my
last drink and dried up
Maybe a snake has found
a home in my armpit
Maybe itslipt in when
I wasn't looking
Maybe you are seated
watching this scenario
Maybe you are watching
the cockroaches crawl
into my shade
Maybe you made me
like this marble-bambino?
Stephen Pain ditto
early Pain - Painful stuff.
Thats all folks...
Theresia Quigley
Love is also
my finding this house
emptier than a stranger
ever could.
Is it the sound of your movements
enlivening the chairs
although I hear nothing; is it the weight
of your small body moving the house
so little that no machine
could ever assess it,
though my mind knows,
is it some old
wholly animal instinct
that fills every room with you,
gently, so I am aware of it only
when I come home
and there is nothing here.
OUT OF THE MOUTHS
If only we adults were as wise
as Jennifer who said
she hated me and was going to
hate me for five minutes
and when I told her the time was up
said, okey, then I love you again
----knowing that rage is not
a lifetime commitment, but only
a passage of darkness in the mind,
a cold shiver of the soul.
ALDEN NOWLAN