Posts Tagged ‘advogato’



   Posted by: sye   in 茅境

Posted 7 Apr 2011 at 19:28 UTC (updated 8 Apr 2011 at 21:48 UTC) by badvogato

I came up with this triolet to
add my two cents to a Chinese
physicist and poet’s view on Oxford debate
‘Poetry is beautiful but Science is what matters’ :

Verse and song gave birth to thee

fearful mechanical and scientific device

Love’s but a dance

of verse and song sublime to thee

A whisper, a glance, this little death –

“Shall we twirl down in Elysian
Fields ?”

Verse and song gave birth to thee

fearful mechanical and scientific device

Another quasi-triolet of mine:

O How can I build a
music box

Make spirits move at my fingertips.

The Poet and the pendulum – symphonic nightwish

O How can I build a music box

stuffing it of lyrical
color and enchanting stream

feeds to mighty pythons inside this nodebox

O How can I build a music box,

make spirits move at my fingertips?

A few more from classic triolets

* Dead leaves upon the stream

* And dead leaves on the air–

* All of my lost hopes seem

* Dead leaves upon the stream;

* I watch them in a dream,

* Going I know not where,

* Dead leaves upon the stream

* And dead leaves on the air.
“To a fat lady seen from the train”, a triolet written by
Charles Darwin’s granddaughter. Was she consider herself a scientific
lady of the modern age?

* O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,

* Missing so much and so much?

* O fat white woman whom nobody loves,

* Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,

* When the grass is soft as the breast of doves

* And shivering sweet to the touch?

* O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,

* Missing so much and so much?

I later find C.K. Chesterton’s reply exemplified his poetic view on
scientific advancement.

* Why do you rush through the fields in trains,

* Guessing so much and so much?

* Why do you flash through the flowery meads,

* Fat-head poet that nobody reads;

* And why do you know such a frightful lot

* About people in gloves and such?

* Why do you rush through the fields in trains,

* Guessing so much and so much?

Easy is the Triolet,

If you really learn to make it!

Once a neat refrain you get,

Easy is the Triolet.

As you see!–I pay my debt

With another rhyme. Deuce take it,

Easy is the Triolet,

If you really learn to make it!

W. E. Henley

Glose, posted 21 Apr 2011 at 17:02 UTC by badvogato »

Now I wear my named pants;
I am her violin.
Are the casual designs chants
And the assumptions like tin?

Partially, under the nails
Of my hands your discrete
Music; abrasive.
Carols of the fragrance
For the bruise, named after
A president’s cants.
You loved better than that
Maximilian, my secretary,
Confesses in a dark dance:
Now I wear my named pants.

These infidelities make me nauseous
How piano
Yet they do, really, love
Me, and I, them.
Or is that what my sister’s tits
Showed? In the foreground a sin
Heard the succession of an alternative
Woman. “Ugly things aren’t keener,”
She reveals with a win;
I am her violin..

How solar of her,
How math we played it,
But were kicked off stage.
About to go home, the scholars
Are former girls with thick eyebrows
Diagramming the romance of ants.
The end
Could be the indemnity
The bible is; stoney rants
Are the casual designs chants?

Like drumming, thus, soldiers.
My viola doubled just ran.
Into orange goes man,
Together in escrow by the sea
With a lot of sure support.
That is where I have been,
While it was possible, all
Right for this time and particular
Place. I put on my cuff links and pin
And the assumptions like tin.
- Michael Malinowitz

My wife, who teaches creative writing in high school, brought home a
student’s poem written in the glose form. I was amazed, challenged, and
compelled by it. I have always thought of form as the thread by which my
poeti pants were tied together. To alter the metaphor, it is what
flossing might be to toothbrushing: the plying of inveterate
regimentations making the rules palpable.

Writing a glose enabled me to feel both under and out of control. As a
poet who does not cavil whatever to “creative play” (I’ll even go so far
as to call “trial and error” a workable solution to one’s esteemed
poetic ), I suddenly felt a thrust of freedom. What I usually experience
as impositions and intrusions – rhyme, logic and other rudimentaries -
seemed anything but. If the meaning of a poem inheres in the writing of
it, one can’t really choose a more flattering demand than the glose.

William Hathaway – My Words, posted 26 Apr 2011 at 02:31 UTC by badvogato »

My Words

Not pall, but shadows
and they do not cast, but sprawl
or stain, or balm or silent flow.
Oh, Hell, who knows? My words.

cast a pall in long-shadowed after-
noon, in the basement lecture hall
where heavy-lidded students sprawl.
Thoughts fly up, words drift below.

Indecision: the theme about the theme
is wrong. Madness is what sparkles
in such speech – wild spermous squirm
which seeming reckless makes a sting.

My enemy, your heart knows you!
I have not killed you yet, but do
not think that I forge. If hatred’s ember
gives up its wisp in me, remember

my words. Then pure, I may leap
to the grave, proclaim to all my name.
Irony: that cherished absurdity you keep
will give Structure finally to your shame

in my finally aimless act, Even stars
can bump and my words could mesh
even in this chalky air, these students unslump
to crazed conviction poisoning their ears.

T.S. Eliot explained to us that “no vers is libre for the man who wants
to do a good job.” Free verse was never supposed to be free lunch. I
cannot justify, for instance, repeated use of sentence fragments,
discursive cliches, or mixed metaphors that are supposed to be “images”
of unfathomable profundity. Indeed, free verse is supposed to challenge
us to match our rhythms with the wild pace (shake, rattle and roll) of
our times and to invite us to take on vastly more complicated
responsibilities with form. Free verse was also never intended to give
hip pedants – themselves oblivious to twenty years of passing fashions -
permission to mock Tennyson’s meters or Shelley’s hyperbole for the
entertainment of schoolchildren. Nobody who really loves poetry wants to
blast away its history; the authentic impulse is to slough off some of
the last generation’s excess and straighten up for a fresh perspective.
Robert Frost was right when he said that free verse “was like playing
tennis without a net.” The pace of the game has changed radically, and
if you’re going to be a contender now you’ve really got to move them
feet. Without metrical tension, the poet who wants to do a good job must
compensate for the loss by extremely artful use of other poetic
elements. As there is no free lunch, there is no free verse.


kiss is just a kiss, posted 29 Apr 2011 at 14:36 UTC by badvogato »
watched British Royal Wedding coverage this morning on TV. surprised by
Prince William’s shortage of hair at his tender age of 28 under those
antique airplanes flying over Buckingham Palace. My mind is playing this
Louis Armstrong’s tune:

You must remember this
A kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by
And when two lovers woo
They still say, “I love you”
On that you can rely
No matter what the future brings
As time goes by
Moonlight and love songs
Never out of date
Hearts full of passion
Jealousy and hate
Woman needs man
And man must have his mate
That no one can deny
it’s still the same old story
A fight for love and glory
A case of do or die
The world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by
Astrology May 9th, 2011, posted 2 Jun 2011 at 15:14 UTC by badvogato »
“One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can’t utter.” Jame Earl Jones

Today we may receive an extra measure of cosmic assistance in getting those heartfelt words out, though, as communicator Mercury forms an exact conjunction to connection queen Venus, the grand goddess of love and beauty, in spontaneous Aries (11:45 am EDT). The feminine Moon also enters demonstrative Leo (5:36 am EDT) and forms a harmonious trine to electrifying Uranus in Aries (11:11 am EDT). Also, raising the delicious prospect for sudden romance.”


Tujiko Noriko

   Posted by: sye   in multimedia