These next two posts are two that I wrote a bit ago, but I managed to hit the save button instead of the post button.
Hatred and Vengeance, My Eternal Portion
By William Cowper
Hatred and Vengeance, my eternal portion,
Scarce can endure delay of execution,
Wait, with impatient readiness, to seize my
Soul in a moment.
Damn'd below Judas: more abhorr'd than he was,
Who for a few pence sold his holy Master.
Twice betrayed, Jesus me, the last delinquent,
Deems the profanest.
Man disavows, and Deity disowns me:
Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;
Therefore hell keeps her ever hungry mouths all
Bolted against me.
Hard lot! encompass'd with a thousand dangers;
Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors;
I'm called, if vanquish'd, to receive a sentence
Worse than Abiram's.
Him the vindictive rod of angry justice
Sent quick, and howling to the centre headlong;
I, fed with judgement, in a fleshly tomb, am
Buried above ground.
Where to start?
We reviewed this poem in class today, and it is probably a good thing because I wouldn't have paid much attention to it other wise. I never would have read it with enough care and consideration to find the understated italicized "I" in the last line; The one word the entire poem rests on.
The topic of religion seems to be a particularly touchy one for this class, an interesting point considering that we're studying poetry, an art form that supposedly transcends boundaries, speaks truth, and connects the varying existences of those who read it. I think the concept of listening without judgement and with the intent to understand can go along way in alleviating the perceived offences on this subject.
The interesting thing about this poem is the perspective it is written from. Whether you believe the Bible is just a story or the absolute truth, you have to admit that there's some very interesting concepts in their, like someone willing to sacrifice their self for the good of everyone, and this is the first thing I've read that explores this particular angle. The speaker in the poem is Jesus and he is very clearly articulating this concept from his side. Not as martyr, but as man facing a painful fate from which he will not turn away in order to give the gift of life to those who will never understand him, in fact to those who are destined to betray him.
Real or not, it's still a very powerful idea.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Chap Books
Ok. I found three that I hadn't published.
When we first got the chapbook assignment, I wasn't exactly looking forward to it. The idea of handing in a book of my poems wasn't high on my list of fun things to do. However, when I got around to putting it together, I actually enjoyed the experiance. I'm not sure if it was the being creative part that piqued my interest or if it was presenting my written work in a new format that made the assignment a good one, but I do know that next time I see that on a to-do list, I won't cringe quite so much.
When we first got the chapbook assignment, I wasn't exactly looking forward to it. The idea of handing in a book of my poems wasn't high on my list of fun things to do. However, when I got around to putting it together, I actually enjoyed the experiance. I'm not sure if it was the being creative part that piqued my interest or if it was presenting my written work in a new format that made the assignment a good one, but I do know that next time I see that on a to-do list, I won't cringe quite so much.
Critics
People
who analyze poems
word
for word
Should be awakened some
Thursday morning
to the sound of a chainsaw
cutting through their left leg
I really had no reason
to pick
a Thursday
or a chainsaw
or a left leg
But someone will
undoubtedly
think one up.
Richard Lees
who analyze poems
word
for word
Should be awakened some
Thursday morning
to the sound of a chainsaw
cutting through their left leg
I really had no reason
to pick
a Thursday
or a chainsaw
or a left leg
But someone will
undoubtedly
think one up.
Richard Lees
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
Well, as expected the "what makes a good poem" discussion is quite complicated, and mostly intuitive. This subjectivity means that you could say pretty much anything you want and make an argument that you are absolutely correct. So, without further ado, my meaningless opinions on what makes a good poem.
- a rhythm of some sort, a melody that is carried by the poem, one that the poem has the strength to carry.
-words that fit into each other. Or else ones that don't ,but that make a statement or complete an image with their disclosure.
-the capturing of a captivating moment or twist of fate, or a state or statement laid bare for all to see
and last but not least ...
-that certain something that catches your eye or your heart, that can never quite be described in words or form.
- a rhythm of some sort, a melody that is carried by the poem, one that the poem has the strength to carry.
-words that fit into each other. Or else ones that don't ,but that make a statement or complete an image with their disclosure.
-the capturing of a captivating moment or twist of fate, or a state or statement laid bare for all to see
and last but not least ...
-that certain something that catches your eye or your heart, that can never quite be described in words or form.
Monday, November 5, 2007
For Your Enjoyment
Since I had an awesome time fishing yesterday, I thought I'd try to find a couple of poems on the subject.
This one's kind of funny:
Renda Writer - The Other Line
I saw a man
Fishing
Off the side of the pier
Fishing for a fish
And then...
His cell phone rang
He picked it up
And began talking
Cell phone in one hand
Fishing pole in the other
And then...
The tip of his pole
Started bending
He got a bite
And then...
He said
To the person on the phone
'Let me call you back,
I've got someone on the other line'
Childhood Photo
At one time my father and I
would rise long before dawn
and travel
in through dream-dark woods
as night whispered,
on and on, pathless,
to a lion-legended spot
to fish.
Once settled we would watch
the bobbing floats and in half-light
I sometimes caught
with early eyes,
no fish, but the glimpse
dancing in the shovelled surface
of something quicker than currents,
something impossibly sad
and oh so empty:
my own face adrift in water…
Years after, my father's cast line
was fouled forever in reeds,
the reeds that bend in cold winds,
the reeds...
I then looked in the family album
and there
with all the suns that have
ever gone under, was this
man and boy who had simply
gone fishing….
Yes now I recall.
There were two drifting faces
lost in water.
I ended up finding a lot of not so good poems during his pursuit, and it begs the question what makes a good poem?
to be continued...
This one's kind of funny:
Renda Writer - The Other Line
I saw a man
Fishing
Off the side of the pier
Fishing for a fish
And then...
His cell phone rang
He picked it up
And began talking
Cell phone in one hand
Fishing pole in the other
And then...
The tip of his pole
Started bending
He got a bite
And then...
He said
To the person on the phone
'Let me call you back,
I've got someone on the other line'
Childhood Photo
At one time my father and I
would rise long before dawn
and travel
in through dream-dark woods
as night whispered,
on and on, pathless,
to a lion-legended spot
to fish.
Once settled we would watch
the bobbing floats and in half-light
I sometimes caught
with early eyes,
no fish, but the glimpse
dancing in the shovelled surface
of something quicker than currents,
something impossibly sad
and oh so empty:
my own face adrift in water…
Years after, my father's cast line
was fouled forever in reeds,
the reeds that bend in cold winds,
the reeds...
I then looked in the family album
and there
with all the suns that have
ever gone under, was this
man and boy who had simply
gone fishing….
Yes now I recall.
There were two drifting faces
lost in water.
I ended up finding a lot of not so good poems during his pursuit, and it begs the question what makes a good poem?
to be continued...
Friday, November 2, 2007
Guess What I Found
So, when I wrote my blog about Ray Bagley I realized that Air Canada had so kindly disposed of my copy of "Those Better Days" along with the rest of my luggage on my last long distance trip. This realization sent me to the depths of the world wide web in pursuit of another copy. Luckily I found one and it has since arrived with a little bit extra. Inside one of the pages I found a hand written poem from the author, which almost replaces my old copy which included an obituary.
I guess that's the way things go.
I guess that's the way things go.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
An Old Favourite
Star-gazer
By Louis MacNeice
Forty-two years ago ( to me if to no one else
The number is of some interest) it was a brilliant starry night
And the westward train was empty and had no corridors
So darting from side to side I could catch the unwonted sight
Of those almost intolerably bright
Holes, punched in the sky, which excited me partly because
Of their Latin names and partly because I had read in the textbooks
How very far off they were, it seemed their light
Had left them (some at least) long years before I was.
And this remembering now I mark that what
Light was leaving some of them at least then,
Forty-two years ago, will never arrive
In time for me to catch it, which light when
It does get here may find that there is not
Anyone left alive
To run from side to side in a late night train Admiring it and adding noughts in vain.
(from The Norton Anthology of Poetry - Shorter Fourth Edition)
First just to get it out of the way- Yes, I am one of those people who collect poetry in any form I can, even if it is a Norton Anthology.
I think it's interesting how the author plays with the line lengths to paint pictures and emphasize points, but what I really love are the images created. It is completely possible for me to picture myself doing and thinking the same things, as the lone passenger in a solitary train rumbleing through the mountains under a cloudless star-filled sky.
By Louis MacNeice
Forty-two years ago ( to me if to no one else
The number is of some interest) it was a brilliant starry night
And the westward train was empty and had no corridors
So darting from side to side I could catch the unwonted sight
Of those almost intolerably bright
Holes, punched in the sky, which excited me partly because
Of their Latin names and partly because I had read in the textbooks
How very far off they were, it seemed their light
Had left them (some at least) long years before I was.
And this remembering now I mark that what
Light was leaving some of them at least then,
Forty-two years ago, will never arrive
In time for me to catch it, which light when
It does get here may find that there is not
Anyone left alive
To run from side to side in a late night train Admiring it and adding noughts in vain.
(from The Norton Anthology of Poetry - Shorter Fourth Edition)
First just to get it out of the way- Yes, I am one of those people who collect poetry in any form I can, even if it is a Norton Anthology.
I think it's interesting how the author plays with the line lengths to paint pictures and emphasize points, but what I really love are the images created. It is completely possible for me to picture myself doing and thinking the same things, as the lone passenger in a solitary train rumbleing through the mountains under a cloudless star-filled sky.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Magic
I know this isn't necessarily related to poetry but...
There's something about the first real snowfall of the season that captures the imagination and sends it soaring. With snow flakes the size of diced peaches drifting to the ground I can reach my hand out of the window of my apartment and pull them in before they even begin to melt. The silence that covers the world brings back memories of late nights on the ice under similiar skys , dancing and weaving, with the only sound that of blades carving their story into the solid expanse.
On second thought maybe this is about poetry after all.
There's something about the first real snowfall of the season that captures the imagination and sends it soaring. With snow flakes the size of diced peaches drifting to the ground I can reach my hand out of the window of my apartment and pull them in before they even begin to melt. The silence that covers the world brings back memories of late nights on the ice under similiar skys , dancing and weaving, with the only sound that of blades carving their story into the solid expanse.
On second thought maybe this is about poetry after all.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Create your own
fridge magnet poetry.
Well not really, but if you're stuck a good way to get the creative process underway is to begin writing. This link leads to a contest where a set of words is provided and you get to make poems from them. The results can get interesting (and on occasion a bit painful) and it's an easy way to get started.
http://www.poetry.com/poetry_in_motion/magcon.asp
Well not really, but if you're stuck a good way to get the creative process underway is to begin writing. This link leads to a contest where a set of words is provided and you get to make poems from them. The results can get interesting (and on occasion a bit painful) and it's an easy way to get started.
http://www.poetry.com/poetry_in_motion/magcon.asp
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Why I Love Poetry
There's something in a poem that makes you pause, and stop, and turn to see the thing you just saw in a different light. Like diving into a lake you've eaten breakfast by, every morning for a year, and seeing suddenly that it's not the glorious blue of the sky, but a soft golden colour with moving shadows and a rhythm of its own. I love when you come to last line of a poem and are confronted with a statement so shockingly conclusive, that still holds nothing but absolute honesty, and feeling your place in the world because of it.
There are somethings that can be said only in a poem; some images that require the unique combination of structure and freedom coupled with the brivity of words to be recreated.
And that is why I love poetry.
There are somethings that can be said only in a poem; some images that require the unique combination of structure and freedom coupled with the brivity of words to be recreated.
And that is why I love poetry.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Answers in the Trip
Alright, I'm back from the annual road trip to Lethbridge college and a good six hours of driving music. I've noticed that since the lyric essay I've been paying a lot more attention to what songs are actually saying. I'm not entirely sure that this is a good thing, as there are certain times when just belting out a favourite tune makes the day.
One song that caught my attention -right around hour five- was Sarah McLauchlan's Answer (by the way I was not in charge of the Ipod on this trip). I actually really like this song and beleive that it can have many different meanings depending upon whose eyes it is veiwed through. Originally this is one of the songs I was considering for the afore mentioned assignment, but when I read the lyrics I found that it appeared to represent someone waiting in/for a relationship. This was at odds with the meaning that I had connected to it from hearing it, and I decided that I didn't really want to write about that kind of song. Something interesting happened today though, when it was played - the song reverted to its initial message, and having reread the lyrics it still retains that position. It seems that this song is talking about a personal journey through a difficult time and represents the hope, faith and strength that help a person to find their way.
One song that caught my attention -right around hour five- was Sarah McLauchlan's Answer (by the way I was not in charge of the Ipod on this trip). I actually really like this song and beleive that it can have many different meanings depending upon whose eyes it is veiwed through. Originally this is one of the songs I was considering for the afore mentioned assignment, but when I read the lyrics I found that it appeared to represent someone waiting in/for a relationship. This was at odds with the meaning that I had connected to it from hearing it, and I decided that I didn't really want to write about that kind of song. Something interesting happened today though, when it was played - the song reverted to its initial message, and having reread the lyrics it still retains that position. It seems that this song is talking about a personal journey through a difficult time and represents the hope, faith and strength that help a person to find their way.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Just for Fun
Because of their brevity word placemnt in a Haiku can take on even greater importance then in other forms of poetry. This idea intigues me, so as a poetic excercise I attempted to rearrange the words in some verses, and here is one that I came up with.
A verse from the text book Poetic Form by Ethridge Knight (page 157) goes as follows:
Eastern guard tower
glints in sunset; convicts rest
like lizards on rocks.
A little switcharoo and you get:
Convicts glint in east-
ern tower; guards rest on rocks
like sunset lizards.
Perhaps this rearrangment mirriors a transposition of placements for the convicts? Or maybe it's just nonsense. You be the judge.
A verse from the text book Poetic Form by Ethridge Knight (page 157) goes as follows:
Eastern guard tower
glints in sunset; convicts rest
like lizards on rocks.
A little switcharoo and you get:
Convicts glint in east-
ern tower; guards rest on rocks
like sunset lizards.
Perhaps this rearrangment mirriors a transposition of placements for the convicts? Or maybe it's just nonsense. You be the judge.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
I'm Back
Well, after an extended absence thanks in part to a 50 hour work week, I am atempting to write in my blog once a day from here on in.
Todays topic? One of my all time favourite poets - Ray Bagley.
Mr Bagley was a true cowboy poet who was born in the sunset of the free range days, back when fences were hard to find and the land and the people were still wild (in a slightly over romanticized way). He writes about the changes he saw taking place around him, and in what I find an intresting aspect of his work, he also seems to be able to take on the voices of various characters and present an accurate and heart felt rendition of their diverse circomstances. From riding out on the trails, to watching a city spring up from nothing, to losing a child Ray Bagley captures the essense of each situation and shares in a lyrical fasion. I even found one of his poems set to lyrics at http://cfmb.icaap.org/content/25.4/BV25-4art5.pdf. It seems as if everything that he wrote fit perfectly around the enevitable campfire at the end of a hard days ride.
Todays topic? One of my all time favourite poets - Ray Bagley.
Mr Bagley was a true cowboy poet who was born in the sunset of the free range days, back when fences were hard to find and the land and the people were still wild (in a slightly over romanticized way). He writes about the changes he saw taking place around him, and in what I find an intresting aspect of his work, he also seems to be able to take on the voices of various characters and present an accurate and heart felt rendition of their diverse circomstances. From riding out on the trails, to watching a city spring up from nothing, to losing a child Ray Bagley captures the essense of each situation and shares in a lyrical fasion. I even found one of his poems set to lyrics at http://cfmb.icaap.org/content/25.4/BV25-4art5.pdf. It seems as if everything that he wrote fit perfectly around the enevitable campfire at the end of a hard days ride.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
A Musical Interlude...
The three new songs that I like are
- Didn't Even See The Dust by Paul Brandt
- Better Days by the Goo Goo Dolls (I don't think this is a new song, just new to me)
- I Don't Wanna Stop by Ozzy Osbourne
My Three most played songs would be
- On the Coast of Somewhere Beautiful by Kenny Chesney
- Fast as I Can by Great Big Sea (anything by them really)
- And a tie between We will Dance By Steve Chapmen and Roving Gypsy Boy by the Rankin Family
The song title that best fits me is "Free and Easy Down the Road I Go"
- Didn't Even See The Dust by Paul Brandt
- Better Days by the Goo Goo Dolls (I don't think this is a new song, just new to me)
- I Don't Wanna Stop by Ozzy Osbourne
My Three most played songs would be
- On the Coast of Somewhere Beautiful by Kenny Chesney
- Fast as I Can by Great Big Sea (anything by them really)
- And a tie between We will Dance By Steve Chapmen and Roving Gypsy Boy by the Rankin Family
The song title that best fits me is "Free and Easy Down the Road I Go"
Saturday, September 8, 2007
How I read poetry...
I like to listen to the words as they stretch across the page, and let them settle down into themselves. Soon something stands out - the way an image will take me back to a favourite summer memory, or how the essence of the poem seems to speak an untold truth - and I get the opprotunity to see a new perspective on the world.
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