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Poetry Corner 4

JimmyG2

SC Supporter
Dec 7, 2006
15,014
20,779
Poetry Corner 4.
Sorry it's a bit long .

Now we've got the football out of the way we can concentrate on the less important things in life, like life and death for example. (Thanks Mr. Shankley)

Spurs Community becomes a literary venue with a football team attached..Much like The Tate Gallery which has always been accepted as a terrific cafe with a half decent Art Gallery.

Here is some poetic balm to ease our Champions' league pain

'Tis better to have played and lost
Than never to have played at all. Alfred Lord Tennyson '' In Memoriam' nearly.

What is the point of Poetry?

Well come to that what's the point of anything. But let's leave that for another day. Still a tough one though Jim, not sure you're up to this. Yeah but they said that about Spurs and the Champions' League.

1) Because you want to say something even just to yourself is the obvious answer and poetry offers a multitude of ways in different styles and formats. The Greek word poem, just means "a made thing," It's personal and it's the poet's own.

Some people like to grab a suit from the wardrobe and gad about in style. Some prefer to tear off all their clothes and go naked. Some experienced writers sometimes like to take an outfit and subtly change it: a cravat for a tie say, and set a new trend. Bear with me.' A Cravat' Jimmy? Seriously?

2) Alexander Pope in his verse Essay 'On Criticism? published in in 1711 had an answer which covers part of the question

True wit is nature to advantage dressed,
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed.
giving memorable form to sometimes quite ordinary thoughts.

The essay which is more a writing guide contains many well known thoughts.
' A little learning is a dangerous thing' . As we know from the Match Threads on SC.

'For fools rush in where angels fear to tread'. SC criticisms of Mauricio for example

'Be silent always when you doubt your sense'. How many times has A&C said this on the Match threads

Memorably expressed and often enhanced by rhyme or rhythm to make it literally more memorable.
But not necessarily. Pope wrote this when he was 20 and Samuel Johnson (Dr. Johnson) who was not an easy man to please was well impressed.

He of the 'When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.
((Including the Mighty Spurs. Not in the 18th. Century obviously)

Johnson is the second most quoted man after Shakespeare and many of us have used his thoughts.

Second Marriage: 'The triumph of hope over experience'. is a popular one.
'Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel' (See Nigel Farage)

and here is one especially for Spurs fans:
''It is necessary to hope for hope itself is happiness'' Thanks Sam it just doesn't feel like it at the time

3) Poetry is also very handy for people whose grasp of syntax, grammar, spelling, and even sense
is a little hazy. Because in poetry anything goes and nobody can say you are wrong. Sometimes referred to as Poetic Licence. Poetry innit!.

Prose is much more strict and because there are rules people can nit-pick. Essentially it's more 'prosaic' That is ordinary even boring but Dr. Johnson himself gives the lie to this.

See SC threads where grammatical pedants,you know who you are, who cannot refute your logic or opinion can catch you out with a Grammatical Exorcet, spelling error or the simple word 'paragraphs?' (*Pedant, from Latin for a teacher, as you have always suspecte


Here is a poem that explores that moment when the lines hover between prose and poetry that moment when the lines like the birds flew rather than fell.

Because you asked about the line between poetry and prose**
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned to pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.
There came a moment that you couldn’t tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

Howard Nemerov (1920-1991)

I think perhaps you had to be there, but he's writing about a moment of revelation,of transformation which is what poetry can do. See Dele and Christian and Lucas Moura in the semi-final. The turning points in a game, in a season or in life, captured in the moment.

Kids begin by loving poetic form, Nursery rhymes, Haikues, limericks but end up hating it firstly because they are force fed unsuitable stuff in school and choke on 'meaning'.

Rock-a-Bye Baby

Rock a bye baby, on the tree top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Can be sung and has appropriate actions, simple rhyme, regular rhythm. Dark undertones like many Nursery Rhymes. Possibly tragic end. Ring a'ring of Rosies refers to the Plague. 'We all fall down'

Abstract art suffers the same fate. Try extracting meaning from Jackson Pollack's drip paintings. Artists and poets get to hate the question 'Very nice but what's it mean? Football doesn't MEAN anything. It's there because it's there. But Poetry usually has meaning whatever form it takes.

4) The language of poetry is dynamic, compressed, full of images and dense. Poetry is often complex and difficult and you need to ease your way in. Imagery is very common in poetry:
Lucas Moura stormed the Ajax defence. He didn't literally. (Metaphor: one thing has the attributes of another)
Lucas Moura was like a storm battering at the Ajax defence. (Simile one thing is like another)But just to confuse matters this is prose but using the devices often found in Poetry.

You want to say something and explore different ways of doing so.
Short corners for example. Much underused by Spurs.
Most goals are prosaic, tap ins, scrabbled goals from corners (see Llorente) but some are a thing of beauty and a joy for ever' (Keats) Eriksen's goals from outside the area; Dele's blindside runs.

Like poetry they have an extra dimension, an element of magic.

E.E.Cummins or e.e.cumins as he preferred

“i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new.”
― e.e. cummings

Familiar erotic thoughts and feelings, but expressed in his inimitable style. No rhyme, or regular rhythm, or line length or normal grammatical or line structure. Uses imagery 'the shocking fuzz.of your electric fur....'love crumbs' and the strange structure of the closing lines, a detumesent (shrinking) ending but perhaps that's a bit too fanciful or 'just me' as they say.

A modern poem almost accessible at first reading but bears thinking about and then re-reading. You will notice things you didn't on first reading. Prose is often more easily understood but not always.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.


By ironically Robert Frost. The most anthologised 'modern' poet.

The rivalry of passion and desire and hate. Irregular rhythm and line length complicated rhyme scheme and teasing repetition (suffice/ ice) Simple concept but memorably expressed. And we are back where we started. 'What oft was thought'

I'm going to stop there as I realise I have bitten off more than I can chew. (Metaphor or simile?


**In a recent conversation with Led's Zeppelin of this parish he suggested that in a sense all writing is poetry of one sort or another.

The poem by Howard Nemerov above explores the moment when prose becomes poetry so in a sense I am disagreeing with him but it's a fruitful line of enquiry and I will pursue it next time.

It raises the question 'What is poetry?' Which perhaps comes before 'What is the point of Poetry?'

Enough already.
 

Krule

Carpe Diem
Jun 4, 2017
4,534
8,686
There is much romantic poetry written but the one that lives inside me is Renouncement by Alice Meynell.
Apparently she was married when she wrote it and never again came close to writing anything of similar vein. It is said she wrote it for someone she met but could not leave her marriage for. The words are beautiful.....

I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
I shun the thought that lurks in all delight—
The thought of thee—and in the blue heaven's height,
And in the sweetest passage of a song.
Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng
This breast, the thought of thee waits hidden yet bright;
But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—
With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.
 

JimmyG2

SC Supporter
Dec 7, 2006
15,014
20,779
There is much romantic poetry written but the one that lives inside me is Renouncement by Alice Meynell.
Apparently she was married when she wrote it and never again came close to writing anything of similar vein. It is said she wrote it for someone she met but could not leave her marriage for. The words are beautiful.....

I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
I shun the thought that lurks in all delight—
The thought of thee—and in the blue heaven's height,
And in the sweetest passage of a song.
Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng
This breast, the thought of thee waits hidden yet bright;
But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—
With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.

Her biography is fascinating and she was quite famous in her day.
He we was the priest that supervised her conversion to Catholicism
so there is a whole layer of religious guilt added to the sexual tension.

I am interested in the way the strict form (It's a Sonnet) controls the illicit passion.
Thanks.
 

Krule

Carpe Diem
Jun 4, 2017
4,534
8,686
Her biography is fascinating and she was quite famous in her day.
He we was the priest that supervised her conversion to Catholicism
so there is a whole layer of religious guilt added to the sexual tension.

I am interested in the way the strict form (It's a Sonnet) controls the illicit passion.
Thanks.
Thank you so much for that...I never knew his identity until now...so glad I posted it.
I remember quoting it to a lady at a dinner party once....she melted and asked me to say it again to her later just to see if I really had memorised it. We went out together for about a year after that.....the power of poetry.
 

JimmyG2

SC Supporter
Dec 7, 2006
15,014
20,779
Poetry Corner (5)

Welcome to Tottenham​

by Giovanni Rose Foyle Young poet of the year (top 15)​

Welcome to Tottenham.
Where we wake up to the smell of ‘Chick king’,
Mixed with the odour of the corpse from the night before.
Where we cover our blood stained streets with dried up gum,
Where kids have holes in their last pairs of shoes,
Where daddy left mummy and mummy’s left poor.
Welcome to Tottenham.

Where if you look like me then it’s harder for you,
Where everybody’s equal unless they’re darker than you.
Where the police see colour before they see the crime,
Where children get stopped and searched and aren’t allowed to ask why.
Welcome to Tottenham.

Where the drug addicts sit at the back of the 149.
Where education and sports are the only ways to shine.
Where we ride around on stolen scooters,
Where we can’t afford tuition so the streets are our tutors.
Welcome to Tottenham.
I love but I hate my home,
I still listen to the voicemails of my dead peers in my phone,
I live in a nightmare. I had to learn how to dream,
I’m afraid to open up because you won’t survive if you’re weak.
Welcome to Tottenham.

The devil’s playground.
We fight over streets we don’t own,
Knife crime’s on the rise because the beef can’t be left alone.
Why does no one understand that we just want our youth clubs back,
Why do they claim they’re not racist but label the violence here black?
Welcome to Tottenham.

Not very Xmassy but it's local. Some telling lines.

Article in support here:
https://www.theguardian.com/comment...enager-poem-modern-britain-poet-giovanni-rose
 

doctor stefan Freud

the tired tread of sad biology
Sep 2, 2013
15,170
72,169
A different type of seasonal poem from one of the great living poets:


Nativity by John Burnside
I come by chance. A train slows in the fog
and stands a while
and, when it leaves, there's one more soul aboard,
sung from the quiet, passing from car to car,
like the angel of God;
or, north of here, in some old lumber town,
the church clock stops, the wind dies in the trees
and I lie squalling in a slick of blood
and moonlight, seventh son
to some man's seventh son.
No gifts for me, no angel in the rafters
caught like a bird in the updraft from the stove,
only the words of an old curse scratched on the wall,
and the warmth of my mother
fading, as lights go out
in house after house, from here
to the edge of the world,
her slack mouth, then the darkness in her eyes
the first thing I see
when the midwife returns with a candle.
 

Archibald&Crooks

Aegina Expat
Admin
Feb 1, 2005
55,533
204,721
Ha Ha fucking Ha by Alfred Tennyson (erm maybe)

A while ago they ran the show and thought they'd sealed top four
They laughed and joked, danced and screamed and then they did some more
Mind the Gap someone said, they really lapped it up
Then we went on a run and they soon fucked it up

Derby day set the tone and Troopz* gave us a blast
The Geordies were next so he ended it with 'he who laughs last'
He must be sick to be told and not just on a whim
Guess who laughing last right now
And it's not fucking him

But lets listen to what he said and lets take his advice
Lets laugh last now, fuck the poem I'd running out of time
It's bastard sitting here, getting it to rhyme
And laughing last sounds like fun so we should do it twice

So haha haha ha ha ha
and Ha ha fucking ha

We've got Conte and top four you feckless bunch of turds
All you've got is a joke who starred in Thunderbirds

*I think it was Troopz anyway: - He who laughs last, laughs loudest bruv. He who laughs LAST! Remember that bruv, he who laughs LAST!
 

JimmyG2

SC Supporter
Dec 7, 2006
15,014
20,779

Jeremy Corbyn and Len McCluskey to publish ‘accessible’ poetry collection​

Contributions by Russell Brand and Maxine Peake feature in Poetry for the Many, which aims to help readers shake off the idea that verse is only for ‘posh' people. To be published in November.
Admirable intentions.

The New York-based independent press wrote that Corbyn and McCluskey “share a passionate belief in a fairer, more equal Britain, encapsulated in Labour’s election slogan ‘For the Many Not the Few’”. That slogan itself has links to poetry – it was inspired by Percy Bysshe Shelley’s The Masque of Anarchy.
a political poem written by Percy Bysshe Shelley in response to the Peterloo Massacre of 1819.

https://www.amazon.com/masque-anarchy-Percy-Bysshe-Shelley/dp/B00XVSDT1K
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2...essible-poetry-collection-poetry-for-the-many
 

aliyid

Well-Known Member
Dec 28, 2004
6,944
19,929
Can’t beat simple yet impactful poetry

We’ve got Alli, Dele Alli,
I just don’t think you understand…
He only cost five mil
He’s better than Ozil
We’ve got Dele Alli


Also a big fan of


This is my church
This is where I heal my hurts
It's in the world I've become
Contained in the hum
Between voice and drum
It's in the change
The poetic justice of cause and effect
Respect, love, compassion
This is my church
This is where I heal my hurts
For tonight Spurs play at the Lane
 

JimmyG2

SC Supporter
Dec 7, 2006
15,014
20,779
The winner of the van drivers poetry competition sponsored by Mercedes Benz

The Work Wife​

The shrill of the alarm, awakens me from my slumber,
As I draw back the curtains, I see her and wonder,
What lays ahead? Today’s journey yet untold,
What experiences collectively are soon to unfold?
We’ve been through so much and still we are together,
I doubt there is much that the two of us couldn’t weather.
Busy days, quiet days, happy and dark,
The difference without her would be too stark.
She’s not much to look at, well not anymore,
Her wing mirror constantly falls off the door,
Over the years she’s had a few bits done,
A touch up here and a new black bum[per].
Sixteen years old and thousands of miles on the clock,
It’s fair to say, she’s been round the block.
No mod cons, she’s ready and rough,
Cosmetics aside, underneath she’s tough.
I stock her up ready for a day of work,
A more spacious van would be a perk.
I bid her good morning as I turn the ignition,
Our mutual labours are coming to fruition.
Occasionally, it takes her a while to get going,
(I have to give her extra time when it’s snowing).
But saying that, she’s yet to let me down,
No clients are left waiting when she takes me to town.
It’s hard to express what she means to me:
Independence, freedom and financial security.
I’ve shirked off the shackles of the 9 till 5,
I buckle my belt, and away we drive.
In companionable silence we travel together,
Unless the radio plays an old school belter.
Then we roll down the windows and hit the gas,
Just me, on the road, with my old van Flash.

Prize was a new Mercedes van.
Published in the collection
'Poetry in Motion'
 
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