A Night for Basking
A collection of loosely associated words and phrases - it's a night for basking in what other people have thought, think... *bask*
It's very hard to try and cut this poem down, but, for reasons of copyright... (I'm guessing: just don't want to take any chances. No, don't want to hurt this author in any way - but, Dad, you have to see this.)
ponsonby/remuera/my lai
...
palm to th clear brow
in the oldest, most obscene
salute
& in th eyes
th mandrake root -
th blackened bone.
2 million years
have proved nothing
he did not already know
ah ! there he goes !
th kiwi's come home.
...
- david mitchell
"... The poet must find words, sounds, rhythms and a structure that combine to stimulate our imagination so that we can 'see' what he or she has seen.
But a poem is not a photograph! It is important to remember that we do not 'see' an exact reproduction of what the poet has seen. Rather, we visualise a scene or situation that is stimulated into existence by the poet's words and skills, but is uniquely flavoured by our past experiences. Thus, the reception of a poet's offering is always partly a reflection of who we are and how we respond. That is why a poem may move one person to tears, while another person may find it superficial, or even boring."
[I'll always remember when Mr Wallace read 'The Bath' to our Y12 class. The sadness, the despair and loss of that old woman touched me so deeply, invoking images of my own family... I saw my grandmother alone and helpless, abandoned by the strength of youth and strength of love. Frail, she'd always seemed. Delicate. This poem connected so naturally with the protective instinct I have for her, it drew on such fundamental emotion, that I couldn't help but be moved. Of course, the resonance and power of my lovely teacher's voice cast their spell also.]
...
palm to th clear brow
in the oldest, most obscene
salute
& in th eyes
th mandrake root -
th blackened bone.
2 million years
have proved nothing
he did not already know
ah ! there he goes !
th kiwi's come home.
...
- david mitchell
"... The poet must find words, sounds, rhythms and a structure that combine to stimulate our imagination so that we can 'see' what he or she has seen.
But a poem is not a photograph! It is important to remember that we do not 'see' an exact reproduction of what the poet has seen. Rather, we visualise a scene or situation that is stimulated into existence by the poet's words and skills, but is uniquely flavoured by our past experiences. Thus, the reception of a poet's offering is always partly a reflection of who we are and how we respond. That is why a poem may move one person to tears, while another person may find it superficial, or even boring."
[I'll always remember when Mr Wallace read 'The Bath' to our Y12 class. The sadness, the despair and loss of that old woman touched me so deeply, invoking images of my own family... I saw my grandmother alone and helpless, abandoned by the strength of youth and strength of love. Frail, she'd always seemed. Delicate. This poem connected so naturally with the protective instinct I have for her, it drew on such fundamental emotion, that I couldn't help but be moved. Of course, the resonance and power of my lovely teacher's voice cast their spell also.]
Kubla Khan
...
But oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
...
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she play'd
...
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge
...
But oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
...
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she play'd
...
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge
From the Aeneid
...
Then shall our furious centuries lay down their
warring arms, and shall grow kind. Silver-haired Fidelity,
Vesta, and Quirine Romulus, with his brother Remus at his
side, shall make the laws. And the terrible iron-constricted
Gates of War shall shut; and safe within them shall stay the
godless and ghastly Lust of Blood, propped on his pitiless
piled armoury...
- Virgil
...
Then shall our furious centuries lay down their
warring arms, and shall grow kind. Silver-haired Fidelity,
Vesta, and Quirine Romulus, with his brother Remus at his
side, shall make the laws. And the terrible iron-constricted
Gates of War shall shut; and safe within them shall stay the
godless and ghastly Lust of Blood, propped on his pitiless
piled armoury...
- Virgil
posted by Anonymous @ 10:12 PM
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