Originally Posted by tyr-ziu saxnot
hard work always pays off. Congrats!
Senior Member
Bravo.....well done!!!
hard work always pays off. Congrats!
I may be older than most. I may say things not everybody will like.
But despite all of that. I will never lower myself to the level of Liars, Haters, Cheats, and Hypocrites.
Philippians 4:13 I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me:
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Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
Third Creation- A Poet's Blog - On Life, Love, Living, Death, Earth And Eternity
Blog Posted:6/19/2021 6:45:00 PM
Third Creation- A Poet's Blog - On Life, Love, Living, Death, Earth And Eternity
*****
(1.)
Ancient Trees Wept For Me, Autumn Leaves Crying
I remember when I was dead and dying
Ancient trees wept for me, Autumn leaves crying
Hey, hey, hey - I was another lost fellow
No longer cool, damn sure no longer mellow
Awake there listening to life's sad bellows!
I recall wind telling its banshees to fry
So confused I asked the spinning moon why
Hey, hey, hey - I was another lost fellow
No longer cool, damn sure no longer mellow
Awake there listening to life's sad bellows!
I remember great sorrows at Christmas time
Freezing and weeping, nowhere without a dime
Hey, hey, hey - I was another lost fellow
No longer cool, damn sure no longer mellow
Awake there listening to life's sad bellows!
I recall blues and sleeping on frozen ground
Hold a broke-heart refusing to ever pound
Hey, hey, hey - I was another lost fellow
No longer cool, damn sure no longer mellow
Awake there listening to life's sad bellows!
I remember when I was dead and dying
Ancient trees wept for me, Autumn leaves crying
Hey, hey, hey - I was another lost fellow
No longer cool, damn sure no longer mellow
Awake there listening to life's sad bellows!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-17-2021
(Life in for a penny, in for a pound)
Revised from much older piece- 1979.
*****
(2.)
Baby, Four A.M. And I Am Pleading
Baby, four A.M. and I am pleading
Will you come to me and stop this bleeding?
A hole, I feel where heart used to pump
Throat closes with that massive growing lump
Dark world weeps and then sky begins to fall
Next it comes, our flaming love I recall
In yellow moon, only your face I see
It is my birthday, I sit here moaning
Can you hear my cursing and loud moaning?
Baby, four A.M. and I am pleading
Will you come to me and stop this bleeding?
Baby, cold here- this room I am hating
Heart restless because we are not dating
I look out, bright stars are still slow falling
It is you this lost soul keeps on calling
In yellow moon only your face I see
It is my birthday, I sit here moaning
Can you hear my cursing and loud moaning?
Baby, four A.M. and I am pleading
Will you come to me and stop this bleeding?
Robert J. Lindley, 6-16-2021
Sad Romanticism,
*****
(3.)
That Night Moon Smiled, Venus Blew My Mind
That night moon smiled, Venus blew my mind
O'glory this heart you gave new love
Swept soft melodies from Heaven above
Life danced sending sweet blessings to find.
Me naked and watching in my backyard
Such splendor reminding me of you
And the hot July night we became two
Now this long separation is so hard.
Baby, send me, send me a hugging word
Fly to me, moon and I sincerely plea
May romance then reunite you and me
And we yet again become two lovebirds.
To you, I'll sail across the seven seas
Walk barefoot slowly through blazing-hot fires
Rise at dawn, write verse that true love inspires
Hear me darling, my most desperate plea.
That night moon smiled, Venus blew my mind
O'glory this heart you gave new love
Swept soft melodies from Heaven above
Life danced sending sweet blessings to find.
Robert J. Lindley,
Romanticism,
( When True Love Was Again So Deeply Sought )
*****
(4.)
Love I So Beg, Her Soft Kisses, Please I Implore
Life, sometimes I just can't take the pain anymore
I then dream about transmitting through that black door
Into another realm, where sun wakes midnight moon
Cats in the cradle without that new silver spoon.
Life, sometimes I just can't take the pain anymore
The trees are all falling, nobody knows the score
Sky weeps and the heavens make galaxies anew
Dawn returns waking me yet again without you.
Life, sometimes I just can't take the pain anymore
True love died and there is no paradise shores
Melodic voice singing from a distant dark cave
Crying out, please save me, save me if you are brave.
Life will you ever deign to show me that far shore
Open your treasure chest, give me a little more
Life, tell me will you my romantic heart restore
Love I so beg, her soft kisses, please I implore!
Robert J. Lindley,
Romanticism ( When the cold hand of lonely, tells a heart to beg )
******
(5.)
In Youth, When Life So Amplifies Our Grief
Twas not the winter of my discontent
Instead a summer of sad, epic loss
Days where aching soul was torn and rent
Dying thirst, each desert I tried to cross.
In youth, when life so amplifies our grief.
We fail and oft even our dreams are brief.
The comfortable trails I knew now gone
I struggled to cross that deep, dark abyss
Feeling horror down deep into my bones
Knowing soon evil would bequeath death's kiss.
In youth, when life so amplifies our grief.
We fail and oft even our dreams are brief.
Yes, it was a great love that had died
Its torture now, its burning red-hot flames
Weeping rivers of useless tears I cried
Her heart crushed and it is me she blames.
In youth, when life so amplifies our grief.
We fail and oft even our dreams are brief.
Twas not the winter of my discontent
Instead a summer of sad, epic loss
Days where aching soul was torn and rent
Dying thirst, each desert I tried to cross.
In youth, when life so amplifies our grief.
We fail and oft even our dreams are brief.
Robert J. Lindley,
Rhyme, ( Sights , Sound, Repeated Amplifications )
*****
(6.)
Life, I Beg No More
O'why does it hurt so
painful surging flow
I just don't know
I just can't defend it
my weakness, I can't mend it
She stays so strong
Sings her brave-cast song
Ooh, I can't defend it
Death, baby please don’t befriend it
Wish back to hell, I could send it
Ooh, I see her far ashore
Life, I beg no more
Than to not see her implore
That life loves again
And joy becomes her friend
Ooh, I want to be in it
It comes we don't know why
Diamonds tears from weeping sky
This great hurt I can't deny
O'why does it hurt so
painful surging flow
I just don't know
I just can't defend it
my weakness, I can't mend it
She stays so strong
Sings her brave-cast song
Ooh, I can't defend it
A battle we can't win it
Ooh, I see her far ashore
Life, I beg no more
Than to not see her implore
That life loves again
And joy becomes a friend
Love, I want to be in it
This battle we will win it
O'why does it hurt so
painful surging flow
I just don't know
I just can't defend it
my weakness, I can't mend it
She stays so strong
Sings her brave-cast song
Ooh, I can't defend it
Death, baby please don’t befriend it
Wish back to hell, I could send it
Ooh, I see her far ashore
Life, I beg no more
Than to not see her implore
That life loves again
And joy becomes her friend
Ooh, I want to be in it
It comes we don't know why
Diamonds tears from weeping sky
This great hurt I can't deny
O'why does it hurt so
painful surging flow
I just don't know
I just can't defend it
my weakness, I can't mend it
She stays so strong
Sings her brave-cast song
Ooh, I can't defend it
A battle we can't win it
Ooh, I see her far ashore
Life, I beg no more
Than to not see her implore
That life loves again
And joy becomes her friend
Love, I want to be in it
This battle we will win it
Robert J. Lindley, 6-16-2021
Lyrics- Inspired by a truly
magnificent famous song
Note:
A friend asked me why I do not write lyrics.
I decided to give it a shot.
********************
1) "The creative adult is the child who survived." ...
2) "The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul." ...
3) "Creativity doesn't wait for that perfect moment. ...
4) "Everything you can imagine is real." ...
5) "You can't use up creativity. ...
6) "Creativity is intelligence having fun."
“Every child is an artist, the problem is staying an artist when you grow up” – Pablo Picasso
“If you hear a voice within you say, ‘You cannot paint,’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced” – Vincent Van Gogh
“Have no fear of perfection, you’ll never reach it” – Salvador Dali
“Curiosity about life in all of its aspects, I think, is still the secret of great creative people” – Leo Burnett
“You can’t wait for inspiration, you have to go after it with a club” – Jack London
“Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine, and at last, you create what you will” – George Bernard Shaw
“Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try” – Dr. Seuss
“Creativity is more than just being different. Anybody can plan weird; that’s easy. What’s hard is to be as simple as Bach. Making the simple, awesomely simple, that’s creativity” – Charles Mingus
“Originality is nothing but judicious imitation” – Voltaire
“Don’t think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It’s self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can’t try to do things. You simply must do things” – Ray Bradbury
“Creativity is just connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really do it, the just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while” – Steve Jobs
“Creativity is a drug I cannot live without” – Cecil B. DeMille
“You see things; and you say, ‘Why?’ But I dream things that never were; and I say, ‘Why not’?” – George Bernard Shaw
“Creativity is contagious, pass it on” – Albert Einstein
Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 06-19-2021 at 08:53 PM.
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
Blog on poetic- form Haiku- Imagery, Imagination, Color And Inspiration - Robert Lindley's Blog
Blog on poetic- form Haiku- Imagery, Imagination, Color And Inspiration
Blog Posted:6/29/2021 5:48:00 AM
Blog on poetic- form Haiku-
Imagery, Imagination, Color And Inspiration
____________________________________
(1.)
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/lea...-terms/imagery
Imagery
Elements of a poem that invoke any of the five senses to create a set of mental images. Specifically, using vivid or figurative language to represent ideas, objects, or actions. Poems that use rich imagery include T.S. Eliot’s “Preludes,” Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind,” Sylvia Plath’s “Daddy,” and Mary Oliver’s “At Black River.”
(2.)
https://poetryarchive.org/glossary/imagery/
About Imagery
Imagery is the name given to the elements in a poem that spark off the senses. Despite "image" being a synonym for "picture", images need not be only visual; any of the five senses (sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell) can respond to what a poet writes. Examples of non-visual imagery can be found in Ken Smith's 'In Praise of Vodka', where he describes the drink as having "the taste of air, of wind on fields, / the wind through the long wet forest", and James Berry's 'Seashell', which puts the "ocean sighs" right in a listener's ear.
A poet could simply state, say, "I see a tree", but it is possible to conjure up much more specific images using techniques such as simile ("a tree like a spiky rocket"), metaphor ("a green cloud riding a pole") or synechdoche ("bare, black branches") - each of these suggests a different kind of tree. Techniques, such as these, that can be used to create powerful images are called figurative language, and can also include onomatopoeia, metonymy and personification.
One of the great pleasures of poetry is discovering a particularly powerful image; the Imagists of the early 20th century felt it was the most important aspect, so were devoted to finding strong images and presenting them in the clearest language possible. Of course, not every poem is an Imagist poem, but making images is something that nearly every poem in the Archive does.
An interesting contrast in imagery can be found by comparing Alison Croggon's 'The Elwood Organic Fruit and Vegetable Shop' with Allen Ginsberg's 'A Supermarket in California'; although both poets seem to like the shops they write about, Ginsberg's shop is full of hard, bright things, corralled into aisles, featuring neon, tins and freezers, while the organic shop is full of images of soft, natural things rubbing against one another in sunlight. Without it being said explicitly, the imagery makes it clear that the supermarket is big, boxy, and tidy, unlike the cosy Elwood's. This is partly done with the visual images that are drawn, and in part with Croggon's images that mix the senses (this is called synaesthesia), such as the strawberries with their "klaxons of sweetness" or the gardens with "well-groomed scents", having the way the imagery is made correspond with what the imagery shows.
Fleur Adcock's poem, 'Leaving the Tate', uses imagery of picture-making to build up the overlap between art and sight at the centre of the poem.
3.)
https://literarydevices.net/examples...ery-in-poetry/
Examples of Imagery in Poetry
Imagery is one of the literary devices that engage the human senses; sight, hearing, taste, and touch. Imagery is as important as metaphor and simile and can be written without using any figurative language at all. It represents object, action, and idea which appeal our senses. Sometimes it becomes more complex than just a picture. There are five main types of imagery, each related to one of the human senses:
Visual imagery (sight)
Auditory Imagery (hearing)
Olfactory imagery (smell)
Gustatory imagery (taste)
Tactile imagery ( touch)
A writer can use single or multiple imageries in his writings. Imagery can be literal. They also allow the readers to directly sympathize with the character and narrator. Through imagery, the reader imagines a similar sensory experience. It helps to build compelling poetry, convincing narratives, clear plays, well-designed film sets, and heart touching descriptive songs. It involves imagination. Hence, writing without imagery would be dull and dry, and writing with imagery can be gripping and vibrant. The necessary sensory detail can allow the reader to understand the character and minute details of writing which a writer wants to communicate. Imagery can be symbolic, which deepens the impact of the text. For more explanation refer to this article: //literarydevices.net/figurative-language/. Here are a few examples of imagery in a poetry:
After Apple picking- Robert Frost
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
These lines have powerful imagery. We can feel the swaying ladder, see the bending boughs and hear the rumbling sound of apples going in the cellar bin. These lines are literal. Every word means what it typically means. The entire poem is imagery that conveys deep feelings of contemplation and subtle remorse for things left undone to the reader.
Romeo and Juliet –W. Shakespeare
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear
Here Romeo is comparing the beauty of Juliet. He says that she looks more radiant than brightly lit torches in the hall. Further, he says that her face glows like a precious bright jewel against the dark skin of an African in the night. Here he uses the contrasting images of light and dark to portray her beauty. The imagery also involves the use of figurative language; he uses the simile to enhance the imagery.
To Autumn – John Keats
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep
To Autumn is rich in imagery, evoking the perception of sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. The above lines are primarily visual imagery. The tactile imagery (touch) is seen in the warmth of the day, the clammy cells, the soft lifted hair.
****************************************
The Image, The Inner Reaches Of The Mind
sandy land, windswept
oasis, wet evergreen
silent cat leapt
Robert J. Lindley, 6-29-2021
Haiku
*****
On A Glowing Bright Summer Day
bright morn, wooden fence
young colt, wide open meadow
boy, red bicycle
Robert J. Lindley, 6-26-2021
Haiku
*****
Glimmering, Shimmering And Flaming Sweet
her eyes, shining pools
her kissing lips luscious red
desert at high noon
Robert J. Lindley, 6-24-2021
Haiku
*****
Beneath Expanse, Glorious Earthen Skies
cold pavement, late night
moonlit trees, Heavenly glows
old owl, frighten mouse
Robert J. Lindley, 6-23-2021
Haiku
*****
The Season And The Old Farm
old garden, bare ground
frost on the fallen mailbox
breakfast, eggs, bacon
Robert J. Lindley, 6-21-2021
Haiku
*****
Dawn, A New Day And A Wonderful Start
table, broken spoon
breakfast on a sunny morn
coffee, hot and black
Robert J. Lindley, 6-16-2021
Haiku
*****
The Visit
white stone, sad morning
fresh mowed grass twixt the rows
bright sun, soft cool breeze
Robert J. Lindley, 6-10-2021
Haiku
*****
The Frozen Ground
crunch, crunch, icy glaze
trees, limbs weighted to the ground
crisp morn, soft new gloves
Robert J. Lindley, 6-07-2021
Haiku
*****
The Ancient Forest
dark, deep canopy
autumn colors vibrant reds
sunken stone markers
Robert J. Lindley, 6-04-2021
Haiku
*****
The Cool Clear Stream
rushing waters, smooth stones
rocky walls, bright meadow's glow
sky, reflection- hope
Robert J. Lindley, 6-01-2021
Haiku
************************************
Although there have been various haiku poets throughout time, we can notably refer to Matsuo Basho, Yosa Buson, Kobayashi Issa and Masaoka Shiki for revolutionizing what we see of our modern haiku.
Famous Japanese Haiku Poets
Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 06-29-2021 at 07:58 AM.
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
A Tribute Blog - On The Magnificent Poet, Edgar Allan Poe
Blog Posted:7/16/2021 9:59:00 AM
A Tribute Blog - On The Magnificent Poet,
Edgar Allan Poe- a name that no credible
top ten list of history's greatest poets can omit.
One of my - recent- tribute poems - started in 1979-
finally finished on - 7/12/2021
The Bloodstone, The Raven And Master Poe
(I.)
The ancient stone, here Raven bled
Cursed and flew away alone
To follow the dark and make its night-bed
Unholy accursed path, bloody the stone
From the abyss, into light of the earth
With Fate and anger, its darkest of hands
A beast reborn - shadow of devil's worth
A repugnant new plague upon this land.
Woe! To the unsuspecting that are blind
Wading through life, unaware of the beast
A heart slayer, infester of the mind
Ravenous for innocence, its great feast
Invisible to most, a curse to few
Relentless in darkest of wicked guile
Ever seeking the cries of victims new
Witty its bold actions, patience its style.
For centuries it search to he then meet
And with the cleverness of its black wit
At his house uninvited take a seat
Torment nightly, drive insane- bit by bit
Blind to the ghastly creature was young Poe
He that life and love had been so tragic
Raven decided, put on a fine show
By showcasing its best evil magic.
First to wake its victim at midnight hour
An ungodly screech a soft tapping sound
From the walls, using its wicked powers
Then whisper, to further its victim hound
For years Poe pretended not to such hear
He was busy, with writing his great verse
No time for such nonsense, no time for fear
Deny the truth of this tiresome new curse
In so doing, shut out this bothersome beast
Pen sweeter words of love and write, write, write
Enjoy fame, his being toast of the East
Phantom ignore, that newborn curse of night
Yet to Raven, this was but the new game
Had it not, its greatest victim now found
And in glee, flew aloft screaming that name
Swearing an oath to one day have Poe bound.
(II.)
For seven years it had been wickedly clever
Doing just enough to sate its wicked desires
When begged to stop. Alas it cried, never
Not until your soul rests on the burning pyres
Yet Poe now keenly aware this was no dream
And with accursed fever, praying it to cease
Sought help from a young friend to form a team
Anything, anything to gain his release.
Raven now knew it was time to a truth real
That soon, very soon, it would make Poe cry
And with fiendish delight his true love kill
And forever all of his happiness deny
That night Poe lost it, flew into a rage
Scribing vows that few men would dare to utter
His blood was ink splashing onto each page
Gnashing teeth as each word he would mutter.
Raven too had hatched a brilliant new plan
A week he invisibly watched -showing no sign
Having realized Poe that was no ordinary man
Watching with hellish glee, as Poe scribed each line
This great battle was to be a battle of wits
Spread from night skies down to Plutonian shores
Beneath burning rocks into dark putrid pits
Two warriors set about to even the scores.
Poe rose each morn, a new fire in his steady eyes
For he could not Raven's dreaded threat forget
He must never blink- always seek to true prize
For nothing like this beast had he ever met
Raven each night, flew up from far below
With only inflicting pain on its hellish mind
That its hate was immense and each night grows
Could not see, that such would soon make it blind.
Thinking, smiling with time, time was on its side
And had not Fate to its evil demands agreed
Raven wings stretched for a victory ride
So very content to watch Poe's heart bleed
Yet Fate and Poe both decried its dark heart
Determination thus born by a man
One sure to upset Raven's applecart
Must be executed as a long range plan.
It would use Raven's immense vanity
As well rely on a couple old traps
Twist or two to test Raven's sanity
And have Raven running few hundred laps
Poe who had never depended on Fate
Was all in as it was sure to go well
Raven would discover it far too late
And wake to again find itself in Hell.
First to inform about the game, Poe's friend
A young lad most clever and truly bright
He would have to hate Poe, only pretend
And make Raven believe it that dark night
Now to get the dagger and blood-red ink
Rehearse the scene while Raven was away
Water down the whiskey Poe was to drink
And in its success each sincerely pray.
Night again came, Raven was there with glee
Raven sat with its happy evil soul
Poe's room was dark almost too dark to see
Was necessary to achieve the goal
Poe began by decrying his sad plight
The constant torment was driving him mad
Complaining this agony was not right
What had he ever done that was so bad?
Muttering how his life he would soon end
And join his beloved in that dark place
Death take me, Poe called- this poor soul send
That again I may see her pretty face
Raven watching, thought this is what I need
Poe destroyed dying in deep disgrace
Beg I true evil let me see him bleed
No other joy could ever this replace!
(III.)
There came hammer knocking on the back door
As Poe was acting out pitiful moans
Raven thought, could this be from Hell's dark shore
Another beast hearing anguishing groans
Then a sweet young voice, from a mortal man
Asking entry from his friend Master Poe
Raven mused, more fish for frying pan
Tonight shall be a most delightful show!
Poe look startled but said, "enter young lord"
I was merely rehearsing for a play
Pray tell me what news for I am bored
And this has been a truly dreadful day
Young Luke crossed the room and bowed low
Rising gave Poe the dagger as a gift
Asking, Master Poe why this strange request
And your odd message, bring it and be swift.
Poe took the weapon with a sad, sad look
In a wailing voice said- "this is my Fate"
As he did so his entire body shook
He in soft voice moaned, you are not too late
Young Luke was startled and a bit confused
Have you such sorrows as to death invite
Asking, for this you would not have used
A dear friend, to bring this sharp blade tonight!
No sooner said, than Raven cried, "no not yet"
Poe you must not, I need far more than this
Too soon, dark master and I have a bet
And next blood moon is to be your death kiss
Poe and Luke pretended to not such hear
As Luke moved and blocked Raven's view
Raven almost exploded from the fear
When Luke that loud cry gave, Raven then knew!
Alas! Raven thought such must never be
This calamity that has foiled my plan
Was never what Fate and I did agree
Not for this hideous and loathsome man
Fate, have you our agreement now went back on
Did not our sworn oath -we in hot-blood swear
And both splash our venom on the bloodstone
This, after my accursed soul I bare!
As Luke stepped back, there Poe in blood lay
That dagger to the hilt stick in his chest
Luke fell to his knees, God forgive I pray
May our brother Poe now have peaceful rest
Raven beside itself, at thus being cheated
Cursed sky, cursed even louder Fate
As Luke into far corner retreated
Raven came forward to eat from that plate.
As Raven neared, his invisible cloak fell
Approaching were Master Poe had died
And from distant hill the midnight church bell
Rang in tune with those tears Raven cried
Leaning closer to whisper in Poe's ear
Raven over dead master hovered
Saying, this fresh blood my soul now so cheers
I shall taste it and my face now smother!
With its ghastly black tongue it licked
As it got that first bloody red-ink taste
Would know it had been cleverly tricked
Poe acted swiftly, with no time to waste
The dagger plunged into Raven's chest
Raven felt its razor sharp silver blade
Poe said, I send thee to your hellish nest
And to the death that your evil hath made!
Then Raven vanished into thin air
Room suddenly lit up with golden light
A glowing angel then appeared there
Allowing Poe and Luke to see its sight
With a joyful shout it sang right on out
You shall both be truly, deeply blessed
And with deep pride walk this world all about
Raven now this failure has confessed.
Luke spoke first, saying but Raven is dead
How can it, such confession ever speak
Poe, did you hear what this angel has said
Raven can again into our world sneak
Poe addressed the angel, is this true
That foul beast can innocent souls aggrieve
Did it not receive the death it was due
Or has Fate- Luke and I now so deceived?
Angel replied, that was Raven's first death
Evil beast has six more deaths to endure
Before that savage thing takes its last breath
Earth not see it's like, of that I assure
Poe said, of this night I shall set in verse
We must ever be on guard and alert
And remember this beast is a dark curse
That lives to get revenge and mankind hurt!
Robert J. Lindley, 7-12-2021
The Bloodstone, The Raven And Master Poe
Part Three of Three
Note_
Total of three parts, composed in a total of 200
rhyming verses....This is part three- the conclusion.
A dark tale, in rhyme and with the epic struggle
between Raven and Master Poe.
Raven with yet six more lives to infest earth
and thus plague Poe and whomever it chooses.
I myself have heard the late night knocking but
but laughed it off and set mousetraps -knowing
that disbelief is a stout shield…. Admitting that
such is a reality may bring in an unwanted guest….
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2021
**************************************
From The Tree Of Evil Into Earth Its Broken Bough
From the tree of evil into earth its broken bough
Power and pain such fertile seed for its black-plow
And the evil fruit consumed by all of mankind
Hunger that sets the dark into the human mind
Flies so deftly with demon spawn upon its wings
Defies logic, presented as mere stranger things
Woe to those that see not the brilliancy of Poe
Not seeing, his dark verses were not just for show!
We mortals that think we are far above it all
Walk in our blindness, hearing not such monsters call
Master Poe warns of Raven, we think it so cute
Our disbelief lies at evil tree's longest root
And repugnant plaguing shadows born from its fruit
Those that enter victim's homes to life so disrupt
Such as is that deep blindness that truth so corrupts
And may in some way bring life's end far too abrupt!
Master Poe of such a plaguing curse had to fight
He that despite his knowledge-had no peace at night
Man, a prisoner to the beast in his own home
Malevolent menace there, Raven free to roam.
From the tree of evil into earth its broken bough
Power and pain such fertile seed for its black-plow
And the evil fruit consumed by all of mankind
Hunger that sets the dark into the human mind.
Robert J. Lindley, 7-16- 2021
Rhyme, ( Wherein the seeds of evil dwells )
In quibus habitat per mala semina.
******
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Edgar-Allan-Poe
Edgar Allan Poe
American writer
WRITTEN BY
Thomas Ollive Mabbott See All Contributors
Professor of English, Hunter College, City University of New York, 1946–66. Editor of Complete Works of Poe.
See Article History
Alternative Title: Edgar A. Perry
Edgar Allan Poe, (born January 19, 1809, Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.—died October 7, 1849, Baltimore, Maryland), American short-story writer, poet, critic, and editor who is famous for his cultivation of mystery and the macabre. His tale “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841) initiated the modern detective story, and the atmosphere in his tales of horror is unrivaled in American fiction. His “The Raven” (1845) numbers among the best-known poems in the national literature.
TOP QUESTIONS
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Life
Poe was the son of the English-born actress Elizabeth Arnold Poe and David Poe, Jr., an actor from Baltimore. After his mother died in Richmond, Virginia, in 1811, he was taken into the home of John Allan, a Richmond merchant (presumably his godfather), and of his childless wife. He was later taken to Scotland and England (1815–20), where he was given a classical education that was continued in Richmond. For 11 months in 1826 he attended the University of Virginia, but his gambling losses at the university so incensed his guardian that he refused to let him continue, and Poe returned to Richmond to find his sweetheart, (Sarah) Elmira Royster, engaged. He went to Boston, where in 1827 he published a pamphlet of youthful Byronic poems, Tamerlane, and Other Poems. Poverty forced him to join the army under the name of Edgar A. Perry, but, on the death of Poe’s foster mother, John Allan purchased his release from the army and helped him get an appointment to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. Before going, Poe published a new volume at Baltimore, Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems (1829). He successfully sought expulsion from the academy, where he was absent from all drills and classes for a week. He proceeded to New York City and brought out a volume of Poems, containing several masterpieces, some showing the influence of John Keats, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He then returned to Baltimore, where he began to write stories. In 1833 his “MS. Found in a Bottle” won $50 from a Baltimore weekly, and by 1835 he was in Richmond as editor of the Southern Literary Messenger. There he made a name as a critical reviewer and married his young cousin Virginia Clemm, who was only 13. Poe seems to have been an affectionate husband and son-in-law.
Observe science-fiction writer Ray Bradbury's remarks on Edgar Allan Poe's “The Fall of the House of Usher”
Observe science-fiction writer Ray Bradbury's remarks on Edgar Allan Poe's “The Fall of the House of Usher”
Science-fiction writer Ray Bradbury discussing Edgar Allan Poe's “The Fall of the House of Usher” in an Encyclopædia Britannica Educational Corporation film, 1975. Bradbury compares the screenplay with the written work and discusses both the Gothic tradition and Poe's influence on contemporary science fiction.
Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc.
See all videos for this article
Poe was dismissed from his job in Richmond, apparently for drinking, and went to New York City. Drinking was in fact to be the bane of his life. To talk well in a large company he needed a slight stimulant, but a glass of sherry might start him on a spree; and, although he rarely succumbed to intoxication, he was often seen in public when he did. This gave rise to the conjecture that Poe was a drug addict, but according to medical testimony he had a brain lesion. While in New York City in 1838 he published a long prose narrative, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, combining (as so often in his tales) much factual material with the wildest fancies. It is considered one inspiration of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. In 1839 he became coeditor of Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine in Philadelphia. There a contract for a monthly feature stimulated him to write “William Wilson” and “The Fall of the House of Usher,” stories of supernatural horror. The latter contains a study of a neurotic now known to have been an acquaintance of Poe, not Poe himself.
Later in 1839 Poe’s Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque appeared (dated 1840). He resigned from Burton’s about June 1840 but returned in 1841 to edit its successor, Graham’s Lady’s and Gentleman’s Magazine, in which he printed “The Murders in the Rue Morgue”—the first detective story. In 1843 his “The Gold Bug” won a prize of $100 from the Philadelphia Dollar Newspaper, which gave him great publicity. In 1844 he returned to New York, wrote “The Balloon Hoax” for the Sun, and became subeditor of the New York Mirror under N.P. Willis, thereafter a lifelong friend. In the New York Mirror of January 29, 1845, appeared, from advance sheets of the American Review, his most famous poem, “The Raven,” which gave him national fame at once. Poe then became editor of the Broadway Journal, a short-lived weekly, in which he republished most of his short stories, in 1845. During this last year the now-forgotten poet Frances Sargent Locke Osgood pursued Poe. Virginia did not object, but “Fanny’s” indiscreet writings about her literary love caused great scandal. His The Raven and Other Poems and a selection of his Tales came out in 1845, and in 1846 Poe moved to a cottage at Fordham (now part of New York City), where he wrote for Godey’s Lady’s Book (May–October 1846) “The Literati of New York City”—gossipy sketches on personalities of the day, which led to a libel suit.
On the other side, Poe is conspicuous for a close observation of minute details, as in the long narratives and in many of the descriptions that introduce the tales or constitute their settings. Closely connected with this is his power of ratiocination. He prided himself on his logic and carefully handled this real accomplishment so as to impress the public with his possessing still more of it than he had; hence the would-be feats of thought reading, problem unraveling, and cryptography that he attributed to his characters William Legrand and C. Auguste Dupin. This suggested to him the analytical tales, which created the detective story, and his science fiction tales.
The same duality is evinced in his art. He was capable of writing angelic or weird poetry, with a supreme sense of rhythm and word appeal, or prose of sumptuous beauty and suggestiveness, with the apparent abandon of compelling inspiration; yet he would write down a problem of morbid psychology or the outlines of an unrelenting plot in a hard and dry style. In Poe’s masterpieces the double contents of his temper, of his mind, and of his art are fused into a oneness of tone, structure, and movement, the more effective, perhaps, as it is compounded of various elements.
As a critic, Poe laid great stress upon correctness of language, metre, and structure. He formulated rules for the short story, in which he sought the ancient unities: i.e., the short story should relate a complete action and take place within one day in one place. To these unities he added that of mood or effect. He was not extreme in these views, however. He praised longer works and sometimes thought allegories and morals admirable if not crudely presented. Poe admired originality, often in work very different from his own, and was sometimes an unexpectedly generous critic of decidedly minor writers.
Poe’s genius was early recognized abroad. No one did more to persuade the world and, in the long run, the United States, of Poe’s greatness than the French poets Charles Baudelaire and Stéphane Mallarmé. Indeed his role in French literature was that of a poetic master model and guide to criticism. French Symbolism relied on his “The Philosophy of Composition,” borrowed from his imagery, and used his examples to generate the theory of pure poetry.
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An old fragment from decades ago , untitled,
and yet to be finished…
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And in the dark, the huge monster feverishly waited
For the young innocent child, it had so cleverly baited
To be a delicious dish, a truly fine, magnificent meal
O' how wicked its dark and ravenous blackness must feel
Whilst this blinded world in its flowing fantasy exists
Thinking evil is made up of only men with their puny fists
Yet one poet in The House of Usher set the record straight
There from the dark beneath, far greater than man's hate
Await those so fierce most are bound in unbreakable chains
That which when free, bringeth such agonizing and great pains
So was that dark hidden world that master Poe saw and knew
The untold tales of which Poe gave to this world just a few
And in that his rightful glory burst forth like a dark flower
For we that can see, evil watches from its invisible towers
And with eagerness, and its great savagery its carnage waits
For those that are to be its victims- so cast by dark hands of Fate..
RJL, July 25th 1973
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
This new blog honoring Edgar Allan Poe , went to the --HOT-- LEVEL faster than any previous blog I have presented at my home poetry site.
Took it only a couple hours to go --HOT...
I could not be more pleased. --Tyr
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
Blog on the very brilliant and famous Canadian poet, Bliss Carman - A Dedication…
Blog Posted:8/22/2021 9:50:00 AM
Blog on the very brilliant and famous
Canadian poet, Bliss Carman- A Dedication…
(1.)
Bliss Carman
1861–1929
Poet and essayist (William) Bliss Carman was born in Fredericton, New Brunswick, in 1861. He earned a BA and an MA at the University of New Brunswick and studied at the University of Edinburgh and Harvard University. He settled in New Canaan, Connecticut, in 1909.
Carman’s metered, formal verse explores natural and spiritual themes. He is the author of more than 50 volumes of poetry, including Low Tide on Grand Pré (1893), Over the Wintry Threshold (1913), and Later Poems (1926), as well as four essay collections, including Talks on Poetry and Life (1926). With Lorne Pierce, he edited the anthology Our Canadian Literature: Representative Verse, English, and French (1922). Pierce also edited The Selected Poems of Bliss Carman (1954) and he is the subject of the biography Bliss Carman: Quest and Revolt (1985), by Muriel Miller.
Carman’s honors included membership in the Royal Society of Canada. Carman is buried at Forest Hill Cemetery in Fredericton. The Stanford University Archives holds a selection of his papers.
************
Bliss Carman
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
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Bliss Carman
FRSC
Photo by Pirie MacDonald
Photo by Pirie MacDonald
Born William Bliss Carman
April 15, 1861
Fredericton, New Brunswick
Died June 8, 1929 (aged 68)
New Canaan, Connecticut
Resting place Fredericton, New Brunswick
Occupation poet
Language English
Nationality Canadian
Citizenship British subject
Education University of New Brunswick; University of Edinburgh; Harvard University
Genre Poetry
Literary movement Confederation Poets, The Song Fishermen
Notable works Low Tide on Grand Pré,
Songs from Vagabondia,
Sappho: 100 Lyrics
Notable awards Lorne Pierce Medal (1928)
Robert Frost Medal (1930)
FRSC
William Bliss Carman FRSC (April 15, 1861 – June 8, 1929) was a Canadian poet who lived most of his life in the United States, where he achieved international fame. He was acclaimed as Canada's poet laureate[1] during his later years.[2][3]
In Canada, Carman is classed as one of the Confederation Poets, a group which also included Charles G.D. Roberts (his cousin), Archibald Lampman, and Duncan Campbell Scott.[4] "Of the group, Carman had the surest lyric touch and achieved the widest international recognition. But unlike others, he never attempted to secure his income by novel writing, popular journalism, or non-literary employment. He remained a poet, supplementing his art with critical commentaries on literary ideas, philosophy, and aesthetics."[5]
Life
He was born William Bliss Carman in Fredericton, New Brunswick. "Bliss" was his mother's maiden name. He was the great grandson[6] of United Empire Loyalists who fled to Nova Scotia after the American Revolution, settling in New Brunswick (then part of Nova Scotia).[7] His literary roots run deep with an ancestry that includes a mother who was a descendant of Daniel Bliss of Concord, Massachusetts, the great-grandfather of Ralph Waldo Emerson. His sister, Jean, married the botanist and historian William Francis Ganong. And on his mother's side he was a first cousin to Charles (later Sir Charles) G. D. Roberts.[3]
Education and early career
Carman was educated at the Fredericton Collegiate School and the University of New Brunswick (UNB), from which he received a B.A. in 1881. At the Collegiate School he came under the influence of headmaster George Robert Parkin, who gave him a love of classical literature[8] and introduced him to the poetry of Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Algernon Charles Swinburne.[9] His first published poem was in the UNB Monthly in 1879. He then spent a year at Oxford and the University of Edinburgh (1882–1883), but returned home to receive his M.A. from UNB in 1884.[10]
After the death of his father in January 1885 and his mother in February 1886,[10] Carman enrolled in Harvard University (1886–1887).[7] At Harvard he moved in a literary circle that included American poet Richard Hovey, who would become his close friend and his collaborator on the successful Vagabondia poetry series.[11] Carman and Hovey were members of the "Visionists" circle along with Herbert Copeland and F. Holland Day, who would later form the Boston publishing firm Copeland & Day that would launch Vagabondia.[3]
After Harvard Carman briefly returned to Canada, but was back in Boston by February 1890. "Boston is one of the few places where my critical education and tastes could be of any use to me in earning money," he wrote. "New York and London are about the only other places."[5] Unable to find employment in Boston, he moved to New York City and became literary editor of the New York Independent at the grand sum of $20/week.[5] There he could help his Canadian friends get published, in the process "introducing Canadian poets to its readers."[12] However, Carman was never a good fit at the semi-religious weekly, and he was summarily dismissed in 1892. "Brief stints would follow with Current Literature, Cosmopolitan, The Chap-Book, and The Atlantic Monthly, but after 1895 he would be strictly a contributor to the magazines and newspapers, never an editor in any department."[3]
To make matters worse, Carman's first book of poetry, 1893's Low Tide on Grand Pré, was not a success; no Canadian company would publish it, and the U.S. edition stiffed when its publisher went bankrupt.[5]
Literary success
At this low point, Songs of Vagabondia, the first Hovey-Carman collaboration, was published by Copeland & Day in 1894. It was an immediate success. "No one could have been more surprised at the tremendous popularity of these care-free celebrations (the first of the three collections went through seven rapid editions) than the young authors, Richard Hovey and Bliss Carman."[13] Songs of Vagabondia would ultimately "go through sixteen printings (ranging from 500 to 1000 copies) over the next thirty years. The three Vagabondia volumes that followed fell slightly short of that record, but each went through numerous printings. Carman and Hovey quickly found themselves with a cult following, especially among college students, who responded to the poetry's anti-materialistic themes, its celebration of individual freedom, and its glorification of comradeship."[3]
The success of Songs of Vagabondia prompted another Boston firm, Stone & Kimball, to reissue Low Tide... and to hire Carman as the editor of its literary journal, The Chapbook. The next year, though, the editor's job went West (with Stone & Kimball) to Chicago, while Carman opted to remain in Boston.[5]
"In Boston in 1895, he worked on a new poetry book, Behind the Arras, which he placed with a prominent Boston publisher (Lamson, Wolffe).... He published two more books of verse with Lamson, Wolffe."[5] He also began writing a weekly column for the Boston Evening Transcript, which ran from 1895 to 1900.[7]
In 1896 Carman met Mary Perry King, who became the greatest and longest-lasting female influence in his life. Mrs. King became his patron: "She put pence in his purse, and food in his mouth, when he struck bottom and, what is more, she often put a song on his lips when he despaired, and helped him sell it." According to Carman's roommate, Mitchell Kennerley, "On rare occasions they had intimate relations at 10 E. 16 which they always advised me of by leaving a bunch of violets — Mary Perry's favorite flower — on the pillow of my bed."[14] If he knew of the latter, Dr. King did not object: "He even supported her involvement in the career of Bliss Carman to the extent that the situation developed into something close to a ménage à trois" with the Kings.[3]
Through Mrs. King's influence Carman became an advocate of 'unitrinianism,' a philosophy which "drew on the theories of François-Alexandre-Nicolas-Chéri Delsarte to develop a strategy of mind-body-spirit harmonization aimed at undoing the physical, psychological, and spiritual damage caused by urban modernity."[7] This shared belief created a bond between Mrs. King and Carman but estranged him somewhat from his former friends.[citation needed]
In 1899 Lamson, Wolffe was taken over by the Boston firm of Small, Maynard & Co., who had also acquired the rights to Low Tide... "The rights to all Carman's books were now held by one publisher and, in lieu of earnings, Carman took a financial stake in the company. When Small, Maynard failed in 1903, Carman lost all his assets."[5]
Down but not out, Carman signed with another Boston company, L.C. Page, and began to churn out new work. Page published seven books of new Carman poetry between 1902 and 1905. As well, the firm released three books based on Carman's Transcript columns, and a prose work on unitrinianism, The Making of Personality, that he'd written with Mrs. King.[12] "Page also helped Carman rescue his 'dream project,' a deluxe edition of his collected poetry to 1903.... Page acquired distribution rights with the stipulation that the book be sold privately, by subscription. The project failed; Carman was deeply disappointed and became disenchanted with Page, whose grip on Carman's copyrights would prevent the publication of another collected edition during Carman's lifetime."[5]
Carman also picked up some needed cash in 1904 as editor-in-chief of the 10-volume project, The World's Best Poetry.[7]
Later years
Bliss Carman Memorial, Forest Hill Cemetery, Fredericton NB
After 1908 Carman lived near the Kings' New Canaan, Connecticut, estate, "Sunshine", or in the summer in a cabin near their summer home in the Catskills, "Moonshine."[3] Between 1908 and 1920, literary taste began to shift, and his fortunes and health declined.[5]
"Although not a political activist, Carman during the First World War was a member of the Vigilantes, who supported American entry into the conflict on the Allied side."[15]
By 1920, Carman was impoverished and recovering from a near-fatal attack of tuberculosis.[15] That year he revisited Canada and "began the first of a series of successful and relatively lucrative reading tours, discovering 'there is nothing worth talking of in book sales compared with reading.'"[5] "'Breathless attention, crowded halls, and a strange, profound enthusiasm such as I never guessed could be,' he reported to a friend. 'And good thrifty money too. Think of it! An entirely new life for me, and I am the most surprised person in Canada.'" Carman was feted at "a dinner held by the newly formed Canadian Authors' Association at the Ritz Carlton Hotel in Montreal on 28 October 1921 where he was crowned Canada's Poet Laureate with a wreath of maple leaves."[3]
The tours of Canada continued, and by 1925 Carman had finally acquired a Canadian publisher. "McClelland & Stewart (Toronto) issued a collection of selected earlier verses and became his main publisher. They benefited from Carman's popularity and his revered position in Canadian literature, but no one could convince L.C. Page to relinquish its copyrights. An edition of collected poetry was published only after Carman's death, due greatly to the persistence of his literary executor, Lorne Pierce."[5]
During the 1920s, Carman was a member of the Halifax literary and social set, The Song Fishermen. In 1927 he edited The Oxford Book of American Verse.[16]
Carman died of a brain hemorrhage at the age of 68 in New Canaan, and was cremated in New Canaan. "It took two months, and the influence of New Brunswick's Premier J.B.M. Baxter and Canadian Prime Minister W.L.M. King, for Carman's ashes to be returned to Fredericton."[10] "His ashes were buried in Forest Hill Cemetery, Fredericton, and a national memorial service was held at the Anglican cathedral there." Twenty-five years later, on May 13, 1954, a scarlet maple tree was planted at his gravesite, to grant his request in his 1892 poem "The Grave-Tree":[7]
Let me have a scarlet maple
For the grave-tree at my head,
With the quiet sun behind it,
In the years when I am dead.
Writing
Low Tide on Grand Pré
As a student at Harvard, Carman "was heavily influenced by Royce, whose spiritualistic idealism, combined with the transcendentalism of Ralph Waldo Emerson, lies centrally in the background of his first major poem, "Low Tide on Grand Pré" written in the summer and winter of 1886."[7] "Low Tide..." was published in the Spring, 1887 Atlantic Monthly, giving Carman a literary reputation while still at Harvard.[5] It was also included in the 1889 anthology, Songs of the Great Dominion.
Literary critic Desmond Pacey considered "Low Tide..." to be "the most nearly perfect single poem to come out of Canada. It will withstand any amount of critical scrutiny."[17]
"Low Tide..." served as the title poem for Carman's first book. "The poems in this volume have been collected with reference to their similarity of tone," Carman wrote in his preface; a nostalgic tone of pervading loss and melancholy. Three outstanding examples are "The Eavesdropper," "In Apple Time" and "Wayfaring." However, "none can equal the artistry of the title poem. What is more, although Carman would publish over thirty other volumes during his lifetime, none of them contains anything that surpasses this poem he wrote when he was barely twenty-five years old."[3]
Vagabondia
Carman rose to prominence in the 1890s, a decade the poetry of which anthologist Louis Untermeyer has called marked by "a cheerless evasion, a humorous unconcern; its most representative craftsmen were, with four exceptions, the writers of light verse." The first two of those four exceptions were Richard Hovey and Bliss Carman. For Untermeyer: "The poetry of this period ... is dead because it detached itself from the world.... But ... Rev……………………..
……………….>>>>>
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My three, Bliss Carman- dedication poems.
I composed first two last week and the third
poem, very early this morn.
(1.)
New Dawn, Blessed Gems With Love So Gifted
From morning glow, into soft basking day,
Sacred the time, in life and love we pray,
We converse, we laugh, and hope we embrace-
Fallen man, rectified by God's pure grace.
For divine light that gifts its tender glows,
Healing us from our pains, sorrows and woes,
Upon earth and we mortals so in need
Of saving balm as in darkness we bleed.
Evidenced by Nature's constant gifts
Words heavenly sent that our souls uplift
We so blessed, can thank our living God
As upon this our earth, we daily trod.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-21-2021
Cumque esset mane, meridiem haec anima et haec leniter demulcens blanditiis
*********
(2.)
Beauty Of Sunset And A Life With Love
Behold! Dawn with its ravishing beauty
Life must be more than a slavish duty
From golden shores unto whispering hills
Let love enter, until treasures it spills
Understand precious touch of womankind
For upon earth - that is the gold we find.
Accept all we have and our daily bread
With love's bounty one is truly well fed
Wake unto morning's new resplendent calls
One is blessed without great golden walls.
Walk with Nature unto its forest crown
Flee a spell away from idle town
See and feel the wonders of God's own hands
As life's beauty gifts its most wondrous strands.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-21-2021
In medio annorum vivifica me dulcis rufus occasum
********
(3.)
Love Exists As Notes From A Warbler's Throat
Love exists as notes from a warbler's throat
On life's fleeting winds truth so gaily floats
Over mountains steep and sweet meadows below
Bringing along heart's beauty in its tow
Salvation comes with prayer's truest breath
Conquering woes and even mortal death.
Earth has awaken since first dawning of Man.
Grinning, dancing, spinning- as only it can.
Life and Nature need not fight as they do
Certain harmony is long overdue
Love cries out life must find a better way
Than sad darkness, with its shadowy grays.
Earth has awaken since first dawning of Man.
Grinning, dancing, spinning- as only it can.
Love exists as notes from a warbler's throat
On life's fleeting winds truth so gaily floats
Over mountains steep and sweet meadows below
Bringing along heart's beauty in its tow.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-22-2021
May poetica amoris et verum in aeternum nuptui
Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 08-22-2021 at 12:02 PM.
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
Creativity (Is The Lifeblood of The Poet)- Trinity From Newfound Bliss, A Dream-Night's Sequence- Honoring Byron, Shelley And Keats
Blog Posted:8/26/2021 9:41:00 AM
Creativity (Is The Lifeblood of The Poet)-
Trinity From Newfound Bliss, A Dream-Night's Sequence-
Honoring Byron, Shelley And Keats
Poem One
Bestowed, Beauty And Bounty Of Moon's Heavenly Breath
Light of pallid moon and swashing oceans
Earth's natural beauty, spinning motion
Awaiting dawn's sweet new call, its soft glee
Truth of universe's eternal decree,
Golden orb, where romantic dreams are born
So oft fleeing from dark world sad and torn
Lovers' sight given unto those in need
Blessed bounty of divinely sent seed ….
Chalice of hope, love elixir of life
Sweet gems, gifted new world with less strife
So often found 'neath gleams of soft moonlight
Bountiful and within Heavenly sight
Love and joy, wherein true romance resides
There above, our moon that so softly glides
Sky light born of God's divine breath and fire
Treasured relief from world's constant ire.
Robert J. Lindley
Romanticism
*********
Poem Two
Morn's Rays Reaffirming I Am Not Blind
I will not kneel and fall as a lost slave
My bloodline is from heritage of the brave
My soul, its depths are so truly heart born
Tho', I have endured meritless scorn
I do not dare to cringe, instead I rise
Seeing truth, life through a humble poet's eyes!
Those dark times, I walked valleys of doubt
I rose from abyss with victory shouts
Reborn a warrior and a stronger man
Of retreating I have never been a fan
I seek divine light, in this soul it floods
This vessel a mixture of many bloods!
New dawn, waking to romantic love find
Morn's rays reaffirming I am not blind
Joy as sun its golden harvests beams down
Blessed to live in these hills just out of town
Mercy and sweet blessings in my old age
Now freed from darkness and my youthful rage!
I will not kneel and fall as a lost slave
My bloodline is from heritage of the brave
Those dark times, I walked valleys of doubt
I rose from abyss with victory shouts
New dawn, waking to romantic love find
Morn's rays reaffirming I am not blind!
Robert J. Lindley
Romanticism
********
Poem Three
Under Red Sunset, Walking On White Beach Sands
Day's ending, reality time does fly
Romance searching as I ask life not why
With coming of full moon's radiant glow
Love's deep pleasures failed to ever show
And sad loneliness raced forth instead
Life to feel so empty, as is my bed
But my beautiful love is before you
Came to sate hot appetites of we two!
Under red sunset, walking on white beach sands
We in fervor -found out where new love stands
Above mountaintops, in heavenly spheres
Dancing out loud and devoid of life's fears
Ecstasy and promise of bedroom nights
Windows letting in sky's golden moonlight
And night recording our sensual moans
Long before videos on new cell phones!
Brother moon, you that urges wolf's loud calls
Shining down, as into love sweethearts fall
Heating hearts to loving memories make
Sweetest desserts to let love's hot fires bake
In new formed ovens, love's tender heat
Tapping in time with united heartbeats
Under your guide, golden moonbeams teach
Love's high plateau, we together may reach!
Robert J. Lindley
Romanticism
______________________
(1.)
English poets such as William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, John Keats, Percy Bysshe Shelley, William Blake, and Lord Byron produced work that expressed spontaneous feelings, found parallels to their own emotional lives in the natural world, and celebrated creativity rather than logic.
***
Romantic poetry
Romantic poetry is the poetry of the Romantic era, an artistic, literary, musical and intellectual movement that originated in Europe towards the end of the 18th century. It involved a reaction against prevailing Enlightenment ideas of the 18th century, and lasted approximately from 1800 to 1850. Wikipedia
***
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/lea...20than%20logic.
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(2.)
https://www.bl.uk/romantics-and-vict.../the-romantics
The Romantics
Theme: Romanticism
Published:
15 May 2014
Dr Stephanie Forward explains the key ideas and influences of Romanticism, and considers their place in the work of writers including Wordsworth, Blake, P B Shelley and Keats.
Today the word ‘romantic’ evokes images of love and sentimentality, but the term ‘Romanticism’ has a much wider meaning. It covers a range of developments in art, literature, music and philosophy, spanning the late 18th and early 19th centuries. The ‘Romantics’ would not have used the term themselves: the label was applied retrospectively, from around the middle of the 19th century.
In 1762 Jean-Jacques Rousseau declared in The Social Contract: ‘Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.’ During the Romantic period major transitions took place in society, as dissatisfied intellectuals and artists challenged the Establishment. In England, the Romantic poets were at the very heart of this movement. They were inspired by a desire for liberty, and they denounced the exploitation of the poor. There was an emphasis on the importance of the individual; a conviction that people should follow ideals rather than imposed conventions and rules. The Romantics renounced the rationalism and order associated with the preceding Enlightenment era, stressing the importance of expressing authentic personal feelings. They had a real sense of responsibility to their fellow men: they felt it was their duty to use their poetry to inform and inspire others, and to change society.
Revolution
When reference is made to Romantic verse, the poets who generally spring to mind are William Blake (1757-1827), William Wordsworth (1770-1850), Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), George Gordon, 6th Lord Byron (1788-1824), Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) and John Keats (1795-1821). These writers had an intuitive feeling that they were ‘chosen’ to guide others through the tempestuous period of change.
This was a time of physical confrontation; of violent rebellion in parts of Europe and the New World. Conscious of anarchy across the English Channel, the British government feared similar outbreaks. The early Romantic poets tended to be supporters of the French Revolution, hoping that it would bring about political change; however, the bloody Reign of Terror shocked them profoundly and affected their views. In his youth William Wordsworth was drawn to the Republican cause in France, until he gradually became disenchanted with the Revolutionaries.
The imagination
The Romantics were not in agreement about everything they said and did: far from it! Nevertheless, certain key ideas dominated their writings. They genuinely thought that they were prophetic figures who could interpret reality. The Romantics highlighted the healing power of the imagination, because they truly believed that it could enable people to transcend their troubles and their circumstances. Their creative talents could illuminate and transform the world into a coherent vision, to regenerate mankind spiritually. In A Defence of Poetry (1821), Shelley elevated the status of poets: ‘They measure the circumference and sound the depths of human nature with a comprehensive and all-penetrating spirit…’.[1] He declared that ‘Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world’. This might sound somewhat pretentious, but it serves to convey the faith the Romantics had in their poetry.
Manuscript of P B Shelley's 'The Masque of Anarchy'
Sheet of paper containing the handwritten draft of P B Shelley's 'The Masque of Anarchy', and a faint pencil sketch of a tree
P B Shelley’s manuscript of ‘The Masque of Anarchy’, 1819, was a reaction of furious outrage at the Peterloo Massacre. An avowedly political poem, it praises the non-violence of the Manchester protesters when faced with the aggression of the state.
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The marginalised and oppressed
Wordsworth was concerned about the elitism of earlier poets, whose highbrow language and subject matter were neither readily accessible nor particularly relevant to ordinary people. He maintained that poetry should be democratic; that it should be composed in ‘the language really spoken by men’ (Preface to Lyrical Ballads [1802]). For this reason, he tried to give a voice to those who tended to be marginalised and oppressed by society: the rural poor; discharged soldiers; ‘fallen’ women; the insane; and children.
Blake was radical in his political views, frequently addressing social issues in his poems and expressing his concerns about the monarchy and the church. His poem ‘London’ draws attention to the suffering of chimney-sweeps, soldiers and prostitutes.
Lyrical Ballads: 1800 edition
Page from the preface to Lyrical Ballads
In the Preface to the Lyrical Ballads, Wordsworth writes that he has ‘taken as much pains to avoid [poetic diction] as others ordinarily take to produce it’, trying instead to ‘bring [his] language near to the language of men’.
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William Blake's Songs of Innocence and of Experience
Decorated page containing the poem 'London' with illustration of a child leading an elderly man through a street, from William Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience
‘London’ from William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience, 1794. Blake emphasises the injustice of late 18th-century society and the desperation of the poor.
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Children, nature and the sublime
For the world to be regenerated, the Romantics said that it was necessary to start all over again with a childlike perspective. They believed that children were special because they were innocent and uncorrupted, enjoying a precious affinity with nature. Romantic verse was suffused with reverence for the natural world. In Coleridge’s ‘Frost at Midnight’ (1798) the poet hailed nature as the ‘Great universal Teacher!’ Recalling his unhappy times at Christ’s Hospital School in London, he explained his aspirations for his son, Hartley, who would have the freedom to enjoy his childhood and appreciate his surroundings. The Romantics were inspired by the environment, and encouraged people to venture into new territories – both literally and metaphorically. In their writings they made the world seem a place with infinite, unlimited potential.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, A Walking Tour of Cumbria
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, A Walking Tour of Cumbria [folio: 3v-4r]
In August 1802, Samuel Taylor Coleridge set out from his home at Greta Hall, Keswick, for a week’s solo walking-tour in the nearby Cumbrian mountains. He kept detailed notes of the landscape around him, drawing rough sketches and maps. These notes and sketches are in Notebook No 2, one of 64 notebooks Coleridge kept between 1794 and his death.
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A key idea in Romantic poetry is the concept of the sublime. This term conveys the feelings people experience when they see awesome landscapes, or find themselves in extreme situations which elicit both fear and admiration. For example, Shelley described his reaction to stunning, overwhelming scenery in the poem ‘Mont Blanc’ (1816).
Burke's A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful
Burke's A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful [page: title page]
In this 1757 essay, the philosopher Edmund Burke discusses the attraction of the immense, the terrible and the uncontrollable. The work had a profound influence on the Romantic poets.
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The second-generation Romantics
Blake, Wordsworth and Coleridge were first-generation Romantics, writing against a backdrop of war. Wordsworth, however, became increasingly conservative in his outlook: indeed, second-generation Romantics, such as Byron, Shelley and Keats, felt that he had ‘sold out’ to the Establishment. In the suppressed Dedication to Don Juan (1819-1824) Byron criticised the Poet Laureate, Robert Southey, and the other ‘Lakers’, Wordsworth and Coleridge (all three lived in the Lake District). Byron also vented his spleen on the English Foreign Secretary, Viscount Castlereagh, denouncing him as an ‘intellectual eunuch’, a ‘bungler’ and a ‘tinkering slavemaker’ (stanzas 11 and 14). Although the Romantics stressed the importance of the individual, they also advocated a commitment to mankind. Byron became actively involved in the struggles for Italian nationalism and the liberation of Greece from Ottoman rule.
Notorious for his sexual exploits, and dogged by debt and scandal, Byron quitted Britain in 1816. Lady Caroline Lamb famously declared that he was ‘Mad, bad and dangerous to know.’ Similar accusations were pointed at Shelley. Nicknamed ‘Mad Shelley’ at Eton, he was sent down from Oxford for advocating atheism. He antagonised the Establishment further by his criticism of the monarchy, and by his immoral lifestyle.
Letter from Lord Byron about his memoirs, 29 October 1819
Letter from Lord Byron about his memoirs, 1819
In this letter to his publisher, John Murray, Byron notes the poor reception of the first two cantos of Don Juan, but states that he has written a hundred stanzas of a third canto. He also states that he is leaving his memoirs to his friend George Moore, to be read after his death, but that this text does not include details of his love affairs.
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Female poets
Female poets also contributed to the Romantic movement, but their strategies tended to be more subtle and less controversial. Although Dorothy Wordsworth (1771-1855) was modest about her writing abilities, she produced poems of her own; and her journals and travel narratives certainly provided inspiration for her brother. Women were generally limited in their prospects, and many found themselves confined to the domestic sphere; nevertheless, they did manage to express or intimate their concerns. For example, Mary Alcock (c. 1742-1798) penned ‘The Chimney Sweeper’s Complaint’. In ‘The Birth-Day’, Mary Robinson (1758-1800) highlighted the enormous discrepancy between life for the rich and the poor. Gender issues were foregrounded in ‘Indian Woman’s Death Song’ by Felicia Hemans (1793-1835).
The Gothic
Reaction against the Enlightenment was reflected in the rise of the Gothic novel. The most popular and well-paid 18th-century novelist, Ann Radcliffe (1764–1823), specialised in ‘the hobgoblin-romance’. Her fiction held particular appeal for frustrated middle-class women who experienced a vicarious frisson of excitement when they read about heroines venturing into awe-inspiring landscapes. She was dubbed ‘Mother Radcliffe’ by Keats, because she had such an influence on Romantic poets. The Gothic genre contributed to Coleridge’s Christabel (1816) and Keats’s ‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci’ (1819). Mary Shelley (1797-1851) blended realist, Gothic and Romantic elements to produce her masterpiece Frankenstein (1818), in which a number of Romantic aspects can be identified. She quotes from Coleridge’s Romantic poem The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere. In the third chapter Frankenstein refers to his scientific endeavours being driven by his imagination. The book raises worrying questions about the possibility of ‘regenerating’ mankind; but at several points the world of nature provides inspiration and solace.
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https://poets.org/text/brief-guide-romanticism
A Brief Guide to Romanticism
"In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs, in spite of things silently gone out of mind and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time. The objects of the Poet's thoughts are everywhere; though the eyes and senses of man are, it is true, his favorite guides, yet he will follow wheresoever he can find an atmosphere of sensation in which to move his wings. Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge—it is as immortal as the heart of man."
—William Wordsworth, "Preface to Lyrical Ballads"
Romanticism was arguably the largest artistic movement of the late 1700s. Its influence was felt across continents and through every artistic discipline into the mid-nineteenth century, and many of its values and beliefs can still be seen in contemporary poetry.
It is difficult to pinpoint the exact start of the romantic movement, as its beginnings can be traced to many events of the time: a surge of interest in folklore in the early to mid-nineteenth century with the work of the brothers Grimm, reactions against neoclassicism and the Augustan poets in England, and political events and uprisings that fostered nationalistic pride.
Romantic poets cultivated individualism, reverence for the natural world, idealism, physical and emotional passion, and an interest in the mystic and supernatural. Romantics set themselves in opposition to the order and rationality of classical and neoclassical artistic precepts to embrace freedom and revolution in their art and politics. German romantic poets included Fredrich Schiller and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, and British poets such as Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Percy Bysshe Shelley, George Gordon Lord Byron, and John Keats propelled the English romantic movement. Victor Hugo was a noted French romantic poet as well, and romanticism crossed the Atlantic through the work of American poets like Walt Whitman and Edgar Allan Poe. The romantic era produced many of the stereotypes of poets and poetry that exist to this day (i.e., the poet as a tortured and melancholy visionary).
Romantic ideals never died out in poetry, but were largely absorbed into the precepts of many other movements. Traces of romanticism lived on in French symbolism and surrealism and in the work of prominent poets such as Charles Baudelaire and Rainer Maria Rilke.
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"Creativity, Romanticism - Life, Love, Inspiration, Depth, Heart And Beauty
To many are indeed the majority aspects qualities building blocks of the
foundation of poetry…..In that ocean, one must swim or sink.
Creativity is listed first, as poetry cannot exist without it, imho." RJL
This blog was started back in early November of 2020. I got then very
sick and put the blog on a back burner--now that I have had a few days
to compete it and post it here. I bite the bullet and burned midnight oil
to get it completed…
My first two poems for this new blog were composed back then,
while the third and final poem composed as a tribute was created
this week..
********
"Poetic beauty is born from heart and soul. Its depths sweet sunshine,
romance sets world aglow and on its desserts we are blessed to dine" .. RJL
"Poeticus decor oritur ex corde et anima. Intus suavis sunshine,
suis romance sets orbem terrarum super solitum ardens et demerita ad nos beati dine" ..RJL
Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 09-02-2021 at 05:33 AM.
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
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Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
Blog went -- HOT -- in less than 4 hours...--TyrCreativity (Is The Lifeblood of The Poet)- Trinity From Newfound Bliss, A Dream-Night's Sequence- Honoring Byron, Shelly And Keats
Blog Posted:8/26/2021 9:41:00 AM
Creativity (Is The Lifeblood of The Poet)-
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
GOD Bless America...
Tyr-Ziu Saxnot thanked this post
Tyr-Ziu Saxnot liked this post
Senior Member
No other way to say it....But totally AWESOME achievement...
How much more rewarding can it be to have such a talented POET so close?
Congrats Robert (TYR). Well done.
I may be older than most. I may say things not everybody will like.
But despite all of that. I will never lower myself to the level of Liars, Haters, Cheats, and Hypocrites.
Philippians 4:13 I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me:
Tyr-Ziu Saxnot thanked this post
Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
Thank you my friend.
But reality is that fewer and fewer Americans are liking and understanding enough to appreciate poetry.
And that is from the deep decay within the American education system.
Especially so, in its liberal reduction in the teachings of Literature, etc..
With the sad added reality that modern poetry has been deliberately morphed into a lesser state by the so-called progressives /critics that simply abhor the classical, golden poets of old- because they can not touch the level those famous men and women created/wrote at......
Yet another example wherein liberalism destroyed what it could never hope to match or excel at...--Tyr
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
Senior Member
Absolutely...Without question.
The mentality of decay in the entire World today is caused by poor education, which comes from poor Personal Responsibility that has been avoided in order to maintain the INSTANT GRATIFICATION of the UN-EDUCATED, EASILY-LED, FOLLOWERS of the EASIEST PATH TO "SELF-GRATIFICATION".Thank you my friend.
But reality is that fewer and fewer Americans are liking and understanding enough to appreciate poetry.
And that is from the deep decay within the American education system.
Especially so, in its liberal reduction in the teachings of Literature, etc..
With the sad added reality that modern poetry has been deliberately morphed into a lesser state by the so-called progressives /critics that simply abhor the classical, golden poets of old- because they can not touch the level those famous men and women created/wrote at......
Yet another example wherein liberalism destroyed what it could never hope to match or excel at...--Tyr
I can foresee YOU writing a poem that explains it more than I can. Great Luck. Jim
I may be older than most. I may say things not everybody will like.
But despite all of that. I will never lower myself to the level of Liars, Haters, Cheats, and Hypocrites.
Philippians 4:13 I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me:
Tyr-Ziu Saxnot thanked this post
Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
Blog- To never give up. To "create" new, a short series of poems
Blog Posted:9/12/2021 9:08:00 AM
Blog- To not give up. To create new, A series of poems
Tragic, When Innocence Was Lost And Love Fled
(Youth, Dreams And Reality Series) number 1.
Like lake June swans once so were she and I
Passionate romance money cannot buy
Coupled and in heart's fervor we stood
Giving into our fever all we could
She the flighted arrow, I the strong bow
In our innocent youth fearing no blows
Living love's bounty, dreaming wondrous dreams
In sweet blindness, not seeing world's black schemes.
O' deepest sorrows why were you thus cast
Allowing joy to fade away so fast
Had we not with truest hearts in love fled
Together, spirit and soul therein wed
Watching beauty of night's heavenly skies
World's evils we gave no thought or replies
Living love's bounty, dreaming wondrous dreams
In sweet blindness, not seeing world's black schemes.
How I now so grieve that ill-fated day
In my epic misery bow to pray
For sweet mercy and yet another shot
To live forever in our moonlit spot
Swearing to always refuse any goodbye
Such dark reality firmly deny
Living love's bounty, dreaming wondrous dreams
In sweet blindness, not seeing world's black schemes.
Like lake June swans once so were she and I
Passionate romance money cannot buy
Coupled and in heart's fervor we stood
Giving into our fever all we could
She the flighted arrow, I the strong bow
In our innocent youth fearing no blows
Living love's bounty, dreaming wondrous dreams
In sweet blindness, not seeing world's black schemes.
Robert J. Lindley, 9-12-2021
Romanticism,
( What Once Was, And Can Never Be Again )
Note-
"Such sorrows of youth and the innocence that was our shield."
"Talibus aerumnas iuvenum et innocens clypei"
**********
Blog- To not give up. To create new,
A series of poems. number 2
Tragic, When Innocence Was Lost And Love Fled
(Youth, Dreams And Reality Series) number 2
Beauty waltzed in on my diamond dreams
While I a young lad wading rushing streams
There bright roses and lush gardens in bloom
Bringing me back from the darkness and gloom
How oft we wonder why happiness flees
Despite our prayers, our sincerest pleas
Yet tomorrow always comes, life moves on
Where we find beauty in a simple stone.
I wake from dreams and eager dawn I beg
Give me back love and my young dancing legs
For in this tired ole spirit hope still shines
I see Nature's beauty smell scented pines
Walk the ancient trails and rest a bit
Thank God my bloodline gives me heart and grit
Oft I wonder who now walks these old shoes
As lonely builds its walls and sings its blues.
Sun sets a glowing red, life welcomes soft night
Such a soulful peace allows no dark fright
In youth I found that time was not a friend
For took away joy as happy days end
And some nights radiant moon its rays hid
Reminding, fairy tales are just for kids
In those somber thoughts, her dear face appears
And then in waiting heart love romance sears.
Beauty waltzed in on my diamond dreams
While I a young lad wading rushing streams
There bright roses and lush gardens in bloom
Bringing me back from the darkness and gloom
How oft we wonder why happiness flees
Despite our prayers, our sincerest pleas
Yet tomorrow always comes, life moves on
Where we find beauty in a simple stone.
Robert J. Lindley, 9-12-2021
Romanticism,
( What Once Was, And Can Never Be Again )
Note-
"I that hold hope as a long lost friend. Await its gifts"…
"I. Qui spem tam diu perditam teneo amici. Exspecta eius dona."
**********
https://theconversation.com/poetry-h...art-form-99722
Poetry has a power to inspire change like no other art form
October 2, 2018 6.26am EDT
Author
Kate North
Senior Lecturer in English and Creative Writing, Cardiff Metropolitan University
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Culturally, poetry is used in varied ways. Haikus, for example, juxtapose images of the everyday, while lyric poetry expresses the personal and emotional. Similarly, poets themselves come in a range of guises. Think of the Romantic poet engaging with the sublime, the penniless artist in their garret, the high-brow don, the bard, the soldier on the frontline, the spoken word performer, the National Poet, the Poet Laureate or the Makar.
As an educator I sometimes encounter a fear of poetry in new students who have previously been put off by former teachers. Such teachers are, perhaps, intimidated by verse themselves, presenting it as a kind of algebra with an answer to be uncovered through some obscure metric code. This fear disperses, however, when students are given the confidence to interpret and engage with poetry on their own terms.
In creative writing classes we often talk about students needing to “find their own voice” and the best poems I read are written in the writers’ own particular voice, rather than in some inhabited “poetic” register. This is because poetry, for the writer and the reader, is about relevance.
Poetry is as relevant now as ever, whether you are a regular reader of it or not. Though chances are, at some point in your life, you will reach out to poetry. People look to poems, most often, at times of change. These can be happy or sad times, like birthdays, funerals or weddings. Poetry can provide clear expression of emotion at moments that are overwhelming and burdensome.
Read news coverage based on evidence, not tweets
Markers of change
Poetry is also used to mark periods of change which are often celebrated through public events. In these instances the reading and writing of poetry can be transformative. At Remembrance Sunday, for example, verse is used to reflect upon and process the harsh realities of loss, as well as commemorate the military service of those who have passed.
In the wake of the shocking Manchester Arena bombing, Tony Walsh’s This is the Place gave the city a voice that was unifying, defiant and inspiring. It was important that Walsh is a Mancunian himself, just as David Jones fought in the trenches and at Mametz Wood which gives his In Parenthesis the weight of experience, while Holly McNish’s written experience in her book Nobody Told Me rings with the truth of a mother.
The communication of personal experiences like these in poetry, using direct and immediate terms, came to the fore with the early confessional poetry movement through poets like Robert Lowell, Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath. Their use of the personal and private as the basis for their poems was once considered shocking but is now an embedded part of the contemporary poetry world.
That is not to say that poetry can only communicate direct experiences, however. Some poems are spaces in which broad questions are grappled with and answers sought. For example, in Shakespeare’s The Tempest we are told death is a transformation rather than an end:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange
These comforting words can also be found on the grave of Percy Bysshe Shelley in Rome.
Looking forward
Poetry is also used to explore the potential for change in the future, carrying with it the fears or hopes of the poet. Take Interim by Lola Ridge for example, a poem which holds particular relevance at this time. Ridge was a prominent activist and an advocate of the working classes. In Interim, change is yet to happen. We encounter the moment before change, the build up to change, the pause to take stock, consider and prepare for what is next. In it she anticipates a future movement or event. At a time of political uncertainty, as Brexit is being wrangled with, when opinions on all sides appear fragmented rather than unified, I find Ridge’s words a particular comfort. She describes the world as:
A great bird resting in its flight
Between the alleys of the stars.
This idea of the resting world is powerful. The world is waiting for its inhabitants to come to order perhaps, or to evolve even, before moving on to who knows where. But that is just me and my interpretation. Another reader will disagree and that is one of the most satisfying things about reading poetry. Your interpretation is yours alone and it can change the way you think or feel about something. It can help in times of challenge and it can bolster in periods of unease.
Today, poetry has never been more immediately accessible. With websites like The Poetry Archive and The Poetry Foundation one can summon a poem in the palm of one’s hand. Whether you are a regular reader of poetry or a person who encounters it only at moments of change, there is no denying the ongoing relevance and power of it.
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https://www.writerswrite.co.za/15-re...-write-poetry/
15 Good Reasons To Write Poetry
In this post, we give you 15 good reasons to write poetry.
Why should you write poems?
Because they’re awesome, but also because poetry is even more condensed that the short story. I find writing poems challenging and they make me approach writing differently.
15 Good Reasons To Write Poetry
They also:
Allow you to brainstorm. Because the medium differs from stories, poems allow you to express things differently. Use them to brainstorm ideas.
Make your words work. Even more than the short story, poems have limited words and we need make our words work hard.
Make you think differently about words. Poems make us re-evaluate words and think of new ways to manipulate language.
Make you evaluate each word, because of the condensed nature of a poem we have to spend even more time evaluating our word choice.
Allow you to say exactly what it is you want to say. Poems act as a filter and help us get to the guts of the matter.
Have rules, but they also have no rules. You get to break all the rules when you write poems but do it only because it serves the poem. Manipulate grammar, change the sentence structure.
Allow you to experiment and experiment some more. Have fun.
Have many places to submit. The only thing there is more of on the internet than short story competitions and submissions are poetry sites. Dig in.
Are even quicker to write. A poem can take a few minutes and just spill out or it can take years.
Give you a break from fiction, because it is such a different medium.
Give you deadlines, deadlines, and more deadlines. Find them online, sign up here, but get going.
Make you more aware of how words and sentences sound, which will improve your fiction.
Give you an opportunity to learn by reading and commenting on other poems.
Help you learn from the comments and feedback from other poets.
Help you express emotion and feelings. Poems are supposed to make you feel something even if you don’t understand them. They help you get feelings out.
It is true that many of these are applicable of all writing, but I hope that I have convinced you that poems are valuable. These 15 good reasons to write poetry should inspire you. It would be awesome if you would like to join us for this new adventure.
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I must be slipping a bit, as it took two days for this new blog to go --HOT.....---Tyr
Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 09-15-2021 at 07:28 AM.
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
A Blog A Week, Honoring Each Week One Chosen Famous Poet , First Week, Randall Jarrell
Blog Posted:9/17/2021 7:39:00 AM
A Blog A Week, Honoring Each Week One Chosen Famous Poet , First Week, Randall Jarrell
(1.)
https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nyti...-crutches.html
October 7, 1951
With Wild Dogmatism
By ROBERT LOWELL
THE SEVEN-LEAGUE CRUTCHES
By Randall Jarrell
Randall Jarrell is our most talented poet under 40, and one whose wit, pathos and grace remind us more of Pope or Matthew Arnold than of any of his contemporaries. I don't know whether Jarrell is unappreciated or not -- it's hard to imagine anyone taking him lightly. He is almost brutally serious about literature and so bewilderingly gifted that it is impossible to comment on him without the humiliating thought that he himself could do it better.
He is a man of letters in the European sense, with real verve, imagination and uniqueness. Even his dogmatism is more wild and personal than we are accustomed to, completely unspoiled by the hedging "equanimity" that weakens the style and temperament of so many of our serious writers. His murderous intuitive phrases are famous; but at the same time his mind is essentially conservative and takes as much joy in rescuing the reputation of a sleeping good writer as in chloroforming a mediocre one.
Jarrell's prose intelligence -- he seems to know everything -- gives his poetry an extraordinary advantage over, for instance, a thunderbolt like Dylan Thomas, in dealing with the present. Jarrell is able to see our whole scientific, political and spiritual situation directly and on its own terms. He is a tireless discoverer of new themes and resources, and a master technician, who moves easily from the little to the grand. Monstrously knowing and monstrously innocent -- one does not know just where to find him ... a Wordsworth with the obsessions of Lewis Carroll.
"The Seven-League Crutches" should best be read with Jarrell's three earlier volumes. "Blood for a Stranger" (1942) is a Parnassian tour-de-force in the manner of Auden; nevertheless, it has several fine poems, the beginnings of better, and enough of the author's personality for John Crowe Ransom to write in ironic astonishment that Jarrell had "the velocity of an angel." "Little Friend, Little Friend" (1945), however, contains some of the best poems on modern war, better, I think, and far more professional than those of Wilfred Owen, which, though they seem pathetically eternal to us now, are sometimes amateurish and unfinished. The determined, passive, sacrificial lives of the pilots, inwardly so harmless and outwardly so destructive, are ideal subjects for Jarrell. In "Losses" (1948) and more rangingly in "Seven-League Crutches," new subjects appear. Using himself, children, characters from fairy stories, history and painting, he is still able to find beings that are determined, passive and sacrificial, but the experience is quiet, more complex and probably more universal. It's an odd universe, where a bruised joy or a bruised sorrow is forever commenting on itself with the gruff animal common sense and sophistication of Fontaine. Jarrell has gone far enough to be compared with his peers, the best lyric poets of the past: he has the same finesse and originality that they have, and his faults, a certain idiosyncratic willfulness and eclectic timidity, are only faults in this context.
Among the new poems, "Orient Express," a sequel, I think, to "Dover Beach," is a brilliantly expert combination of regular and irregular lines, buried rhymes, and sestina-like repeated rhymes, in which shifts in tone and rhythm are played off against the deadening roll of the train. "A Game at Salzburg" has the broken, charmed motion of someone thinking out loud. Both, in their different ways, are as skillful and lovely as any short poem I know of. "The Knight, Death, and the Devil" is a careful translation of Durer's engraving. The description is dense; the generalizations are profound. It is one of the most remarkable word-pictures in English verse or prose, and comparable to Auden's "Musee de Beaux Arts."
"The Contrary Poet" is an absolutely literal translation from Corbiere. The original is as clearly there as in the French, and it is also a great English poem. "The Night Before the Night Before Christmas" is long; it is also, perhaps, the best, most mannered, the most unforgettable and the most irritating poem in the book. Some of Jarrell's monologues are Robert Frost for "the man who reads Hamlet," or rather for a Hamlet who had been tutored by Jarrell. In "Seele in Raum," he masters Frost's methods and manages to make a simple half-mad woman speak in character, and yet with his own humor and terror.
My favorite is "A Girl in a Library," an apotheosis of the American girl, an immortal character piece, and the poem in which Jarrell perhaps best uses both his own qualities and his sense of popular culture. The girl is a college student, blonde and athletic.
But not so sadly; not so thoughtfully
And answers * * * guilelessly: I'm studying.
I quote the ending:
Sit and dream
One comes, a finger width beneath your skin,
To the braided maidens singing as they spin;
There sounds the shepherd's pipe, the watchman's rattle
Across the short dark distance of the years.
I am a thought of yours: and yet, you do not think ...
The firelight of a long, blind dreaming story
Lingers upon your lips; and I have seen
Firm, fixed forever in your closing eyes,
The Corn King beckoning to his Spring Queen.
"Belinda" was once drawn with something of the same hesitating satire and sympathy.
Mr. Lowell, who received the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1947, is author of "The Mills of the Kavanaughs."
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(2.) A video link- Jarrell speaking
Randall Jarrell Reads from His Work
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September 1948
The King's Hunt
BY RANDALL JARRELL
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https://www.modernamericanpoetry.org...andall-jarrell
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My two tribute poems- composed to honor this truly gifted
and totally amazingly brilliant poet…
****
(1.)
As I Sit Here Chilling On My Front Porch
As I sit here chilling on my front porch
Yet still wonderment in this aged soul
Tho' I feel far too fast fading life's torch
Seeking to find more than, world's heavy toll
Watching this world dancing through my front yard
Sipping hot coffee, daring to be free
Soaring fodder for a want to be bard
Or a brave captain sailing stormy seas.
Now I see trees swaying and waves crashing
Thunder blasting, arriving tempest roars
Fate cries, you chips you will soon be cashing
I say, go away now you simply bore
Sun and its golden rays beam as scene change
On my black mustang I am now riding
Across a desert prairie, open range
Searching through life while no longer hiding.
Ahead a glistening purple mountain
Destination for a sad broken heart
Treasure found as a renewal fountain
As dreaming depicted on my star chart
There awaits golden gems and lover's touch
An angel as promised ages ago
Nirvana, as true love delivers such
From there into Heaven away we go.
I sit here just chilling on my front porch
Yet still wonderment in this aged soul
Tho' I feel far too fast fading life's torch
Seeking to find more than, world's heavy toll.
Robert J. Lindley, JULY 11TH, 2021
Romanticism- Tribute poem for
Randall Jarrell
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(2.)
Wherein, Innocent Children Once Played.
Beyond the fall of that shimmering veil
With the folds of life's mysterious walls
Imprisoned in the dark pits of hell
Innocents that failed to heed this call
Soft beckoning into a warming light
Enticement to live in a sweeter state
Devoid of fear of life and evil night
As always forbidden there any hate.
For only joy and happiness resides
Among bright gardens and its golden walls
Left behind vanity and foolish prides
One only enters by Heaven's dear call
Time banished and true love reigns supreme
Peace there is the feast on which all may dine
Eradicated all the world's dark schemes
There is no greedy, this stuff is all mine.
Yes, truly such a treasure does exist
Wherein wicked world can never invade
Just beyond the purple veil's falling mist
Wherein, innocent children once played.
Robert J. Lindley, 9-17- 2021
Romanticism- Tribute poem for
Randall Jarrell
**********
Note-
This blog was started months ago- due to health issues then, was abandoned.
All that was needed was the second poem.
That was last night and finished this morn..
I leave it as it was first composed- unedited.
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
Life, Love, Truth, 3 gems
This new blog went directly to the -HOT-- stage, the first hour after my posting it.
I am amazed at how fast it went--HOT... .
I now have four blogs listed as -HOT- on the blog page..-
18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.
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