Oscar Wilde

[Hopfrog]

I entertained the evil things of life,
Those panther-boys whose beauty I adored;
And for this crime I lost my sons, my wife,
And I became a thing grotesque, abhorred.
And so what can I do but live in dream,
Where my fine name is not a thing of mud,
Where kissing handsome lads does not blaspheme,
Where, seven-veiled, I dance in pool of blood?

Ah, Dorian, the mirror of your eyes
Shews unto me youth's golden little time.
Ah, Sphinx, how beautiful you are, how wise.
Dear Bosie, teach me passion's poisoned crime.
I deign to dance in Dante's holy flames.
Judiciousness I leave to Henry James.
:reddevil:

[from my book The Tangled Muse, Centipede Press, 2011]

[Jack of Hearts]

It's probably a techinical achievement (this reader will leave that assessment to those more skilled with structured verse) but man is it boring. With words like 'unto' and allusions (presumably) to things 'seven-veiled', it all prompts the question of who speaks like this anymore? It favors the archaic over the elegant and the familiar over the interesting. Hardly in the legend of Oscar Wilde.






J

[Delta40]

I got distracted by many lines starting with And (and) Where. It loses its appeal in this sense and like JoH I'm not technical in my critiques but it didn't evoke much in me although I think you have a lovely grasp of language, which means I will trust that you have much greater potential.

welcome to Lit-Net btw

[Hopfrog]

from "The Saprophytic Fungi" in my book, The Fungal Stain and Other Dreams, Hippocampus Press 2006.

When you are alone with him, Sphinx, does he take off his face and reveal his mask?
--Oscar Wilde

Ah, kiss me with your teeth, Sardonicus,
Those chilly pearls that gleam so white, so wet.
I know that I should be afraid, and yet
I crave your daemon-passion, succubus.

Stretch for me your mouth, Sardonicus.
I can only play at being brave
As I taste the promise of the grave
On your clean dentition pressed to us.

What is it that flickers in your eyes,
Eyes that hold me in unholy spell,
Eyes that burn with what is spawn'd in Hell,
Eyes that taunt and mock, that appetize?

Weigh your nightmare visage unto me.
Taste with teeth my brief mortality.
:devil:

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

from my book, Sesqua Valley and Other Haunts, Delirium Press 2003

Jerk

My god, you are a decadent young child,
You, moaning in your solitary sphere;
And, lord, your longings cannot be called mild;
Your cravings, lad, are rather cavalier.
And what are these rare inkings, white and black,
These creatures elegant and sinister?
When did you, child, acquire creative knack,
Become art's diabolic minister?

And what is that you do with your free hand,
That hand that delves so deep in your desire?
How strange to taste your lust, to understand
This growing passion, this perverted fire.
Satanic Priest, I kiss your dripping pen
And pant your praises evermore. Amen.
:mad5:


--finis--

[Jack of Hearts]

Strongly preferred 'Jerk' out of these two samplings. Still have the same problem with these pieces, though; whatever's going on here, this reader is allergic.







J

[hillwalker]

You've had 3 volumes of verse published so presumably there is a market for such material...

but I also found much of the material a little too self-consciously clever. Name-dropping for the sake of it rather than revealing anything particularly original about homosexuality or other aspects of sexuality.

There are some very elegant lines here that display your talent as a wordsmith - but also others that suggest rhyme comes before reason :

As I taste the promise of the grave
On your clean dentition pressed to us.

had me picturing an episode in the dentist's chair from the dentist's pov rather than a night-time visitation by some ghoul.

Interesting all the same, but a case very much of style rather than substance.

H

[everyadventure]

I loved the first two lines of the first poem. But then all the literary references seemed abstract and didn't do much to move the poem along.

[Hopfrog]

You've had 3 volumes of verse published so presumably there is a market for such material...

but I also found much of the material a little too self-consciously clever. Name-dropping for the sake of it rather than revealing anything particularly original about homosexuality or other aspects of sexuality.

There are some very elegant lines here that display your talent as a wordsmith - but also others that suggest rhyme comes before reason :

As I taste the promise of the grave
On your clean dentition pressed to us.

had me picturing an episode in the dentist's chair from the dentist's pov rather than a night-time visitation by some ghoul.

Interesting all the same, but a case very much of style rather than substance.

H

I am extremely grateful to all for your comments. No, I've had no collections of verse, all of my collections are of Lovecraftian weird fiction. Under the influence of Poe, I plant poetry within my tales. My readership is made up entirely of they who read H. P. Lovecraft, to whom I obsessively pay homage in all of my books. Thus are my themes comprehensible to a paltry few. They will know that the poem to Sardonicus refers to the short story by Ray Russel and its film adaptation. I've often wondered if anyone but Lovecraft freaks could really "get" my work, which I doubt. But, under the influence of Wilde and Henry James, I strive for beauty and Literary Art, which so many in my genre think is a pretentious aim. For me it is the air I breathe, the poetry of prose, the song of verse.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I'm here to dissent with all those who objected to your rhymes - which to my ears were always graceful and often witty - or to the deliberately anachronistic style of your voice. If there is a reigning aesthetic here, it may be for the raw, heartfelt confession, which has its place but so does highly crafted stuff like yours.

(And I have never read Lovecraft!)

[Hopfrog]

I'm here to dissent with all those who objected to your rhymes - which to my ears were always graceful and often witty - or to the deliberately anachronistic style of your voice. If there is a reigning aesthetic here, it may be for the raw, heartfelt confession, which has its place but so does highly crafted stuff like yours.

(And I have never read Lovecraft!)

I am deliberately (some editors say audaciously) archaic in my approach to writing. Because I write exclusively for the small press (with some few commercial exceptions such as anthologies like Black Wings, edited by S. T. Joshi), I can do my own thing and not worry about trying to placate mainstream publishers and markets. I love being a ghoul of the small press underground. Because I am paying homage to a Master, H. P. Lovecraft, I want my work to be the best I can make it. The trick is to write in the Lovecraftian genre and yet retain one's perverse and individual voice and vision. I'm slowly accomplishing that task. Thanks for your wonderful comment!
:hat:

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

I like the archaic language.

[Hopfrog]

He is the lonely poet,
Singing to himself of stillborn dreams,
Swaying from form to form
As he drifts from man to woman.

He is the isolated heart,
A psyche encased in barbed wire,
Who haunts the night with cries for love
Yet turns his back to outstretched arms.

He is the angry young man
A brain soggy with booze, cool needle in hot vein,
Shambling toward an early death
In the shadow of fleeting innocence.

He is the boy I loved,
Who died inside my arms.
His poetry alone
Will be his epitaph.
:frown5::sad:

[hillwalker]

Your latest is certainly an improvement on the previous postings - v.2 in particular stands out.

Possibly your more overblown pieces work better in the setting of Lovecraftian stories than when presented as stand-alone poems. There are those on here who hold archaic language and purple patches in high esteem - but they leave me cold.

H

[Hopfrog]

There are those on here who hold archaic language and purple patches in high esteem - but they leave me cold.

H

You will want to stay far away from my prose--it is purple up ye nether-regions...:ack2:

[hillwalker]

You will want to stay far away from my prose--it is purple up ye nether-regions...:ack2:

Thanks for the warning.

H

[YesNo]

I liked the last line of Jerk and in general the dark, sexual content of your writing. It is also refreshing to read someone who can write metrical poetry.

I don't know much about Lovecraft, but your writing has made me interested.

[Hopfrog]

I am obsess'd with the sonnet form and love it utterly. For one of my books I wrote a sequence of thirty-three sonnets, but reading them now makes me cringe. Lovecraft wrote his own sonnet cycle, Fungi from Yuggoth, and it is quite interesting but not always successful. My new obsession has been what I call the prose-poem sequence, although I am confused as to what differentiates the prose-poem from the vignette -- is it length, tone, poetic voice? My newest book is a connected 37,000 word sequence of prose-poems and vignettes, each one of which is my aesthetic response to one of Lovecraft's sonnets. His sonnets (and short stories) may be found online, and there are some readings of Lovecraft's sonnets on YouTube.

I love that we can have colored text!
I dip my pen in liquid vein . . .:svengo:

[YesNo]

I searched for the Fungi from Yuggoth and found some of them read by William Hart. They were definitely a pleasure to listen to and I liked Nyarlathotep, especially the ending line.

Although I'm not sure I understand them, the sound of the sonnets made me want to look further for a meaning.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcWAUyRu2mQ&NR=1

[Hopfrog]

I searched for the Fungi from Yuggoth and found some of them read by William Hart. They were definitely a pleasure to listen to and I liked Nyarlathotep, especially the ending line.

Although I'm not sure I understand them, the sound of the sonnets made me want to look further for a meaning.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcWAUyRu2mQ&NR=1

Listening to Will Hart's reading is what inspired me to write my newest book. I would listen to Will's reading, study the sonnet as text, and then write my own aesthetic response in the form of prose-poem or vignette. This led to a deeper appreciation of the sonnets, which are very expressive. I think many of them are Lovecraft tinkering with the fantastic ideas that filled his brain and therefore have no deep meaning. Macabre verse may not be of much importance philosophically; it's main purpose should be to fill one with unease, or so I insist. But in sonnets such as "Expectancy" and "Background" and "Continuity," something other than providing shudders is going on.

"Nyarlathotep" is my favourite of Lovecraft's Great Old Ones, an extremely enigmatic and fascination creation. Lovecraft also wrote a prose-poem of the same title, which may be found in editions of his weird fiction.