Lovers in the Woods

[Caliode]

xxxxxxxxxxxx

[Alexander III]

I like it

[Delta40]

I thought at first they were wild ponies. Pity. Very prosey and literal too. Did she cry because his penis was so smooth?

[blank|verse]

Reads like Robert Frost re-written by E.L. James. And that's not a good thing, if you need to ask...

[Caliode]

I thought at first they were wild ponies. Pity. Very prosey and literal too. Did she cry because his penis was so smooth?

One would have to wonder about the thinking behind such a comment.

Why is it a pity? Is it because the reader wants to read about wild ponies?

Does prosey mean like prose? In which case it should be prosy.

What's wrong with literal?

Is this a case of envy? penis or otherwise?

Criticism should be helpful and constructive. If you don't like it, then fair enough. No need to demonstrate your superior intellect.


Reads like Robert Frost re-written by E.L. James. And that's not a good thing, if you need to ask...

Ever read Flaubert?

Robert Frost? well he wrote about woods I suppose and out-Wordsworthed Wordsworth in his use of ordinary language. And I did write a poem about him, which stressed how he could use the ordinary and the mundane to disturb, startle and shock.

The other writer is in a direct line from the school of novelists, who wrote books about how the woman reforms her man. So that don't fit. Neither does her reputation for matters BDSM. But, I suppose it's the use of the word "penis".

Lawd help us all - is this informed comment?

[hillwalker]

The ponies crossed the creek and trotted toward the river.It (the river?)was grey without sun, but still and dry. In front of them they saw a thicket in the woods. The woman dismounted and stood there while the horses were led away.
He (who's he?) came back carrying two soft shawls in his arms. They (the shawls?) walked slowly into the thicket, wholly absorbed in each other; she clinging to his arm, listening to his low voice.
His penis bulged at the head thick and hot, rounded like a pepper pot. She felt its smoothness. Her cry resounded through the woods. Startling the silence.

I was picturing Pan and some Elsian nymphs but no - it really is meant to be taken literally. What's wrong with literal? Nothing if you're writing a ballad. But this isn't a ballad. And taking everything here literally merely exposes the piece's shortcomings.

It is quite difficult to make informed comment about such a lifeless piece of writing.

It's not prosey or prosy or prosaic. It's bad prose chopped up into individual lines that make it look like a poem. More Jilly Cooper than E L James, actually, because she wrote about horsey people having sex as well and she made a fortune so maybe you have something to work with after all.

H

[Delta40]

One would have to wonder about the thinking behind such a comment.

Why is it a pity? Is it because the reader wants to read about wild ponies?

Does prosey mean like prose? In which case it should be prosy.

What's wrong with literal?

Is this a case of envy? penis or otherwise?

Criticism should be helpful and constructive. If you don't like it, then fair enough. No need to demonstrate your superior intellect.

Heh, heh. didn't I demonstrate lack of superiortiy with my spelling mistake? Well wild ponies would have been better to symbolize the freedom of the moment. No penis envy here just an observation about the way it is written. She strokes a bulging smooth penis and then cries. What is the implication? She goes weak at the knees? She is disappointed? He bonks her?

[firefangled]

What I really want to have clarified about this is how we can't say ***, but we can say penis. Yes, and oh my god here I go again androgonizing myself, I have penis envy over this fact.

Watch when this posts, a s s (above) will be asteriskized and penis will be there smooth and shiny as a pepper pot (achoo) in all its lexical glory!

[Delta40]

That's funny FF because isn't an a s s a donkey? Maybe if the penis was as big as a donkey then it would have got assterisked? :ihih:

[hillwalker]

We can't write **** (c o c k) either. Obviously it's to do with some quaint by-law banning farm animals from participating on the site.

As for 'penis' - it's a Literary site so as we all know, the 'penis' mightier than the sword.

H

[firefangled]

lol...isn't that the truth, Hill


That's funny FF because isn't an a s s a donkey? Maybe if the penis was as big as a donkey then it would have got assterisked? :ihih:

Well I'm peeved (read p i s s e d [just in case]). They can kiss my donkey.

[islandclimber]

Only certain farm animals, Hill. One can't just throw a general ban at the lot of them. We must discriminate ruthlessly. The *** (a s s) may not trespass, nor the **** (c o c k). However, filthy swine are most certainly allowed.


Heh, heh. didn't I demonstrate lack of superiortiy with my spelling mistake? Well wild ponies would have been better to symbolize the freedom of the moment. No penis envy here just an observation about the way it is written. She strokes a bulging smooth penis and then cries. What is the implication? She goes weak at the knees? She is disappointed? He bonks her?

I think the implication is, she strokes the smooth penis and begins to cry, out of desire to have one of her own. Penis envy is certainly a prevalent notion in this poem. :D

[Caliode]

The ponies crossed the creek and trotted toward the river.It (the river?)was grey without sun, but still and dry. In front of them they saw a thicket in the woods. The woman dismounted and stood there while the horses were led away.
He (who's he?) came back carrying two soft shawls in his arms. They (the shawls?) walked slowly into the thicket, wholly absorbed in each other; she clinging to his arm, listening to his low voice.
His penis bulged at the head thick and hot, rounded like a pepper pot. She felt its smoothness. Her cry resounded through the woods. Startling the silence.

I was picturing Pan and some Elsian nymphs but no - it really is meant to be taken literally. What's wrong with literal? Nothing if you're writing a ballad. But this isn't a ballad. And taking everything here literally merely exposes the piece's shortcomings.

It is quite difficult to make informed comment about such a lifeless piece of writing.

It's not prosey or prosy or prosaic. It's bad prose chopped up into individual lines that make it look like a poem. More Jilly Cooper than E L James, actually, because she wrote about horsey people having sex as well and she made a fortune so maybe you have something to work with after all.

H

Are ballads literal?

Should not that be Elysian as an adjective for the nymphs and did nymphs come from Elysium. And where O where are they in the original poem?

[hillwalker]

Are ballads literal? They usually relate a story - so yes
Should not that be Elysian as an adjective that's what I wrote for the nymphs and did nymphs come from Elysium again yes - Elysian = from Elysium. And where O where are they in the original poem? They're not - but I was expecting them given the setting - are we not allowed to interpret poetry on here?

So many questions.

H

[Caliode]

Literal usually refers to language and means to be precise or limited without recourse to any nuances or secondary meanings. Ballads do tell stories usually using simple or colloquial language.

Perhaps you are mixing up the two meanings because ballads do have many things going on below the surface.

[hillwalker]

Literal usually refers to language and means to be precise or limited without recourse to any nuances or secondary meanings. Ballads do tell stories usually using simple or colloquial language.
Perhaps you are mixing up the two meanings because ballads do have many things going on below the surface.

Yawn.

[Caliode]

xxxxx

[hillwalker]

This is fine writing - but it works better as prose, surely? On what basis can it be considered as poetry other than by the formatting?

H

[Paulclem]

I agree. You could join all the lines together with no discernible difference to the quality of the writing. Your original was similar in this sense, and whilst you clearly express poetic ideas, you're not expressing them poetically.

What would you need to do to the sentences in order to poeticise your writing? It's an interesting question, as, when it comes down to it, it is only the structure of poems that finally define them as poems, as all the other techniques could arguably be found in prose, for example rhyme, alliteration etc etc.

It is something to do with the combination of techniques that makes a poem I think. What do others reckon?

[hillwalker]

There are innumerable books and articles that explore the differences between prose and poetry.

One expects every single word to count in a poem - for its sounds as much as for its meaning. Lyricism. Economy of expression. Metaphor or hyperbole. Too much to explore on here - and I have no wish to hi-jack the OP's thread. Suffice to say that what he posted is not a poem in spite of it's superficial appearance.

H

[firefangled]

See a book called How Does a Poem Mean by John Ciardi. If after that you want to go deeper see A Poet's Guide To Poetry by Mary Kinzie. It helps to understand poetry if you pick just one poet of repute and read a lot of what they write and try to understand what he or she is saying and how it is said. Try Frost, Plath, James Merrill, Wallace Stevens, or Louise Gluck.

[Caliode]

Byron is generally reckoned to be a poet. In the Second Canto of Don Juan (acknowledged to be a masterpiece) he wrote about a shipwreck. In parts of his description he included several newspaper reports of various shipwrecks, which he chopped up almost verbatim and made into verse.

Now Byron was a very strange man with a rather odd sense of humour, and he may well have been spoofing his readers, or he may have been raising questions about the nature of poetry and how does it differ from prose.

At some stage in my literary career I was very interested in James Hogg and Mary Shelley, who both wrote fantastical tales (if you prefer Romantic/ Gothic). They made them believable and convincing by grounding them in reality - providing prosaic details to undercut the imaginative plot development.

I am perfectly well aware of what is or is not poetry (according to traditional/ conventional viewpoints) but I am extremely interested in exploding some of those viewpoints by producing something which can be used to raise questions.

Now this forum as I understand it is interested in matters literary. So why not pose the questions about the poetic aesthetic by producing poems in order to elicit comment, which might be very illuminating and instructive?

Surely folk who have an interest in literature should be concerned with why something is a poem and not a piece of prose?

What for instance is poetic prose? and is that any different from prose trying to be poetry?

[Delta40]

Warning to the Reader

By Robert Bly


Sometimes farm granaries become especially beautiful when all the oats or wheat are gone, and wind has swept the rough floor clean. Standing inside, we see around us, coming in through the cracks between shrunken wall boards, bands or strips of sunlight. So in a poem about imprisonment, one sees a little light.
But how many birds have died trapped in these granaries. The bird, seeing freedom in the light, flutters up the walls and falls back again and again. The way out is where the rats enter and leave; but the rat’s hole is low to the floor. Writers, be careful then by showing the sunlight on the walls not to promise the anxious and panicky blackbirds a way out!
I say to the reader, beware. Readers who love poems of light may sit hunched in the corner with nothing in their gizzards for four days, light failing, the eyes glazed . . .
They may end as a mound of feathers and a skull on the open boardwood floor . . .

I think the distinction here is that this piece has both a meditative and lyrical quality to it.

[firefangled]

I've read novels in which there are sections that I would call prose poems: Molly Bloom's soliloquy in Joyce's Ulysses; the Time Passes chapter of To the Lighthouse. Here is another by Amy Lowell, a section from a prose poem call Spring Day. It illustrates very obviously the rhythm and repetition of sound that are some of the characteristics of prose poems:

Breakfast Table

In the fresh-washed sunlight, the breakfast table is decked and white. It offers itself in flat surrender, tendering tastes, and smells, and colours, and metals, and grains, and the white cloth falls over its side, draped and wide. Wheels of white glitter in the silver coffee-pot, hot and spinning like catherine-wheels, they whirl, and twirl—and my eyes begin to smart, the little white, dazzling wheels prick them like darts. Placid and peaceful, the rolls of bread spread themselves in the sun to bask. A stack of butter-pats, pyramidal, shout orange through the white, scream, flutter, call: “Yellow! Yellow! Yellow!” Coffee steam rises in a stream, clouds the silver tea-service with mist, and twists up into the sunlight, revolved, involuted, suspiring higher and higher, fluting in a thin spiral up the high blue sky. A crow flies by and croaks at the coffee steam. The day is new and fair with good smells in the air.

[Caliode]

xxxxx

[Delta40]

Would you say Caliode that all prose is poetry?

[Pete Ak]

I've come to this thread in the midst of a prose/poetry debate - my only contribution to which is that the author of this piece seems to be adept at both. Lovers in the Woods is enjoyable, I have a slight prob with use of the word "thicket" which you seem to use in the way I might use 'clearing' - the lovers espy a thicket, no problem with them noticing a 'dense stand of threes and/or bushes, within a wooded area' but walking into a thicket might be problematic. It's not a fatal problem but I thought you may have a thought about a replacement if you hadn't realised.
For what it's worth the two verses you've included as part of this thread are to me more enjoyable pieces than Lovers...

[Caliode]

Would you say Caliode that all prose is poetry?

Prose in Latin means straightforward or direct. Verse is from vertere to turn. So, prose is any language which does not turn back on itself, whereas verse contains elements of repetition forming a pattern.Metre is obviously one such pattern as is rhyme.

Victorian schoolboys learned grammar by reading Latin poetry, where the word order was governed by metre. Unless you had a perfect knowledge of grammar this poetry was unintelligible, unlike English poetry,where word order is governed by meaning. A lot of this still clings to the way we read poetry. I think we subconsciously react against this lack of pattern in a piece of writing, which is not easily categorised.

[Twota]

674 views! ;0

[zoolane]

Firstly, what it be prosey or poem is either here or there to be. The first piece what I am going comment on. The language is subtle and sound right but 'penis' is in engish language. If you going uses it in prosey/poem then rest of words need to be line with it.

[Caliode]

xxxxx

[zoolane]

'Penis' does not fit in with rest of poem/prosey.


Time has moved on. The young boy has grown up and become a law student. The lovers have gone their different ways - the woman settling back with her husband, while the man has married a younger woman. One wild stormy night with the rivers raging and the wind blowing a gale, matters have come to some sort of crisis.

This poem is called "The Telephone Call". Readers should imagine it being made from an office, where the young law student has been working late at night. The woman is distressed and unnerved by the weather. She has also been drinking:

"Frank, it's Ginny. You remember me. Don't ya?
I heard you got married, Frank.
And pregnant already.
Is she that blonde one we used to laugh at
With the buck teeth and squashed in nose?
Charlotte, yes, I remember her name now."

Her eyes had shrunk to tight hard points,
In the dim light her face looked blurred;
She was frowning as though trying to hold on
And yet her voice was playful, almost affectionate.
She sounded like a young woman again
At ease with herself - talking to a dear friend.

" Oh Frank, Oh Frank how could you?"
And there was a sudden darkening of tone
As though a light had been put out.
"You're a coward Frank, a dirty coward.
I don't want you, I don't need you
When I 'm dead don't come and look at me."

She began screaming down the phone
No words, just raw screams
Then her voice became another voice,
That didn't seem to belong
To any human form.
It ran on and on
Without pause until the phone dropped from her hand.
And then she sat down, her legs splayed out
Her head bowed.


So is it story or poem? or either about persons?

[Caliode]

'Penis' does not fit in with rest of poem/prosey.

In what way does it not fit in?


So is it story or poem? or either about persons?

Could it be a story written in series of verses or poems? and as people appear in it then it is about people as well.

[zoolane]

When writing I alway try to subtle way of describle it or said something but way that reader as to image what being writing.

Yeah it could be.

[Caliode]

When writing I alway try to subtle way of describle it or said something but way that reader as to image what being writing.

I presume this is about the use of the word "penis". No pun intended- but, different folks have different strokes.

[firefangled]

Time has moved on. The young boy has grown up and become a law student. The lovers have gone their different ways - the woman settling back with her husband, while the man has married a younger woman. One wild stormy night with the rivers raging and the wind blowing a gale, matters have come to some sort of crisis.

This poem is called "The Telephone Call". Readers should imagine it being made from an office, where the young law student has been working late at night. The woman is distressed and unnerved by the weather. She has also been drinking:

"Frank, it's Ginny. You remember me. Don't ya?
I heard you got married, Frank.
And pregnant already.
Is she that blonde one we used to laugh at
With the buck teeth and squashed in nose?
Charlotte, yes, I remember her name now."

Her eyes had shrunk to tight hard points,
In the dim light her face looked blurred;
She was frowning as though trying to hold on
And yet her voice was playful, almost affectionate.
She sounded like a young woman again
At ease with herself - talking to a dear friend.

" Oh Frank, Oh Frank how could you?"
And there was a sudden darkening of tone
As though a light had been put out.
"You're a coward Frank, a dirty coward.
I don't want you, I don't need you
When I 'm dead don't come and look at me."

She began screaming down the phone
No words, just raw screams
Then her voice became another voice,
That didn't seem to belong
To any human form.
It ran on and on
Without pause until the phone dropped from her hand.
And then she sat down, her legs splayed out
Her head bowed.

To me this seems somewhere between the first scene of a play and the first page of a short story. What it is not is a poem. I'm not trying to be over critical of you, Caliode, but it seems to me, you have not read much poetry. It is possible to present a scene between two people in poetry, but it would have different elements of composition in it than you used here.

Read Robert Frost's Home Burial and see how he presents an arguement between a husband and wife; it is highly structured to be poetry and yet you don't lose any of the drama or feel how rigidly it is constructed; Frost has no need of introducing the scene, he makes the poem do that. Read A Servant to Servants and see how he presents a scene between the wife of a failing resort and a woman who has come to camp there.

[Caliode]

To me this seems somewhere between the first scene of a play and the first page of a short story. What it is not is a poem. I'm not trying to be over critical of you, Caliode, but it seems to me, you have not read much poetry. It is possible to present a scene between two people in poetry, but it would have different elements of composition in it than you used here.

Read Robert Frost's Home Burial and see how he presents an arguement between a husband and wife; it is highly structured to be poetry and yet you don't lose any of the drama or feel how rigidly it is constructed; Frost has no need of introducing the scene, he makes the poem do that. Read A Servant to Servants and see how he presents a scene between the wife of a failing resort and a woman who has come to camp there.

My poem on reading Robert Frost posted on here a few days ago:

"I was looking at a picture of Robert Frost.
He is old with a shock of white hair,
And looks far away into the future .
He sits astride a bare rock in a field,
With bushes behind him, and a tree in blossom.
His feet are obscured by the long grass,
And he looks part of the rock,
As though he were growing out of the earth.

I read through his poem on Home Burial,
In a book, once owned by someone called Sheila Jupp;
With a photo of a much younger Frost in the front,
And his signature underneath it.
His eyes still see nothing looking out of the picture.
The poem is terrifying, full of horror and disgust
At how the death of a child
Is made ordinary by being dealt with through domestic chores".

Er, I have been reading, writing and discussing poetry since 1957. That's 56 years this year by my reckoning. I even got paid for it sometimes. I suppose I must read between 100 to 200 poems a month - maybe more. That's way over 100,000 in a lifetime. My library is crammed with poetry books.

The intros are to save time for the reader and space for the writer. Simply trying to be helpful and provide context and signposts.

[zoolane]

I presume this is about the use of the word "penis". No pun intended- but, different folks have different strokes.

You are right and you have more experience then me.

[Caliode]

I was thinking about producing Part 4 of this opus, but as it contains a scene of \ sexual nature, perhaps it needs to be prefaced with a warning.

The law student is now a lawyer who advises Ginny on matters to do with her property. Her husband has died and she is now living on her own. The lawyer goes to see her from time to time and is disturbed by the number of young men about the place.

This poem is called : The Kitchen Table.

Summer's evening: stopping by the side window,
Henry looked inside.
Ginny was making pastry her back turned toward the window.
One of the boys came in, he tapped her on her shoulder.
She did not turn, but put her hands out flat upon the table
And bent forward from the waist; her face in the flour.
The young boy lifted up her skirt and moved against her.
It was as brutal as a dog taking another dog.
When he was finished he moved away,
Leaving her splayed out across the kitchen table.
He spoke to someone else out of the watcher's vision,
Laughing as though in encouragement.
Henry moved to look and saw a line
Standing there waiting their turn.

[Delta40]

Lol. her legs were splayed in the last scene and now they're splayed in this one. As for all the poetry reading, it's no guarantee it will make you a poet - even if you teach it. I had a tutor once who knew everything there was to know about psych theory but struggled to interact with his students. Practice is a whole different ball game.

[Caliode]

Lol. her legs were splayed in the last scene and now they're splayed in this one. As for all the poetry reading, it's no guarantee it will make you a poet - even if you teach it. I had a tutor once who knew everything there was to know about psych theory but struggled to interact with his students. Practice is a whole different ball game.

I do believe your mind may have encouraged the wrong reading.

The first poem has her legs splayed out, but the next one has her splayed out across the kitchen table. No mention of her legs.

These cliched sneers with their tortured ananalogies are not really relevant.

One member tells me to read more poetry because it will make me a better poet and now another tells me that all the poetry reading in the world won't make me a better poet.

Less of the patronising, perhaps, and no more with the uncalled for advice. I've been sucking eggs for years.

[hillwalker]

These cliched sneers with their tortured ananalogies are not really relevant.
One member tells me to read more poetry because it will make me a better poet and now another tells me that all the poetry reading in the world won't make me a better poet.
Less of the patronising, perhaps, and no more with the uncalled for advice. I've been sucking eggs for years.

The terms 'pot' and 'kettle' spring to mind.

If you're not posting work on here for constructive criticism, which may unfortunately include advice you'd rather not hear, what are you doing? Showcasing your talents and expecting unanimous adulation?

Turgid prologues cut and pasted from '50 Shades of Whatever' are unnecessary. As others have already said - this is a poetry forum. Why not let your poetry stand on its own two feet?
- and if you'd actually prefer to write a short story post it in the Prose section.

H

[Caliode]

The terms 'pot' and 'kettle' spring to mind.

If you're not posting work on here for constructive criticism, which may unfortunately include advice you'd rather not hear, what are you doing? Showcasing your talents and expecting unanimous adulation?

Turgid prologues cut and pasted from '50 Shades of Whatever' are unnecessary. As others have already said - this is a poetry forum. Why not let your poetry stand on its own two feet?
- and if you'd actually prefer to write a short story post it in the Prose section.

H


I thought most of these points had already been discussed.

As regards constructive criticism -as one of your comments was: "Yawn" I would let that speak for itself.

[Delta40]

Countless cars crammmed in the carpark
and spilled out onto the busy road.
The sun beat down upon us
as we entered the busy cafe.
My old professor pulled out a chair for me
while a watiress brought a jug of iced water.
He said Caliodes' poems were nothing
but Fifty Shades of Gray Gibberish
I smiled then purred like a cat
and wondered idly just how big
my old teachers penis was.
Later, a cry resounded through
his house.

[hillwalker]

Not sure if I'm allowed to laugh at this ^^ or whether we're still taking ourselves terribly seriously on this particular thread.

Fvck it - :smilielol5:

H

[2X2E5]

I don't mean to offend Caliode on account of my lack of knowledge and experience in poetry, but Delta40's poem is among the best poems I've ever read! hahaha!

Also on a separate note, the use of 'penis' in your poem sticks out (no pun intended). It grabs to much attention...the poem seemed like it followed an older form of language, whereas 'penis' seems really modern...maybe a synonym would do the trick? Unless you want to have 'penis' strike over and get all the attention in the poem.

[Caliode]

Countless cars crammmed in the carpark
and spilled out onto the busy road.
The sun beat down upon us
as we entered the busy cafe.
My old professor pulled out a chair for me
while a watiress brought a jug of iced water.
He said Caliodes' poems were nothing
but Fifty Shades of Gray Gibberish
I smiled then purred like a cat
and wondered idly just how big
my old teachers penis was.
Later, a cry resounded through
his house.


Apostrophe needs attention. As does waitress. And mmmmm how I enjoyed being tightly confined in the car park.

[Scheherazade]

~

W a r n i n g

Please do not personalise your comments.

Unless you are willing to receive negative as well as positive feedback,

please avoid sharing your work in a public Forum.

Off-topic and/or personal posts will be removed without further notice.

~

[Caliode]

xxxxx

[Delta40]

Apostrophe needs attention. As does waitress. And mmmmm how I enjoyed being tightly confined in the car park.

Thanks for pointing my errors out. I struggle with apostrophes (e.g the penis's head sported its very own blonde wig).

[hallaig]

What's wrong with her apostrophes? Penis' head is fine. Not penis-head, of course, that would be pejorative.

[Caliode]

What's wrong with her apostrophes? Penis' head is fine. Not penis-head, of course, that would be pejorative.

It's to do with the little squib, which used Caliodes', rather than Caliode's.

[oulama]

This is a very interesting set of posts, though some of the comments do appear rather over the top, which is a bit off-putting for a newcomer. The sequence of poems by Caliode require careful reading in order to get the best out of them.

What a shame there appears to be a personality clash, which makes the whole thing rather ugly and the overall impression looks a bit like bullying.

I was going to post some poems on here, but if this is the reception you get for trying to be original, then I think I will go elsewhere.

[hillwalker]

I was going to post some poems on here, but if this is the reception you get for trying to be original, then I think I will go elsewhere.

99% of the time we're well-behaved and most on here are house-trained. And we take special care of newbies. Unfortunately, in this instance most of the facetious comments have been posted in response to a particular member's manner.

By all means post some work and let's take a look.

H

[Caliode]

99% of the time we're well-behaved and most on here are house-trained. And we take special care of newbies. Unfortunately, in this instance most of the facetious comments have been posted in response to a particular member's manner.



H

As my presence obviously causes so much distress, I shall take my leave of you. When I log in it says "Welcome". Obviously some are and some are not.

Farewell.