Thank you very much for your comment, Hillwalker. Actually, this wasn't at all intended to be acutely "topical," as it was based on a boyhood remembrance related to me by someone near and dear.
In any event, thanks again.
Printable View
Thank you very much for your comment, Hillwalker. Actually, this wasn't at all intended to be acutely "topical," as it was based on a boyhood remembrance related to me by someone near and dear.
In any event, thanks again.
Imperatives
Give it away.
Give a little, give a lot, give a damn, give a darn,
give a hoot (and don't pollute), give a fig, give a you-know-what, give a rat’s you-know-what, give
a flying you-know-what.
Give me something to go on, give me a hint,
give me a clue, give me a sign, give me
my cue, give me a nod, give me your word
of honor, give me a hand, give me some slack,
give me a break, give me a second, give me
a minute, give me a couple of hours, give me
a few more days, give me shelter, give me
some room, give me space, give me land
lots of land under starry skies above, give me
whiskey (and don't be stingy, Baby), give me a hug,give me a kiss to build a dream on, give me some menwho are stout-hearted men, give my regards to Broadway, give me the old soft shoe, give me that old time religion, give me your poor,
your tired, huddled masses yearning to be free,
give me an A, give me a B, give me a V
for Vic-tor-y, give me just a little more time.
Give it a go, give it a try, give it a rip, give it some
gas, give it the gun, give him the old one-two, give him my love, give her the eye, give him the evil eye, give the gift that keeps on giving, give her the gift that lasts a lifetime, give a man a fish, give him a run for his money, give him a pat on the back, give him the cold shoulder, give him heat, give him a taste of his own medicine, give him the business, give him a knuckle sandwich, give him what for, give him the finger, give
him the bird, give him the gate,
give it your all, give it everything you've got,
give yourself a round of applause,
give it up.
And-
Take it away.
Take it from the top, take a little, take as many as you need, take a little piece of my heart now Baby, take one, take five, take ten, take a break, take a breather, take the day off, take a vacation, take your time, take it easy, take a load
off, take a seat, take it lying down, take it hard, take it the wrong way, take a compliment, take no guff, take a look, take a look at yourself, take another look, take a test, take a number, take my card, take my place, take a message, take my advice, take it from me, take it with a grain of salt, take it with meals, take it three times a day, take it at bedtime, take her out on the town, take a wife, take her home, take him to the cleaners, take it to the bank, take out a loan, take an offer,
take it to the limit, take me out
to the ball game, take your base, take it downtown.
Take a loss, take it on face value, take it for what
it’s worth, take the stairs, take the elevator,
take me to your leader, take him for a ride,
take the car, take the high road and the low road, take the Interstate, take the scenic route, take
the next exit, take a right, take a left, take the bus
(and leave the driving to us), take the subway, take
the A-Train, take the shuttle, take the red eye,
take a walk, take a stroll, take it on the arch,
take it to the streets, take it to the People.
Take me for a sap, take me for a fool, take it
outside, take a punch, take a beating, take
what’s coming to you, take him for every
penny he’s got, take him out, take
the money and run, take it to Court,
take the Fifth, take a plea, take it
on the chin, take it like a man.
Take a nap, take a snooze, take
a bath, take a shower, take a powder,
take an aspirin, take a moment or two
to reflect, take comfort, take heart,
take courage, take Communion, take it
as it is, take it as it comes, take it
as it goes, take one day at a time,
take the good with the bad, take
the bitter with the sweet, take your leave,
take leave of your senses, take a bow.
Take it or leave it.
My loss, for not having seen #157 until today. There was a seemingly inexhaustible bravura to the procession of detail. I loved it and could well see that, free or not, there was plenty of discipline to it.
But.. what to say about "Imperatives"? Unapologetic, irreverent fun, with a sidewise reminiscence of C. Porter's "Let's Not Talk about Love."
This is on 162.
Wow, incredible! I'm amazed by the sheer amount of research you must have done to put this one together, and the skill with which you've done it. You 'take it to a whole 'nother level' ! (Did you use that one?)
I love the narrative in it, or what I see in it.
But you've put me off 'give' or 'take' forever (or at least for a temporary 'forever') now, I feel like you've killed those words dead. :) You probably feel like you want to avoid these words as much as possible now too.
Hi Auntie,
Well they say a little give and take goes a long way ;) This has to be the ultimate list poem and for me at least, it really works. The rhythm just drives it ever forward. I can imagine you slaving over your keyboard all through the night, fuelled by caffine, and emerging with this magnum opus, proud and twitching, as the sun's first rays penetrated the curtains in the morning. Bravo! :D
Live long and prosper - H
This is strange, 'cus I love this poem but I do see a number of problems. I love the theme and the first stanza is great, but a few things.
I'm not sure about "splatters" of thought! How's about "the spinning out of thought in scatter-shot lines"?
I miss read this at first and thought it said "we see some soul-balm from the sensitive" and was going to say perhaps 'in' the sensitive, but then I realised you said seek, but perhaps this is a bit 'telling rather than showing'.
"sincere as an infant’s cry" - a little cleche'd
Not sure about "babble", and maybe reified or ossified rather then rarefied
"We dread the water, then attempt to wade." bit traditional and cleche'd, could be nuanced somehow, not sure about 'wade' cus it sounds to volitional, 'tread' would be another fit in this whymewise, something like 'but we tread it anyway'.
I see you tempering your critique here;
"Too swiftly comes the splashback: “too mainstream,” “derivative,” “colloquial,” “too trite,”or “déclassé,” or worst of all, ignored."
by putting things in "'s and infering its a backlash rather than you. Why not be barbed and direct? Don't apologise for your self (but use knives my brain insists on making me write).
The last stanza is all in all a bit staid; you've got a real tallent with the poetry but the language is struggling in traditionalisms. I'd say anything that is even slightly cleche'd should be taken with inordinate seriousness. It undermines the whole - but even so something shines through quite brightly.
Thanks for your comments re: #162 "Imperatives."
Prince, thanks for commenting on both #157. Re: #162:
I love Cole Porter, but other than the specific song titles which I-- to use a favorite verb from cable news--"referenced" in the text, the only other song in the back of my mind was the Jackie and Roy classic:
"You've got to give a little/ Take a little/ and let your poor heart break a little."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81ChxpoZc40
Silas, You're kidding about the "research," right? Unlike many of the other ditties in this thread, this one didn't require any research at all. I wish I had put in "take it to a whole 'nother level," but if I had included every "give and take" cliché I'd still be typing!
and Hawkman, You got it right--the main thing I was going for in this exercise in deconstruction was rhythm-- "Who could ask for anything more?" You, like Silas, must've been kidding when you said that I was "slaving over the keyboard all night." Sometimes the other ditties in this thread can take days --weeks even-- to write. But not this one.
(Maybe it shows!)
Thanks again, everybody.
Gegenschein
[ In Memory of My Sister
March 14, 1953-November 17, 2010 ]
Not opposites but merely counterglow:
from you the shine of charm and healthy looks,
with me, in shadowed corners, hugging books.
We were some pair! The wider sphere would know
us not, our lives in paler lines below
the radar screen. The showy blips and hooks
forgot the folks so humbly stowed in nooks.
We craved a richer, finer meaning, though:
a word of quiet light to justify
true worth. Despite how future arcs may bend
or point to signs that final doom is nigh,
what misplaced bands of pink might signify
won't hasten the old world’s untimely end.
It’s just the sun’s reflection in the sky.
How quietly and with what great dignity this starts out and maintains that throughout until the heart-wrenching couplet with which it closes
A fittingly well-crafted Italian-variant sonnet, with the volta a line early and a rather politically combative sestet, which takes the reader from the individual to consider the whole world and its future. The image of the 'sun's reflection' picks up nicely the neologism 'counterglow' of the first line.
Given the subject, a sonnet in couplets would also have been appropriate, like Robert Graves's 'In Her Praise', but this works very effectively and affectingly.
Oh Auntie, did you know your sister shared her birthday with Michael Kane, Albert Einstein - and me.
Your exquisitely crafted, dignified tribute is, I am sure, an apposite reflection on memory and loss.
Be well, H
I enjoyed reading Gegenschein.
I particularly liked the alliteration and rhyme in "shine of charm and healthy looks" when paired with "shadowed corners, hugging books".
This is a beautiful poem of loss, a powerful tribute of words. I particularly enjoy your description of the two glows of you and your sister, and of her 'shine', although you seem to describe yourself in somewhat more muted tones.
How gracious - I loved the subtle way you began with the counterpoint between you and your sister. Then how that contrasted with what you also had in common (things obvious to the pair of you but perhaps hidden from everyone else) -
our lives in paler lines below
the radar screen
H
Thanks for all of the heartfelt comments above^. They consoled me more than you'll ever know.
One of Hillwalker's recent poems
http://www.online-literature.com/for...ad.php?t=57784
has a reference to Garbo, which reminded me of this piece of fluff from my earliest days on the LitNet, so long ago that I couldn't locate the original thread! Anyway, here it is, intended as lyrics for an old-fashioned tune:
Greta
Today’s stars all come from the same bottle,
These cupcakes will never last.
Though pleasant and droll –
I found my crescent "role"
in a goddess of the past. . .
I want to be like Greta Garbo--
that would be so cool, so neat,
though all we have in common
are two pairs of giant feet.
I'd hop the next flight to Stockholm
If I had half the chance.
Maybe I'm not a raving beauty,
but I look okay in pants.
I'm going Scandinavian
gonna take that Nordic ride.
Just gif me Vhiskey, Bay-bee,
with a little love,
a little love,
a little love on the side.
Oh, I'll be the mysterious figure
in kerchief and glasses dark
who fans'll spot but never say so
when I stroll through Central Park.
I really wanna be like Garbo,
all standoffish and aloof,
but instead of Swedish meatball,
I'm a red-blooded American goof.
Gonna affect a Swedish accent (yah)
With some husky smoke in my voice
'cause sometimes I vant to be alone
but most of the time
most of the time
most of the time I have no choice.
I'm going Scandinavian
gonna take that Nordic ride.
Just giff me Vhiskey, Bay-bee,
with a little love,
a little love,
a little luff on the side.
Yah.
I'm afraid I can't place the appropriate tune to this entertaining piece and I seem to be missing something with the, "crescent role" so I'm not sure what you mean here, but the poem is very amusing. I have a photo of Garbo floating around somewhere, I must dig it out and admire it sometime. Mercifully the screen goddess is sans scarf and glasses, so one may admire her in her prime. I remember her as Queen Christina staring off into space in the bow of a ship while (I think) John Gilbert expired romantically in a cabin. and who can forget that, "Garbo Laughs" in Ninotchka :D As for being alone, I will never forget Peter Cook and Dudly Moore parrodying that famously misquoted phrase, with Mr. Cook, incongruously dressed in a plastic mack, wig, dark glasses and beret, being driven around london on top of an aromoured car, shouting "I want to be alone", through a loud hailer at startled pedestrians.
Things just ain't what they used to be... :devil:
Best wishes, Auntie. H
Auntie, your sonnet for your sister is a beautiful poem. The most difficult poems to write are often those closest to our hearts about a loved one. There is so much to write, even about one aspect. I appreciate the control and care you put into this.
Fire
I can't place the tune for your Garbo poem either. You are, however,far more versatile than Garbo, Auntie.
Love the crescent "role" play on words and the refrain.
I cannot place the song this parodies, but loved the playfulness of it - particularly the narrator's willingness to go all Nordic.
H
Thanks for the comments, Guys. No "real" song to be parodied, just any generic, forgettable tune one might hear buried in the soundtrack of a movie from Garbo's era, or a piece of sheet music that, no matter the time signature, always had the words
"fox trot" printed on the left-hand side.
This:
http://www.online-literature.com/for...814#post985814
engendered this:
The Moral Life of Downtown
When forceful winds conspire
to blow rickety hopes off course,
we harbor no twinkling illusions
that deadweight can learn to fly.
Still, we search for fatal glitches
within the time-wrought rig
that’s stacked against our uppity wish
to launch –and leave the ground.
It’s good for you–
but not for us–
to stay.
You expect us to wrap your ears
in angry, popping rhymes.
You glare at those of us with names
that end in “z,” in your puzzlement
over our arrival, on whether
we landed in the right way.
You ogle our Jennifers and Michelles–
not out of passion borne,
but from ugly, languid habit
that again and again swells
with life that begs its welcome.
You tilt your head toward Carlos
over there, ask him a silly question
just to hear his answer
with the lilting sounds that make you laugh.
Admit it:
you'd really, really like
us to stay for your amusement
but mostly for the work
that no one’s inclined to do.
For we are completely, totally,
one hundred percent free
to snip your grass for you,
braise your grub for you,
wipe Grandma’s nose for you,
stretched out on the sheets
that our women washed.
You want us, need us
to push your stash for you,
populate your prisons for you.
We'd much prefer to become
active by doing nothing,
each one of us a Cato, aloft in thought.
We own nothing of our own, yet grasp
the fact you'd sooner let us steal
everything you have
except your place.
You want us to stay–
stay out of your sight,
stay out of your way.
We'd purely love to snatch
your books and make a clean
break for it–
the only escape via air,
which is why we're taking off,
of course, on borrowed wings.
I get the message all right, but I don't sufficiently see or believe in the messenger.
Dear Aunty
you add a draconian, victorian, authoritarian dust to this place that turns the arial black to grey. IMHO (circa Bar your equal in sanctimony)
best wishes
JerryB
Dear Jerry, I would understand your comment better if you would be more specific as to how the observation above relates to the little ditty itself.Quote:
Originally Posted by Jerrybaldy
Dear Prince,Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
The little ditty was intended to be a companion piece to the "serious discussion" thread at the top of this posting.
My verse is was intended to be a companion piece to that essay and project which still inspires me 13 years after I originally read it.
As to your comment, I have to ask which "messenger" do you mean -- the speaker in my poem or the author of the Harper's essay who created the humanities program for poor people?
My verse is was intended to be a companion piece to that essay and project which still inspires me 13 years after I originally read it.
I'm sure you know the anecdote about the thirties era movie mogul who after listening to a pitch for an "important" motion picture about social issues said, "If you want to send a message, use Western Union."
. . . . . . .
A very apt, political poem (how dare you) in the current climate of enforced austerity (over here in blighty anyway).
Presumably our politicians believe cutting funding for education and the Arts is a painless way of saving the tax payers money - those who can afford to read books or visit art galleries will continue to have the expendable income do so - those who rely on government hand-outs would probably get nothing worthwhile from it anyway..... so everyone knows their rightful place in society.
From the perspective of the writer here, one is left to assume that the class divide is as much an issue in the US, and the have-nots know it.
The most telling lines being
.....you'd sooner let us steal
everything you have
except your place.
Of course, over here revolution is fast a-coming. You read it here first.
H
Thanks, hillwalker, for your comment. The original "serious discussion" posting and especially the companion poem are "political" only in the broad definition created by Thucydides. (I'm only just getting used to spelling that illustrious name!)
I was referring to the poem itself, where I heartily agreed with the ideological points but thought they'd have registered more forcefully if I'd been presented with even one of these downtrodden people in the round.Quote:
Originally Posted by AuntShecky
Hello AuntShecky! I'm new here and I can't tell you how much I have thoroughly enjoyed reading through your anti-poetry. I absolutely loved your linking of pearl-production to human suffering and how we may fail to bring forth something precious out of it (from number I-can't-remember-which). I also fully agree with PrinceMyshkin in the quote above that "immaculate blue sky" and the sentimates found at the end of #84 seem, to me, to be the best possible ending. It gives it a touch of compassion and humanity--a beautiful ending, rather than a depressing one.Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
(Sorry that I'm sorta commenting on stuff way back in the thread; I'm still reading through!)
Hi again Aunty - my opening comment was very much tongue-in-cheek (just in case Admin are watching) :-)
There are so many bells this rings, Auntie. A very apt follow up to the essay on poverty and the humanities. The attitude at the root of exclusion damages us beyond just the poor, but that is many other stories.
I though the poem was perfect in its sarcasm. Though you paralleled the essay well with the content, you never forgot this was a poem with sonics, rhythm and rhyme. I liked nearly all the stanzas, but especially this one:
You want us to stay–
stay out of your sight,
stay out of your way.
In his essay, Poetry and Selfhood in Democracy and Poetry, Robert Penn Warren wrote:
The "made thing" stands as a vital emblem of the integrity of the self, whether the thing is a folk ballad or a high tragedy. But for whom? We never know precisely for whom art is, or on whom, directly or indirectly, it works its effects. But if art turns out to be, in an immediate sense, for only a minority, how can it fortify democracy?
One by one, let the bells be rung by the bells ringing. Thank you, Auntie.
Thank you again, Prince and Hillwalker, thanks (and welcome!) to Transmodernism, and firefangled, thank you for flattering comment and especially for posting the thoughtful lines from Robert Penn Warren.
The following is partially a response to Prince's comment in #188 about the seemingly multiple P.O.V.s but also because I feel like adding this p.s.:
Beware the writer who sets himself or herself up as the voice of a nation. This includes notion of race, gender, sexual orientation, elective affinity. This is the New Behalfism. Beware behalfies! The New Behalfism demands uplift, accentuates the positive, offers stirring moral instruction. It abhors the tragic sense of life. Seeing literature as inescapably political, it replaces literary values by political ones. It is the murderer of thought. Beware!
--Salman Rushdie
Oddly enough, that passage appeared in an article in the very same issue of Harper's that featured the essay which sparked the whole debate. I can't dispute Salman Rushdie's admonition, and I daresay that even Earl Shorris would probably agree with him as well. Still, I'm sticking to my stance that the little "Downtown" poem is "political"
only in the broader sense from Thucydides.
The speaker in the poem, "we" is a collective voice-- albeit impetuous, anti-authoritarian, colloquial (maybe prose-y in a couple of places), ironic, and democratic. "We" are not specifically speaking "in behalf" of hyphenated Americans or women or Americans with disabilities or any other group that historically has been marginalized and silenced.
"We are not speaking "for" any distinct oppressed small group but rather a heartbreakingly large group in order to express in down-to-earth terms the most clear-cut dividing line in today's society: the burgeoning and seemingly unbridgeable gap between the Haves and the Have-Nots.
In the poem, the central metaphor of flight was intended to symbolize a possible escape for all of us who are culturally deprived. With few or no opportunities offered, we take it upon ourselves to deracinate their lot from the street by studying the arts and the humanities. We don't literally "snatch the books" but what is written in them. In this way,we empower ourselves, perhaps "govern" ourselves, not unlike the anecdote about the students continuing a spirited yet elegantly civilized discussion after the logic class.
Even though the first person plural voice of the poem is collective, it is crucial to remember that every human being is a unique individual, having the absolute right to maintain an autonomous identity, not merely a microdot on a graph or a part of a number in a statistical table, not just one of thousands constituting "The Poor" which is the term the ruling class often uses to lump us all together.
Very apt. The idea that the arts and humanities are not of vast importance to all people is simply too ludicrous to contemplate.
I like the phrase "surround of force." You have given me something to think about and perhaps write about, AuntShecky.
Hi Auntie, I'm sorry that I've taken so long to get round to commenting.
My first thought is that the first 6 stanzas are unnecessary. They form something of a rambling preamble, and the poem doesn't really get going until S7. It would be tighter and more forceful as a more compact piece, and is still making the same point.
In S8:
For we are completely, totally,
one hundred percent free
to snip your grass for you,
braise your grub for you,
wipe Grandma’s nose for you,*
stretched out on the sheets
that our women washed."
*There is a problem with the expression here because the subordinate clause reads as though we wipe grandma's nose for you while we are stretched out on the sheets. I think that to say what I beleive you mean to say it should be:
"wipe grandma's nose for you
while she stretches out on the sheets"
Interestingly there is a debate rageing over here about whether the state should withdraw funding for students on arts and humanities courses in university to save money. They still intend to support science and technology though. It seems that the Arts and Humanities are deemed less vital to the educational wealth of the nation.
Live and be well, H
Thank you q and HawkmanQuote:
Originally Posted by Hawkman
As always, thanks for your thoughtful criticism.
This one originally appeared on the LitNet way, way back when. It has been exhumed and, one would hope, resuscitated. In any case, it's been revised.
No Comment
Nobody expects the likes of me to save
the world or even a piece of it,
or set it afire or light with flair
a Kumbaya flame for peace.
Listen, sometimes a gal
just wants to hang
back and silently swear
at the darkness.
I'm not fuming or consuming
or snoozing or schmoozing
or musing or communing
with a muse who begs to be excused.
Believe me, once
in a widely-spaced while,
backlit by moonlight
of a rare azure hue,
it's okay to be blue.
Not benighted in the slightest,
not sighing or denying,
not excited or delighted,
not dying to be fighting,
opening up or closing down
a dialogue, damn it, I'm just
not talking to you.
It does ring a bell, though distant, Auntie. Sharp and defying! let me be, I don't give a d***! It's ok to be blue, and it is... well revised, I mean, reads smooth to me, it's as if I'm riding your horse!
I simply LOVE
Listen, sometimes a gal
just wants to hang
back and silently swear
at the darkness.
So good to read you, Dear Auntie.
Bar
Hi Auntie,
I really like this one, particularly:
"I'm not fuming or consuming
or snoozing or schmoozing
or musing or communing
with a muse who begs to be excused."
Great poem.
Live and be well, H
The sound repetition in No Comment has the distinct repercussion of ruminating on a mental sore and not feeling the least bit guilty because this is one of those things the positivist tell us not to do.
A very healthy poem IMO. I like the implied intrusion and dismissal at the end, as if you sense the reader reading like you intended it for them, when N's intent is to vent, nothing more.
Nice one, Auntie.
There seems to me to be a disconnect between the defense the narrator makes throughout most of this poem - a defense in response to all the things the world or her social circle expect her to do or be - and that final verse, which appears to be aimed at one single listener, a partner, a friend she's p/o at?
Too bad, because I thoroughly enjoyed the free-wheeling rhyming & ranting throughout that preceded that last verse.