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5557. alistairconnor - 12/29/2005 10:41:04 AM Here's some more nonsense. Rather facile pastiche, but funny as hell, from a certain Francis Heaney, who has written a book in which the starting point is to make an anagram of a famous author's name. Thus "T.S. Eliot" becomes "Toilets", "Edward Albee" becomes "A Wee Bladder", etc...
MULTICOLORED ARGYLE SEA
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he taketh lots of drugs,
And he thinks his beard is made of snakes
And his body crawls with bugs.
He spies a wayward Wedding-Guest,
And pulls the man aside.
“Unhand me! Surely thou art mad,
Thy pupils are so wide.”
He holds him with his twitchy stare—
“There was a boat,” quoth he.
The Wedding-Guest stands frozen there
Without the will to flee.
“A multicolored argyle sea
Was where our trip began,
We sailed o’er oceans deep and wide
And measureless to man.
And then the winds did drive us on
Into a hidden river,
Where sirens’ voices called with songs
To make a stout man shiver.
The trees there all bore tangerines,
To save us from the scurvy.
The sky was of an orange hue,
And things seemed topsy-turvy.
Flowers towered in the sky,
The sunlight showing through;
A green and yellow light fell on
The lost and dazzled crew.
Held captive by a siren’s call
The men were drawn ashore.
Though they felt sure they’d seen her face,
It seemed she was no more.
At length we came upon a bridge;
A fountain stood nearby,
Where wooden centaurs feasted on
A great marshmallow pie.
And as the centaurs rocked in place
(They could not move to caper),
A host of hansom cabs appeared,
Each one made out of paper.
The drivers beckoned us inside,
And, helpless to resist,
We took our seats; they cracked their whips
And rode into the mist.
The hansoms crackled in the wind,
Grew soggy with the rain—
Just as it seemed they must collapse,
They left us by a train.
The station porters’ eyes were dull,
Their skin was plasticine.
We saw reflected in their ties
Our faces, pale and lean.
And then we heard the siren’s voice:
It called to us anew!
Beyond the stile she stood and stared
And bid us all come through.
O’er the turnstile each man went,
Clearing it with a leap.
And I too would have followed her,
But that I fell asleep.
When I awoke, I was alone
Upon the argyle deep.”
“God’s mercy, ancient Mariner—
At least thou didst survive.
’Tis hard your fellow crew was lost
With none but thee alive.
But thank the Lord who saved thee, sir,
From passing through death’s door.”
“Canst thou not see? No joy for me
Remains in this world o’er.
For I still dream of her sweet face,
And think of her sweet song.
I’d rather I had followed her
Than that my life be long.
I see her in the sky above
With diamonds in her hair.
’Tis like a broken bone to know
I cannot join her there.
This tale is all I have of her;
I tell it but to praise
The many-colored bits of glass
That sparkled in her gaze.”
The Mariner, whose hair is long,
Who feels he needs a snack,
Is gone, although the Wedding-Guest
Attempts to call him back.
He shakes his head like one amazed,
Who knows not what he knows,
And, with a halting step, back home
To Liverpool he goes. 5558. NuPlanetOne - 1/3/2006 3:09:38 AM Euripides You Pay For’em
Yes, I studied the classics
I suffered the Greek but kept
The Latin. The references to
Most epochs are safe with me
Even when someone cites one
In front of ordinary unread
People. I cringe within
And wince an acknowledgement
As if everyday people needed
History to brighten up their day
You know, like anything new
Happened this century. Like
The internet isn’t typed in
Or electrons aren’t involved
Or photons are new
Or something about a screw
Isn’t still clockwise
Perhaps saying a great man
Once said long ago, was it Confucius
I think he covered everything
But adding the reference
Makes it more poignant
Regular folks not privy
To study are well aware
Of paradigms that account
For their situations
They just didn’t know that
Herodotus invented Egyptology
Or shit like that
They just like the pyramids.
5559. Ulgine Barrows - 1/7/2006 9:56:59 AM happy New year, Poets.
Out on the road today I saw a deadhead sticker
On a cadillac
A little voice inside my head said, don’t
Look back. you can never look back.
I thought I knew what love was,
What did I know?
Those days are gone forever
I should just let them go but-
~Henley
5560. Ulgine Barrows - 1/7/2006 10:01:39 AM I think I'm getting better, wish me luck on that
and Happy New Year
hope you have time to analyze clouds 5561. NuPlanetOne - 1/10/2006 2:30:02 PM
Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
Somewhere in her smile she knows
That I don't need no other lover
Something in her style that shows me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
You're asking me will my love grow
I don't know, I don't know
You stick around and it may show
I don't know, I don't know
Something in the way she knows
And all I have to do is think of her
Something in the things she shows me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
Harrison
…but you know me…
Leave’em laughin’…but leave’em
Happy New Year Ulgine & all…I was analyzing clouds, but clouds got in the way.
5562. Magoseph - 1/10/2006 5:26:57 PM Happy New Year , Nu--starting the year in god form, I see. 5563. NuPlanetOne - 1/11/2006 2:51:10 AM ...god am it all. don't ya hate typos.
thanks mag..happy new one back at you. 5564. Magoseph - 1/11/2006 2:22:41 PM I do, Nu, but not as much as I hate people to attribute talent to a mythical god. 5566. NuPlanetOne - 1/12/2006 5:15:49 AM
Ok. I’ll bite. Which people specifically? Which mythical god? And since all the various gods have specific talents, who precisely is hated most by his attributions? 5567. wonkers2 - 1/15/2006 3:41:35 AM Ballad of the Spanish Civil Guard
Black are the horses.
The horseshoes are black.
On the dark capes glisten
stains of ink and wax.
Their skulls are leaden,
which is why they don't weep.
With their patent-leather souls
they come down the street.
Hunchbacked and nocturnal,
where they go, they command
silences of dark rubber
and fears like fine sand.
They pass where they want,
and they hide in their skulls
a vague astronomy
of shapeless pistols.
Federico Garcia Lorca
1st verse of "Romance de la Guardia Civil Espanola" 5568. wonkers2 - 1/15/2006 4:32:44 AM Song of the Open Road
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.
1st two verses of 1st poem in Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass." 5569. Ulgine Barrows - 1/18/2006 9:07:24 AM I bite.
There is not one other Beatles song you could have picked to bring me to tears, NuPlanet.
My mom fought with all of us kids to turn the stereo down, but Something, she didn't mind full blast and never yelled at us. 5570. Ulgine Barrows - 1/18/2006 9:08:48 AM ANd i never liked Walt SHitman's whimpering. 5571. Ulgine Barrows - 1/18/2006 12:39:24 PM I prefer a more active poem, such as getting far away from a bad sitch:
Gonna buy a fast car
Put on my lead boots
And take a long, long drive
I may end up spending all my money
But I'll still be alive
~The Who 5572. wonkers2 - 1/18/2006 3:47:04 PM Your taste, your privilege. Whitman's just the greatest American poet, according to my American Lit teacher. I would have guessed that you would have liked Whitman. Have you read "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed?" or "Oh Captain, My Captain," his elegies to Lincoln? 5573. arkymalarky - 1/19/2006 4:29:37 AM I agree with Wonk's professor, at least to the point of being one of the greatest. I like Taps. I especially like "As toilsome I wandered Virginia's woods...." when he comes across the hastily placed wooden marker for a fallen soldier after the Civil War was ended...." Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade."
Of course, modern song lyrics they ain't. 5574. wonkers2 - 1/19/2006 5:12:58 AM No, we've got Bob Dylan for that. 5575. wonkers2 - 1/19/2006 5:47:03 AM Arky, much as I'm reluctant to admit it, because I'm, as you know, no fan of Eliot, "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock" may well be the second greatest poem after the poems in Whitman's "Leaves of Grass." I find Whitman's view of the world so much more compatible with my own than Eliot's cramped and pessimistic outlook in "The Wasteland" and "Prufrock." 5576. arkymalarky - 1/19/2006 6:02:17 AM My dad loves both (I mention because he's a professor emeritus in Literature and Linguistics), but he's much closer to Whitman. I love Prufrock and The Wasteland, but I love reading more Whitman (as opposed to loving Whitman more). 5577. wonkers2 - 1/19/2006 6:14:54 AM Hoping to fashion a mirror, the lover
doth polish the face of his beloved
until he produces a skull.
Erotic Epigrams
John Updike
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