#9

From the book: The Worlds One Thousand Best Poems Vol. 9
copyright 1929, Funk and Wagnalls Co.

Poetry is Such Sweet Sorrow

Ye flowers, sigh forth your ordours with sad buds;
Flush deep, ye roses and anemones
And more than ever now, oh hyacinth, show
Your written sorrows-- the sweet singer's dead.

I heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till my blood was frozen slowly,
And my eyes were darkened wholly,

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark.

Stormid at with shot and shell,
Boldly I rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death
Into the mouth of hell.

But now shine on, and what care I,
Who in this stormy gulf have found a pearl
To countercharm of space and hollow sky,
And do accept my madness, and would die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyestrings break in death,
When I soar through tracks unknown
See thee on Thy Judgment-Throne;

Nay, Tell me first in what new region springs
A flowr, that bears inscribed the names of kings.

Extra credit

Dante's Inferno epigraph:
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
( if I believed my reply were given)
A persona chemia tornasse al mondo,
(to one who might ever return to the earth, this fire would cease further monement)
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
(but as for this chasm)
Mia perciocche giammai di questo fondo
(no one has ever come back alive---)
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
(if what I have heard is true---)
Sensa tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
(without fearing infamy will I respond to you)
I believe T.S. Elliot chose to use Dante's Inferno epigraph to give homage to the Poet, and also to add emphasis on his interactions with people in the poem, even if his reply/response were given to them, would it have made a difference to the lady's talking of Michelangelo, "So how should I presume? And how should I presume? And then should I presume? And how should I begin?" The dammed souls in the depths of hell speaking their secrets is similar to the confessions of J. Alfred Prufrock in that he too is confessing his vanity of what others think. "When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin." He feels like he is a specimen to be scrutinized and dissected, in his eyes pinned. He is confessing like many of the dammed souls because he too is in a state of eternal hell/limbo. How should he start a conversation, what people will think of him, with his balding head, and rolled up pant, his age, when he is around such women/people. The audience in Dante's Inferno is like that of the audience in J. Alfred Prufrock in that we all have vanity in us. How we look in certain people's company, are we too big, or small, pretty or ugly, rich or poor. What will people think? Its the fact that all people judge and are judged for what they do in life, and in turn in death. He is reaching the age to start thinking of the "eternal footman" and death laughs. But doesn't death laugh at us all? Everyone eventually meets death.

Pillows Fallen From Heaven #18

He dreamt of feather pillows from the time he was just a young buck, My Grampa. The kind of pillows that are soft like clouds, floating up into the atmosphere. Swirling, whirling with just one touch to the little pink flowers. Aereolar brown, were the pillow cases. Like the skin of a velvet brown mink or martin. Resting your head just so. Tilted just right. Makes your nest nice and tight. Cuddle right-in-between-them. The perfect angle of rest, and of sight. The kind of rest you can curl up in a ball and forget you were ever born. Rest that takes you to a whole other plane of consciousness, bliss. Uncontrollable, unequivetable, unrelentless, euphoria---, ultimate utopia. Just two minutes there will put your eyes and body to sleep, but your mind is still left racing, like your heart. It all started with Grandmother’s soft feather pillows, they were the best and biggest. Fluffy if you like. They were full of love. Both of them, the twins, she called them. Big wouldn’t give them justice. Enormous, ginormous, still isn’t quit the word, wondrous, maybe. I think ‘ol Gramps was ambidextrous, never was he tenebrous. His demeanor was always happy, especially after a nice long nipper. The sweet smell that they had, lilac. And a touch of White Diamonds. Just around the neck. The softest pillows of the planet, the atmosphere, they always drew you in near….Never Fear. The gloriousness of them, hugs with no fear. Lightnin and thunda do sometimes clash, but those pillows will always last. Through the long night and until the wee morn. Grandmother and her pillows are now gone. And I’ll have to give it to the good ‘ol boy. Got himself a few other pairs, accompanied with Choke-cherry pie. He dreamt of feather pillows from the time he was just a young buck.   

Blog 18 "A Blessing"

Freedom In The Blue's
Down a footpath deep into forest green, The Blue's,
Crystal waters trickle over the rounded stones of time.
The queer round sulfur eye of the mud-puppy
Burns deep into conscious memory.
Lurking in shallow rock beds
Transfixed on the pale intruder.
Stepping into aqua pura seeing more clearly
Motionless poised in terrified position.
Slowly breathing through, sullen movements of camouflage
While I stand never moving.
Silent bubbles escape from the blushing gills. Still softly breathing.
Their freedom is only temporary.
The dark crevice is their home,
In a blink of an eye, it engulfs a tadpole for it's dinner.
I want to feel the life from the savage body,
Yet the pup is still treading.
Darting from one side to other.
The pup is ruby and mud brown,
Durma smooth with flaming gill,
The softness beckons me to grasp it's thin torso
Miry smooth skin like a glistening brand new babe
Forthwith my enlightenment
If I move one muscle I will break consciousness
And I will die.

Does Poetry Matter?

Of course poetry matters! If one stops and thinks a little, it is all around us everyday. The music we listen to is poetry. We like it because it flows, rhymes, touches our souls, evokes memories of people or places we have been. Maybe a song reminds you of an old boyfriend or girlfriend like Beyonce's "Put a Ring on It", or maybe that old country song reminds you of a grandparent, Johnny Cash and his song "Ring of Fire". A rap song could remind you of the inner city problems of today's generation, drugs, drive by's, the things gangsters do, with explosive words, like "BLOW," on e of E-40's coined words of choice. When you here "BLOW" you know its him in the song, because that may be the only thing he says, if he is doing a guest appearance in another rappers song. You may have never realized that the words in movies you watch are poetry, a line that you will never forget, like Old Chief Lone Waddy, in the Outlaw Jose Whales, "I will endeavor to persevere." His line resonates in my mind even today when I feel that I am feeling down. Though I did agree that poetry is not mainstream as it once was in the times of old, much of today's poerty is crap and not worth the time, but when you find that one poem you love, you will never forget it. Like the nursery rhymes your mother or grandmother told you before bed, or at lunch, or by the old tire swing in the backyard. Poetry maters very much, in the lives of everyone, even if you didn't know it, its there lurking.

blog 15

A Conversation Standing Around a Campfire In Idaho
Did you know that in some states it is illegal to have sex.
u      /        u      /    u     /      /       u  /  u /      u   /      /
Hahaha, what do you mean its illegal to have sex?
 u / u /      u     /     u      /       u    u /   u    /      /
It's is illegal to have sex any other way than missionary position.
u    /  u /      u    /       /      u     /       u    u       u / /          u   /
Sodomy, is illegal in many of these great states.
u  /          u    u /    u    /      u     u      /         /
Gay people do sodomy. Hahahaha!
/        u  /      u      u  /       u / u /  u /
Well did you know that it is legal to shoot "Indians" still!
u        /     u     /         u  u /    /       u   /       u /           /
Hahaha! What, where?
u / u /          /         /
Here in Idaho, the law says it still.
u       u   u / /      u   /      u   /     /
It's in the books in town hall.
u     /   u     /        u    /    /
It is legal to shoot an "Indian" if your riding in a covered wagon.
u   /   /      u     /   u       u /      u    /     u /    u  u    u /         u /
Hahaha, what? If you see an "Indian" and he is shooting an arrow at you.
u / u /          /       u   /      u    u    u /     u     /   u     u /        u   u /     u   /
Well, you have to be in a covered wagon, you can still shoot 'em!
u         /      u     /   u   /   u   u /       u /          u   /       u    /        /
(Everyone turns and notices I am standing behind them, wide eyed.)
I must have forgotten my hatchet.
u    /      u     u  /          u     u /
I didn't know it was that kinda party.
u    /        u     /    u     /       u /     u /

Imagist Poem #14

On a Path of Peace

The cardinal red apples trussed o'er thick branches
            raptured ghost, of a lost war.