Favourite Pomes

[JimC]

South Country

After the whey-faced anonymity
Of river-gums and scribbly-gums and bush,
After the rubbing and the hit of brush,
You come to the South Country
As if the argument of trees were done,
The doubts and quarrelling, the plots and pains,
All ended by these clear and gliding planes
Like an abrupt solution.

And over the flat earth of empty farms
The monstrous continent of air floats back
Coloured with rotting sunlight and the black,
Bruised flesh of thunderstorms:

Air arched, enormous, pounding the bony ridge,
Ditches and hutches, with a drench of light,
So huge, from such infinities of height,
You walk on the sky's beach

While even the dwindled hills are small and bare,
As if, rebellious, buried, pitiful,
Something below pushed up a knob of skull,
Feeling its way to air.




Kenneth Slessor

[Red Katie]

I read "Evidently Chickentown" at an open mike recently. I won't make that mistake again. My work was completely overshadowed and washed out.

[Chinaski]

I read "Evidently Chickentown" at an open mike recently. I won't make that mistake again. My work was completely overshadowed and washed out.

Wait, you mean the Cooper Clarke made your own stuff boring?

Yes, I can see how that might happen...

Anyway:

The Genius Of The Crowd - Charles Bukowski

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

[Red Katie]

Wait, you mean the Cooper Clarke made your own stuff boring?

My work can never be boring. But laughter washes out everything.

[Chinaski]

Wait, you mean the Cooper Clarke made your own stuff boring?

My work can never be boring. But laughter washes out everything.

Eh, once you start creating for an audience different criteria become part of judgement.

[Red Katie]

I don't create for the audience. I do have a few performance pieces, but they just came out that way. Mostly, I write page poetry. I can get an audience with me, but I can't have the effect of the real slam artists. Even though I write better poetry than most of them.

[Azathoth]

JABBERWOCKY
Lewis Carroll
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

[Beelzebub2]

Dindirin danya, dindirindin.
Je me levé un bel maitin,
Matineta per la prata;
encontré le ruyseñor,
que cantaba so la rama, dindirindin.
Dindirin danya, dindirindin.
Encontré le ruyseñor,
que cantaba so la rama,
"Ruyseñor, le ruyseñor,
facteme aquesta embaxata,
dindirin din."
Dindirin danya, dindirindin.
"Ruyseñor, le ruyseñor,
facteme aquesta embaxata,
Y digalo a mon ami:
que je ya só maritata, dindirindin."
Dindirin danya, dindirindin.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g2_pvPBq ... re=related[/youtube]

[Pappa]

Dindirin danya, dindirindin.
Je me levé un bel maitin,
Matineta per la prata;
encontré le ruyseñor,
que cantaba so la rama, dindirindin.
Dindirin danya, dindirindin.
Encontré le ruyseñor,
que cantaba so la rama,
"Ruyseñor, le ruyseñor,
facteme aquesta embaxata,
dindirin din."
Dindirin danya, dindirindin.
"Ruyseñor, le ruyseñor,
facteme aquesta embaxata,
Y digalo a mon ami:
que je ya só maritata, dindirindin."
Dindirin danya, dindirindin.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g2_pvPBq ... re=related[/youtube]

Dindirin danya, dindirindin.

I arose one fine day
and spent the morning in the meadow;
I heard the nightengale
singing on the bough, din-di-rin-din.

Dindirin danya, dindirindin.

I heard the nightengale
singing on the bough,
Nightengale, oh nightengale,
do this errand for me,
din-di-rin-din.

Dindirin danya, dindirindin.

Nightengale, oh nightengale,
do this errand for me,
tell my lover
that I am already married! Din-di-rin-din.

Dindirin danya, dindirindin.

[lofuji]

What? Six pages and no Eliot.

The Hollow Men
T.S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy

I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar.

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom.

III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms.

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river.

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

I once heard a recording of Eliot reading this poem: in a strange monotone that was not anything like how I would read it. I still remember this and The Waste Land by heart, having learned them almost 40 years ago to pass the time when spending weeks on end on my own in the Australian outback.

lofuji

[Red Katie]

I once heard a recording of Eliot reading this poem: in a strange monotone that was not anything like how I would read it.lofuji

Hooray!!! I always thought that poem should be read in a monotone, but no one ever agreed with me. I'm glad to find out the author and I saw eye to eye.

I used to love Eliot when I was seventeen and a freshman in college. You can still see his tracks in my poetry. Don't care much for him anymore, but you have to admit he had an absolute command of the language.

[Mallardz]

"Goodbye, my friend, goodbye
My love, you are in my heart.
It was preordained we should part
And be reunited by and by.
Goodbye: no handshake to endure.
Let's have no sadness — furrowed brow.
There's nothing new in dying now
Though living is no newer."

by Sergei Aleksandrovich Esenin
Short and sweet.

[lofuji]

I read this poem at my father's funeral. Embarrassingly, everyone thought it was one of mine!

Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[devogue]

THE DIAGONAL STEAM TRAP by Crawford Howard

Now they built a big ship down in Harland`s
She was made for to sell to the Turks -
And they called on the Yard`s chief designer
To design all the engines and works.

Now finally the engines was ready
And they screwed in the very last part
An` yer man says `Let`s see how she runs, lads!
An` bejasus! the thing wouldn`t start!

So they pushed and they worked an` they footered
An` the engineers` faces got red
The designer he stood lookin` stupid
An` scratchin` the back o` his head.

But while they were fiddlin` and workin`
Up danders oul` Jimmie Dalzell
He had worked twenty years in the `Island`
And ten in the `aircraft` as well.

So he pushed and he worked and he muttered
Till he got himself through to the front
And he has a good look roun` the engine
An` he gives a few mutters and grunts,

And then he looks up at the gaffer
An` says he `Mr Smith, d`ye know?
They`ve left out the Diagonal Steam Trap!
How the hell d`ye think it could go?`

Now the engineer eyed the designer
The designer he looks at the `hat`
And they whispered the one to the other
Diagonal Steam Trap? What`s that?`

But the Gaffer, he wouldn`t admit, like
To not knowin` what this was about,
So he says `Right enough, we were stupid!
The Diagonal Steam Trap`s left out!`

Now in the meantime oul` Jimmie had scarpered
Away down to throw in his boord
And the Gaffer comes up and says `Jimmy!
D`ye think we could have a wee word.

Ye see that Diagonal Steam Trap?
I know it`s left out - it`s bad luck
But the engine shop`s terrible busy
D`ye think ye could knock us one up?`

Now, oul` Jimmy was laughin` his scone off
He had made it all up for a gag
He`d seen what was stoppin` the engine -
The feed-pipe was blocked with a rag!

But he sticks the oul` hands in the pockets
An` he says `Aye, I`ll give yez a han`!
I`ll knock yes one up in the mornin`
An` the whole bloody thing will be grand!`

So oul` Jim starts to work the next morning
To make what he called a Steam Trap,
An oul` box an` a few bits of tubing
An` a steam gauge stuck up on the top,

An` he welds it all on to the engine
And he says to the wonderin` mob
As long as that gauge is at zero
The Steam Trap is doin` its job!`

Then he pulls the rag outa the feed pipe
An` he gives the oul` engine a try
An` bejasus! she goes like the clappers
An` oul` Jimmy remarks `That`s her nye!`

Now the ship was the fastest seen ever
So they sent her away to the Turks
But they toul` them `That Steam Trap`s a secret!
We`re the only ones knows how it works!

But the Turks they could not keep their mouths shut
An` soon the whole story got roun`
An` the Russians got quite interested...
Them boys has their ears to the groun`!

So they sent a spy dressed as a sailor
To take photies of Jimmy`s Steam Trap
And they got them all back to the Kremlin
An` they stood round to look at the snaps.

Then the head spy says `Mr Kosygin!
I`m damned if I see how that works!
So they sent him straight off to Siberia
An` they bought the whole ship from the Turks!

When they found the Steam Trap was a `cod`, like,
They couldn`t admit they`d been had
So they built a big factory in Moscow
To start makin` Steam Traps like mad!

Then Kosygin rings up Mr Nixon
And he says `Youse`uns thinks yez are great!
But wi` our big new Russian-made Steam Trap
Yez`ll find that we`ve got yez all bate!`

Now oul` Nixon, he nearly went `harpic`
So he thought he`d give Harland`s a call
And he dialled the engine-shop number
And of course he got sweet bugger all!

But at last the call came through to Jimmy
In the midst of a terrible hush,
`There`s a call for you here, from the White House!`
Says oul` Jim, `That`s a shop in Portrush!`

There`s a factory outside of Seattle
Where they`re turnin` out Steam Traps like Hell
It employs twenty-five thousand workers
And the head of it... Jimmy Dalzell!

[Jadestone]

I had just been wondering if anyone had put The Hollow Men up. I do love that poem.

Here's a poem by Neil Gaiman I really like...


The Day The Saucers Came
Neil Gaiman

That Day, the saucers landed. Hundreds of them, golden,
Silent, coming down from the sky like great snowflakes,
And the people of Earth stood and
stared as they descended,
Waiting, dry-mouthed, to find out what waited inside for us
And none of us knowing if we would be here tomorrow
But you didn’t notice because

That day, the day the saucers came, by some some coincidence,
Was the day that the graves gave up their dead
And the zombies pushed up through soft earth
or erupted, shambling and dull-eyed, unstoppable,
Came towards us, the living, and we screamed and ran,
But you did not notice this because

On the saucer day, which was zombie day, it was
Ragnarok also, and the television screens showed us
A ship built of dead-men’s nails, a serpent, a wolf,
All bigger than the mind could hold,
and the cameraman could
Not get far enough away, and then the Gods came out
But you did not see them coming because

On the saucer-zombie-battling-gods
day the floodgates broke
And each of us was engulfed by genies and sprites
Offering us wishes and wonders and eternities
And charm and cleverness and true
brave hearts and pots of gold
While giants feefofummed across
the land and killer bees,
But you had no idea of any of this because

That day, the saucer day, the zombie day
The Ragnarok and fairies day,
the day the great winds came
And snows and the cities turned to crystal, the day
All plants died, plastics dissolved, the day the
Computers turned, the screens telling
us we would obey, the day
Angels, drunk and muddled, stumbled from the bars,
And all the bells of London were sounded, the day
Animals spoke to us in Assyrian, the Yeti day,
The fluttering capes and arrival of
the Time Machine day,
You didn’t notice any of this because
you were sitting in your room, not doing anything
not even reading, not really, just
looking at your telephone,
wondering if I was going to call.