I think I see what you are doing -- trying to make the rythmic pattern tighter? But I think I really do prefer BT's original version -- not to knock you Peter, it's just that maybe the original voice, even with minor techical errors, is better than an attempted revision.
Yes, you are quite fair in so-observing.
I speak only to note that I prefaced my illustration
as being -only a variant conforming to my own, intuitive likes-.
See, it's not really a revision at all. It's only an alternative perspective.
The poet takes these suggestions and discards what is useless to him or her.
That's why I do it. To illustrate by example, one other way of many possible ways.
----
To Ixi: Your poem shows great promise for your future life as a poet.
The young person, not having the milegage of the old geezer, is not often
free of that -need to spill out personal feelings-.
In other words, you are a teen. And it's a time of life where you feel all these new conflicts.
We've "been there done that", we olders.
Your ear is good. Your intelligence is high. You're green, naturally--we all are when young.
Cherish this time, surely. Yet time will alter your vision. You'll see
better ways to poeticize--external-reaches are more successful than feely-touchy lovey poems, though this one of yours is a nice one.
The internet is flooded with a hundred thousand teen-love-angst poems.
If yours would rank in the upper ten percent of the lot, well, what good is that?
-If the poem is to be self therapy; that it makes you feel better for preserving your (human-universal) thoughts, well--what fault is there in that?
None, really--but it cannot be a memorable poem. It is, perforce,
mediocre -because- the topic has been taken to task by ten thousand teens, still teens today,
plus, worked to death by all their ancestors too!
The love poem is the most difficult to carry off because it's been done to bloody death. Yet it can be done.
Hints: Distill, shorten, avoid all stock phrasings. "Moonlit eyes" is unfresh.
There is so much of your Christly self made evident by this poem
regardless that it cannot be taken as a "great" poem.
Hint: Write of the external, as soon as you can.
Find an irony--find the way to -show- (rather than hammer home)
a point of interest.
And, as you did, make the closure a quick climax of summation.
Here, though, your closure ended on that old, old, everywhere fact of human love affairs:
so easy to trip in, so hard to trip away from.
Hope this helps.
You're really worthy, you know?
I know you are--I know this now.
There is a little more to haiku than just the right number of syllables. And I'm not sure if it should really be syllables or feet that matter, as it were.
Is this Haiku?
Silly woman her
Much noise makest she ever
Husband clip ear should
Revelation 21:8But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.
Yes, you are quite fair in so-observing.
I speak only to note that I prefaced my illustration
as being -only a variant conforming to my own, intuitive likes-.
See, it's not really a revision at all. It's only an alternative perspective.
The poet takes these suggestions and discards what is useless to him or her.
That's why I do it. To illustrate by example, one other way of many possible ways.
----
To Ixi: Your poem shows great promise for your future life as a poet.
The young person, not having the milegage of the old geezer, is not often
free of that -need to spill out personal feelings-.
In other words, you are a teen. And it's a time of life where you feel all these new conflicts.
We've "been there done that", we olders.
Your ear is good. Your intelligence is high. You're green, naturally--we all are when young.
{Stuff removed for the sake of space.}
Hint: Write of the external, as soon as you can.
Find an irony--find the way to -show- (rather than hammer home)
a point of interest.
And, as you did, make the closure a quick climax of summation.
Here, though, your closure ended on that old, old, everywhere fact of human love affairs:
so easy to trip in, so hard to trip away from.
Hope this helps.
You're really worthy, you know?
I know you are--I know this now.
Thanks,
Peter
I agree with most of that, but might even be inclined to emphasise that Ixi's poem is a lot less angsty and self obsessed than many teenage (or older love poems).
It seems a fairly calm look at the situation from, at times at least, a step backward from it.
Is it more angsty than that famous Auden thing that some think wonderful and others think starts brilliantly and then fades?
I wonder what Ixi's and others views on this are. I have doubts about it, but do think its superior, on the whole, to Evanecesnce.
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.
Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.
Revelation 21:8But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.
You are right again. It's mainly that it's a long-ish lovey-worry poem,
sensitive, but -every human has run through that cycle-, and quite a few
have written the very same thoughts.
It's natural and inevitable that every new human must learn on its own,
and cannot be "taught" affairs of the heart by vicarious accounts.
Her poem aids her poise. It cannot aid my poise. I see her potential is
superior to even, perhaps 99 percent of teens. But that doesn't make
a good grown-up poem. Her poem is -good- for her peerage, not ours,
unless (and we do) delight to learn that she has a fine heart and soul;
growing more capable of Christian care and empathy. She cannot go
and waste herself on dark things. There's so much good and needed work
for Ixi to accomplish. She has much on her plate.
But the poem of hers has been written a thousand times already.
That's my primary point. She must, if she would be noticed by readers
not of this board (where she is our pet), she must be wholy distinctive
in her voice, and crystaline in her expression of fresh insights and strong outlooks.
Plath is dead. Be a life affirming -realist- and fight dark things,
Ixi? Please do! Because you can communicate, and you are needed for this work.
Poetry can aid you to map your thoughts now.
Later you will may mentor younger-others, and others older, still unwise,
in ways which you -may have a spark to illumine,
including myself, I do like to think. May I live a few years
to see you at thirty.
*sigh* Speaking with women is like reasoning with a Muslimiac! Neither can fathom the logic that a Godly man has in his little pinky. Yours may have been "haiku", but we weren't speaking of *yours*.
*sigh* Speaking with women is like reasoning with a Muslimiac! Neither can fathom the logic that a Godly man has in his little pinky. Yours may have been "haiku", but we weren't speaking of *yours*.
No, we were speaking of hers, and were perfectly right to say that it wasn't.
This is Al's original haiku, the one that actually is a haiku:
Peter shines
iambic pentameter
like waxed apples
Notice, this poem is actually poetic. Now compare with your own feeble effort:
You all are meanies
And horrible ones at that
And cats make you fat
To a Christian of refined and elegant sensibilities such as myself, verse that lumpen is positively painful. It is not a poem by any stretch of the imagination, and, as it is not a poem, cannot qualify as a haiku, any more than
O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it--for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.
God being truth, justice, goodness, beauty, power, and life, man is falsehood, iniquity, evil, ugliness, impotence, and death. God being master, man is the slave. Incapable of finding justice, truth, and eternal life by his own effort, he can attain them only through a divine revelation... he who desires to worship God must harbor no childish illusions about the matter, but bravely renounce his liberty and humanity.
To a Christian of refined and elegant sensibilities such as myself
You and I, Brother. The personification of refined elegance.
Emeritus Professor of the Christ Jesus Chair of Theology at Landover Baptist University.
"God loves you. Let us arrange for you to meet Him". Break their teeth, O God, in their mouth.--Psalms 58:6
Originally posted by Father Maurice LesterView Post
Both of them?
Bless you, my dentally challenged child
Father Mo
That's a pretty poor poem by anyone's standards. Have you seen my ode to you yet?
O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it--for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.
God being truth, justice, goodness, beauty, power, and life, man is falsehood, iniquity, evil, ugliness, impotence, and death. God being master, man is the slave. Incapable of finding justice, truth, and eternal life by his own effort, he can attain them only through a divine revelation... he who desires to worship God must harbor no childish illusions about the matter, but bravely renounce his liberty and humanity.
I was going to suggest to Peter that there was no need to encourage you to submit your own poetry, but that is not nearly as painful as I was afraid of.
I put a ' in the 'were' in the last line of the second verse, btw, which I think was meant to be there.
You certainly have more of an ear for metre and rythm than that tone-deaf Helsinker does.
So is that a good thing or a bad thing?
A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.
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