https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2012/03/08/washed-up-and-hung-on-the-line-to-dryden/
Day: September 20, 2016
Why do Poets write Iambic Pentameter?
Good writing and thinking
- May 14, 2009 Tweaked & corrected some typos.
During the sixteenth century, which culminated in poets like Drayton, Sidney, Spenser, Daniel, and Shakespeare, English was seen as common and vulgar – fit for record keeping. Latin was still considered, by many, to be the language of true literature. Latin was essentially the second language of every educated Elizabethan and many poets, even the much later Milton, wrote poetry in Latin rather than English.
Iambic Pentameter originated as an attempt to develop a meter for the English language legitimizing English as an alternative and equal to Latin (as a language also capable of great poetry and literature). Since meter was a feature of all great Latin poetry, it was deemed essential that an equivalent be developed for the English Language. But poets couldn’t simply adopt Latin’s dactylic hexameter or dactylic pentameter lines. Latin uses quantitative meter…
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Stan wears Mary’s skirt

Stan woke up later than usual owing to the comfort of sleeping in his dear wife’s soft cotton nightgown.He had slept better than he often did despite the police calling to question him about a nude woman found wandering in the town centre. at midnight.She had forgotten her name!
Women have much better clothes than men,Emile, he remarked to the cat which was stretched out on the Sun which a visitor had left..I don’t know why I allow that paper in the house You could sleep on a bath towel.
After having a shower,Stan decided to take another look at Mary’s clothes.He found a long denim skirt in light indigo and embroidery which he fancied would match his new cream T shirt.
Of course I shall only wear it while I do the housework he told Emile.After all in Scotland I could wear a kilt.Can you get a denim kilt he wondered.He decided to wear underpants but not to wear Mary’ssilk petticoat.She might get angry with him.
There is a certain logic in wearing a denim skirt as it much cooler than trousers and allows easy movement.But of course one must wear decent underpants in case the wind blows under it and reveals all.That’s why women are always buying packs of pants.So Stan was thinking. and he remembered his old espadrilles which would look good.He stood in front of the mirror and imagined he looked quite fetching.
The doorbell rang and on the step was the Vicar of Knittingham South.
Hello,madam, he said pleasantly.
I’m a man,Stan muttered loudly
Yes,dear,of course you are.May I speak to your husband?
I am the husband,Stan screeched.
Oh,I see.You are gay then, I assume.
Stan pointed to his beard and said,
I am a man. Didn’t you hear me?
Please forgive me, the Vicar said
Some old ladies get quite hairy and with the skirt I thought it was rude to mention your beard.How do you find the skirt,by the way?
Well, it’s very cool having air on the legs and it’s definitely better than shorts.
But a cotton dress would be even better.Are you married?
Yes,said the Vicar but my wife is very intolerant of anything unusual.She’d be furious if I wore her old clothes.
My wife doesn’t know,Stan told him.I bet she’d be angry too because she’d have to iron it again.
Why don’t you wash and iron it before she comes home, the Vicar demanded.
Well, just between the two of us I am afraid of soap powder, irons,telephones, sprouts and making a mistake in a recipe.Also eye tests ,blue litmus paper ,Andrex and crisps
I’m afraid of dentists,fogs , bricks.Art,dogs and sausages the Vicar admitted.And doctors and fierce women who swear at me in the dark.
The two men stood pondering.Are they tarts angry with not getting aby notice from the dear old Vicar.After all Jesus mixed with them.
Come inside, said Stan after a few minutes.Let’s have a coffee.
They sat on the patio drinking their coffee and saw a wren fly past into the weigelia.
That’s the first I’ve seen recently.said Stan.
Emile was asleep again,this time in a woven willow bucket in the kitchen.
Anyway,why did you call,Stan asked the Vicar.We never got to that.
I can’t remember, the dear old man admitted.I’ll have to come back tonight.
Oh,dear Stan said
I think I’d better put some trousers on, he whispered
Yes,you had said Emile.I can see the Bishop outside.
We’ll have to move,cried Stan.
And so say all of us.
For he’s a hollow bowl mellow.
Why not pray for us?
THE SECOND COMING by: W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)
|
And learn the feeling Arts
Shall we cling to grudges from the past.
Distorting vision;injuring our hearts?
Shall we loosen that tight grip at last?
Shall we cling to grudges from the past,
When grace is waiting for all us poor outcasts?
Soon enough we sinners shall depart
Shall we cling to grudges from the past,
With derision ;injuring our hearts?
Shall we choose to hold our wounded heart
Yet not retaliate and hurt this friend or foe?
For indulged anger grows and war can start
Shall we choose to hold our wounded heart
Contain our rage and learn the feeling Arts?
For all of us have traversed Arctic snow
Shall we choose to hold our wounded heart
Yet not retaliate and hurt this once loved foe?
Loving winter
Structure of a triolet
A
B
A (repeat first line)
a (rhymes with first line)
b (rhymes with second line)
A (repeat first line)
B (repeat second line)
The summer weighs us down with sullen heat
Even cats and dogs sit still as stones
Gone are early flowers with fragrance sweet
The summer weighs us down with sullen heat
The hot flagstones return my angry beat
As people scurry by ears to their phones.
The summer weighs us down with sullen heat
Even cats and dogs sit still as stones
The Langdale Pikes are fearsome to dead hens
The Langdale Pikes are fearsome to dead hens
Whose feet are used to engraved golden roads
The Langdale Pikes are fearsome unless penned
But from the heights you cannot see a toad.
Though mountains can allure us like a whore
They cast huge shadows onto Network Rail
You cannot tell a sculpture,je t’adore
Despite the surplus in next Winter’s Tails
They test my soul with glue like a quagmire
One has to have a head and a big ass
Sheep prefer the local red-haired deer
Who rescue them when donkeys miss the path
Should we learn to lose our fear of light
From the peak we see all human blight
Emile pushes Stan out of bed
-
Stan awoke feeling very thirsty.My, this bed is much too hard,he thought.He put out his hand and felt some wood not far away.It was his desk.Emile was lying on Stan’s stomach purring.
You fell out of bed,the little cat miaowed.Luckily I clung on with my claws and I am ok sleeping down here….I can see mice better.
Well,it’s not ok with me,Stan informed him gently.How can I get up from here?
He picked up the Cambridge Companion to Sylvia Plath and banged on his desk softly.
Mary was awake and heard a strange sound.She got up and found Stan lying on the floor with his head by his desk.
Emile wanted to sleep by the wall,you see.,he told her.
Then he rolled over and I fell out.That is logically and scientifically unsensible,Mary told him.Surely Emile is not so big that his weight was enough to knock you out of the bed? It is against the law of gravityAnyway,why don’t you get up?
I like it down here,the old man lied to her optimistically.
Rubbish,Mary said,then she picked up the phone and rang 999.
Hello,she said.My cat is very upset as he feels guilty for pushing my aged husband out of bed.
How terrible for you,the man answered.I’ll send an ambulance right away.
Mary opened the front door and left it unlatched whilst she lit the electric lights with a match.
How do you feel now Stan,she enquired tying her red polyester fleece dressing gown a bit tighter before the paramedics arrival
I am thirsty,give me some brandy,he ordered her politely as he was full of kindness
They said not to let you or Emile drink or eat
Blooming ridiculous,he told her in a manly fashion.
Soon the ambulance arrived and the paramedics were running up the stairs to see the poor cat. Mary fainted so they laid her on the bed whilst they comforted Emile and cleaned his paws.Then they picked up Stan and laid him right next to Mary,his wife.
Why don’t you have a bigger bed,one asked Stan.
Bigger than what,he responded academically.
Well,if you were any fatter you’d not be able to lie next to your wife.
True,he replied but my wife is too large.I keep hoping she will lose weight.
I shall make you some tea the female paramedic told them forcefully
Well,you don’t seem to be hurt,the other one told Stan, but the cat may need therapy or counselling because of the guilt he will feel.
He’s not a Catholic ,I hope?
No, he’s Jewish,Stan shouted implausibly.
That’s alright then.How do cats get to be Jewish anyhow?
It’s their souls,Mary said…they are all waiting up there for a suitable place to be reborn and some choose to be cats.
But how can you tell? he asked wonderingly.They have no prayer shawls
They miaow in Hebrew,Mary said loftily.And they like to sing the psalms before bed.
But how do you know it’s Hebrew,he replied.Do you speak it?
No, it’s just he hates bacon and pepperoni and always wears a hat so it seems he must be one of Jesus’s friends,but not Judas of course.I suppose Jesus wore a hat but it’s never been found as yet.Not even being sold as a relic.Well,that’s intriguing.Do you think Emile might be the Messiah?
Oh,dear.We never thought of that.Will he have to go to Galilee and catch fish and walk on water?
No, he can go to Rome and tell the Pope that the Church is not what God planned.
I hope they don’t kill him,Mary cried sadly.
God will not be very happy.
I didn’t know God had moods,Stan said.
He has post-creative depressive disorder….no wonder when we look round the world.
Still they did try,I’ll say that for him or her.
And so say all of us.
For he’s a very good yeller,he’s a very good yeller
A cat’s life is a fuss.Miaow.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
