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Month: April 2017
Our deepest need is for real dialogue
Our deepest need is for a dialogue
Without raised voices or the wish to wound
And we may find this on a simple blog.
Some Shakespeare plays have got their own prologue.
And in the plays, we see the world alround.
Our deepest need is for real dialogue
Some comments one would not say to a dog.
The silence of the net makes judgements fume
And we may find this on a simple blog.
Barbaric people wish to hang and flog.
Please, God, let pity come down soon
All peoples need a trusted dialogue
At times, tested, we are caught by fog.
The instruments of angels pierce our gloom
And we read /write this on a simple blog.
The sky is brighter , summer is assumed.
Share the earth with stars and sun and moon.
Our kindest wish is for a dialogue
In which we find the sacredness of love
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Therefore eye is
I write like this when I feel blue.It endears me up.
She was wearing cropped, ripped jeans and, showed black ankle eyes therefore I is.
She was swearing, tripped Jean and eyed her ankles.They were created that way
She wore pop-ups under her long skirt to hide her conformities
I like knee eyes myself.Tights prevent certain visions
Did you have to be a spectacle? I love contacts, myself.
With this fling, I thee bed.Get on with it and make me a sinner.
Do you take this man?If not, I shall.
Where do you take the woman after that?
She was horrid for 50 years.She’s not bred yet,
Her husband was omnipotent.He built and erected malefactions.
What did she glue?
When we got divorced, he took the leg-over and I got the Leggo set.
One man is much like another when they bark.They never speak Dutch to me but that’s because I type silently
Yes, I committed adultery so I could make my Easter Depression last longer.First I had to get married.That was the hard part.After that it got easier and easier.Now I lie down all day.I read Bakhin and smile complacently
.
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I am because WE are.
https://aeon.co/ideas/descartes-was-wrong-a-person-is-a-person-through-other-persons
“I am because we are, and because we are I am”
“According to Ubuntu philosophy, which has its origins in ancient Africa, a newborn baby is not a person. People are born without ‘ena’, or selfhood, and instead, must acquire it through interactions and experiences over time. So the ‘self’/‘other’ distinction that’s axiomatic in Western philosophy is much blurrier in Ubuntu thought. As the Kenyan-born philosopher John Mbiti put it in African Religions and Philosophy (1975): ‘I am because we are, and since we are, therefore I am.’
We know from everyday experience that a person is partly forged in the crucible of community. Relationships inform self-understanding. Who I am depends on many ‘others’: my family, my friends, my culture, my work colleagues. The self I take grocery shopping, say, differs in her actions and behaviours from the self that talks to my PhD supervisor. Even my most private and personal reflections are entangled with the perspectives and voices of different people, be it those who agree with me, those who criticise, or those who praise me.
Yet the notion of a fluctuating and ambiguous self can be disconcerting. We can chalk up this discomfort, in large part, to René Descartes. The 17th-century French philosopher believed that a human being was essentially self-contained and self-sufficient; an inherently rational, mind-bound subject, who ought to encounter the world outside her head with scepticism. While Descartes didn’t single-handedly create the modern mind, he went a long way towards defining its contours.”
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Why modern poets don’t write in form [much]
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2007/11/why-no-one-wants-to-be-a-new-formalist/
“If I have to belabelledd, I myself prefer the term “retro-formalist”, which at least sounds vaguely cool, like wearing vintage clothing and listening to vinyl, something so square it’s hip.
So what is NF? Just who ARE these embarrassing people? British poets who work in form and meter are apparently just being… British (that Modernism stuff was all very American and Continental after all), i.e., old formalists. New Formalists have to be American for some reason. Is it people who have studied with Yvor Winters? People who returned to form and painfully relearned prosody from manuals after an apostasy in free verse? People who write screeds against a Modernism that was actually better grounded in craft and tradition than most working poets today? People who write exclusively in form? People who capitalize their lines? People who have published in a formal journal or attended West Chester, a craft-focused conference in Pennsylvania (where, yes, I have had the opportunity of both taking and teaching classes)?
Glibness aside, though, do I feel belligerent against free verse? No, I admire good free verse, I wish I wrote it better. Tennis without a net has its own beauties and choreography. But I write best (as more than one editor has pointed out to me when I tried to sneak in some free verse in a submission) when I write against the constraint and pressures of form–any constraint, really, be it syllabic, repetend, stanzaic, metrical, rhyme-schemed. I write… freer that way.”
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I see the children smile and smile and peer.
The sensuous pleasure of warm air on skin
For three years past, I’ve let no solace near.
Summer’s here, birds chirp, begin again.
I feel, at last, some joy erupt within.
I have heard the music of my fear
No sensuous pleasure of warm air on skin
To not appreciate this earth may be a sin
I have missed the voice of him, so dear.
Summer’s here, birds chirp, begin again.
Who could understand my time in hell but him?
Hard to dream of new love without fear.
The sensuous pleasure of his hand, my skin
I beg him to return, I’ve served my time.
But he cannot reply, my heart is seared.
Summer’s here, birds chirp, begin again.
I see the children smile and smile and peer.
As I sing, my voice is dark and clear.
The birth and message of the song risen
Says summer’s come, I shall begin again.
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Babeldom:a confused sound of voices
Babeldom, babeldom
Send for the horse’s ; beat a drum
Kindgdom come, kingdom come.
Too much chatter makes my heart feel numb
| Definition | |
| babeldom | a confused sound of voices |
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Starting with the sonnet form
The first line of Gray’s Elegy has the right meter.for a sonnet.
“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.”
So you must write a line to that music:
The clouds rise up and race across the sky
for example; then you need a second line.I find these two lines must be interesting.emotional , deep or symbolic.After that, the structure determines to some extent how you can develop your poem…Fourteen lines according to the pattern below.
ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
Sonnets are usually serious but it is possible to write a humorous one.Historically it was the metaphysical poets who wrote this way about love and death…John Donne is one of them.He wrote the famous poem
No man is an island
Sonnet on writing a poem
Poetry is the art of shaping words
The structure contributes to make a whole.
And writing sonnets is not just for us nerds.
Creating structures helps to create our souls.
Yet many folks are frightened by the risk
Of imperfection, criticism and pain.
But for myself, I love this frightening task.
So gaily I sit down to write again.
Though what I write may not be alpha plus.
The chance to share my feelings lures me on.
And when I travel on a London bus
I write a note before my thoughts are gone
We each can be creative in some way
And find our happiness in being gay
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On E.E.Cummings
BY MARIA POPOVA
“The Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned, in order to know himself,” young E.E. Cummings (October 14, 1894–September 3, 1962) wrote in his beautiful essay on what it really means to be an artist. He lived this tenet every day, on every line, and spent his entire career defending the basic creative freedom to dismantle the accepted order, the way things have always been done, in order to get to the heart of truth and beauty.
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Discussion or dialogue
“Words,” Ursula K. Le Guin wrote in her abiding meditation on the magic of real human communication, “transform both speaker and hearer; they feed energy back and forth and amplify it. They feed understanding or emotion back and forth and amplify it.” But what happens in a cultural ecosystem where the hearer has gone extinct and the speaker gone rampant? Where do transformation and understanding go?
What made, for instance, James Baldwin and Margaret Mead’s superb 1970 dialogue about race and identity so powerful and so enduringly insightful is precisely the fact that it was a dialogue — not the ping-pong of opinions and co-reactivity that passes for dialogue today, but a commitment to mutual contemplation of viewpoints and considered response. That commitment is the reason why they were able to address questions we continue to confront with tenfold more depth and nuance than we are capable of today. And the dearth of this commitment in our present culture is the reason why we continue to find ourselves sundered by confrontation and paralyzed by the divisiveness of “us vs. them” narratives. “To bother to engage with problematic culture, and problematic people within that culture, is an act of love,” wrote the poet Elizabeth Alexander in contemplating power and possibility. Krista Tippett calls such engagement generous listening. And yet so much of our communication today is defined by a rather ungenerous unwillingness to listen coupled with a compulsion to speak.
The most perennially insightful and helpful remedy for this warping of communication I’ve ever encountered comes from the legendary physicist David Bohm (December 20, 1917–October 27, 1992) in On Dialogue (public library) — a slim, potent collection of Bohm’s essays and lectures from the 1970s and 1980s, exploring the alchemy of human communication, what is keeping us from listening to one another, and how we can transcend those barriers to mutual understanding.
Decades before the social web as we know it and long before Rebecca Solnit came to lament how our modern noncommunication is changing our experience of solitude and communion, Bohm cautions:
In spite of this worldwide system of linkages, there is, at this very moment, a general feeling that communication is breaking down everywhere, on an unparalleled scale… What appears [in the media] is generally at best a collection of trivial and almost unrelated fragments, while at worst, it can often be a really harmful source of confusion and misinformation.
He terms this “the problem of communication” and writes:
Different groups … are not actually able to listen to each other. As a result, the very attempt to improve communication leads frequently to yet more confusion, and the consequent sense of frustration inclines people ever further toward aggression and violence, rather than to
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Speaking and listening
“
An experience makes its appearance only when it is being said,” wrote Hannah Arendt in reflecting on how language confers reality upon existence. “And unless it is said it is, so to speak, non-existent.” But if an experience is spoken yet unheard, half of its reality is severed and a certain essential harmony is breached. The great physicist David Bohm knew this: “If we are to live in harmony with ourselves and with nature,” he wrote in his excellent and timely treatise on the paradox of communication, “we need to be able to communicate freely in a creative movement in which no one permanently holds to or otherwise defends his own ideas.”
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If we don’t trust, suspicion haunts our view
What are those brown objects in the bowl?
The salad green is easier to see.
Are they meat or are they Dover’s soul?
They’re not black so they cannot be coal
They don’t look like cherries heavenly
What are those brown objects in the bowl?
Underneath the Castle in a hole
A room was made as World War strategy
Where our government could hide if Hitler called,
To eat to please our mother is a goal
If we don’t trust, suspicion spoils our view
Of those dark objects in the salad bowl
My nephew picks them up, they are not moles
They’re salad spoons of wood, auspiciously.
They look neat, they are not dead brown wholes
When we ingest food we need to be
Trusting of the one who made the tea.
What are those two brown objects in the bowl?
Are they meat or are they two lost souls?
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To begin with,” said the Cat, “a dog’s not mad. You grant that?” I suppose so, said Alice
Photo by Mike Flemming 2017 copyright
“And how do you know that you’re mad? “To begin with,” said the Cat, “a dog’s not mad. You grant that?” I suppose so, said Alice. “Well then,” the Cat went on, “you see a dog growls when it’s angry, and wags it’s tail when it’s pleased. Now I growl when I’m pleased, and wag my tail when I’m angry. Therefore I’m mad.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass
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Watching televisions is not hard
Watching televisions is not hard
They can’t walk.
Talk ok and take your views
Of the News.
Flat ones can’t have a plant on top
alongside the wooden birds
I preferred
As I say, I keep my eye on it.
Watch it secretly when no-one is here
Or near
I’m waiting for it to speak its real words.
Or to ask me a question.
Who are you?
Why do you watch me?
Have you no shame?
If a television could speak
We wouldn’t be able to understand what’s sad about it
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Their sorry faces traumatised, undone
The ghosts of failures past make tears flow down
They run inside the wrinkles of the skin
The faces of the old and savaged ones.
The child teased for her foreign accent frowns.
Does she have the strength of mind within?
The ghost of failure now makes tears flow down
We thought the old were wiser, never conned.
Yet we ourselves have thinner skin.
Our faces old and ravaged, tortured ones.
For the poor in money, loss abounds
They blame themselves, they did not ever win
The ghost of failure past makes tears flow down
The poor in spirit to their Lord will run
Is this world of terror caused by sin?
Their sorry faces traumatised, undone
The crucifix will be uncrossed again.
The holocaust in nuclear fires may come
The salt of failure’s cost make tears run on
The faces of the living, savaged ones.
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A civil muse
To the prospect of her husband’s death, resigned
Sad and anxious were her feelings at the news.
When he was cured, her heart was pleased yet pained.
Anger with him sent her half insane
A paradox since she was not to lose.
To the prospect of his death, she’d been resigned
Illogical, she felt he was to blame.
Reality was hard and lonely from her view
When he was cured, the doctors she disdained
The doctors did not understand what’s plain-
That changing all our notions makes us blue
To the knowledge of his death, she’d been resigned
When bad news turns to good we ‘re redesigned
Our inner symbols slowly are made new
When he was healed, her cup filled up with pain.
What poetry survives a civil muse?
What love such healing can, surprised, endure
To the prospect of her husband’s loss resigned
By his cure, her art was countersigned.
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Alexandra leaving
Leonard just passing through
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A hint of trees
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Why not install your own hinterland?
Repairing your looks for publicity
How to strangle bad reviewers.
How to startle a rude crook
Freedom of Swedes and Turnips in any society.
Writer’s block.The news and the fuse
Why not install your own hinterland?
How to get some free rhymes and white spirits
Dried up? Write a hymn prune.
Sad? Dance the night away.
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For sale
1.Inflatable duvet suitable for covering uncountably many non-algebraic numbers of people.
2.Cover for inflatable duvet washable in infinite large washing machine at 30 degrees{Oxon}
3.Bed big enough for uncountably many unaccountable people with degrees of little use.
4 Very long,unmeasurable bolster with pure silk cover.Dry clean only.
5.Chastity belts for uncountably many large and small paradoxical ladies
6 Bromides in infinitely many doses [Aleph null] for all men who have not got diabetes.
7 An infinitely, uncountably large number of glucose meters and pins to prick your finger and check your blood sugar
8.A teapot which boils using the body heat of an infinite number of men and women while they make love.
9 A huge number of china mugs [ not even tried counting]
10 Fridge with an ininitely large bottle of milk in it plus tea bags of same order of magnitude.
11.Aleph one boxes of silver teaspoons.Free to first persone who understands the meaning of life.
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The golden apple’s foreign, make it cry
The sun owns us, it made the acers bright.
We flaunted a beech tree, a small bonsai
How I love the play, a tragedy, oh, quite.
When I croaked today I saw the light!
I dream of nothing and I rarely wonder why.
The gambling verbs have made the poets trite
.
Gone is winter with its widow’s might
Off, grey rod and take your Grecian pi.
How I love aught held with feigned delight
I saw a child write with her ink so white
I said, the paper’s black.do you know why?
The golden apple’s foreign, make it cry
My husband’s gone to bed, he’s dynamite.
Except he falls asleep when I pass by
My broad elastic band snaps in delight
I am Jesus, I am foreign.I’m not white
I may seem dead but I am God’s own spy
The silver swan’s song had a bitter note
Would a Wittgenstein interpret lies?
Will my nightie be ok if I should die?
The sun scents hours, we smile at cows so white.
How I love these sheep with green and golden eyes.
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Wear an orange coat in December
If you are happy to wear strange colours that most of us are not then the Sales will satisfy your lust for clothes of high quality
1.Buy a wool coat for only £79 from a top make.Why?
Because it is ORANGE!
1b.Enter an old-fashioned religious order
2.Buy one ball of mohair and knit yourself a hat.Don’t make it red or it will CLASH with the orange coat.
3.Knit yourself a Mobius strip neck warmer in merino wool.I invented it but now it’s in fashion
4 Wear men’s woollen vests– a good reason to get married.Check the vest first before you get married
5.Wear two of everything if you are thin enough not to appear gigantic
2 Vests, 2 pairs pants.2 prs tights, etc. BUT Not 2 pairs of JEANS.You won’t be able to walk.Ditto shoes!
Drawback: twice as much washing.
Advantage: Save money on central heating.
6.Move to hotter country.Remember though you will be a FOREIGNER then.
So maybe not a European country?Remember ,no NHS.Remember Brexit?
7 Wear 2 nightgowns
8 Put a fleece sleeping bag between your sheets.Leave the unzipped side on the side where you exit the bed n the middle of the night.
9 Avoid birth control devices and be chaste.Get your partner to sleep in another fleece bag.That will make it hard for him to get near you.Don’t wrestle unless your bed is very big.You might fall off and what would the Fire Brigade think?
10 Do a lot of cleaning and vacuuming instead of watching TV.. it gets one warm and the room clean too.
11 Go for a run.
12 Stay in bed for 3 months till meteorological spring arrives.
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In a boat on living water
- My printer ,oh what Envy;
My Chromebook lusts for Denby
The seven deadly sins have come to town.
I guess they might be catching
Pride and lust exacting
So in these sins humanity might drown.
We suffer the temptation
Lust besets the Nation.
Brides demand the most expensive gown.
So sail away or saunter
In a boat on living water
That will take away your tension and your frown….
For advertisers know us
So then they want to show us.
How to make a payment they call down
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In infinite dreams
Must a bed be of infinite size
To contain aleph-null of your eyes?
I thrash out this theme
In infinite dreams
Call it a surd to the wise.
I can’t take a date with a man
As I am counting these sheets , aleph-one
Hercules had it soft
In spite of his task
I am old but have hardly begun
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An infinite number of folk under a duvet?
Topology, a branch of mathematics, is sometimes called rubber sheet geometry.It’s a sad world when mathematicians have to study the sheets of those of us who have leaky bladders.
However, if Tracy Emin’s bed is a work of art it extends the possibilities for scientists and mathematicians.And this needed because with all academics having to publish very frequently they might run out of topics.
So we might have a study of duvets and the different shapes they might assume when they are covering just one person, two people, three people and, since we are mathematicians, we could study their shapes when covering an infinite number of people.
Alternatively how about the effect of one person being covered by an infinite number of duvets?
Would it be aleph-null the infinity of the rational numbers or aleph 0ne [the infinity of the real numbers]?
Aleph one is the bigger of the two ..
Aleph is the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet… and it is used because mathematicians already have used up the Greek alphabet.
So now we use the Hebrew one which is slightly different.
If you learned calculus you will recall all those delta x’s and delta y’s.
This makes me think calculus is part of geomorphology and I do believe that geomorphology which studies the surface of the earth is linked to the love and study of the mother’s face and body by human infants.
So calculus is linked to the studied love of babies.Can it be that if you had a disturbed infancy you will find mathematics very hard? Plastic geometry and plastic surgery will be dealt with later but obviously again it is linked to love or hate of the body though our bodies are not usually made from plastic but who knows the future?
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In deep water, luminous as fog
If I should live again, I’d be a frog
For tadpoles insubstantial cause no fright
Yet they change but not upon my blog
They change their being, leap up from the bog
As bread is changed by holy, priestly rites,
If I should live again, I’d be a frog
In deep water, luminous as fog,
The frogs live on the edge of human sight
Yes they croak but not till we’re in bed
As lovers lie down naked on their rug
They tempt the frog, the adder, the termite
Then they rage upon the death of God
As the wheel turns, see, it drips with blood
The human race is ground up, we’re a blight
Yes, someone, somewhere, once did something good
Oh dark, oh grey, oh where is the new light?
Seems like the frogs, the Lord leapt out of sight
If I should live again, I’d be your god
I’d save the world by turning us to frogs.
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To read or not to read?
Acceptance is Job’s answer,I believe.
We cannot understand the sufferings of man
The holocaust, the murder of the Dove.
The grasp for ill, refusal of the good.
The will to power, and what we might become.
Where are the saints in their communion?
Where is God, they say he’s total love?
We cannot understand the sufferings of man
The holocaust, the murder of the Dove.
We need to see in order to become.
There is light inside, below, above.
The sun shines through transparent new red leaves
Acceptance is Job’s answer,I believe.
We can’t explain the sufferings of man
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Their bodies kill the sacred space of love
The body is the sacred space of love
Created by the fusing of two cells.
Within the holy body spirit dwells,
God ‘s inside; God is not high above.
In Cohen’s song, God is the holy dove.
In the Bible, different symbols tell.
The fiery bush, the still small voice speaks love
To me and you, the fusion of two selves.
The world needs no dark demons hand in glove
We perform our evil very well,
Of salvation, who are we to tell?
We gas children; see, the torture lives.
Their bodies kill the sacred space of love
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I won’t forget the tender joy of all we had
I won’t forget the tender joy of all we had
The good need not be lost when lovers part.
You needed space so take it and be glad.
Because I love you, I shall now be sad
But I won’t let it stab me in the heart
I won’t forget the joy of what we had.
With your loving words , I once was clad
Now naked to the winds, I must depart
If you need space then take it and be glad.
The only constant love is that of God
No Eros is He with his arrowed darts
Do not destroy the joy of all we had.
On these forlorn tracks, I have once trod
In my mind, I search for ragged charts
If you need space then go and speak to God.
I have my maps and now the leaving starts
With tenderness, farewell my dearest heart.
You are lonesome in your soul forever sad
If you need space then be off ,I’ll be glad.
How my heart sings 