Language has different rules.A language can be looked at as a game with rules.But the rules vary,That’s why perfect translation is impossible.Many different perceptions are linked into the vocabulary of each language.And the rules for combination are unique to each. Like dancing…each society used to have its own form of dance though here it’s died out.Irish and Scottish dancing still exist and are very similar.People entertained themselves by singing their unique songs and dancing together… and playing their own instruments.. violin,tin whistle,piano… Sometimes you make a friend from another culture.Sometimes you hurt them because your singing and dancing may have seemed similar and then one of you took a step which was not part of any dance the other one knew…. so feelings are hurt or the mind is puzzled.Unless you have very deep trust You may think they are wanting to hurt you.But it maybe you were doing the foxtrot and they began to waltz, feeling it would be lovely to waltz with you. Then they tread on your toes,you slap their face and it’s the end of a good friendship.But thinking of it as a confusion of dances may give the event a different meaning which ascribes no blame,just confusion natural in such a case
Now I’m feeling kind of numb on this January day The darkness came down sudden and I feel it’s here to stay Shall I make some tea and pretend that you are here I’m naked like the wood underneath that swish veneer. I’m feeling kinda nothin’ now the melancholy’s gone Should I be doing something that will give me, like, some fun? The silence is not threatening, but neither is it good Did you ever wish that you weren’t made of flesh and blood? I’m feeling so damned stupid for falling on my back My shoulder was in agony and there’s whiplash in my neck The doctor, he injected me, but he said it’s down to luck He may have missed the mark, he says,I wish I’d said,oh feck Apparently the elderly are not in much demand I heard a sorta whisper as my head went in the sand We must keep the silence or we’ll frighten off the young They don’t seem to notice but the cat will lick my hand
I didn’t know how old I was till the clock flew off the wall Isn’t it uncanny what you see before the Fall?
Everything is whirling round my mind, The lack of government , the words unkind That the poor are short of food and clothes We deny it, everybody knows
Sudden gusts of wind mock these old trees Does the lure of nature disappear When the butterflies have gone away Yet the stinging wasps are here to stay?
Once tortured now abandoned refugees Can’t make phone calls, have no mental ease We make our own defences into walls We do not want to hear their their poignant calls
Oh,Lord God take the beam from out my eye I want to know the truth before I die
Unexpressed emotions never die. We hurt the ones we “love “without a sigh We fall downstairs and break a bone or ten We find the worst in all the hopeful men
So now the awful feelings have increased Someone else is joyful at the feast We sulk and mope or crack the china mugs Break our ankles stumbling on the rugs
Now we blame the others for our pain Why did noone notice yet again? We are not the centres of their world Too proud to say we’re sad in a few words
Decent friends will give us words that heal If we show emotion, show we feel
In my despair I felt that I was stuck Paralysed by grief and guilt I failed By the end I had tried every trick
From prayer unthought to deeps of logic black My life, my engine ,juddered off the rails I hated God and of “his” Church was sick
Starving and alone I was in shock The death of one I loved had made me frail By the end I had tried every trick
I felt love’s arms around me, death to block I knew this goodness, why else would I wail? I thought I hated God but Love had struck
Warm and golden light that did me hold Where are you now when refugees die cold? Kind despair that made me long time sit By the end I knew Love needs no trick
Deep in the cold hard soil worms dwell Yet I did hear the sparrows sing today They sounded very happy, truth to tell Deep below in horrid soil worms dwell And in the Irish Sea the rollers swell Here nervous people watch the USA Deep in their cold truth we numbly dwell Yet I have heard the sparrows sing today
To write a poem I dreamed an undreamed dream The woods in France deformed by dead young men A nightmare complex in its perplexed themes
In our dream the narrative has means To make those killed communicate again To write a poem I dream an undreamed dream
Later, in another war, trains steam To take the “insect” Jew, no longer “man.” A nightmare simple in its evil themes
The little pearls we half see, as we scheme The evasions we ignored but which remained. We read a poem, we dream an undreamed dream
Who we are and who we might have been At 4 am in isolated pain The Nightmare Complex, come to share your screams
Can any see the world as poets aimed To recreate the moment where we change? To write a poem embodies sufferers’ dreams Nightmares dark and piercing,mobs that maim
Who am i The one who writes? The confluence of streams Of DNA and lies Breed evil in many hearts People Bust into the Capitol Shots were fired Let’s keep streaming Out to sea. I may not exist But I have a view I don’t like these actions Nor mobs who would kill The world in turmoil watches Democracy is clear Hitler didn’t have TV cameras It must matter. But see Jesus No exemptions The weak Get it
Yout letter seems to overflow with rage The reservoir of hatred has emerged The loving kindness vanished without trace
I cannot see the mirror of your face You used me to contain your anger’s surge Yout letter, wanton, overflows with rage
Why did you enact your Play in haste? Why treat me so coldly , why me hurt? Your act of love has vanished without trace
Do not tell me I was not your taste You fantasised an image I dispute Yout letter ,sadly, overflows with rage
I hate to see my love was to you waste Free speech applies to both, you can’t refute How could good, true love leave not a trace?
After this, I in my world was mute I could not speak,my heart and soul pursued Yout letter uses words to channel rage You wished to see me naked,this the stage
Postmodern poetics respond to the condition of the world. In an age of instant telecommunications and metropolitan life, the postmodern serial and procedural forms attempt to accommodate the overwhelming diversity of messages and the lapse of a grand order that is replaced by an arbitrary personal order.
I. Language
A. In postmodern poetics, there is a paradigmatic shift from the idea that language is transparent to the disclosure of its physicality, its intimacy, its obdurate persistence, and its paradoxical fragility. (M 43)
B. Reader¡Xpoem:
The reader’s position is contingent upon the poem and the poem¡¦s existence hinges upon the reader and the varieties of knowledge the reader brings to the poem¡KThe adequation of thing and sign has lapsed with the realization of the arbitrary condition of language. (M 43)
II. Self
A. Contemporary poetry:
1. Contemporary poetry positions its perspectives from a persona (who is often autobiographic) within a defined narrative structure. 2. Contemporary poetry avoids self-criticism and establishes itself as a singled unified voice. (M 48)
B. Postmodern poetry:
1. Postmodernist poetics suggests an ongoing reinterpretation of the self in the context of others. It specifically investigates the ethical-or self-critical capacity of language and its relationship to identity. (M 46)2. The critique of the privileged and entitled ¡§I¡¨ is central to postmodern poetics. While not a wholesale endorsement of many theoretic claims to he death of the author or the abandonment of intention, postmodern poetry nonetheless insists on a re-visioning of the authorial voice and its reception. (M 46)
An Italian stanzaic form, used most notably by Dante Alighieri in Commedia (The Divine Comedy), consisting of tercets with interwoven rhymes (ABA BCB DED EFE, and so on). A concluding couplet rhymes with the penultimate line of the last tercet. See Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind,” Derek Walcott’s “The Bounty,” and Omeros, and Jacqueline Osherow’s “Autumn Psalm.”
Too old for cold,I stand, now ,against the hedge, Watching the snowflakes in the glare of neon street lamps. Darkness has come early,and I think of country uplands and huddled sheep. On Salisbury Plain,shepherds watched their flocks Just as in Bethlehem two thousand years before, And then ,exactly when? “Between the wars”,it stopped. Now we know there is no “Between the wars”. And who decided To cull the sheep and shepherds and the space for kindness ? Now that same Plain still exists,but banned And closed to human-kind, For bombs ,not wombs Nor for birth of lamb ,nor gypsy child ,nor Saviour Where would He go today? _
I went up to the blackboard and I wrote there, x,y,z But the lecture room was empty, they were still in bed I was feeling angry, so would you.I guess I had written 20 lectures, I hoped for some success
I tore up all the handouts and threw them on the chairs I rarely lose my temper, but why should they keep theirs? I longed to explain Calculus, but noone ever did Nor why Eve was neatly made, just out of Adam’s rib
I went into the Staff Room,I got myself some tea I think it was the only thing that lecturers got free Except those pens for whiteboards, and paper for our notes Cheapest type of ballpens, sweets for our sore throats.
I got onto my bicycle,I went for a long ride I could have has a wedding dress, if I were a bride I could have had a coat of fur with matching hat and boots But I went down to Foyles again where they might cook some books
Then I was in Dillons and then I went to Heals I have got no furniture but I do know how it feels I went onto the Underground to get to Finbury Park Alas, when I got out again, it seemed to have gone dark
I came back home and drank more tea, the house seemed very quiet I heard Leonard Cohen whistling in the dark
Stan was happy for a few moments when he woke up.Then he realized Emile was not anywhere to be seen.Mary had already gone out as she wanted to catch a very early train to London.She needed to visit the British Library.She urgently wanted to find evidence that Wittgenstein wore a hat in bed. Stan went searching around the house but Emile had vanished.Usually at 8 am he would be dashing about pretending to chase flies and giving a balletic performance worthy of Sadler’s Wells. I wonder who Sadler was, Stan muttered as he filled the kettle with fresh water and put some Earl Grey tea into the teapot. Then, a strange feeling came over him.He looked up and there was Emile crouched on top of the highest cupboard in the kitchen. Emile, he cried, What are you doing up there? I’m training to be a spy, Emile replied nonchalantly. But how could this kitchen be of interest to the Intelligence Services? Well, the cat murmured, I am practicing hiding. You gave me a terrible shock, Stan said.I had this feeling I was being watched.I wondered if it was paranoia.Then I saw your gleaming eyes. So, you need to get some dark glasses, Emile said. No ,I would still feel that horrible feeling.And how were you planning to get down from that high ledge? I’m not sure, the cat meowed faintly Well, the first lesson for a spy or even a detective is, Never go anywhere unless you can make a quick exit, As it is ,I may have to ring 999. Just then the front doorbell rang.There stood a man with a white beard and moustache. Hello ,he said holding out his hand to shake Stan’s. I am called Peter Fried.I have just moved into one of the new flats across the road.I am a psychoanalyst. I have taken on another flat to use as a consulting room and a waiting room A psychoanalyst! Do we need one round here? Well, Good morning, I have just brewed some tea.Would you like to join me? How kind, said Peter. I say, old bean, did you know there’s a cat on top of your cupboard? Yes, that is Emile.Today he has surpassed himself in wickedness.How I will get him down I don’t know. My training analyst used to say, What goes up must eventually come down. That seems a bit weird for an analyst.To what was he referring… something to do with sex I don’t doubt.It’s all sex with you people. Yes, some of us are very peculiar…that’s why we enter the profession. What I meant was, if Emile got up he can get down.How did you get up, Emile? I leaped, answered the tense animal. Can you leap down? I’ve lost my nerve, replied the poor creature softly. Well, as it happens, being a therapist, I always carry few spare nerves with me.I’ll climb up this step ladder and pass you a new nerve. And without waiting, Peter climbed the ladder.He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a golden thread. Here you are,Emile, Catch this in your claw. Emile caught the golden thread and wrapped it around his neck. Can you leap down now? enquired Stan. Emile leaped down and landed in a bowl of hot water in the sink. It’s a good thing I wasn’t making chips, laughed Stan hysterically Come here, Emile and let me dry you on this old towel.He put Emile in front of the fire and he and Peter drank mugs of Earl Grey tea. I have got a mistress, Stan told Peter. Well, do you want therapy for your conflict? Oh,no.I’m far too old for therapy or indeed for a mistress. She liked helping a man ,making tea, typing notes, calculating averages and calling the ambulance.. you know what I mean.She likes the paramedic, Dave ás well. Is she not married? No , her husband fell into the wheelie bin during the night and alas he was taken away with the rubbish. That is a strange story.Are you certain? No, it could be he grew tired of her and ran away.Then she invented this story, Well , this may be a quiet suburb but I can see there is plenty of material here for me to write my next book: Deceptive appearances and the fascination of apparent dullness. Oh, that sounds very unusual. Well, I’ve never believed in true dullness.There is always a story. See, I’ve just met you a man of 98 yet you have a wife, a mistress and a crazy cat.. and I’ve only been here for one day.Imagine
what else I may discover here. They heard a siren. Oh, no!We’ve not even rung 999 and here is the ambulance…. Mary will be so angry.You see Dave is bisexual My goodness, are you having an affair with him. No way, shouted Stan.My life is tough enough already.He can be bisexual or even trisexual but I’m not interested. What does trisexual mean, enquired Emile. I have no idea but I thought it sounded good, admitted Stan. Peter stood up. I think I’d better go home and start to see my patients. Now Emile, put your nerve somewhere safe.We don’t want you to lose it again. Thank you, darling cried Emile.I think I’ve formed an erotic transference with you already. Peter rushed out. Is it me or is it them?he wondered. I thought it would be quiet here on the edge of Knittingham but I think now wherever you are there will always be something unexpected happening.But I hope Emile will not begin to follow me around.I shall have to buy a lady cat and then Emile might fall in love with her instead.So off Peter went whistling a Bach cello suite and wondering how to cope with life in a suburb.. clearly it was not as dull as he had imagined
I lost my key on Xmas E Ve.Now I’ve found it I am ple Ased to meet you,Are you well? Do you li ke the way I spell Do you li ke the way you smell? I lost my keys in parallel Let me out,I need a we ll
midsummer days evoke the trancelike past where children played in joyous, daisied fields with buttercups so bright the memory lasts a freedom that our conscious growth will steal.
those stones and leaves and many coloured flowers were gathered into images that glow yet later we forget those treasured hours when for a while we lived in life’s deep flow
we did not look and see,but felt at one we lived as did the birds high in the trees now we write , experiencing has gone we cannot live like flowers filled with bright bees
to lose ourselves in nature is a joy which to our adult selves we must restore
Why did Jesus have no shoes? He had sent his soles to be heeled.
Why did Jesus not wear trousers? Jewish tailoring had not got that far 2,000 years ago.
Did Jesus drive a car? Drive a car what?
Did Jesus write letters? They had no Royal Mail then and soon we shan’t either.
Why did Jesus go to a comprehensive school? He wanted to widen his appeal.
Did Jesus iron his clothes? It was before the Iron Age.
Am I sure I’ll go to heaven? Stop going to sex shops and wearing red bras and you should be ok How about this atom bomb here in my pocket? Please, let it drop,I beg you
Why did the Iraq War begin in 2004? Because the Iraq Goverment had made too many Mass Suggestions Because George Bush wanted to play with his toy boys
Why did WW1 start? A wrong turning in a taxi They forgot about aeroplanes
How about WW2? Because Hitler was suicidal Because there were not enough jobs The home fires stopped burning WW1 never ended It does young men good to learn how to behave Because Europe wanted to commit suicide Then Japan did
Why did Edward the 8th abdicate? His mother didn’t like his beloved. Vice versa. He wanted to marry a domino He wanted to commit a terror He was impotent He was impatient None of the above?
Do you like my new coat,Annie asked Mary? Ye Gods, where have you got that from? I got in online in a salea The shoulders are too wide for you so the sleeves cover your hands completely Well, it did say “relaxed fit” and ” dropped shoulders” and I won’t need gloves You look terrible in it.It’s like an oversized tweed balloon and it’s very long I don’t mind long You look as if you are pregnant with triplets Well, since I murdered my husband I’ve had no man in my bed. How about in the shed?< Mind your own business.I am not with child I was just saying how you look that’s all Just saying!Where is your coat from? Marks and Spencers Does it have a touch of wool? No, it said:with wool And was it? Yes, there was a ball of wool in the pocket Are you sure it’s not “faux wool” ? Where’s that from? Faux sheep. What are they? Dogs with acrylic coats Do they alter their genes? No, just their faux jeans What are faux jeans? The opposite of real jeans And how can we tell the difference? You need Faith like when you believe a piece of bread is turned into God. I agree with that So why don’t you go to church? There’s only a faux Church here So it looks like a Church but it is not? Yes, they believe in Quaternity Four persons in one God? Or four gods in one person Or are they demons? Yes, they crossed the Channel in a bath Did the police find them? Not as far as I glow.
Cold dull winters bring us close to death The blood grows thick and scarcely does it move The worms may shudder deep down in the earth
This damp coldness presses out our breath The frost and ice, the memory delude Cold dull winters bring us close to death
Do we need the sun to give us worth? Low in oxygen, the mind’s confused The worms have nightmares deep down in the earth
Should we pause, these issues to address? In this Lockdown, where should we confess? Cold dull winters bring us close to death
Wonder now what makes our voices terse With no priests, who shall this poor world bless? The worms may sleep deep down inside the earth
On each other,let us not intrude Let all loving kindness be our food Cold dull winters bring us close to death Like worms that slumber deep down in the earth