Hardy

The Darkling Thrush

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overheadIn a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.

- Thomas Hardy

"Poetry is the best words in the best order." - Coleridge

To my knowledge Thomas Hardy is infamous for creating dark, ominous imagery in his poetry. For anyone keen on the concept of "approaches to style" this poem is an example of very select word choice at a very select time.

This particular poem consists of select words which are placed at appropriate points in the work and carry very significant connotations and it is evident that Hardy's has been able to "kill two birds with one stone".

What do I mean?

He delivers a message. It is up to his audience to intake that message and create a meaning. I would assume Hardy had a distinct idea of what he wanted to impress on his audience, therefore he chose words which "gave one idea and alluded to another".

Take for example the title of the poem The Darkling Thrush. The word "Thrush" means "little bird" and his using this description allows both the bird and the bird's environment to be illuminated. If you read further, you find that the orientation of the poem is highlighted with the nouns "coppice", "frost", "winter", "bine-stems", and so on. Hardy has described a natural environment; a wooded area during the wintertime. His word choice allows him to "say alot in a little space" (which is something I'm sure many of us aspire to do).

Word selection is important. Looking at Hardy's poem this is evermore evident. He chooses words which sound similar, look similar, rhyme and reason and are aesthetically pleasing (tangled, strings, broken, twigs, sharp). Combining these words in the poem create a "feeling" and carry a message through the work. All of those word descriptions are somewhat harsh, violent, aggressive - this adds to the darkness and "death-like" feel to the poem.

He uses the word "fervourless" to describe and contrast two things in one feeling:

And every spirit upon earth

Seemed fervourless as I

This selection occurs in the first stanza. The mood is dim, there is a feeling of vacancy and weariness. By using the word "fervourless" Hardy is implying that the narrator is alive, awakened, and deep in-thought. This word contrasts with the description of his environment. He is tired from the winter, the earth is weary and worn, there is a feeling of desolate darkness and death. Although this word identifies what seems to be an opposite feeling to the narrators experience, it validates his intense feelings while acting as a vehicle which moves the poem forward into further exploring this newfound awareness.

"The weakening eye of the day" represents the sun-setting and the day coming to a close. This occurs in the first stanza which is a clever way to further add feeling to the poem. "The Darkling Thrush" really means "The bird in the night" (or something like that), and the bird is only introduced near the end of the poem which means as each stanza moves forward, the sun continues to set until the bird emerges once darkness falls.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky

Like strings of broken lyres

Here, Hardy illuminates the mood by comparing the environment and the narrator. The narrator feels broken as does the land which is desolate and bare. This is shown by the representation of a "lyre" which is worn-out and run-down, whose strings are broken. This creates the image of being tangled, unwoven, deshevled, and so on. It is further complimentry to the poem because the "lyre" would be played by a human, and the strings which are broken is comparable to the narrator who feels broken himself.

(I am in awe of the complexities of word choice. It is an art, a science, and a creation- but really only as good as its placement) ... *thinking...

Continuing with Hardy...

To identify the cold, unwelcoming and unfriendly environment Hardy describes this bleakness with literary metaphor.

The land's sharp features seemed to be

The Century's corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

The wind his death-lament.

The "land's sharp features" are in reference to human features as he carries this idea forward with the word "corpse". Pathetic Fallacy is seen here as he unifies man and nature (similar to stanza one with "broken lyre"). "His crypt the cloudy canopy" might refer to (the human conscious?) acting as a reference to the human brain. The cloudy canopy could also refer to confusion or intense thoughts- this character's mind might be "lost in a fog" so-to-speak. This carries forward the theme of the relationship between man and nature as the canopy also reflects the clouds and the sky.

Irritation and frustration is immediately evident when the bird emerges, singing in the night. The narrator is not impressed. The word "beruffled" highlights his annoyance with the little bird. The bird is ignorant to the "shrunkenness" and "desolateness" below and continues to sing. This is a point where the stream of consciousness which is evident throughout the poem becomes evermore clear.

The play between external and internal evaluations is constant but more evident at this point in the poetry. As the little bird sings, the internal dialogue of the narrator processes this in accordance with his own personal thoughts and feelings. He is interpreting the bird. This creates a level of irony (because it's a bird) and because the bird is fully ignorant to the intensity below and the desruption his presence is causing- however, the narrator takes the birds' presence as a sign; a type of "escapisim" or "enlightenment" from his gloom and suffering.

This part of the poem carries a message. The audience can interpret the hostile, dark, desolate feel as "depression" because of such factors as: weariness, age, the time of season, and determine that the mood is quite intense because the narrator is feeling intense. The bird's presence highlights for the narrator, a brief irritance as well as an escape from his internal struggle.

Reading this part of the poem creates an awareness for the audience ( for me, personally) because I see someone struggling with his internal emotions, and the contrast which is set by the bird, fully ignorant to this...but I interpret this message to be "things are not always as bad as they seem" - the bird is a sign of winter coming to an end and of springtime on it's way, the bird is a sign (that ignorance is bliss?) and that life if forward-moving and each of us will have to continuously adapt to change.

Comments by Lester Bangs

On popularity:

You'll meet them all again on your long journey to the middle.

On The Music of America:

Here's a theory for you to disregard completely: Music, true music, it chooses you...from the vast, scenic bridges of your brain and angelic choirs...it's a place apart from the lap of America.

On real Buffoons:

The Doors by Jim Morrison? He's a drunken buffoon posing as a poet- give me the Guess Who- they have the courage to be drunken buffoons which makes them poetic.

On accomplishments:

The Letter by The Box Tops, it takes them one minute and fifty-eight seconds, less than two minutes to accomplish what takes Jethro Tull hours to Not accomplish.

On Rock Journalism:

It's an industry of cool...what passes for rock these days, silence is more compelling.

Quotes by Lester Bangs as represented by director Cameron Crowe in his motion picture
Almost Famous (bootleg cut)

END OF THE CENTURY

The Victorian era was a period of social, political, and ecconomic change. Some of the key Victorian poets during this time were, Lord Tennyson, Robert Browning, and Elizabeth Browning.

Change occurred with the end of Queen Victoria’s reign (1837-1901)[I] which meant a sense of loss and unrest for the Victorians. From this change, focus was placed on “sensibility” and “rigidity” which inspired “movement” in poetry. These sensual and emotive movements included a focus on aesthetics and decadance which suggested that poetry should convey sensual pleasure as opposed to a centralized focus on moral messages and meanings. “Aestheticism” was a concept with the intent to capture essence and beauty. This meant a heightened focus on colour, words, music- anything visually or sensually enhancing, inspiring, or beautiful.

Oscar Wilde and W. B. Yeats were men who found this concept enlightening.

Oscar Wilde was a playwrite, novelist, and poet who was convicted of “indecency” because he was a homosexual.

After Wilde was released from prison in 1897[II] he wrote a famous poem, perhaps a reflection of his state of mind, called The Ballad of Reading Gaol.

The following are specific stanza’s from The Ballad of Reading Gaol which I find are very different from his rich, aesthetic-style of writing (theatre, comedy, fairy-tales) and demonstrates his (what I would think would be a “darker state of mind”) as opposed to his previous comedic and “art is life” style of writing.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.

Here, I picture a man walking in-line with other men, wearing a coveralls and reflecting on his life, thinking about his past, thinking about himself…

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blueWhich prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that wentWith sails of silver by.

“Tent of Blue” creates a visual sky within the words. There is a slow-motion feeling to this walk, like they are walking toward their fate, anticipating the inevitable…

I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,'THAT FELLOW'S GOT TO SWING.'

The second line insinuates he is observing a man walking toward his fate, he’s observing his behaviour, wondering what the man is contemplating. He is wondering what kind of crime this individual had committed. The implication of “little” leads me to wonder what constitutes a small crime, or an insignificant crime- it also leads me to belive that he himself realizes the systems injustice and that he considers his institutional commitment as unjust. That he is aware of his crime being a “little thing”…

Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.

At this point I feel something dramatic has happened. There is a change of pace. I feel he’s been taken a different direction, physically put somewhere or he’s back inside the prison walls. He was somber, curious, and reflective when he was outside- now he’s frantic and panicky- like he’s been led inside…

I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.

He realizes this man was looking at the day unlike many would contemplate the day- he was looking at like it was his last day.

This poem is about the death chamber and is haunting and disturbing. Much of the poem describes the events leading up to the prisoner’s death. Near the end he talks about man-made law and the idea harsh realities of the institution…

I know not whether Laws be right,
Or whether Laws be wrong;
All that we know who lie in gaol
Is that the wall is strong;
And that each day is like a year,A year whose days are long.

But this I know, that every Law
That men have made for Man,
Since first Man took his brother's life,
And the sad world began,But straws the wheat and saves the chaff
With a most evil fan.

This too I know - and wise it were
If each could know the same -That every prison that men build
Is built with bricks of shame,
And bound with bars lest Christ should see
How men their brothers maim.

Here he describes the bitter realities of prison. The weak become weaker, the tough become tougher- all of them becoming “harder” people. The conditions of the jail – poor diet and poor chambers- the violence and inhumanity. “And all but lust” – perhaps this is insinuating (forced) homosexual experiences and assault.

For they starve the little frightened child
Till it weeps both night and day:
And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,
And gibe the old and grey,
And some grow mad, and all grow bad,
And none a word may say.

Each narrow cell in which we dwell
Is a foul and dark latrine,
And the fetid breath of living Death
Chokes up each grated screen,
And all, but Lust, is turned to dust
In Humanity's machine.

The brackish water that we drink
Creeps with a loathsome slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
Is full of chalk and lime,
And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
Wild-eyed, and cries to Time.

"Wild-eyed" implies Wilde himself, looking wild-eyed like the many men who endured the same pain and circumstance.



[I] Note from lecture 2/28/05
[II] http://en.wikipedia.org

The Force That Through...

In keeping with the theme of tragedy, a dark piece...


The Froce That Through The Green Fuse Drives The Flower
Dylan Thomas

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

Dylan's poem is complex in its simplicity.

This poem describes the cycle of life and death, while acknowledging that destruction is a key part of the same process, both for man and for nature. Each stanza presents the flow of time moving towards its conclusion.

This poem is saturated with imagery and metaphor. Imagery is evident in the first stanza with descriptions of death in relation to “wintry fever”. The green “fuse” is the stem which is the life-blood of the flower, connecting it like a baby to its mother through its umbilical cord.

Violent words such as “force” to describe something as beautiful as the growth and maturation of a flower is unlikely, and this poem is dark in that these violent images are often used to take the focus off of the beauty and progression of life, and rather remind us that death is inevitable for the weathered flower.

This poem compares the human existence to that of nature represented as a flower. It reminds us that we are all ‘one with the earth’, we all experience similar stages towards death, we all experience the process of aging, and that we will all eventually meet the same fate.

Italians and Englishmen

Elizabethean dramatic poetry assisted the English language as it awakened a certain consciousness within it. Language in literature became “rich and alive” as “the world is a text”(Lecture: 01/17). Representation of the times became important with elaborate costumes and visuals to unify theatre and literature.
Comedy and Tragedy are examples of dramatic poetry.

The following is an example of a dramatic monologue which comes from Robert Browning’s “My last Dutchess”:

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart---how shall I say?---too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace---all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men,---good! but thanked
Somehow---I know not how---as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech---(which I have not)---to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark"---and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
---E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!


This poem is a classic example of a monologue and grammatically uses poetic structures such as enjambment, and the speaker is identified as being separate from the poet. The character of the Duke is seen as ‘ridiculous’ as his personality is slightly off-colour. He mimics other characters, imitates them, suggests situations which are not evident (all which suggest irony to the audience as the reader is clearly able to see truth while he does not have the capability to see past his madness).

This poem places emphasis on aesthetic value and explores issues of sex and violence as the idea of self-consciousness and immorality are heightened as the Dutchess is punished for her sexual exploration.
Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too much,"

As this poem is a monologue, the audience could consider that the “madness” and anger came from a ‘war of consciousnesses’ in the characters mind.

The poem places emphasis on the word “last” implying that the Duke is in the midst of finishing with one, and is in search of another Dutchess. This adds a certain element to the poem as it demonstrates the treatment of women and the way in which feminine qualities are appreciated and/or abused.

Irony is evident that while the Duke is in constant conversation with himself, and the audience is able to see the value of the entire situation and piece together another level of psychology that exists in the context, we see humour in his madness and irrationality. The fact that men are attracted to female sexuality, yet become engaged in an ever-constant battle to conserve these qualities.

The Lovers

Poetry is about passion. It can be terrifying and destructive, and it should convey sensitivity and sincerity to its audience.[1]

Greece:

Sappho was a female Greek lyrist who, in reflection of the times, wrote lyrical poetry that was accompanied by a lyre (which was discussed in class prior to the break). She was the inventor of the Sapphic metre which is: A line that consists of five equal beats, of which the central one alone is of three syllables, while the others consist of two each. [2]

Her style is sensual and melodic. She composed songs of love and reflection and centered much of her focus on woman in art, and was later considered for its homoerotic content. Her writing suggests that the expression of same-sex love was not frowned upon then as it was in more recent times. She has been known to be the “lesbian writer” of love poetry or the “undying Aphrodite”.[3]

Rome:

We’re taken to a time much different from the period of Sappho.
Catullus, Tibullus, and Propertius represent the emergence of lyric poetry in Rome from approximately 60 to 10 BC.

It is at this point where we see men writing about love. Historically the ideas of lyric poetry involve much sexuality (Sappho) with romanticized ideas incorporating love, politics, sex and self-expression.
These poets are often referred of as writing in a time of “luxury”. Cattulus in particular was noted for writing during a period where the former conservative Roman empire became revolutionized by need for extravagance and bourgeois displays of wealth.

Catullus wrote:

"At leisure, Licinius, yesterday
We'd much fun at my writing-tablets
As we'd agreed to be frivolous.
Each of us writing light verses
Playing now with this metre, now that,
Capping each other's jokes with toasts,"[4]

This depicts a period where there was time for luxury: feasts, lavish dinners, and extravagance.

You'll dine well, my Fabullus, at mineOne day soon if the Gods are kind to you,If you will bring with you a dinnerGood and large plus a pretty girl And wine and salt and all the laughs. If, I repeat, you bring these with you, Our charmer, you'll dine well; for your Catullus' purse is full of cobwebs. But in return you'll get love neat Or something still more choice and fragrant; For I'll porvide the perfume given My girl by Venuses and Cupids And when you smell it you'll ask the Gods, Fabullus, to make you one large nose.
Translated by Guy Lee [5]


This is an example of a very sexual poem which insinuates the sharing of women, love-play, and eroticism.

As discussed in lecture, Ovid wrote a series of poems called “elegies in elegiac meter which were sophisticated poems about life and times and sex.

The first work is called “The Theme of Love” is his writings of Amore.

I interpret book one, “The Theme of Love” as a discussion between himself and his conscious (“Cupid”) as inevitably his passion for love outweighs the realities of violent times.

A discussion on Ovid’s Amores…

A selection from “The Theme of Love.”

Book I, Elegy I

Just now, I was preparing to start with heavy fighting
and violent war, with a measure to fit the matter.
Good enough for lesser verse – laughed Cupid
so they say, and stole a foot away.
‘Cruel boy, who gave you power over this song?
Poets are the Muses’, we’re not in your crowd.
What if Venus snatched golden Minerva’s weapons,
while golden Minerva fanned the flaming fires?
Who’d approve of Ceres ruling the wooded hills,
with the Virgin’s quiver to cultivate the fields?
Who’d grant long-haired Phoebus a sharp spear,
while Mars played the Aonian lyre?
You’ve a mighty kingdom, boy, and too much power,
ambitious one, why aspire to fresh works?
Or is everything yours?

Elegy II is entitled “Love’s Victim” and compares the idea of love to war, as they are both about passion and violence and unrequited desires.

How to say what it’s like, how hard my mattress
seems, and the sheets won’t stay on the bed,
and the sleepless nights, so long to endure,
tossing with every weary bone of my body in pain?
But, I think, if desire were attacking me I’d feel it.
Surely he’s crept in and skilfully hurt me with secret art.
That’s it: a slender arrow sticks fast in my heart,
and cruel Love lives there, in my conquered breast.
Shall I give in: to go down fighting might bank the fires?
I give in! The burden that’s carried with grace is lighter.
I’ve seen the torch that’s swung about grow brighter
and the still one, on the contrary, quenched.
The oxen that shirk when first seized for the yoke
get more lashes than those that are used to the plough.
The hot steed’s mouth is bruised from the harsh curb,
the one that’s been in harness, feels reins less.
Love oppresses reluctant lovers more harshly and insolently
than those who acknowledge they’ll bear his slavery.
Look I confess! Cupid, I’m your latest prize:
stretching out conquered arms towards your justice.
War’s not the thing – I come seeking peace:
no glory for you in conquering unarmed men.

Once love has overtaken duty, this poetry continues to describe various levels of consciousness and describes encounters where, in great detail, love and sex are discussed as giving-way to great need for passion.

Elegy VII:

If there’s a friend here, tie my hands –
they merit chains – while my fury wanes!
Just now my fury thoughtlessly struck my girl:
my darling’s weeping, wounded by my mad hands.
Then I could have done violence to my dear parents
or savagely taken a scourge to the sacred gods!
Well? Didn’t Lord Ajax of the seven-layered shield
lay out the sheep he caught all over the fields,
and didn’t lawless Orestes’s, avenging his father
on his mother, dare to call up a spear for the secret Sisters?
So can’t I tear at her done-up hair?

Here it is seen again that through the stages of seeking and yearning for love, falling in love, courting love, enjoying love, testing love, finally lends way to violence, characteristic of Book I and depicts the violence that can be found in love, as it is found on the battle-field.

Elegy IX is adequately entitled: Love is War. It lends to the admission and recognition of the violence found in nature and in love.

Every lover’s in arms, and Cupid holds the fort:
Atticus, believe me, every lover’s in arms.
The age that’s good for war, is also right for love.
An old soldier’s a disgrace, and an old lover.
That spirit a commander looks for in a brave army,
a lovely girl looks for in a love partner.
Both keep watch: both sleep on the ground,
one serves at his lady’s entrance, the other his general’s.
A long road’s a soldier’s task: but send the girl off,
and a restless lover will follow her to the end.

I interpret this next part as a kind of revolutionary thought, meaning, the once inexperienced lover has now gone through the elements and stages of having loved, and has tasted both the good and the bad, and now reflects on love as mature, wiser, and experience lover.

Elegy X:

I feared eagles and bulls, for you,
and whatever else great Jupiter might make love as.
Now all fear’s gone, my mind is healed of error,
now your beauty can’t captivate my eyes.
Why am I changed, you ask? Because you want gifts.
That’s the cause that stops you from pleasing me.
Once you were innocent, I loved you body and soul:
now your beauty’s flawed by this defect of mind.
Love is a child and naked: without the shabbiness of age
and without clothing, so he’s all openness.

And…

When making love pleases both partners alike,
why should she sell and the other buy?
When a man and a woman perform a joint act
why should the pleasure hurt me and profit you?
It’s wrong for witnesses to perjure themselves for gain,
it’s wrong to open the purse of the chosen judges.
It’s a disgrace to defend the accused with a bought tongue:
a disgraceful court makes itself wealthy:
it’s wrong to swell family wealth with the bed’s proceeds,
or prostitute your good looks for money.
un-purchased, things deserve our thanks, on merit:
no thanks for the evil of a bought bed.
The buyer loosens all bonds

In the last elegy of his first book, he reflects on what he has experienced in love, hurt, and death. This also sets a dark, moody, and restless tone to his work.

So, while granite, while the unyielding ploughshare
perish with the years, poetry will not die.
Leaders and countries yield to the triumphs of song,
and the lavish waters of gold-bearing Tagus yield!
Let the masses gaze at trash: let golden-haired Apollo
offer me a brimming cup of Castalian waters,
and I’ll wear a wreathe of myrtle, that hates the cold,
and be read by many an anxious lover!
Envy feeds on the living: it’s quiet after death,
while everyone who’s dead gets their due honours.
So even when I’m given to the final flames,
I’ll live, and the better part of me will survive.

It’s a more humorous approach to writing for his time. It is sophisticated and incorporates the reality of love with descriptions that give-way to a sense of naivety and despair.

I think looking at Ovid is a great example of passionate and sophisitcated poetry.

Texts:
[1] 2110 Tutorial: Love. Jan 3, 2005
[2] Encyclopedia.org/s/sa/sapphic
[3] 2110 Lecture: Love. Jan 3, 2005
[4] Lee, Guy. The Poems of Catullus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990.
Reference: www.tonykline.co.uk/browsebages/latin/amoureshome
[5] Lee, Guy. The Poems of Catullus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990.

Side Note,

Another thought on love and music…

I was thinking about the concept of the oral tradition and the importance of “hearing” literature as opposed a conventional (or a more modern way) of reading literature.

Something just occurred to me: music.

Although it’s simple enough to understand on its own, the impact of the Oral tradition didn’t really hit home until I thought about “new music”. By vocalizing literature you gain the power to manipulate a text just by the way you pronounce key parts, and, that by doing this you can bring a new meaning to the text, context, or subtext, each time.

In relation to new music, more often than not, the written work (I'm refering to compositions, songs) have potential to be garbage as far as anything near intellectual, insightful, or revolutionary is concerned. A result of "pop-like" materialisim which sells aesthetic promises instead of real value or worth...

I’m generalizing...

But I’m going with this unfinished thought; trying to make a point…a point which came to me loud and clear when I payed close attention to a song I fully enjoy, and realized there is little to no substance at all…and being one to appreciate music on various levels, I found it both hilarious and insulting.

I jam to this song.
I love this (great) song.
I need a new word for this song.

It’s called:

“We Haven’t Turned Around Yet” - Gomez

We came, we came, we came again
To stem the tide and point the blame
Came back from more
Came back to see what you had in store
Everyone join the line, everyone
Yeah
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you wanna make catastrophe?
Won’t you send it right over to me
I got some time
Everybody running high
The same, the same, the same again
To steal the time and haunt the graves
Just because it’s there
Don’t mean you see it anywhere
Maybe it’s a trick of the light
Maybe, yeah
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you wanna make catastrophe?
Don’t you send it right over to me
I got some timeEverybody come alive
Yeah
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you wanna make catastrophe?
Don’t you send it right over to me
I got some timeEverybody running high
So you wanna spin the world around?
So you wanna spin the world around?
And anybody else, cut ’em down
So you say we haven’t turned around?
So you say we haven’t turned around?
Just everybody else is going wrong
Going wrong

The matter is simple. Before you can fully understand what I mean by any of this, you must HEAR this song. It exudes feeling. It is an incredible song at face value and it makes you feel profound just standing alone- a mess of yourself- there, in your living room, and it invokes emotion in you, it inspires you, it makes you feel…lovely.

And then you read the lyrics…and you feel tricked, or maybe you feel ridiculous, or maybe you still feel the same, only…

You really ‘get it’ now.

I feel this song is a perfect example and alludes to the fact that the “oral tradition” really is more than what we take it for, at first. Sure we all “get” the concept…but you don’t really “get it” until it affects you on your own, personal level with your select choice of material.

It’s worth checking out…hearing those lyrics and reading those lyrics…really are night and day.

So what gives it essence? The sound, the tone, the “accidental” grammatical features, it’s cohesiveness: it’s lexicality in repetition and metaphor. Maybe?

Which leads me into another thought that, beauty if found in the most simple of things…

...and this song as beautiful as it is simple, leaves me confused and appreciative, because I can value its worth in terms of a discovered feeling, found, in accidental simplicity.

(It pissed me off) I was sure it was deep...

Just a rant.

bits n' bites

On Love,

The most passionate love song I have ever encountered is one called “Be Mine” by R.E.M. It is a very simple song but (by that principal alone) exudes extraordinary feeling. It takes you from the beginning of life in love, through the trials and tribulations of life lived as one, through to our final course in life, death.

I never thought of this as funny
It speaks another world to me
I want to be your easter bunny
I want to be your christmas tree
I’ll strip the world that you must live in
Of all it’s godforsaken greed
I’ll ply the tar out of your feathers
I’ll pluck the thorns out of your feet
You and me
You and me
You and me
And if I choose your sanctuary
I’ll want to wash you with my hair
I’ll want to drink of sacred fountains
And find the riches hidden there
I’ll eat the lotus and peyote
I’ll want to hear the caged-bird sing
I’ll want the secrets of the temple
I’ll want the finger with the ring
You and me
You and me
You and me
And if you make me your religion
I’ll give you all you will need
I’ll be the drawing of your breath
I’ll be the cup if you should bleed
I’ll be the sky above the ganges
I’ll be the vast and stormy sea
I’ll be the lights that guide you inland
I’ll be the visions you will see
Visions you will see
You will see
You will see
You and me

- REM



In consideration of the Iliad, and our previous discussions concerning epic poetry, I continued to think (a little abstractly) about love, the condition and theme of it all as being a thread which weaves it’s way through most all poetry. Love is found in the making of a poem, if not all together evident in the poem itself, it can be found in the passion of the poet which by this vehical, lends to his creation. Passionate, highly descriptive and strong, articulate phrases add character and tone to a poem. These grammatical elements acsentuate and are highly representative of the poets determination, or love.
Love is often distinct in its in-distinction.

As a side-note…

I’ve been thinking about love and music. My first thought, off the top of my head, was that, as poetry has dramatically changed over time, as has music changed, evidently so have the ways in which we express love.

Typical of written material and especially material meant for oral composition, as poetry often is, I was considering the “epic” music of the earlier centuries as compared to the poetry of those times…were they representative of each other?

Yes poetry was rich and expressive and complex but was music just as expressive?

I am not considering the great composers (Bach, Mozart, or Beethoven). I am considering prior to 1200c with the emergence of baroque-type music. Music which was popular and contrasted the literature of the time, as it was quite simplistic in nature and detail.

Not unlike today? Where simple “pop-like” lyrics dominate. Simple songs of a simple nature, with little detail, with little to no depth in context, rule. Simplicity dominates the popular vote. Not unlike today, as poetry does not receive the popular vote.


Simple…easy…mindless…

These are valuable assets.

Anyone want to pick-up on what I’m putting down?

The Ingrediants:

Ween-out the sense of it all,
Add a little glam,
Ten minutes or less,
You have a top ten plan.

The method:

Turn your mind off,
There’s no time to think,
If you want to make it big,
You’ve gotta have what it takes,
A gimic.

Gone are the days,
Of taking your time,
Enjoying eachother,
A piece of work, a good rhyme,
We just can’t seem to wait,
To re-create another fake.

Thus, an unfinished thought.

Quite fitting.

A Comment: Homer's Iliad

A Comment: Homer’s Iliad

The idea of heroism and the characteristics which are attributed to “the hero” have been the primary focus in past topics concerning Greek literature including mythology, and the Iliad. I find one of the most intriguing themes which is crucial to foreseeing the rise and development of tragedy in Homer’s Iliad, occur within the relationship between mortals and gods. Gods represent hierarchal, powerful beings with diverse and insurmountable power. Compared to mortals, they share similarities of greed, love, hate, lust, and honor. The most idealized similarity which is seen in the Iliad is the result of uncontrollable rage, the lust after power and dire devotion to honor.

Evidence of tragedy, before tragedy begins, is shown within the relationship between the gods. Their impact is crucial. Their role is crucial. The gods foreshadow the future events of the play as well as set the tone.

Supreme beings themselves, the inter-play they experience with eachother, whether it be positive or negative, has little effect on their own kind. Gods are immortal. This being said, it is important to see the effects of their actions when directed toward the mortals in the story, as their presence as well as their intentions, directly shape the events which take place on earth. It is in this recognition that the audience shares in the tragedy, before the entirety of the tragedy occurs, as we see these events unfold, we have the opportunity to “read between the lines” and concern ourselves with the unfortunate impact the gods have on the humans in regards to their personal agenda being a driving force which empowers a series of unfortunate events.

Characteristic of mythology, each god has their “strong suit” in which they have a certain power, signature to them alone. There are various representations of this throughout the literature, whereby human emotion appears enhanced by the presence or interference of a god. This shows that the gods play an almost active role in human affairs. The disturbing element in this theme is that, while the gods “play” with eachother and interact in violent or scarcastic ways which are either a result of vengeance or gratitude, the result of their behaviour does not affect their kind, as it would with mortals.

Therefore, their actions are very dangerous when imposed onto human circumstance- physical or emotional. They become the tone, the driving force, the sometimes physical force, behind the events which take place. Their own agenda of greed or vengeance between eachother, becomes a game…a game which represents life or death to mortals.

In a modern sense, the idea of gods playing a role in which dictated or manipulated the path of the human, can be compared to what we consider human consciousness. What we think and feel…what “drives us” to act certain ways, is a result of our inner conscious. In this light, it is as though Homer is depicting the natural and animalistic senses which are characteristic of human nature and shows the impact of civilization and maybe even the impact and integration of religion in human existence, which makes these “raw” instincts submerge until something triggers those instincts again…such as the voice of the gods, or rather, the voice of the human conscious.

That’s all.

earth and sky

Lucan's Pharsalia and Manilius's Astronomica illustrates progressive thinking. Pharsalia sheds light onto an era which was born for blood. Grotesque accounts of violence, brutality, and chaos reflect a time of savagery while dipicting relevent themes which would illuminate a western way of thinking in time to come. Lucan's writing was a reflection of practical thinking in terms of the interaction of characters, the pursuit of power, and things relating to attainable value or worth, such as glory as a result of war and conflict. This writing is earth-centric. Lucan's writing is based on the life of the time, by which many fundamental issues are reflected within the literature. Pharsalia is a political poem which could be considered a very modernized aspect of poetry and perhaps ahead of its time. Aside from the dominant themes of war, deceit, passion, and revenge- all of which are very people or state oriented, the poetry focuses mainly on what could be considered Fact- attainable, physical, monetary things whereas literature such as Astronomica had quite the opposite agenda. This literature was born from theory. In the midevil period, poetry like Pharsalia made sense, however Manilius's focus was a dramatic step away from Fact, which would lead the modern audience into a comparision of Fact and Fiction. Manilius brought to light the idea of the universe with its mystique and phenomena, writing about star signs and horoscopes and detailing zodiacal geography. Astronomica is a poem which incorporates a scientific element, taking the audience on a path very different than the typical genre of the time. It is romantic within its science and, although elaborate and eccentric, it adds an element of humour to a time when humour was overshadowded by death and darkness. While Pharsalia illuminates characters in realistic roles, idealizing glory and heroism and articulating the circumstances of the time in terms of violence and war, Astronomica adds an element of the uknown. It is within this unknown which adds a sense of glory and intrigue into the uknown. It adds humour and lightness and takes its audience out of the real and into the surreal in order show that there is life beyond armour, beyond the cruelty, beyond the bloodshed. This literature engages us to use our minds in a creative light, away from the norm of sensible and typical...away from the 'what is, is what shall be' way of thinking.

something on Taxonomy

On the topic of boredom and the classification of literature and genres, I found this to be an interesting way of looking at what we're discussing...a more systematic and scientific approach, the idea of taxonomy (of life, and of literature)...

(dictionary reference)

Taxonomy of Life

The taxonomic organization of species is hierarchical. Each species belongs to a genus, each genus belongs to a family, and so on through order, class, phylum, and kingdom. Associations within the hierarchy reflect evolutionary relationships, which are deduced typically from morphological and physiological similarities between species. So, for example, species in the same genus are more closely related and more alike than species that are in different genera within the same family.

Modern taxonomy recognizes five kingdoms, into which the estimated five million species of the world are divided. This table presents a familiar organism from each kingdom and the names of the taxonomic groups to which it belongs.

(like in literature, poetry, other forms of art, and so on...)

Notes toward a Taxonomy of Literature, by Bob Grumman

"While on the internet I've been exposed to a good number of highly intelligent literary discussions. But they've also been full of confused thinking, generally because of what I consider to be their participants' taxonomical ignorance and/or indifference. This has annoyed me, finally, into the following Laying-Down of the Law Concerning the Classification of Literary Works.I begin with Verbal Expression. At the simplest level, there are two kinds: Oral Verbal Expression, or Speech, and Written Verbal Expression, or Writing. I divide the former into Declamation and Stagework, depending on the degree of physical action involved in its presentation. Declamation is that which, for practical purposes, is all speech; stagework that whose effect is seriously reduced if not acted out. Generally, declamation is performed by a single voice, stagework by more than one, but neither is an absolute requirement. As far as I can tell, there is no need for any parallel division of writing."

He goes on to discuss the various categories of classification of literature, see link below. I thought this was interesting because we can compare literary genres, as well as scientific genres and subjects, as well as (and the list goes on) - we naturally classify things, it is human instinct, a part of our intellegence. If you continue on to see his classifications, it is surprising how many he includes and interesting to visually see, the divisions which separate them.

http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/1492/lit-tax.html

"and then a hero comes along...with the strength to carry on"

Hero's are almost always associated with combat. In midevil times heroism was the conquering of land or man in the pursuit of glory. Today, hero's take many forms and continue to bare these virtues of success. Whether it be winning and fighting, or gaining and giving, there are many heros amonst us in everyday society. Many too, whose faces continue to go unrecognized.

The point is, heroism has root and shape throughout history as found in war or conquest which attributes wealth and power. This is evident today, however enlightened or modern thought extends heroism to individuals of many walks of life, from great authors to atheletes, to people battling illness, the idea of the 'fighter' remains, only in its extended context.

In ancient poetry, a 'hero' was regarded to have god-like virtues, a person or being by which exaggerated events are usually associated. Whatever the situation or threat be, the hero will be larger than it...the hero is larger than life. Wherever a drought, the hero is the rain which brings life again...the hero is always associated with greatness- in physique, in mind or in matter, the hero is the solution and the executor.

The concept of 'hero' is the projection of what we as people long to be- that we inherently desire to be good.

The irony that exists with the glorification of the hero (and this is often found in old English literature) is that, in order for the hero to be heroic, the hero most conquer something or someone else, which usually involves trauma in the form of war, violence, or deceit.

Historically, these attributes often go hand in hand (regardless of the idea that the fight for glory is between the good and the bad) the fact remains that these negative acts must happen in order for the man to become the hero, and as literature communicates, in order for the audience to conceptualize the idea of 'heroism'.

Today, the concept of hero takes on many different forms which helps us to make sense of our lives in terms of the choices we execute and pursue. In terms of midevil literature, the exaggeration of the hero lends itself to simple interpretation, which helps us understand the meaning behind heroism and relate it relative to our own lives. Where literature would defend the position of the armor-clad prince who had the strenth of a hundred and would intimidate and conquer all who stood in his way...we can visualize the concept and use a similar, more realistic belief system in which we can rise above hegemony...we can be good to our neighbour... that we can stand up for ourselves and even if the odds are against us, there is hope.

A hero defends his honour.

Heroism is the rose-cloured glass we look through, reaching and striving and giving hope. It is the romanticized version we wish to see in ourselves.

Beowulf...Iliad...

Beowulf originated through the oral tradition, spreading folklore and great mythological tales through history. The funny thing is, the story is amazingly ludicrous to read. Or maybe that is too strong a statement…what I mean to say is, the story is exaggerated to the point of slapstick comedy. And I’m not big on that genre…actually, I’m not partial to sci-fi really at all…and I think that, being born in the 19th century, regardless of my personal and academic appreciation for literature and the arts, I distinctly tend over-embellished tales like Beowulf hard to take seriously.

Yes the literature is meant as a creative and eccentric tale to depict the idea of glory and heroism during the dark ages…and after my initial reaction I do take that into account, but I cannot help but cringe at the plot of the tale, regardless of its’ craftsmanship or eloquence.

Beowulf is an incredible account of heroism and mythology intertwined, a telling of enraged beasts disemboweling a kingdom and the man capable of ‘saving the day’, Beowulf himself. The tale is extreme. It is hard not notice the lack of ‘reality’ to the unfolding of events- such as Beowulf overtaking a beast of such vast proportion, especially his dismembering the beast. It was overly fantastic…

I am criticizing the plot and the events of the story which might be unfair as the genre of the tale indeed provides the expected forecast…

The literature was interesting in its elegant horror, its majestic imagination, and the underlying element of the fantastic. Exaggerated details or events such as his apparent swim from Sweden to Finland, or having the strength of thirty men and conquering the beasts. Alliteration and metaphor are used at length to communicate the themes in Beowulf which are very humane (aside from the abundance of violence) also somewhat revolutionary. Ideas included: That it is fulfilling to “help thy neighbour” and those in need, that one’s actions speak louder than one’s word, that good outlasts evil, and so on.

An elegancy rests in the way the tale takes the audience from Beowulf as a strapping and daring young man to the still courageous but aged, older version of himself, still attempting battle, still seeking heroism.

From...

“So becomes it a youth to quit him wellwith his father's friends, by fee and gift,that to aid him, aged, in after days,come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,liegemen loyal: by lauded deedsshall an earl have honor in every clan.”

To…

“Beowulf spake, and a battle-vow madehis last of all: "I have lived through manywars in my youth; now once again,old folk-defender, feud will I seek,do doughty deeds, if the dark destroyerforth from his cavern come to fight me!"”

As we are discussing Homer’s, The Iliad, this epic too shares common themes with that of Beowulf, an obvious thematic consistency being war, savagery and violence. Aside from the darkness the two share, the idea that glory and persistence pay off is evident, that you should seize the day and take advantage of your circumstances, and that glory and honour are everything. The idea and role of the hero and heroism play a leading role throughout both which reflect the morals of the time and give the audience a look into a dramatized version and description of human history as it were told through ideals and images of supernaturalism, mythology and human power… It will be interesting to pursue the Iliad further…

Our mental toolbox

Really, anything can be analyzed to death. We have a tenancy to analyze our behaviour... our thoughts... our dreams- to the point of exhaustion. This is natural, and this is what we do...we think things to death. So instinctive to our nature is criticism, theory, and personal philosophy, that we've cultured ourselves into exercising our analytic energy into a form of entertainment all on its' own. Like organized and thoughtful minds do, we search our mental rolodex for creative, applicable, and useful ways to systematically classify, divide, and separate ideas- people or things- in order to add layers of mystery, intrigue, and interest. All of us in one way or another, dip into this culture we've created. Whether it is criticizing a friend, discussing an article, contrasting reality shows, or merely looking out the window in wonderment of the changing seasons...we piece our thoughts and experiences together to form an unobvious understanding, because often, "the obvious" to us, isn't good enough.

Which, is good.

Being thoughtful makes us well. Being interested keeps us alive and full of spirit. In poetry and in writing in general, that element of 'obvious' is like a vial and acidic taste that we try so desperately to avoid. No one wants to be 'typical', or predictable, or even ordinary.

We are creative beings with absolute and great energy. Some of us harness this energy into profit-making markets; some of us pursue our dream jobs, some of us "work on the line", and some of us pursue the road less traveled. The one thing we have in common is the pursuit of ourselves. The allowance we give ourselves secretly or noticeably, the unspoken commitment that we are thoughtful human beings, creators, and cultivators, who will always have something to say.

This in mind, it only makes sense that we thrive within order. We keep our thoughts arranged in ways unexplained. We understand ourselves better than any, and that does not in any way, make us inaccessible. We classify what we intake, we have our personal systems which allow us to recall information or ideas, our memory abiding. We have set values and set goals, we know what is right and what is wrong, and we use these elements of our consciousness as the leading tools they are, to help us on our continuous interpretation of life and understanding.

We are constantly taking information and "putting a spin" on it. That spin, is our own idea or version of the information. Like broken telephone, you know the line, you pass it on, but you add a little flavour before you do...and so on...by the end of it, when the game is done, the message is usually radically different than it's beginning.

And so we continue to play with the mysteries of the world, we continue to play in theory. It is as entertaining as it is crucial. The only way to new knowledge is by believing in the mystery of the 'still to come'...we will always be thinking of the next thing. It's our human nature, it's what we do. It's what we do even if it's something we do, unsaid.

We are feeling and thinking human beings with alot to say, a lot to share, and a lot on our minds...

The beauty of thoughtful engagement is evident within our workplaces, our schools, our institutions...however, when it comes to analyzing literature or poetry, or any great works of creative art...this stringent aspect of ourselves becomes less attractive and somewhat vulgar.

You can classify to death. You can order yourself to death. The death of creativity, the death of - what was- art.

Now, that's a little strong. You won't actually kill-off a piece of art, or a work of literature, but you will kill-off the experience for yourself. The piece will still remain for the next person to consider, to ponder, to analyze, but you will have surgically removed its essence in the overkill of contemplation.

But then again, maybe that is the beauty you experience, not within the art itself, but within the process of your analyzation...that the act of thinking through the layers so intricately, so obsessively, was the necessary experience.

Either way, there exists that "overkill" element to classification of genres and systems. Yes, we do use these elements as tools to possess further understanding or to retrieve relevant information and ideas when necessary, however we can overuse these tools and wind up dissecting great beauty to the point of mutilating the experience entirely.

...

Suffering- the silent, unlocked giant,
And it is this, I'd say, that helps to keep at bay,
the sadness.
And instead, we play, and think of suffering,
Another day.

as the day fades

Right here, right now...

Sitting by this window, on this particular night
There's nothing really at all, that feels quite right
My thoughts are heavy, my hands oddly cold
Intense feelings wash over me, this is who I am, I've been told
But you know, this is just me, just what I'm thinking
Sitting here in the deep, this cold afternoon, shrinking...

Aspects of Literary Writing: Prose and Verse

Prose is a formal way of writing. Prose is everyday thoughts or speech put to paper and contextualized in a formal structure. Those who write in prose, often focus their work on very formal, academic approaches to writing (assuming we're concentrating on overall good and decent prose). Literary prose is a combination of verse and the "proper" way of writing. Verse encompases literature in various forms, from the casual and eclectic to the classic and academic. Here, literary prose can be seen as a combination of structure (formal writing) with flavour (incorporating imagination into the literature).

Take, for example, a random idea. If we started to write extensively on this idea, just off the top of our head about (anything), really using our imagination, 'taking our hair down', writing as if we were talking out loud to ourselves, realizing this idea, bringing it to light... this would be a form of pure prose, and verse...

Now imagine what kind of text we'd have been writing in. It would be erratic and unstructured and, if read by another audience, would make little to no sense.

Literary prose is something of this nature. It's taking an untamed thought (or in otherwords, our imagination) and subjecting it to criticism in the form of structure. It's like a wild-child at play, being subjected to detention.

By taking any literary writing, or really any thought, and formulating it to fit a structure so that anyone would be able to comprehend the work.

Literary Prose is a construction of language, a tool that enables us to 'make sense' of imaginitive writing, to put it to pen and paper, appropriately.

When reading Sir Thomas Browns' "Religio Medici" the first thing that came to mind was the use of punctuation. The style is evident too, in the use of punctuation, in which the literature takes shape, creates character, and sets the tone. In each section it appears at first, as if he's writing run-on sentences. When you read his passages aloud to yourself, you realize that this piece of writing is articulate and academic, a good piece of prose. This is where I discovered how the elements of prose and literature work together to create comprehensible material.

Prose when combined with literary form (when diciplined) is like putting thoughts to pen and paper and appropriating them so that they may make sense to the reader...so that the reader is drawn into the feeling in the verse. His, is like a monologue that draws you in, where you notice the feeling and the mood in the literature. Here, Sir Thomas Brown seems deeply thoughtful, almost burdened by these thoughts, vulnerable, you feel as if he's discussing his feelings at free-will, that he's discussing them with you, that you happened to over-hear or stumble into a situation whereby you are overhearing something private, a personal contemplation.
Reading this, there's a feeling of validation, that he's perhaps talking aloud, reassuring himself of his thoughts, of his decisions, of his beliefs, or maybe he's trying to find the solution, maybe he's contemplating, weighing the possibilities...

"Sect. 5.--But, to difference myself nearer, and draw into a lesser circle; there is no church whose every part so squares unto my conscience, whose articles, constitutions, and customs, seem so consonant unto reason, and, as it were, framed to my particular devotion, as this whereof I hold my belief--the Church of England; to whose faith I am a sworn subject, and therefore, in a double obligation, subscribe unto her articles, and endeavour to observe her constitutions: whatsoever is beyond, as points indifferent, I observe, according to the rules of my private reason, or the humour and fashion of my devotion; neither believing this because Luther affirmed it, nor disproving that because Calvin hath disavouched it. I condemn not all things in the council of..." (Sir Thomas Brown, Relisio Medici). A discussion of his personal beliefs, of society and religion...he seems in turmoil, pained by thoughts, pained by his own beliefs, as if an inner suffering exists, a sense of lonliness resides in this work.

As seen in the work of W.H. Pater, a high level of imagination is evident. His strong use of the English language, the way prose is structured by using heavy, imaginative words and descriptions while in-keeping with the comphrehensibility of the prose and formality of the subject. Many characteristics in this work are inspired by religion, the church, and the cultural influences of the time.

MARIUS THE EPICUREAN, VOLUME ONEPART THE FIRSTCHAPTER I: "THE RELIGION OF NUMA" (W. H. Pater)

[3] As, in the triumph of Christianity, the old religion lingered latest in the country, and died out at last as but paganism--thereligion of the villagers, before the advance of the ChristianChurch; so, in an earlier century, it was in places remote from town-life that the older and purer forms of paganism itself had survivedthe longest. While, in Rome, new religions had arisen with bewildering complexity around the dying old one, the earlier and simpler patriarchal religion, "the religion of Numa," as people lovedto fancy, lingered on with little change amid the pastoral life, out of the habits and sentiment of which so much of it had grown.

Logical sentences are structured and heavy use of formal and descrptive language is evident, all which are characteristic of good prose. In this passage we can see the combination of literary writing (verse) with very formal subject matter or "information style" language (technical writing) of prose, which becomes literary prose as the two mate- the "sense and sensibility" aspect- the untamed, tamed.

a silly thing, part deux

I was a little too quick to the punch.

Here is that poetry link for those of you who are so inclined:

http://www.poetry.com/Iq/QuizUI.asp

a silly thing

Just in...
I'm at work and reading some online poetry (on my break) right...
Anyway, I found this pretty informative site through a website called "Tickle" (formally known as Emode.com) where they have many 'kitchy' type tests (meaning 'silly' tests). On this site they linked me to a very good Poetry page that (if you have the time to spare) you might find interesting to a degree. It's an online poetry quiz, it measures your technical poetry knowledge.

Mind you this is only for fun.

This is not an academic site. I'm just bringing this to attention for those of us (like me) who find themselves reading online journals or newspapers or poetry, and might find this useful to some degree.

The good/bad of it

A relevent and necessary appreciation exists for the work of "bad" poetry. Often the education of bad poetry leads to better poetry, simply by realizing fault within the work. Bad poetry is often so entirely ludicrous that there are many essential elements that can be examined, in hopes to lead the way to more sensible material.

Elements of bad poetry can be found in the rhyme scheme- poets do not have control over the metre, and in return find their rhymes stressed and somewhat incomprehensible.

Often metaphors are stretched or "too far fetched"; in the attempt to describe something quite simple, some poetry becomes overly ambitious and 'describes something to death'- trying to paint the picture to the point of extinction. The initial image goes from being easily understood to something obscene and loses the effect of the narrative in the process.

Other times, bad poetry is incredibly evident within the ryhme, when the writer desperately attempts to create a union or a commonality in the rhyme scheme and in return, makes something quite silly instead.

This is evident in Nash's "Requiem" poem:

"There was a young belle of old Natchez.
Whose garments were always in patchez.
When comment arose
On the state of her clothes,
She drawled, When Ah itchez, Ah scratchez!"

Trying incessantly to create a pattern can in turn create an abominable piece of writing. There is humour evident in his poem, which is likely what the poem weighs itself on, but it is a bit far fetched and, again, silly.

But who is to say poetry has to be professional, articulate, immaculate, or academic?

In writing poetry, there are rules, otherwise poetry would exist in almost anything written. Free verse is not poetry, and in a sense, Nash's poem is similar to free verse as it is not well controlled.

Another example of poor writing is evident in a poem by Solyman Brown entitled, "The Dentolgia":

"Whatever wealth and false refinement reign,
The pampered appetites compose their train
Remotest climes supply the varied feast,
But wisdom never comes it welcome guest
The gormand-folly bids the poison pass,
And drains destruction from the circling glass..."

A poem like this, when read aloud, would sound almost foreign as the rhyming words chosen are not ideal (i.e. reign, train...) and each sentence refers to very different images which do not relate. It is not a matter of fact that the words chosen Do indeed ryhme, it is rather the context that they are desperately trying to rhyme within, to house meaning somewhere inside, when really such basic and unaffecting words, hold no substance and no contribution to the poem, accept that they do rhyme in their silly and simple manner.

There is something to be learned within the technical components and the context of bad poetry. By recognizing poor structure and compostion, it is evermore evident how great good poetry is when this difference is noticed. The quality of a poem is captured in its essence. The essence of poetry can be compared to that of the sound and mood a great piece of music can create. Its structure and its sentiment can create great passion, and great feeling. Ideally, poetry should be created from, and create in its audience a sense of great feeling.

Bad poetry creates poor imagery. Its over-use of poorly fitting analogies, and over-emphasis of misplaced or misued words with equally stretched meaning, is often exercised regularly throughout bad poems. Sometimes a good writer can attempt to search for the perfect word or rhyme scheme and get "on a roll" and instead, fall victim to bad poetry as their writing becomes more and more unnatural as the absurdity of the description becomes one long, run-on idea, becoming somewhat nonsensical. By 'over doing it' the writer can end-up analyzing to pieces, leaving the audience with nothing to imagine for themselves, and taking their description on a descent from decent, to embarrassing.