I unfortunately do not have the time to respond to questions about poetry. Sorry!
The following are a selection of poems that were sent out on the Poetry Underground (when it was a mailing list) the last few years:
From: jarubick (Jade Rubick) Subject: Indigo Girls - Ghost Date: Sat, 1 Oct 94 22:17:10 PST Ghost ----- there's a letter on the desktop that i dug out of a drawer the last truce we ever came to from our adolescent war and i start to feel a fever from the warm air through the screen you come regular like seasons shadowing my dreams and the mississippi's mighty but it starts in minnesota at a place where you could walk across with five steps down and i guess that's how you started like a pinprick to my heart but at this point you rush right through me and i start to drown and there's not enough room in this world for my pain signals cross and love gets lost and time passed makes it plain of all my demon spirits i need you the most i'm in love with your ghost i'm in love with your ghost dark and dangerous like a secret that gets whispered in a hush (don't tell a soul) when i wake the things i dreamt about you last night make me blush (don't tell a soul) when you kiss me like a lover then you sting me like a viper i go follow to the river play your memory like the piper and i feel it like a sickness how this love is killing me but i'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly and dance the edge of sanity i've never been this close in love with your ghost ooooh... unknowing captor you'll never know how much you pierce my spirit but i can't touch you can you hear it a cry to be free or i'm forever under lock and key as you pass through me now i see your face before me i would launch a thousand ships to bring your heart back to my island as the sand beneath me slips as i burn up in your presence and i know now how it feels to be weakened like achilles with you always at my heels and my bitter pill to swallow is the silence that i keep that poisons me i can't swim free the river is too deep though i'm baptized by your touch i am no worse at most in love with your ghost words and music: emily saliers Indigo Girls
From: Jade Rubick
Subject: Poetry i Date: 2 Jun 92 21:21:38 The Origins of Stars and the Moon Tree Branches wanted to pierce through the sky, But only managed to poke a few small holes. Lights from outer space filetered in, And people called them the moon and the stars. Gu Cheng Quoted in Qishi niandai (The Seventies, Hong Kong), no. 12 (1982)
Subject: Poetry ii Date: 4 Jun 92 00:27:51 PST Bei Dao The Artist's Life go and buy a radish -- mother said hey, mind the safety line -- the policeman said where are you, o ocean -- the drunkard said why have all the street lights exploded -- I said a blind man passing by nimbly raised his cane like pulling out an antenna an ambulance arriving with a screech took me to the hospital then I became a model patient sneezing loud and clear closing my eyes to figure out the mealtimes donating a series of blood transfusions to bedbugs with no time to sigh in the end I was taken on as a doctor too holding a thick hypodermic I pace up and down in the corridor to while away the evenings
Subject: Poetry iv Date: 5 Jun 92 01:35:36 This is by Steven Crane I Saw a Man Pursuing the Horizon (1895) --------------------------------------- I saw a man pursuing the horizon; Round and round they sped. I was disturbed at this; I accosted the man. "It is futile," I said, "You can never--" "You lie," he cried, And ran on.
Subject: Poetry v Date: 5 Jun 92 01:37:17 More Steven Crane A Man Said to the Universe (1899) --------------------------------- A man said to the universe: "Sir, I exist!" "However," replied the universe, "The fact has not created in me A sense of obligation."
Subject: poetry xvii Date: 6 Oct 92 22:00:15 On Leaving His Wife from Manyoshu The thick sea-pine Grows on the rocks In the sea of Iwami Off the cape of Kara. The sea tangle clings To the rocky beach. Like the sea tangle She bent and clung to me, My wife, my love, deep As the deep sea-pine Was my love for her Yet the nights are few When we have slept together. Creeping ivy parts And we have parted too. My heart aches when I think Of her, but when I look Back, the yellow leaves Of the mountain flutter and hide Her distant waving sleeve. And the moon through a wide rift Peeps, then hides in the clouds My wife is hidden, and I Grieve. The sun is low And I, a strong man -- Or so I thought -- make wet My heavy sleeve with tears. My glossy steed goes fast And far as the clouds I've come From my wife, from my home. You yellow leaves that cover The autumn mountain, cease Your falling for a while For I would see my love.
From: Sanda Lay Chao
Date: Thu, 8 Oct 92 13:49:27 EDT Subject: beatniks! and more... they road not taken by robert frost two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry i could not travel both and be one traveler, long i stood and looked down one as far as i could to where it bent in the undergrowth; then took the other, as just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim, because it was grassy and wanted wear; though as for that the passing there had worn them really about the same, and both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black. oh, i kept the first for another day! yet knowing how way leads on to way, i doubted if i should ever come back. i shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: two roads diverged in a wood, and i- i took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.
Subject: Poetry xix Date: 14 Oct 92 16:32:49 More Robert Browning: My Star ------- All that I know Of a certain star Is, it can throw (Like the angled spar) spar=mineral which acts Now a dart of red like a prism Now a dart of blue; Till my friends have said They would fain see, too, fain=to wish; to desire My star that dartles the red and the blue! Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled: They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. What matter to me if their star is a world? Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it. ------ We studied this in high school. One interpretation is that it was written for his wife. It's a little difficult to understand, I guess, but very pretty. :)
Date: Sun, 18 Oct 1992 12:11:26 -0400 From: Sanda Lay Chao
Subject: poem underground all by Shel Silverstein INVITATION If you are a dreamer, come in, If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a lier, A hop-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer... If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire For we have some flax-golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in! jade, this what yr. description of oregon reminded me of: WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind. Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black, And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk ends. Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go, For the children, they mark, and the children, they know The place where the sidewald ends. ARROWS I shot an arrow toward the sky, It hit a white cloud floating by. The clould fell dying to the shore, I don't shoot arrows anymore. ___
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Subject: Poem--For Let Date: 29 Apr 92 12:49:48 GMT Sender: uucp@mdf.FidoNet.Org It wasn't that I missed you, but that you were absent from yourself, vacant blank unoccupied, like a newly empty apartment now embracing no one. * Origin: The Red Wheelbarrow-A clean, well-blighted place (1:382/46.0)
William Butler Yeats An Irish Airman Foresees His Death ---------------------------------- I know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate, Those that I guard I do not love; My country is Kiltartan Cross * My countrymen Kiltartan's poor, No likely end could bring them loss Or leave them happier than before. Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public men, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds; I balanced all, brought all to mind, The years to come seemed waste of breath, A waste of breath the years behind In balance with this life, this death. ------------ Major Robert Gregory, son of Yeat's friend and patroness Lady Augusta Gregory, was killed in action in 1918. Apparently this is about him. * Kiltartan is an Irish village near Coole Park, the estate of the Gregorys.
Robert Browning Meeting at Night The gray sea and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon large and low; And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing prow, And quench its speed i' the slushy sand. Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; Three fields to cross till a farm appears; A tap on the pane, the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match, And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears, Than the two hearts beating each to each!
Subject: (Forwarded) Poetry xiv Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) Sonnet 43 How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my los saints, -- I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. [Translated from Portuguese]
Subject: Poetry xiii Roethke: I knew a woman, lovely in her bones, When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them... Shakespeare: Sonnet 18 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed: But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, (Ownest) Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,`When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st. So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Subject: Poetry xx Date: 14 Oct 92 16:36:22 Emily Dickenson #435 Much Madness is divinest Sense-- To a discerning Eye-- Much Sense--the starkest Madness-- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail-- Assent--and you are sane-- Demur--you're straightway dangerous-- And handled with a Chain--
Subject: Poetry xxiii Date: 25 Oct 92 23:06:05 Selections from _One Hundred Poems from the Japanese_ by Kenneth Roxroth. (Very good book!) IV - Akahito ------------ On Fujiyama Under the midsummer moon The snow melts, and falls Again the same night. Fuji no ne ni Furi okeru yuki wa Mina tzuki no Mochi ni kenureba Sono yo furi keri IX - Anonymous -------------- The purity of the moonlight, Falling out of the immense sky, Is so great that it freezes The water touched by its rays. Oo zora no Tsuki no hikari shi Kiyokereba Kage mishi mizu zo Mazu koori keru XI - Bunya no Asayasu --------------------- In a gust of wind the white dew On the Autumn grass Scatters like a broken necklace. Shira tsuyu ni Kaze no fukishiku Aki no no wa Tsuranuki Tomenu Tama zo chirikeru XII - Fujiwara no Atsutada -------------------------- I think of the days Before I met her When I seemed to have No troubles at all. Ai mite no Nochi no kokoro ni Kurabureba Mukashi wa mono wo Omowazarikeri
Subject: Poetry xxiv - Japanese Poetry Part 2 Date: 26 Oct 92 15:09:49 XXIV - Hitomaro --------------- When I left my girl In her grave on Mount Hikite And walked down the mountain path, i felt as though I were dead, Fusuma ji wo Hikite no yama ni Imo wo okite Yama ji wo yukeba Ikeri to mo nashi
XXXVI - Taira no Kanemori ------------------------- Although I hide it My love shows in my face So plainly that he asks me, "Are you thinking of something?" Shinoburedo Iro ni ide ni keri Waga koi wa Mono ya omou to Hito no tou made
XLI - Fujiwara no Kiyosuke -------------------------- I may live on until I long for this time In which I am so unhappy, And remember it fondly. Nagaraeba Mata kono goro ya Shinobaremu ushi to mishi yo zo Ima wa koishiki
Subject: Poetry xxv - Japanese Poetry part 3 Date: 26 Oct 92 15:15:17 XLVIII - The Mother of the Commander Michitsuna ----------------------------------------------- Have you any idea How long a night can last, spent Lying alone and sobbing? Nageki tsutsu Hitori nuru yo no Akura ma wa Ika ni hisashiki Mono to ka wa shiru
LI - Fujiwara no Mototoshi -------------------------- Your fine promises Were like the dew of life To a parched plant, But now the autumn Of another year goes by. Chigiri okishi Sasemo ga tsuyu wo Inochi nite Aware kotoshi no Aki mo inumeri LVI - Narihira -------------- I have always know That at last I would Take this road, but yesterday i did not know that it would be today. Tsui ni yuku Michi to wa kanete Kikishi kado Kinoo kyoo to wa Omowazarishi wo
Subject: Poetry xxviii - Japanese Poetry cont'd Date: 3 Nov 92 23:49:44 Poetry XCV - Yakamochi ---------------------- Mist floats on the Spring meadow. My heart is lonely. A nightingale sings in the dusk. Haru no nu ni Kasumi tanabiki Ura ganashi Kono yuu kage ni Uguisu naku mo
Subject: Poetry - depressed (Monday) Date: 4 Nov 92 00:05:17 I was feeling a little depressed today, so I wrote a little mini-poem as I walked home for lunch. ------------------------------- though it sits warm in the sky, the sun's light cannot find me. ------------------------------- the heat of the sun, so warm i sweat. my heart so heavy weights i shiver. ------------------------------- it is a very warm day why do I feel so cold inside? ------------------------------- I forgot the original, but it sounded like that. I was thinking, what would happen to my shadow, then, if the sun didn't hit me? :) I'm feeling much better now, so don't worry about me. I hope this doesn't depress you! I'm actually very happy now, because the class I was worrying about all day is over. Kathy translated my original poem into Japanese. Taiyou no hikari ga boku no tokoro ni dake tette inai, Soto wa konna ni hare te irunoni........
From: Akiko Yamaguchi Subject: Keisuke Kuwata #2 ONE DAY ame ga kokoro ni oto o tateru yami o makura ni koyoi oh poor boy So c'mon, one day I found you Tonight I miss you nami no shirabe ni kimi mo yureru minami no kaze wa ore ni doo yuu no? Oh woman, one day I found you Tonight I miss you yume miru yoo na me no Lady kotoba ni naranu hodo ni ikenai koe ni dakarete nemuru ano hibi yo So-long naki nureta mama nagisa ni mau natsu ni owakare koyoi Oh poor boy So c'mon, one day I found you Tonight I miss you yoku aru namida no story midareta yoru no hate ni omoide bakari kokoro ni nokoru wasureji no My love One day I found you Tonight I miss you One day I found you Tonight I miss you One day...... ONE DAY the rain beat against my heart darkness is my pillow tonight oh poor boy so c'mon, one day i found you tonight i miss you you're trembling with a tune of waves what's the south wind's telling me? oh woman, one day i found you tonight i miss you lady with the dreamy eyes (she's) beyond words (i used to ) sleep in the arms of naughty voice (but i must say) so long to those days bathed in tears, i dance on the beach it's a farewell to the summer tonight oh poor boy so c'mon, one day i found you tonight i miss you it's a common pathetic story after all the loose nights, only the memories remained in my heart (it's) my unforgettable love one day i found you tonight i miss you one day i found you tonight i miss you one day......
Subject: Poetry xxix - Japanese Poetry Cont'd Date: 5 Nov 92 00:40:23 XCVIII - Yakamochi ------------------ We were together Only a little while, And we believed our love Would last a thousand years. Kaku shi nomi Arikeru mono wo Imo mo ware mo Chi tose no gotoku Tanomitarikeru
From: Kathy Johnson Subject: Poetry xxviii - Japanese Poetry cont'd Date: 4 Nov 92 17:24:13 This poem really inspired me to write my own "wa ka" (Style of J. Poetry) Poetry XCV - Yakamochi ---------------------- Mist floats on the Spring meadow. My heart is lonely. A nightingale sings in the dusk. Haru no nu ni Kasumi tanabiki Ura ganashi Kono yuu kage ni Uguisu naku mo ----------------------- So, here it goes! An original poem par moi! No, I am not fooling around. It took less than 3 minutes to come up with the poem and the translation. Oh Wendy, "Waka" means "Japanese songs" and the first line must contain 5 syllables, the second line 7, the third 5, and the fourth and fifth must have seven syllables. So, it's really easy when you are in the right mood. Jade, this is my version of the Deppressive poem of yours. kou hii no Kou hii:coffee ue ni ukanda kabi: mold kabi o mi te toki no hayasa ni futo kigatsuita futo:suddenly Translation: I looked at my coffee There was a mold floating on the surface This suddenly made me realize that time does fly by...... Hidden meaning of this poem: AHHHHHH I'm running out of time!!! I have to finish my history paper by tomorrow. NOOOOOOOOOOO I need more time!!!! .......to be continued eventually Jade, Wendy, Akiko-san : "OH NO!!" Your deranged frind. Kathy P.S. Akiko-san, kono "waka" nakanaka lomanchick desho? E? Chigau tte? UUUUN, mou shududai ga alisugite shinisooooo.
From: Akiko Yamaguchi Subject: Keisuke Kuwata #1 To: firstname.lastname@example.org Jade kun e, Thank you for always sending me poems. This song is from Keisuke Kuwata ( the vocalist of the Southern All Stars ) 's solo album. I think it matches the season. Yume no Mayoi Michi ---The Wandering Street--- yume demo otozureru machi kokoro no katasumi ni omou bakari kawaita toki no nagare ni tsure kawari yuku hitonami ima demo wasurarenu hibi amakute shibireru yona koi mo shita wakareta eki ni oritatsu tabi furikaeru machikado hitomi no oku ni minareta kao ga ukande kieru aki nanoni anokoro niwa modore nai oh, oh, the wondering street oh, oh, just never to me yume no oh, oh, mayoi michi the time has gone itsumademo kokoro ni tomodachi dake de saigo no yoru ni mata au koto o shinjite mo ano basho niwa kaere nai oh, oh, the wondering street oh, oh, just never to me koyoi oh, oh, tadoru michi we're all alone sayonara mo iwazu ni oh, oh, i'll never forget A very poor quality translation is available here. Yes, it's by me. Please let me know anything which doesn't make sense. Please help me to fix it. The Wandering Street it's the town i visit even in my dreams all i've been able to do is simply to recall it in the background of my mind as the dry time passes, a surging(milling?)crowd(of people)changes those are the days i can't forget even now i even was in sweet, entrancing love everytime i alight at the station which we had parted, i look back on that street corner although it's autumn which brings all those familiar faces recur in and disappear in the back of my eyes, i can't return to those days ever again oh, oh, the wondering street oh, oh, just never to me it's the oh, oh, wondering street in my dream the time has gone it'll stay in my heart forever among the friends on the final night, although we had believed in meeting again, we can't go back to that place ever again oh, oh, the wondering street oh, oh, just never to me tonight oh, oh, i trace the street(alone) (since)we're all alone even without saying good-bye oh, oh, i'll never forget
Subject: Poetry xxxi - Japanese Poetry Date: 18 Nov 92 16:13:34 Prince Munenaga --------------- The pain is greater now-- at least while we were living in the same capital the only thing between us was the wall of her hard heart. Ima zo uki onaji miyako no uchi nite wa kokoro bakari no hedate narishi o
Subject: Poetry xxx - Japanese Poetry Date: 18 Nov 92 16:09:43 Reizei Tamehide - "Lightning" ----------------------------- The lightning struck and even in the brief flash of its short-lived light I could count the dewdrops on the leaves of the grass. Nihongo ------- Inazuma no Shibashi mo tomenu Hikari ni mo Kusaba no tsuyu no Hazu wa miekeri
Subject: Poetry xxxii - Japanese Poetry Date: 18 Nov 92 16:18:01 This is from the Manyoshu 192. Like the birds that cry on Sata's hillside illumined by the rising sun, I have cried each evening of this year.
Subject: Poetry xxxiii - Japanese Poetry Date: 30 Nov 92 00:08:30 Basho ----- It looks as if Iris flowers had bloomed On my feet -- Sandals laced in blue. Breaking the silence Of an ancient pond, A frog jumped into water -- A deep resonance. Furu ike ya Kawazu tobikomu Mizu no oto Even the woodpeckers have left it untouched, This tiny cottage In a summer grove. From the Manyoshu ----------------- Til dawn unsleeping I shall wait for you, though my pitch-black hair be covered with the dew.
From: Chris Toergersen Subject: Inspiration! Date: 4 Dec 92 00:43:38 Enjoy, my friends, this wonderful piece of romantic poetry, and be inspired! The Chambered Nautilus by Oliver Wendell Holmes This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main,-- The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the ship of pearl! And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed,-- Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:-- Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!
Subject: Poetry xxxiv - Chinese Poetry Date: 3 Dec 92 23:29:31 Beast-like clouds eat the setting sun, the bow-like moon shoots falling stars. -- from Six Records of a Floating Life
From: HONORS/CHTORGERSEN Date: 28 Oct 92 13:46:40 Spring Flowers A patch of color amidst the green, Alas can be but briefly seen. Is this fleeting radience much the less, That fragrant blossoms must regress? Ah! 'Tis rareness here that precious makes, When Summer's breath Spring life does take. ___
Subject: Poetry xxvi - Japanese poetry part 4 or so Date: 27 Oct 92 16:35:10 LX - The Monk Ryoozen --------------------- When I am lonely And go for a walk, I see Everywhere the same Autumnal dusk. Sabishisa ni Yado wo tachi ide Nagamureba Izuku mo onaji Aki no yuugure
LXIII - Lady Ootomo no Sakanoe ------------------------------ You say, "I will come." And you do not come. Now you say, "I will not come." So I shall expect you. Have I learned to understand you? Komo to yuu mo Konu toki aru wo Koji to yuu wo Komu to wa mataji Koji to yuu mono wo
Subject: Rossetti 4 (yes it's over) Date: 17 Dec 92 22:34:51 this is the last few verses of The Blessed Damozel. Sorry it's so long. (Alas! we two, we two, thou say'st! Yea, one wast thou with me That once of old. But shall God lift To endless unity The soul whose likeness with thy soul Was but its love for thee?) "We two," she said, "will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is, With her five handmaidens, whose names Are five sweet symphonies, Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, Margaret and Rosalys. "Circlewise sit they, with bound locks And foreheads garlanded; Into the fine cloth white like flame Weaving the golden thread, To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born, being dead. "He shall fear, haply, and be dumb: Then will I lay my cheek To his, and tell about our love, Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride, and let me speak. "Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, To HIm round whom all souls Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads Bowed with their aureoles: And angels meeting us shall sing To their citherns and citoles. "There will I ask of Christ the Lord This much for him and me:- Only to live as once on earth With Love,- only to be, As then awhile, for ever now Together, I and he." She gazed and listened and then said, Less sad of speech than mild,- "All this is when he comes." Sh ceased. The light thrilled towards her, fill'd With angels in strong level flight. Her eyes prayed, and she smil'd. (I saw her smile.) But soon their path Was vague in distant spheres: And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers, And laid her face between her hands, And wept. (I heard her tears.) -------------------------- Wendy Price email@example.com -------------------------- Flying binoculars, why not?
From: CHEUNG@uoneuro.uoregon.edu Date: 4 Dec 92 17:30:51 PDT Subject: Poetry form the "anti-verbose" man I don't know the name of the poet but this poetry is incredibly beautiful. I will elaborate on that later. So here it is: "Sea Fever" I must go down to the seas again to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by. And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking. And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking. I must go down to the seas again for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call, that may not be denied And all I ask is a windy day with the white cloud's flying And the flung spray and the blown spume and the sea gulls crying. I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life to the gull's wag and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife. And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughung fellow rover And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over. -?- I think Dennis Miller recited part of this poetry in a Miller Lite commercial, with a tall ship in the background. I consider that an inappropriate use of the poem, but then we live in a capitalistic country, so what can I say. The great part about this poetry is that it was also written into a song, and the piano accompaniment is outrageously beautiful. The chord progressions are nicely tailored to the poetry itself. Together with a unique rhythm (most words are grouped under a triplet) they give the song a sense of spaciousness, and a haunting loneliness at points (you have to listen to it to know what I am saying). I wish I can send the music through email (hey you engineers out there, something for you to think about) so you can experience the perfect blend of music and words. Oh well make up your own melody if you wish. Request of a copy of the score or a live performance is welcomed. Will c what I can do. Clement
From: Wendy Price
Subject: Rossetti Date: 16 Dec 92 16:19:24 i finally found something interesting to send to you guys. this is part of a poem that was written by my favourite painter. it is fairly long so i will only send the first four verses rather than all twenty six. throughout Rossetti's work Dante's Beatrice reoccurs and becomes sort of an obsession for him. i hope you like it i think it's kind of pretty. there is also a painting that Rossetti did with the same title. it's really pretty also The Blessed Damozel Dante Gabriel Rossetti The blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters stilled at even; She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, No wrought flowers did adorn, But a white rose of Mary's gift, For service meetly worn; Her hair that lay along her back Was yellow, like ripe corn. Herseemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers; The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers; Albeit, to them she left, her day Had counted as ten years. (To one, it is ten years of years. ...Yet now, and in this place, Surely she leaned o'er me-her hair Fell all about my face... Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves. The whole year sets apace.)
From: Wendy Price
Subject: Rossetti part 2 Date: 17 Dec 92 22:01:31 here are the next several lines to The Blessed Damozel. It was the rampart of God's house That she was standing on; By God built over the sheer depth The which is Space begun; So high, that looking downward thence She could scarce see the sun. It lies in Heaven, across the flood Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. Around her, lovers, newly met 'Mid deathless love's acclaims, Spoke evermore among themselves Their heart-remembered names; And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames. And still she bowed herself and stooped Out of the circling charm; Until her bosom must have made The bar she leaned on warm, And the lillies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. >From the fixed place of Heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove Within the gulf to pierce It's path; and now she spoke as when The stars sang in their spheres. -------------------------- Wendy Price firstname.lastname@example.org -------------------------- Flying binoculars, why not?
From: Wendy Price
Subject: Rossetti part 3 Date: 17 Dec 92 22:17:58 The sun was gone now; the curled moon Was like a little feather Fluttering far down the gulf; and now She spoke through the still weather. Her voice was like the voice the stars Had when they sang together. (Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song, Strove not her accents there; Fain to be hearkened? When those bells Possessed the mid-day air, Strove not her steps to reach my side Down all the echoing stair?) "I wish that he were come to me, For he will come," she said. "Have I not prayed in Heaven?-on earth, Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? "When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white, I'll take his hand and go with him To the deep wells of light; As unto a stream we will step down, And bathe there in God's sight. "We two will stand beside that shrine, Occult, withheld, untrod, Whose lamps are stirred continually With prayer sent up to God; And see our old prayers, granted, melt Each like a little cloud. "We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Is sometimes felt to be, While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His Name audibly. "And I myself will teach to him, I myself, lying so, The songs I sing here; which his voice Shall pause in, hushed and slow, And find some knowledge at each pause, Or some new thing to know." -------------------------- Wendy Price email@example.com -------------------------- Flying binoculars, why not?
Date: Tue, 5 Jan 93 11:41:58 From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Kevin Trotter) Subject: killing time whaddya say, just killing time? voices in me, try to ease me whaddya say, sulking in daylight? reason filled with malice whaddya say, pretending polite? going nowhere, fighting softly whaddya say, the end of rhyme? -- KEVIN TROTTER
Date: 23 Dec 1992 00:38:58 -0800 (PST) From: David Ni
Subject: Li Bai's poem, II Ferry the river I yearn to, but the wind and wave broke my sail; Hauls my heart this river, It floats five thousand miles... --Li Bai David
From: Wendy Price
Date: 7 Jan 93 19:19:49 PST Subject: THE SCHOOL OF POETRY I FOUND THIS GREAT LITTLE BOOK OF POETRY AT A RARE BOOKSTORE. I'M NOT SURE HOW OLD IT IS BUT THE PICTURES ARE KIND OF SIXTYISH. IT'S CUTE AND SOME ONE EVEN HAND WROTE A POEM IN IT THAT I AM STILL TRYING TO DECIFER. ------------------------------ THE LAND OF DREAMS AWAKE, AWAKE, MY LITTLE BOY! THOU WAST THY MOTHER'S ONLY JOY. WHY DOST THOU WEEP IN THY GENTLE SLEEP? AWAKE, THY FATHER DOES THEE KEEP. "O, WHAT LAND IS THE LAND OF DREAMS, WHAT ARE ITS MOUNTAINS AND WHAT ARE ITS STREAMS? O FATHER, I SAW MY MOTHER THERE, AMONG THE LILIES BY WATER FAIR. "AMONG THE LAMBS CLOTHED IN WHITE, SHE WALKED WITH HER THOMAS IN SWEET DELIGHT; I WEPT FOR JOY, LIKE A DOVE I MOURN, O, WHEN SHALL I AGAIN RETURN?" DEAR CHILD, I ALSO BY PLEASANT STREAMS HAVE WANDERED ALL NIGHT IN THE LAND OF DREAMS, BUT THOUGH CALM AND WARM THE WATERS WIDE, I COULD NOT GET TO THE OTHER SIDE. "FATHER, O FATHER! WHAT DO WE HERE, IN THIS LAND OF UNBELIEF AND FEAR? THE LAND OF DREAMS IS BETTER FAR ABOVE THE LIGHT OF THE MORNING STAR." - WILLIAM BLAKE -------------------------- Wendy Price email@example.com -------------------------- Flying binoculars, why not?
From: Wendy Price
Date: 7 Jan 93 19:41:44 PST Subject: GABRIEL THIS IS A FRENCH COUPLET WRITTEN BY DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. IT IS ACCOMPANIED BY THE ENGLISH EQUIVALENCE AND SOMETHING CALLED AN ITALIAN TRIPLET. ROSSETTI'S BROTHER SAYS THAT IT MAY "HAVE BEEN WRITTEN TO SERVE AS A MOTTO FOR SOME PICTURE." I JUST LIKE THE SIMPLE IMAGERY. ---------------------------- ROBE D'OR, MAIS RIEN NE VEUT QU'UNE ROSE A SES CHEVEUX WITH GOLDEN MANTLE, RINGS, AND NECKLACE FAIR, IT LIKES HER BEST TO WEAR ONLY A ROSE WITHIN HER GOLDEN HAIR. A GOLDEN ROBE, YET WILL SHE WEAR ONLY A ROSE IN HER GOLDEN HAIR. -------------------------- Wendy Price firstname.lastname@example.org -------------------------- Flying binoculars, why not?
From: Wendy Price
Date: 7 Jan 93 19:29:09 PST Subject: THE YEAR'S ROUND JUST ANOTHER POEM FROM THE SCHOOL OF POETRY. DON'T WORRY I'LL EVENTUALLY GET BORED WITH THIS AND QUIT PESTERING YOU. ------------------------------ THE YEAR'S ROUND THE CROCUS, WHILE THE DAYS ARE DARK, UNFOLDS ITS SAFFRON SHEEN; AT APRIL'S TOUCH THE CRUDEST BARK DISCOVERS GEMS OF GREEN. THEN SLEEP THE SEASONS, FULL OF NIGHT, WHILE SLOWLY SWELLS THE POD AND ROUNDS THE PEACH, AND IN THE NIGHT THE MUSHROOM BURSTS THE SOD. THE WINTER FALLS, THE FROZEN RUT IS BOUND WITH SILVER BARS; THE SNOWDRIFT HEAPS AGAINST THE HUT, AND NIGHT IS PIERCED WITH STARS. - COVENTRY PATMORE -------------------------- Wendy Price email@example.com -------------------------- Flying binoculars, why not?
Date: 04 Dec 1992 00:56:37 -0800 (PST) From: David Ni
Subject: Li Bai's poem I cut the water with my sword but the water runs faster, I raise my glass to disperse the cloud but the cloud gets darker. --Li Bai David
From: Wendy Price
Date: 17 Jan 93 19:07:13 PST Subject: the soul's sphere yes, another rossetti sonnet. if you are tired of them please tell me and i will quit sending them. or will look for something different to send. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-=-= the soul's sphere Some prisoned moon in steep cloud-fastnesses,- Throned queen and thralled; some dying sun whose pyre Blazed with momentous memorable fire;- Who hath not yearned and fed his heart with these? Who, sleepless, hath not anguished to appease Tragical shadow's realm of sound and sight Conjectured in the lamentable night?..... Lo! the soul's sphere of infinite images! What sense shall count them? Whether it forecast The rose-winged hours that flutter in the van Of Love's unquestioning unrevealed span,- Visions of golden futures: or that last Wild pageant of the accumulated past That clangs and flashes for a drowning man. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= wendy price I shut myself in with my soul, And the shapes come eddying forth. DGR -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Forwarded message: To: kajohnson, firstname.lastname@example.org., jarubick From: Wendy Price
Date: 17 Jan 93 19:16:44 PST Subject: the daffodils I wandered lonely as a c;pid That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once i saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw i at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed- and gazed- but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch i lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude: And then my heart with pleas- ure fills, And dances with the daffodils. william wordsworth -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= wendy price I shut myself in with my soul, And the shapes come eddying forth. DGR -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Forwarded message: From: Self
To: jarubick Subject: The Sad Geraniums Date: 27 Jan 93 02:31:35 Als sie sich kennenlernten, war es dunkel gewesen. Dann hatte sie ihn eingeladen und nun war er da. Sie hatte ihm ihre Wohnung gezeigt und die Tischtcher und die Bettbezge und auch die Teller und Gabeln, die sie hatte. Aber als sie sich dann zum ersten Mal bei hellem Tageslicht gegenbersaBen, da sah er ihre Nase. Die Nase sieht aus, als ob sie angenht ist, dachte er. Und sie sieht berhaupt nicht wie andere Nasen aus. Mehr wie eine Gartenfrucht. Um Himmelswillen! dachte er, und diese Nasenlcher! Die sind ja vollkommen unsymmetrisch angeordnet. Die sind ja ohne jede Harmonie zueinander. Das eine ist eng und oval. Aber das andere ghnt geradazu wie ein Abgrund. Dunkel und rund und unergrndlich. Er griff nach seinem Taschentuch und tupfte sich die Stirn. "Es ist so warm, nicht wahr?" begann sie. "Oh ja", sagte er und sah auf ihre Nase. Sie muB angenht sein, dachte er wieder. Sie kommt sich so fremd vor im gesicht. Und sie hat eine ganz andere Tnung als die brige Haut. Viel intensiver. Und die Nasenlcher sind wirklich ohne Harmonie. Oder von einer ganz neuartigen Harmonie, fiel ihm ein, wie bei Picasso. "Ja", fing er wieder an, "meinen Sie nicht auch , daB Picasso auf dem richtigen Wege ist?" "Wer denn?" fragte sie "Pi-ca-?" "Na, denn nicht", seufzte er und sagte dann pltzlich ohne Hand auf das knie und er fhlte ihre entsetzlich innigen Augen bis an dem Hinterkopf glhen. "ich bin doch auch durchaus fr die Ehe, fr das Zusammenleben", meinte sie leise und etwas verrschmt. "Wegen der Symmetrie?" entfuhr es ihm. "Harmonie", verbesserte sie ihn gtig, "wegen der Harmonie." "Natrlich", sagte er, "wegen der Harmonie." Er stand auf. "Oh, Sie gehen?" "Ja, ich-ja." Sie bracht ihn zur Tr. "Innerlich bin ich eben doch sehr viel anders", fing sie noch mal wieder an. Ach was, dachte er, deine Nase ist eine Zumutung. Eine angenhte Zumutlung. Und er sagte laut: "Innerlich sind Sie wie die Geranien, wollen Sie sagen. Ganz symmetrisch, nicht wahr?" Dann ging er die Treppe hinunter, ohne sich umzusehen. sie stand am Fenster und sah ihm nach. Da sah sie, wie er unten stehenblieb und sich mit den Taschentuch die Stirn abtrupfte. Einmal, zweimal. Und dann noch einmal. Aber sie sah nicht daB er dabei erleichtert grinste. Das sah sie nicht, weil ihre Augen unter Wasser standen. Und die Geranien, die waren ganau so traurig. Jedenfalls rochen sie so. Die traurigen Geranien bei Wolfgang Borchert
Forwarded message: To: jarubick From: Kathy
Date: 26 Jan 93 21:23:15 PST Subject: (Forwarded) Daniel's translation of the SAD GER Forwarded message: To: mimarkum, gene, trnguyen, jacervantes, jehelmick, jasono@oregon, damadden, FROGHAM@JHUVMS.HCF.JHU.EDU, From: Jeido Rubikku Date: 26 Jan 93 21:20:16 PST Subject: Daniel's translation of the SAD GERANIUM Translated from the original German, by Daniel Sayer, our friend who is on his way to Czechoslovakia! --------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Sad Geranium by Wolfgang Borchert When they meet it was dark. She had invited him then and now he was there. She had showed him her apartment and the table-cloths and the bed linnen and also the plates and the forks, that she had. But when they sat face to face for the first time in bright daylight, he saw her nose. The nose looked as if it were sewn on, he thought. And it did not look at all like other noses. More like a garden fruit. For heaven's sake! he thought, and the nostrils! They are arranged completely unsymetricly. They are really without any harmony with one another. The first is tight and oval. But the other downright yawns like an abyss. Dark and round and bottomless. He reached for his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. "It's really warm, isn't it?" she began. "Oh yes", he said and looked at her nose. It must be sewed on, he thought again. It looks so foreign for her face. And it has a totally different coloring than the rest of the skin. Really intense. And the nostrils are really without harmony. Or a really novel harmony comes to mind, like something by Picasso. "Yes" he began again, "do you think Picasso is going in the right direction?" "Who?" she asked, Pi-ca-?" "Well, forget it" he sighed and suddenly said without any transition: "Were you in a accident once?" "Why do you ask?" she asked. "Well", he thought hopelessly. "Oh, because of the nose?" "Yes, because of it." "No, it was this way from the beginning." She said that very patiently: "It was always like that." Good heavens! he had almost said. But he only said "Oh, really?" "And yet I am an decidedly harmonious person", she whispered. "And how I do love the symetry! See my two geraniums on the window-sill. Left stands one and right stands one. Very symetrical. No, believe me, inside I am very different. Very different." With that she laid he hand on his knee and he felt her terribly intense glowing eyes to the back of his head. "I am still for the marriage, for living together", she thought softly and some what bashfully. "Because of the symetry?" escaped him. "Harmony", she corrected him kindly, "because of the Harmony." He stood up. "Oh, are you going?" "Yes, I - yes." She brought him to the door. "I am really very different inside", she began again. Nonsense, he thought, your nose is imposition. A sewed on imposition. And he said out loud: "Inside you are like the geraniums, you would like to say. Very symetrical, right?" Then he went down the stairs without looking back. She stood at the window and watched after him. There she saw him stop and dab his forehead with a hankerchief. Once, twice. And another time. But she didn't see that he had a relieved grin. She did not see that that because her eyes were filled with water. And the geraniums were just as sad. At any rate they smelled so. _ jade rubick I do not pray for a lighter load, but email@example.com for a stronger back. - Phillip Brooks ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kathy Johnson | Example of nasalization: firstname.lastname@example.org | Pinch your nose and say "pain!" | by prof. Delancy ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Have a nice day!!!!!
Forwarded message: To: jarubick, weprice From: Kathy
Date: 17 Jan 93 16:26:10 PST Subject: Linda Stitt #2 More poems!! ----------------------------------------- Taxidermy (stuff this) Most things I handle cooly but somethings make me burn, like the tax I'm taxed on stamps I buy to mail my tax return. ----------------------------------------- Seas Apart I thought that somehow you might soothe me, now I'm in a terrible fix, I'm troubled much more than before you appeared. It's clear that we never will mix. You're just too much oil for my water. With compromise out of my reach and, finding that I cannot swallow you whole, I must wash you back up on the beach. Forgive me my lack of acceptance, the choice I've no choice but to make. I'm vast and I'm deep but there's only so much that even the ocean can take. ------------------------------------------
People People we don't know are killing people we don't know, neglecting people we don't know and hurting people we don't know and if we don't know how suffering feels to people we don't know, we don't know people. ------------------------------------- by Linda Stitt ****************************************** * Kathryn Johnson, Slacker Extraordinare * * email@example.com * ****************************************** PICARD/RIKER 96!!!!
Forwarded message: To: HONORS/JARUBICK From: HONORS/AMTIMSHEL Date: 24 Jan 93 14:20:41 PST Subject: Poetry Underground Jade, Here's one I like, if you're interested. I don't remember the title. You darkness that I come from I love you more than all the fires That fence in the world. For the fire makes a circle of light for everyone And then no one outside Learns of you. But the darkness pulls in everything, Shapes, fires, animals And myself. How easily it gathers them, Powers and people. And it is possible A great energy is moving near me. I have faith in Nights. Ranier Maria Rilke
Forwarded message: To: kajohnson, firstname.lastname@example.org., jarubick From: Wendy Price
Date: 18 Jan 93 21:41:51 PST Subject: Lullabye this is not really a poem it is a song by concrete blonde. i think it's pretty though. lullabye when the sky has fallen like a blanket on your shoulder and the moon is like a mother looking over you forever and the dawn is so familiar you were meant to be together like a fog around a mountain - forever chorus: so softly- so sweetly surrounding you completely sing you a lullabye- a lullabye to you lullabye - a lullabye to you when your breathing is the wind and your crying is the rain well i know you will remember because the music is forever the living of a lover- and the loving of another like a sister to a brother like a father to a mother chorus j. napolitano ----------------------------- -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= wendy price I shut myself in with my soul, And the shapes come eddying forth. DGR -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Forwarded message: Date: Sun, 7 Feb 93 23:15:04 PST From: email@example.com To: firstname.lastname@example.org Subject: Invisible Out of Sight --- Forwarded message follows --- Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Path: news.uoregon.edu!usenet.coe.montana.edu!rpi!usc!howland.reston.ans.net!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!uchinews!quads!moh2 From: email@example.com (Kateri/Mary Anne) Subject: Invisible Out of Sight Message-ID: <1993Feb5.firstname.lastname@example.org> Sender: email@example.com (News System) Reply-To: firstname.lastname@example.org Organization: University of Chicago Date: Fri, 5 Feb 1993 23:42:21 GMT Lines: 60 Invisible Out of Sight She stumbled, crying, into his arms crying silently, invisibly but somehow he saw and sheltered. Forgive her? Poetry blossomed, moons and junes and the bright glistening dew on crimson roses true love. Forgive her? He left, with promises and tears always more tears and somehow love faded. Forgive her? He steadfast, waiting for the day when together poetry and junes would return Forgive her? Promises breaking, she found others to blur the lonely nights and days. Forgive her? Betrayed, he renounced her lovelost, friendship frayed a cord so thin, invisible. Forgive her? Heartsore, she stumbles crying invisible tears on a frozen face. Forgive me? ***** M.A. Mohanraj January 5, 1993 -- we're anything brighter than even the sun we're anything greater than books might mean (with a shout leap / alive! we're alive) we're wonderful one times one. - e.e. cummings ___
Forwarded message: Date: Tue, 9 Feb 93 12:44:09 PST From: email@example.com To: firstname.lastname@example.org Subject: Poem-Hear me --- Forwarded message follows --- Path: news.uoregon.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!sgiblab!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!sol.ctr.columbia.edu!The-Star.honeywell.com!umn.edu!lynx.unm.edu!hydra.unm.edu!rkruger From: email@example.com (robert c krugerttr) Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Subject: Poem-Hear me Date: 9 Feb 1993 16:55:36 GMT Organization: University of New Mexico, Albuquerque Lines: 14 Message-ID: <1l8nm8INNr7n@lynx.unm.edu> References: <1993Feb8.firstname.lastname@example.org> NNTP-Posting-Host: hydra.unm.edu Hear me I hide behind my lies afraid to talk afraid of feeling I just stand there screaming behind my eyes with my lips motionless Antithesis Dunno, just kinda came to mind and wrote itself. C&C welcome ___ Jade Rubick (o o) -------------------------------------ooO-(_)-Ooo------------------------ email@example.com <-- try this first firstname.lastname@example.org <-- if it bounces try this email@example.com <-- last resort
Forwarded message: Date: 08 Feb 1993 22:59:44 -0800 (PST) From: David Ni
Subject: Poem -- "Read" To: firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, Here is a contemporary Chinese poem my roommate and I have just translated. Entitled "Read," it was published in 1991 by a Chinese poet whom I have never heard of. Because of the language nuances, it is difficult, and sometimes even impossible, and perhaps, wrong to render poetry from one language to another. Music and fine arts apparently have no such a problem. Suggestions for improvement are welcome. David Read Under the light, I read another's lines and read my own heart's rimes. Discover-- on the wall my shadow reads a lone tear that flows. Or: Read Under the light, reading another's verses I read my own heart's pulses. Discover-- on the wall my shadow reads a lone tear that flows. ___
Forwarded message: To: weprice, jarubick, sgoodale@oregon From: Kathy
Date: 8 Feb 93 20:34:26 PST Subject: Linda Stitt #3 CC: More poems by Linda Stitt ----------------------------------------- Cycling.... ...bi, tri, and motor -- Life has its ups and downs its go-around, come-around, spin-around in and out changes. - Cycles, cycles, cycles spiralling to wherever they take us and almost back, but not quite, because cycles aren't circles, and every old familiar sunrise and sunset finds us some new place in this expanding universe's space. evolution, revolution, convolution, devolution becoming, turning, twisting, mutating Tomorrow will discover us different from today for every borrowed breath mixes us roundly, soundly, inexplicably, inextricably into the cosmos, adds and subtracts, takes what we never had, gives what we cannot own, as we dissolve and coalesce, bipedalling the velocities which speed us on our helical hegiras into transformation. ---------------------------------------- Busy, busy Searching for freedom, filled with desire, ever creating the me; seeking, selecting, rejoicing, collecting, too busy looking to see. ----------------------------------------- by Linda Stitt ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kathy Johnson | Example of nasalization: firstname.lastname@example.org | Pinch your nose and say "pain!" | by prof. Delancy ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Picard/Riker 96!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A "kind and profound" advice from moi: don't ever have mint patties and diet coke for brunch!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Forwarded message: Date: 14 Jan 1993 23:44:02 -0800 (PST) From: David Ni
Subject: Li Bai's poem, III ^ To: email@example.com SORRY IT TAKES A WHILE TO RENDER THIS ANCIENT CHINESE STUFF INTO MODERN ENGLISH. I would wither, like the autumn grass, rooted together Still; never would I depart, like the leaf, forsake the flower, adrift in the sky. --Li Bai David ___ Jade Rubick (o o) -------------------------------------ooO-(_)-Ooo------------------------ firstname.lastname@example.org <-- try this first email@example.com <-- if it bounces try this firstname.lastname@example.org <-- last resort
Forwarded message: To: email@example.com., kajohnson, jarubick From: Wendy Price
Date: 17 Jan 93 14:59:51 PST Subject: Autumn and Blake another rossetti poem. --------------------- Autumn Song Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf How the heart feels a languid grief Laid on it for a covering: And how sleep seems a goodly thing In Autumn at the fall of the leaf? And how the swift beat of the brain Falters because it is in vain. In Autumn at the fall of the leaf Knowest thou not? and how the chief Of joys seems - not to suffer pain? Know's thou not at the fall of the leaf How the soul feels like a dried sheaf Bound up at length for harvesting, And how death seems a comely thing In Autumn at the fall of the leaf? -------------------------------------- sonnet to frederick shields written on a sketch of william blakes work-room and death-room 3, fountain court, strand This is the place. Even here the dauntless soul, The unflinching hand, wrought on: till in that nook, As on that very bed, his life partok New birth, and passed. Yon river's dusky shoal, Whereto the close built coiling lanes unroll, Faced his work-window, whence his eyes would stare, Thought-wandering, unto nought that met them there, But to the unfettered irreversible goal. This cupboard, Holy of Holies, held the cloud Of his soul writ and limned; this other one, His true wife's charge, full oft to their abode Yielded for daily bread the martyr's stone, Ere yet their food might be that Bread alone, The words now home-speech of the mouth of God. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= wendy price I shut myself in with my soul, And the shapes come eddying forth. DGR -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Forwarded message: To: KAJOHNSON, JARUBICK From: Wendy Price
Date: 7 Jan 93 21:31:22 PST Subject: ADIEU YES IT IS ANOTHER ROSSETTI POEM. I MANAGED TO GET A COPY OF HIS COMPLETE WORKS AND YOU GUYS ARE GOING TO BE PLAGUED WITH SAPPY POEMS FOR A WHILE. ADIEU ---------- WAVING WHISPERING TREES, WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THE BREEZE AND WHAT SAYS THE BREEZE TO YOU? 'MID PASSING SOULS ILL AT EASE, MOVING MURMURING TREES, WOULD YE EVER WAVE AN ADIEU TOSSING TURBULENT SEAS, WINDS THAT WRESTLE WITH THESE, ECHO HEARD IN THE SHELL,- 'MID FLEETING LIFE ILL AT EASE, RESTLESS RAVENING SEAS,- WOULD THE ECHO SIGH FAREWELL? SURGING SUMPTUOUS SKIES, FOR EVER A NEW SURPRISE, CLOUDS ETERNALLY NEW,- IS EVERY FLAKE THAT FLIES, WIDENING WANDERING SKIES, FOR A SIGN - FAREWELL, ADIEU? SINKING SUFFERING HEART THAT KNOW'ST HOW WEARY THOU ART,- SOUL SO FAIN FOR A FLIGHT,- AYE, SPREAD YOUR WINGS TO DEPART, SAD SOUL AND SORROWING HEART,- ADIEU, FAREWELL, GOOD-NIGHT. -------------------------- Wendy Price firstname.lastname@example.org -------------------------- Flying binoculars, why not?
Forwarded message: To: weprice, jarubick, SGOODALE@OREGON.UOREGON.EDU From: Kathy
Date: 14 Jan 93 17:16:09 PST Subject: poems by Linda Stitt #1 Hi! Linda Stitt is a Canadian poet. I think she's AWESOME therefore I'm going to start sending you her poems. This is #1. Enjoy!! --------------------------------------- No Trouble At All No need to flee from trouble, just look it in the eye and tell yourself that you can see its bright side, if you try, and a cloud on your horizon simply means that, by and by, there's every chance that there will be a rainbow in your sky. ------------------------------------------ Adios Comparison Some poets are scholars or prophets or sages, who fill up their pages with weighty, profound revelations and write for ages. But I am more simple, less solemn, just someone who natters and chatters and writes for the sisters and brothers of family matters. -------------------------------------------- Healing The pain that sears the brain, that burns through tissue, nerve and bone, is just the body, learning what the mind has known. The mind that knows just negativity and finds this life a sad and sorry place can seal the spirit into suffering and steal the body from its state of grace. But love and joy forgive the shame and cast out the fear and lack and liberate the soul and heart and give the body back. ------------------------------------------- Croaked I had a little froggie and he got squashed flat, he was hiding under the welcome mat. I warned him a dozen times about that but frogs don't listen. I'm getting a cat. ---------------------------------------------- by Linda Stitt ****************************************** * Kathryn Johnson, Slacker Extraordinare * * email@example.com * ****************************************** PICARD/RIKER 96!!!!
Forwarded message: From: Self
To: @SYS:MAIL\62010001\POETRY.PML Subject: Kahlil Gibran Date: 11 Feb 93 17:13:30 ------- Forwarded Message Follows ------- Date: Thu, 11 Feb 1993 18:35 EST From: FORSGREN@guvax.acc.georgetown.edu To: firstname.lastname@example.org [...] goodnight for now, and do not worry about writing, just let me keep drinking the poetry...and now for my first "contribution:" *********************************************************************************** And then a scholar said, Speak of Talking. And he answered, saying: You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts; And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime. And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered. For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly. There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone. The silence of aloness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would escape. And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand. And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words. In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence. When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, let the spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue. Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear; For his soul will keep the truth of your heart as the taste of the wine is remembered When the colour is forgotten and the vessel is no more. -excert from Kahlil Gibran, (The Prophet)
Forwarded message: To: weprice, jarubick From: Kathy
Date: 15 Feb 93 23:40:14 PST Subject: Linda Stitt #4 More poems by Linda Stitt --------------------------------------- Personal opinion on an old phylosophical question The falling tree will make no sound with no one there to hear it fall. Indeed, without observing eyes, there isn't any tree at all. --------------------------------------- Sometime I connot embrace him completely. Sometimes the pain of proximity is more than I can dare, for he has betrayed me with mortality and I have retreated to stand at the dim edges of forgetfulness and probe cautiously, tentatively at his memory, ready to leap into distraction should recollection stray to tainted thought or loss, abandonment, despair. Sometime I shall touch him joyfully, fearlessly, totally, when I have forgiven him his death and me my expectation that he would live forever. ----------------------------------------- Things are sometimes what they seem Mind on breath at it pulls and pushes; consciousness arises to an object in the bushes. A momentary glimpse, a lightning-flash referral. Here comes a squirrel's tail, it must be a squirrel. And instant recognition just like that. - You don't get a squirrel's tail following a cat. -------------------------------------------- by Linda Stitt ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kathy Johnson | Silence is a culturally important email@example.com | non-active activity. | by Prof. Malch ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Picard/Riker 96!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A "kind and profound" advice from moi: don't ever have mint patties and diet coke for brunch!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ___
Forwarded message: Date: Wed, 17 Feb 93 19:06:03 PST From: firstname.lastname@example.org To: email@example.com Subject: Sitting at the edge of the World (C&C welcome) --- Forwarded message follows --- Path: news.uoregon.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!ogicse!uwm.edu!cs.utexas.edu!torn!nott!bnrgate!bcars267!bnr.ca!saumure From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Roch Saumure) Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Subject: Sitting at the edge of the World (C&C welcome) Message-ID: <1993Feb17.email@example.com> Date: 17 Feb 93 17:24:34 GMT Article-I.D.: bnr.1993Feb17.172434.29071 Sender: firstname.lastname@example.org (usenet) Reply-To: email@example.com Organization: Bell-Northern Research Ltd. Lines: 74 Nntp-Posting-Host: bcarh910 Sitting at the edge of the World ================================ Sitting at the edge of the world I can hear my heart breaking I can see the pieces falling into the void I can't stop from screaming But nobody's there to hear me And nobody's there to see me cry And nobody's there to hold me To stop me from losing my mind Memories going round and round Isn't there a way out of this hole Images spiraling without a sound Somebody please help me, I'm losing my Soul Sitting at the edge of the world You can't help but wonder what's it all for So much suffering, so much misery I wish somebody would come and shoot me Could I ever find my way back home A place where I wouldn't be alone A place where the sun would shine A place where my heart could dance But I've been all around my world And nowhere did I find the place Where I could lay and rest And today I sit here, knowing I did my best So here I am, sitting at the edge of the world I can hear my heart breaking I can see the pieces falling into the void I can't stop from screaming But nobody's there to hear me And nobody's there to see me cry And nobody's there to hold me As I start to lose my mind Fear, Sorrow, Terror and Pain All passes through my brain Feelings of the past Now chains holding me fast And it starts to rain And the wind is blowing again Maybe this is all a dream But what would it mean I believe the sun is dying And the stars have stopped shining The trees have stopped growing And even the Earth has stopped turning Now I close my eyes And fall from the sky And the reason that I cry 'Cause I didn't hear goodbye Sitting at the edge of the world I could hear my heart breaking I could see the pieces falling into the void I couldn't stop from screaming But nobody was there to hear me And nobody was there to see me cry And nobody was there to hold me The day that I died. Roch Saumure (c&c welcome, please address at) firstname.lastname@example.org
Forwarded message: Date: Wed, 17 Feb 93 19:06:28 PST From: email@example.com To: firstname.lastname@example.org Subject: Poem--For no reason --- Forwarded message follows --- Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Path: news.uoregon.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!sgiblab!darwin.sura.net!paladin.american.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!usc!cs.utexas.edu!milano!cactus.org!wixer!ralph From: email@example.com (Ralph Cherubini) Subject: Poem--For no reason Message-ID: <1993Feb17.firstname.lastname@example.org> Organization: Real/Time Communications Date: Wed, 17 Feb 1993 20:48:48 GMT Lines: 25 For no reason at all How very fond I have grown of you for no reason at all except the mixture of yourself and myself which reminds me so often of when I tried as a boy to mix water and oil it didn't work but the patterns were lovely and after a while I stopped trying to mix them and just enjoyed the patterns. -- email@example.com cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Forwarded message: Date: 22 Feb 1993 13:01:52 -0800 (PST) From: firstname.lastname@example.org Subject: Poem--I would hope To: email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, --- Forwarded message follows --- Path: news.uoregon.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!ogicse!emory!swrinde!cs.utexas.edu!milano!cactus.org!wixer!ralph From: email@example.com (Ralph Cherubini) Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Subject: Poem--I would hope Message-ID: <1993Feb22.firstname.lastname@example.org> Date: 22 Feb 93 17:25:04 GMT Article-I.D.: wixer.1993Feb22.172504.4662 Organization: Real/Time Communications Lines: 18 I would hope I would hope that we can still be friends once our friendship is over and we are no longer. That is my hope vaulting over contradiction and improbability not a rational construct you see simply an urging of my heart. -- email@example.com cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Forwarded message: Date: Tue, 23 Feb 93 13:14:56 PST From: firstname.lastname@example.org To: email@example.com Subject: Poem--Listening --- Forwarded message follows --- Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Path: news.uoregon.edu!usenet.coe.montana.edu!caen!malgudi.oar.net!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!milano!cactus.org!wixer!ralph From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Ralph Cherubini) Subject: Poem--Listening Message-ID: <1993Feb23.email@example.com> Organization: Real/Time Communications Date: Tue, 23 Feb 1993 17:26:04 GMT Lines: 30 Listening Look: Perhaps I DON'T know much about this I certainly claim no special expertise but I'm your friend and I want to help really I do so I will just sit here listening forever and you will know when you need to know that your friend is out there in the very same space listening because he cares for you and this very fact will have unforeseen consequences which we will never know because there is no control experiment you see which would allow us to tell how things become differently than they might otherwise have that is mystery they have not yet taken that from us... -- firstname.lastname@example.org cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Forwarded message: Date: Thu, 25 Feb 93 23:05:01 PST From: email@example.com To: firstname.lastname@example.org Subject: Poem--Mailbox --- Forwarded message follows --- Path: news.uoregon.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!ogicse!uwm.edu!cs.utexas.edu!milano!cactus.org!wixer!ralph From: email@example.com (Ralph Cherubini) Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Subject: Poem--Mailbox Message-ID: <1993Feb25.firstname.lastname@example.org> Date: 25 Feb 93 19:52:32 GMT Article-I.D.: wixer.1993Feb25.195232.8511 Organization: Real/Time Communications Lines: 20 Mailbox I always liked the mailbox repository of infinite potentiality though it took me many years to realize the relationship almost causal between send and receive and that is still something I have trouble with on occasion. -- email@example.com cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Forwarded message: From: Self
To: @SYS:MAIL\62010001\POETRY.PML Subject: Bestfriend (forwarded) Reply-to: firstname.lastname@example.org Date: 2 Mar 93 08:14:50 --- Forwarded message follows --- Path: news.uoregon.edu!usenet.coe.montana.edu!ogicse!emory!sol.ctr.columbia.edu!usc!cs.utexas.edu!qt.cs.utexas.edu!news.Brown.EDU!noc.near.net!oz.plymouth.edu!marsi From: email@example.com (Marsi Wisniewski) Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Subject: Bestfriend Message-ID: <1993Feb26.firstname.lastname@example.org> Date: 26 Feb 93 04:10:12 GMT Article-I.D.: oz.1993Feb26.041012.2333 Reply-To: email@example.com (Marsi Wisniewski) Organization: Plymouth State College - Plymouth, N.H. Lines: 23 It's Saturday; they are playing cards. As he laughs with her, she studies him. This man means everything to her-- This man who has seen her at her worst, Who's loved her through everything, Who's never raised a hand to her. They can talk about anything, Everything; neither is there to judge. Always, he calls her beautiful. But there are no words to describe him, How she views him, what she feels for him. This man she calls bestfriend, This man she calls lover, This man she calls husband. -- Marsi G. Wisniewski Note: I feel this poem came out a little on the sappy side. I am open to CONSTRUCTIVE criticism as to how to go about changing it so that it is less sappy. I would also like to know if anyone happens to like it. Thank you. -----------------
Forwarded message: To: Jarubick From: HONORS/GENE Date: 17 Feb 93 10:56:28 PST Subject: Poetry from Gene ON THE EDGE WE WALK ON THE EDGE, YOU ARE THE EDGE i AM THE EDGE THE SWORD OF UNIVERSAL TRUTH SLICES THROUGH THE DENSITY MOVING ON THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE REDISCOVERING---THE WHOLENESS OF THE WHOLE REVEALING WHAT IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE VEIL WE ARE ALL THE HEALERS HEALING, FIRST OURSELVES AND THEN EACH OTHER TOGETHER WE STAND ON THE EDGE AWAKENING,SLEEPING AND THEN AWAKENING ONCE AGAIN LIVING ON THE EDGE----BALANCING ON THE EDGE WE ARE THE MOBIUS GENE (This is copyrighted material from the original production entitled "UPRISING")
Forwarded message: Date: Thu, 4 Mar 93 15:05:51 PST From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Jade Rubick) To: email@example.com Subject: (fwd) Re: worms :)* style Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Path: news.uoregon.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!sgiblab!sdd.hp.com!usc!wupost!crcnis1.unl.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!usenet-feed.umr.edu!UMRVMA.umr.edu!S100479 From: S100479@UMRVMA.umr.edu Subject: Re: worms :)* style Date: Thu, 4 Mar 1993 05:54:49 GMT Nntp-Posting-Host: umrvma.umr.edu Organization: Univ of MO - Rolla Sender: firstname.lastname@example.org (UMR Usenet News Post) Message-ID: <1993Mar4.email@example.com> Lines: 14 Hey here's a poem to along with the recently posted "Worms" 3/18/92 Worms on a rainy day Crawl from the cracks escaping from their concrete sarcophagus The water drives them out They squirm on the pavement glad to escape a certain drowning but their hopes are trampled By people afraid to get wet Captain Goatee firstname.lastname@example.org c&C appreciated, personal please
Forwarded message: To: jarubick@honors From: MIMARKUM@honors.uoregon.edu Date: 5 Mar 93 14:13:26 PST Subject: how do you like these puppies? Since you have been so kind in sending me all of those wonderful poems I thought that I might take a minute and reciprocate. It is also a great study break:) WHAT DO I CARE What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring, That my songs do not show me at all? For they are a fragrance, and I am a flint and a fire, I am an answer, they are only a call. But what do I care, for love will be over so soon, Let my heart have its say and my mind stand idly by, For my mind is proud and strong enough to be silent, It is my heart that makes my songs, not I. -Sara Teasdale- FAIR AND UNFAIR The beautiful is fair, the just is fair. Yet one is commonplace and one is rare, One everywhere, one scarcely anywhere. So fair unfair a world. Had we the wit To use the surplus for the deficit, We'd make a fairer fairer world of it. -Robert Francis- A HISTORY OF LOVE 1 And would you gather turds for your grandmother's garden? Out with you then, dustpan and broom; she has seen the horse passing! Out you go, bold again as you promise always to be. Stick your tongue out at the neighbors that her flowers may grow. 2 Let me stress your lovliness and its gravity its counter-hell: Reading finds you on the page where sight enlarges to confound the mind and only a child is frightened by its father's headgear while a bird jigs and ol' Bunk Johnson blows his horn. -William Carlos Williams- THE WARNING For love-I would split open your head and put a candle in behind the eyes. Love is dead in us if we forget the virtues of an amulet and quick surprise. -Robert Creely- FURTHER NOTICE I can't live in this world And I refuse to kill myself Or let you kill me The dill plant lives, the airplane My alarm clock, this ink I won't go away I shall be myself- Free, a genius, an embarrassment Like the Indian, the buffalo Like Yellowstone National Park. -Philip Whalen- THE TORTOISE Always to want to go back, to correct an error, ease a guilt, see how a friend is doing. And yet one doesn't, except in memory, in dreams. The land remains desolate. Always the feeling is of terrible slowness overtaking haste. -Cid Corman- THE HIPPO A Head or Tail-which does he lack? I think his Forward's coming back! He lives on Carrots, Leeks and Hay; He starts to yawn-it takes All Day- Some times I think I'll live that way. -Theodore Roethke- ENVOY Good Night, at last the light of the sun is gone under Earth's rim and we can see the dark interstices Day's lord erases. -Robert Duncun- Now you can go home for the weedend content that you have had your horizons expanded and your mind expended. Mariamme
Forwarded message: Date: Thu, 4 Mar 93 15:06:55 PST From: email@example.com (Jade Rubick) To: firstname.lastname@example.org Subject: (fwd) when the moon is crescent Path: news.uoregon.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!ogicse!uwm.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!rpi!haight From: email@example.com (Liz Haight) Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Subject: when the moon is crescent Message-ID: <firstname.lastname@example.org> Date: 3 Mar 93 20:03:53 GMT Article-I.D.: rpi.62m492a Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy, NY Lines: 25 Nntp-Posting-Host: ipl.rpi.edu when the moon is crescent ________________________________________ when the moon is crescent in the sky and i am cradled in its yellow curve my desires cleverly disguised in each star i cast upon the earth within your reach, i fall in love when the moon is crescent in your eyes and i am cradled in its darkest curves -- Elizabeth Haight email@example.com -- -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Jade Rubick Having children is hereditary: firstname.lastname@example.org If your parents didn't have children email@example.com You probably won't either. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Forwarded message: Date: Thu, 4 Mar 93 15:05:36 PST From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Jade Rubick) To: email@example.com Subject: (fwd) worms Path: news.uoregon.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!ogicse!uwm.edu!wupost!howland.reston.ans.net!gatech!concert!ecsgate!lrc.edu!blosser_cy From: firstname.lastname@example.org Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Subject: worms Message-ID: <1993Mar3.email@example.com> Date: 4 Mar 93 02:35:29 GMT Article-I.D.: lrc.1993Mar3.213530.713 Organization: Lenoir-Rhyne College, Hickory, NC Lines: 17 yet another rainy night on campus the water-logged corpses of a thousand worms litter the sidewalk trampled underfoot by callous youth heedless to the sorry plight of invertebrate dead (spontaneous poetic gibberish/9:27pm wednesday night) cb -- -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Jade Rubick Having children is hereditary: firstname.lastname@example.org If your parents didn't have children email@example.com You probably won't either. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Subject: A quote for the day, 03/14... Status: OR "In the East... there was a certain man who was walking in the market of Damascus when he came face to face with Death. He noticed an expression of surprise on the spectre's horrible countenance, but they passed one another without speaking. The fellow was frightened, and went to a wise man to ask what should be done. The wise man told him that Death had probably come to Damascus to fetch him away next morning. The poor man was terrified at this, and asked however could he escape. The only way they could think of between them was that the victim should ride all night to Aleppo, thus eluding the skull and bloody bones. So this man did ride to Aleppo -- it was a terrible ride which had never been done in one night before -- and when he was there he walked in the market place, congratulating himself on having eluded Death. Just then, Death came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. `Excuse me,' he said, `but I have come for you.' `Why,' exclaimed the terrified man. `I thought I met you in Damascus yesterday!' `Exactly,' said Death. `That was why I looked surprised -- for I had been told to meet you today, in Aleppo.'" -- T.H. White, from "The Once and Future King", p. 286
Path: news.uoregon.edu!cs.uoregon.edu!ogicse!uwm.edu!wupost!gumby!destroyer!cs.ubc.ca!unixg.ubc.ca!ucla-mic!ucla-cs!oahu.cs.ucla.edu!lichter From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Michael I. Lichter) Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Subject: Amiri Baraka: Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note Message-ID: <1993Mar14.email@example.com> Date: 14 Mar 93 22:36:21 GMT Article-I.D.: cs.1993Mar14.223621.26013 Sender: firstname.lastname@example.org (Mr Usenet) Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department Lines: 40 Nntp-Posting-Host: oahu.cs.ucla.edu [I have a backlog of stuff I meant to post a long time ago but temporarily (or so it appears now) lost. Amiri Baraka aka LeRoi Jones has been a jazz and blues drummer, a playwright, a poet, a cultural leader ("father of the black arts movement") a political leader, and a professor. I have seen/heard him read on two different occasions to large audiences and he is extremely dynamic. In his many musically inspired poems he sings and scats as much as reads. Anyway, here's one of his poems.] Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note (For Kellie Jones, born 16 May 1959) ------------------------------------------------------ Lately, I've become accustomed to the way The ground opens up and envelopes me Each time I go out to walk the dog. Or the broad edged silly music the wind Makes when I run for a bus ... Things have come to that. And now, each night I count the stars, And each night I get the same number. And when they will not come to be counted, I count the holes they leave. Nobody sings anymore. And then last night, I tiptoed up To my daughter's room and heard her Talking to someone, and when I opened The door, there was no one there ... Only she on her knees, peeking into Her own clasped hands. Leroi Jones / Amiri Baraka March 1957 -- -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Jade Rubick Having children is hereditary: email@example.com If your parents didn't have children firstname.lastname@example.org You probably won't either. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
From: David Ni
Subject: Untitled Emily Dickinson (fwd) To: email@example.com Cc: firstname.lastname@example.org Message-Id: Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII Status: OR Jade, Dickinson's poems are of a dynamic genre. She is one of my favorite Western poets. David ----------------------- Untitled Emily Dickinson It was not Death, for I stood up, And all the Dead, lie down -- It was not night, for all the Bells Put out their Tongues, for Noon. It was not Frost, for on my Flesh I felt Siroccos -- crawl -- Nor Fire -- for just my Marble feet Could keep a Chancel, cool -- And yet, it tasted, like them all, The Figures I have seen Set orderly, for Burial, Reminded me, of mine -- As if my life were shaven, And fitted to a frame, And could not breathe without a key, And 'twas like Midnight, some -- When everything that ticked -- has stopped -- And Space stares all around -- Or Grisly frosts -- first Autumn morns, Repeal the Beating Ground -- But, most, like Chaos -- Stopless -- cool -- Without a Chance, or Spar -- Or even a Report of Land -- To justify -- Despair.
From email@example.com Thu Mar 18 13:12:42 1993 Return-Path:
Received: from phloem.uoregon.edu by ursula.uoregon.edu.uoregon.edu (NeXT-1.0 (From Sendmail 5.52)/NeXT-2.0) id AA03553; Thu, 18 Mar 93 13:12:40 PST Received: from darkwing.uoregon.edu by phloem.uoregon.edu (4.1/UofO NetSvc-02/16/93) id AA26774; Thu, 18 Mar 93 13:13:02 PST Date: Thu, 18 Mar 1993 13:08:00 -0800 (PST) From: David Ni Subject: Comparative translations of Li Yu's poem To: firstname.lastname@example.org Cc: email@example.com Message-Id: Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII Status: OR Jade, Li Yu is one of my favorite Tang poets. Enjoy! David ------------------------- Comparative translations of Li Yu's poems The Last Emperor of the Southern Tang Dynasty, Li Yu Silent I ascend alone the Western Tower. The moon is like a hook. The desolate wu-tong shaded inner courtyard locks in the lucid autumn. Snipped, it breaks not. Unraveled, it entwines again. It is the sorrow of separation, Not the usual sort of flavor to the heart. Translation by Lu Zhiwei Five Lectures on Chinese Poetry Joint Publishing Co. HK 1984. Silent I ascend alone the Western Tower. The moon is like a hook. The desolate wu-tong shaded inner courtyard locks in the lucid autumn. Snipped, it breaks not. Unraveled, it entwines again. It is the sorrow of separation, Not the usual sort of flavor to the heart. Translation by Lu Zhiwei Five Lectures on Chinese Poetry Joint Publishing Co. HK 1984. Silent, I climb the Western Tower alone And see the hook-like moon. Parasol-trees lonesome and drear Lock in the courtyard autumn clear. Cut, it won't sever; Be ruled, `twill never What sorrow `tis to part! It's an unspeakable taste in the heart. Translation by Xu Yuanzhong 100 Tang and Song Ci Poems HK 1986 ISBN 962 07 1077 0 Silent, alone, I climb the west tower; The moon is like a hook. The lonely Wu-t'ung trees stand in the secluded courtyard, locking the clear autumn in. Cut; it cannot be broken; Arranged; it remains entangled--- This is the sorrow of separation. It leaves a very special kind of taste in the heart. The evolution of Chinese Tz'u Poetry >From Late Tang to Northern Sung Kang-i Sun Chang Princeton University Press 1980 Li Yu Spring's rosy colour fades from forest flowers Too soon, too soon. How can they bear cold morning showers And winds at noon! Your rouged tears like crimson rain Intoxicate my heart. When shall we meet again? As water eastward flows, so shall we part. translation by Xu Yuanzhang 100 Tang and Song Ci Poems ISBN 962 07 1077 0 HK 1986
Date: Thu, 18 Mar 1993 13:03:01 -0800 (PST) From: David Ni
Subject: Comparative translations of Li Bai's poem Driking alone with the moon Li Bai An arbour of flowers and a kettle of wine: Alas! in the bowers no companion is mine. Then the moon sheds her rays on my goblet and me, And my shadow betrays we're a party of three! Though the moon cannot swallow her share of the grog, And my shadow must follow wherever I jog, Yet their friendship I'll borrow and gaily carouse, And laugh away sorrow while spring-time allows. See the moon----how she glances response to my song; See my shadow___it dances so lightly along! While sober I feel, you are both my good friends; When drunken I reel, our companionship ends, But we'll soon have a greeting without a goodbye, At our next merry meeting away in the sky. Translated by Herbert A. Giles Gems of Chinese Literature Bernard Quaritch Ltd London 1923
From: firstname.lastname@example.org Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems Subject: Flies in the Net EmberFaken Date: 7 Apr 94 14:58:53 -0500 The Web We are little flies tangled in the web Singing softly to one another lest the spiders hear The Net sparkles jewel-like When the light's right Wm. C. Burns, Jr. (c) April 1994
Subject: We Real Cool -- Gwendolyn Brooks Date: 12 Apr 94 21:57:46 We Real Cool ------------ We real cool. We Left school. We Lurk late. We strike straight. We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon. =--------= The Pool Players. Seven at "the Golden Shovel". ----------
Date: Sun, 24 Apr 94 10:19:08 IDT From: email@example.com (Kevin Trotter) Subject: (fwd) Japanese love poem Kawasaki Kamakakaze by firstname.lastname@example.org ROBERT MENUET, New Orleans --------------------- Sayanara gei, Geisha-sama, bonsai, zen; Sayanara gei, Mitusbishi-san, kaizen. Kawasaki gei kinsei-- Kanban haiku bansai Zen; Morihiro Hosakawa, Kanban raku, yen, yen, yen. [English Translation] Motorcycle Wind Spirit --------------------------- Adieu, Adieu, Farewell Lovely lady, gardening, and the cloister; Adieu, Adieu, Farewell Honorable Mitsubishi continuous quality improvement. I am a man possessed by a deeply felt sensibility between myself and my motorcycle, with its sensitive ergonomic design! Here is my poetic packing list; with Zen I say, Let the good times roll! Unlike the bill of lading [i.e., legacy] of our most recent scoundrel, a paean to lucre written in clay.
Date: Tue, 26 Apr 94 14:35:56 IDT From: email@example.com (Kevin Trotter) Subject: (fwd) cigars have a cigar tasteless slop rolled into a four inch wad bite the end off swallow saliva left over after you spit the butt out and it slides down into your stomach a four inch wad light it up smoke lolling up your nose reduces lung capacity to a four inch wad put it out the ashtray is full of tar and ashes leftover from previous cigars a four inch wad have a cigar tasteless slop rolled into a four inch wad