steven adams
on Divorcing Tennessee by Dovina
14 Oct 2004, 2:33 PM
The poem is wonderful. I am happy that you wrote this poem rather than thinking about some of these pointless comments.
As -=D_A=-,P.I. recently expostulated, you leave your work so open to interpretation as to undo any actual impact of your confused use of adjectives.
A brogue can not be a truth, a brogue is a reality and in its very form lies its beauty conceal withered heels and Bill Oddies clawed feet whilst at the same time conveying a sense of beauty to those who behold the mesmerising chimera of its ancient patterns.
You are too kind. I shall try as best my humble efforts can to incorporate your suggestion.
BROGUEISM:
In London pubs we listen
For brogue truth we need
While the pavement tells another tale
Unthinkable, unseen
Practicality plays to an empty house.
Sneakered feet of distance walkers,
Appreciated, not inspected
Speaking truths to peasants
To look with fashion eyes
Clouded dim by lack of blisters
Trust and obey
Weâll show you the way
Much better
end last line with
thats why i hate most
poems of love
better flow, good blast of words
A story unfortunate as I have heard,
But yet t'would never have occurred,
Had thou heeded the cobbler's word:
"Listen now Master and thy feet gird,
Not with shoes so plainly absurd,
As Poulainnes or it will be inferred,
That you are a huge festering turd"
Astounding.
Wilfred Owen was ruined for me by a bearded teacher whom in our third year (Really year 10? I didn't realise attending a Royal Grammar School meant you had the same form structure as Grange Hill) informed us all that Wilfred has a bum sexual who liked to receive it from Siegfried Sasson. Having recently reread Memoirs of Fox Hunting man I feel sure that Siegfried hunted both foxes and badgers but still like to believe that you don't have to be a massive homa to write good poetry.
By the way, did you see that your old physics teacher was such a dunce he had to sit his GCSE Maths? I hope you never told people you went to a "public school" whilst at college and instead pointed out you went to a fee paying grammar school.
A splendid juxtaposition. Answering as many questions as it poses, closing as many doors at it opens. A maginicent edifice upon which to build the real foundations of a splendid career in observational poetry. Not many people take on the whole God versus Darwin theme and fewer still succeed in such a candid and abstract formulation to illustrate the stark, and when highlighted, glaring similar differences. The whole poem revolves around the forest/record counter-analogy which is such a subtle play on the words as to probably escape the grasp of most rankers.
Although a pithy crumb to offer up to an altar of omni-knowledge, I would like to highlight that there is a word which transcends the two halves of this poem. And that I am afraid is the brogue. Neither the creation, alone, of a deity nor the result of man's need to clad his feet, the brogue typifies the grey areas left untrammelled by your fine words. The brogue is an example of the expedience of evolution confronting the glory of ornate religion combining to suffuse the surface of an otherwise ugly, plain shoe with the beauty of a greater more magnificent entity.
In summary I believe this poem would be better had you alluded to the brogues role in whole creation debate. I believe Darwin himself was a man clad from ankle to toe in the finest brogues from the whole of Northampton.
Excellent, but I don't think punctuation improves on haikus. Meaningful and thought provoking, friends are such rare and fragile things.
I have decided upon re-reading my own work that the main portion of this item was designed merely as a prolongment of my true message.
As this goes against my belief in the truest qualities of communication, I have left only the portion that has ever had real meaning.
... ... thanks, I think.
I have heard a little of these fallacies and disregard them as best I can when concerning any expression of the human mind or soul. I do not discredit or attempt to disprove them, but I believe poetry to be a conduit for our feelings and, as such, should reflect our inner turmoils. I speak to myself in my mind and often feel there is something within that simply cannot find the means with which to interact with the world. I do not know if others feel the same, but for this reason I see no error in expressing it.
The style of this poem is such that I enjoy reading and often write myself. I vote 9 not because it is imperfect in structure, which I believe only adds to it's effect and value, but because I would not dare give it the extremest approval untill I have seen more of your works and had a chance to compare thier worth. Furthermore, knowing you personally as I do, I am left curious and somewhat hopefull of the discovery of the one you speak of.
Yea, it was written about an sexually abusive father. What would you suggest to fix the line?
P.S. Thanks :D
Hah, sucks to be a fish.
"But not as bad as my heart.
Which is infinitely pained.
And tortured."
Dug that. -7-
Wooooah. Dig it, man. Dig it. This is the first Haiku I've ever read in my life...that I actually liked. 10 for me.
am I categorized as a brainless twit? (I mean this considering I'm the one who brought you to the site)
Definately strikes a cord with me.