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Herman (Free verse) by richa Like the fern burnt by frost
planted in north's shade
is the hermit. A strange
alphabet of runes and figures
played out
has left him left out. But we
feel no sadness,
we are bees at a honeypot;
he has no sweet tooth.
Up the ladder:
Lorca: Canción del Jinete
Down the ladder:
Zin/Enough/Things/Squeeze/Flow
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 9.0
Posted: April 27, 2004 7:32 AM PDT; Last modified: April 27, 2004 10:17 AM PDTWeighted score: 7.0 Overall Rank: 83 The following users have marked this poem on their favorites list:
Comments:
Punctuate after honeypot.
how's that paper coming? - and you forgot to give him a ranking.
Didn't I?
5 more pages. I'm currently stealing sources quoted in other articles and quoting them as independent citations, for which I will surely burn in criticism hell, alongside any professor gufftuous enough to assign a source quota on a graduate research paper. The bad news is, despite my best efforts Blake's still a monstrously guffy woman-hating curmudgeonly spaz and producer of some of the most illiterate poetry ever to stain my eyes.
Yes, I'm including poemranker poetry in that appraisal.
Saying Blake is a bad poet - is that like saying Ringo is a bad drummer?
Ringo was a decent drummer. Here's some Blake for you:
"God bless thy poor bald pate. God bless. thy hollow winking eyes God bless thy shriveld beard. God. bless. thy many wrinkled forehead Thou hast no teeth old man & thus I kiss thy sleek bald head Heva come kiss his bald head for he will not hurt us Heva" - Tiriel 2:32-35
"He leaned toward me and put his face inches from mine. âYou have the aura of election upon you,â he breathed. I hoped he was talking about my poetry. I moved back and took the manuscript and turned it around so he could read. The next thing I knew, his heavy, boneless hand was hot on my thigh. I lurched away. âThis is not what I meant,â I stammered. The whole thing had suddenly taken on the quality of a bad horror film. The floor spun. By now my back was against the sink, which was as far away as I could get. He moved toward me. I turned away from him toward the sink and found myself vomiting. Bloom disappeared. When he reemerged - from the bedroom with his coat â a moment later, I was still frozen, my back against the sink. He said: âYou are a deeply troubled girl.â Then he went to the table, took the rest of his sherry, corked the bottle, and left."
- [Famous feminist Blake scholar] Naomi Wolf describing being sexually harassed in 1983 by [even more famous sexist Blake scholar] Harold Bloom "I can't help it. I was born with this face of an aged lecher." - sexist Blake scholar Harold Bloom, responding to her charges For proof, take a look at http://tinyurl.com/2q5fl
That is the best thing in the world ever.
They both suck.
I like this a lot, but would leave out "runes and"
The fern also is bothersome because all ferns do best in north shade and all are burned by frost if one is.
Not utterly thrilling, but then again, you are on a rascol scooter in a high wind.
all my critiques were previously stated by others. i will simply state that i enjoyed it.
Dammit, why have I not read more of your works? I was gone for too long. This is a wonderful read.
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I'm still noodling the runes and figures. Thinking stockmarket, but that goes against the ambition thing.
Lost his ambition?