October 31, 2006

Halloween is Poetry Day: The Raven

For this Very Special Halloween episode of Poetry Day, I offer a poem by the Original American Master of the Macabre, Edgar Allan Poe. Some find this poem scary, and while the setting and word choice are certainly not cheery, in the end I find this tale of a lonely widower lamenting his beloved (but dead) wife sad rather than frightening.

If you like, you may go to this page to hear Basil Rathbone read "The Raven." Versions are available in mp3 and Real Audio formats.

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."

more...

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October 25, 2006

Wednesday is Bad Poetry Day: NASCAR Poetry

In case regular readers of Annika's Journal haven't noticed, she has left Poetry Day in my hands. Since I can do whatever I like with Poetry Day, I've declared the last Wednesday of the month will be dedicated to Bad Poetry. This week: NASCAR Poetry.

A few weeks ago, I had some fun at NASCAR's expense, asking, "Notice there's no real good NASCAR poetry out there?" Believe me, there's not (I looked. Lord, how I looked!) and I doubt there ever will be.

I state this because NASCAR isn't a sport that lends itself to poetry. I realize there is strategy and drama and winners and losers, but the sport in and of itself isn't poetic. In fact, NASCAR and poetry are so far apart, the thought of combining the two was turned into a joke at The Specious Report. Take a look at NASCAR haiku, as printed in that article:

Pit crew watches, waits;
Tire tread and ashpalt embrace
Sweet sigh of relief.


NASCAR will never produce a Casey at the Bat. Name a situation in NASCAR with the drama of being down by one or two in the bottom of the ninth, where one swing of the bat leaves you the hero or (in Casey's case) the goat. Not to say there's no drama in NASCAR, but sneaking up on someone on the last lap just isn't the same.

Kids can't really "play" NASCAR, while lots of kids play football, baseball, basketball...you get the idea. NASCAR will never inspire anything like How To Play Night Baseball.

But still, some try. I suspect T. is a very nice person--the kind of person who'll give you the shirt off her back, invite you to her house & feed you until you can't move, and make you feel like a friend you've known since the day you were born. I kind of feel bad about making fun of her poetry.

I mean, she has a poem to her pets on her page! Anyone with pets is OK in my book. But take a look at this:

A Prayer For The Drivers
This is a prayer to say before every race begins
To keep all the drivers safe and God bless whoever wins
So bow your heads with me, and together we will ask
That God protect every driver for each and every lap...
"Dear God in heaven we ask you to watch over this track
and keep these drivers safe and sound for every single lap
watch them and protect them with your caring watchful eye
and bless them each and every time a green flag lap goes by
we pray there are no cautions because of a crash
and let them continue to race this race until the very last
so which ever driver makes his way to Victory Lane
we, the fans, know you heard our prayer
and blessed us all the same...
Amen"

Umm...OK. This is a nice sentiment (although every time I read God bless whoever wins I want to continue The rest of you LOSERS can go to hell! ) but the meter is generic (when it's not blown completely), the rhyming is forced at times, and it almost sounds as if it was produced by the head of the Prom comittee who's about to blow her own deadline or something...I dunno. Bad poetry leads to bad analogies.

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October 18, 2006

Wednesday is Poetry Day: e. e. cummings

The first poem I really liked was by e.e.cummings. In my senior year of high school, many, many, years ago, the best teacher I ever had used it when he taught us poetry. I bet if the county had approved that poem, more of us would enjoy poetry to this day.

(The teacher, Mr. S, wasn't afraid to bend the rules. One day I'll tell you what he did to the quarterback of the football team.)

Sadly, I can't find that poem. I would have sworn it was called "Thanksgiving" and that the first line was "by virtue of by virtue i" but my gf's copy of e.e.cummings: Complete Poems (1904-1962) doesn't list that line in the index of first lines.

Too bad I can't find it. You'll just have to wait.

Anyway. My gf suggested the following poem, and I agree it should be featured. It's a simple, fun little poem, that looks a lot more complex than it is. In fact, she saw me looking at it, face twisted in thought, and she asked me what I thought.

"It's a fun read," I answered, "but I can't quite figure out what it means."

She may have sighed. "Just read the last line. That's what it's about!" she answered. I think she's right.


I'm very fond of
black bean
soup(O i'm
very
fond of black
bean soup
Yes i'm very fond
of black bean soup)But
i don't disdain
a beef-
steak

Gimme gin&bitters to
open my
eyes(O gimme
gin&
bitters to open
my eyes
Yes gimme gin&bitters
to open my eyes)But
i'll take straight rum as
a night-
cap

Nothing like a blonde for
ruining the
blues(O nothing
like a
blonde for ruining
the blues
Yes nothing like a blonde
for ruining the blues)But
i use redheads for
the tooth
-ache

Parson says a sinner will
perish in the
flames(O parson
says a
sinner will perish
in the flames
Yes parson says a sinner
Will perish in the flames)But
i reckon that's better
than freez-
ing

Everybody's dying to be
someone
else(O every
body's
dying to be some
one else
Yes everybody's dying
to be someone else)But
i'll live my life if
it kills
me

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October 11, 2006

Wednesday is Poetry Day: Richard Harrison

Two weeks ago, I presented baseball poetry. Baseball lends itself to poetry--both are cerebral, complex, and boring to those of lesser intelligence. Notice there's no real good NASCAR poetry out there?

My other favorite sport is hockey. Maybe because it's easy to get tickets, maybe because it's a beautiful game, maybe because the first words my gf ever spoke to me were because of hockey...I like hockey a lot.

Two years ago, I wasn't watching hockey. No one was, because of the lockout. Little did we know that soon, in mid-February, the 2004-05 NHL season would be cancelled. People were Pissed Off.

Canadian poet Richard Harrison has published an entire book of hockey poetry, Hero of the Play, and he was one of those Pissed Off people. Soon after the season was cancelled in 2005, the following poem was published:

NH Elegy

Once, men came home from war,
or from the sides of family graves,
to lace up skates and play for it
as if everything could be remade
in a silver bowl passed hand to hand.
For years it etched the seasons
with their winning names,
and took the touch of triumph
into each triumphant house. It paused
just once – to mourn the dead, and
stayed unmarked to mark their passing.
Today, left idle in the Hall of Fame,
while rich men quarrel to no profit at its base,
untouched upon its plinth it stands.
And all who see it can tell you now
how a fallen thing is one that no one holds.

Of course, the 2006-07 hockey season started last week. The league has expanded from the Original Six teams to thirty teams, the Great Canadian Game...well, there are only 6 teams from cities in the Great White North. There are teams in Phoenix, Florida, Tennesee, and the defending Stanley Cup champions play in North Carolina. They're also winless, but there's a lot of season yet to go.

My beloved Caps have played only two games and they're 1 and 1, which, where they're concerned, is slightly above par for them in October. Yeah, baby...it's hockey season.

Game on!

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October 04, 2006

Wednesday is Poetry Day: Bernie Taupin

One of the first albums I ever bought (waaay back when CDs were called "albums" and they were huge, delicate things stamped on black vinyl) was Elton John's Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy. My best friend Dave had a copy of it, and I liked it enough to save up my allowance and buy it. I probably bought it for one song; The moderately-hard rocking (Gotta Get a) Meal Ticket. I mean, the rest of the album was good, but that song rocked! Moderately.

As I grew older, I came to appreciate the album for more than that song. Maturity changes one's point of view, and songs that meant one thing suddenly mean something else five, ten, or thirty years later. I'm almost ashamed to admit it took me about thirty years to finally realize what one of Bernie Taupin's best poems was about, but better late than never, eh?

(I think. I mean, it's all in the interpretation, isn't it?)

The poem/song is called Writing and it's a beautiful little song. The junior-high school kid who bought this album was probably bored by this song about two people writing a book or something, with its cutesy lyrics and lite-rock guitar work. In fact, I'm sure I used to skip over this song when listening to the album.

But suddenly, one day last week, this song completely changed for me. Sometimes, maturity is not overrated.

Writing

Is there anything left
Maybe steak and eggs?
Waking up to washing up
Making up your bed
Lazy days my razor blade
Could use a better edge

It's enough to make you laugh
Relax in a nice cool bath
Inspiration for navigation
Of our new found craft
I know you and you know me
It's always half and half

And we were oh oh, so you know
Not the kind to dawdle
Will the things we wrote today
Sound as good tomorrow?
Will we still be writing
In approaching years?
Stifling yawns on Sundays
As the weekends disappear

We could stretch our legs if we've half a mind
But don't disturb us if you hear us trying
To instigate the structure of another line or two
Cause writing's lighting up
And I like life enough to see it through

And we were oh oh, so you know
Not the kind to dawdle
Will the things we wrote today
Sound as good tomorrow?
Will we still be writing
In approaching years?
Stifling yawns on Sundays
As the weekends disappear

We could stretch our legs if we've half a mind
But don't disturb us if you hear us trying
To instigate the structure of another line or two
Cause writing's lighting up
And I like life enough to see it through
Cause writing's lighting up
And I like life enough to see it through

(NOTE: This is the song as sung by Elton John. Bernie Taupin might have sent it to Elton in a slightly different format.) more...

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