don't tell me what the poets are doing

[dianna]

My consort and I took a walk on this beautiful autumn day, and he announced to me a dream, a moment of clarity concerning death ... it was an awesome conversation and it reminded me of one of my favourite poets ..


John Donne

Death Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

[dianna]

Simply charming ...

Hieu Nguyen - "Buffet Etiquette"

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=jJnbkS9CyhM

[Crystine]

He is an awesome young person.

[dianna]

“Everyday Deception” art from HeadSpace



Art of Deception

yobarney (2009)
http://www.everypoet.net/poetry/blog...t_of_deception

The art of deception
Is a magician's illusion
To make one’s perception
Become their conclusion

But once you arrive at
The Big Top Show
You’re loved and adored
For the truth they don’t know

The fear that you feel
That you’ll be exposed
Makes your heart beat faster
Enough to explode

The lie that you live
Underneath your mask
Is an unwanted chore
A laboring task

It gets hot in the mask
And under your skin
The only way to vent
Is to reveal your sin

So I stand here naked
Please come to my reception
Immediately following
My “Art of Deception”

Hors d’oeuvres will be served

“And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”

― William Shakespeare, Richard III

[dianna]

Charles Bukowski

Alone With Everybody

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=vSS73a7ZdGY

Alone With Everybody
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

The Genius of the Crowd

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=3cLmmmb3Op0

The Genius Of The Crowd

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

[dianna]

Jesus Jerky on a Gone Dead American Train

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=_mKWYqzEwoM

[dianna]

The laughing heart (Tom Waits reads a Charles Bukowski poem)

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=bHOHi5ueo0A

The Laughing Heart

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

Charles Bukowski

[william r sanford72]

Lawrence Ferlinghetti..from the book..A Coney Island of the mind.

truth is not the secret of a few
yet
you would maybe think so
the way some
librarians
and cultural ambassadors
especially museum directors
act
you'd think they had a corner
on it
the way they
walk around shaking
their high heads and
looking as if they never
went to the bath
room or anything
But i wouldnt blame them
if i were you
they say the Spiritual is best conceived
in abstract terms
and then too
walking around in museums always makes me
want to
'sit down'
I always feel so
constipated
in those
high altitudes.

Truth Alaways.
William.

[dianna]

To A Stranger
by Walt Whitman

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=TOuSASiEzSE

Passing stranger! you do not know
How longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking,
Or she I was seeking
(It comes to me as a dream)

I have somewhere surely
Lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other,
Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me,
Were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become
not yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes,
face, flesh as we pass,
You take of my beard, breast, hands,
in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you
when I sit alone or wake at night, alone
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

[dianna]

Posted by william r sanford72 (here)
Lawrence Ferlinghetti..from the book..A Coney Island of the mind.

truth is not the secret of a few
yet
you would maybe think so
the way some
librarians
and cultural ambassadors
especially museum directors
act
you'd think they had a corner
on it
the way they
walk around shaking
their high heads and
looking as if they never
went to the bath
room or anything
But i wouldnt blame them
if i were you
they say the Spiritual is best conceived
in abstract terms
and then too
walking around in museums always makes me
want to
'sit down'
I always feel so
constipated
in those
high altitudes.

Truth Alaways.
William.

Hi William, have been reading Ferlinghetti because of this post (was not familiar with him before) --- here is so far one of my favourites ...


I Am Waiting

I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting
for someone to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep through the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped’ onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Great Divide to ‘be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am waiting
for the American Boy
to take off Beauty’s clothes
and get on top of her
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am waiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder

[william r sanford72]

thanks for the poem.its also one of the reasons i fell in love with his work.i was 15 when i found coney island of the mind...in an old paper back book store...sure miss that store..and the way it smelled.thank you dianna.
truth always.
william

[dianna]

Edward Gorey

A personal favourite ...

Gashlycrumb Tinies

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=VKzpUYFyePs

A is for Amy who fell down the stairs.
B is for Basil assaulted by bears.
C is for Clair who wasted away.
D is for Desmond thrown out of the sleigh.
E is for Ernest who choked on a peach.
F is for Fanny, sucked dry by a leech.
G is for George, smothered under a rug.
H is for Hector, done in by a thug.
I is for Ida who drowned in the lake.
J is for James who took lye, by mistake.
K is for Kate who was struck with an axe.
L is for Leo who swallowed some tacks.
M is for Maud who was swept out to sea.
N is for Nevil who died of ennui.
O is for Olive, run through with an awl.
P is for Prue, trampled flat in a brawl.
Q is for Quinton who sank in a mire.
R is for Rhoda, consumed by a fire.
S is for Susan who perished of fits.
T is for Titas who blew into bits.
U is for Una who slipped down a drain.
V is for Victor, squashed under a train.
W is for Winie, embedded in ice.
X is for Xerxes, devoured by mice.
Y is for Yoric whose head was bashed in.
Z is for Zilla who drank too much gin.

[william r sanford72]

Robert Frost..from the book.In The Clearing.

A conceptSelf/Conceived

The latest creed that has to be believed
And entered in our childish catechism
Is that the All's a concept self concieved,
Which is no more than good old Pantheism.

Great is the reassurance of recall.
Why go on further with confusing voice
To say God's either All or over all?
The Rule is, never give a child a choice.

[dianna]

LOL, not sure what this bubblehead is actually talking about, but she is awfully cute, and I think she is making a good point … (although Im not sure I agree with it) she just made me laugh so I thought I would post it (if anyone can transcribe this I would be grateful…)


Jargon is the Death of Culture

by NickMeador on February 4, 2014 in News
On the Maraya Karena Show, the eponymous host speaks about the under-acknowledged connection between language and reality, and what happens when meaning slips from our patterns of expression:

What will murder all our movements?
JARGON!!!
In this syntactical reality our greatest obstacle to heaven on earth is mindless repetition of stale language.

Video is titled "Death of the New Age" ????

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=TaYYZOU2nbs

[dianna]

Henry N. Beard, Poetry for Cats: The Definitive Anthology of Distinguished Feline Verse



From CATS ARE KIND

"A man said to the universe,
'Sir, I exist!'
'Excellent,' replied the universe,
'I've been looking for someone to take care of my cats.”

[william r sanford72]

...Dante's Inferno,..Canto III...

And lo! towards us coming in a boat
An old man, grizzled with the hair of eld,
Moaning: ¨woe unto you, debased souls!

Hope nevermore to look upon the heavens.
I come to lead you to the other shore;
Into eternal darkness: into fire and frost.

And Thou, that yonder standest, living soul,
Withdraw from these people, who are dead!¨
But he saw that i did not withdraw...


ps.just bumpn a classic.
Truth always.
William.

[dianna]

Posted by william r sanford72 (here)
...Dante's Inferno,..Canto III...

And lo! towards us coming in a boat
An old man, grizzled with the hair of eld,
Moaning: ¨woe unto you, debased souls!

Hope nevermore to look upon the heavens.
I come to lead you to the other shore;
Into eternal darkness: into fire and frost.

And Thou, that yonder standest, living soul,
Withdraw from these people, who are dead!¨
But he saw that i did not withdraw...


ps.just bumpn a classic.
Truth always.
William.

A funny and surprisingly good overview … I especially like at the 6:53 mark when a "welcome to New Jersey" sign is flashed as the narrator talks about the 9th circle, darkest part of hell ...

Dante's Inferno - Oh, Hell!

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=NdmPi7ki2-A

[dianna]

Charles Baudelaire, The Vampire

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=7b2VsXq2vx0

Thou, sharper than a dagger thrust
Sinking into my plaintive heart,
Thou, frenzied and arrayed in lust,
Strong as a demon host whose art

Possessed my humbled soul at last,
Made it thy bed and thy domain,
Strumpet, to whom I am bound fast
As is the convict to his chain,

The stubborn gambler to his dice,
The rabid drunkard to his bowl,
The carcass to its vermin lice —
O thrice-accursèd be thy soul!

I called on the swift sword to smite
One blow to free my life of this,
I begged perfidious aconite
For succor in my cowardice.

But sword and poison in my need
Heaped scorn upon my craven mood,
Saying: “Unworthy to be freed,
From thine accursed servitude,

O fool, if through our efforts, Fate
Absolved thee from thy sorry plight,
Thy kisses would resuscitate
Thy vampire’s corpse for thy delight.

[skippy]

Le vent se lève, il faut tenter de vivre.

Paul Valéry

[dianna]

I dream, therefore I exist.
August Strindberg

Johan August Strindberg (22 January 1849 – 14 May 1912) was a Swedish playwright, novelist, poet, essayist and painter. A prolific writer who often drew directly on his personal experience, Strindberg's career spanned four decades, during which time he wrote over 60 plays and more than 30 works of fiction, autobiography, history, cultural analysis, and politics. A bold experimenter and iconoclast throughout, he explored a wide range of dramatic methods and purposes, from naturalistic tragedy, monodrama, and history plays, to his anticipations of expressionist and surrealist dramatic techniques. From his earliest work, Strindberg developed forms of dramatic action, language, and visual composition so innovative that many were to become technically possible to stage only with the advent of film. He is considered the "father" of modern Swedish literature and his The Red Room (1879) has frequently been described as the first modern Swedish novel.

…..

Strindberg was born on 22 January 1849 in Stockholm, Sweden, the third surviving son of Carl Oscar Strindberg (a shipping agent) and Eleonora Ulrika Norling (a serving-maid). In his autobiographical novel The Son of a Servant, Strindberg describes a childhood affected by "emotional insecurity, poverty, religious fanaticism and neglect.". When he was seven, Strindberg moved to Norrtullsgatan on the northern, almost-rural periphery of the city. A year later the family moved near to Sabbatsberg, where they stayed for three years before returning to Norrtullsgatan. He attended a harsh school in Klara for four years, an experience that haunted him in his adult life. He was moved to the school in Jakob in 1860, which he found far more pleasant, though he remained there for only a year. In the autumn of 1861, he was moved to the Stockholm Lyceum, a progressive private school for middle-class boys, where he remained for six years. As a child he had a keen interest in natural science, photography, and religion (following his mother's Pietism). His mother, Strindberg recalled later with bitterness, always resented her son's intelligence. She died when he was thirteen, and although his grief lasted for only three months, in later life he came to feel a sense of loss and longing for an idealised maternal figure. Less than a year after her death, his father married the children's governess, Emilia Charlotta Pettersson.According to his sisters, Strindberg came to regard them as his worst enemies. He passed his graduation exam in May 1867 and enrolled at the Uppsala University, where he began on 13 September.

…..

Taking his cue from William Shakespeare, he began to use colloquial and realistic speech in his historical dramas, which challenged the convention that they should be written in stately verse.

…..

I am a socialist, a nihilist, a republican, anything that is anti-reactionary!... I want to turn everything upside down to see what lies beneath; I believe we are so webbed, so horribly regimented, that no spring-cleaning is possible, everything must be burned, blown to bits, and then we can start afresh...

…..

Tennessee Williams, Edward Albee, Maxim Gorky, John Osborne, and Ingmar Bergman are among the many artists who have cited Strindberg as an influence. Eugene O'Neill, upon receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature, dedicated much of his acceptance speech to describing Strindberg's influence on his work, and referred to him as "that greatest genius of all modern dramatists."

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=dt3vYWZFxK0

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=DDB97j8_HSk

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=t0k8Ey30GLU

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=QrgXRpX6Bco

Source: https://youtube.com/watch?v=QrgXRpX6Bco