The Lawyers Know Too Much -- Carl Sandburg

Guest poem sent in by Salima Virani

(Poem #1393) The Lawyers Know Too Much The lawyers, Bob, know too much. They are chums of the books of old John Marshall. They know it all, what a dead hand wrote, A stiff dead hand and its knuckles crumbling, The bones of the fingers a thin white ash. The lawyers know a dead man's thought too well. In the heels of the higgling lawyers, Bob, Too many slippery ifs and buts and howevers, Too much hereinbefore provided whereas, Too many doors to go in and out of. When the lawyers are through What is there left, Bob? Can a mouse nibble at it And find enough to fasten a tooth in? Why is there always a secret singing When a lawyer cashes in? Why does a hearse horse snicker Hauling a lawyer away? The work of a bricklayer goes to the blue. The knack of a mason outlasts a moon. The hands of a plasterer hold a room together. The land of a farmer wishes him back again. Singers of songs and dreamers of plays Build a house no wind blows over. The lawyers--tell me why a hearse horse snickers hauling a lawyer's bones. -- Carl Sandburg

[Comments]

After reading the last submission to Minstrels about lawyers, I could not
resist making a case in defence ;)

I'm always wary of the reaction I will get from people when I tell them that
I am a lawyer. I've gotten used to the contempt and the look of disdain that
come my way. I think I've also heard almost every lawyer joke that's out
there (and there's far too many) [I'm reminded of the lawyer who said "well,
then, the next time you're arrested, go hire a comedian!" - martin].  I've
browsed through many sites looking for poetry that (even if it does not glorify

lawyers) is (at least) not condescending towards them. I haven't had much
success.

This poem, much like a lawyer joke, highlights some of the stereotypes which
give lawyers the reputation they have. The use of archaic legalese jargon,
for instance. Attributes that lawyers are Insensitive, Cold, Callous and
Unfeeling. Perhaps, that's often the only way we can maintain objectivity
and be competent? Lawyers do know how to show compassion and love.  We also
know how to laugh and feel.  And shocking as it might sound, lawyers also
appreciate poetry. But, that is when they're not being lawyers.  However, a
competent lawyer is one that can put aside personal prejudices and feelings
(even when they are in conflict with the client)and maintain objectivity.

No one explains this dichotomy to lawyer's personality better than Mulan
Ashwin, a fellow lawyer and lover of poetry (I found this poem by him on the
web):

I am not a poet.
I am a lawyer.
Subtlety and sensitivity
are prerequisites for poets,
not so for lawyers.

I would be too scared to be
a poet; they feel too much.
Lawyers should not feel too much;
they are trained not to.

Can one train to be a poet?
To feel too much?

- Mulan Ashwin

[BIO]

Not much needs to be said about Carl Sandburg.  The EB biography of Sandburg
can be had at Poem #163

Cheers,

Salima

The Law the Lawyers Know About -- H D C Pepler

Guest poem sent in by Mike Lynd

(Poem #1392) The Law the Lawyers Know About The law the lawyers know about Is property and land; But why the leaves are on the trees, And why the wind disturbs the seas, Why honey is the food of bees, Why horses have such tender knees, Why winters come and rivers freeze, Why Faith is more than what one sees, And Hope survives the worst disease, And Charity is more than these, They do not understand. -- H D C Pepler

To pick up on the 'hope' theme of the Emily Dickinson poem [Poem #1382],
here is a little poem that I have always liked. Not only does it bash
lawyers in a most satisfying way, but it also delineates faith, hope and
charity both elegantly and succinctly. I am not sure about the "tender
knees" line but the rest of the poem neatly contrasts the prosaic doings of
lawyers with the mysteries of life and nature.

HDC Pepler, the author, seems to have been a printer in Ditchling, Sussex
during the 1930s, and a Google search reveals about 25 references to him,
mainly as a printer of "private press" works but also with a few references
to this poem.

best wishes,

Mike Lynd

The Grain of Sound -- Robert Morgan

(Poem #1391) The Grain of Sound A banjo maker in the mountains, when looking out for wood to carve an instrument, will walk among the trees and knock on trunks. He'll hit the bark and listen for a note. A hickory makes the brightest sound; the poplar has a mellow ease. But only straightest grain will keep the purity of tone, the sought -- for depth that makes the licks sparkle. A banjo has a shining shiver. Its twangs will glitter like the light on splashing water. But the face of banjo is a drum of hide of cow, or cat, or even skunk. The hide will magnify the note, the sad of honest pain, the chill blood song, lament, confession, haunt, as tree will sing again from root and vein and sap and twig in wind and cat will moan as hand plucks nerve, picks bone and cell and gut and pricks the heart as blood will answer blood and love begins to knock along the grain. -- Robert Morgan

I'm an admirer of craftsmanship in all its forms. The combination of
patience, skill and beauty implied by the word always inspires me, and
it's something I look for in everything I see. And poetry (good poetry,
that is) is the perfect vehicle for it: the poet has to carve and fit
words together like a carpenter or mason, he has to create images like a
painter, he has to evoke feelings like a composer, and he has to do all
this with the elegance of a mathematician. It sounds like a tough ask;
fortunately for us, there are poets who can do and have done just that
:)

thomas.

[Minstrels links]

Poems that are sort of about craftsmanship, music, or both:
Poem #60, Byzantium  -- William Butler Yeats
Poem #205, Crucible  -- Carl Sandburg
Poem #476, In My Craft or Sullen Art  -- Dylan Thomas
Poem #892, Stupid Pencil Maker -- Shel Silverstein
Poem #963, Concerto for Double Bass -- John Fuller

The Salutation -- Thomas Traherne

Guest poem sent in by K J Lee

(Poem #1390) The Salutation These little Limbs, These Eys and Hands which here I find, This panting Heart wherwith my Life begins; Where have ye been? Behind What Curtain were ye from me hid so long! Where was, in what Abyss, my new-made Tongue? When silent I So many thousand thousand Years Beneath the Dust did in a Chaos ly, How could I Smiles, or Tears, Or Lips, or Hands, or Eys, or Ears perceiv? Welcom ye Treasures which I now receiv. I that so long Was Nothing from Eternity, Did little think such Joys as Ear and Tongue To celebrat or see: Such Sounds to hear, such Hands to feel, such Feet, Beneath the Skies, on such a Ground to meet. New burnisht Joys! Which finest Gold and Pearl excell! Such sacred Treasures are the Limbs of Boys In which a Soul doth dwell: Their organized Joints and azure Veins More Wealth include than all the World contains. From Dust I rise And out of Nothing now awake; These brighter Regions which salute mine Eys A Gift from God I take: The Earth, the Seas, the Light, the lofty Skies, The Sun and Stars are mine; if these I prize. A Stranger here, Strange things doth meet, strange Glory see, Strange Treasures lodg'd in this fair World appear, Strange all and New to me: But that they mine should be who Nothing was, That Strangest is of all; yet brought to pass. -- Thomas Traherne

Nobody does the joy of being more than Traherne. Almost all his poems are
to do with the miracle of existence, the wonder of our universe, and the
sheer extraordinariness of ordinary things. This particular poem never
fails to make me grateful to be alive, not just for all the things
Traherne mentions, but also the near perfection of this poem, with its
changing rhythms which delay then resolve the rhymes.

At the risk of being over-analytical with such a passionate piece of
verse, I particularly like the second stanza: ears alliterates with eyes
and rhymes with tears, and many a lesser poet would have left it there to
end the line, but Traherne makes the 4th line a pentameter - perceive!
which then chimes nicely with the last line, also a pentameter with the
same rhyme. This is wisdom and flawless poetry - Traherne is saying that
the world we live in is not a trifle, but a subject for solemn
amazement, and deserves nothing less.

With regard to Traherne's poetry, we are doubly-blessed, because this and
other beautiful poems by him have been set to music in another great work,
the "Dies Natalis" by Gerald Finzi (1901-1956). Finzi is little-known
outside the United Kingdom, but his settings of English verse,
particularly Shakespeare and Hardy, are glorious and well-loved.

Regards
Kuan

[Biography]

Thomas Traherne, was born in Hereford, near the Welsh border, in 1637, and
died in 1674. A biography can be found at
  http://www.bartleby.com/65/tr/Traherne.html

The Amores: Book 1, Poem #3 -- Ovid

Guest poem sent in by Kerri

(Poem #1389) The Amores: Book 1, Poem #3 Fair's fair now, Venus. This girl's got me hooked. All I'm asking from her Is love - or at least some future hope for my own Eternal devotion. No, even that's too much--hell, just let me love her! (Listen, Venus: I've asked you so often now.) Say yes, pet. I'd be your slave for years, for a lifetime. Say yes--unswerving fidelity's my strong suit. I may not have top-drawer connections, I can't produce blue-blooded Ancestors to impress you, my father's plain middle-class, And there aren't any squads of ploughmen to deal with my broad acres - My parents are both pretty thrifty, and need to be. What have I got on my side, then? Poetic genius, sweetheart, Divine inspiration. And love. I'm yours to command - Unswerving faithfulness, morals above suspicion Naked simplicity, a born-to-the-purple blush. I don't chase thousands of girls, I'm no sexual circus-rider; Honestly, all I want is to look after you Till death do us part, have the two of us living together All my time, and know you'll cry for me when I'm gone. Besides, when you give me yourself, what you'll be providing Is creative material. My art will rise to the theme And immortalise you. Look, why do you think we remember The swan-upping of Leda, or Io's life as a cow, Or poor virgin Europa whisked off overseas, clutching That so-called bull by the - horn? Through poems, of course. So you and I, love, will enjoy that same world-wide publicity, And our names will be linked, forever, with the gods. -- Ovid

        (trans. from the Latin by Peter Green)

Hard to believe he was born in 43 BC, huh?  Such a wonderful,
irreverent, naughty, brilliant poet, bursting with passion and
self-confidence. For me, this poem has an exuberance which is
unstifled by the intervening years. So many great writers over the
centuries have been influenced by Ovid's works, and upon reading this,
it's apparent why. I just love this poem - it always makes me laugh
with sheer delight.

Kerri

[Latin original]

Iusta precor: quae me nuper praedata puella est,
    aut amet aut faciat, cur ego semper amem!
a, nimium volui—tantum patiatur amari;
    audierit nostras tot Cytherea preces!
Accipe, per longos tibi qui deserviat annos;
    accipe, qui pura norit amare fide!
si me non veterum commendant magna parentum
    nomina, si nostri sanguinis auctor eques,
nec meus innumeris renovatur campus aratris,
    temperat et sumptus parcus uterque parens—
at Phoebus comitesque novem vitisque repertor
    hac faciunt, et me qui tibi donat, Amor,
et nulli cessura fides, sine crimine mores
    nudaque simplicitas purpureusque pudor.
non mihi mille placent, non sum desultor amoris:
    tu mihi, siqua fides, cura perennis eris.
tecum, quos dederint annos mihi fila sororum,
    vivere contingat teque dolente mori!
te mihi materiem felicem in carmina praebe—
    provenient causa carmina digna sua.
carmine nomen habent exterrita cornibus Io
    et quam fluminea lusit adulter ave,
quaeque super pontum simulato vecta iuvenco
    virginea tenuit cornua vara manu.
nos quoque per totum pariter cantabimur orbem,
    iunctaque semper erunt nomina nostra tuis.

        -- [broken link] http://www.gmu.edu/departments/fld/CLASSICS/ovid.amor1.html

[Links]

A more literal translation:
http://www.tkline.freeserve.co.uk/Webworks/Website/AmoresBkI.htm#_TocPeter Green deserves at least some of the credit for the delightful irreverence
of the first translation.

A biography of Ovid:
 http://en2.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ovid

And of Peter Green (scroll to the bottom)
  [broken link] http://www.biserbalkanski.com/book_details.asp?book_id=15

Ovid FAQ:
  http://www.jiffycomp.com/smr/rob/faq/ovid_faq.php3