Both Sides Now -- Joni Mitchell

Guest poem submitted by Aseem Kaul:

(Poem #1556) Both Sides Now Rows and flows of angel's hair And icecream castles in the air And feathered canyons everywhere I've looked at clouds that way But now they only block the sun They rain and they snow on everyone So many things I would have done But clouds got in my way. I've looked at clouds from both sides now From up and down, but still somehow It's cloud illusions I recall I really don't know clouds at all. Moon and Junes and Ferris wheels That dizzy dancing way you feel As every fairy tale comes real I've looked at love that way. But now it's just another show You leave them laughing when you go And if you care, don't let them know Don't give yourself away. I've looked at love from both sides now From give and take, but still somehow It's love's illusions I recall I really don't know love at all. Tears and fears and feeling proud To say "I love you" right out loud Dreams and schemes and circus crowds I've looked at life that way But now old friends are acting strange They shake their heads, they say I've changed Well something's lost, but something's gained In living every day. I've looked at life from both sides now From win and lose, but still somehow It's life's illusions I recall I really don't know life at all. -- Joni Mitchell

Every time someone I know claims that song lyrics aren't really poetry, I
have the urge to sit them down and make them listen to a Joni Mitchell album
to prove to them how wrong they are. Any Joni Mitchell album.

But of all the songs in all her albums this is the one I would pick if I
really had to make a case for it. 'Both sides, now' has everything -- a
superbly executed rhyme pattern (don't miss the internal rhymes in the
first, fourth and seventh stanzas that pick up the tempo of the song so
effectively), a repeating structure that brings out the deeper allegories,
some incredibly vivid phrases (what better description of a cloud bank than
"feathered canyons everywhere"),  a gorgeous refrain (to really know how
gorgeous, listen to the song and feel the breath catch in your throat as the
pause before "at all" stretches forever and ever) and an emotional range
that goes from the almost joking (Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels) to the
achingly lonesome ("if you care, don't let them know").

But most of all, this is a song that even read aloud has a voice all its
own. It's the voice of a generation that grew up too quickly, the voice of
cynicism, the voice of tiredness. But it is also the voice of hope - of the
spirit's struggle to reclaim lost wonder, of an acceptance of one's own
limitations that is both humility and joy. It is at once the voice of our
defeat and the voice of our renewal.

So if you really don't know Joni Mitchell's music at all (except for a few
allusions on Minstrels you might recall) - do yourself a favour and go out
and buy this album* and listen to Both Sides. Now.

Aseem.

*There are actually two albums - there's Clouds (1970) and Both Sides, Now
(2000) - the versions of the song on both are pretty different and make for
an interesting contrast. (and no, the guys at Reprise Records are not paying
me for these blatant plugs!)

On a Favourite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes -- Thomas Gray

Guest poem submitted by William Grey:

(Poem #1555) On a Favourite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes 'Twas on a lofty vase's side, Where China's gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow; Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima reclined, Gazed on the lake below. Her conscious tail her joy declared; The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, She saw; and purr'd applause. Still had she gazed; but 'midst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide, The Genii of the stream: Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue Thro' richest purple to the view Betray'd a golden gleam. The hapless Nymph with wonder saw: A whisker first and then a claw, With many an ardent wish, She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize. What female heart can gold despise? What Cat's averse to fish? Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent Again she stretch'd, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between. (Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled.) The slipp'ry verge her feet beguiled, She tumbled headlong in. Eight times emerging from the flood She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god, Some speedy aid to send. No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd: Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard. A Fav'rite has no friend! From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived, Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold. Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize; Nor all that glisters, gold. -- Thomas Gray

        (1716-1771)

As a recent subscriber to Wondering Minstrels I ask indulgence for
nominating a poem which is justly famous. This poem is a personal favourite
of mine. I marvel at Gray's poetic genius transforming a sad domestic
misadventure into an immortal moral tale. The mock heroic form is pure
delight. The poem is richly steeped in literary allusion, and much detail
can be found at:
        http://www.thomasgray.org/index.shtml

A couple of notes: "Genii" are guardian spirits. Cats have nine lives; hence
Selima emerged eight times before succumbing to her wat'ry fate. The dolphin
alludes to the story of the dolphin which saved Arion from drowning. The
allusion in Nereid is possibly to the story of Sabrina in Comus. "Tom" and
"Susan" are generic names of domestic servants.

Look at all those monkeys -- Spike Milligan

(Poem #1554) Look at all those monkeys Look at all those monkeys Jumping in their cage. Why don't they all go out to work And earn a decent wage? How can you say such silly things, And you a son of mine? Imagine monkeys travelling on The Morden-Edgware line! But what about the Pekinese! They have an allocation. 'Don't travel during Peke hour', It says on every station. My Gosh, you're right, my clever boy, I never thought of that! And so they left the monkey house, While an elephant raised his hat. -- Spike Milligan

Anyone can produce doggerel, but it's incredibly difficult to write _good_
meaningless verse, the kind that stays in your mind for more than an instant
after your first reading. Spike Milligan manages to do so all the time. His
poems are, if anything, even more whimsical and surreal than those by (say)
Nash or Belloc [1], but there's a bizarre internal logic, a lunatic
consistency, that elevates them to another level entirely.

thomas.

[1] Though I'll admit they fall well short of anything by Lewis Carroll;
there's just no trumping the Master.

[Minstrels Links]

Monkeys:
Poem #1319, Goats and Monkeys -- Derek Walcott
Poem #1483, An Infinite Number of Monkeys -- Ronald Koertge

Elephants:
Poem #1178, Mmenson -- Edward Kamau Braithwaite
Poem #1179, The Blind Men and the Elephant -- John Godfrey Saxe

Hippopopopopotami:
Poem #124, The Hippopotamus  -- Hilaire Belloc
Poem #844, The Hippopotamus -- Oliver Herford
Poem #845, Recipe for a Hippopotamus Sandwich -- Shel Silverstein
Poem #846, The Hippopotamus -- T. S. Eliot
Poem #847, On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess -- Rupert
Brooke
Poem #848, The Hippopotamus -- Ogden Nash

Other Large Animals:
Poem #120, The Purple Cow  -- Gelett Burgess
Poem #215, The Loch Ness Monster's Song  -- Edwin Morgan
Poem #775, The Maldive Shark -- Herman Melville
Poem #896, The Kraken -- Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Poem #854, Very Like a Whale -- Ogden Nash
Poem #903, Leviathan -- Anon.

More Spike Milligan:
Poem #701, Teeth
Poem #831, The Soldiers at Lauro
Poem #1044, Contagion
Poem #1196, The ABC
Poem #1207, Hamlet

The Puppet -- Charles de Lint

Guest poem submitted by Sarah Rubin :

(Poem #1553) The Puppet The puppet thinks: It's not so much what they make me do as their hands inside me. -- Charles de Lint

This is a beautiful little piece from a Charles De Lint story. I don't have
much to offer in the way of analysis or commentary, as the poem is almost
like a haiku in its clarity. The author provides a beautiful metaphor in the
puppet. Normally a toy, it takes on a sinister undertone here that seems
tied to a vision of humanity. This poem also reminded me greatly of the film
"Being John Malkovich." Basically, I submit it because it sends shivers up
my spine.

--Sarah

My November Guest -- Robert Frost

Guest poem submitted by Deepak Srinivasan :

(Poem #1552) My November Guest My Sorrow, when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: She's glad the birds are gone away, She's glad her simple worsted gray Is silver now with clinging mist. The desolate, deserted trees, The faded earth, the heavy sky, The beauties she so wryly sees, She thinks I have no eye for these, And vexes me for reason why. Not yesterday I learned to know The love of bare November days Before the coming of the snow, But it were vain to tell he so, And they are better for her praise. -- Robert Frost

I chanced to see this poem written on the whiteboard in front of our public
library. It appeals to me for multiple reasons. I think it is possible for
one to slowly or reflectively appreciate certain things through the eyes of
someone else. I guess the very same piece of information can be viewed
differently when expressed in different ways. And the other reason is that
after having lived here in the East for close to 15 years, I have come to
appreciate November in much the same way as the poet does. The starkness and
grey of the evening calm the mind. One is not assaulted with bright summer
heat, or vivid fall colors and forced to drink in the beauty of nature in
huge breathless gulps. And so I guess I also now see the beauty of November,
a month that I used to dread not so long ago. This now adds to the
considerable list of Frost poems already on Minstrels where his body of work
on nature and the seasons is quite extensive.

Deepak.

[Minstrels Links]

Seasons and Weather:
Poem #251, No!  -- Thomas Hood
Poem #648, The January Man -- Dave Goulder
Poem #693, Strugnell's Haiku -- Wendy Cope
Poem #649, A Song of the Weather -- Michael Flanders

Robert Frost:
Poem #51, The Road Not Taken
Poem #155, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Poem #170, The Need of Being Versed in Country Things
Poem #336, A Patch of Old Snow
Poem #681, The Secret Sits
Poem #730, Mending Wall
Poem #779, Fire and Ice
Poem #917, A Considerable Speck
Poem #985, Once by the Pacific
Poem #994, The Gift Outright
Poem #1012, Nothing Gold can Stay
Poem #1036, Range Finding
Poem #1272, Birches
Poem #1276, A Dream Pang
Poem #1284, A Hillside Thaw
Poem #1324, The Telephone
Poem #1373, Acceptance
Poem #1472, In a Disused Graveyard
Poem #1535, The Line-Gang