The Queerness of it All -- bpNichol

Guest poem sent in by Ajit Narayanan

(Poem #1455) The Queerness of it All frQg pQnd plQp -- bpNichol

There was a reference to bpNichol's interpretations of Basho's haiku
(Poem #23) in a Karl Young commentary that Thomas quoted when he ran
"Landscape I" (Poem #497) ages and ages ago, and that is why, when I came
upon this quirky little poem a few days back without an author name under
it, I guessed that it was possibly by bpNichol. Some fairly strenuous
googling later, I found that this was indeed the case. (Thanks to Minstrels,
I can now identify poets automagically!  Whoo!)

On a more serious note, I think this is one of the best examples of visual
poetry that I have seen. The first thing it reminded me of was an I-Ching
hexagram, an association that is somehow appropriate but not obvious outside
the context of this poem. It is a fine tribute to Nichol's skill that he
makes this association possible -- any improvisation that triggers a new
association is really a work of literature in itself, and bpNichol adds
substantially to Basho's original haiku when he arranges it this way
visually. I think.

As an aside, it is my opinion that when a poet tries to experiment
dramatically with form (like bpNichol or E. E. Cummings often do), an
additionally radical choice of _content_ as well can often confuse the
reader and rend an otherwise brilliant poem somewhat incomprehensible.
Others may disagree, but my own humble opinion is that I probably wouldn't
have been as impressed with this poem if it hadn't been a variant on that
most famous haiku of all time, Basho's 'Old Pond...'. With the possible
exception of Lewis Carroll's masterworks, parodies are nicer when they're
parodies of well-known themes.

This poem also holds a certain amount of personal significance for me,
having gone through five years of college at IIT Madras with the nickname
'Q', as a result of which it is now a name that more people know me by now
than my real one. Hmmm... maybe I'll make this poem the theme song of my
life :).

- AjitQ

Winter Reigns -- Mary Youngquist

Guest poem sent in by Ajit Narayanan

(Poem #1429) Winter Reigns Shimmering, gleaming, glistening glow-- Winter reigns, splendiferous snow! Won't this sight, this stainless scene, Endlessly yield days supreme? Eying ground, deep piled, delights Skiers scaling garish heights. Still like eagles soaring, glide Eager racers; show-offs slide. Ecstatic children, noses scarved-- Dancing gnomes, seem magic carved-- Doing graceful leaps. Snowballs, Swishing globules, sail low walls. Surely year-end's special lure Eases sorrow we endure, Every year renews shared dream, Memories sweet, that timeless stream. -- Mary Youngquist

The most important criterion for good wordplay has always been 'transparency'
-- how good the content is when it's viewed independent of the structure. I'm
told that Georges Perec's book 'La Disparition', for example, garnered rave
reviews from Parisian critics[1], who praised it as a modern masterpiece, many
of them not realizing that Perec had composed the entire book without a single
'e'. I don't read French, however, and consequently, _my_ standard for
transparency in wordplay is set by this poem by Mary Youngquist. An elegant,
very readable and very naturally constructed poem which masks a surprisingly
difficult structure that the poet has most skillfully imposed on it. Can you
guess what it is?

I wish I could find out more about Mary Youngquist. I've read only two of
her works, one of them being this one, and have been very, very impressed.
The other is a poem about California (sort of), which is part of this
article (another ingenious exercise in wordplay, by the way; read it)
[broken link] http://wordways.com/crazy.htm
Any further information, or links to other works of hers, would be most
appreciated.

:ajitQ

[1] [broken link] http://www.amazon.fr/exec/obidos/ASIN/X/ contains some, but you
have to know French, of course.

The answer: Each word -- including the title and the author's name --
begins with the last letter of the preceding word. Sounds like an easy
constraint? -- try writing even one complete sentence that way and you'll
realize the amount of skill it took to make this poem as coherent as it
is.

[Martin adds]

Not the easiest typographic constraint to observe, even neglecting grammar,
rhyme, equal line extents, scansion, name[1] etc. Craftsmanship,
poetry - Youngquist's stanzas - sonorous, smooth - highlight them
marvellously.

[1] Nice extra.

Cinderella -- Roald Dahl

Guest poem sent in by Ajit Narayanan

(Poem #1416) Cinderella I guess you think you know this story. You don't. The real one's much more gory. The phoney one, the one you know, Was cooked up years and years ago, And made to sound all soft and sappy just to keep the children happy. Mind you, they got the first bit right, The bit where, in the dead of night, The Ugly Sisters, jewels and all, Departed for the Palace Ball, While darling little Cinderella Was locked up in a slimy cellar, Where rats who wanted things to eat, Began to nibble at her feet. She bellowed 'Help!' and 'Let me out! The Magic Fairy heard her shout. Appearing in a blaze of light, She said: 'My dear, are you all right?' 'All right?' cried Cindy .'Can't you see 'I feel as rotten as can be!' She beat her fist against the wall, And shouted, 'Get me to the Ball! 'There is a Disco at the Palace! 'The rest have gone and 1 am jalous! 'I want a dress! I want a coach! 'And earrings and a diamond brooch! 'And silver slippers, two of those! 'And lovely nylon panty hose! 'Done up like that I'll guarantee 'The handsome Prince will fall for me!' The Fairy said, 'Hang on a tick.' She gave her wand a mighty flick And quickly, in no time at all, Cindy was at the Palace Ball! It made the Ugly Sisters wince To see her dancing with the Prince. She held him very tight and pressed herself against his manly chest. The Prince himself was turned to pulp, All he could do was gasp and gulp. Then midnight struck. She shouted,'Heck! Ive got to run to save my neck!' The Prince cried, 'No! Alas! Alack!' He grabbed her dress to hold her back. As Cindy shouted, 'Let me go!' The dress was ripped from head to toe. She ran out in her underwear, And lost one slipper on the stair. The Prince was on it like a dart, He pressed it to his pounding heart, 'The girl this slipper fits,' he cried, 'Tomorrow morn shall be my bride! I'll visit every house in town 'Until I've tracked the maiden down!' Then rather carelessly, I fear, He placed it on a crate of beer. At once, one of the Ugly Sisters, (The one whose face was blotched with blisters) Sneaked up and grabbed the dainty shoe, And quickly flushed it down the loo. Then in its place she calmly put The slipper from her own left foot. Ah ha, you see, the plot grows thicker, And Cindy's luck starts looking sicker. Next day, the Prince went charging down To knock on all the doors in town. In every house, the tension grew. Who was the owner of the shoe? The shoe was long and very wide. (A normal foot got lost inside.) Also it smelled a wee bit icky. (The owner's feet were hot and sticky.) Thousands of eager people came To try it on, but all in vain. Now came the Ugly Sisters' go. One tried it on. The Prince screamed, 'No!' But she screamed, 'Yes! It fits! Whoopee! 'So now you've got to marry me!' The Prince went white from ear to ear. He muttered, 'Let me out of here.' 'Oh no you don't! You made a vow! 'There's no way you can back out now!' 'Off with her head!'The Prince roared back. They chopped it off with one big whack. This pleased the Prince. He smiled and said, 'She's prettier without her head.' Then up came Sister Number Two, Who yelled, 'Now I will try the shoe!' 'Try this instead!' the Prince yelled back. He swung his trusty sword and smack Her head went crashing to the ground. It bounced a bit and rolled around. In the kitchen, peeling spuds, Cinderella heard the thuds Of bouncing heads upon the floor, And poked her own head round the door. 'What's all the racket? 'Cindy cried. 'Mind your own bizz,' the Prince replied. Poor Cindy's heart was torn to shreds. My Prince! she thought. He chops off heads! How could I marry anyone Who does that sort of thing for fun? The Prince cried, 'Who's this dirty slut? 'Off with her nut! Off with her nut!' Just then, all in a blaze of light, The Magic Fairy hove in sight, Her Magic Wand went swoosh and swish! 'Cindy! 'she cried, 'come make a wish! 'Wish anything and have no doubt 'That I will make it come about!' Cindy answered, 'Oh kind Fairy, 'This time I shall be more wary. 'No more Princes, no more money. 'I have had my taste of honey. I'm wishing for a decent man. 'They're hard to find. D'you think you can?' Within a minute, Cinderella Was married to a lovely feller, A simple jam maker by trade, Who sold good home-made marmalade. Their house was filled with smiles and laughter And they were happy ever after. -- Roald Dahl

There is a certain charm to retellings of old stories that defies analysis.
One gets a certain naughty thrill from reading the works of Guy Carryl, say,
or Roald Dahl's 'Revolting Rhymes' from which the above gem is taken. I
suppose these poems are all the more funny because they're stories which are
familiar, _sacred_ even, and a sudden change in tenor takes one's breath
away!

Roald Dahl is, of course, a master at doing this. Many of his stories for
adults have that sudden and almost sacreligious twist, and his stories for
children (which I will always rate as the better of his works) tick because
of the clever turns that he gives to those old platitudes, those old
fairytales and those nursery rhymes, which children of a certain age grow to
despise with the contempt that comes with familiarity, and which he sends up
with unfailing precision and skill.

More of Dahl's 'Revolting Rhymes' at:
[broken link] http://www.the-artery.co.uk/words/0024.php

More of Dahl at:
http://oldpoetry.com/authors/Roald%20Dahl

Guy Carryl at:
Poem #273 - How a Cat Was Annoyed and a Poet Was Booted
Poem #94 -  The Embarrassing Episode of Little Miss Muffet
Poem #137 - The Sycophantic Fox and the Gullible Raven
and Gutenburg ('Fables for the Frivolous',
http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/cgi-bin/sdb/t9.cgi?
entry=6438&full=yes&ftpsite=http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/ ).

- Ajit Q.

Some other fairy-tale retellings on Minstrels:

Poem #242: The Pied Piper of Hamelin
Poem #961: The Wolf's Postcript to 'Little Red Riding Hood'
Poem #978: Cinderella

Christmas Eve -- Bill Watterson

Guest poem sent in by Ajit Narayanan as part of the
'Authors as Poets' theme

(Poem #1369) Christmas Eve On the window panes the icy frost Leaves feathered patterns, crissed and crossed But in our house the Christmas tree Is decorated festively With tiny dots of colored light That cozy up this winter night. Christmas songs familiar, slow Play softly on the radio. Pops and hisses from the fire Whistle with the bells and choir. Trying now to fall asleep On my back and dreaming deep Tomorrow's what I'm waiting for, But I can wait a little more. -- Bill Watterson

I wish I could scan the full-page comic from which I lifted this poem, and
put it up somewhere for all Minstrels people to admire -- it is truly a work
of art, with the one big picture of Calvin cuddled up with Hobbes vibing
perfectly with this poem, printed in Ye Olde Christmas font. The whole page
is a work of inspiration. It is in his book 'Scientific Progress goes
Boink', and if you have this book, or can get hold of it, do look up this
poem.

Bill Watterson's comic accomplishments with Calvin and Hobbes rather
overshadow some of the fine writing that goes with the strip. His many poems
include the oh-so-classic verses that Hobbes makes Calvin say when he's
trying to clamber up to the tree-house; that gem of a poem 'Yukon Ho!' which
appears on the frontspiece of the book with the same name; and the poems
that Calvin often recites about Hobbes while he's taking a nap (including --
ye Gads -- an alliterative haiku! :) ). [and who can forget that all-time
classic, the "very sorry song"? - martin]

Information about Watterson's poems can be found here
http://home.pacbell.net/bbavetta/watterson.html
  (some poems, with some background)
[broken link] http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/7879/poem.htm
  (two of the longer poems)
http://www.alloftheabove.net/cahr/poems.htm
  (a much more comprehensive collection)

The last site is also a great source of C&H trivia, and has a biography of
Watterson as well

Ajit

Carpe Diem Baby -- James Hetfield

Guest poem sent in by Ajit Narayanan

(Poem #1341) Carpe Diem Baby Hit dirt Shake tree Split sky Part sea Strip smile Lose cool Bleed the day And break the rule Live win Dare fail Eat the dirt And bite the nail Then make me miss you… Then make me miss you… So wash your face away with dirt It don't feel good until it hurts So take this world and shake it Come squeeze and suck the day Come carpe diem, baby Draw Lead Piss wine Sink teeth All mine Stoke fire Break neck Suffer through this Cheat on death Hug the curve Lose the time Tear the map And shoot the sign Then make me miss you… Then make me miss you… So wash your face away with dirt It don't feel good until it hurts So take this world and shake it Come squeeze and suck the day Come carpe diem, baby Live win Dare fail Eat dirt Bite the nail Strip smile Lose cool Bleed the day And break the rule Hug the curve Lose the time Tear the map And shoot the sign Then make me miss you… Then make me miss you… So wash your face away with dirt It don't feel good until it hurts So take this world and shake it Come squeeze and suck the day Come make me miss you… Come carpe diem baby Come carpe diem baby -- James Hetfield

           (Metallica)

It has become unfashionable to like Metallica these days, but nonetheless,
of all the hard-rock and heavy-metal groups that I have heard, I think
Metallica would rank very high indeed for the power and beauty of their
lyrics. Indeed, they are one of the few bands that I started listening to
because I was very powerfully moved by the _poetry_ of songs like 'Sad But
True', 'Holier Than Thou', 'Fade To Black', 'Sanatarium' etc. 'Carpe Diem
Baby' is one of my favourites -- short lines, chosen and brought together
with a mastery that gives the whole song tremendous coherence and meaning.

In suggesting that you run this song on Minstrels, my judgment is clouded by
the fact that, having listened to the song before having read the lyrics, I
cannot imagine what the words sound like when read as poetry -- despite my
best attempts at self-control, whenever I read it out loud, I lapse into the
languid drawled-out melody of the song. However, reading it, one cannot
under any circumstances mistake it for the scribblings of an illiterate or
unskilled man. Metallica, for all the trappings of the genre that they
chose, still project an image of _culture_, and for that reason, I do think
their work deserves a place among the greats.

- Ajitq

[Martin adds]

Interestingly, until I got to the "then make me miss you..." bit, I didn't
realise it was a song at all. I was even more surprised to hear that the
music was languid and drawled-out; read in isolation the lyrics project a
sort of intense, driven energy, and a rhythm reminiscent of Hood's "No!"
[Poem #251] with its short, choppy and tightly rhymed lines. I ought to hunt
up the song sometime.

martin

The Auk and the Orchid -- Robert Williams Wood

Guest poem submitted by Ajit Narayanan :

(Poem #1292) The Auk and the Orchid We seldom meet, when out to walk, Either the orchid or the auk; The auk indeed is only known To dwellers in the Auktic zone, While orchids can be found in legions, Within the equatorial regions. The graceful orchid on its stalk, Resembles so the awkward auk; 'Tis plain we must some means discover, To tell the two from one another: The obvious difference, to be sure, Is merely one of temperature. For eskimos, perhaps the Auk Performs the duties of the stork. -- Robert Williams Wood

There are very few poets whose genius is apparent as soon as one reads
their work. For me, Lewis Carroll is one of them; Wood is another. This
poem is from the book 'How to Tell the Birds from the Flowers'. When it
was published (in 1907, I think), it was primarily a children's book,
but has been described as a book of comic verse pretending to be a
nature book. Wood was a fine illustrator as well as a writer; with each
poem in the book he also drew two pictures, one of the bird and another
of the flower, with such skill that they actually _do_ look almost
indistinguishable! In truth, his poems (this one included) lose much of
their comic appeal without the pictures that go with them, and the whole
book, with the pictures and the verse, can be viewed on several sites on
the net, such as
        [broken link] http://www.geocities.com/Vienna/2406/cov.html
Wood himself was not a full-time writer. He was primarily a scientist, a
brilliant physicist who contributed a great deal especially to Optics.
(This is another striking similarity between Wood and Carroll, who was a
mathematician.)

"Wood was internationally known for his work in optics and spectroscopy,
in which fields he undertook fundamental research in resonance radiation
and in the use of absorption screens in astronomical photography. He
also devised a vastly improved diffraction grating.  In 1897, Wood
became the first to observe field emission,  i.e., charged particles
emitted from a conductor  in an electric field.  This phenomenon is now
used in the field emission microscope  for studying atomic structure.
Wood's work on sodium vapor was especially noteworthy (Dunoyer). Wood
also developed a color-photography process, as well as both infrared and
ultraviolet photography."
        -- http://scienceworld.wolfram.com/biography/Wood.html

Ajit.

The List of Most Difficult Words -- Len Roberts

Guest poem submitted by Ajit Narayanan:

Monday's poem ('My Father's Love Letters') reminded me, in spirit and
in content, of this one:

(Poem #1291) The List of Most Difficult Words I was still standing although Gabriella Wells and Barbara Ryan were too, their bodies dark against the wall of light that dull-pewter December afternoon, shadows with words that flowed so easily from their mouths, fluorescent and grievous, pied and effervescent, words I'd spelled out to the rhythm of my father's hoarse whispers during our nightly practice sessions beneath the dim bulb, superfluous, excelsior, desultory and exaggeration mixed with his Schaefer breath and Lucky Strike smoke as I went down The List of Most Difficult Words with a man whose wife had left, one son grown into madness, the other into death, my father's hundred and five-pound skeleton of skin glowing in that beer-flooded kitchen when he'd lift the harmonica to blow a few long, sad riffs of country into a song while he waited for me to hit the single l of spiraling, the silent i of receipt, the two of us working words hard those nights on Olmstead Street, sure they would someday save me. -- Len Roberts

Like a lot of beautiful poems, it's difficult to pinpoint _where_
exactly the beauty of Roberts' poem lies. Perhaps it's the sudden shift
from one image to another, but nonetheless conveying, with great
expressiveness, the relationship between a father and his son. His
choice of difficult words isn't too bad either!

Roberts is a fairly established poet, having published seven books of
poetry and having won several awards. Several of his poems can be found
here:
        http://www.worldpoetry.com/poets/roberts.len.html

LEN ROBERTS, a professor of English at Northampton Community College,
Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, has published seven collections of poetry. One
of them, Black Wings, was selected for the National Poetry Series in
1989. His work has appeared in many journals, including The American
Poetry Review, The Hudson Review, and Poetry.
        -- [broken link] http://www.press.uillinois.edu/s98/roberts.html