The Cold Within -- James Patrick Kinney

Guest poem sent in by Sidharth Jaggi

(Poem #1248) The Cold Within Six humans trapped by happenstance In dark and bitter cold Each possessed a stick of wood-- Or so the story's told. Their dying fire in need of logs, But the first one held hers back, For, of the faces around the fire, She noticed one was black. The next one looked cross the way Saw one not of his church, And could not bring himself to give The fire his stick of birch. The third one sat in tattered clothes He gave his coat a hitch, Why should his log be put to use To warm the idle rich? The rich man just sat back and thought Of wealth he had in store, And keeping all that he had earned From the lazy, shiftless poor. The black man's face bespoke revenge As the fire passed from his sight, For he saw in his stick of wood A chance to spite the white. And the last man of this forlorn group Did nought except for gain, Giving just to those who gave Was how he played the game, Their sticks held tight in death's stilled hands Was proof enough of sin; They did not die from cold without-- They died from cold within. -- James Patrick Kinney

Poetry of the distant past used often to be a medium to
convey high-minded morals in a trite, sugar-coated package
form. The form still survives, but is now usually thought of
disparagingly (with good reason - consider those avoidable
cloyingly sweet Hallmark cards, where one tends to gloss
over the words as easily as water does off the cards) if at
all. But every once in a while one comes across pieces like
the one above where the words fit as neatly as if (dare I
say it? :) God meant them to, and the thinly veiled message
can be swallowed without too much effort.

This above piece is, iMho, a gem. I think it deserves a
place in this forum, especially since minstrels is fast
becoming a premier poetry archive :)

The place I read this poem (framed on a wall) attributed it
to a high school student, sometime in the mid-1970s. A
cursory search on the net hasn't helped much either - was
this teenage prodigy really a one-hit person? I wonder what
happened to him...

--
Sidharth Jaggi

Desiderata -- Max Ehrmannn

Guest poerm submitted by Sidharth Jaggi:

(Poem #761) Desiderata Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. -- Max Ehrmannn

Written 1927.
Copyright 1976 Robert L. Bell.

According to some reference books, Desiderata is still sometimes thought to
have been 'found' at Old St. Paul's Church in Baltimore and to date back to
1692. It was actually written and copyrighted by Max Ehrmann (1872-1945) in
1927, the copyright was renewed in 1948 and 1954 by Bertha K. Ehrmann. It
was copyrighted by Robert L. Bell in 1976. In 1956, the rector of St. Paul's
Church in Baltimore, Maryland, used the poem in a collection of mimeographed
inspirational material for his congregation. Someone who subsequently
printed it asserted that it was found in Old St. Paul's Church, dated 1692.
The year 1692 was the founding date of the church and has nothing to do with
the poem. See Fred D. Cavinder, "Desiderata", TWA Ambassador, Aug. 1973, pp.
14-15.

I like the Desiderata. I really really like it. Like, y'know, I dig it. I
like the tone of it - it's not overly preachy, but just full of good stuff.
I like to imagine a big daddy figure saying such things to me when I'm
feeling lonely or down. The lines are the ropes religions are made of; when
people are feeling lonely or down they like to imagine a big daddy figure
saying such things to them. It just reeks of tolerance, goodwill to humanity
and the fellowship of man. Good stuff. Which I found really strange when I
first read about its supposed provenance, in a Protestant church in the
bastion of Puritanism. Come to think of it, the Roaring Twenties are just as
unlikely...

But, you know, I really really like the Desiderata.

Oh, general fact - all the people I've forced to read the above and comment
on it have, without exception, suddenly laughed / snickered / sniggered when
they came to the line

"Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit."

<snicker>

And, of course, when I want a change there's always...

 "Deteriorata"

 Go placidly amid the noise and waste, remembering what comfort may be found
in owning a piece thereof. Avoid quiet and passive persons unless you are in
need of sleep.

 Rotate your wheels, it is what they are for.

 Speak glowingly of others greater than yourself, heed well their advice
even though they be turkeys. Know what to kiss, and when.

 Consider that two wrongs never make a right. However, three do.

 Wherever possible put people on hold and leave for the day. Be comforted
that, in the face of all aridity and disillusionment and despite the
changing fortunes of time, there will always be a big future in computer
maintenance.

 Remember the Alamo. Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle and
mutilate. Know yourself. If you do not, look in the mirror - that's you.
Exercise caution in your daily affairs, especially with those persons
closest to you. That turkey on your left for instance.

 Fall not in love, it will stick to your face and smell of tuna.

 Gracefully surrender the things of youth, burgers, coffee and obesity.

 Hire people with hooks.

 For a good time, Listen to a US foreign policy speech.

 Take heart amid the deepening gloom that at least your cat is being fed
well; reflect that whatever misfortune may be your lot, at least you don't
live in Ohio.

 You are a fluke of the universe: you have no right to be here. Whether or
not you can hear it, the Universe is laughing behind your back.

 Therefore make your peace with God, whether you consider him to be clown or
President of the disUnited States.

 With all its hopes, dreams and McDonalds, the world will continue to
deteriorate.

     -- National Lampoon

One of the above two hangs on my bedroom wall - you have three guesses as to
which one :)

Sidharth.

Haiku -- Yosa Buson

Guest poem submitted by Sidharth Jaggi:

(Poem #712) Haiku The seashore temple... Incoming rollers flow in time To the holy flute. -- Yosa Buson

Words mean more to one if they have some immediate relevance; in my case it
was the sheer coincidence of seeing a brass plate with the above haiku on it
in the promenade while roller-blading down the waterfront of San Francisco.
Since I've seen a translation of the above with the operative word
substituted with 'breakers' I guess the pun was unintentional, but...
<grin>.

But that isn't quite all; the poem, if anything, is the city of San
Francisco. It's a lovely lovely city with ups and downs and
all-the-way-arounds, and try going along the seashore on a sunny morning and
see if you don't think the haiku has it about right.

Sidharth.

[Minstrels Links]

Poem #23, Poem #57 and Poem #277 are all classic haiku; the first two
are by Basho, the third by Buson.

Poem #198, "Japanese Jokes", is Peter Porter's witty take on this very
distinctive genre.

Poem #87, by Yakamochi is an example of 'tanka', the predecessor of the
haiku form.