Juxtaposition of lack of understanding, the disconnect between men and women.

Age-old excuse: Just like the poem by Margaret Atwood about men who are broken inside and seek women, and break them, because they think they are their missing piece.

for - mortality salience - Deep Humanity - mortality salience - Prometheus - poem - analysis - quote - mortality salience

quote - mortality salience - (see below)

• The lesson is that humans are powerful
  • precisely because they are
    • temporally-bound,
    • finite creatures.
• We are born and we die, no exceptions.
• Byron’s “Prometheus” tells us that there is a lot of power
  • in dying and, particularly,
  • in knowing that we will die.
• To face one’s mortality is “a mighty lesson”,
  • beyond the grasp of any (hypothetical) god.

• for: commented on - Trump and failings of political system, poem - Trump a symptom of failing political system

• commented on

  • I wrote a poem in the comment section of this video:

    • Oh what a web we weave, when we practice to deceive
    • What a distance Trump will fall, when Jack Smith and the other upholders of truth disentangles it all!
    • What lesson have we learned, what has hindsight allowed us to see
    • about the fragility of this gift called democracy?
    • Whose ideal is that men and women are all equal another way of saying we are all sacred?
    • We pay a heavy price for not taking care of our disenfranchised sisters and brothers
    • for without job and pay they may seem powerless but the minions of poor left behind,
    • not lifted by the rising tide of unequal prosperity
    • at least have a vote to vent their anger and victimhood of being forgot
    • and comes along the next power-hungry, fork-tongued, snake-oil salesman
    • who recognizes the strength in the weakness of the minion
    • enough to exploit for personal gain the aggregate vote of the disenfranchised many
    • plunging democracy and its constitutions into crisis
    • Not only in the US, but all around the world
    • we witness the same phenomena
    • as the failings of liberal democracies that have left masses behind,
    • unintentional failings of democracy,
    • is exploited by the opportunist to seize power

    • and institute intentional forms of non-democracy

    • The bottom line (below):

    • Regardless of political ideology,
    • genuine empathy for all
    • not just in theory, but in practice
    • is the path to a just, stable and thriving society

formed by Greek words mean freedom and madness

Given the timing of the poem's publication, likely a riff on the #MeToo movement. The title arguably allows/asks us to read the coming poem aware of inequalities around gender and the ways citizenship is differently - unequally - experienced by women.

Taixu was almost arrested because of a poem.

wow, just wow!

Es soll sich dabei um den Wiener Kaufmann Friedrich Singer handeln, der am 14. Juni 1841 in Wien geboren wurde und immer wieder, u. a. unter den Pseudonymen S. Fritz oder Fritz Singer, Gedichte verfasste. Er starb vermutlich am 10. Dezember 1910 in Wien.

Ich kenne einige seiner Gedichte bereits aus den 1980er-Jahren und habe eines davon auf meinen ersten Web-Auftritten gepostet.

persistently avoid, ignore, or reject (someone or something) through antipathy or caution

rhyme schemes every other verse, such as "way" and "stay", as well as "cheer" and "near". this carries throughout the whole poem

having or showing a stubborn and determined intention to do as one wants, regardless of the consequences or effects.

many literary genres do not use such gore as "robbed and murdered", "skull smashed to pieces", and "murdered in a brutal way".

restates what has already been said before in the ballad (repetition in a poem/reinforcing the main points or most important parts?)

the prow that breaks the water,

is the way that you are moving,

eyes front and ever outward,

to-ward and fro-ward and on-ward,

breaking past one's own wards,

a sally forth,

abstracting, subtracting, and contracting,

well along with the calving of one's work,

ardent, zealous, eager, precocious and presumptuous,

dynamiting all that stands before you

in your way,

working your way,

unhorsed and forward

through the shards and chips and dust.

I love how the words just swing and sway here. I sense a big kraken of a poem in this paragraph.

In Galen's medicine, disease and death were the consequence of a disproportion in one's constituent elements, the 4 humors: black bile, yellow bile, blood, and phlegm.

The another spherical image in the poem

Each eye, which is able to be interpreted as each hemisphere, is really a perfect world because, though they are not combined into one, when facing each other, contains both lovers (the one who is reflected and one who reflects is in unity in the eye).

Source: The Visual Paradigm of 'The Good-Morrow': Donne's Cosmographical Glasse (1986)

The Good-Morrow is an aubade, a love poem sung at dawn that greets the morning by recalling the pleasant night spent with the lover and the togetherness they shared while also lamenting as they realize that they should soon be parted.

In The Good-Morrow the greeting aspect of aubade is particularly emphasized, celebrating the astonishing power of love that transcended them from individuals who dwelled on the unsophisticated pleasure to wholesome, perfectly balanced souls that are awakened in a new world.

To read other examples of John Donne's aubade, see The Sunrising.

Source: https://poets.org/glossary/aubade

Truth

It can also be interpreted as a marital oath, implying that the previous night they spent together is not an ordinary one but a wedding night. The plausible addressee of this poem is Donne's wife , Anne More.

“I Love the Look of Words” By Maya Angelou

Popcorn leaps, popping from the floor of a hot black skillet and into my mouth. Black words leap, snapping from the white page. Rushing into my eyes. Sliding into my brain which gobbles them the way my tongue and teeth chomp the buttered popcorn.

When I have stopped reading, ideas from the words stay stuck in my mind, like the sweet smell of butter perfuming my fingers long after the popcorn is finished. I love the book and the look of words the weight of ideas that popped into my mind. I love the tracks of new thinking in my mind.

Today is August 30, 2021:

'tis a poor sign

for planting.

The stars are in Gemini,

the arms.

Just weed and cut and dock and castrate

now

or not.

Who the hell is the mad poet

and farmer of words,

you

or some rubbish Muse?

I thought so.

How To Write This Poem

begin here …with TIME

where words

are layered with text

where the pen

etches into screen …

then go here …

(https://www.vialogues.com/vialogues/play/61205)

… only to leap from one place

to another,

where my mind goes

I hardly every know,

only that it ventures forward …

(https://paper.dropbox.com/doc/How-to-Read-a-Poem-by-me--A9AH3OSbHZqKqxia0PQOSa1~Ag-pHyO4XNCl1aIq4KoX22Be)

… heard by hearts,​​

and scattered stars,

​​where I see the sky fall,​​

you find the debris …

our thoughts.

(https://nowcomment.com/documents/234044)

Might we be permitted them?

The dragonfly

rarely yields her ground

to the critics among

us.

Kevin's Response

How To Write This Poem

begin here …with TIME

where words

are layered with text

where the pen

etches into screen …

then go here … https://www.vialogues.com/vialogues/play/61205

... only to leap from one place to another, where my mind goes I hardly every know, only that it ventures forward ...

https://paper.dropbox.com/doc/How-to-Read-a-Poem-by-me--A9AH3OSbHZqKqxia0PQOSa1~Ag-pHyO4XNCl1aIq4KoX22Be

… heard by hearts, ​​and scattered stars, ​​where I see the sky fall, ​​you find the debris …. ​​https://nowcomment.com/documents/234044

Your thoughts?

Instructions for navigating page and for working with the poem.

1) Read the poem and annotate with Hypothes.is

2) Listen to a recording of the poet performing the poem. Respond in Hypothes.is

3) Read our discussion of the poem in Hypothes.is

4) Then join others reflecting on what others say.

They are taught that the n-word is shameful and bad while acting white is somewhat a higher class that they should be aiming for. This passage reminds me of a poem that I read in the past named Incident by Countee Cullen. In it is the incidents of the narrators encounters with racism and how it affected them even by an older age. This passage is similar as in the mother telling her children how to act in a certain way according to a certain ethnicity is impactful in a negative way.

THE PLAINS - A PROPHECY Joaquin Miller. Rome, 1874.

Go ye and look upon that land, That far vast land that few behold, And none beholding understand- That old, old land which men call new-Go journey with the seasons through Its wastes, and learn how limitless. The solemn silence of that plain Is, oh! so eloquent. The blue And bended skies seem built for it, And all else seems a yesterday, An idle tale but illy told. Its story is of God alone, For man has lived and gone away And left but little heaps of stone. Lo! here yon learn how more than fit And dignified is silence, when You hear the petty jeers of men. Its awful solitndes remain Thenceforth for aye a part of you, And you have learned your littleness.

Some silent red men cross your track; Some sun-tanned trappers come and go; Some rolling seas of buffalo Break thunder-like and far away Against the foot-hills, breaking back Like breakers of some troubled bay; Some white-tailed antelope blown by So airy like; some foxes shy And shadow-like move to and fro Like weavers' shuttles as you pass; And now and then from out the grass You hear some lone bird cluck, and call A sharp keen call for her lost brood, That only makes the solitude Seem deeper still, and that is all.

That wide domain of mysteries And signs that men misunderstand; A land of space and dreams; a land Of sea-salt lakes and dried-up seas; A land of caves and caravans And lonely wells and pools; a land That hath its purposes and plans, That seems so like dead Palestine, Save that its wastes have no confine Till pushed against the leveled skies; A land from out whose depths shall rise The new-time prophets; the domain From out whose awful depths shall come, All clad in skins, with dusty feet, A man fresh from his Maker's hand, A singer singing oversweet, A charmer charming very wise; And then all men shall not be dumb-Nay, not be dumb, for he shall say, "Take heed, for I prepare the. way For weary feet i" and from this land The Christ shall come when next the race Of man shall look upon his face.

The poem by Alvarez is powerful and a recording appears here.

Archaic Torso of Apollo Rainer Maria Rilke, 1875 - 1926

We cannot know his legendary head with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso is still suffused with brilliance from inside, like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could a smile run through the placid hips and thighs to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself, burst like a star: for here there is no place that does not see you. You must change your life.

Here is my sense of what you say in translation:

A Numbered LIst

1. I am aware, so aware, that definitions rule. They make us imagine our practice.
2. I am aware that less is so often more.
3. The R&D arm of each generation is already at work constraining and cajoling.
4. Our poets and dogs drag home the damndest things: bones, mirrors and seeds.
5. And still it is not enough.
6. The margins are a moving target that even its authors may no longer recognize.
7. Even if Yeats is right and the best lack all conviction and the worst are full of passionate hootery, we still note our thanks, we continue to add to the pile, and we keep open and keep on. and get down now.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BARAHLk-8dk

Calling people out using the constructionist ideals — The American government is not living up to their high ideals.

Poetry as a way to express frustration when there is no way to go up against actual US military power. A weapon of the weak; a powerful message.

From Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnet 43, How do I love thee?

1. What is the speaker saying about the perspectives of a grown-up?
2. To what extent would you consider the poet's use of humour successful?

Really cute poem.

Flyting is fighting with words, a verbal contest between two adversaries who trade barbed insults and boasts, often in verse (Wikipedia entry). In working with this form, Alasdair Roberts is very probably inspired by Hamish Henderson's sung poem The Flyting o' Life and Daith (words, recording). The Tobar an Duchlais site notes that

Hamish Henderson finished this poem in 1963, having drawn on an anonymous German poem he had seen in 1939. Referring to the melody that he composed in order for it to be performed as a song, he stated: "[it] somewhat resembles the 'urlar' (or 'ground') of a pibroch". The poem was first published in 'The Scottish Broadsheet' (May, 1963).

Many adaptations exists.