It’s been a ridiculously busy week, so Monday’s Poets’ Corner has been postponed until now. I’d like to be able to say that I’ve been preoccupied with my mother’s birthday this weekend and my forthcoming trip to Central Europe, but sadly it’s all been work. Anyway, without further ado, here’s your delayed dose of culture for this week.
First, here’s a Thomas Hardy poem that I was discussing with one of my friends last month, and which will either help him with his thesis or just irritatingly remind him of it at an awkward moment.
Mad Judy
When the hamlet hailed a birth
Judy used to cry:
When she heard our christening mirth
She would kneel and sigh.
She was crazed, we knew, and we
Humoured her infirmity.When the daughters and the sons
Gathered them to wed,
And we like-intending ones
Danced till dawn was red,
She would rock and mutter, ‘More
Comers to this stony shore!’When old Headsman Death laid hands
On a babe or twain,
She would feast, and by her brands
Sing her songs again.
What she liked we let her do,
Judy was insane, we knew.
I shall now proceed to alienate all of my female readers with the help of Robert Bridges. I hasten to add that I stand by none of this: I just like writing that’s calculated to offend people. I might be reading too much into this, but I think he may have been feeling a little bitter about someone.
XVII.
Triolet.
All women born are so perverse
No man need boast their love possessing.
If nought seem better, nothing’s worse:
All women born are so perverse.
From Adam’s wife, that proved a curse
Though God had made her for a blessing,
All women born are so perverse
No man need boast their love possessing.
For those of you who read through that and are still here, I’ve selected something a little more acceptable. This is a particular favourite of mine, and dates from a time when Byron had been digging for treasure in the grounds of his house (because of course that’s how any sensible fellow deals with a cash-flow crisis). What he found and what he did with it should be pretty clear from this poem.
Lines Inscribed upon a Cup Formed from a Skull
Start not – nor deem my spirit fled;
In me behold the only skull,
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.I lived, I loved, I quaffed like thee:
I died: let earth my bones resign;
Fill up – thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.Better to hold the sparkling grape,
Than nurse the earth-worm’s slimy brood;
And circle in the goblet’s shape
The drink of gods, than reptile’s food.Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others’ let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine?Quaff while thou canst: another race,
When thou and thine, like me, are sped,
May rescue thee from earth’s embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.Why not? since through life’s little day
Our heads such sad effects produce;
Redeem’d from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs, to be of use.
I seem to remember hearing recently about moths and the fear thereof. What should I find on opening The Book of American Poetry but this by Benjamin de Casseres?
Moth-terror
I have killed the moth flying around my night-light: wingless and dead it lies upon the floor.
(O who will kill the great Time-Moth that eats holes in my soul and that burrows in and through my secretest veils!)
My will against its will, and no more will it fly at my
night-light or be hidden behind the curtains that swing in the winds.
(But O who will shatter the Change-Moth that leaves me in rags – tattered old tapestries that swing in the winds that blow out of Chaos!)
Night-Moth, Change-Moth, Time-Moth, eaters of dreams and of me!
Something short and sweet next, from that perennial favourite, Robert Herrick. It’s not in a blockquote because the italics are significant.
The Rosemarie branch
Grow for two ends, it matters not at all,
Be’t for my Bridall or my Buriall.
Finally, a poem about a subject very close to my heart at the moment: the sheer irritation of early-morning birdsong outside my window. Abraham Cowley probably overstates it a little, but that’s poetry for you.
The Swallow
Foolish prater, what dost thou
So early at my window do?
Cruel bird, thou’st ta’en away
A dream out of my arms to-day;
A dream that ne’er must equall’d be
By all that waking eyes may see.
Thou this damage to repair
Nothing half so sweet and fair,
Nothing half so good, canst bring,
Tho’ men may say thou bring’st the Spring.
I trust that this selection justifies the long delay in posting it. Enjoy.
Thursday 16th July, 2009 at 7:14 pm
I really enjoyed the poetry collection. I’ll be visiting your blog again
Thursday 16th July, 2009 at 9:58 pm
I’m going to make this as clear as I can: I had a look at your latest blog post, and I don’t want your approval, appreciation or presence in my gender. I know someone who suffers from the attentions of garbage like you on a regular basis, and it does damage that you can’t even begin to imagine. All I can hope for is that the next woman you attack (and unwanted physical contact is an attack, whatever you might like to believe) empties a can of chemical mace into your eyes and leaves you crying like the pathetic little boy you are.
I’ve removed the link to the offending material, because like most real men I don’t want to be associated with it. We get a bad enough press already without linking to guides on how to terrorise women. You and your in-bred cousins make me sick.
Friday 17th July, 2009 at 8:59 am
Yes I perfectly understand your reaction, Sir. However, I don’t really think you understood my blog in any way since I am sure after reading the latest post, you couldn’t have bothered to read any further. The post was meant to be a satire and was aimed at a specific ‘someone'(hence the over-exaggeration), and has a little to do with my own ideas or actions. You have no right to judge me by just one post as you hardly know me.
Nevertheless, I appreciate your remarks, as you speak frankly and unlike others who wish to debate it out with me, you have revealed your resentment towards the issue.
Secondly my appreciation was aimed at the poetry you have included on your blog. Surely you don’t have any objection towards my reading the works.
Friday 17th July, 2009 at 5:49 pm
You’re right, Gaurav: I read that one post, lost my temper after a couple of lines and didn’t read through with any real care after that. For what it’s worth I’m sorry about the name-calling. I know that a lot of people use ‘I was being sarcastic’ to divert angry criticism, but on a second reading your satirical intent is obvious. If we agree that molesting people is disgusting then I have no argument with you. I do think that your satire isn’t obviously satirical enough to distinguish it from real opinions that can be found on the internet, and as a consequence of that it has too much potential to upset victims rather than attackers. However, I should be able to spot sarcasm, since it’s my country’s chief export.
I do have the right to judge you on slender evidence, but I also accept that I will be judged on my judgements. Some people will form an opinion about me from a single post here. Some will read the foregoing comments and decide that I’m an idiot who can’t tell the difference between sarcasm and genuine opinion, and that’s fair enough. I’m prepared to be judged by my own standards.
Of course I don’t object to people reading things I post in the public domain, but if I were still convinced that you enjoyed harassing women in the street I’d be reconsidering my choice of poems for this week. I mean what I say about it: I don’t want anything to do with people who persecute others for fun, unless it’s in the area of punishment and retribution. On this issue I have no sense of humour and a fuse so short that it barely exists.
Friday 17th July, 2009 at 2:51 am
If I recall correctly from my recent excursion to Italy, Byron, some years after writing that poem, was almost physically sickened by the condition of Shelley’s body as it was cremated on the beach at Viareggio. It was quite a “sea change” and nothing to inspire drink.
Monday 20th July, 2009 at 8:20 pm
[…] a Comment Before I start on this week’s verse selection, I ought to explain one of last week’s selections. I’ve already done this in correspondance with one friend, but that’s only brought home […]