I like this one :) it is elusive and musical. The syntax gives it a different composition (or brushstrokes? I was never good in art class) than most haiku– the pattern of set it up and knock it down. Anyway, congrats on finishing your book last month! That is an amazing way to start the year. Oh yeah, I got a cool anthology for Christmas, and I found a poem that I wanted to show you:
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
Oh, I shall go into the hare
With sorrow and sighing and mickle care,
And I shall go into the Devil’s name
Aye, till I be fetchèd hame.
– Hare, take heed of a bitch greyhound
Will harry thee all these fells around,
For here come I in Our Lady’s name
All but for to fetch thee hame.
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
Yet, I shall go into a trout
With sorrow and sighing and mickle doubt,
And show thee many a crooked game
Ere that I be fetchèd hame.
– Trout, take heed of an otter lank
Will harry the close from bank to bank,
For here comes I in Our Lady’s name
All but for to fetch thee hame.
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
Yet I shall go into a bee
With a mickle horror and dread of thee
And flit to hive in the Devil’s name
Ere that I be fetchèd hame.
– Bee, take heed of a swallow hen
Will harry thee close, both butt and ben,
For here come I in Our Lady’s Name
All but for to fetch thee hame.
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
Yet I shall go into a mouse
And haste me unto the miller’s house,
There in his corn to have good game
Ere that I be fetchèd hame.
– Mouse, take heed of a white tib-cat
That never was baulked of mouse or rat,
For I’ll crack thy bones in Our Lady’s name:
Thus shalt thou be fetchèd hame.
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
Robert Graves
(restoration from seventeenth century fragmentary witch chants)
I think it’s a ton of fun. Also I read one that reminded me of cliff:
After His Death
It turned out
that the bombs he had thrown
raised buildings:
that the acid he sprayed
had painfully opened
the eyes of the blind.
Fishermen hauled
prizewinning fish
from the water he had polluted.
We sat with astonishment
enjoying the shade
of the vicious words he had planted.
The government decreed that
on the anniversary of his birth
the people should observe
two minutes pandemonium.
Thanks again for your kind words. I love both the poems you’ve offered me. The first for its magical realism and because I like anything with the Devil in it, and the second I like because it’s clever and original. So much poetry is dull as the paper it’s written on. Send more. :)
I liked this haiku too—a real gem in my opinion. And, Rillie, thanks. I’m flattered to be compared to Norman MacCaig. Never have I seen the plain statement with more rich allusiveness. All I remember about Graves, though, is Good-Bye to All That.
I was in a “Sailing to Byzantium” mood tonight and wrote this. It’s been my intent for some time to surpass it. Getting there? Thanks.
A Boomer Responds to Some Angry Young ‘Woke’ Folk
Poetry did nothing to
Keep my gentle face
From mouldering to
The sharper view
Of Pound’s at St. Elizabeths—
To see the young remark
My role: “Geezer, nothing else.
Out of our way! You paltry crank
With one foot in the grave!
What can you do to make the world
A place we can progress—and
Growing old ourselves be first
To finally get it right?
Speak! before your grave
To us, your day is growing short!
Speak! before your grave at dusk
Your fusty crumb of truth!
Speak! as history buries you–
This your final chance!”
“Well, my young, this may surprise:
You’ve quoted me exact
What to the old I said myself
Declaiming count by count.
But eternals what they are
A half a century later
I stand before my grave
Like them,
In humble resignation
9: February 1st 2021 | bottlecap
I like this one :) it is elusive and musical. The syntax gives it a different composition (or brushstrokes? I was never good in art class) than most haiku– the pattern of set it up and knock it down. Anyway, congrats on finishing your book last month! That is an amazing way to start the year. Oh yeah, I got a cool anthology for Christmas, and I found a poem that I wanted to show you:
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
Oh, I shall go into the hare
With sorrow and sighing and mickle care,
And I shall go into the Devil’s name
Aye, till I be fetchèd hame.
– Hare, take heed of a bitch greyhound
Will harry thee all these fells around,
For here come I in Our Lady’s name
All but for to fetch thee hame.
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
Yet, I shall go into a trout
With sorrow and sighing and mickle doubt,
And show thee many a crooked game
Ere that I be fetchèd hame.
– Trout, take heed of an otter lank
Will harry the close from bank to bank,
For here comes I in Our Lady’s name
All but for to fetch thee hame.
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
Yet I shall go into a bee
With a mickle horror and dread of thee
And flit to hive in the Devil’s name
Ere that I be fetchèd hame.
– Bee, take heed of a swallow hen
Will harry thee close, both butt and ben,
For here come I in Our Lady’s Name
All but for to fetch thee hame.
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
Yet I shall go into a mouse
And haste me unto the miller’s house,
There in his corn to have good game
Ere that I be fetchèd hame.
– Mouse, take heed of a white tib-cat
That never was baulked of mouse or rat,
For I’ll crack thy bones in Our Lady’s name:
Thus shalt thou be fetchèd hame.
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
Robert Graves
(restoration from seventeenth century fragmentary witch chants)
I think it’s a ton of fun. Also I read one that reminded me of cliff:
After His Death
It turned out
that the bombs he had thrown
raised buildings:
that the acid he sprayed
had painfully opened
the eyes of the blind.
Fishermen hauled
prizewinning fish
from the water he had polluted.
We sat with astonishment
enjoying the shade
of the vicious words he had planted.
The government decreed that
on the anniversary of his birth
the people should observe
two minutes pandemonium.
Norman MacCaig
Best wishes :)
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Thanks again for your kind words. I love both the poems you’ve offered me. The first for its magical realism and because I like anything with the Devil in it, and the second I like because it’s clever and original. So much poetry is dull as the paper it’s written on. Send more. :)
LikeLike
I liked this haiku too—a real gem in my opinion. And, Rillie, thanks. I’m flattered to be compared to Norman MacCaig. Never have I seen the plain statement with more rich allusiveness. All I remember about Graves, though, is Good-Bye to All That.
LikeLike
I was in a “Sailing to Byzantium” mood tonight and wrote this. It’s been my intent for some time to surpass it. Getting there? Thanks.
A Boomer Responds to Some Angry Young ‘Woke’ Folk
Poetry did nothing to
Keep my gentle face
From mouldering to
The sharper view
Of Pound’s at St. Elizabeths—
To see the young remark
My role: “Geezer, nothing else.
Out of our way! You paltry crank
With one foot in the grave!
What can you do to make the world
A place we can progress—and
Growing old ourselves be first
To finally get it right?
Speak! before your grave
To us, your day is growing short!
Speak! before your grave at dusk
Your fusty crumb of truth!
Speak! as history buries you–
This your final chance!”
“Well, my young, this may surprise:
You’ve quoted me exact
What to the old I said myself
Declaiming count by count.
But eternals what they are
A half a century later
I stand before my grave
Like them,
In humble resignation
LikeLike