Viewing 40 posts - 1 through 40 (of 60 total)
  • Do you think poetry is for puffs?
  • eldridge
    Free Member

    Read this, from W.H.Auden in 1959 – 1959 FFS!

    Out of the air a voice without a face
    Proved by statistics that some cause was just
    In tones as dry and level as the place:
    No one was cheered and nothing was discussed;
    Column by column in a cloud of dust
    They marched away enduring a belief
    Whose logic brought them, somewhere else, to grief.

    (and later, in the same poem)

    Barbed wire enclosed an arbitrary spot
    Where bored officials lounged (one cracked a joke)
    And sentries sweated for the day was hot:
    A crowd of ordinary decent folk
    Watched from without and neither moved nor spoke
    As three pale figures were led forth and bound
    To three posts driven upright in the ground.

    The mass and majesty of this world, all
    That carries weight and always weighs the same
    Lay in the hands of others; they were small
    And could not hope for help and no help came:
    What their foes like to do was done, their shame
    Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride
    And died as men before their bodies died

    If you’re interested it’s from “The Shield of Achilles”, a brilliant polemic against imperialistic, fascistic regimes

    grizzlygus
    Free Member

    Well in answer to your question I have no idea if poetry is for puffs.

    .

    But as far as I’m concerned it’s definitely for poofs.

    So I didn’t bother reading the poem.

    HTH

    eldridge
    Free Member

    Hi grizz

    Sorry I was trying to be polite

    “puffs” being maybe a bit less gratuitous than poofs

    or poufs

    or pouffes

    Is there an “authorised” spelling of the word as applied to a derogatory reference to homosexual men?

    I’m Northern, you see. And the remark came from a pupil of mine, in my first year of teaching, in “an area of social deprivation” in the NW of England

    he deffo said “Puffs”, with the “u” as in “up”

    Bet you say “scowne” rather than “sconn”!

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    JulianA
    Free Member

    No way! It’s for everyone!

    High Flight

    Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
    And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
    Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
    Of sun-split clouds – and done a hundred things
    You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung
    High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there
    I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
    My eager craft through footless halls of air.
    Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
    I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace
    Where never lark, or even eagle flew –
    And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
    The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
    Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

    grizzlygus
    Free Member

    Sorry I was trying to be polite

    Well that case, if were “trying to be polite” expect it to go straight over my head 😕

    “Politeness” is for puffs.

    As far as I’m concerned.

    rightplacerighttime
    Free Member

    The boy stood on the burning deck…

    gecko76
    Full Member

    Poetry’s brilliant.

    Did Linton Kwesi Johnson with my class today.

    Original question is misguided and crass though.

    eldridge
    Free Member

    straight over my head

    Obviously we wouldn’t have aim very far above the ground to do that

    zaskar
    Free Member

    Poetry to GF gets me sex.

    Creative art.

    RustySpanner
    Full Member

    What passing-bells for those who die as cattle?
    Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
    Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
    Can patter out their hasty orisons.
    No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
    Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
    The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
    And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

    What candles may be held to speed them all?
    Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
    Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
    The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
    Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
    And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

    eldridge
    Free Member

    zaskar that’s brilliant

    just what I’ve found

    birds love to think a bloke’s most important organ is his brain

    until you introduce them to the other one

    Moses
    Full Member

    No! Poetry is for everyone. You can even set it to music, and call it “songs”.
    Well, I like it, and I’m not a poof.

    JulianA
    Free Member

    rightplacerighttime – Member
    The boy stood on the burning deck

    His feet were full of blisters
    He hadn’t got the from the fire
    But from screwing both his sisters

    Leo Marks…

    chewkw
    Free Member

    It’s rubbish innit …

    I never get it with poetry put it this way.

    theotherjonv
    Full Member

    Definitely not. Especially haiku form.

    Poems are for puffs.
    According to grizzlygus.
    But he knows nothing.

    And now I predict –
    He’s googling furiously.
    What does Haiku mean?

    Singletrack website.
    Fount of all knowledge? Or just
    Random made up facts?

    simonfbarnes
    Free Member

    in fact a lot of men are so butch they find women too poofy and only get excited about machines 🙁

    theotherjonv
    Full Member

    Singletrackworld

    What tyres for mud, rocks?
    SFB’s raging sex drive.
    Covers most of it.

    grizzlygus
    Free Member

    Obviously we wouldn’t have aim very far above the ground to do that

    For your information : Six foot one and, if I’ve had a hot bath and done me stretches, five-eighths.

    eldridge
    Free Member

    It’s rubbish innit …

    I never get it with poetry put it this way.

    It’s not rubbish, but it is difficult sometimes!

    Find a good teacher who can let you in on the secret.

    You wil be forever grateful

    eldridge
    Free Member

    For your information : Six foot one and, if I’ve had a hot bath and done me stretches, five-eighths.

    Hi again grizzlygus

    It was your mental dimensions I was referring to

    simonfbarnes
    Free Member

    SFB’s raging sex drive

    fame at last! (or infamy) :o)

    RudeBoy
    Free Member

    My favourite:

    Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.

    “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
    The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
    Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
    The frumious Bandersnatch!”

    He took his vorpal sword in hand:
    Long time the manxome foe he sought —
    So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
    And stood awhile in thought.

    And, as in uffish thought he stood,
    The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
    Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
    And burbled as it came!

    One, two! One, two! And through and through
    The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
    He left it dead, and with its head
    He went galumphing back.

    “And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
    Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
    O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
    He chortled in his joy.

    `Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.

    Quite possibly the greatest poem ever written in the English language…..

    theotherjonv
    Full Member

    No, for that you need IF / Rudyard Kipling.

    IF you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;
    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
    Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

    If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
    If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
    If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;
    If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
    Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

    If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
    And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
    If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,
    And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

    If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
    ‘ Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
    if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
    If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
    Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
    And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

    – almost on topic: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,
    And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

    grizzlygus
    Free Member

    It was your mental dimensions I was referring to

    Sorry, you’ve lost me mate. Still never mind, don’t what I’m doing on this thread anyway – going to find myself a more manly thread. About rioting or street-fighting or sum think.

    RudeBoy
    Free Member

    or sum think.

    What a thicko.

    N e fule noe it’s ‘sumfink‘.

    Grizzly; Sir, you are nought but a philistine and a savage. Begone; you graceless barbarian, for you bring but only a brutality of thought.

    ourmaninthenorth
    Full Member

    Poetry to GF gets me sex.

    Better still, try it in another language. She’ll love it…. 😉

    eldridge
    Free Member

    It was your mental dimensions I was referring to

    Sorry, you’ve lost me mate

    Q E effing D!

    grizzlygus
    Free Member

    RudeBoy – Member

    N e fule noe

    What’s that then – some poncy latin bollox ?

    eldridge
    Free Member

    grizzlygus you are busted!

    you are a total troll!

    you know what “N e fule noe” means, because you linked it with Latin!

    because you know about the importance of Latin to Nigel Molesworth, utterer of the immortal phrase “any fule kno”

    Why would you want to disguise your intellect?

    It’s like pretending you haven’t got an 8″ dick

    aP
    Free Member

    I much prefer this:

    johnhoo
    Free Member

    **** no

    without poetry there would be nothing to put to music

    for what is a song but a poem made melodic?

    Oxboy
    Free Member

    well I’ve enjoyed the poems posted on here and I’m definately not a puff!
    I also like Mint Sauce (MBUK) thats quite poetic.
    cheers

    grizzlygus
    Free Member

    grizzlygus …………you are a total troll

    You’re bang out of order there mate – I don’t know nothing about no fancy foreign words.

    And whilst I’m here :

    gecko76 – Member
    Poetry’s brilliant.

    Did Linton Kwesi Johnson with my class today.

    And people wonder why kids grow up gay these days, ffs.

    Good old Maggie tried to put a stop to all these trendy leftie teachers polluting our kids minds with filthy perverted nonsense – she of course introduced Section 28. And then, New Labour mincers come along a scrap it all and re-introduce their sick agenda.

    Still Maggie done her best. Bless her.

    doug_basqueMTB.com
    Full Member

    I’m a little late but can I contribute my favourite…

    BASKING SHARK
    To stub an oar on a rock where none should be
    To have it rise with a slounge out of the sea
    is a thing that happened once, too often, to me.

    But not too often, though enough,I count as gain
    That i once met, on a sea tin-tacked with rain
    that roomsized monster with a matchbox brain.

    He displaced more than water, he shoggled me
    Centuries back, this decadent townee
    Shook on a branch of his family tree.

    Swish up the dirt and, when it settles
    a spring is all the clearer. I saw me in one fling,
    emerging from the slime of everything.

    So who’s the monster? The thought made me grow pale
    For twenty seconds as, sail after sail,
    the tall fin slid away, and then the tail.

    Travis
    Full Member

    I agree with Zaskar… (my) Mrs loves it

    Though when I start reading Classical Chinese poetry to her, she thinks it’s time I had a beer 😀

    duntstick
    Free Member

    Yep, just for Puffs………..

    Bride and Groom Lie Hidden for Three Days

    She gives him his eyes, she found them
    Among some rubble, among some beetles

    He gives her her skin
    He just seemed to pull it down out of the air and lay it over her
    She weeps with fearfulness and astonishment

    She has found his hands for him, and fitted them freshly at the wrists
    They are amazed at themselves, they go feeling all over her

    He has assembled her spine, he cleaned each piece carefully
    And sets them in perfect order
    A superhuman puzzle but he is inspired
    She leans back twisting this way and that, using it and laughing
    Incredulous

    Now she has brought his feet, she is connecting them
    So that his whole body lights up

    And he has fashioned her new hips
    With all fittings complete and with newly wound coils, all shiningly oiled
    He is polishing every part, he himself can hardly believe it

    They keep taking each other to the sun, they find they can easily
    To test each new thing at each new step

    And now she smoothes over him the plates of his skull
    So that the joints are invisible

    And now he connects her throat, her breasts and the pit of her stomach
    With a single wire

    She gives him his teeth, tying the the roots to the centrepin of his body

    He sets the little circlets on her fingertips

    She stiches his body here and there with steely purple silk

    He oils the delicate cogs of her mouth

    She inlays with deep cut scrolls the nape of his neck

    He sinks into place the inside of her thighs

    So, gasping with joy, with cries of wonderment
    Like two gods of mud
    Sprawling in the dirt, but with infinite care
    They bring each other to perfection.

    Ted Hughes

    The Kipling one was a cracker BTW

    hora
    Free Member

    Poetry for puffs? Some release imagination within me, magical words. At school I remember first hearing Dulce et Decorum est and being totally transfixed and shocked. Then I read about the connection with Sassoon and how Sassoon helped nurture/hone Owen’s poetry.
    .
    .
    .
    Another:
    The Tiger
    William Blake

    Tiger Tiger. burning bright,
    In the forests of the night;
    What immortal hand or eye.
    Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

    In what distant deeps or skies.
    Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
    On what wings dare he aspire?
    What the hand, dare seize the fire?

    And what shoulder, & what art,
    Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
    And when thy heart began to beat.
    What dread hand? & what dread feet?

    What the hammer? what the chain,
    In what furnace was thy brain?
    What the anvil? what dread grasp.
    Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

    When the stars threw down their spears
    And watered heaven with their tears:
    Did he smile His work to see?
    Did he who made the lamb make thee?

    Tiger Tiger burning bright,
    In the forests of the night:
    What immortal hand or eye,
    Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

    0303062650
    Free Member

    I’m sure its great, but, I just don’t get it. Perhaps its because of my p*ss-poor education and utter lack of ability to even read it correctly.

    Are there any resources on where one may look to explore a little more poetry? i.e. ‘dummies guide’?

    I still can’t quite imagine reading a little, but a greater understanding wouldn’t go amiss would it?

    jt

    nickname
    Free Member

    I like the old ww1/2 ones

    Rendezvous

    I have a rendezvous with Death
    At some disputed barricade,
    When Spring comes back with rustling shade
    And apple-blossoms fill the air
    I have a rendezvous with Death
    When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

    It may be he shall take my hand
    And lead me into his dark land
    And close my eyes and quench my breath
    It may be I shall pass him still.
    I have a rendezvous with Death
    On some scarred slope of battered hill,
    When Spring comes round again this year
    And the first meadow-flowers appear.

    God knows ’twere better to be deep
    Pillowed in silk and scented down,
    Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
    Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
    Where hushed awakenings are dear . . .
    But I’ve a rendezvous with Death
    At midnight in some flaming town,
    When Spring trips north again this year,
    And I to my pledged word am true,
    I shall not fail that rendezvous

    hora
    Free Member

    nickname that is beautiful.

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