I am the Walrus

It must have  been early 1969  and Neil Stephens and Tony James passed me on the walkway between class  one moring..
"I am the Egg man " they were singing..I had to find out about that ..my up till then  life had been sheltered but  was  .....

I am he as you are he as you are me
and we are all together
See how they run like pigs from a gun
see how they fly
I'm crying
Sitting on a cornflake
Waiting for the van to come
Corporation T-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday
Man you've been a naughty boy
you let your face grow long

I am the eggman
they are the eggmen
I am the walrus
Goo goo g' joob

Mr. city policeman sitting
pretty little policemen in a row
See how they fly like Lucy in the sky
See how they run
I'm crying
I'm crying, I'm crying
Yellow matter custard
Dripping from a dead dog's eye
Crabalocker fishwife
Pornographic priestess
Boy, you've been a naughty girl
you let your knickers down

I am the eggman
They are the eggmen
I am the walrus
Goo goo g' joob

Sitting in an English garden
waiting for the sun
If the sun don't come you get a tan
from standing in the English rain

I am the eggman
They are the eggmen
I am the walrus
Goo goo g' joob

Expert, texpert choking smokers
don't you think the joker laughs at you
See how they smile like pigs in a sty
See how they snide
I'm crying
Semolina pilchard
climbing up the Eiffel tower
Elementary penguin singing Hare Krishna
Man, you should have seen them kicking
Edgar Allan Poe

I am the eggman
They are the eggmen
I am the walrus
Goo goo g' joob
Goo goo g' joob
Goo goo g' goo
goo goo g' joob goo
juba juba juba
juba juba juba
juba juba juba juba
juba juba

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yNcE8c3j2M

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river

Ah.. There we were lying together on  my bed , chain smoking Balkan Sobranie Black Russians gold tips, listening to Leonard..listening to Leonard..1975..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snMOmHzgssk&feature=related

Suzanne

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.

And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.

Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.

-- Leonard Cohen 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sobranie

Anzac Day

for my relatives  , both Kendrick and Wardill who were there that day..
and all the year 12s with whom I studied this poem ..

 Anzac Day 2010

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines6 that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

8 October 1917 - March, 1918

 

 My Grandfather Alf, and his mate Pretorius  ,early 1916 Egypt,  after their  8 months at Gallipoli

http://passageoflines.50.forumer.com/viewtopic.php?f=54&t=87&p=6350#p6350

Interlude

For Jess G .,in the Imagist style of which I am so fond..

          Interlude
(a coffee with Matt Damon )

scent  of rain,

aroma of fesh coffee.

The  latest  Marie Claire ,

He sits beside her

forever..

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

SIÞEN þe sege and þe assaut watz sesed at Troye,

Þe borȝ brittened and brent to brondeȝ and askez,

Þe tulk þat þe trammes of tresoun þer wroȝt

Watz tried for his tricherie, þe trewest on erthe:

Hit watz Ennias þe athel, and his highe kynde,

Þat siþen depreced prouinces, and patrounes bicome

Welneȝe of al þe wele in þe west iles.

Fro riche Romulus to Rome ricchis hym swyþe,

With gret bobbaunce þat burȝe he biges vpon fyrst,

And neuenes hit his aune nome, as hit now hat;

Tirius to Tuskan and teldes bigynnes,

Langaberde in Lumbardie lyftes vp homes,

And fer ouer þe French flod Felix Brutus

On mony bonkkes ful brode Bretayn he settez

wyth wynne,

Where werre and wrake and wonder

Bi syþez hatz wont þerinne,

And oft boþe blysse and blunder

Ful skete hatz skyfted synne.

Ande quen þis Bretayn watz bigged bi þis burn rych,

Bolde bredden þerinne, baret þat lofden,

In mony turned tyme tene þat wroȝten.

Mo ferlyes on þis folde han fallen here oft

Þen in any oþer þat I wot, syn þat ilk tyme.

Bot of alle þat here bult, of Bretaygne kynges,

Ay watz Arthur þe hendest, as I haf herde telle.

 http://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=cme;idno=Gawain;rgn=div1;view=text;cc=cme;node=Gawain%3A1
and as translated by Jessie  L Weston
who would I be to argue .Eliot didn't
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
   After the siege and the assault of Troy, when that burg was destroyed and burnt to ashes, and the traitor tried for his treason, the noble Æneas and his kin sailed forth to become princes and patrons of well-nigh all the Western Isles. Thus Romulus built Rome (and gave to the city his own name, which it bears even to this day); and Ticius turned him to Tuscany; and Langobard raised him up dwellings in Lombardy; and Felix Brutus sailed far over the French flood, and founded the kingdom of Britain, wherein have been war and waste and wonder, and bliss and bale, ofttimes since.
   And in that kingdom of Britain have been wrought more gallant deeds than in any other; but of all British kings Arthur was the most valiant, as I have heard tell, therefore will I set forth a wondrous adventure that fell out in his time. And if ye will listen to me, but for a little while, I will tell it even as it stands in story stiff and strong, fixed in the letter, as it hath long been known in the land.
http://www.lib.rochester.edu/CAMELOT/sggk.htm 

Middle English, and why not?

For Tracy and Rod

Companions in the Great Adventure..

The Pardoner's Prologue

Heere folweth the Prologe of the Pardoners Tale

Radix malorum est Cupiditas. Ad Thimotheum

	"Lordynges," quod he, "in chirches whan I preche,
	I peyne me to han an hauteyn speche,
45	And rynge it out as round as gooth a belle,
	For I kan al by rote that I telle.
	My theme is alwey oon and evere was -
	'Radix malorum est Cupiditas.'

	First I pronounce whennes that I come,
50	And thanne my bulles shewe I, alle and some;
	Oure lige lordes seel on my patente,
	That shewe I first, my body to warente,
	That no man be so boold, ne preest ne clerk,
	Me to destourbe of Cristes hooly werk.
55	And after that thanne telle I forth my tales,
	Bulles of popes and of cardynales,
	Of patriarkes and bishopes I shewe,
	And in Latyn I speke a wordes fewe,
	To saffron with my predicacioun,
60	And for to stire hem to devocioun.
	Thanne shewe I forth my longe cristal stones,
	Ycrammed ful of cloutes and of bones;
	Relikes been they, as wenen they echoon.
	Thanne have I in latoun a sholder-boon
65	Which that was of an hooly Jewes sheepe.
	'Goode men,' I seye, 'taak of my wordes keepe;
	If that this boon be wasshe in any welle,
	If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swelle,
	That any worm hath ete, or worm ystonge,
70	Taak water of that welle, and wassh his tonge,
	And it is hool anon; and forthermoor,
	Of pokkes and of scabbe and every soore
	Shal every sheepe be hool that of this welle
	Drynketh a draughte. Taak kepe eek what I telle,
75	If that the goode man that the beestes oweth,
	Wol every wyke, er that the cok hym croweth,
	Fastynge, drinken of this welle a draughte,
	As thilke hooly Jew oure eldres taughte,
	Hise beestes and his stoor shal multiplie.

80	And, sires, also it heeleth jalousie;
	For though a man be falle in jalous rage,
	Lat maken with this water his potage,
	And nevere shal he moore his wyf mystriste,
	Though he the soothe of hir defaute wiste,
85	Al had she taken preestes two or thre.
	Heere is a miteyn eek, that ye may se.
	He that his hand wol putte in this mitayn,
	He shal have multipliyng of his grayn
	What he hath sowen, be it whete or otes,
90	So that he offre pens, or elles grotes.
	Goode men and wommen, o thyng warne I yow,
	If any wight be in this chirche now
	That hath doon synne horrible, that he
	Dar nat for shame of it yshryven be,
95	Or any womman, be she yong or old,
	That hath ymaad hir housbonde cokewold,
	Swich folk shal have no power ne no grace
	To offren to my relikes in this place.
	And who so fyndeth hym out of swich fame,
100	He wol come up and offre, on Goddes name,
	And I assoille him, by the auctoritee
	Which that by tulle ygraunted was to me."

	By this gaude have I wonne, yeer by yeer,
	An hundred mark, sith I was pardoner.
105	I stonde lyk a clerk in my pulpet,
	And whan the lewed peple is doun yset,
	I preche so, as ye han heerd bifoore,
	And telle an hundred false japes moore.
	Thanne peyne I me to strecche forth the nekke,
110	And est and west upon the peple I bekke,
	As dooth a dowve sittynge on a berne.
	Myne handes and my tonge goon so yerne
	That it is joye to se my bisynesse.
	Of avarice and of swich cursednesse
115	Is al my prechyng, for to make hem free
	To yeven hir pens; and namely, unto me!
	For myn entente is nat but for to wynne,
	And no thyng for correccioun of synne.
	I rekke nevere, whan that they been beryed,
120	Though that hir soules goon a-blakeberyed!
	For certes, many a predicacioun
	Comth ofte tyme of yvel entencioun.
	Som for plesance of folk, and flaterye,
	To been avaunced by ypocrisye,
125	And som for veyne glorie, and som for hate.
	For whan I dar noon oother weyes debate,
	Thanne wol I stynge hym with my tonge smerte
	In prechyng, so that he shal nat asterte
	To been defamed falsly, if that he
130	Hath trespased to my bretheren, or to me.
	For though I telle noght his propre name,
	Men shal wel knowe that it is the same
	By signes, and by othere circumstances.
	Thus quyte I folk that doon us displesances,
135	Thus spitte I out my venym, under hewe
	Of hoolynesse, to semen hooly and trewe.

	But shortly, myn entente I wol devyse;
	I preche of no thyng but for coveityse.
	Therfore my theme is yet, and evere was,
140	'Radix malorum est Cupiditas.'
	Thus kan I preche agayn that same vice
	Which that I use, and that is avarice.
	But though myself be gilty in that synne,
	Yet kan I maken oother folk to twynne
145	From avarice, and soore to repente;
	But that is nat my principal entente.
	I preche no thyng but for coveitise.
	Of this mateere it oghte ynogh suffise.

	Thanne telle I hem ensamples many oon
150	Of olde stories longe tyme agoon.
	For lewed peple loven tales olde;
	Swiche thynges kan they wel reporte and holde.
	What, trowe ye, the whiles I may preche,
	And wynne gold and silver for I teche,
155	That I wol lyve in poverte wilfully?
	Nay, nay, I thoghte it nevere, trewely!
	For I wol preche and begge in sondry landes,
	I wol nat do no labour with myne handes,
	Ne make baskettes, and lyve therby,
160	By cause I wol nat beggen ydelly.
	I wol noon of the apostles countrefete;
	I wol have moneie, wolle, chese, and whete,
	Al were it yeven of the povereste page,
	Or of the povereste wydwe in a village,
165	Al sholde hir children sterve for famyne.
	Nay, I wol drynke licour of the vyne,
	And have a joly wenche in every toun.
	But herkneth, lordynges, in conclusioun:

more Imagism

the more I think about it  the more I like Modernism, especially in Poetry

 Autumn

A stand of people

by an open

grave underneath

the heavy leaves

celebrates

the cut and fill

for the new road

where

an old man

on his knees

reaps a basket-

ful of 

matted grasses for 

his goats

William Carlos Williams