Many topics presented on 'the Forum', seem to have degenerated into discussing some of the more distressing aspects of our great country and community. And I for one are amongst the worst of the transgressors. So in order to atone or expiate for my own part in this appalling situation, I thought perhaps I might introduce you to one of my secret little delights - Poetry ?

What exactly 'IS' Poetry ? 'Poetry is the practice of creating artworks using language', so it's been said ? Another 'bright spark' suggested it's another form of 'aural music' ? I thought all music was aural, wasn't it ? Anyway folks, I know nothing about poetry from an academic perspective other than what I like, and the emotional effect it can sometimes have on me ?

Probably my favourite contemporary poet would be Dylan THOMAS and his tempestuous and sensitive verse; ' Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night' the first verse being...

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

It's said that Dylan wrote this poem at aged only 17 years for his dying father ? I don't have any knowledge of that at all. It does push all my emotive buttons. Thank you CHRISGAFF1000 for giving me that sage advise and reminder, I needed that !

Aussie poets are amongst my favourites eg. Banjo PATERSON, Henry LAWSON, C.J. DENNIS - And who could ever forget that illustrious though melancholy piece, written about 1915, during the Great War 'Flanders Fields' Some attribute it, to Colonel McRae who lay dying in a military hospital on the French Coast, allegedly said to his Doctor "...Tell them this, If ye break faith with us who die, we shall not sleep..." ? Such powerful words I feel.

Whence we all shall finally go

Upon the page of OLO

And drum the beat like Richard Starkey

Angry, riled and often narky.

Written by May May: Copyright 2014, all rights reserved. Royalty cheques gladly accepted. "Richard Starkey" used with permission from my mate Ringo Starr.

Dear O Sung Wu,

Poetry is the preserve of everyone.

It's an ancient and universal verbal art form which
has stood the test of time in multiple manifestations.
It's a private and public phenomenon, and always has been
from the classical poets to the heroes of the modern
electronic media. It's found in high and los culture in the
short runs of books from exclusive publishing houses, on
gravestones, on the walls of public toilets and in
children's books and games.

Response to its magic is spread across humanity: in the
mind of the intellectual, in the heart of the lover, and in
the rhythmical movements of dancers who respond to the
lyrics of the songs which pound out in crowded rooms.

Comic verse is as much poetry as the ode, the limerick as
worthwhile as the sonnet. Funny rhymes can help you keep
your reason, just as serious poetry can probe your soul.

There is as much of the poetic in Milligan's

"A Lion is fierce
His teeth can pierce
The skin of a postman's knee.
It serves him right,
That, because of his bite,
He gets no letter you see."

as there is in Lawrence's

"The tiny fish enjoy themselves
in the sea
Quick little splinters of life,
their little lives are fun to them in the sea."

Or Keats'

"Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou has not thy bliss,
Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair!"

(from "Ode to A Grecian Urn," Verse 11).

o sung wu,

You have reached that stage in life where it is absolutely necessary if you have not done so already to slough off all of those false expectations that are the inheritance and burden of men. How else can men make some sense of their lives and obtain some glimmers of wisdom and peace?

Poetry reflects its time. That is not saying there isn't some learning in it or enjoyment, but that a lot of the romance and nostalgia, the negative forbearance in love for instance, is absolute pap. There is far too much poetry where men define themselves through women and it is so often servitude to women and maudlin self pity, but for what?

It you are trying to make some sense of your life and find some understanding, comfort and solace, you need poetry by men who reflect on their own lives and that of their fathers before them, challenging the visceral stuff, what it is to be a man. Outside of his 'relationship' with (or is that duty to) women, nation and family there is a man hidden in there somewhere, right?

Just observing that if one of the final duties/missions of life is to try to make some sense of it, there are men past 50 (society has men as elderly at 50) who are your peers - possibly from different cultural backgrounds but that doesn't say squat - who are living what you are living and have written songs, literature and poems of worth. Look to the men of modern times as well I say, and in that Google can be your friend.

Although I find many men through volunteering and around a campfire whose comment and counsel have equal merit and are thought-provoking, though not always presented as eloquently.

Hi there MAY MAY and FOXY...

MAY MAY you've neglected to include your postal address in order that your royalties may be appropriately dispatched ? Obviously your reference to Richard Starky was the real name of one, Ringo STARR, was it not ? Unfortunately, neither of these names are familiar to me ? Perhaps you may care to enlighten me, should time permit ? In any event thank you for your contribution.

Hello there FOXY...

In response to your short verse concerning the enjoyment of tiny fish as they swim about with carefree abandon, I'd like to offer this similarly short piece...

"...Fish, we are yesterdays catch
being taken to market,
our eyes are wide open to all who
go by -
If only we could send word, to our
friends in the river, to hide in
deep holes as prices are
high..."

(anon)

I will freely admit, the perfunctory or desultory language employed in most (period) classical poetry, the import of which, usually well and truly loses me. That great and much lauded Scottish Poet Laureate, 'Robbie Burns' (1759-96), is a good example of the type of poetry that I really have to grapple with, merely to understand it ?

My formal schooling only extended, with a decent pass in the NSW Intermediate Certificate in 1955. As such we all had the mandatory questions of Wm. Shakespeare's 'Henry V' and the 'Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner' which I didn't find too taxing ! Otherwise my taste in prose didn't extend too much before that of the early 20th Century. Therefore it's the more contemporary compositions that I really enjoy, essentially because I can understand them ?

Thank you MAY MAY and FOXY, I appreciate both your contributions.

WHAT ? ? ? ? ? You've never heard of the magnificent RINGO? Oh my goodness me. Have you also never heard of John, Paul and George?

I can't believe this. I'm hyperventilating ... I'll have to call 000. My next post will be from my hospital bed. I think I'll ask the ambulance officer to pack some of my Beatles CDs, so I can listen to them in hospital.

G'day there ONTHEBEACH...

Mate, what on earth are you doing to me with your very deep, thought provoking philosophically musing ? Seriously I've must agree with you on this one, we're all seeking some meaning to our respective lives, if not, what on earth is the point of it all ?

You've been around awhile, you've seen the inexorable changes in the direction of our country. And you don't need some gifted poet to put it all into verse for you ? There's no doubt an eloquent poet or writer could perhaps soften the spoken message of some horrible event that's going to strike at the very heart of our country like a Depression or similar.

Still words alone, irrespective of how beautifully arranged they may be, will never really soften any blow, or mitigate any tragedy, or lessen the awful impact a terrible event may have upon us ? It's the individual strength of our characters that will get us through, not nice words alone ? You're very much a realist and pragmatists aren't you ONTHEBEACH ? I'm sure you know exactly what I'm referring to ?

Thanks ol' mate.

Dear O Sung Wu,

"Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton bought a house
On a hill above the Bay of Nagasaki
For Madame Butterfly to die in.
Before fifty years had gone
There were thousands of dead butterflies
All over a dead town,
And the marriage brokers were out of a job.
Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton still believes
That only American wives are real.

Madame Butterfly stood at the window all night long
Waiting for Lieutenant B.F. Pinkerton to climb the hill.
Like any plumber or electrician since his day
He failed to come,
Human beings, it is said,
Spend a third of their lives in bed.
Women must have spent another third
Waiting for men to turn up. If all those hours
Were laid end to end,
We could have another life
Of our own.

Even in 1900, Madame Butterfly was out of date.
Fidelity, acceptance, death or dishonour -
What quaint anachronisms!
Lieutenant Pinkerton showed the way
The world willingly followed,
Deaf to the final, questioning chord.
No penalties-only consequences,
Which Pinkertons cannot evade
Any more than butterflies."

Dorothy Auchterlonie (or Green), in this poem takes
Puccini's opera - "Madame Butterfly," and places the
characters at Nagasaki, the second site for the atomic
bomb drop by the United States, on August 9, 1945, against
Japan. The first being - Hiroshima, on August 6, 1945.
The result is an extremely powerful expression of living
with the consequences of our actions, and the moral
choices we are faced with in life.

"Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton still believes
That only American wives are real."

A statement that proved only too true throughout Asia,
where American servicemen were stationed. And:

"...No penalties-only consequences,
Which Pinkertons cannot evade
Any more than butterflies."

Poor Butterfly! The devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki is
beyond human comprehension. As the author wryly points out:

"Even in 1900, Madame Butterfly was out of date.
Fidelity, acceptance, death or dishonour -
What quaint anachronisms!
Lieutenant Pinkerton showed the way
The world willingly followed,
Deaf to the final, questioning chord."

One can rid the world
of atrocities only by refusing to take part in them.

cont'd ...

The technology since 1945 has changed. Yet the
moral position is still the same as in this poem.

Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn tells us in the Preface, to
his book, "The Gulag Archipelago," about an old
Russian proverb that states:

"No, don't! Don't dig up the past!
Dwell on the past and you'll lose an eye."

But the proverb goes on to say:

"Forget the past and you'll lose both eyes."

Decades go by, and the scars and sores of the past are
healing over for good. However, unless we learn from
the mistakes of the past, the tragedies (such as those
mentioned in this poem) it is unlikely that we will
have a future to contemplate. The moral choice is ours
to make.

Here's part of a poem, 17 verses all told:

"The Yankee Officer gazed in awe
As we said to him "Listen Sport,
The best damn Gunners in the world
Are the Kiwis in support".

He agreed with us on their accuracy
But one thing he couldn't quite ken;
Was how, in the time that others fire one,
The Kiwis are pumping out ten.

Now the Dig's never stumped for answer
And mishandles the truth, so 'tis said;
So we answered his query on the rate-of-fire
By saying "Their guns are belt-fed".

That's as I remember them, slight differences on page 12, at
http://www.artillerywa.org.au/archives/2009_2.pdf
for all the verses.

OSW, poetry has always been a true reflection of us, our lives, and our emotions.
Poetry has chronicled our victories, painted humanities despair, and taught us the nature of things. I have taken many life lessons from poets.

When at a reasonably uninformed age I first read Shelleys “Ozymandias” it immediately put a perspective into my life, it helped form my “value” pie chart.
>> I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.<<

The wordsmiths that lyricists are is pure poetry....two names have top billing in my life....Hal David and Bernie Taupman.......special minds.

I will leave you with a poem my gran recited to us each time she bathed us.

I had a little dog its name was Tim
I put it in the bath to see if it could swim
He drank up all the water
He ate up all the soap
I took him to the doctor and he said no hope.

Poetry has seen us through thick and thin, recall Ring a Ring a Rosie, the child’s chronicle of the great plague.....”a tissue a tissue we all fall down.”

Yes OSW I am with you....I have written since my teens...one of my kids plagiarised a bit of my wordsmithing (unknown to me, I would have told the lecturer if I had known)...she got a distinction for it...I was chuffed , so I let her get away with it.

May May, Richard Starkey the lead singer LOL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krIus0i9xn8

Ummmm Paul, I really, really, really hope you know that's not the magnificent "real" Ringo, and that's not the "real" Beatles. Please, please tell me you knew this. Pretty please.

Yes, they look a bit odd, is there one of Ringo singing 'Yellow Submarine;, otherwise that will have to do. I recent askedly a bloke singing Beatles songs at a club. "Can you do 'Yellow Submarine'.." That request was met with a flat "No!".

Here's "The Beatles" but no movie

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_cwWP5Qf1k

Dear FOXY...

Brilliant just brilliant. MB is one of my most favourite and perhaps sadist of all the Opera's ! The ending is truly shattering being as it was, a true reflection of Anglo/Japanese life. More later.

Hi there SONOFGLOIN...

Sorry my friend if I mislead you ? I couldn't put together a piece of prose if my life depended upon it. You're so lucky to have a brain capable of consigning your inner most thoughts to verse. The only thing I ever managed to write was a disgusting 'ditty' about a hundred years ago now, nothing else. Imagine if you will, you could write beautiful poems of love and loss, you'd be a real hit with all the ladies ? Wasn't it Romeo who mezmerised Juliet with love poems ?

IS MISE - For your Korean Service;

Thanks, boys, for the peace you helped to keep
In this fair land that has not known,
The agonies of ruthless war,
Save those who for the absent weep.
Yet,smiling through their tear-stained eyes,
They thank you, too, for what you bore
Through weary years, not for the praise
You hoped to get, but freedom's cloudless skies
That they might be forever more
The very joy of living ne'er forgot.
And so with deepest gratitude we say,
"Good luck, God bless you all, and thanks a lot!"

(anon.) a Korean war verse.

Sorry there FOXY, seems I've had (another) 'senior moment' with my initial spelling of 'sadist' should read --> 'saddest' !

I'm sure you've seen PUCCINI'S great Opera, if not heard it, either in full or highlights at least ? I'm not generally of the emotional kind, (save for our dogs) but Madame Butterfly does bring a lump to one's throat, music and lyrics alike.

Your quote ? Or your last sentence '...One can rid the world of atrocities only by refusing to take part in them...' ? A powerful statement to be sure. Only thing, war in itself is an atrocity. The killing of another is wrong. Yet he attempts to kill you ? A true pacifist in a war event, is brave. His life is threatened, yet he refuses to take-up arms in his own defence, his pacifists belief's overrides everything including preventing his own destruction ? Courageous or stupidity ?

We had a couple of blokes in our Coy. one profoundly pacifist. The other identified with the teachings of 'the Society of Friends' (Quaker's) but he'd give a tube of 'Fosters' a bit of a nudge ? Anyway both were Medical Corps, and were always up for it when the ordnance started flying about. I had enormous respect for both, though being pretty young, I used to cop an 'ear full' of Christian values and stories, which tended to dislocate my efforts of fitting in with the rest of my section. Both medics were on Company strength, so it never bothered them.

Thank you FOXY.

Dear o sung wu,

Another teenager penned one of my favourite poems, one John Magee, a Spitfire pilot who died at the age of 19 in a midair collision, but not before gifting us this;

 "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 wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark, or even eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
- Put out my hand, and touched the face of God."

Dear O Sung Wu,

I also love "Madame Butterfly," especially the
famous aria - "One Fine Day," which is so emotive
and gives me goodebumps.

I tried to analyse what makes a success ul poem.

The reason a successful poem works isn't easy to
sum up. There's a perfection in the selection of words
and word order, an effective matching of the mood to
the metre; a certain balance, a reaching out with language;
a wholeness. To achieve this success the poet craftsman works
hard with language before saying, "That's it; it's right."
Or at least that's how I imagine it.

Back in 1949, the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas, wrote a poem,
called, "Over Sir John Hill." It's about a hawk who is
hunting in the estuary of the Taf and the Towy at
Laughame in South Wales where Thomas lived. Thomas was often
criticised for his loose use of language. Llareggrub language
is was called. But the critics were wrong -according to
later litereary experts.
Thomas, like other great poets, took pains with
language. A testament to his careful craftsmanship in the
writing of "Over Sir John's Hill, is found in the forty pages
of work sheets now held in the library at Harvard University.

This sobering and majestic poem begins:

"Over Sir John's hill,
The hawk on fire hangs still;
In a hoisted cloud, at drop of dusk, he pulls to his claws
And gallows, up the rays of his eyes the small birds of the bay..."

No Llareggub language here!

I have to explain that the "Madame Butterfly at Nagasaki,"
poem by Dorothy Auchterlonie (Green) is one of my favourites
and was part of an anthology of Australian poetry that I
had to compile while studying at uni.

Choosing a theme for an anthology of Australian poetry was
not an easy task. Colleagues at work suggested a variety of
themes, from Australian women poets, and feminist issues,
to "Propoganda" poems, war and "Protest" poetry, Aboriginal
poetry, bush ballads, landscape poems, traditional love
poems, poems about sex and sexuality, cities, suburbs...
And the list went on ...

cont'd...

cont'd ...

And just as I was starting to make up my mind, a crisis
in the Persian Gulf made it up for me. A crisis by the
name of President Saddam Hussein, who in the dead of
night on 2 August 1990, sent his army to swallow up
Kuwait, his neighbour and former ally, and so bring one-fifth
of thw world's proven oil reserves under his personal
control. The Gulf oil nightmare had at last come true,
just when the world was starting to relax, bringing with it the
real threat of nuclear war.

An anthology based on an anti-nuclear theme of Australian
poetry suddenly became for me, the assignment I wanted to do.
I feared that our world could become so obsessed with the
problems of hatred and aggression, that it would allow
peace and love to be regarded as soft and weak. Yet our
survival on this planet depends on their dominance.
Otherwise Stephen Vincent Benet's prophecy could easily
come true:

"Oh where are you coming from soldier,
gaunt soldier
with weapons beyond any reach of my mind
with weapons so deadly
the world must grow older
and die in its tracks if it does not turn kind."

"We need new ways of thinking to cope with
the nuclear age. It is here that writers,
with their concern for the human condition
and their special skills with language, can
enable us to imagine the horrific reality
of nuclear arms and nerve us to build an
alternative future..."

Dear SteeleRedux,

Thank You for sharing with us your
awesome poem.

It made my spirit fly!

- 'Up, up the long, delirious burning blue'...

and then...

- 'Put out my hand, and touched the face of God'. Almost as if he had a premonition of his own demise ?

Dead at nineteen years eh, while at the controls of his Spitfire in a mid-air prang ? If a warrior who flies is meant to die, then what better way for him to go ? But what a damnable waste of a young talanted life.

Thank you for your contribution STEELEREDUX, it's indeed appreciated.

Hi there FOXY...

Your eloquence with the written word really astounds me, one can only imagine having a conversation with you ? Still you are, after all said and done, a Librarian surrounded as it were with books, information and every imaginable source of data ? So it's little wonder you possess such an incredible knowledge of the English language, in all it's various forms.

Sorry, I deviate the topic of course is Poetry. A way I suppose of concentrating all the good things people think, say and do, and consigning them into just a few well chosen words ? The trick is, being able to assemble those words, to somehow make them agreeable, attractive, memorable, and poignant ? While it's true, poetry covers all human emotions, life, death, love, loss, and even humour etc.
The greatest of Poets seem able to write material that can cover anything and everything.

Why I like prose, as opposed to what you'd call ordinary narrative, it would seem that much more of a story can be covered by just a few well chosen words, with clever even 'ingenious' punctuation ? I believe it's imperative when reading poetry that punctuation is closely observed otherwise some stanzas can appear to make no sense at all ? Still I'm no expert when it comes to poetry, other than having a great deal of love for it.

Thanks again FOXY for your prodigious articles, I really do appreciate them.

Dear O Sung Wu,

I was really lucky at high school - in my
English teacher who instilled in me the
love of Shakespeare and Literature.
I went on to study Literature at uni Thanks
to that wonderful woman. She was an inspiration!

Thank you again for your kind words.
However, I owe everything I know today to that
teacher. She opened my mind.

Hi there FOXY...

Your English teacher sounded much like my Maths teacher, Mr WALLER, sadly long gone, but it was he that got me my pass in Maths at the Intermediate Certificate examination, in 1956.

He and your English teacher, are too few on the ground these days. From what I've read, our education procedures are no longer appropriate to the technological aspects (apparently) of today. Minor components of English such as spelling, and correct syntax, are now overlooked and considered redundant. As long as the examiner can understand what's written that's all that matters. I wonder ?

O Sung Wu,
What can I say! Have been hooked on poetry since primary school, especially Australian ballads. I can still, with odd prompt, recite My Country by Dorothy McKellar.

Of course I admire the big names like Lawson and Patterson but there is plenty of great stuff written by lessor knowns and many by 'anon'.

These authors would take me far out of the class room with their wonderful words.

Unfortunately verse seems to be out of fashion now, but the other day we had a 'sparky' doing some work here and guess what, he was a whistler and I was amazed because it is years since I heard someone whistling. Again when I was a kid nearly everyone whistled, and how we admired those that could whistle very loudly through their teeth.

Sadly, Australian verse is no longer taught in schools and our history also is hardly mentioned. I doubt if kids today can name any explorers. Try asking a Sydney kid who crossed the Blue Mountains, or a Melbourne kid when was Melbourne first settled?

You have brought back memories and I will likely get out some old books of verse and refresh myself before retiring tonight. Thanks, far better than the idiot box.

Hi there BANJO...

I'm very glad that this humble topic has managed to awaken a very pleasant part of your earlier life, any little bit of joy and happiness should be clutched with both hands, such is the state of the world !

I agree, some of the lesser known names, writing some terrific Aussie poetry, much of it centred around the bush, and of course the various wars we've engaged in. There's a book I've recently purchased, titled; 'The Happy Warrior' - An Anthology of Australian and New Zealand Military Poetry. Material selected and compiled by; WO2 Paul BARRETT and Kerry B. COLLISON. With a forward by; Lt Gen. Sir Peter COSGROVE AC, MC. A brilliant book with some really brilliant material contained therein.

I'd be very pleased if you could find the time to select something that you may care to share with us all BANJO ?

Many thanks my friend.

Dear Foxy and o sung wu,

I am please you enjoyed Magee's poem.

This is his Wikipedia entry;

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Gillespie_Magee,_Jr.

Another favourite for personal reasons is The Pearl Diver by Banjo Patterson.

After leaving the Navy my father worked as a deep sea diver for many years before it took its toll and this was one of those he was most fond of. There are just so many metaphors wrapped up in what on the surface is a relatively simple piece. And this line is just so evocative.

“Kanzo Makame, the diver, failing to quite understand,

Pulled the "haul up" on the life-line, found it was slack in his hand;

Then, like a little brown stoic, lay down and died on the sand.”

http://www.best-poems.net/banjo_paterson/poem-779.html

Add that to this rather un-PC but prescient line;

“You have to be sure of your man

Ere you wake up that nest-ful of hornets -- the little brown men of Japan.”

It is good for the brain and soul to keep the learning going. Modern poetry is a good choice for that. This might be interesting to some I hope and there are useful links at the end.

http://australia.gov.au/about-australia/australian-story/modern-austn-poetry

G'day ONTHEBEACH...

Mate, what a veritable treasure of Oz Poetry links I've seen for awhile ! Many thanks for that I really appreciate it. As you are aware, I'm an academic 'knucklehead' and concerning the finer, more literary pursuits, as well as the Arts, Prose, the Classics, fine Music etc. I only know what I like, and understand.

Many of the great Poets down through the ages, write material in such a manner I find it particularly difficult to fathom ? The complex alliterative styles and awkward techniques of punctuation can prove difficult for me to observe also. Still, I guess I do alright as an ol' goat I suppose ? Those links referring to the famous and not so famous, Aussie Poets is really great, thank you for that ONTHEBEACH.

o sung wu,

The technology wizards are doing a sterling job, bringing the previously unavailable to us at the touch of a key.

I wonder how many people who would like to do more in their life (maybe feel their life's work is not over yet) are aware that they don't have to have a MA and a plum in the mouth to read and record poetry and literature for others to enjoy, for example for elders with sight problems? That can be done as a local initiative and on the Net, for posterity. Go for it folks!

I have recorded books playing while I drive. I prefer fact over fiction. A lot of poetry readings have the robotic voice. Not my cup of tea, but better than nothing for some until some kind person volunteers to read it out loud to record.