Sunday, July 25, 2010

Robert Graves: The Poets and the Gleemen

Gleemen's Dance, 9th Century. From Cleopatra, Cotton Ms. (British Museum)

Picking up Graves' The White Goddess, I came across this intriguing passage on poetry in midiaeval Wales.  If you substitute "print poets" for "court poets" and "spoken word artists" for "gleemen", you might find a not-so-far-off description of the state of poetry today!  Perhaps I'll call spoken word artists "gleemen" from now on...and bring gold torques, honey cakes and beefbones (especially beefbones) to the next poetry slam.  The parallels are fascinating...

In a sixth-century Welsh poem, the Gogodin, it is remarked that “the poets of the world assess the men of valour”; and the combatants—whom they often parted by a sudden intervention—would afterwards accept their version of the fight, if worth commemorating in a poem, with reverence as well as pleasure. The gleeman, on the other hand, was a joculator, or entertainer, not a priest: a mere client of the military oligarchs and without the poet’s arduous professional training. He would often make a variety turn of his performance, with mime and tumbling.

If the gleeman’s flattery of his patrons were handsome enough and his song sweetly enough attuned to their mead-sodden minds, they would load him with gold torques and honey cakes; if not, they would pelt him with beef bones.

… it is a paradox that in midiaeval Wales the admired court poet had become a client of the prince to whom he addressed formal begging odes and forgotten the Theme almost entirely; while the despised and unendowed minstral who seemed to be a mere gleeman showed the greater poetic integrity, even though his verse was not so highly polished.

NB:  ... by "the Theme", Graves means “the single poetic theme of Life and Death… the question of what survives of the beloved.” Here he quotes from the Welsh poet Alun Lewis...

Friday, July 23, 2010

Susan Briscoe: The Crow's Vow -- two more poems

“Kitchen tulips too red…”

Kitchen tulips too red,
daffodils too yellow

in this horizontal light. A dream
of our blue crystal shattering

at my touch. Dry air snaps with static,
dissatisfaction.

I scribble a self-portrait
in orange crayon,

trace an outline of you
that won’t fit the page.



“We have learned nothing…”

 We have learned nothing
from the songbirds.

You have brought me shiny bits
and baubles, a crow’s cache

of electronics and appliances, things
with instructions in six scripts.

Chainsaw, lawnmower. Winter tires
and summer too. In fact the whole car.

But not once have you danced,
and I have yet to hear you sing.

Ed. note: This is supplementary material for this review in The Rover.

Susan Briscoe: The Crow's Vow -- first two poems

“An icy mist…”

An icy mist,
no mountains this morning.

The world is a smaller circle.
Look closer:

ribbons of deer tracks
strung across the snow

and three brown apples
that never fell.

Your traps
all along the edges.



“Spring…”

Spring
in the subtlest colours of winter:

faint pink of maple,
gold tinge of birch,

yet spruce almost black
against the whitest greys.

We wake to a field mouse,
soft brown fur and clean white belly.

I could skin the whole family,
stitch pretty mittens.


Ed. note:  This is supplementary material for this review in The Rover.   Briscoe's collection is comprised of ten-line poems that go untitled -- except in the table of contents, where they are indicated with first lines between quotations.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

News

Three of my poems have been solicited and accepted by The Saranac Review, including the title poem for my prospective collection, "You Told Me to Write a Love Poem".  The poems will appear in the issue after the next one -- that is, in 2012.  I'll have "poems forthcoming" in my bio for a good long while -- not a bad thing -- and it feels good to be published again in that fine review.

Thursday, July 08, 2010

This Kind of Fire

sometimes I think the gods
deliberately keep pushing me
into the fire
just to hear me
yelp
a few good
lines.

they just aren't going to
let me retire
silk scarf about neck
giving lectures at
Yale.

the gods need me to
entertain them.

they must be terribly
bored with all
the others

and I am too.

and now my cigarette lighter
has gone dry.
I sit here
hopelessly
flicking it.

this kind of fire
they can't give
me.

-- Charles Bukowski

Monday, July 05, 2010

Philip Goldberg: Are Eastern Religions More Science-Friendly?

Philip Goldberg: Are Eastern Religions More Science-Friendly?

Yes, indeed, they are. Ironic it is that the very materialistic bias inherent in our revealed religions both fostered the development of Western science, and has rendered them incompatible with its conclusions.