Re: The Rattle Bag: The A Poems
Posted: Tue Jun 14, 2011 11:15 am
Saffron, I would say you are a 'truant' but not a delinquent.
Quality books. Great conversations.
https://www.booktalk.org/
I know you're on to the B's, but wandering in at this point I may make just a few tardy comments, which don't require any response to divert you from your current progress.And Poem Number 2 - After his Death - Norman MacCaig
It turned out
that the bombs he had thrown
raised buildings:
that the acid he had 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.
I only lived with the pacific kind of pacifist, so this was a splash of refreshing water.A rough and intrusive bit of pacifism.
Well, fat chance when we are so mislead by the media who have their own axes to grind. I would refer you to the book by NoamDireCari wrote:
It might break the catatonic civility we are so trained in, and allow us to be both more alert to destructive forces, and quicker to action when they rear their heads. Fat chance, eh?
All over the place, from the popular culture to the propaganda system, there is constant pressure to make people feel that they are helpless, that the only role they can have is to ratify decisions and to consume.
Noam Chomsky
I appreciate the information about Isabel Gowdie, Penny.The Allansford Pursuit
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
O, I shall go into a hare
With sorrow and sighing and mickle care,
And I shall go in the Devil's name
Aye, till I be fetched 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 fetched hame,
---Trout, take heed of an otter lank
Will harry thee close from bank to bank,
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 bee
With muckle horror and dread of thee
And flit to hive in the Devil's name
Ere that I be fetched 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 fetched 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 fetched hame.
Cunning and art he did not lack
But aye her whistle would fetch him back.
ROBERT GRAVES
A restoration of the fragmentary seventeenth-century text, sung by north-country witches at their sabbaths.