Poetry
As I have nothing substantive to say about my life today (except that I feel much better than yesterday, thank you), here are some short poems I quite like.
Not Waving But Drowning
Stevie Smith (1957)
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
********************************
This Be the Verse
Philip Larkin (1974)
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they ahd
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can.
And don't have any kids yourself.
********************************
APO 96225
Larry Rottmann (1972)
A young man once went off to war in a far country,
and when he had time, he wrote home nad said,
"Dear Mom, sure rains a lot here."
But his mother--reading between the lines as mothers
always do--wrote back,
"We're quite concerned. Tell us what it's really like."
And the young man responded,
"Wow! You ought to see the funny monkeys."
To which the mother replied,
"Don't hold back. How is it there?"
And the young man wrote,
"The sunsets here are spectacular!"
In her next letter, the mother pleaded,
"Son, we want you to tell us everything. Everything!"
So the next time he wrote, the young man said,
"Today I killed a man. Yesterday, I helped drop napalm
on women and children."
And the father wrote right back,
"Please don't write such depressing letters. You're
upsetting your mother."
So, after a while,
the young man wrote,
"Dear Mom, sure rains here a lot."
********************************
Vietnam Dream
Ron Carter (1976)
Sometimes still in my deepest sleep.
Someone orders "Turn" and we turn.
The ship swings lazily like a log
Caught in a current, and
The guns point to something I cannot see.
Then someone orders "Fire" and we fire,
The first shell spinning out of the barrel
Like a football thrown for a gain.
Where it touches the earth
Smoke puffs like popcorn.
And then all is still.
I have been ready now for years,
Waiting the order that never came.
The sneer of cold command,
The Jews lined up at the bathroom door.
I cannot see beyond that moment
Whether shaking my head I turn
Away or whether when someone
orders
"Kill" I kill.
********************************
As it turns out, the first four short poems I like that I thought of or happened across today are rather depressing. Sorry.
Not Waving But Drowning
Stevie Smith (1957)
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
********************************
This Be the Verse
Philip Larkin (1974)
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they ahd
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can.
And don't have any kids yourself.
********************************
APO 96225
Larry Rottmann (1972)
A young man once went off to war in a far country,
and when he had time, he wrote home nad said,
"Dear Mom, sure rains a lot here."
But his mother--reading between the lines as mothers
always do--wrote back,
"We're quite concerned. Tell us what it's really like."
And the young man responded,
"Wow! You ought to see the funny monkeys."
To which the mother replied,
"Don't hold back. How is it there?"
And the young man wrote,
"The sunsets here are spectacular!"
In her next letter, the mother pleaded,
"Son, we want you to tell us everything. Everything!"
So the next time he wrote, the young man said,
"Today I killed a man. Yesterday, I helped drop napalm
on women and children."
And the father wrote right back,
"Please don't write such depressing letters. You're
upsetting your mother."
So, after a while,
the young man wrote,
"Dear Mom, sure rains here a lot."
********************************
Vietnam Dream
Ron Carter (1976)
Sometimes still in my deepest sleep.
Someone orders "Turn" and we turn.
The ship swings lazily like a log
Caught in a current, and
The guns point to something I cannot see.
Then someone orders "Fire" and we fire,
The first shell spinning out of the barrel
Like a football thrown for a gain.
Where it touches the earth
Smoke puffs like popcorn.
And then all is still.
I have been ready now for years,
Waiting the order that never came.
The sneer of cold command,
The Jews lined up at the bathroom door.
I cannot see beyond that moment
Whether shaking my head I turn
Away or whether when someone
orders
"Kill" I kill.
********************************
As it turns out, the first four short poems I like that I thought of or happened across today are rather depressing. Sorry.