On Mar 17, 5:49 am, "Dennis M. Hammes"
arvig.net> wrote:> George Dance wrote:
>> On Mar 16, 8:10 am, "Dennis M. Hammes"
arvig.net> wrote:>
>>>George Dance wrote:
>
>>>>On Mar 15, 3:22 am, "Dennis M. Hammes"
arvig.net> wrote:>
>>>>>George Dance wrote:
>
>>>>>>On Mar 14, 3:21 am, "Dennis M. Hammes"
arvig.net> wrote:>
>>>>>>>George Dance wrote:
>
>>>>>>[second attempt]
>
>>>>>>>>Well, yes; while I violently reject the 'Disney' and 'baby'
>>>>>>>>comparisons, I agree that Teasdale is painting the prettiest picture
>>>>>>>>she can. She's lulling the reader into a nice sense of pleasantness
>>>>>>>>and relaxation - disarming them - before swatting them with the fact
>>>>>>>>of their own, and humanity's own, lack of meaning. Entice the reader
>>>>>>>>with a pretty tapestry, and then pull it away to reveal the Abyss
>>>>>>>>beneath.
>
>>>>>>>The technique itself a cliche long before her day, and in her piece
>>>>>>>no more /than/ the cliche.
>>>>>>> And thus meaningless.
>
>>>>>>>>If the poem fails today, it's because the Abyss has become such a
>>>>>>>>cliche in itself in the time since; but at the time it wasn't. It
>>>>>>>>only became fully articulated as an idea with the Existentialists,
>>>>>>>>Alienation psychologists, etc. after WWII. But it was there, through
>>>>>>>>both the wars and the Depression - gnawing away at human psyches,
>>>>>>>>destroying what was left of 19th centuy optimism, little by little.
>>>>>>>>Some philosophers sensed it: Neitzche and Kierkegaard, for two. And
>>>>>>>>the poets sensed it as well; the Abyss drove Pound insane, and pushed
>>>>>>>>Eliot into hiding in the bowels of the Church.
>>>>>>>>And here Teasdale gives the gentle reader a wee glimpse.
>
>>>>>>>>Though I admit that today even the Abyss has become a cliche (I can't
>>>>>>>>turn on the TV, for instance, without hearing those two brats singing,
>>>>>>>>"Dust, in the WIND!"). And perhaps that's why Dennis and OB, and
>>>>>>>>perhaps others, interpret the entire poem as nothing but cliche.
>
>>>>>>>My, and, I believe, OB's, interpretation of cliche have not a dam'
>>>>>>>thing to do with Kierkegaard, TV, or any other version of the Today Show.
>>>>>>>The accusation is that the images, phrases, and concepts,
>>>>>>>including esp. the Abyss of War, were cliche /in Teasdale's own day/,
>>>>>>>and that she put them, and their "relations," as no more than cliche
>>>>>>>in the piece.
>
>>>>>>There is no 'Abyss of War' mentioned, in either Teasdale's poem or in
>>>>>>my own comments; that's simply more /a priori/ 'interpretation. War
>>>>>>is horrible; but at least when one feels horror, one feels and cares
>>>>>>about something. Confronting the Abyss involves realizing that
>>>>>>there's nothing to feel and care about, and living in it (as we do) is
>>>>>>to cease to feel or care about anything.
>
On Mar 17, 5:49 am, "Dennis M. Hammes"
arvig.net> wrote:> George Dance wrote:
>> On Mar 16, 8:10 am, "Dennis M. Hammes"
arvig.net> wrote:>
>>>George Dance wrote:
>
>>>>On Mar 15, 3:22 am, "Dennis M. Hammes"
arvig.net> wrote:>
>>>>>George Dance wrote:
>
>>>>>>On Mar 14, 3:21 am, "Dennis M. Hammes"
arvig.net> wrote:>
>>>>>>>George Dance wrote:
>
>
>>>>>>>My, and, I believe, OB's, interpretation of cliche have not a dam'
>>>>>>>thing to do with Kierkegaard, TV, or any other version of the Today Show.
>>>>>>>The accusation is that the images, phrases, and concepts,
>>>>>>>including esp. the Abyss of War, were cliche /in Teasdale's own day/,
>>>>>>>and that she put them, and their "relations," as no more than cliche
>>>>>>>in the piece.
>
>>>>>>There is no 'Abyss of War' mentioned, in either Teasdale's poem or in
>>>>>>my own comments; that's simply more /a priori/ 'interpretation. War
>>>>>>is horrible; but at least when one feels horror, one feels and cares
>>>>>>about something. Confronting the Abyss involves realizing that
>>>>>>there's nothing to feel and care about, and living in it (as we do) is
>>>>>>to cease to feel or care about anything.
>
>>>>>>>Tennyson stared into the Abyss of War (even if at a comfortably
>>>>>>>lit'ry distance) when guns were loaded from the muzzle with black
>>>>>>>powder, and the smooth bores allowed you one eighty-yard shot before
>>>>>>>the fella with the bayonet was in your face.
>>>>>>> Whitman whined at length about the resulting body count -- without
>>>>>>>once approaching the abyss, let alone staring it down.
>
>>>>>>>"Gentlemen -- this is -- /we/ are -- the end of the line. If they
>>>>>>>get through us, they roll up our whole flank.
>>>>>>> "Fix. Bayonets."
>
>>>>>>>"Stranger, go tell the Spartans that the Laodaecians have here done
>>>>>>>theirduty."
>
>>>>>>>/That/, is staring into the Abyss.
>
>>>>>>Like hell. That is doing one's 'duty' - fixing bayonets, keeping a
>>>>>>stiff upper lip, holding the thin red line; for the sake of Queen and
>>>>>>Country. Compare that to Owen (whom you mention), who caught a
>>>>>>glimpse of the Abyss at the same time as Teasdale; a realization that
>>>>>>his comrades were dying for nothing at all. .
>
>>>>>God, you make me sick.
>
>>>>But don't we all just make you sick?
>>>>We're all "pathetic", right? You prick,
>>>>You have contempt for everyone
>>>>And vent it for your little fun,
>>>>You let us read your hate for free
>>>>Under the guise of 'poetry'.
>
>>>How can a poet hate an ant
>>>For bragging of the things he Kant?
>
>> Of course you have to ask (while mocking Kant)
>> For, truth to tell, the fact is that you can't
>> Imagine for yourself what a poet thinks
>> Or anyone but you -- hence your work stinks.
>
> My work? Of /course/ you cannot geddit --
> That requires you to have read it.
>
> So,Kant-- what is "duty"?
Why not read a book yourself
(He answered rather sweetly)
Or ask the mindless Kantian clonel
With whom you agree completely?
> More exactly, why is it a "soldier's" "duty" /pro patria moron/,
> and not yours?
> What, exactly, makes you so excruciatingly Holy, or is it
> "Special," that it is my "duty," requiring thus not even a thankyou,
> to defend /you/?
> From the Abyss of War /or/ the one in your head?
'Duty' to die /pro patria/'s in your head
(like your "Abyss of War"), not what I said.
Owen called th'entire phrase a "lie"
And - if you bothered asking - so would I.
> When I defend my home from Hitler's dance,
> Ants do not note that I defend the ants,
> But babies note that I defended babies,
> Babies' Gods, stupidity, and rabies.
You never battled Hitler - he's long dead;
You only battle demons in your head.
Not Adolph, though; he thought the same as you:
"Die for Fatherland" was his spiel, too.
> So, babe, if it's my duty to kill tyrants,
> Bet your ass I'll kill all close aspirants,
No: on that point you think like Adolph too:
You'd rather have some others die for you.
I've met your type, and recognize the squawks
Of bravery that come from chickenhawks.
> And though your choice of "backup" be Divine,
> The choice of time and place and arms is -- /mine/,
> And who needs swords when /all/ the dancing dense'll
> Succumb to one correctly-held lead pencil?
One other similarity to Adolph I will tell:
It's very clear that each of you hammes it up quite well.
{Here I'd better snip some turds
To focus on your weasel words]
> My sword's what makes me sacrosanct
> The while it makes you only spanked,
> For if, instead of spanked, you're dead,
> Abyss is /still/ all in your head.
That might be true - that you can't find
A purpose using your small mind -
You might think Daddyland dicates
Yours, and mine, and all men's fates.
>>>>>> Moore was there. Hayes was there. Owen was there. Chard was
>
>>>>>>>there. Chamberlain was there. Jones was there. Raleigh was there.
>>>>>>>Leonidas was there.
>
>>>>>>It doesn't matter where anyone was. Owen glimpsed the Abyss in war;
>>>>>>Teasdale while contemplating nature; Eliot in his daily routine.
>>>>>>Today we don't notice it at all, as we live squarely inside it.
>
>>>>>Speak for yourself.
>>>>> Or, if that's the way you're gonna speak, just shut up.
>
>>>>Oh, yes, you wish we'd all shut up
>>>>And listen to a whining pup
>>>>Rant, and bitch, and whine about
>>>>How he has it figured out:
>>>>Sara, Emily, Karla too,
>>>>All such "babies" - but not you!
>
>>>I /LUUUve/ to watch the babies fission
>>>Over who ain't Got Permission
>>>To be good at gun or shiv --
>>>Material of the right to live.
>
>> Oh, yes, you /LUUUve/ to take your pokes
>> At all mankind, and have your jokes
>> About our lives and deaths and such
>> But hell, a worm might do as much.
>
> O, No, O, No: Ms. Teasdale /seD/
> A worm won't care when you are dead.
A worm, then, has more sense than you:
He knows he won't be listened to.
That, if he claimed to know a Cosmic
Meaning, he'd sound merely comic.
>>>But what makes me really crack up
>>>Is how you recruit your "backup,"
>>>Telling I insult them, too,
>>>When I was speaking just to you.
>
>> Don't try to make it about me
>> You speak about yourself merely.
>> Sara won't flame you - she is dead
>> So don't pretend that's what I've said.
>
> Not marble nor the gilded monuments
> Can match your molded human form for "dense."
>
You think poor Karla will flame? My, that's rich -
She smiled when you called her 'litigious bitch'.
You whine because your backup didn't last;
He ran away to find a rhyme for 'vast'
So little Hammie has to flame alone,
And that's the only reason for this moan.
>
>> You LUUVe it in the Pit, confess,
>> You LUUVe feeling life is purposeless:
>> That justifies your every sneer,
>> Your every joke, your every beer.
>
> The thing about you "philosophic" queers
> Is you let Petrarch stand six hundred years
Writing poetry doesn't make you gay
And if you were, boy - who cares anyway?
So your obsession will not get me pissed --
Take it up with your psychiatrist.
> So that you could pretend a human purpose
> Opening our books to quote and slurp us.
> When you thought and thought and thought upon it,
> You found a sestina in every sonnet,
One minute you play ignorant,
Bragging that you've read no Kant,
The next you are berating me
Upon a point of pedantry.
You might be proud of all your fiction
But where I'm from, that's contradiction.
> But only as the principal excuse
> That your own writing was so dam' obtuse.
I write plain English (Teasdale did that too)
And do not hide it in Petrarchan goo,
You, on the other hand, choose not to read it
And opt for flame (I guess you really need it).
> If you think I have had no purpose, dear,
> Then please explain the number you find here:
>
>
http://scrawlmark.org/eurydice.html
>
> (Do not attempt explaining all the words;
> Upanishads aren't /for/ who speak in turds.)
I know of your /Euridicye/, you joker:
Remember that I called you mediocre.
I know of some computer wizards who
Could write programs that similarly spew.
>>>>> I didn't stare down the fuken Abyss for three years or English for
>>>>>35 so /you/ could sit there sucking your thumb, whining that
>>>>>Everything Is For Nothing.
>
>>>>You've found 'life's meaning,' [might be] true:
>>>>Everyone's a fool but you.
>>>>But I don't buy that trick, my dear,
>>>>You use contempt to mask your fear.
>
>>>/Now/ your squall has got me bored.
>>>Entertain me. Fetch your sword.
>>>Else I am just a fool, you see,
>>>For thinking you could equal me.
>
>> You always were a fool, you know,
>> And just don't like my telling you so:
>
> "...my saying so:"
>
[Rev.]
You never show but half a wit
And do not like my saying it.
>> You thought your mocking would be thanked
>> And scorn would make you sacrosanct.
>
But I have read too many tricks
>From chickenhawks and sim'lar pricks.
