Alba
by W. S. Merwin November 3, 2008
Climbing in the mist
I came to a terrace wall and
saw above it a small
field of broad beans in flower
their white fragrance was flowing
through the first light of morning
there a little way up the mountain
where I had made my way through
the olive groves and under the blossoming
boughs of the almonds above the old hut
of the charcoal burner where suddenly
the scent of the bean flowers found me
and as I took the next step I heard
the creak of the harness and the mule’s
shod hooves striking stones in the furrow and
then the low voice of the man talking softly
praising the mule as he walked behind
through the cloud in his white shirt
along the row and between his own words
he was singing under his breath a few phrases
at a time of the same song singing it
to his mule it seemed as I listened
watching their breaths and not understanding a word
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
The Must Watch Hollywood Movies
The Must Watch Movies:
0001. Citizen Kane (1941) *
0002.Casablanca (1942) *
0003.The Godfather (1972)
0004.Gone with the Wind (1939)*
0005.Raging Bull (1980)
0006.Lawrence of Arabia (1962)*
0007.Singin' in the Rain (1952)*
0008.The Wizard of Oz (1939) *
0009.The Graduate (1967)*
0010. Mr Smith Goes to Washington*
0011. Schindler's List (1993)*
0012.Vertigo (1958) *
0013.It's a Wonderful Life (1946)
0014.City Lights (1931)*
0015.Sunset Boulevard (1950)*
0016.The Searchers (1956)
0017.The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)*
0018.Star Wars (1977)
0019.Some Like It Hot (1959)*
0020Psycho (1960)
0021.2001:A Space Odyssey (1968)
0022.All About Eve (1950)
0023.The African Queen (1951)*
0024.The General (1927)
0025.Chinatown (1974)
0026.On the Waterfront (1954) *
0027.One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975)*
0028.The Grapes of Wrath (1940)*
0029.2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
0030.The Scent of a Woman (1992)*
0031.The Maltese Falcon (1941)*
0032.E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)*
0033.To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) *
0034.Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)
0035.The Nutcracker (Royal Ballet)*
0036.Bonnie and Clyde (1967)
0037.High Noon (1952)
0038.Apocalypse Now (1979)
0039.Finding Nemo (2003)*
0040.Double Indemnity (1944)
0041,The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948)
0042.Annie Hall (1977)*
0043.The Godfather Part II (1974)
0044.Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)*
0045.It Happened One Night (1934)*
0046.Midnight Cowboy (1969)
0047.The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)
0048.Doctor Zhivago (1965)*
0049.North by Northwest (1959)*
0050.The Sound of Music (1965)*
0051.West Side Story (1961)
0052.King Kong (1933)*
0053.Rear Window (1954)
0054.Midnight Cowboy (1969)
0055.The Birth of a Nation (1915)*
0056.The Philadelphia Story (1940)*
0057.A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)
0058.Shane (1953)
0059.A Clockwork Orange (1971)
0060.Taxi Driver (1976)*
0061.Jaws (1975)
0062.Rear Window (1954)
0063.Intolerance (1916)
0064.Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)
0065.The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)
0066. Gilda *
0067.From Here to Eternity (1953)
0068.Amadeus (1984)*
0069.The Deer Hunter (1978)
0070.All Quiet on the Western Front (1930)
0071,MASH (1970)
0072.The Third Man (1949)
0073.Rocky (1976)
0074.Fantasia (1940)
0075.The Gold Rush (1925)
0076.Rebel Without a Cause (1955)*
0077.Nashville (1975)
0078.Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
0079.Duck Soup (1933)
0080.Sullivan's Travels (1941)
0081.Tootsie (1982)*
0082.American Graffiti (1973)
0083.Stagecoach (1939)
0084.Cabaret (1972)
0085.Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)
0086.Network (1976)
0087.The Silence of the Lambs (1991)*
0088.The Manchurian Candidate (1962)*
0089.Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)
0090.An American in Paris (1951)*
0091.Unforgiven (1992)
0092.Shane (1953)
0093.Tootsie (1982)*
0094.The French Connection (1971)
0095.A Clockwork Orange (1971)
0096.Forrest Gump (1994)*
0097.Saving Private Ryan (1998)*
0098.Ben-Hur (1959)*
0099.The Shawshank Redemption (1994)
0100.Wuthering Heights (1939)*
0101.The Gold Rush (1925)
0102.Dances with Wolves (1990)*
0103.In the Heat of the Night (1967)
0104. Lost Horizon (1937)*
0105.All the President's Men (1976)
0106.Modern Times (1936)
0107.The Wild Bunch (1969)
0108.The Apartment (1960)*
0109.Spartacus (1960)*
0110.Giant (1956)
0111.Sunrise (1927)
0112.Titanic (1997)*
0113.Fargo (1996)
0114.Easy Rider (1969)
0115.A Night at the Opera (1935)
0116.Mutiny on the Bounty (1935)*
0117.Frankenstein (1931)*
0118.12 Angry Men (1957)
0119.Bringing Up Baby (1938)
0120.Patton (1970)
0121.The Sixth Sense (1999)
0122.The Jazz Singer (1927)*
0123.Swing Time (1936)
0124.Sophie's Choice (1982)*
0125.A Place in the Sun (1951)*
0126.Goodfellas (1990)
0127.The French Connection (1971)
0128.Pulp Fiction (1994)
0129.The Last Picture Show (1971)
0130.The Searchers (1956)
0131.Do the Right Thing (1989)
0132.Bringing Up Baby (1938)
0133.Blade Runner (1982)
0134.Unforgiven (1992)
0135.Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)
0136.My Fair Lady*
0137. Guess who is Coming to Dinner*
0138.Toy Story (1995)
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Young Women, Old Women a poem
I really love this poem Young Woman, Old Woman. It has been carried by some blogs. During an international women forum earlier, this poem was widely read after it was placed on their site.
young woman, old woman
in their heart despite the years
the yearning to be beautiful
young woman, old woman
they look at each other
one with envy, the other
with fear and contempt
(of the wrinkles, old age)
young woman, old woman
they look into each other
one for a mother the other
for a daughter
by john tiong chunghoo
young woman, old woman
in their heart despite the years
the yearning to be beautiful
young woman, old woman
they look at each other
one with envy, the other
with fear and contempt
(of the wrinkles, old age)
young woman, old woman
they look into each other
one for a mother the other
for a daughter
by john tiong chunghoo
Monday, October 13, 2008
Phantom of the Opera
Yes, life like Shakespeare says is a stage where everyone has to take a part. To me it is an opera where a phantom lurks, and who sometimes, drives us crazy. Still, we have to admit that we do not know much about this phantom who has such a profound effect in all our lives. Still without the phantom, life would be so much less meaningful.
do you cry the night away
when laughters turn into
a bottle of sobs of an alcoholic?
your warm heart finding itself
floating on a lake of ice?
is the fabled tale in the
warmth of your hands
slipping away from your grip?
an opera singing a dissonant tune
to your fantasy? the director you seek
leaving you in a valley of wants?
is the phantom of the opera,
nipping you in the bud? your
legs tied, your smiles fraying
into an ridiculous satire?
you walk down straight to
the lake of salvation only
to find a ring of fire crackling,
cracking up your world
you wish to throw
in the towel only to find
the towel flare into flames,
your aspiration trailing smoke
into a fearful votex of
disappointments
you quieten yourself down
to give yourself a respite and
slip into a cave of privacy,
kneeling praying, kneeling praying
tears swelling a full moon tide
you call for the phantom to
intervene, to light up the candles
of your life, to help you ride
out the storm, turn around
the opera of afflictions
so that a rainbow arcs
a victory over your sky
while while pains lose their grip
like night and its shadows
soften to the gentle robust
rejuvenating light of dawn
john tiong chunghoo
Penny Hemans (10/12/2008 6:52:00 AM) oooohh John.. so close to the truth... fabulous thanks so much xxpenny
i can see this acted to music,well written lin xxby Linda - 16 Oct 2008
do you cry the night away
when laughters turn into
a bottle of sobs of an alcoholic?
your warm heart finding itself
floating on a lake of ice?
is the fabled tale in the
warmth of your hands
slipping away from your grip?
an opera singing a dissonant tune
to your fantasy? the director you seek
leaving you in a valley of wants?
is the phantom of the opera,
nipping you in the bud? your
legs tied, your smiles fraying
into an ridiculous satire?
you walk down straight to
the lake of salvation only
to find a ring of fire crackling,
cracking up your world
you wish to throw
in the towel only to find
the towel flare into flames,
your aspiration trailing smoke
into a fearful votex of
disappointments
you quieten yourself down
to give yourself a respite and
slip into a cave of privacy,
kneeling praying, kneeling praying
tears swelling a full moon tide
you call for the phantom to
intervene, to light up the candles
of your life, to help you ride
out the storm, turn around
the opera of afflictions
so that a rainbow arcs
a victory over your sky
while while pains lose their grip
like night and its shadows
soften to the gentle robust
rejuvenating light of dawn
john tiong chunghoo
Penny Hemans (10/12/2008 6:52:00 AM) oooohh John.. so close to the truth... fabulous thanks so much xxpenny
i can see this acted to music,well written lin xxby Linda - 16 Oct 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
A Book published by Ash, a University of Oxford poetry magazine
This poem, A Book, is published by Ash a premier poetry magazine at the University of Oxford. I sent a few but the editor Lanvinia Singer said this poem suits the theme of the magazine this time which is on recreation. The acceptance letter I got which I wish to share with you all:
Dear John Tiong Chunghoo,
I am delighted to tell you that I have decided to publish your 'A Book' in thelatest Ash. I so enjoyed reading your poems, and it was hard to choose betweenthem. But this one seemed to fit the theme 'Recreation' most suitably and lentitself to the magazine as a whole.
With best wishes, Lavinia
It is always a great pleasure to be published. I hope you love this poem and find it meaningful.
these page-locked words
that imprision the world
within each turned page
an opened door to paradise
where we meet friends
without seeing them
witnessing their smiles, tears,
all in the quiet of the mind or
a journey to hell where we pound
our heads against wall only to
find the quiet moon at the barred
window glaring at our stupidity
the mighty ocean of the human mind
each of these page locked words
oozes into, soak up characters
as each trudges in the mind
that turns each word into gold
or handcuffs it into bondage
the world rocks with each turned page
a ship in tempest ocean
an eagle gliding in the clear blue sky
for good, for bad
a newly created angel awaits his trial
for all the imprisoned words on the shelves
an opened door at the deepest recess of
my mind where they could stand
in a new line to meet a new world
for good for bad
by john tiong chunghoo
Ben Gieske (4/26/2008 3:39:00 PM) I enjoy reading this poem with all the strong images and wide open meanings. You might find my poem, 'This Thought' interesting too.
Sulaiman Mohd Yusof (3/6/2008 2:39:00 AM) a book is my another world.thanks for the recalling..............
marvin brato (2/15/2008 4:55:00 AM) Quite an eye-opener for every bookworms out there, 'the mind that turns each word into gold or handcuffs it into bondage' Brightest leaders may lead his people into prosperity or doom, its depend how he uses his knowledge for good or bad!
Riquetta Elliott (12/7/2007 11:05:00 AM) I like this John it talks about books and reading. It also talks about pages in the book has words to read especially vocabulary like this in the 15-16 lines: 'mighty ocean of the human mind each of these paged locked words oozes into, '
Alicia Patti (2/19/2007 12:29:00 PM) I love poems about books and reading, and this is another fantastic feat of yours. You do have a way with words. I especially like: 'the world rocks with each turned page' Yes, it does, indeed. I am so glad I found you here! Please read my poem, 'Books'. Would appreciate your feedback. best, alicia
Raghavan Warrier (12/25/2006 6:04:00 PM) Imprisoned words on shelf. So true. Excellent poem
Aisha Sherazi (5/12/2006 6:03:00 AM) I loved this John, it was amazing. All true, the feelings we get and the images we create when reading. A new world, time and place indeed. I am so excited about introducing my son to this new world. But being a little boy, he would rather explore the world first hand! You have reassured me that the day will come when he can explore it through the written word too!
Raynette Eitel (5/14/2005 8:27:00 PM) This is packed with wonderful imagery. I particularly loved 'just-created angel'. Thank you for this wonderful poem, John.
Poetry Hound (5/9/2005 3:14:00 PM) Very well done, John.
David Gerardino (5/9/2005 1:51:00 PM) like the poem-as a fellow reader i get the point, i wish other peaple would do the same, like some of my own family.................
Dear John Tiong Chunghoo,
I am delighted to tell you that I have decided to publish your 'A Book' in thelatest Ash. I so enjoyed reading your poems, and it was hard to choose betweenthem. But this one seemed to fit the theme 'Recreation' most suitably and lentitself to the magazine as a whole.
With best wishes, Lavinia
It is always a great pleasure to be published. I hope you love this poem and find it meaningful.
these page-locked words
that imprision the world
within each turned page
an opened door to paradise
where we meet friends
without seeing them
witnessing their smiles, tears,
all in the quiet of the mind or
a journey to hell where we pound
our heads against wall only to
find the quiet moon at the barred
window glaring at our stupidity
the mighty ocean of the human mind
each of these page locked words
oozes into, soak up characters
as each trudges in the mind
that turns each word into gold
or handcuffs it into bondage
the world rocks with each turned page
a ship in tempest ocean
an eagle gliding in the clear blue sky
for good, for bad
a newly created angel awaits his trial
for all the imprisoned words on the shelves
an opened door at the deepest recess of
my mind where they could stand
in a new line to meet a new world
for good for bad
by john tiong chunghoo
Ben Gieske (4/26/2008 3:39:00 PM) I enjoy reading this poem with all the strong images and wide open meanings. You might find my poem, 'This Thought' interesting too.
Sulaiman Mohd Yusof (3/6/2008 2:39:00 AM) a book is my another world.thanks for the recalling..............
marvin brato (2/15/2008 4:55:00 AM) Quite an eye-opener for every bookworms out there, 'the mind that turns each word into gold or handcuffs it into bondage' Brightest leaders may lead his people into prosperity or doom, its depend how he uses his knowledge for good or bad!
Riquetta Elliott (12/7/2007 11:05:00 AM) I like this John it talks about books and reading. It also talks about pages in the book has words to read especially vocabulary like this in the 15-16 lines: 'mighty ocean of the human mind each of these paged locked words oozes into, '
Alicia Patti (2/19/2007 12:29:00 PM) I love poems about books and reading, and this is another fantastic feat of yours. You do have a way with words. I especially like: 'the world rocks with each turned page' Yes, it does, indeed. I am so glad I found you here! Please read my poem, 'Books'. Would appreciate your feedback. best, alicia
Raghavan Warrier (12/25/2006 6:04:00 PM) Imprisoned words on shelf. So true. Excellent poem
Aisha Sherazi (5/12/2006 6:03:00 AM) I loved this John, it was amazing. All true, the feelings we get and the images we create when reading. A new world, time and place indeed. I am so excited about introducing my son to this new world. But being a little boy, he would rather explore the world first hand! You have reassured me that the day will come when he can explore it through the written word too!
Raynette Eitel (5/14/2005 8:27:00 PM) This is packed with wonderful imagery. I particularly loved 'just-created angel'. Thank you for this wonderful poem, John.
Poetry Hound (5/9/2005 3:14:00 PM) Very well done, John.
David Gerardino (5/9/2005 1:51:00 PM) like the poem-as a fellow reader i get the point, i wish other peaple would do the same, like some of my own family.................
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Flowers are earth's prayers
the flowers are earth's
thanksgiving prayers to the Almighty
if wind is earth's music
the flowers are sweet choruses
by john tiong chunghoo
October 12, 2008 11.55pm
Kuala Lumpur
Mamta Agarwal (10/11/2008 12:33:00 PM) this is so lovely.short, so unique.thanks10
Ernestine Northover (10/11/2008 12:29:00 PM) This is lovely John, So short and sweet and full of promise. A 'blooming' success story. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX
thanksgiving prayers to the Almighty
if wind is earth's music
the flowers are sweet choruses
by john tiong chunghoo
October 12, 2008 11.55pm
Kuala Lumpur
Mamta Agarwal (10/11/2008 12:33:00 PM) this is so lovely.short, so unique.thanks10
Ernestine Northover (10/11/2008 12:29:00 PM) This is lovely John, So short and sweet and full of promise. A 'blooming' success story. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX
LOVE LOVE LOVE a Poem
This poem was published in the India Times and has been read many thousands of times. Fans placed it on their blogs and it is also one of my most commented poems on the internet.
LOVE LOVE LOVE
------------------------
i wish to be the air you breathe
love that floods your every cell
revitalising you, cheering you up
every second of your life
i love like the rush of the Nile, Yangtze -
listen, listen to this lovelorn heart,
holding on, letting go, holding on
with such tenacity to the hope
of every lovelorn night
an eclipse helps distill my love for you,
seals your charms, allure from the
craving prying eyes of world,
precipitates that momentuous silhouette,
escapade for me and you
sun and moon, ying and yang
to be totally absorbed in bliss, in each other
love, love, love if only i could be the only star
to win your fancy for that sparkling while
heaven the world would become
by john tiong chunghoo
Mary Bennington (9/3/2007 3:38:00 PM) Leaves me breathless. Evokes meaningful contemplation and reflection on that most magical of human capacities-LOVE.
Daniel Partlow (8/23/2007 5:55:00 PM) Beautiful work. Here is my love poem. I tried using the Raven's challenging rhyme pattern: http: //www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-is-105/ Even though it didn't quite fit, the result was good enough to inspire me to move on to my second (and still my best work: SUNRISE ON THE MOUNT) : http: //www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunrise-on-the-mount/
Dawn Depasquale (8/13/2007 10:54:00 PM) John, simply beautiful. This was the first poem I viewed on Poemhunter. Will certainly read through your other poems. Thank you for sharing your depth through your words. Dawn
Shay Riggin (6/8/2007 5:48:00 PM) so so so true! ! i loved it and the comment you sent me! thanx! !
Cheyenne Bobo (4/27/2007 2:25:00 PM) Completely true, completely beautiful, completely amazingly PERFECTLY true.
Brennan Lee (4/1/2007 1:55:00 PM) u`re good in poetry... i`m brennanlee from m`sia... looking forward for your new poem... keep up the good work bro
LOVE LOVE LOVE
------------------------
i wish to be the air you breathe
love that floods your every cell
revitalising you, cheering you up
every second of your life
i love like the rush of the Nile, Yangtze -
listen, listen to this lovelorn heart,
holding on, letting go, holding on
with such tenacity to the hope
of every lovelorn night
an eclipse helps distill my love for you,
seals your charms, allure from the
craving prying eyes of world,
precipitates that momentuous silhouette,
escapade for me and you
sun and moon, ying and yang
to be totally absorbed in bliss, in each other
love, love, love if only i could be the only star
to win your fancy for that sparkling while
heaven the world would become
by john tiong chunghoo
Mary Bennington (9/3/2007 3:38:00 PM) Leaves me breathless. Evokes meaningful contemplation and reflection on that most magical of human capacities-LOVE.
Daniel Partlow (8/23/2007 5:55:00 PM) Beautiful work. Here is my love poem. I tried using the Raven's challenging rhyme pattern: http: //www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-is-105/ Even though it didn't quite fit, the result was good enough to inspire me to move on to my second (and still my best work: SUNRISE ON THE MOUNT) : http: //www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunrise-on-the-mount/
Dawn Depasquale (8/13/2007 10:54:00 PM) John, simply beautiful. This was the first poem I viewed on Poemhunter. Will certainly read through your other poems. Thank you for sharing your depth through your words. Dawn
Shay Riggin (6/8/2007 5:48:00 PM) so so so true! ! i loved it and the comment you sent me! thanx! !
Cheyenne Bobo (4/27/2007 2:25:00 PM) Completely true, completely beautiful, completely amazingly PERFECTLY true.
Brennan Lee (4/1/2007 1:55:00 PM) u`re good in poetry... i`m brennanlee from m`sia... looking forward for your new poem... keep up the good work bro
Friday, October 10, 2008
Nobel Prize Literature Laureate Saint John Perse's Speech
Saint-John Perse's speech at the Nobel Banquet at the City Hall in Stockholm, December 10, 1960(Translation)
I have accepted in behalf of poetry the honour which has been given to it here and which I am anxious to restore to it.
Without you poetry would not often be held in esteem, for there appears to be an increasing dissociation between poetic activity and a society enslaved by materialism.
The poet accepts this split, although he has not sought it. It would exist for the scientist as well, were it not for the practical uses of science.
But it is the disinterested thought of both scientist and poet that is honoured here. In this place at least let them no longer be considered hostile brothers. For they are exploring the same abyss and it is only in their modes of investigation that they differ.
When one watches the drama of modern science discovering its rational limits in pure mathematics; when one sees in physics two great doctrines posit, the one a general theory of relativity, the other a quantum theory of uncertainty and indeterminism that would limit forever the exactitude even of physical measurements; when one has heard the greatest scientific innovator of this century, the initiator of a modern cosmology that reduces the vastest intellectual synthesis to the terms of an equation, invoke intuition to come to the aid of reason and proclaim that «the imagination is the true seed bed of science», going even so far as to claim for the scientist the benefit of a true artistic vision: is one not justified in considering the tool of poetry as legitimate as that of logic?
In truth, every creation of the mind is first of all «poetic» in the proper sense of the word; and inasmuch as there exists an equivalence between the modes of sensibility and intellect, it is the same function that is exercised initially in the enterprises of the poet and the scientist.
Discursive thought or poetic ellipsis - which of these travels to, and returns from, more remote regions? And from that primal night in which two men born blind grope for their ways, the one equipped with the tools of science, the other helped only by the flashes of his imagination, which one returns sooner and more heavily laden with a brief phosphorescence?
The answer does not matter. The mystery is common to both. And the great adventure of the poetic mind is in no way secondary to the dramatic advances of modern science. Astronomers have been bewildered by the theory of an expanding universe, but there is no less expansion in the moral infinite of the universe of man.
As far as the frontiers of science are pushed back, over the extended arc of these frontiers one will hear the poet's hounds on the chase. For if poetry is not, as has been said, «absolute reality», it comes very close to it, for poetry has a strong longing for, and a deep perception of, reality, situated as it is at that extreme limit of cooperation where the real seems to assume shape in the poem.
Through analogy and symbolism, through the remote illuminations of mediating imagery, through the interplay of their correspondences in a thousand chains of reactions and strange associations, and finally, through the grace of a language into which the very rhythm of Being has been translated, the poet invests himself with a surreality that cannot be that of science.
Is there among men a more striking dialectic, one that engages them more completely? Since even the philosophers are deserting the threshold of metaphysics, it is the poets's task to retrieve metaphysics; thus poetry, not philosophy, reveals itself as the true «daughter of wonder», according to the words of that ancient philosopher to whom it was most suspect.
But more than a mode of perception, poetry is above all a way of life, of integral life. The poet existed among the cave men; he will exist among men of the atomic age, for he is an inherent part of man.
Even religions have been born from the need for poetry, which is a spiritual need, and it is through the grace of poetry that the divine spark lives forever in the human flint.
When mythologies vanish, the divine finds refuge and perhaps even continuation in poetry. As in the processions of antiquity the bearers of bread yielded their place to the bearers of torches, so now in the domain of social order and of the immediacies of human need it is the poetic imagination that is still illuminating the lofty passion of peoples in quest of light.
Look at man walking proudly under the load of his eternal task; look at him moving along under his burden of humanity, when a new humanism opens before him, fraught with true universality and wholeness of soul.
Faithful to its task, which is the exploration of the mystery of man, modern poetry is engaged in an enterprise the pursuit of which concerns the full integration of man.
There is nothing Pythian in such poetry. Nor is it purely aesthetic. It is neither the art of the embalmer, nor that of the decorator. It does not breed cultured pearls, nor does it deal in semblances and emblems, and it would not be satisfied by any feast of music.
Poetry allies itself with beauty - a supreme union - but never uses it as its ultimate goal or sole nourishment. Refusing to divorce art from life, love from perception, it is action, it is passion, it is power, and always the innovation which extend borders.
Love is its hearth-fire, insurrection its law; its place is everywhere, in anticipation. It wants neither to deny nor to keep aloof, it expects no benefits from the advantages of its time. Attached to its own destiny and free from any ideology, it recognizes itself the equal of life, which is its own justification.
And with one embrace, like a single great, living strophe, it clasps both past and future in the present, the human with the superhuman planetary space with universal space.
The obscurity for which it is reproached pertains not to its own nature, which is to illuminate, but to the night which it explores, the night of the soul and the mystery in which human existence is shrouded.
Obscurity is banished from its expression and this expression is no less exacting than that of science.
Thus by his total adherence to that which is, the poet maintains for us a relationship with the permanence and unity of Being. And his lesson is one of optimism.
For him the entire world of things is governed by a single law of harmony. Nothing can happen that by nature could exceed the measure of man.
The worst upheavals of history are nothing but seasonal rhythms in a much vaster cycle of repetitions and renewals. And the Furies that cross the scene with lifted torches light only a fragment of the long historical process.
Ripening civilizations do not die in the throes of one autumn: they merely change. Inertia is the only menace.
The poet is the one who breaks through our habits. And in this way the poet finds himself tied to history despite himself. No aspect of the drama of his times is foreign to him. May he give all of us a clear taste of life in this great age.
For this is a great and new time calling for a new self-appraisal. And, after all, to whom would we yield the honour of belonging to our age?«Do not fear», says History, lifting one day her mask of violence, and with her hand making the conciliatory gesture of the Asiatic divinity at the climax of her dance of destruction, «Do not fear nor doubt, for doubt is sterile and fear servile.
Listen instead to the rhytmic beat that my high innovating hand imposes on the great human theme in the constant process of creation. It is not true that life can renounce itself.
There is nothing living which proceeds from nothingness or yearns for it. But neither does anything ever keep form or measure under the incessant flux of Being. The tragedy lies not in metamorphosis as such.
The true drama of the age is in the widening gap between temporal and eternal man. Is man illuminated on one side going to grow dark on the other?
And will his forced maturation in a community without communion be nothing but a false maturity?»It is up to the true poet to bear witness among us to man's double vocation.And that means holding up to his mind a mirror more sensitive to his spiritual possibilities.
It means evoking in this our century a human condition more worthy of original man. It means, finally, bringing the collective soul into closer contact with the spiritual energy of the world. In the face of nuclear energy, will the poet's clay lamp suffice for his purpose? Yes, if man remembers the clay.Thus it is enough for the poet to be the bad conscience of his age.
Prior to the speech, B. Lindblad, President of the Royal Academy of Sciences, made the following comment: «Mr. Saint-John Perse - With sublime intuition you know how to describe in brilliant metaphors the reaction of the soul of humanity to a world of inexhaustible richness.
Your poetic opus covers past, present, and future with its wings; it reflects and illuminates all at once the genesis of our universe. You are one of the powerful defenders of the right of modern poetry to be recognized and accepted as a living force acting upon the emotional basis of the tumultuous world in which we live.»
From Nobel Lectures, Literature 1901-1967, Editor Horst Frenz, Elsevier Publishing Company, Amsterdam, 1969
I have accepted in behalf of poetry the honour which has been given to it here and which I am anxious to restore to it.
Without you poetry would not often be held in esteem, for there appears to be an increasing dissociation between poetic activity and a society enslaved by materialism.
The poet accepts this split, although he has not sought it. It would exist for the scientist as well, were it not for the practical uses of science.
But it is the disinterested thought of both scientist and poet that is honoured here. In this place at least let them no longer be considered hostile brothers. For they are exploring the same abyss and it is only in their modes of investigation that they differ.
When one watches the drama of modern science discovering its rational limits in pure mathematics; when one sees in physics two great doctrines posit, the one a general theory of relativity, the other a quantum theory of uncertainty and indeterminism that would limit forever the exactitude even of physical measurements; when one has heard the greatest scientific innovator of this century, the initiator of a modern cosmology that reduces the vastest intellectual synthesis to the terms of an equation, invoke intuition to come to the aid of reason and proclaim that «the imagination is the true seed bed of science», going even so far as to claim for the scientist the benefit of a true artistic vision: is one not justified in considering the tool of poetry as legitimate as that of logic?
In truth, every creation of the mind is first of all «poetic» in the proper sense of the word; and inasmuch as there exists an equivalence between the modes of sensibility and intellect, it is the same function that is exercised initially in the enterprises of the poet and the scientist.
Discursive thought or poetic ellipsis - which of these travels to, and returns from, more remote regions? And from that primal night in which two men born blind grope for their ways, the one equipped with the tools of science, the other helped only by the flashes of his imagination, which one returns sooner and more heavily laden with a brief phosphorescence?
The answer does not matter. The mystery is common to both. And the great adventure of the poetic mind is in no way secondary to the dramatic advances of modern science. Astronomers have been bewildered by the theory of an expanding universe, but there is no less expansion in the moral infinite of the universe of man.
As far as the frontiers of science are pushed back, over the extended arc of these frontiers one will hear the poet's hounds on the chase. For if poetry is not, as has been said, «absolute reality», it comes very close to it, for poetry has a strong longing for, and a deep perception of, reality, situated as it is at that extreme limit of cooperation where the real seems to assume shape in the poem.
Through analogy and symbolism, through the remote illuminations of mediating imagery, through the interplay of their correspondences in a thousand chains of reactions and strange associations, and finally, through the grace of a language into which the very rhythm of Being has been translated, the poet invests himself with a surreality that cannot be that of science.
Is there among men a more striking dialectic, one that engages them more completely? Since even the philosophers are deserting the threshold of metaphysics, it is the poets's task to retrieve metaphysics; thus poetry, not philosophy, reveals itself as the true «daughter of wonder», according to the words of that ancient philosopher to whom it was most suspect.
But more than a mode of perception, poetry is above all a way of life, of integral life. The poet existed among the cave men; he will exist among men of the atomic age, for he is an inherent part of man.
Even religions have been born from the need for poetry, which is a spiritual need, and it is through the grace of poetry that the divine spark lives forever in the human flint.
When mythologies vanish, the divine finds refuge and perhaps even continuation in poetry. As in the processions of antiquity the bearers of bread yielded their place to the bearers of torches, so now in the domain of social order and of the immediacies of human need it is the poetic imagination that is still illuminating the lofty passion of peoples in quest of light.
Look at man walking proudly under the load of his eternal task; look at him moving along under his burden of humanity, when a new humanism opens before him, fraught with true universality and wholeness of soul.
Faithful to its task, which is the exploration of the mystery of man, modern poetry is engaged in an enterprise the pursuit of which concerns the full integration of man.
There is nothing Pythian in such poetry. Nor is it purely aesthetic. It is neither the art of the embalmer, nor that of the decorator. It does not breed cultured pearls, nor does it deal in semblances and emblems, and it would not be satisfied by any feast of music.
Poetry allies itself with beauty - a supreme union - but never uses it as its ultimate goal or sole nourishment. Refusing to divorce art from life, love from perception, it is action, it is passion, it is power, and always the innovation which extend borders.
Love is its hearth-fire, insurrection its law; its place is everywhere, in anticipation. It wants neither to deny nor to keep aloof, it expects no benefits from the advantages of its time. Attached to its own destiny and free from any ideology, it recognizes itself the equal of life, which is its own justification.
And with one embrace, like a single great, living strophe, it clasps both past and future in the present, the human with the superhuman planetary space with universal space.
The obscurity for which it is reproached pertains not to its own nature, which is to illuminate, but to the night which it explores, the night of the soul and the mystery in which human existence is shrouded.
Obscurity is banished from its expression and this expression is no less exacting than that of science.
Thus by his total adherence to that which is, the poet maintains for us a relationship with the permanence and unity of Being. And his lesson is one of optimism.
For him the entire world of things is governed by a single law of harmony. Nothing can happen that by nature could exceed the measure of man.
The worst upheavals of history are nothing but seasonal rhythms in a much vaster cycle of repetitions and renewals. And the Furies that cross the scene with lifted torches light only a fragment of the long historical process.
Ripening civilizations do not die in the throes of one autumn: they merely change. Inertia is the only menace.
The poet is the one who breaks through our habits. And in this way the poet finds himself tied to history despite himself. No aspect of the drama of his times is foreign to him. May he give all of us a clear taste of life in this great age.
For this is a great and new time calling for a new self-appraisal. And, after all, to whom would we yield the honour of belonging to our age?«Do not fear», says History, lifting one day her mask of violence, and with her hand making the conciliatory gesture of the Asiatic divinity at the climax of her dance of destruction, «Do not fear nor doubt, for doubt is sterile and fear servile.
Listen instead to the rhytmic beat that my high innovating hand imposes on the great human theme in the constant process of creation. It is not true that life can renounce itself.
There is nothing living which proceeds from nothingness or yearns for it. But neither does anything ever keep form or measure under the incessant flux of Being. The tragedy lies not in metamorphosis as such.
The true drama of the age is in the widening gap between temporal and eternal man. Is man illuminated on one side going to grow dark on the other?
And will his forced maturation in a community without communion be nothing but a false maturity?»It is up to the true poet to bear witness among us to man's double vocation.And that means holding up to his mind a mirror more sensitive to his spiritual possibilities.
It means evoking in this our century a human condition more worthy of original man. It means, finally, bringing the collective soul into closer contact with the spiritual energy of the world. In the face of nuclear energy, will the poet's clay lamp suffice for his purpose? Yes, if man remembers the clay.Thus it is enough for the poet to be the bad conscience of his age.
Prior to the speech, B. Lindblad, President of the Royal Academy of Sciences, made the following comment: «Mr. Saint-John Perse - With sublime intuition you know how to describe in brilliant metaphors the reaction of the soul of humanity to a world of inexhaustible richness.
Your poetic opus covers past, present, and future with its wings; it reflects and illuminates all at once the genesis of our universe. You are one of the powerful defenders of the right of modern poetry to be recognized and accepted as a living force acting upon the emotional basis of the tumultuous world in which we live.»
From Nobel Lectures, Literature 1901-1967, Editor Horst Frenz, Elsevier Publishing Company, Amsterdam, 1969
Nobel Prize Winner for Literature - Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio
STOCKHOLM, Sweden - France's Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio won the 2008 Nobel Prize in literature on Thursday for works characterized by "poetic adventure and sensual ecstasy" and focused on the environment, especially the desert.
Le Clezio, 68, is the first French writer to win the prestigious award since Chinese-born Frenchman Gao Xingjian was honored in 2000.
The decision was in line with the Swedish Academy's recent picks of European authors. Last year's prize went to Doris Lessing of Britain.
The academy called Le Clezio an "author of new departures, poetic adventure and sensual ecstasy, explorer of a humanity beyond and below the reigning civilization."
Le Clezio made his breakthrough as a novelist with "Desert," in 1980, a work the academy said "contains magnificent images of a lost culture in the North African desert contrasted with a depiction of Europe seen through the eyes of unwanted immigrants."
That novel, which also won Le Clezio a prize from the French Academy, is considered a masterpiece. It describes the ordeal of Lalla, a woman from the Tuareg nomadic tribe of the Sahara Desert, as she adapts to civilization imposed by colonial France at the beginning of the 20th century.
The Swedish Academy said Le Clezio from early on "stood out as an ecologically engaged author, an orientation that is accentuated with the novels Terra Amata,' The Book of Flights,' War' and 'The Giants.' "
Le Clezio has spent much of his time living in New Mexico in recent years.
He has long shied away from public life, spending much of his time traveling, often in the world's various deserts.
He has published several dozen books, including novels and essays. The most famous are tales of nomads, mediations on the desert and childhood memories. He has also explored the mythologies of native Americans, who have long fascinated him.
Academy Permanent Secretary Horace Engdahl called Le Clezio a writer of great diversity."He has gone through many different phases of his development as a writer and has come to include other civilizations, other modes of living than the Western, in his writing," Engdahl said.
Asked how he thought the prize would be received in the United States, given Engdahl's recent controversial comments about American literature, he said he had no idea.
"I'm not aware that there are today any anti-French sentiments in the U.S. And apart from that, Le Clezio, is a cosmopolitan. He lives part of the year in New Mexico," Engdahl said.
"He's not a particularly French writer if you look at him from a strictly cultural point of view. So I don't think this choice will give rise to any anti-French comments," he said. "I would be very sad if that was the case."
Since Japanese writer Kenzaburo Oe won the award in 1994, the selections have had a distinctly European flavor. Since then 12 Europeans, including Le Clezio, have won the prize. The last U.S. writer to win the prize was Toni Morrison in 1993.
Appearing on France Inter radio Thursday to promote a new book shortly before the prize was announced, Le Clezio was asked if he thought he might win a possible Nobel.
"Sure, why not," he replied. "When you're a writer you always believe in literary prizes."
Le Clezio said a Nobel "was something that makes you rebound, that gives you the desire to keep writing ... We write to be read, we write to have responses, and that is a response."
In an interview with news magazine Label France in 2001, Le Clezio said literature was a "means of reminding people of this tragedy and bringing it back to center stage."
Le Clezio was quoted as saying that "when I write I am primarily trying to translate my relationship to the everyday, to events.
Le Clezio was born in Nice in 1940 and at eight the family moved to Nigeria, where his father had been a doctor during World War II. They returned to France in 1950.
His most recent works include 2007's "Ballaciner," a work the academy called a "deeply personal essay about the history of the art of film and the importance of film" in his life.
His books have also included several tales for children, including 1980's "Lullaby" and "Balaabilou" in 1985.
In addition to the 10 million kronor ($1.4 million) check, Le Clezio will also receive a gold medal and be invited to give a lecture at the academy's headquarters in Stockholm's Old Town.
The Nobel Prize in literature is handed out in Stockholm on Dec. 10 - the anniversary of Nobel's death in 1896 - along with the awards in medicine, chemistry, physics and economics. The Nobel Peace Prize is presented in Oslo, Norway.
SECOND STORY:
STOCKHOLM/PARIS (Reuters) - French author Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio, a globetrotting novelist hailed as a child of all continents, won the Nobel prize for literature on Thursday.
The Swedish Academy, which decides the winner of the coveted 10 million Swedish crown ($1.4 million) prize, praised the 68-year-old's adventurous novels, essays and children's books.
"His works have a cosmopolitan character. Frenchman, yes, but more so a traveller, a citizen of the world, a nomad," Horace Engdahl, permanent secretary of the Academy, told a news conference to announce the laureate.
Underlining his international credentials, Le Clezio, who describes himself as French and Mauritian, answered questions in English, French and Spanish at a Paris press conference.
"Some kind of incredulity, some kind of awe, then some kind of enjoyment and mirth," he said, describing how he felt when he heard the news. Questioned about what he would do with the prize money, he added: "I have debts. I'm going to pay them."
Engdahl stirred up resentment among some U.S. authors and critics in the run-up to this year's announcement by saying American writers were too insular and did not participate in the "big dialogue" of literature. The last American to win the literature Nobel was novelist Toni Morrison in 1993.
When asked about the issue, Le Clezio replied: "I don't think you can say American literature is any one thing, because it takes many forms."
He added that Philip Roth, a perennial favourite among bookmakers to scoop the Nobel, would be a worthy winner.
"He will certainly win this prize, and even if he doesn't he will remain a very great writer."
GLOBETROTTER
Nice-born Le Clezio moved to Nigeria with his family at the age of eight. He wrote his first works -- "Un Long Voyage" and "Oradi Noir" -- during the month-long journey.
According to the Academy's Web site, he studied English at a British university and taught at institutions in Bangkok, Mexico City, Boston, Austin and Albuquerque, among others.
Le Clezio also spent long periods in Mexico and Central America and married a Moroccan woman in 1975. Since the 1990s he and his wife have shared their time between Albuquerque in New Mexico, the island of Mauritius and Nice, the Academy added.
The author said he believed French culture was a melting pot of influences.
"The French language is a result of a mix of cultures. It has received contributions from every corner of the world. That is what is wonderful about French culture. It is a place of encounters."
Le Clezio's first novel was "Le proces-verbal" (The Interrogation), written when he was 23. It went on to win the Renaudot prize in France.
Seen as an experimental writer in the 1960s, Le Clezio was preoccupied by themes including the environment and childhood.
His big breakthrough came in 1980 with "Desert," which the Academy said "contains magnificent images of a lost culture in the North African desert, contrasted with a depiction of Europe seen through the eyes of unwanted immigrants."
French President Nicolas Sarkozy hailed the award.
"A child of Mauritius and Nigeria, a teenager in Nice, a nomad of the American and African deserts, Jean-Marie Le Clezio is a citizen of the world, a child of all continents and of all cultures," Sarkozy said in a statement.
"A great traveller, he embodies the global reach of France's culture and values in a globalised world."
All but one of the prizes were established in the will of 19th century dynamite tycoon Alfred Nobel and have been handed out since 1901. The economics award was established by Sweden's central bank in 1968.
(Additional reporting by Adam Cox in Stockholm, Mike Collett-White in London and Estelle Shirbon in Paris)
(Writing by Mike Collett-White, editing by Paul Casciato)
WINNERS OF NOBEL PRIZE IN LITERATURE SINCE 1960
-2008: Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio, France.
- 2007: Doris Lessing, Britain.
- 2006: Orhan Pamuk, Turkey.
- 2005: Harold Pinter, Britain.
- 2004: Elfriede Jelinek, Austria.
- 2003: J.M. Coetzee, South Africa.
- 2002: Imre Kertesz, Hungary.
- 2001: V.S. Naipaul, Trinidad-born Briton.
- 2000: Gao Xingjian, Chinese-born French.
- 1999: Guenter Grass, Germany.
- 1998: Jose Saramago, Portugal.
- 1997: Dario Fo, Italy.
- 1996: Wislawa Szymborska, Poland.
- 1995: Seamus Heaney, Ireland.
- 1994: Kenzaburo Oe, Japan.
- 1993: Toni Morrison, United States.
- 1992: Derek Walcott, St. Lucia.
- 1991: Nadine Gordimer, South Africa.
- 1990: Octavio Paz, Mexico.
- 1989: Camilo Jose Cela, Spain.
- 1988: Naguib Mahfouz, Egypt.
- 1987: Joseph Brodsky, Russian-born American.
- 1986: Wole Soyinka, Nigeria.
- 1985: Claude Simon, France.
- 1984: Jaroslav Seifert, Czechoslovakia.
- 1983: William Golding, Britain.
- 1982: Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Colombia.
- 1981: Elias Canetti, Bulgarian-born Briton.
- 1980: Czeslaw Milosz, Polish-born American.
- 1979: Odysseus Elytis, Greece.
- 1978: Isaac Bashevis Singer, Polish-born American.
- 1977: Vicente Aleixandre, Spain.
- 1976: Saul Bellow, Canadian-born American.
- 1975: Eugenio Montale, Italy.
- 1974: Eyvind Johnson and Harry Martinson, Sweden.
- 1973: Patrick White, British-born Australian.
- 1972: Heinrich Boell, West Germany.
- 1971: Pablo Neruda, Chile.
- 1970: Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Russia.
- 1969: Samuel Beckett, Ireland.
- 1968: Yasunari Kawabata, Japan.
- 1967: Miguel A. Asturias, Guatemala.
- 1966: Shmuel Y. Agnon, Polish-born Israeli, and Nelly Sachs, German-born Swede.
- 1965: Mikhail Sholokhov, Russia.
- 1964: Jean-Paul Sartre, France (declined award).
- 1963: Giorgos Seferis, Turkish-born Greek.
- 1962: John Steinbeck, United States.
- 1961: Ivo Andric, Yugoslavia.
- 1960: Saint-John Perse, Guadeloupe
Le Clezio, 68, is the first French writer to win the prestigious award since Chinese-born Frenchman Gao Xingjian was honored in 2000.
The decision was in line with the Swedish Academy's recent picks of European authors. Last year's prize went to Doris Lessing of Britain.
The academy called Le Clezio an "author of new departures, poetic adventure and sensual ecstasy, explorer of a humanity beyond and below the reigning civilization."
Le Clezio made his breakthrough as a novelist with "Desert," in 1980, a work the academy said "contains magnificent images of a lost culture in the North African desert contrasted with a depiction of Europe seen through the eyes of unwanted immigrants."
That novel, which also won Le Clezio a prize from the French Academy, is considered a masterpiece. It describes the ordeal of Lalla, a woman from the Tuareg nomadic tribe of the Sahara Desert, as she adapts to civilization imposed by colonial France at the beginning of the 20th century.
The Swedish Academy said Le Clezio from early on "stood out as an ecologically engaged author, an orientation that is accentuated with the novels Terra Amata,' The Book of Flights,' War' and 'The Giants.' "
Le Clezio has spent much of his time living in New Mexico in recent years.
He has long shied away from public life, spending much of his time traveling, often in the world's various deserts.
He has published several dozen books, including novels and essays. The most famous are tales of nomads, mediations on the desert and childhood memories. He has also explored the mythologies of native Americans, who have long fascinated him.
Academy Permanent Secretary Horace Engdahl called Le Clezio a writer of great diversity."He has gone through many different phases of his development as a writer and has come to include other civilizations, other modes of living than the Western, in his writing," Engdahl said.
Asked how he thought the prize would be received in the United States, given Engdahl's recent controversial comments about American literature, he said he had no idea.
"I'm not aware that there are today any anti-French sentiments in the U.S. And apart from that, Le Clezio, is a cosmopolitan. He lives part of the year in New Mexico," Engdahl said.
"He's not a particularly French writer if you look at him from a strictly cultural point of view. So I don't think this choice will give rise to any anti-French comments," he said. "I would be very sad if that was the case."
Since Japanese writer Kenzaburo Oe won the award in 1994, the selections have had a distinctly European flavor. Since then 12 Europeans, including Le Clezio, have won the prize. The last U.S. writer to win the prize was Toni Morrison in 1993.
Appearing on France Inter radio Thursday to promote a new book shortly before the prize was announced, Le Clezio was asked if he thought he might win a possible Nobel.
"Sure, why not," he replied. "When you're a writer you always believe in literary prizes."
Le Clezio said a Nobel "was something that makes you rebound, that gives you the desire to keep writing ... We write to be read, we write to have responses, and that is a response."
In an interview with news magazine Label France in 2001, Le Clezio said literature was a "means of reminding people of this tragedy and bringing it back to center stage."
Le Clezio was quoted as saying that "when I write I am primarily trying to translate my relationship to the everyday, to events.
Le Clezio was born in Nice in 1940 and at eight the family moved to Nigeria, where his father had been a doctor during World War II. They returned to France in 1950.
His most recent works include 2007's "Ballaciner," a work the academy called a "deeply personal essay about the history of the art of film and the importance of film" in his life.
His books have also included several tales for children, including 1980's "Lullaby" and "Balaabilou" in 1985.
In addition to the 10 million kronor ($1.4 million) check, Le Clezio will also receive a gold medal and be invited to give a lecture at the academy's headquarters in Stockholm's Old Town.
The Nobel Prize in literature is handed out in Stockholm on Dec. 10 - the anniversary of Nobel's death in 1896 - along with the awards in medicine, chemistry, physics and economics. The Nobel Peace Prize is presented in Oslo, Norway.
SECOND STORY:
STOCKHOLM/PARIS (Reuters) - French author Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio, a globetrotting novelist hailed as a child of all continents, won the Nobel prize for literature on Thursday.
The Swedish Academy, which decides the winner of the coveted 10 million Swedish crown ($1.4 million) prize, praised the 68-year-old's adventurous novels, essays and children's books.
"His works have a cosmopolitan character. Frenchman, yes, but more so a traveller, a citizen of the world, a nomad," Horace Engdahl, permanent secretary of the Academy, told a news conference to announce the laureate.
Underlining his international credentials, Le Clezio, who describes himself as French and Mauritian, answered questions in English, French and Spanish at a Paris press conference.
"Some kind of incredulity, some kind of awe, then some kind of enjoyment and mirth," he said, describing how he felt when he heard the news. Questioned about what he would do with the prize money, he added: "I have debts. I'm going to pay them."
Engdahl stirred up resentment among some U.S. authors and critics in the run-up to this year's announcement by saying American writers were too insular and did not participate in the "big dialogue" of literature. The last American to win the literature Nobel was novelist Toni Morrison in 1993.
When asked about the issue, Le Clezio replied: "I don't think you can say American literature is any one thing, because it takes many forms."
He added that Philip Roth, a perennial favourite among bookmakers to scoop the Nobel, would be a worthy winner.
"He will certainly win this prize, and even if he doesn't he will remain a very great writer."
GLOBETROTTER
Nice-born Le Clezio moved to Nigeria with his family at the age of eight. He wrote his first works -- "Un Long Voyage" and "Oradi Noir" -- during the month-long journey.
According to the Academy's Web site, he studied English at a British university and taught at institutions in Bangkok, Mexico City, Boston, Austin and Albuquerque, among others.
Le Clezio also spent long periods in Mexico and Central America and married a Moroccan woman in 1975. Since the 1990s he and his wife have shared their time between Albuquerque in New Mexico, the island of Mauritius and Nice, the Academy added.
The author said he believed French culture was a melting pot of influences.
"The French language is a result of a mix of cultures. It has received contributions from every corner of the world. That is what is wonderful about French culture. It is a place of encounters."
Le Clezio's first novel was "Le proces-verbal" (The Interrogation), written when he was 23. It went on to win the Renaudot prize in France.
Seen as an experimental writer in the 1960s, Le Clezio was preoccupied by themes including the environment and childhood.
His big breakthrough came in 1980 with "Desert," which the Academy said "contains magnificent images of a lost culture in the North African desert, contrasted with a depiction of Europe seen through the eyes of unwanted immigrants."
French President Nicolas Sarkozy hailed the award.
"A child of Mauritius and Nigeria, a teenager in Nice, a nomad of the American and African deserts, Jean-Marie Le Clezio is a citizen of the world, a child of all continents and of all cultures," Sarkozy said in a statement.
"A great traveller, he embodies the global reach of France's culture and values in a globalised world."
All but one of the prizes were established in the will of 19th century dynamite tycoon Alfred Nobel and have been handed out since 1901. The economics award was established by Sweden's central bank in 1968.
(Additional reporting by Adam Cox in Stockholm, Mike Collett-White in London and Estelle Shirbon in Paris)
(Writing by Mike Collett-White, editing by Paul Casciato)
WINNERS OF NOBEL PRIZE IN LITERATURE SINCE 1960
-2008: Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio, France.
- 2007: Doris Lessing, Britain.
- 2006: Orhan Pamuk, Turkey.
- 2005: Harold Pinter, Britain.
- 2004: Elfriede Jelinek, Austria.
- 2003: J.M. Coetzee, South Africa.
- 2002: Imre Kertesz, Hungary.
- 2001: V.S. Naipaul, Trinidad-born Briton.
- 2000: Gao Xingjian, Chinese-born French.
- 1999: Guenter Grass, Germany.
- 1998: Jose Saramago, Portugal.
- 1997: Dario Fo, Italy.
- 1996: Wislawa Szymborska, Poland.
- 1995: Seamus Heaney, Ireland.
- 1994: Kenzaburo Oe, Japan.
- 1993: Toni Morrison, United States.
- 1992: Derek Walcott, St. Lucia.
- 1991: Nadine Gordimer, South Africa.
- 1990: Octavio Paz, Mexico.
- 1989: Camilo Jose Cela, Spain.
- 1988: Naguib Mahfouz, Egypt.
- 1987: Joseph Brodsky, Russian-born American.
- 1986: Wole Soyinka, Nigeria.
- 1985: Claude Simon, France.
- 1984: Jaroslav Seifert, Czechoslovakia.
- 1983: William Golding, Britain.
- 1982: Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Colombia.
- 1981: Elias Canetti, Bulgarian-born Briton.
- 1980: Czeslaw Milosz, Polish-born American.
- 1979: Odysseus Elytis, Greece.
- 1978: Isaac Bashevis Singer, Polish-born American.
- 1977: Vicente Aleixandre, Spain.
- 1976: Saul Bellow, Canadian-born American.
- 1975: Eugenio Montale, Italy.
- 1974: Eyvind Johnson and Harry Martinson, Sweden.
- 1973: Patrick White, British-born Australian.
- 1972: Heinrich Boell, West Germany.
- 1971: Pablo Neruda, Chile.
- 1970: Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Russia.
- 1969: Samuel Beckett, Ireland.
- 1968: Yasunari Kawabata, Japan.
- 1967: Miguel A. Asturias, Guatemala.
- 1966: Shmuel Y. Agnon, Polish-born Israeli, and Nelly Sachs, German-born Swede.
- 1965: Mikhail Sholokhov, Russia.
- 1964: Jean-Paul Sartre, France (declined award).
- 1963: Giorgos Seferis, Turkish-born Greek.
- 1962: John Steinbeck, United States.
- 1961: Ivo Andric, Yugoslavia.
- 1960: Saint-John Perse, Guadeloupe
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Flowering in Words a Poem
One will always be surprised at how one's poem is accepted by readers.
There are poems which I love very much but which readers do not even notice while there are poems which somehow become very popular.
I love this poem but when I posted it on the net, it did not get as much good response like the others.
Enjoy:
Flowering in Words
------------------------
poetry is nature
dancing with mind
a verse would sprint out
like the most colourful bird
from a bush completely unexpected
throwing a feast to our eyes
we cannot but oblige with
another verse going deep into
ourselves for a riveting repartee
to complete the challenge thrown to us
like a flower, the poem slowly blooms
out of our faintest expectation
nature might throw another verse
a la a fish jumping out of water
to carry us through an evolution game
the blossoming of the mind
this goes on and on until nature
derives the stamp of a mind
working towards its plan
a poem is nature flowering in words
by john tiong chunghoo
There are poems which I love very much but which readers do not even notice while there are poems which somehow become very popular.
I love this poem but when I posted it on the net, it did not get as much good response like the others.
Enjoy:
Flowering in Words
------------------------
poetry is nature
dancing with mind
a verse would sprint out
like the most colourful bird
from a bush completely unexpected
throwing a feast to our eyes
we cannot but oblige with
another verse going deep into
ourselves for a riveting repartee
to complete the challenge thrown to us
like a flower, the poem slowly blooms
out of our faintest expectation
nature might throw another verse
a la a fish jumping out of water
to carry us through an evolution game
the blossoming of the mind
this goes on and on until nature
derives the stamp of a mind
working towards its plan
a poem is nature flowering in words
by john tiong chunghoo
Monday, October 6, 2008
Phonomenal Woman
I really love this top of the world poem by Maya Angelou the ace American black woman poet. There is so much rhythm in the poem it is like a song being sung and even when reading quietly you can hear the words spoken right into your ears and touching your heart.
Phenomenal Woman
--------------------------
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say, It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman, That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,'
Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Maya Angelou
Phenomenal Woman
--------------------------
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say, It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman, That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,'
Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Maya Angelou
Sunday, October 5, 2008
An Autumn Red Carpeted depature
we wish love would linger
like flaming autumn a mood
so absorbing like the eons we
could spend in each other's eyes
time comes in circles and the leaves
play them out so well so green once
and now so red to accent their triumph
in keeping the host so cheerful and alive
a new dress, new look for a season of a
celebration of love and a swirling farewell
the wind comes as a friend to orchestrate
a grand departure, full of dance and songs
they clap and slap each other's back to
brazen up, they sigh and cry their last
separation song before diving our mind
to waltz in a frenzy into the circles of time
john tiong chunghoo
like flaming autumn a mood
so absorbing like the eons we
could spend in each other's eyes
time comes in circles and the leaves
play them out so well so green once
and now so red to accent their triumph
in keeping the host so cheerful and alive
a new dress, new look for a season of a
celebration of love and a swirling farewell
the wind comes as a friend to orchestrate
a grand departure, full of dance and songs
they clap and slap each other's back to
brazen up, they sigh and cry their last
separation song before diving our mind
to waltz in a frenzy into the circles of time
john tiong chunghoo
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Book signing tour in America
Literary luminaries are yours for the meeting
-------------------------------------------------------
By Chris McNamara Special to the Chicago Tribune
October 2, 2008
This one wasn't as bad as the book-signing back in 1980, where actor Tim Reid—at the height of his Venus Flytrap fame—was promoting his book of poetry "As I Feel It." With his 12-year-old daughter at his side he waited—and waited—for fans. One showed up.
Reid had to convince his girl that he was, indeed, a big star. At his mid-August book-signing at the State Street Borders, Reid didn't have that problem. In fact, more fans wanted copies of "Tim & Tom: An American Comedy in Black and White" than the store had in stock.
So what does this tell us as we enter the book-tour season, the season in which authors crisscross the nation hyping books they hope will top the best-seller lists during the holidays?
It tells us that author appearances vary as widely as the authors themselves. "You can never underestimate word-of-mouth advertising," explained Reid, when asked why he'd embarked on a nationwide book-signing tour for "Tim & Tom."
Adds co-author and native son Tom Dreesen (on his first-ever book tour): "Reading changed my life, and I never thought I'd be signing my own book. I wrote truthfully here, so this is like I'm signing my soul, signing my guts."
Author Neil Gaiman isn't quite as dramatic as Dreesen, but he does relish the chance to connect with fans, citing that writing is a lonely profession and the feedback is welcome. And he's blunt about other motivation.
"You do a book tour to make sure your book is right up there on the best-seller list," he says. And if that means icing your hand after Hancocking 3,000 times in a single day—as was common on Gaiman's last tour—so be it.
Glencoe's Doug Scherer scans listings online for upcoming book-signings. When somebody catches his eye, as did Reid and Dreesen, he's there. "It's not as much about the autograph as it is the face-to-face time," says the 42-year-old while in line at Borders. "Even if it's just shaking their hands."
Waiting behind Scherer was Marlyn Love, who has more of a connection to the authors. Some 40 years ago, when the two comedians performed at the Chicago Playboy Club, Love was a waitress—a Playboy Bunny.
She was at the signing to reconnect with the guys. Should book signing attendees expect a personal encounter with authors? That depends. The amount of time given to each fan varies depending on crowd size, schedule, even the mood of the author.
"There's no way to know how long the line is going to be," says Borders manager Thomas Ecks, who suggests calling on the day of the event. "Nor is there any way to know how long a celebrity will spend with each fan."
At a recent signing in Evanston, author David Sedaris spent a few minutes with each attendee. He was there for 12 hours, according to Ecks. Cookbook author Rachael Ray, for whom Borders has had to shut down the escalator to accommodate the snaking line, is quick.
"She signs and scoots," says the manager. "You should expect to just get a signature, say 'hi' or exchange a few words," explains Quimby's
Bookstore owner Eric Kirsammer. "There are usually a lot of people so if you're expecting to get to know [an author] it's not going to happen."
Kirsammer does have suggestions for making the most of the experience. He advises fans to migrate toward the back of the line rather than the front, as the last attendees are more likely to get the author's undivided attention.
He suggests calling his store during the signing to get a line update .Kirsammer has also noticed that authors at his bookstore have enjoyed signing alternative items.
"A lot of people bring in those rat-prevention signs," he chuckles. (Note: Many authors will sign only their books, purchased at the signing.)
"Don't be afraid to get involved and ask questions," advises author Reid. "We're glad to know that people are reading the book."
So is Gaiman, but those massive crowds at past book-signings have prompted him to test a new format on his current book tour, one in which presigned copies of "The Graveyard Book" are for sale at theaters in which he reads a chapter and answers questions from fans.
"I think they'll have a better time this way," he surmises, "rather than standing in a line that slowly snakes around a bookshop."
-------------------------------------------------------
By Chris McNamara Special to the Chicago Tribune
October 2, 2008
This one wasn't as bad as the book-signing back in 1980, where actor Tim Reid—at the height of his Venus Flytrap fame—was promoting his book of poetry "As I Feel It." With his 12-year-old daughter at his side he waited—and waited—for fans. One showed up.
Reid had to convince his girl that he was, indeed, a big star. At his mid-August book-signing at the State Street Borders, Reid didn't have that problem. In fact, more fans wanted copies of "Tim & Tom: An American Comedy in Black and White" than the store had in stock.
So what does this tell us as we enter the book-tour season, the season in which authors crisscross the nation hyping books they hope will top the best-seller lists during the holidays?
It tells us that author appearances vary as widely as the authors themselves. "You can never underestimate word-of-mouth advertising," explained Reid, when asked why he'd embarked on a nationwide book-signing tour for "Tim & Tom."
Adds co-author and native son Tom Dreesen (on his first-ever book tour): "Reading changed my life, and I never thought I'd be signing my own book. I wrote truthfully here, so this is like I'm signing my soul, signing my guts."
Author Neil Gaiman isn't quite as dramatic as Dreesen, but he does relish the chance to connect with fans, citing that writing is a lonely profession and the feedback is welcome. And he's blunt about other motivation.
"You do a book tour to make sure your book is right up there on the best-seller list," he says. And if that means icing your hand after Hancocking 3,000 times in a single day—as was common on Gaiman's last tour—so be it.
Glencoe's Doug Scherer scans listings online for upcoming book-signings. When somebody catches his eye, as did Reid and Dreesen, he's there. "It's not as much about the autograph as it is the face-to-face time," says the 42-year-old while in line at Borders. "Even if it's just shaking their hands."
Waiting behind Scherer was Marlyn Love, who has more of a connection to the authors. Some 40 years ago, when the two comedians performed at the Chicago Playboy Club, Love was a waitress—a Playboy Bunny.
She was at the signing to reconnect with the guys. Should book signing attendees expect a personal encounter with authors? That depends. The amount of time given to each fan varies depending on crowd size, schedule, even the mood of the author.
"There's no way to know how long the line is going to be," says Borders manager Thomas Ecks, who suggests calling on the day of the event. "Nor is there any way to know how long a celebrity will spend with each fan."
At a recent signing in Evanston, author David Sedaris spent a few minutes with each attendee. He was there for 12 hours, according to Ecks. Cookbook author Rachael Ray, for whom Borders has had to shut down the escalator to accommodate the snaking line, is quick.
"She signs and scoots," says the manager. "You should expect to just get a signature, say 'hi' or exchange a few words," explains Quimby's
Bookstore owner Eric Kirsammer. "There are usually a lot of people so if you're expecting to get to know [an author] it's not going to happen."
Kirsammer does have suggestions for making the most of the experience. He advises fans to migrate toward the back of the line rather than the front, as the last attendees are more likely to get the author's undivided attention.
He suggests calling his store during the signing to get a line update .Kirsammer has also noticed that authors at his bookstore have enjoyed signing alternative items.
"A lot of people bring in those rat-prevention signs," he chuckles. (Note: Many authors will sign only their books, purchased at the signing.)
"Don't be afraid to get involved and ask questions," advises author Reid. "We're glad to know that people are reading the book."
So is Gaiman, but those massive crowds at past book-signings have prompted him to test a new format on his current book tour, one in which presigned copies of "The Graveyard Book" are for sale at theaters in which he reads a chapter and answers questions from fans.
"I think they'll have a better time this way," he surmises, "rather than standing in a line that slowly snakes around a bookshop."
American Award Winning Poet Hayden Carruth Dies
Hayden Carruth, an editor, critic and poet who earned recognition late in his 50-year writing career for powerful work that explored the struggles, loves and desires of people who made their living with their hands -- as he did for two decades -- has died. He was 87. Carruth, who'd had a series of strokes, died Monday at his home in the small central New York town of Munnsville, according to his publishing house, Copper Canyon Press.
Hayden Carruth
Called a poet's poet for his technical mastery of forms from the sonnet to free verse, he wrote more than 20 books of poetry and prose, much of which emanated from the hardscrabble Vermont farm where he lived for 20 years.
In 1996 when he was 75 he won the National Book Award for Poetry for his collection "Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey." It was arguably the most prestigious prize among many that he received since publishing his first volume of poems in 1959. But it was bestowed without the presence of the excessively shy Carruth, who refused to attend the ceremony.He was an outsider in most respects: a self-proclaimed anarchist, who wrote unflatteringly of his family; an alcoholic who suffered from paralyzing phobias; a poet who lived on a hill farm far removed from the literary mainstream.
"Hayden Carruth is vast; he contains multitudes," poet David Barber once wrote. "Of the august order of American poets born in the Twenties, he is undoubtedly the most difficult to reconcile to the convenient branches of classification and affiliation, odd man out in any tidy scheme of influence and descent."
Born on Aug. 3, 1921, in Waterbury, Conn., where his father was a newspaper editor, he studied journalism at the University of North Carolina, earning a bachelor's degree in 1943. After serving in Italy with the Army during World War II, he used the GI Bill to further his education at the University of Chicago.
There he discovered that poetry was his true calling.After earning a master's in Chicago in 1948, he went to work for Poetry magazine, which had published some of his poems.
He became its editor in 1950 and wrote a controversial defense of Ezra Pound, the modernist poet charged with treason for his pro-Fascist views. A short time later, he lost his job. Then his first wife left him, taking with her their newborn daughter, Martha (who died of cancer in 1997).He found a new job, at the University of Chicago Press, and he remarried.
But, as he noted 20 years later in "The Bloomingdale Papers" (1974), named after the New York mental hospital where he was treated with electroshock for acute anxiety, depression and chronic insomnia, it was a trying time when
Booze helped immensely.
Work also, but not,
Unfortunately, writing.
Friends and parties and lovers
Lent ease to my unease
Sparingly.
The doctors kept
The anxious pot aboil.
So passed the years.
When he was released from Bloomingdale 15 months later, he was so emotionally fragile that he lived in his parents' attic for five years. When he was well enough, he embarked on the "hack work" that allowed him to eke out a meager living. He wrote for hardware catalogs, typed manuscripts, edited encyclopedias and churned out book reviews. He spent several years compiling the poems for his anthology.In 1961, he married for the third time and with his new wife, Rose Marie Dorn, had a son, David. Because he still "couldn't function in a social situation," they moved to a farm in Johnson, Vt., about 25 miles from the Canadian border, where he worked outdoors every day, chopping wood, digging potatoes and cutting hay.
When he wasn't toiling on his own farm, he was working for his equally poor neighbors. And way past midnight, when the chores were done, he wrote about them, in poems tightly packed with the details of their daily struggles. "One of the most striking things about his work is his ability to enter the lives of other people -- ordinary men and women -- and tell their tales," poet Galway Kinnell wrote in his introduction to Carruth's "Selected Poetry" (1985). "There is a reciprocity in all this, however. In telling their tales," Kinnell said, "he finds a means to express his own inner life. He gives them a voice, they give him a language."
As in "Marshall Washer," named after the dairy farmer who became Carruth's close friend:I see a man who drags a dead calf or watches a barn roaring with fire and thirteen heifers inside, I see his helpless eyes. He has stood helpless often, of course: when his wife died from congenital heart disease a few months before open-heart surgery came to Vermont, when his sons departed, caring little for the farm because he had educated them . . .
In Vermont, Carruth found his footing. As he told the University of Chicago magazine a few years ago, he managed "a gradual triumph over the internal snarls and screw-ups that had crippled me from childhood on." And he found freedom writing poetry "about things I really knew something about. . . . about simple things in simple language."
He described beauty in "The Cows at Night," inspired by a sighting of the beasts on a moonlit pasture, "turning to me, sad and beautiful/like girls very long ago/who were innocent, and sad."
He wrote wryly in "Regarding Chainsaws" of the body parts they maimed, but "mostly they wan't dangerous, and the only thing they broke was your back."
In "Emergency Haying," he turned reflections on a long day's labor into a meditation on injustice:We mow, rake, bale, and draw the bales to the barn, these late, half-green,improperly cured bales; some weigh 150 pounds or more, yet must be lugged by the twine across the field, tossed on the load, and thenat the barn unloaded on the conveyor and distributed in the loft. I help -- I, the desk-servant, word-worker --
and hold up my end pretty well too; but God,the close of day, how I fall down then. My handsare sore, they flinch when I light my pipe.
I think of those who have done slave labor,less able and less well prepared than I.He lamented hard times for farmers in "The Sleeping Beauty," in which the narrator yearns for the days when. . .
You could prevail
With but fourteen head of cows
Then, if you had the makings.
When he could no longer make ends meet, Carruth reluctantly accepted a job teaching English at Syracuse University in 1979. He taught there for a dozen years, near the end of which -- after a romantic flameout in 1988 -- he tried to kill himself by taking every pill in his possession.During his recovery, he was cared for by poet Joe-Anne McLaughlin, 30 years his junior, who had met him as a student.
After friendship deepened into romance, they were married in 1989. She survives him, along with his son and three grandchildren.He wrote and published well into his ninth decade, despite having emphysema, a heart condition and strokes. He remained cantankerous, declining a 1998 invitation to a poetry event at the Clinton White House because he
believed it would be "the greatest hypocrisy for an honest American poet to be present on such an occasion."
"Certainly I have never been a part of any literary group. . . . Where I am," he wrote in his memoir, "is the cosmic eye. Nothing grand, nothing romantic. A duck blown out to sea and still squawking."
elaine.woo@latimes.com
Hayden Carruth's Poetry
------------------------------
Scrambled Eggs And Whiskey
------------------------------------
Scrambled eggs and whisky
in the false-dawn light.
Chicago,a sweet town, bleak,
God knows,but sweet. Sometimes.
And weren't we fine tonight?
When Hank set up that limping
treble roll behind memy horn
just growled and I thought my heart
would burst. And Brad M. pressing
with the soft stick and Joe-Annesinging low.
Here we are no win the White Tower,
leaning on one another, too tired to go home.
But don't say a word,don't tell a soul, they
wouldn't understand, they couldn't, never
in a million years, how fine, how magnificent
we were in that old club tonight.
Graves
-----------
Both of us had been close to Joel,
and at Joel's death my friend had gone
to the wake and the memorial service
and more recently he had visited Joel's grave,
there at the back of the grassy cemetery
among the trees,"a quiet, gentle place," he said,
"befitting Joel." And I said,"What's the point of
going to look at graves?" I went into one of my
celebrated tirades. "People go to look at the grave
of Keats or Hart Crane, they go traveling just
to do it, and what a waste of time.What do they find there?
Hell,I wouldn't go look at the graveof Shakespeare if
it was just down the street. I wouldn't look at--"
And I stopped. Iwas about to say the grave of God
until I realized I'm looking at it all the time. . . .
February Morning
-----------------------
The old man takes a nap
too soon in the morning.
His coffee cup grows cold.
Outside the snow falls fast.
He'll not go out today.
Others must clear the way
to the car and the shed.
Open upon his lap lie the
poems of Mr. Frost.
Somehow his eyes get lost in
the words and the snow,
somehow they go backward
against the words, upward
among the flakes to the
blankness of air,the busy
abundance there.
Should he take warning?
Mr. Frost went off, they say,
in bitterness and despair.
The old man stirs and wakes,
hearing the hungry birds, nuthatch,
sparrow, and jay that clamor outside,
unfed,and words stir from his past like
this irritable sorrow of jay, nuthatch,
and sparrow, wrath which no longer
takes shape of sentence or song.
He climbs the stairs to bed.
The snow falls all day long.
Hayden Carruth
Called a poet's poet for his technical mastery of forms from the sonnet to free verse, he wrote more than 20 books of poetry and prose, much of which emanated from the hardscrabble Vermont farm where he lived for 20 years.
In 1996 when he was 75 he won the National Book Award for Poetry for his collection "Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey." It was arguably the most prestigious prize among many that he received since publishing his first volume of poems in 1959. But it was bestowed without the presence of the excessively shy Carruth, who refused to attend the ceremony.He was an outsider in most respects: a self-proclaimed anarchist, who wrote unflatteringly of his family; an alcoholic who suffered from paralyzing phobias; a poet who lived on a hill farm far removed from the literary mainstream.
"Hayden Carruth is vast; he contains multitudes," poet David Barber once wrote. "Of the august order of American poets born in the Twenties, he is undoubtedly the most difficult to reconcile to the convenient branches of classification and affiliation, odd man out in any tidy scheme of influence and descent."
Born on Aug. 3, 1921, in Waterbury, Conn., where his father was a newspaper editor, he studied journalism at the University of North Carolina, earning a bachelor's degree in 1943. After serving in Italy with the Army during World War II, he used the GI Bill to further his education at the University of Chicago.
There he discovered that poetry was his true calling.After earning a master's in Chicago in 1948, he went to work for Poetry magazine, which had published some of his poems.
He became its editor in 1950 and wrote a controversial defense of Ezra Pound, the modernist poet charged with treason for his pro-Fascist views. A short time later, he lost his job. Then his first wife left him, taking with her their newborn daughter, Martha (who died of cancer in 1997).He found a new job, at the University of Chicago Press, and he remarried.
But, as he noted 20 years later in "The Bloomingdale Papers" (1974), named after the New York mental hospital where he was treated with electroshock for acute anxiety, depression and chronic insomnia, it was a trying time when
Booze helped immensely.
Work also, but not,
Unfortunately, writing.
Friends and parties and lovers
Lent ease to my unease
Sparingly.
The doctors kept
The anxious pot aboil.
So passed the years.
When he was released from Bloomingdale 15 months later, he was so emotionally fragile that he lived in his parents' attic for five years. When he was well enough, he embarked on the "hack work" that allowed him to eke out a meager living. He wrote for hardware catalogs, typed manuscripts, edited encyclopedias and churned out book reviews. He spent several years compiling the poems for his anthology.In 1961, he married for the third time and with his new wife, Rose Marie Dorn, had a son, David. Because he still "couldn't function in a social situation," they moved to a farm in Johnson, Vt., about 25 miles from the Canadian border, where he worked outdoors every day, chopping wood, digging potatoes and cutting hay.
When he wasn't toiling on his own farm, he was working for his equally poor neighbors. And way past midnight, when the chores were done, he wrote about them, in poems tightly packed with the details of their daily struggles. "One of the most striking things about his work is his ability to enter the lives of other people -- ordinary men and women -- and tell their tales," poet Galway Kinnell wrote in his introduction to Carruth's "Selected Poetry" (1985). "There is a reciprocity in all this, however. In telling their tales," Kinnell said, "he finds a means to express his own inner life. He gives them a voice, they give him a language."
As in "Marshall Washer," named after the dairy farmer who became Carruth's close friend:I see a man who drags a dead calf or watches a barn roaring with fire and thirteen heifers inside, I see his helpless eyes. He has stood helpless often, of course: when his wife died from congenital heart disease a few months before open-heart surgery came to Vermont, when his sons departed, caring little for the farm because he had educated them . . .
In Vermont, Carruth found his footing. As he told the University of Chicago magazine a few years ago, he managed "a gradual triumph over the internal snarls and screw-ups that had crippled me from childhood on." And he found freedom writing poetry "about things I really knew something about. . . . about simple things in simple language."
He described beauty in "The Cows at Night," inspired by a sighting of the beasts on a moonlit pasture, "turning to me, sad and beautiful/like girls very long ago/who were innocent, and sad."
He wrote wryly in "Regarding Chainsaws" of the body parts they maimed, but "mostly they wan't dangerous, and the only thing they broke was your back."
In "Emergency Haying," he turned reflections on a long day's labor into a meditation on injustice:We mow, rake, bale, and draw the bales to the barn, these late, half-green,improperly cured bales; some weigh 150 pounds or more, yet must be lugged by the twine across the field, tossed on the load, and thenat the barn unloaded on the conveyor and distributed in the loft. I help -- I, the desk-servant, word-worker --
and hold up my end pretty well too; but God,the close of day, how I fall down then. My handsare sore, they flinch when I light my pipe.
I think of those who have done slave labor,less able and less well prepared than I.He lamented hard times for farmers in "The Sleeping Beauty," in which the narrator yearns for the days when. . .
You could prevail
With but fourteen head of cows
Then, if you had the makings.
When he could no longer make ends meet, Carruth reluctantly accepted a job teaching English at Syracuse University in 1979. He taught there for a dozen years, near the end of which -- after a romantic flameout in 1988 -- he tried to kill himself by taking every pill in his possession.During his recovery, he was cared for by poet Joe-Anne McLaughlin, 30 years his junior, who had met him as a student.
After friendship deepened into romance, they were married in 1989. She survives him, along with his son and three grandchildren.He wrote and published well into his ninth decade, despite having emphysema, a heart condition and strokes. He remained cantankerous, declining a 1998 invitation to a poetry event at the Clinton White House because he
believed it would be "the greatest hypocrisy for an honest American poet to be present on such an occasion."
"Certainly I have never been a part of any literary group. . . . Where I am," he wrote in his memoir, "is the cosmic eye. Nothing grand, nothing romantic. A duck blown out to sea and still squawking."
elaine.woo@latimes.com
Hayden Carruth's Poetry
------------------------------
Scrambled Eggs And Whiskey
------------------------------------
Scrambled eggs and whisky
in the false-dawn light.
Chicago,a sweet town, bleak,
God knows,but sweet. Sometimes.
And weren't we fine tonight?
When Hank set up that limping
treble roll behind memy horn
just growled and I thought my heart
would burst. And Brad M. pressing
with the soft stick and Joe-Annesinging low.
Here we are no win the White Tower,
leaning on one another, too tired to go home.
But don't say a word,don't tell a soul, they
wouldn't understand, they couldn't, never
in a million years, how fine, how magnificent
we were in that old club tonight.
Graves
-----------
Both of us had been close to Joel,
and at Joel's death my friend had gone
to the wake and the memorial service
and more recently he had visited Joel's grave,
there at the back of the grassy cemetery
among the trees,"a quiet, gentle place," he said,
"befitting Joel." And I said,"What's the point of
going to look at graves?" I went into one of my
celebrated tirades. "People go to look at the grave
of Keats or Hart Crane, they go traveling just
to do it, and what a waste of time.What do they find there?
Hell,I wouldn't go look at the graveof Shakespeare if
it was just down the street. I wouldn't look at--"
And I stopped. Iwas about to say the grave of God
until I realized I'm looking at it all the time. . . .
February Morning
-----------------------
The old man takes a nap
too soon in the morning.
His coffee cup grows cold.
Outside the snow falls fast.
He'll not go out today.
Others must clear the way
to the car and the shed.
Open upon his lap lie the
poems of Mr. Frost.
Somehow his eyes get lost in
the words and the snow,
somehow they go backward
against the words, upward
among the flakes to the
blankness of air,the busy
abundance there.
Should he take warning?
Mr. Frost went off, they say,
in bitterness and despair.
The old man stirs and wakes,
hearing the hungry birds, nuthatch,
sparrow, and jay that clamor outside,
unfed,and words stir from his past like
this irritable sorrow of jay, nuthatch,
and sparrow, wrath which no longer
takes shape of sentence or song.
He climbs the stairs to bed.
The snow falls all day long.
Friday, October 3, 2008
About Nikki Giovanni
Nikki Giovanni was born Yolande Cornelia Giovanni, jr June 7, 1943 in Knoxville, Tennessee, but raised in the Lincoln Heights neighborhood of Cincinnati, Ohio.
She attended the all-black Fisk University, where she became involved in both the Writers' Workshop and the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committe.
The connections between literature and politics would continue to absorb her attention for decades to come.
In 1967, she became actively involved in the Black Arts movement, a loose coalition of African-American intellectuals who wrote politically and artistically radical poems aimed at raising awareness of black rights and promoting the struggle for racial equality.
Radicalized by the assasination of Malcolm X and by the rise of the militant Black Panthers, her poetry in the 1960s and 1970s was colorful and combative; a recurrent theme of this era is the possible redundancy of poetry in the face of possible revolution.
In her first three collections of poems, Black Feeling, Black Talk (1968), Black Judgement (1968), and Re: Creation (1970), her content was urgently revolutionary and suffused with deliberate interpretation of experience through a black consciousness.
Giovanni's experiences as a single mother then began to influence her poetry. Spin a Soft Black Song (1971), Ego-Tripping (1973), and Vacation Time (1980) were collections of poems for children.
Loneliness, thwarted hopes, and the theme of family affection became increasingly important in her poetry during the 1970s. She returned to political concerns in Those Who Ride the Night Winds (1983), with dedications to black American heroes and heroines.
From the late 1960s Giovanni was a popular reader of her own poetry, with performances issued on several recordings, and a respected speaker as well.
In Gemini (1971) she presented autobiographical reminiscences, and Sacred Cows . . . and Other Edibles (1988) was a collection of her essays.
Nikki Giovanni is now (1998) a professor at Virginia Tech, where she teaches English. Recently, she underwent a successful operation for lung cancer.
List of Nikki Giovanni's works.
Major Works
---------------
Black Feeling, Black Talk (1968).
Black Judgement (1968).
Night Comes Softly (1970).
Poem of Angela Yvonne Davis (1970). Illustrated by Charles Bible.
Re: Creation (1970).
Gemini: An Extended Autobiographical Statement on My First Twenty-Five Years of Being a Black Poet (1971).
Spin a Soft Black Song: Poems for Children (1971). Illustrated by Charles Bible.
In My House (1972).
Dialogue (1973). Foreword by Ida Lewis; Afterword by Orde Coombs. Conversations with James Baldwin.
My House, Ego-Tripping and Other Poems for Young People (1973).
A Poetic Equation: Conversations between Nikki Giovanni and Margaret Walker(1974).
The Women Gather (1975). Broadside.
The Women and the Men (1975).
Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day (1978).
Black Feeling, Black Talk, Black Judgement (1979).
Vacation Time: Poems for Children (1980).
Those Who Ride the Night Winds (1983).
Sacred Cows and Other Edibles (1988).
Grand Mothers: Poems, Reminiscences, and Short Stories About the Keepers of
Our Traditions (1994).
Knoxville, Tennessee (1994). Illustrated by Larry Johnson.
Racism 101 (1994). Foreword by Virginia Fowler.
The Genie in the Jar (1996). Illustrated by Chris Raschka.
Shimmy Shimmy Like My Sister Kate: Looking at the Harlem Renaissance Through Poems (1996). An anthology of Harlem Renaissance ( more or less ) poets with Nikki Giovanni's comments.
The Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni (1996).
The Sun is So Quiet: Poems (1996). Illustrated by Ashley Bryan.
Love Poems (1997).
About Nikki Giovanni
Virginia C. Fowler, Nikki Giovanni. Twayne, 1992.
She attended the all-black Fisk University, where she became involved in both the Writers' Workshop and the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committe.
The connections between literature and politics would continue to absorb her attention for decades to come.
In 1967, she became actively involved in the Black Arts movement, a loose coalition of African-American intellectuals who wrote politically and artistically radical poems aimed at raising awareness of black rights and promoting the struggle for racial equality.
Radicalized by the assasination of Malcolm X and by the rise of the militant Black Panthers, her poetry in the 1960s and 1970s was colorful and combative; a recurrent theme of this era is the possible redundancy of poetry in the face of possible revolution.
In her first three collections of poems, Black Feeling, Black Talk (1968), Black Judgement (1968), and Re: Creation (1970), her content was urgently revolutionary and suffused with deliberate interpretation of experience through a black consciousness.
Giovanni's experiences as a single mother then began to influence her poetry. Spin a Soft Black Song (1971), Ego-Tripping (1973), and Vacation Time (1980) were collections of poems for children.
Loneliness, thwarted hopes, and the theme of family affection became increasingly important in her poetry during the 1970s. She returned to political concerns in Those Who Ride the Night Winds (1983), with dedications to black American heroes and heroines.
From the late 1960s Giovanni was a popular reader of her own poetry, with performances issued on several recordings, and a respected speaker as well.
In Gemini (1971) she presented autobiographical reminiscences, and Sacred Cows . . . and Other Edibles (1988) was a collection of her essays.
Nikki Giovanni is now (1998) a professor at Virginia Tech, where she teaches English. Recently, she underwent a successful operation for lung cancer.
List of Nikki Giovanni's works.
Major Works
---------------
Black Feeling, Black Talk (1968).
Black Judgement (1968).
Night Comes Softly (1970).
Poem of Angela Yvonne Davis (1970). Illustrated by Charles Bible.
Re: Creation (1970).
Gemini: An Extended Autobiographical Statement on My First Twenty-Five Years of Being a Black Poet (1971).
Spin a Soft Black Song: Poems for Children (1971). Illustrated by Charles Bible.
In My House (1972).
Dialogue (1973). Foreword by Ida Lewis; Afterword by Orde Coombs. Conversations with James Baldwin.
My House, Ego-Tripping and Other Poems for Young People (1973).
A Poetic Equation: Conversations between Nikki Giovanni and Margaret Walker(1974).
The Women Gather (1975). Broadside.
The Women and the Men (1975).
Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day (1978).
Black Feeling, Black Talk, Black Judgement (1979).
Vacation Time: Poems for Children (1980).
Those Who Ride the Night Winds (1983).
Sacred Cows and Other Edibles (1988).
Grand Mothers: Poems, Reminiscences, and Short Stories About the Keepers of
Our Traditions (1994).
Knoxville, Tennessee (1994). Illustrated by Larry Johnson.
Racism 101 (1994). Foreword by Virginia Fowler.
The Genie in the Jar (1996). Illustrated by Chris Raschka.
Shimmy Shimmy Like My Sister Kate: Looking at the Harlem Renaissance Through Poems (1996). An anthology of Harlem Renaissance ( more or less ) poets with Nikki Giovanni's comments.
The Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni (1996).
The Sun is So Quiet: Poems (1996). Illustrated by Ashley Bryan.
Love Poems (1997).
About Nikki Giovanni
Virginia C. Fowler, Nikki Giovanni. Twayne, 1992.
About the Poet Nikki Giovanni
I love poet Nikki Giovanni and this discovery of her interview on the internet by Scholastic students in 2002 was simply wonderful.
How long have you been writing? Since college, a long time, 30 years.
What inspired you to become a writer? How do you teach children that poetry does not have to rhyme?
I'm fascinated by people, by human beings, and that's what got me interested in writing. I think students already know that poems don't have to rhyme. You just have to remind them that poems are about beauty and emotion; in other words poems are about feelings.
Where do you get the inspiration to begin writing your poems?
Once you begin writing do you find it easy to finish a poem? Yes, I do. Like most writers it's more difficult to begin a poem than to end one. But I have to have the information; it's information that begins a poem.
Where did you grow up in Ohio? Lincoln Heights.
What was your childhood like - did you enjoy reading and writing poetry as a kid? At what age did you write in hopes of being published?
I had a really nice childhood; I had great parents. I earned my allowance by washing dishes, and in the summer I earned my allowance by working in daddy's garden. I'm not good in the garden; I once pulled up all the peppers - I thought they were weeds. I definitely enjoyed reading, I didn't write much poetry when I was a little girl, but I've always been a big reader. I did not think about publication until after college.
The information you use to write poems, is it based on personal experience or other things such as facts? I hope it's based on facts, but I've personally experienced it to some degree. I think it's important to do research, and research mostly is going to come from books, so all of your reading is potentially helpful to your poetry.
Why do you mix poetry with music? Poetry and music are very good friends. Like mommies and daddies and strawberries and cream - they go together.
Did you dedicate a poem to Tupac Shakur? What was the name of it? Why? Yes, the name is "All Eyes on You." I thought it was such a loss to the art community, the black community, and the American community. I wanted to grieve.
You said you wanted to grieve for Tupac. Did your poem entitled "The Funeral of Martin Luther King, Jr." come from the same place of wanting to grieve or was it more of a statement about how so often African-American leaders are more admired dead than alive?
Those poems come from two different places and the King poem is much more a political poem in my opinion, but I'm not a critic.
Who or what inspired you to write? I'm just totally fascinated by people.
What is the most difficult poem you have written? Is it your favorite? Which poem has been your most popular?
My most popular poem is "Ego-Tripping." I've worked on all of them, and just hope they all turn out well.
What inspired you to write "Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day?"
I think life is cotton candy on a rainy day. For those who grew up with cotton candy the old-fashioned way, it is very delicate. Pre-made cotton candy that has preservatives is not nearly as good or true. True cotton candy is sugar, color, and air and it melts very quickly. That was the metaphor - it can't be preserved, it can't be put aside, it can't be banked. It has to be experienced, like life.
Do you sit down and think about writing, or do you just get sudden inspirations? I sit down and think about writing specific poems at specific times.
Which of your books is your personal favorite?
I like them all.
What do you like to do in your free time?
I play a little tennis; I like to cook; I like to read, and I love listening to music. I'm also a bird watcher. I spend a lot of time learning about bird watching.
What books did you read growing up?
I read from my mother's library mostly. So I read a lot of romantic novels, but I've also always been a lover of science fiction and those are two main areas, science fiction and Victorian novels.
Can you give us some suggestions to increase students' interest in reading and writing?
My main suggestion, and don't laugh, we should read to the students. My students and I in my Introduction to Creative Writing Class (college level) read Tim O'Brien's In the Lake of the Woods. I had thought they wouldn't want to hear a story being read, I really did. It turned out to be one of our really wonderful experiences. If you want students to read - read to them.
Do any of the artists you listen to inspire your poems? Yes, but looking at my earlier work you will see the Gospel influence; I grew up in the Baptist church. And moving into My House poems you'd see the jazz influence.
Have you worked with any other choirs after the one with James Cleveland?
I worked with the New York Community Choir under the direction of Bennie Diggs. I had the pleasure of knowing Reverend Cleveland, and he used to say I stole his song (laughing). James is a great man.
How old were you when you wrote your first poem? Sixteen? Seventeen?
A teenager.
Why did you write "Ego-Tripping?"
Because I wanted to give something to girls. Boys have everything to support their independence and area of wonderfulness; they have baseball players and astronauts. I wanted the young women to know that we too are wonderful, everything that happened we did it. I love that poem. I must add if I may, the joy has been that the boys have liked it also. Hearing boys recite it has been wonderful to me, which means that things that are born of love - bring love. That poem came from a lot of love.
What do you like about poetry? I like being able to express my thoughts. That's what I like most about it.
On the average, how long does it take you to write a poem?
I'm a professional writer so I don't want to approach a young writer on that level; it gives them a false sense of possibilities.
What part of poem writing do you like the most?
The anticipation.
What was your first published poem?
I don't remember the first poem, but the first book was Black Feeling, Black Talk.
How did you go about getting your first poem published?
I think I just submitted it to the magazine or newspaper. I formed a publishing company to publish the first book; it's a business situation. That's how we did it, and sold the books. You have to separate business and art. I didn't want to go to a publisher because I didn't want to be rejected. I still don't have an agent. I'm a poet - poets don't need agents.
Do you write a "rough draft" or do you submit your poetry as it first comes to you?
Probably right now, neither, I work on the computer so I make the edits right there. I'm not in school, which makes a difference. I don't write drafts; I write on the computer.
As an African-American poet, did you face any problems with getting your work published? As an African-American poet I avoided the problem by creating my own company, so if there was a problem, I didn't know about it.
Who inspired you to start writing?
I don't believe in role models and inspiration, I just don't believe in it. I never did, but I had a terrific grandmother who was always very interested in what I was doing. I know my grandmother was a great influence and inspiration in that degree, but I reject that notion that someone winds you up and starts you on your way.
Why do you write poems for young people?
Because I was once young (laughing). I have a great respect for young people. And I wanted to share what I remembered that might be interesting or helpful.
Did you read the Harry Potter series? If so what do you think about them?
Every one of them twice. In Quilting: The Black Eyed Pea, there is a review of the Harry Potter movie. I'm a big Harry Potter fan; the books are great. I wanted the werewolf to come back. In the battle, we knew that Dumbledore was going to make peace with the giants in the struggle, but I want the werewolves too. I think the werewolves were on our side.
Why did you pick Ashley Bryan to illustrate "The Sun Is So Quiet?" Is he your favorite illustrator? How do you work together if he lives in Maine and you live in Virginia?
Ashley and I share a mutual friend; her name is Connie Harris and she was formerly the head of the Children's Library Section in Cincinnati. It's probably fair to say that Connie brought us together. And I do love his work. I've worked with a lot of people, but Ashley is one of my favorites. Distance doesn't matter. There is no distance - long distance - especially with the Internet.
How do your children influence your poetry?
I only have one child. His name is Thomas, and I think my relationship with Thomas encouraged me to look again at the needs or interests of children.
What are some of your goals for the future?
I hope to travel more. I enjoy traveling, that is a goal. I'm interested in retracing Darwin's steps - the naturalist, that's a goal. Everything else is a hope. I would hope to go to Mars, but it's not likely.
Do you prefer teaching poetry or writing it yourself?
That's like asking if I prefer cooking or eating, they are part of the same process.
Do you sometimes get frustrated when you are writing?
Yes. I think everybody does, it's not something to be unhappy with yourself about either.
Was there anything else you wanted to be besides a poet?
Not actually, maybe if I'd been a little better I could have been a professional tennis player, like Venus Williams. That would've been a dream. I also liked to paint, but I had to recognize that I would never be a professional painter. You have to recognize these things and move on. But if I were 12 years old today, I'd want to be an astronaut.
What are your favorite movies, poems, and books?
My favorite movie is one that your parents probably won't let you see - The Godfather; it's a terrific film. One of my favorite books is The Lies of the Cell by Louis Thomas. But I also like Sula, by Tony Morrison, a lot.
Do you get nervous when your poems are about to go out to the public? No (laughing). By the time they are about to go out, I know they are ready.
About how much time a day do you spend writing your poems?
Quite a bit lately because I'm working on a book, but once the book is finished less because I'll be working on my research. I don't write every day.
Did you go to college for this? Or did you plan on doing something else?
I went to college as a history major, liberal arts. I made preparations, not plans. I still think that's important.
Do you think you will continue writing throughout the years?
I hope so.
Who is one of your favorite poets?
I like a lot of poets. I loved the work of Robert Louis Stevenson when I was growing up because I love children's literature, but now, I don't even know who I DON'T like. I read a lot and enjoy it.
What advice do you have for young people who want to be poets today? The most important thing is to pay attention. The next would probably be to read; it's so important to pay attention. It keeps you from being bored, and I might add it keeps you from being boorish.
How would you encourage middle-school students to feel comfortable writing poetry as a form of creative expression?
I'd be sure to praise the creativity because even on the college level, which I teach, praise is going to get you better work. Its not that you don't want better skills, like spelling, but it can't be the divining decision. Try to look into what the children are sharing. Start every sentence with, "That's really good. Now tell me . . ." Kids are very nervous about being criticized, start them off from a very positive point. I'm pleased that you all asked questions today - that's not easy to do. I'm glad we had an opportunity to interact closer.
March 2008.
Nikki Giovanni's favourite poem
EGO TRIPPING
--------------------
I was born in the Congo.
I walked to the Fertile Crescent
and built the sphinx.
I designed a pyramid so tough
that a star that only glows every
one hundred years falls
into the center giving
divine perfect light.
I am bad.
I sat on the throne
drinking nectar with Allah.
I got hot and sent an ice age
to Europe to cool my thirst.
My oldest daughter is Nefertiti.
The tears from my birth pains
created the Nile.
I am a beautiful woman.
I gazed on the forest and burned
out the Sahara desert.
With a packet of goat's meat
and a change of clothes,
I crossed it in two hours.
I am a gazelle so swift,
so swift you can't catch me.
For a birthday present when he was three,
I gave my son Hannibal an elephant.
He gave me Rome for mother's day.
My strength flows ever on.
My son Noah built an ark and
I stood proudly at the helm
as we sailed on a soft summer day.
I turned myself into myself and was Jesus.
Men intone my loving name.
All praises all praises,
I am the one who would save.
I sowed diamonds in my back yard.
My bowels deliver uranium.
The filings from my fingernails are
semi-precious jewels. On a trip north,
I caught a cold and blew
my nose giving oil to the Arab world.
I am so hip even my errors are correct.
I sailed west to reach east and had to round off
the earth as I went.
The hair from my head thinned and gold was laid
across three continents.
I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal.
I cannot be comprehended except by my permission.
I mean...I...can fly like a bird in the sky...
How long have you been writing? Since college, a long time, 30 years.
What inspired you to become a writer? How do you teach children that poetry does not have to rhyme?
I'm fascinated by people, by human beings, and that's what got me interested in writing. I think students already know that poems don't have to rhyme. You just have to remind them that poems are about beauty and emotion; in other words poems are about feelings.
Where do you get the inspiration to begin writing your poems?
Once you begin writing do you find it easy to finish a poem? Yes, I do. Like most writers it's more difficult to begin a poem than to end one. But I have to have the information; it's information that begins a poem.
Where did you grow up in Ohio? Lincoln Heights.
What was your childhood like - did you enjoy reading and writing poetry as a kid? At what age did you write in hopes of being published?
I had a really nice childhood; I had great parents. I earned my allowance by washing dishes, and in the summer I earned my allowance by working in daddy's garden. I'm not good in the garden; I once pulled up all the peppers - I thought they were weeds. I definitely enjoyed reading, I didn't write much poetry when I was a little girl, but I've always been a big reader. I did not think about publication until after college.
The information you use to write poems, is it based on personal experience or other things such as facts? I hope it's based on facts, but I've personally experienced it to some degree. I think it's important to do research, and research mostly is going to come from books, so all of your reading is potentially helpful to your poetry.
Why do you mix poetry with music? Poetry and music are very good friends. Like mommies and daddies and strawberries and cream - they go together.
Did you dedicate a poem to Tupac Shakur? What was the name of it? Why? Yes, the name is "All Eyes on You." I thought it was such a loss to the art community, the black community, and the American community. I wanted to grieve.
You said you wanted to grieve for Tupac. Did your poem entitled "The Funeral of Martin Luther King, Jr." come from the same place of wanting to grieve or was it more of a statement about how so often African-American leaders are more admired dead than alive?
Those poems come from two different places and the King poem is much more a political poem in my opinion, but I'm not a critic.
Who or what inspired you to write? I'm just totally fascinated by people.
What is the most difficult poem you have written? Is it your favorite? Which poem has been your most popular?
My most popular poem is "Ego-Tripping." I've worked on all of them, and just hope they all turn out well.
What inspired you to write "Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day?"
I think life is cotton candy on a rainy day. For those who grew up with cotton candy the old-fashioned way, it is very delicate. Pre-made cotton candy that has preservatives is not nearly as good or true. True cotton candy is sugar, color, and air and it melts very quickly. That was the metaphor - it can't be preserved, it can't be put aside, it can't be banked. It has to be experienced, like life.
Do you sit down and think about writing, or do you just get sudden inspirations? I sit down and think about writing specific poems at specific times.
Which of your books is your personal favorite?
I like them all.
What do you like to do in your free time?
I play a little tennis; I like to cook; I like to read, and I love listening to music. I'm also a bird watcher. I spend a lot of time learning about bird watching.
What books did you read growing up?
I read from my mother's library mostly. So I read a lot of romantic novels, but I've also always been a lover of science fiction and those are two main areas, science fiction and Victorian novels.
Can you give us some suggestions to increase students' interest in reading and writing?
My main suggestion, and don't laugh, we should read to the students. My students and I in my Introduction to Creative Writing Class (college level) read Tim O'Brien's In the Lake of the Woods. I had thought they wouldn't want to hear a story being read, I really did. It turned out to be one of our really wonderful experiences. If you want students to read - read to them.
Do any of the artists you listen to inspire your poems? Yes, but looking at my earlier work you will see the Gospel influence; I grew up in the Baptist church. And moving into My House poems you'd see the jazz influence.
Have you worked with any other choirs after the one with James Cleveland?
I worked with the New York Community Choir under the direction of Bennie Diggs. I had the pleasure of knowing Reverend Cleveland, and he used to say I stole his song (laughing). James is a great man.
How old were you when you wrote your first poem? Sixteen? Seventeen?
A teenager.
Why did you write "Ego-Tripping?"
Because I wanted to give something to girls. Boys have everything to support their independence and area of wonderfulness; they have baseball players and astronauts. I wanted the young women to know that we too are wonderful, everything that happened we did it. I love that poem. I must add if I may, the joy has been that the boys have liked it also. Hearing boys recite it has been wonderful to me, which means that things that are born of love - bring love. That poem came from a lot of love.
What do you like about poetry? I like being able to express my thoughts. That's what I like most about it.
On the average, how long does it take you to write a poem?
I'm a professional writer so I don't want to approach a young writer on that level; it gives them a false sense of possibilities.
What part of poem writing do you like the most?
The anticipation.
What was your first published poem?
I don't remember the first poem, but the first book was Black Feeling, Black Talk.
How did you go about getting your first poem published?
I think I just submitted it to the magazine or newspaper. I formed a publishing company to publish the first book; it's a business situation. That's how we did it, and sold the books. You have to separate business and art. I didn't want to go to a publisher because I didn't want to be rejected. I still don't have an agent. I'm a poet - poets don't need agents.
Do you write a "rough draft" or do you submit your poetry as it first comes to you?
Probably right now, neither, I work on the computer so I make the edits right there. I'm not in school, which makes a difference. I don't write drafts; I write on the computer.
As an African-American poet, did you face any problems with getting your work published? As an African-American poet I avoided the problem by creating my own company, so if there was a problem, I didn't know about it.
Who inspired you to start writing?
I don't believe in role models and inspiration, I just don't believe in it. I never did, but I had a terrific grandmother who was always very interested in what I was doing. I know my grandmother was a great influence and inspiration in that degree, but I reject that notion that someone winds you up and starts you on your way.
Why do you write poems for young people?
Because I was once young (laughing). I have a great respect for young people. And I wanted to share what I remembered that might be interesting or helpful.
Did you read the Harry Potter series? If so what do you think about them?
Every one of them twice. In Quilting: The Black Eyed Pea, there is a review of the Harry Potter movie. I'm a big Harry Potter fan; the books are great. I wanted the werewolf to come back. In the battle, we knew that Dumbledore was going to make peace with the giants in the struggle, but I want the werewolves too. I think the werewolves were on our side.
Why did you pick Ashley Bryan to illustrate "The Sun Is So Quiet?" Is he your favorite illustrator? How do you work together if he lives in Maine and you live in Virginia?
Ashley and I share a mutual friend; her name is Connie Harris and she was formerly the head of the Children's Library Section in Cincinnati. It's probably fair to say that Connie brought us together. And I do love his work. I've worked with a lot of people, but Ashley is one of my favorites. Distance doesn't matter. There is no distance - long distance - especially with the Internet.
How do your children influence your poetry?
I only have one child. His name is Thomas, and I think my relationship with Thomas encouraged me to look again at the needs or interests of children.
What are some of your goals for the future?
I hope to travel more. I enjoy traveling, that is a goal. I'm interested in retracing Darwin's steps - the naturalist, that's a goal. Everything else is a hope. I would hope to go to Mars, but it's not likely.
Do you prefer teaching poetry or writing it yourself?
That's like asking if I prefer cooking or eating, they are part of the same process.
Do you sometimes get frustrated when you are writing?
Yes. I think everybody does, it's not something to be unhappy with yourself about either.
Was there anything else you wanted to be besides a poet?
Not actually, maybe if I'd been a little better I could have been a professional tennis player, like Venus Williams. That would've been a dream. I also liked to paint, but I had to recognize that I would never be a professional painter. You have to recognize these things and move on. But if I were 12 years old today, I'd want to be an astronaut.
What are your favorite movies, poems, and books?
My favorite movie is one that your parents probably won't let you see - The Godfather; it's a terrific film. One of my favorite books is The Lies of the Cell by Louis Thomas. But I also like Sula, by Tony Morrison, a lot.
Do you get nervous when your poems are about to go out to the public? No (laughing). By the time they are about to go out, I know they are ready.
About how much time a day do you spend writing your poems?
Quite a bit lately because I'm working on a book, but once the book is finished less because I'll be working on my research. I don't write every day.
Did you go to college for this? Or did you plan on doing something else?
I went to college as a history major, liberal arts. I made preparations, not plans. I still think that's important.
Do you think you will continue writing throughout the years?
I hope so.
Who is one of your favorite poets?
I like a lot of poets. I loved the work of Robert Louis Stevenson when I was growing up because I love children's literature, but now, I don't even know who I DON'T like. I read a lot and enjoy it.
What advice do you have for young people who want to be poets today? The most important thing is to pay attention. The next would probably be to read; it's so important to pay attention. It keeps you from being bored, and I might add it keeps you from being boorish.
How would you encourage middle-school students to feel comfortable writing poetry as a form of creative expression?
I'd be sure to praise the creativity because even on the college level, which I teach, praise is going to get you better work. Its not that you don't want better skills, like spelling, but it can't be the divining decision. Try to look into what the children are sharing. Start every sentence with, "That's really good. Now tell me . . ." Kids are very nervous about being criticized, start them off from a very positive point. I'm pleased that you all asked questions today - that's not easy to do. I'm glad we had an opportunity to interact closer.
March 2008.
Nikki Giovanni's favourite poem
EGO TRIPPING
--------------------
I was born in the Congo.
I walked to the Fertile Crescent
and built the sphinx.
I designed a pyramid so tough
that a star that only glows every
one hundred years falls
into the center giving
divine perfect light.
I am bad.
I sat on the throne
drinking nectar with Allah.
I got hot and sent an ice age
to Europe to cool my thirst.
My oldest daughter is Nefertiti.
The tears from my birth pains
created the Nile.
I am a beautiful woman.
I gazed on the forest and burned
out the Sahara desert.
With a packet of goat's meat
and a change of clothes,
I crossed it in two hours.
I am a gazelle so swift,
so swift you can't catch me.
For a birthday present when he was three,
I gave my son Hannibal an elephant.
He gave me Rome for mother's day.
My strength flows ever on.
My son Noah built an ark and
I stood proudly at the helm
as we sailed on a soft summer day.
I turned myself into myself and was Jesus.
Men intone my loving name.
All praises all praises,
I am the one who would save.
I sowed diamonds in my back yard.
My bowels deliver uranium.
The filings from my fingernails are
semi-precious jewels. On a trip north,
I caught a cold and blew
my nose giving oil to the Arab world.
I am so hip even my errors are correct.
I sailed west to reach east and had to round off
the earth as I went.
The hair from my head thinned and gold was laid
across three continents.
I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal.
I cannot be comprehended except by my permission.
I mean...I...can fly like a bird in the sky...
Poetic Enlightenment
MOOD
--------
Mood is defined as a created atmosphere or context. In the movies mood is achieved by special lighting, sound effects, selected music, and the tone of the actors’ dialogue and actions. In poetry, to create mood, the writer must rely on his/her use of words and phrases to "paint the right scene" - in other words, create the right mood. The mood may be somber, light-hearted, "other worldly," comical, silly, or thought provoking. It is up to you, as the poet, to consider your theme and purpose. Then create the mood that best relays those two elements to your reader. Let’s look at some poems and practice identifying theme, purpose, and mood in the following poem
Days
------
Karle Wilson Baker
----------------------
Some days my thoughts are just cocoons--
all cold,and dull and blind,
They hang from dripping branches in
the grey woods of my mind;
And other days they drift and shine--
such free and flying things!
I find the gold-dust in my hair,
left by their brushing wings.
--------
Mood is defined as a created atmosphere or context. In the movies mood is achieved by special lighting, sound effects, selected music, and the tone of the actors’ dialogue and actions. In poetry, to create mood, the writer must rely on his/her use of words and phrases to "paint the right scene" - in other words, create the right mood. The mood may be somber, light-hearted, "other worldly," comical, silly, or thought provoking. It is up to you, as the poet, to consider your theme and purpose. Then create the mood that best relays those two elements to your reader. Let’s look at some poems and practice identifying theme, purpose, and mood in the following poem
Days
------
Karle Wilson Baker
----------------------
Some days my thoughts are just cocoons--
all cold,and dull and blind,
They hang from dripping branches in
the grey woods of my mind;
And other days they drift and shine--
such free and flying things!
I find the gold-dust in my hair,
left by their brushing wings.
Poetry lessons
"Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar."
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), English poet. A Defence of Poetry (written 1821; published 1840)
FORMS - THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME
------------------------------------------------------
Just like the body has a skeleton to hold its shape, poems have a structure that hold their ideas together. In poetry, that "skeleton" is called form. Over the next seven (7) lessons you will identify several different types, or forms of poetry such as Haiku, Lantrene, Couplet, Quatrain, Limerick, and Free Verse. As you practice the different forms of poetry, think about which would be most appropriate for your theme, purpose, and mood from Lesson 15, 16, and 17.
Some points to consider when choosing a "skeleton" for your poem are, of course, its theme, purpose, and mood but also think about if you want your poem to be compact or lengthy, rhymed or unrhymed, metered or unmetered.
You may know if words rhyme such as moon, June and which words do not rhyme (or are unrhymed) like city, hill. However, meter may be a new word for you. Meter deals with the rhythm of the poem. As you might clap your hands along with the rhythm of your favorite music, you can find the same type of "sing-song" pattern in poetry (This is especially evident in nursery rhymes.). This pattern, or meter may be built on accented and unaccented syllables in the lines of the poem. Check out this web site for practice finding meter.
Your poem’s form may be very restricted and limited or very free without many restrictions. Rules for form might include number of words, indention, capitalization, number of syllables, placement of rhymed words, and number and/or placement of lines. There is so much to learn about poetic form but the best way to learn is to try to put some "flesh" or "meat on your bones" on your skeleton and experience writing poetry using different poetic forms.
ALLEGORY - al·le·go·ry
----------------------------
The representation of abstract ideas or principles by characters, figures, or events in narrative, dramatic, or pictorial form. A story, picture, or play employing such representation. John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress and Herman Melville's Moby Dick are allegories.
BALLAD
-----------
1.Any light, simple song, esp. one of sentimental or romantic character, having two or more stanzas all sung to the same melody.
2.A simple narrative poem of folk origin, composed in short stanzas and adapted for singing.
3.Any poem written in similar style.
4.The music for a ballad.
5.A sentimental or romantic popular song.
CINQUAIN sing-keyn, sing-keyn
--------------
Prosody. a. a short poem consisting of five, usually unrhymed lines containing, respectively, two, four, six, eight, and two syllables. b. any stanza of five lines.
MADRIGAL mad·ri·gal
----------------------------
1. a secular part song without instrumental accompaniment, usually for four to six voices, making abundant use of contrapuntal imitation, popular esp. in the 16th and 17th centuries.
2. a lyric poem suitable for being set to music, usually short and often of amatory character, esp. fashionable in the 16th century and later, in Italy, France, England, etc.
3. any part song.
SONNETS
----------------
Prosody. a poem, properly expressive of a single, complete thought, idea, or sentiment, of 14 lines, usually in iambic pentameter, with rhymes arranged according to one of certain definite schemes, being in the strict or Italian form divided into a major group of 8 lines (the octave) followed by a minor group of 6 lines (the sestet), and in a common English form into 3 quatrains followed by a couplet. –verb (used without object)
FREE VERSE
-----------------
Free verse is just what it says it is - poetry that is written without proper rules about form, rhyme, rhythm, meter, etc. The greatest American writer of free verse is probably Walt Whitman. His great collection of free verse was titled Leaves of Grass and it was published in 1855.
In free verse the writer makes his/her own rules. The writer decides how the poem should look, feel, and sound. Henry David Thoreau, a great philosopher, explained it this way, ". . . perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." It may take you a while to "hear your own drummer," but free verse can be a great way to "get things off your chest" and express what you really feel.
Here is an example:
Winter Poem
-----------------
Nikki Giovanni
-----------------
once a snowflake fell
on my brow and i loved
it so much and i kissed
it and it was happy and called its cousins
and brothers and a web
of snow engulfed me then
i reached to love them all
and i squeezed them and they became
a spring rain and i stood perfectly
still and was a flower
QUATRAIN ((KWOT-rain)
---------------------------------
HEY!! Does anybody have a quarter? What's a quarter have to do with this type of poetry? Well, a quarter is 1/4 of a dollar. The word quatrain comes from Latin and French words meaning "four." See the connection? The quatrain is a poem or stanza of four lines. It is a very popular form of poetry. Famous poets like William Blake and T. S. Eliot used quatrains. Read these examples:
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
-From William Blake's "The Tyger"
LIMERICK
--------------
A limerick is a five-line poem written with one couplet and one triplet. If a couplet is a two-line rhymed poem, then a triplet would be a three-line rhymed poem. The rhyme pattern is a a b b a with lines 1, 2 and 5 containing 3 beats and rhyming, and lines 3 and 4 having two beats and rhyming. Some people say that the limerick was invented by soldiers returning from France to the Irish town of Limerick in the 1700's.
Limericks are meant to be funny. They often contain hyperbole, onomatopoeia, idioms, puns, and other figurative devices. The last line of a good limerick contains the PUNCH LINE or "heart of the joke." As you work with limericks, remember to have pun, I mean FUN! Say the following limericks out loud and clap to the rhythm.
A flea and a fly in a flue
Were caught, so what could they do?
Said the fly, "Let us flee."
"Let us fly," said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the flue.
-Anonymous
COUPLET (CUP- let)
-------------------------
You know a couple means two. So a couplet is a pair of lines of poetry that are usually rhymed. We think the idea of the couplet came from the French and English. There are lots of ways to write different types of couplets. Couplets can also be used to "build" other poems, but we'll get to that later! We are going to use a couplet for a "play on words," or a word game. This type of couplet is called a "terse verse." Here's the way you play,
"If turkeys gobble,
Do Pilgrims squabble?"
ACROSTIC
--------------
The word acrostic if formed from the Greek word acros (outermost) and stichos (line of poetry). You can even find acrostic in the Bible in a book called the Psalms. The acrostic is a poem where the first letter of each line form a word when you read them looking downward. A very complicated acrostic would have the last letter of each line forming a separate word as you read downward, also. But let's take one step at a time and concentrate on simple acrostics. Follow the directions for completing your own.
HAIKU
---------
Haiku is a poetic form and a type of poetry from the Japanese culture. Haiku combines form, content, and language in a meaningful, yet compact form. Haiku poets, which you will soon be, write about everyday things. Many themes include nature, feelings, or experiences. Usually they use simple words and grammar. The most common form for Haiku is three short lines. The first line usually contains five (5) syllables, the second line seven (7) syllables, and the third line contains five (5) syllables. Haiku doesn't rhyme. A Haiku must "paint" a mental image in the reader's mind. This is the challenge of Haiku - to put the poem's meaning and imagery in the reader's mind in ONLY 17 syllables over just three (3) lines of poetry!
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), English poet. A Defence of Poetry (written 1821; published 1840)
FORMS - THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME
------------------------------------------------------
Just like the body has a skeleton to hold its shape, poems have a structure that hold their ideas together. In poetry, that "skeleton" is called form. Over the next seven (7) lessons you will identify several different types, or forms of poetry such as Haiku, Lantrene, Couplet, Quatrain, Limerick, and Free Verse. As you practice the different forms of poetry, think about which would be most appropriate for your theme, purpose, and mood from Lesson 15, 16, and 17.
Some points to consider when choosing a "skeleton" for your poem are, of course, its theme, purpose, and mood but also think about if you want your poem to be compact or lengthy, rhymed or unrhymed, metered or unmetered.
You may know if words rhyme such as moon, June and which words do not rhyme (or are unrhymed) like city, hill. However, meter may be a new word for you. Meter deals with the rhythm of the poem. As you might clap your hands along with the rhythm of your favorite music, you can find the same type of "sing-song" pattern in poetry (This is especially evident in nursery rhymes.). This pattern, or meter may be built on accented and unaccented syllables in the lines of the poem. Check out this web site for practice finding meter.
Your poem’s form may be very restricted and limited or very free without many restrictions. Rules for form might include number of words, indention, capitalization, number of syllables, placement of rhymed words, and number and/or placement of lines. There is so much to learn about poetic form but the best way to learn is to try to put some "flesh" or "meat on your bones" on your skeleton and experience writing poetry using different poetic forms.
ALLEGORY - al·le·go·ry
----------------------------
The representation of abstract ideas or principles by characters, figures, or events in narrative, dramatic, or pictorial form. A story, picture, or play employing such representation. John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress and Herman Melville's Moby Dick are allegories.
BALLAD
-----------
1.Any light, simple song, esp. one of sentimental or romantic character, having two or more stanzas all sung to the same melody.
2.A simple narrative poem of folk origin, composed in short stanzas and adapted for singing.
3.Any poem written in similar style.
4.The music for a ballad.
5.A sentimental or romantic popular song.
CINQUAIN sing-keyn, sing-keyn
--------------
Prosody. a. a short poem consisting of five, usually unrhymed lines containing, respectively, two, four, six, eight, and two syllables. b. any stanza of five lines.
MADRIGAL mad·ri·gal
----------------------------
1. a secular part song without instrumental accompaniment, usually for four to six voices, making abundant use of contrapuntal imitation, popular esp. in the 16th and 17th centuries.
2. a lyric poem suitable for being set to music, usually short and often of amatory character, esp. fashionable in the 16th century and later, in Italy, France, England, etc.
3. any part song.
SONNETS
----------------
Prosody. a poem, properly expressive of a single, complete thought, idea, or sentiment, of 14 lines, usually in iambic pentameter, with rhymes arranged according to one of certain definite schemes, being in the strict or Italian form divided into a major group of 8 lines (the octave) followed by a minor group of 6 lines (the sestet), and in a common English form into 3 quatrains followed by a couplet. –verb (used without object)
FREE VERSE
-----------------
Free verse is just what it says it is - poetry that is written without proper rules about form, rhyme, rhythm, meter, etc. The greatest American writer of free verse is probably Walt Whitman. His great collection of free verse was titled Leaves of Grass and it was published in 1855.
In free verse the writer makes his/her own rules. The writer decides how the poem should look, feel, and sound. Henry David Thoreau, a great philosopher, explained it this way, ". . . perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." It may take you a while to "hear your own drummer," but free verse can be a great way to "get things off your chest" and express what you really feel.
Here is an example:
Winter Poem
-----------------
Nikki Giovanni
-----------------
once a snowflake fell
on my brow and i loved
it so much and i kissed
it and it was happy and called its cousins
and brothers and a web
of snow engulfed me then
i reached to love them all
and i squeezed them and they became
a spring rain and i stood perfectly
still and was a flower
QUATRAIN ((KWOT-rain)
---------------------------------
HEY!! Does anybody have a quarter? What's a quarter have to do with this type of poetry? Well, a quarter is 1/4 of a dollar. The word quatrain comes from Latin and French words meaning "four." See the connection? The quatrain is a poem or stanza of four lines. It is a very popular form of poetry. Famous poets like William Blake and T. S. Eliot used quatrains. Read these examples:
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
-From William Blake's "The Tyger"
LIMERICK
--------------
A limerick is a five-line poem written with one couplet and one triplet. If a couplet is a two-line rhymed poem, then a triplet would be a three-line rhymed poem. The rhyme pattern is a a b b a with lines 1, 2 and 5 containing 3 beats and rhyming, and lines 3 and 4 having two beats and rhyming. Some people say that the limerick was invented by soldiers returning from France to the Irish town of Limerick in the 1700's.
Limericks are meant to be funny. They often contain hyperbole, onomatopoeia, idioms, puns, and other figurative devices. The last line of a good limerick contains the PUNCH LINE or "heart of the joke." As you work with limericks, remember to have pun, I mean FUN! Say the following limericks out loud and clap to the rhythm.
A flea and a fly in a flue
Were caught, so what could they do?
Said the fly, "Let us flee."
"Let us fly," said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the flue.
-Anonymous
COUPLET (CUP- let)
-------------------------
You know a couple means two. So a couplet is a pair of lines of poetry that are usually rhymed. We think the idea of the couplet came from the French and English. There are lots of ways to write different types of couplets. Couplets can also be used to "build" other poems, but we'll get to that later! We are going to use a couplet for a "play on words," or a word game. This type of couplet is called a "terse verse." Here's the way you play,
"If turkeys gobble,
Do Pilgrims squabble?"
ACROSTIC
--------------
The word acrostic if formed from the Greek word acros (outermost) and stichos (line of poetry). You can even find acrostic in the Bible in a book called the Psalms. The acrostic is a poem where the first letter of each line form a word when you read them looking downward. A very complicated acrostic would have the last letter of each line forming a separate word as you read downward, also. But let's take one step at a time and concentrate on simple acrostics. Follow the directions for completing your own.
HAIKU
---------
Haiku is a poetic form and a type of poetry from the Japanese culture. Haiku combines form, content, and language in a meaningful, yet compact form. Haiku poets, which you will soon be, write about everyday things. Many themes include nature, feelings, or experiences. Usually they use simple words and grammar. The most common form for Haiku is three short lines. The first line usually contains five (5) syllables, the second line seven (7) syllables, and the third line contains five (5) syllables. Haiku doesn't rhyme. A Haiku must "paint" a mental image in the reader's mind. This is the challenge of Haiku - to put the poem's meaning and imagery in the reader's mind in ONLY 17 syllables over just three (3) lines of poetry!
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