Night Poem From Khandro (Tue.)

[Khandro]

SHE COMES NOT WHEN NOON IS ON THE ROSES

She comes not when Noon is on the roses--
Too bright is Day.
She comes not to the Soul till it reposes
From work and play.

But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices
Roll in from Sea,
By starlight and by candlelight and dreamlight
She comes to me.



(i) Herbert Trench, 1865-1923 (i)

[Atheist]

Khandro; as an ex songwriter and lyricist I must say that I understand nothing from this sort of stuff.
I'd love to hear an explanation, for a simple soul, of what these words mean, and why they have to be so elliptical and difficult for ordinary people to grasp.
In particular; who is she?

[jourdain2]

I'd like more time to think, Atheist, but my immediate reaction is 'his muse'.
I do need to think more.

[Khandro]

I think she is a dead loved one.
Can we please have some of your lyrics, Atheist?

[jourdain2]

Perhaps we're both right, Khandro. It would work.

I'd like to see some of your lyrics too, atheist. I know a singer/songwriter and he is just preparing to produce a CD, so sang a few of his own at the pub the other week - the lyrics were so good.

I've never considered myself a poet, but am just beginning to work at some serious poetry. I do write 'doggerel' for my canine character 'Laking Tyke'. Kids love it. :)

[Khandro]

j. I always start the day reading a poem.

[jourdain2]

What a lovely way to begin. :)

[Arksided]

Writing music I'm quite good at (Keyboard a little on guitar... I'm a drummer) but writing lyrics I'm ... terrible and often felt I've ripped off another persons words. I have respect that those that can do it.

[Arksided]

*for

[Khandro]

I find it astonishing that anyone could see there is a disparity between writing song lyrics & poetry.

There is a nice story that the small son a friend of Seamus Heaney's once asked him, " Is it true that you are the most famous living poet"?

To which Heaney replied, " Oh no, that would be Bob Dylan".

[Atheist]

But what does it mean?

[Atheist]

I think that song lyrics are completely distinct from poetry. Almost all the time. If you think of a favourite song of yours, then consider the lyrics, what do you make of it?
Why not one of you name a song you love and we'll see what we make of the lyrics?
Please make it a real favourite song, not just one that you think is poetic.
e.g. Satisfaction, Gloria, ........ When I'm cleaning winders

[Arksided]

From the film The Wall Pink floyd's Roger Water's

Teacher:
What have we here, laddie? Mysterious scribblings? A secret code? No! Poems, no less! Poems, everybody!

Teacher:
The laddie reckons himself a poet!

Teacher:
"Money get back / I'm all right, Jack / Keep your hands off my stack / New car / Caviar / Four star daydream / Think I'll buy me a football team." Absolute rubbish, laddie.

Teacher:
Get on with your work.

The track is Money from Dark side of the moon.

[Atheist]

Arksided. So the lyrics of 'Money' are poetry?

[Arksided]

Yes you seem to have pigeon holed them as different things. They're not really are they.

[Arksided]

Atheist "as an ex songwriter and lyricist I must say that I understand nothing from this sort of stuff"

I look forward with great anticipation to read some of your lyrics.

[Khandro]

Atheist : //But what does it mean?//

If you are writer of lyrics as you claim to be & they are without poetic content, they must be desperately banal.

My God! where to start? The first things that comes into my head:

Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
Somewhere in her smile she knows
That I don't need no other lover
Something in her style that shows me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how ...


................................

or,

In tropical climes there are certain times of day
When all the citizens retire
To tear their clothes off and perspire.
It's one of those rules that the greatest fools obey,
Because the sun is much too sultry
And one must avoid its ultry-violet ray.
The native grieve when the white men leave their huts,
Because they're obviously definitely nuts!
Mad dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the midday sun,
The Japanese don't care to.
The Chinese wouldn't dare to,
Hindoos and Argentines sleep firmly from twelve to one.
But Englishmen detest a siesta. [brilliant!]
In the Philippines
There are lovely screens
To protect you from the glare.
In the Malay States
There are hats like plates
Which the Britishers won't wear.
At twelve noon
The natives swoon
And no further work is done.
But mad dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the midday sun.
It's such a surprise for the Eastern eyes to see
That though the English are effete,
They're quite impervious to heat,
When the white man rides every native hides in glee,
Because the simple creatures hope he
Will impale his solar topee on a tree.
It seems such a shame
When the English claim
The earth
That they give rise to such hilarity and mirth.
Mad dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the midday sun.
The toughest Burmese bandit
Can never understand it.
In Rangoon the heat of noon
Is just what the natives shun.
They put their Scotch or Rye down
And lie down.
In a jungle town
Where the sun beats down
To the rage of man and beast
The English garb
Of the English sahib
Merely gets a bit more creased.
In Bangkok
At twelve o'clock
They foam at the mouth and run,
But mad dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the midday sun.
Mad dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the midday sun.
The smallest Malay rabbit
Deplores this foolish habit.
In Hongkong
They strike a gong
And fire off a noonday gun
To reprimand each inmate
Who's in late.
In the mangrove swamps
Where the python romps
There is peace from twelve till two.
Even caribous
Lie around and snooze;
For there's nothing else to do.
In Bengal
To move at all
Is seldom, if ever done.
But mad dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the midday
Out in the midday
Out in the midday
Out in the midday
Out in the midday
Out in the midday
Out in the midday sun.


Mad Dogs and Englishmen. Noël Coward

(which I've been thinking of all day with over 30° temperatures here)

:0)

[jourdain2]

The lyrics of 'Eleanor Rigby' have been used in Eng. G.C.S.E. as part of a poetry element.

[Atheist]

I think that I consider poetry as not a very high art-form. Coward was clever doggerel, Harrison didn't really say much.
It's a hang-up of mine. When I wrote words for songs I didn't consider them as art, they were just words that fitted or inspired the tunes.
'If'; 'Ancient Mariner'; 'Onward,Onward';......
I'm obviously lacking something. If I'd written any of that stuff I'd be a bit disappointed.
I can't post my words here, as I don't want to be tracked.

[Atheist]

On reflection, I prefer Coward and Betjeman to other stuff that I don't understand. I think perhaps that stuff that can be parodied (e.g. Betjeman parody in Burgess's 'Earthly Powers'. Or 'They Tuck You Up, your Mum and Dad') is more fun.
Any response which opens the door to true poetic appreciation would be welcomed by me.

[Khandro]

Atheist. Whether it's poetry or religion (& probably more) you always sound as if you are outside staring incredulously IN, as if everyone is trying to bamboozle you, consider a haiku by the 19th cent. Japanese poet Kobayashi Issa:

The man pulling radishes
Pointed the way
With a radish.