By-Words

June192013

“The theory of this guide is that poetry is a vocal, which is to say a bodily, art. The medium of poetry is a human body: the column of air inside the chest, shaped into signifying sounds in the larynx and the mouth. In this sense, poetry is just as physical or bodily an art as dancing.” Robert Pinsky, The Sounds of Poetry (via yourscheherazade)

3PM

Poem: Table Manners

I hear the sounds of raucous musings from men and women

At a table, the collective din of joy brought on by beer

And wine; the sulphur hue and tomato red of laughter;

Here a joke, licentious, salacious, a mouthful of sex

Crudely muttered in a giant whisper across the table.

There a proposition, too inappropriate to tell.

Men laugh and women giggle, and under the table games of

Whose foot is that? are played. A glass is raised: “To Tim! Farewell!

So long! Good luck! I hope the next job is better than the last!”

No one cares about Tim; the games continue under the table.

The crowd is dense; a half-hard penis jams a braless back

In passing, but not by accident, as here a man snaking

His way back to the bar, there a woman leaning back.

A shoe goes sliding across the floor; someone must own up,

Half-barefoot with no small amount of momentary rouge

To mark the task. Infidelity under the table

More embarrassing, measured by the foot than by the mouth, it seems.

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June182013

The Vocab Lab: Militate / Mitigate

Extract:

“Militate” and “mitigate” are often confused because they sound so similar. Their meaning does, in fact, overlap, but not totally. “Militate” means “to have an effect” on something, while “mitigate” means to weaken, soften, or lessen. Mitigation can be understood as a form of mitigation: “having an effect” so as to weaken, soften, or lessen.

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1PM

[Poetry should be just a little sexual]

Poetry should be just a little sexual;

It rolls around the mouth, across the tongue;

The fingertips outstretch and poised; the lips

Puckered, pursed, now pouting to pronounce.

What’s not to be aroused by there? The sounds

Of sweet love-making bound up in the mouth and hands.

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June172013

(Source: pandahale)

12PM

angles221b:

“If a book is well written, i always find it too short” Jane Austen

(Source: , via steeped-in-ink)

12PM

The Adverbial Weekly: Moreover / Furthermore / In addition

Extract:

Long sentences are a common problem for the novice essay-writer. In a more substantial post, I have referred to the long sentence as the “petri dish” of error; long sentences bring with them all manner of mistakes, rhetorical and grammatical. Elsewhere, I have offered a “rule of thumb” to limit sentences to 30 words (or so) in order to keep sentences tight. Sentences should express a single thought, but sometimes the thought is quite complex and cannot be contained to a single sentence. Or, perhaps the “thought” is interconnected to other thoughts and can only be understood in conjunction with those other thoughts. Usually, the interconnection of thoughts is expressed in the form of a paragraph; a paragraph encapsulates a point in a larger argument, which generally entails weaving together a number of related thoughts in order to make that point coherent.

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June152013

Reflections of a Thirty Year Old Child Still Living at Home with His Parents

Watching Peanuts at midnight, Pinsky on my lap,

(Remember that: it would make a good name for a cat.)

An empty wine bottle and an empty glass on the floor.

A cold, cold night outside dressed up in fog.

“Good grief” – good grief!

The talking mute splutters: bwuh bwuh bwuh,

Bwuh bwuh? Bwuh bwuh bwuh bwuh.

What would Pinsky say? (Meow?)

The chiropractic twist and snap –

I hate that sound – “Impossible to Tell” –

Wasn’t that quoted on the Simpsons?

Robert Frost is quoted three times;

But which poems and which episodes?

Knowing probably wouldn’t make a difference.

(Ay caramba!)

Bwuh bwuh bwuh bwuh, bwuh bwuh bwuh?

A door creeks open, a light flickers on;

It won’t be wine walking in, that’s for sure.

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June142013

smithapple:

tastelikecyanide:

catsnorfle:

Photos of Patrick Stewart doing things.

(All photos: @SirPatStew)

^_^

I know I have reblogged this before. I also know I do not care.

(via submarinedreams)

1PM

Poem: Munich, Australia

Munich in a beer garden in summer,

A moonboot on her foot, and crutches;

Condensation on an empty glass;

The crash of plates on wood and brick

In the background, sarcastic applause;

Something muttered in German –

The exclamation mark is obvious.

She sits, smiling into her half-empty glass

In her yellow floral dress with spaghetti straps,

Sitting low on her back to reveal her latest tattoo:

“Dreamer.” She was a dreamer with a dream-like look

On her face as she sat, motionless with Classical proportions,

Marble excellence, chiselled in time.

Another photograph. She wasn’t looking, but thinking,

Her mind elsewhere, in Australia,

In the sun of the South Pacific somewhere,

Where beaches melt into rain forests

And natives half-naked beckon with bronze-white skin;

Where floral dresses are ironic but welcome,

Anything that comes off easily.

A thunderclap of shattering glass breaks

Her far-off concentration; the sweating empty glass,

Tipped, and rolled, and fell to the brickwork from the table,

Every table uneven and prone in the place for effect.

More words uttered in German,

A grammatical redundancy ensues.

She grabs her crutches and angles her moonboot free

Of the awkward table legs; stands, and proceeds to leave;

Her mind still far off in Australia.

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