"Autobiographies of great nations are written in three manuscripts – a book of deeds, a book of words, and a book of art. Of the three, I would choose the latter as truest testimony." - Sir Kenneth Smith, Great Civilisations

"I must write each day without fail, not so much for the success of the work, as in order not to get out of my routine." - Leo Tolstoy

I have never believed that one should wait until one is inspired because I think the pleasures of not writing are so great that if you ever start indulging them you will never write again. - John Updike

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations." - Lawrence Ferlinghetti


[Note - If any article requires updating or correction please notate this in the comment section. Thank you. - res]


Friday, February 14, 2014

Robert Browning - A Lover's Quarrel



A Lovers' Quarrel
I.

Oh, what a dawn of day!
How the March sun feels like May!
All is blue again
After last night's rain,
And the South dries the hawthorn-spray.
Only, my Love's away!
I'd as lief that the blue were grey,

II.

Runnels, which rillets swell,
Must be dancing down the dell,
With a foaming head
On the beryl bed
Paven smooth as a hermit's cell;
Each with a tale to tell,
Could my Love but attend as well.

III.

Dearest, three months ago!
When we lived blocked-up with snow,---
When the wind would edge
In and in his wedge,
In, as far as the point could go---
Not to our ingle, though,
Where we loved each the other so!

IV.

Laughs with so little cause!
We devised games out of straws.
We would try and trace
One another's face
In the ash, as an artist draws;
Free on each other's flaws,
How we chattered like two church daws!

V.

What's in the `Times''?---a scold
At the Emperor deep and cold;
He has taken a bride
To his gruesome side,
That's as fair as himself is bold:
There they sit ermine-stoled,
And she powders her hair with gold.

VI.

Fancy the Pampas' sheen!
Miles and miles of gold and green
Where the sunflowers blow
In a solid glow,
And---to break now and then the screen---
Black neck and eyeballs keen,
Up a wild horse leaps between!

VII.

Try, will our table turn?
Lay your hands there light, and yearn
Till the yearning slips
Thro' the finger-tips
In a fire which a few discern,
And a very few feel burn,
And the rest, they may live and learn!

VIII.

Then we would up and pace,
For a change, about the place,
Each with arm o'er neck:
'Tis our quarter-deck,
We are seamen in woeful case.
Help in the ocean-space!
Or, if no help, we'll embrace.

IX.

See, how she looks now, dressed
In a sledging-cap and vest!
'Tis a huge fur cloak---
Like a reindeer's yoke
Falls the lappet along the breast:
Sleeves for her arms to rest,
Or to hang, as my Love likes best.

X.

Teach me to flirt a fan
As the Spanish ladies can,
Or I tint your lip
With a burnt stick's tip
And you turn into such a man!
Just the two spots that span
Half the bill of the young male swan.

XI.

Dearest, three months ago
When the mesmerizer Snow
With his hand's first sweep
Put the earth to sleep:
'Twas a time when the heart could show
All---how was earth to know,
'Neath the mute hand's to-and-fro?

XII.

Dearest, three months ago
When we loved each other so,
Lived and loved the same
Till an evening came
When a shaft from the devil's bow
Pierced to our ingle-glow,
And the friends were friend and foe!

XIII.

Not from the heart beneath---
'Twas a bubble born of breath,
Neither sneer nor vaunt,
Nor reproach nor taunt.
See a word, how it severeth!
Oh, power of life and death
In the tongue, as the Preacher saith!

XIV.

Woman, and will you cast
For a word, quite off at last
Me, your own, your You,---
Since, as truth is true,
I was You all the happy past---
Me do you leave aghast
With the memories We amassed?

XV.

Love, if you knew the light
That your soul casts in my sight,
How I look to you
For the pure and true
And the beauteous and the right,---
Bear with a moment's spite
When a mere mote threats the white!

XVI.

What of a hasty word?
Is the fleshly heart not stirred
By a worm's pin-prick
Where its roots are quick?
See the eye, by a fly's foot blurred---
Ear, when a straw is heard
Scratch the brain's coat of curd!

XVII.

Foul be the world or fair
More or less, how can I care?
'Tis the world the same
For my praise or blame,
And endurance is easy there.
Wrong in the one thing rare---
Oh, it is hard to bear!

XVIII.

Here's the spring back or close,
When the almond-blossom blows:
We shall have the word
In a minor third
There is none but the cuckoo knows:
Heaps of the guelder-rose!
I must bear with it, I suppose.

XIX.

Could but November come,
Were the noisy birds struck dumb
At the warning slash
Of his driver's-lash---
I would laugh like the valiant Thumb
Facing the castle glum
And the giant's fee-faw-fum!

XX.

Then, were the world well stripped
Of the gear wherein equipped
We can stand apart,
Heart dispense with heart
In the sun, with the flowers unnipped,---
Oh, the world's hangings ripped,
We were both in a bare-walled crypt!

XXI.

Each in the crypt would cry
``But one freezes here! and why?
``When a heart, as chill,
``At my own would thrill
``Back to life, and its fires out-fly?
``Heart, shall we live or die?
``The rest. . . . settle by-and-by!''

XXII.

So, she'd efface the score,
And forgive me as before.
It is twelve o'clock:
I shall hear her knock
In the worst of a storm's uproar,
I shall pull her through the door,
I shall have her for evermore!
- Robert Browning, 1812-1889
Wikipedia Link to Poet - click here
PoemHunter Link to Poems - click here





Tuesday, January 28, 2014

R.E. Slater - Pockets Full of Sunshine



Pockets Full of Sunshine
by R.E. Slater


Pockets full of sunshine,
Bursting all around,
Jeckel, Heckle,
We all fall down!

Hear the little fat bird,
Singing on the fence,
Chirping his dailies,
Plimp, plump, plamp!

Gaily we prance about,
Cheerily we sing,
Nothing and nonsense,
Every day and spring.

Find him, seek her!
See how they run!
Following after,
The bright orbed sun!

Dimples and lashes,
Eyes full of rain,
Falling, falling,
Let laughter come.

Tra la, dee la, tra la, dee la,
Tra dum, tra dum, tra dum!
Hum the roses and daisies
Filling glad hearts with tunes.

Every day’s a new day,
Yesterday is past –
How do we catch the sun,
Holding firm and fast?

Rhymes and riddles,
Feiddle, Fidle, Fum,
Sticks and thimbles,
Seiddle, Sidle, Sum.

Rolling down the grassy hills,
Lying in the sun,
Listening to a summer’s day,
Humming golden tunes.

Shouting, seeking,
Beating all about,
Running, jumping,
School bell’s rung!

Quick! Let us run away,
Upon the dappled paths!
Hiding and seeking,
Within its willow’d stays!1

Shouting, Singing,
All about the yards,
Crying, Calling,
All is well!

Hark! Bursts a yellow lark,
In breathless beat upon its wings!
Breaking across the bluing skies,
Flushed its grainy fields!

Displacing all somber thoughts,
Fled upon their pleasures,
Startling any wayward steps,
Lost upon their treasures.

Away we go across the fields,
Across the burning lanes,
Through the dales and o’er the hills,
Nothing lasts forever....

Till chanced upon a simple shrike,
To hear its cajoling laughter –
Fly away, fly away,
Let all be done at last!

Upon our pondering steps,
Brimming wonderous hopes,
Are dashed fair dreams' elixirs,
O' mobling2 streams' lost wander.

Where nowhere lies the mocking jay,
All pleasant voices muted,
Nor gladden feet to daily strike,
Once sunny days and fields.

Dashes, Dashes,
Even stroke3 has come!
Curses, Curses,
Home we must run!

Sunlight has thinned
Towards evening's hush,
The fields grow dim,
The bell has rung.

Homeward drifts the drawing day,
Our playful songs have faded -
Softly echoing dream-lit chambers;
Jeckel, Heckle, we all fall down...
On a summer's day.


- R.E. Slater

January 28-29, 2014

1as draped willow branches brushing the earth
2shrouded, like a monk’s cloaked head
3re the gathering evening dusk

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications
all rights reserved



Poetic Analysis
by ChatGPT-5

Pockets Full of Sunshine unfolds as a process-poem - one that moves not by narrative causality but by rhythm, repetition, and gradual tonal shift. Its governing logic is not story but becoming: the way sound, play, and time slowly transform without announcing their turning points.

1. Sound as Primary Meaning

The poem begins in chant and nonsense - Jeckel, Heckle, plimp, plump, plamp, Feiddle, Fidle, Fum. These are not ornamental syllables but structural forces. They mimic the pre-reflective world of childhood, where meaning is carried as much by sound, cadence, and bodily movement as by semantic clarity.

Early stanzas lean heavily on:

  • reduplication and rhyme,

  • trochaic verse of two syllables, strong and weak (We all fall down!),

  • circular refrains,

  • and communal voice (“we”).

This establishes a world governed by play, presence, and immediacy, rather than memory or analysis.

2. Gradual Gravitational Shift

Rather than a single rupture, the poem undergoes a slow thickening of gravity. The sun remains present, but it becomes something to follow, then something to question, and finally something that fades. Birds shift symbolically - from playful singers to solitary figures and finally to silence. The school bell, first playful, later becomes a signal of return and limit.

Crucially, this transition is not moralized. Childhood is not “lost” in tragedy; it is outgrown through process. The poem honors continuity rather than rupture.

3. Memory Replaces Immediacy

Midway through, the poem subtly changes its stance. Action yields to recollection. The chant-like forms begin to carry distance rather than presence. The nursery rhyme returns not as lived play, but as echoing refrain.

This culminates in the final movement, where language itself softens and lengthens, preparing the reader for dusk - not only of day, but of a phase of life.

4. The Final Verse Structures: 4 × 4 × 5

The closing form is deliberate:

  • First quatrain: percussive inevitability (Dashes, Dashes…)

  • Second quatrain: atmospheric threshold (sun thinning, bell ringing)

  • Final quintain: reflective memory-space

The move from fours to five subtly breaks the poem’s learned symmetry, mirroring the way childhood rhythms can no longer fully contain adult awareness. The poem does not end where it began; it widens.

5. The Completed Ending (Why It Works)

The final stanza now reads:

Homeward drifts the drawing day,
Our playful songs have faded —
Softly echoing dream-lit chambers;
Jeckel, Heckle, we all fall down…
On a summer’s day.

This ending succeeds because it resolves without closure:

  • drawing day holds both temporal ending and sketch-like memory.

  • dream-lit chambers evokes the bedrooms of the mind, and half-sleep - interior spaces where sound lingers without any grounding source.

  • The chant returns as echo, not action.

  • The ellipsis allows the rhyme to trail into memory-time.

  • The final line does not conclude the poem; it releases it into the remembered, lingering seasons of life.

Nothing is reclaimed. Nothing is erased. The music simply changes rooms.

6. Thematic Achievement

Ultimately, Pockets Full of Sunshine is not nostalgic. It is processual. It recognizes that joy, play, and innocence are real precisely because they are impermanent - and that their disappearance does not signal loss so much as reflective transformation.

The poem ends not in darkness, but in sleep.

Not in silence, but in echo.
Not finality, but continuation -
carrying softly along.