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old hand
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old hand
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Dang-it Keiva, I had a great post all ready to post but
then you interrupted with that url about the Gentleman from Porlock. Now I can't remember it at all. Let's see...what was it?...Oh yeah, now I remember. In the most eloquent of terms it explained how a large group of people could communicate with each other without rules, structure, or leaders, without degenerating into the most base of behaviors, and they lived happily for the rest of their lives...,
Boy-oh-boy, if only Keiva hadn't interrupted...
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stranger
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stranger
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I agree with Drow that "Simplicity is added to the line through colloquial usage." Also it plain ol' scans better thataway. Some years ago, a professor asked us to rewrite this poem, using modern images to give our own interpretations. Doing it was somewhat a puzzle. For example, who or what could be used in the place of Death, who was simultaneously so gentlemanly and, well, um, lethal? - Is anyone willing to have a go at a rewrite?  Tsyganka
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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Is anyone willing to have a go at a rewrite?
Here's my attempt, Tsyganka. I decided truth might be one of the few things nearly as unwelcome as death, sometimes.
I struggled with cornice, but decided to leave it, for lack of a better option. Gutter could at least be near the same location, but it is such an ugly word! Garden fitted the intent better, but is too far from the meaning of cornice.
Because I could not stop for Truth,
He kindly stopped for me;
The car held only just ourselves,
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, there was no haste,
And I had put away
My brash career, and leisure too,
For his serenity.
We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed offices newly plain,
We passed the setting sun.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible.
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the bright headlights
Were toward eternity.
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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Dang-it Keiva, I had a great post all ready to post but then you interrupted with that url about the Gentleman from Porlock. ... it explained how a large group of people could communicate with each other without rules, structure, or leaders, without degenerating into the most base of behaviorsMy apologies for the interruption, Milum, but perhaps I can jog your recall. Perhaps you were thinking of "Lord of the Flies"?
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old hand
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old hand
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Hey Drow - welcome aBoard!
stales
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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Welcome aboard, Drow! Seems you chose a rather stimulating thread to make your entrance! Enjoy! I've always been fascinated with Emily Dickinson, but until I googled this with a dumb luck "Emily Dickinson but just" trying to find another instance in her poetry I seem to recall of her using "but just", I stumbled upon information about this poem totally new to me...and I've seen Julie Harris's "The Belle of Amherst" numerous times, and you'd think this would be mentioned...maybe it was but I somehow overlooked it. Anyway this poem, usually titled in anthologies, "Because I Could Not Stop For Death," is actually the epitaph her sister had engraved on Emily's tombstone entitled "E.D. Called Back." And editors later did some debatable polishing, and deleted a whole stanza which is included here in the original text (don't'cha love editors! hi wow!). Here it is with the introductory paragraph. The site, http://www.pbs.org/wnet/ihas/poet/dickinson.html, provides the complete story, some more insightful but brief background on Ms. Dickinson, and a photo of her gravesite. To the tiny New England graveyard, across the fields where
in girlhood Emily Dickinson had watched the funeral
corteges wend their way, a solemn procession carried the
white-robed remains of the poet, who died in her home on
May 15, 1886. The epitaph her sister Lavinia later had
inscribed on her tombstone-- "E.D. Called Back"--tersely
reminds visitors of a life lived in realms beyond the
temporal.
Because I could not stop for Death--
He kindly stopped for me--
The Carriage held but just Ourselves--
And Immortality.
We slowly drove--he knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For his Civility.
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess -- in the Ring --
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain --
We passed the Setting Sun --
Or rather -- He passed Us --
The Dews drew quivering and chill --
For only Gossamer, my Gown --
My Tippet -- only Tulle--
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground --
The Roof was scarcely visible --
The Cornice -- in the Ground --
Since then --'tis Centuries -- and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses Heads
Were toward Eternity -- (there is a dividing graphic included here, so I'm not sure if this is an addendum to the actual epitaph, or something the writer chose to finish the piece) Why -- do they shut me out of Heaven?
Did I sing -- too loud?
But -- I can sing a little "Minor,"
Timid as a Bird!
Wouldn't the angels try me --
Just -- once more --
Just -- see -- if I troubled them
But don't -- shut the door,!
Oh, if I -- were the Gentlemen
In the "White Robes"
And they -- were the little Hand -- that
knocked --
Could --I forbid? [edit: here's another source that validates this original form of the poem..."always get two sources!"  ] http://www.wsu.edu:8080/~wldciv/world_civ_reader/world_civ_reader_2/dickinson.html[Edit:] The only text to appear on Emily's tombstone as her epitaph is E.D. Called Back. Please see Emily's Epitaph--correction post addendum for clarification. 2/12
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Carpal Tunnel
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OP
Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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Or rather -- He passed Us --
The Dews drew quivering and chill --
It is astonishing--amazing--how we can read a poem many times, and sometimes a line that passed easily through the network of our brains will, in an unexpected reading, call out its being in strong voice.
The use of "quivering" dews just did so to me! That use of quivering with dews seems nothing less than marvelous and full of genius. Ah, to know Eternity and Immortality, too, and therewithin to have the amplitude of limitless time to let all great words wash through our brains. That's a great hope, huh?
Best regards,
WordWakening
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stranger
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stranger
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Thank you again, Jackie, for responding with a re-write. I wouldn't have thought of substituting Truth for Death; but yes - it works!
It's interesting, too, that preserving E.D.'s poetic form also retains the original dignity. From what I remember of the class assignment (early '90s), most of the re-writes were in free verse and didn't have that quality at all. Or, possibly, maybe the class was too young to have thought much about the subject.
Do you suppose that specific subjects are best addressed in particular verse forms?
Tsyganka
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stranger
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stranger
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Do you suppose that specific subjects are best addressed in particular verse forms?
Definitely. For one, I think reflections on sternutation work best in haiku.
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