HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: wheeler8161@iscsvax.uni.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: 90s rhubarb
Date: 16 Apr 92 21:12:49 -0500
Organization: University of Northern Iowa

                       poor, poor  sally moore
                 (she had but a penny in her pocket)
               sitting sexily      staring seductively
                             rubbish
                         we'd pass her by

                   putting positively padding on
                          (she's a woman of the 90s)
                   putting positively pudding on
                             rhubarb
                        we'd spit it out
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: n2412@cray.com (Joe Green)
Subject: Re: tv commerical poem REBUTTAL
Keywords: cher,tv,poem,rebuttal
Organization: Cray Research, Inc.
Date: 9 Apr 92 15:51:35 CDT

In article <1992Apr9.153515.20187@hemlock.cray.com> n2412@cray.com (Joe Green) writes:
>In article <1992Apr9.200659.1052@cbfsb.cb.att.com> colossal@cbnewsg.cb.att.com (colossal Microscope) writes:
>>
>>thanX joe
>>you said it was an "ok poem"
>>
>>you said "the copyright was interesting"
>>and 
>>   so
>>     lots of r.a.p. must have interesting copyrights
>>     cause that's where i derived it from


What about "telling" poetry as if you were telling a joke you heard.
You are not interested in claiming it as yours.  You want to make someone
laugh.  A gift.

What about telling a truth (or what you think is a truth) that
could make someone happier?  A gift.  

Or telling a lie if that is what is needed?  A gift.

There is an economy to the gift too.  Read Lewis Hyde's wonderful
book "The Gift."

Or what about suddenly getting 10,000 bucks and throwing a party
for all your friends until there isn't any more money left?
In some cultures this is admired -- in ours it is the height
of foolishness.  Even better -- don't let your friends know
where the money comes from.  

What did Christ say about the prayers of Pharisees?

Fine critic.



-- 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alix@indetech.com (Alexandria North)
Subject: England, Welcome Me
Organization: Independence Technologies, Inc. Fremont, CA
Date: Tue, 7 Apr 1992 01:32:42 GMT

This poem came out of a flowery piece of email my friend (Susan)
sent to me. She really should know better than to tempt me 
with her prose!  At any rate, the first six lines are distinctly
hers, so this poem shares her ownership. It is her heart that 
speaks through this poem...


England, Welcome Me
-------------------

England wraps around my heart
like a misty lilac shawl
She welcomes me
to honey-gold dens
and dells of secret comfort

My heart aches
to be held within her
caressed by her breezes
fragrant with heather
For pressed against her earth
I can hear her sighs
deep with the mystic caverns
that glow beneath her bountiful meadows

And those simple mounds of mystery
they call me
rounding primal and sexual
in their ancient innocence
I know them and they 
know me
locked in time's embrace

England, what a part
of every heartbeat, every sigh
my soul birthed in your beauty
witch-like in your ways
my joy is bursting
welcome me
as I return to you

Copyright 1992 Alexandria North and Susan Wilson
-- 
-----------------------------------------------------------
"Babies, babies, babies. Why did God make so many babies?
 But no, God didn't make them. Stupid people made them."
      -- Margaret Mitchell, Gone With The Wind
From: dbeacham@willamette.edu (Daniel Beacham)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: fish sex & jesus
Date: 10 Apr 92 10:45:46 GMT
Article-I.D.: willamet.1992Apr10.104546.3185
Organization: Willamette University, Salem, OR


		Thanks very much.  That was the solely most interesting
		and worthwhile reading that I've had on this network for
		a *long* time.  I hope to see more of your stuff soon.
		Do you read Bukowski?

					Daniel Beacham
From: rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: john wesley hardin
Keywords: was a friend to the poor
Date: 16 Apr 92 13:00:06 GMT
Article-I.D.: alice.22595
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories, Murray Hill NJ



>hm.  i am confused here.  do you mean Cavell's response to Modelski
>was the first paragraph or that part (in an earlier post) on Allan
>Bloom.  that is the only other thing i saw.  have i missed something
>then?

>at any rate, i do think Cavell often guilty of a Modleskian implication.
>(that you quote).  certainly there has been enough on the 'limits of
>criticism', and nothing a priori wrong with the examination of a text
>of itself, but Cavell's approach does at times border on the same
>sort of inattentiveness with which he seems to speak of the teenagers
>and their walkmen.  better to stay away from his interpretations of
>these 'weepies' and remain in the relatively non-implicatory field of
>the hollywood re-marriage genre....

The stuff on Bloom came from an earlier CI article by Cavell. v15 n3
I put it in without enough transition, I wanted to show the sort
of analysis, that strikes me as very beautiful, that philosophizing
in Cavell's tradition is capable of; in particular that it can find
a silenced voice.

Cavell's tradition has been called uniquely American, which touches
on his earlier remark that the distance of high and low culture
in America is very different from Europe, ``a fact that Adorno
is incapable of grasping.''

I wanted to propose, against Joe's reading list, that in America
another way might touch things more fittingly.

What I cited by Cavell about Modleski was a choice that mentioned
what Joe had mentioned about Shakespeare's having done what he accepted
as right, and also that the theme of Gaslight was explicitly about
interpretation.

Other citations would make Cavell's case better, that feminism is
condescending towards these works that already know everything
feminism finds in them.

It's worth reading for that alone, even if you were, like me, not
particularly interested in the films.  A question of which tradition
touches the works appropriately.  CI v16 n2 for articles, v17 n1 for letters

Everybody winds up with a set of authors that carry weight for them.
Mine include Cavell and Derrida, who will someday be seen as a moral
philosopher too I think.  Memoires for Paul de Man, breathtaking Holderlin.

I know in advance what Joe thinks.

>>Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome, the Constitution of Emersonian
>>	Perfectionism.  The Carus Lectures, 1988

have a sustained consideration of what replaces politics for Cavell,
for American philosophy, a question too of American philosophy finding
its own voice.

Cavell's reply to Modleski mentions it.

There's a state of mind in which it would be pointless to read it.
From: casteley@phil.ruu.nl (Eric Casteleyn)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: RICHH: you're right I feel alright when I'm not a poet.
Date: 15 Apr 92 12:57:00 GMT
Organization: Department of Philosophy, University of Utrecht, The Netherlands



   here I am
   a big tree
   a big train
   the steel road wide

   but shrinking

   the other travellers
   don't seem to notice
   how we all shrink
   the tree
   the train
   our paper cups of coffee

   forever rolling

   towards a point of nothing
   on the horizon
   no trees
   no trains of thought




              ...I hear the singing of the things
                 and I sing back in words. - EJC


  email me your COOKIES!
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: glj27240@uxa.cso.uiuc.edu (the cult of Carrie )
Subject: Re: Reserving Rights on your poetry
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Wed, 15 Apr 1992 20:34:39 GMT

jaguar@netcom.com (Elaine Pang) writes:

>This makes me wonder how much poetry really gets stolen... are we paranoid?
>Do we have confidence in our own genius?  Or are there really that many
>poetry thieves out there?  I'd like to hear if anybody has direct experience
>with this.  (That's a cool trick, by the way!)  No FOAF stuff now!

there actually are poetry thieves out there, and probably more than you
think.  there is a sign in the town where i've stayed for the good part
of the last three years which reads:  "... A Nice Place to Live".  and
although it may be a nice place to live, it's a terrible place when it
comes to the thieving of poetry.  even here, everywhere i go:  the students
racing their wheelchairs, the children across the street, the people hanging
around their proches north of Washington in the summer, those in the parks,
the possums that amble from the bushes at night, the clerks in the shops...
they all steal my poetry.  not that i mind, mind you, it's just that it
happens...   There are poetry thieves everywhere!   Oh, and Carrie ---
she's always stealing my poetry.  always.  - can't do a thing about it.
...and i like it that way.

- Lewis

-- 
							 
                                                  the cult of Carrie
From: crystal@glia.biostr.washington.edu (crystal)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Entertainer
Keywords: Juggler
Date: 13 Apr 92 22:41:21 GMT
Organization: University of Washington


 
     The Entertainer
 
See the juggler upon the stage
His liveliness belies his rage.
An inner fear of others close
Leads to banter quite verbose.
 
In monotone he delivers his pitch
His poker face shows not a twitch.
The jokes he tells with eyes a-glistening
Are just to see if you are listening.
 
Craving attention he sweeps into the light;
But if it's bestowed, he'll hide his fright.
He need not fear from any rejection,
His rings and clubs are his protection.
 
As props are flying in colors loud,
The juggler does not see the crowd.
His mind is focused on his patter;
The eyes on him, they do not matter.
 
He knows they're there, that's all he needs;
He loves them all, but inside he bleeds...
He can only reach out as far as his toys,
But his heart cries out for closer joys.
 
Center of affection he wishes to be
But won't return it, as you will see.
A vulnerable soul if one-on-one
Off-stage he panics - it's "safe" to run.
 
Admire him there up on his throne
But don't ever try to get him alone.
The pursuer is happy until pursued -
Don't let your interest be misconstrued.
 
For to love the juggler is to hurt -
You'll feed him sweets, he'll feed you dirt.
He'll take your love and then reserve it,
Telling himself he doesn't deserve it.
 
Repelled and attracted at the same time
His magnetic charm reigns sublime.
He wants so much to be close to you
But scared to death if you want him, too.
 
'Round and 'round, this pattern goes
Under his knee, up off his toes;
His illusive maneuvers are loved by all
But God forbid should he drop a ball.
 
A fear of success and of failure, too
The juggler knows these both are true.
An egotist in the midst of his world,
But a frightened child within is curled.
 
You want to cuddle and protect him;
He is wary that you'll reject him.
Balls and clubs and rings come back;
He tosses them off with little flack.
 
In time he tucks his toys away
To perform again another day
To a crowd that never stays the same
Who know nothing of him except his name.
 
 
 
2-18-92
Crystal
From: SMTP@UMCVMB.MISSOURI.EDU
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Help!  I'm bein' repressed!!
Date: 14 Apr 92 13:56:02 GMT
Article-I.D.: ucbvax.9204141518.AA20077


You came here
To lay the blame
Of my ancestors
At my feet
To glofify thyself
In a gown of white
Repression

Our fathers fought
And did wrong
To each other
To themselves
You carry on
The wrong they left
When they died

I came here
Where fate left me
A empty parchment
On which
You have no right
To write the story
Of my ancestors
And call it mine

            PGL - 4/14/92
---------
I can't write a song
To please everybody
I can't write a song
Just to please you
          - Hidden Variables
From: casteley@phil.ruu.nl (Eric Casteleyn)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: tv commerical poem REBUTTAL
Keywords: cher,tv,poem,rebuttal
Date: 13 Apr 92 10:16:39 GMT
Organization: Department of Philosophy, University of Utrecht, The Netherlands

n2412@cray.com (Joe Green) writes:

>In article <casteley.702899092@groucho.phil.ruu.nl> casteley@phil.ruu.nl (Eric Casteleyn) writes:
>>
>>
>>
>>  I see your points, and I wouldn't mind someone else saying they had
>> written one of my poems. What I WOULD mind is the running the chance
>> that that person would explain what he meant by the poem and thus de-
>> stroy it.(I try not to mean things by my poetry.) This is almost as
>> selfish an argument for copyright as the one of personal gain or fame,
>> I agree...    
>>
>once someone reads your poem this is what happens anyway.  There is nothing
>you can do about it except try to coerce a certain meaning or feeling
>or non-meaning or non-feeling when you write the poem.  The rest
>(including the act of writing) is the good old hermeneutic circle.
>When you offer your poem for reading you are already offering something
>personal -- or is there a way to control who reads your poem?  It is
>no longer yours.  

>readers will make what they want of it.  You write within a culture
>and a tradition and may hope that this will constrain the meanings
>readers get from your stuff -- but there is no way to make sure
>this happens. You might feel that you are fortunate if you have
>professional explainers who try to place your poem in a tradition,
>in the culture, in the context of your work and so on but their
>explanations may amaze and appall -- nothing you can do about it then.
>You know this and offer the poem anyway.  Good.  But no promises.

>
-- 

  Strange. You expressed what I originally wanted to convey, only much
 better. What I meant with 'I try not to mean anything by my poetry.',
 is not forcing my (non-)explanation on the reader, but letting each
 reader 'write' her/his own poem within my words. The explanation of
 my poem might destroy the other potential poems it contains.


            EJC
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: u910779@bruny.cc.utas.edu.au (Cameron M.Semmens)
Subject: The Vehicular Qualities of Love
Organization: University of Tasmania
Date: Thu, 16 Apr 1992 05:12:34 GMT




  THE  VEHICULAR  QUALITITES  OF  LOVE

									Love drives
																	
           											Love steers
           
                Love clutches 
  
      Love chokes

																																		Love floods

																								Love stalls
												
													Love beams

																						Love backsup
         
                Love reverses

          Love accelerates
 
																														Love deccelerates

              Love breaks down

   Love is vey usefull, it'll get you most civilized places

   Love -
    
            does great burn-outs in gravel carparks




Hello all you out there in Computer Land - did you like my poem ?
Generally most of my poetry is shortish and humouristic.
So if you'd like to see more, please O please do contact me.

And remember - Euphonic Language Engineers for ever!!

Is anyone out there interrested in starting an international
humourous poetry club or whatever ?


Your friend and mine - me
                     - Cam

c/o: Rob - u910779@bruny.cc.utas.edu.au
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: "Andrew C. Aiken" <aaiken@silver.ucs.indiana.edu>
Subject: Just before the Apocalypse
Organization: Indiana University
Date: Thu, 16 Apr 1992 15:14:48 -0500



I lie next to the princess.

The palm shadows dance across her dark smooth skin.

I describe her jewels:  one, like fire, another, like a
snowy mountain.  A third is a tale of songbirds.

I am not like Marius, I tell her.

For me each poem is not a new spring.

My hands are dirty and swollen.

This radically imperfect world
has left me radically vicious.

I am frozen by her gaze.

Crippled, I recede into the mirror.



Andrew Aiken
From: rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: The Business of Poetry
Date: 8 Apr 92 01:11:53 GMT
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories, Murray Hill NJ



Himself writes:
>He means that he would have murdered the poor poseur.  This is easy
>enough to say if you don't take this stuff seriously -- perhaps
>have never encountered it.  These words and this attitude are the
>stuff of public discourse.  This kind of pretense is
>rather vile.  You would have "fragged" him, Joe?  And then you want
>your declarations of your aesthetic to be believed?

There's a nice introduction to poetic imagery in Kenneth Burke's
Rhetoric of Motives, if it's giving you trouble.  Say page 11.


Incidentally, open The Making of the Pre' by Francis Ponge (U Missouri 1979)
to page 82-83 and tell me where i can get a copy of that painting.
I want one for my office.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jtul@polari.com
Subject: definition of haiku
Keywords: haiku
Organization: Seattle Online Public Access Unix.  (206) 328-4944 (all lines telebit-equipped)
Date: Thu, 9 Apr 1992 20:33:25 GMT




After reading some of the "haiku" published in this learned bbs, I
asked my well-read wife, Mary, if she knew the actual form of haiku. 
The only thing I noticed in common among the pieces submitted under the
name was that there were just three lines.

Mary looked in our newly acquired (at a fantastic bargain)
Encyclopaedia Britannica and found the definition was much more
restrictive than that.  Then I read the beautiful triplet of haiku
submitted by Marg on 27 March 92.  She obviously knows the meaning
of haiku.  The others that I have read so far in this bbs don't fit the
definition:

      To define "haiku"
      Take seventeen syllables
      Start and end on five

Not only does Marg's haiku follow this rule, but it seems to fit
the original form which "was restricted in subject matter to an
objective description of nature suggestive of one of the seasons,
evoking a definite, though unstated, emotional response."  Micropaedia,
vol. 5, p. 619, column 2, Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1990.

      Evoke emotion
      Make it very seasonal
      That is all haiku

      Seattle, it's Spring
      Cherry trees are blossomming
      Ski time is over

Well, not quite up to Marg's descriptive powers, but these are my first
attempts at haiku.

Jack Tull, Associate Professor Emeritus, Mathematics
The Ohio State University.  Seattle transplant.
uunet!polari!jtul (polari = Seattle Online)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jabolliger@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: re: to shelia's lookin at U
Date: 13 Apr 92 16:32:11 GMT

Sheila



	oo! uh! ooh, ooh, ooh, E-U!

	Whew..

Struck a nerve there.  Here's looking at U has no specified target.
Here we go I give you another spider.



		All lines draw
		unto yourself
			an axis
		holding firm

		Around these thread
		gossamer spirals
		float above light.

		across center
		I take your place.
		  A shadow
			waiting
			    to be filled.

ja
From: ddk0bf1@baarsa.bell-atl.com (Raghavan R. (Ravi) #908-577-3458)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: WE
Date: 17 Apr 92 17:48:06 GMT
Distribution: rec.arts.poems
Organization: Bell Atlantic


        I've  recently overcome my inihibitions and 
	decided to post some of the pieces I have written
	Any comments 


		WE

       When the ball of fire
           goes down into the deep,
        thru the corner of my heart
           my feelings begin to peep

        I get intoxicated by the
           rustle of the breeze,
        the brain, reasoning, the logic
           gets down into a freeze

        In the quitness of the hours
           my thoughts go for a long walk
        and I am left  with nothing
           but a mental block

        At times I the feel the warmth
           of the presence thats not there,
        then the agony of the realisation
           I am made to bear

        Those moments of togetherness
           when I am not I but WE,
        a world more beautiful and wonderful
           I begin to see...


Ravi R. ddk0bf1@baarsa.bell-atl.com
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: PERSEPHONE or  (a little necrophilia)
From: sturner@vax1.umkc.edu
Date: 4 Apr 92 14:01:28 CST
Reply-To: sturner@vax1.umkc.edu
Organization: University of Missouri-Kansas City

PERSEPHONE (or a little necrophilia)

I see your quivering lips,
your face melts into nothing
as teh crashing background
swallows everything but them.

I am swimming towards them--
searching for what you say,
you open your mouth,
I plunge in.

Oblivious to consciousness
I have slipped into
another universe.

Your body enfolds me
as our thoughts collide.
The netherworld
touches my soul.

Scudding along in your
body-encased ecstasy,
your mind calls my name.
From: jjwright@remus.rutgers.edu (      Jay)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: imperfections
Date: 15 Apr 92 05:10:11 GMT
Distribution: usa
Organization: Rutgers Univ., New Brunswick, N.J.


Hello,

I have never posted here before, but am trying it to see how much
response everyone gets on their poems.  I am HOPING for some good
critical input on this.

im enrolled in a creative writing class at rutgers university
and have written a bunch of poems, that i really like, that the
professor says need something else ot really make them work.
any input would be great.

here goes...

__



IMPERFECTIONS

basking in the bay of a shaded brook
not even the sun takes a second look
a forgotten brown platypus lies in a water well
with webbed feet collecting fresh water oyster shells
his eyes smile as they scan a field of pollen
a sweet little beauty reads from woody allen
he quickly looks away - "Damn! What a pisser!
With this funny duck bill, she'll never let me kiss her."

jay

----

my goal here is just to write some light-hearted
short poems..

please also respond by email if possible.

jjwright@remus.rutgers.edu
From: jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Chien)
Subject: I'm running out of laundry
Organization: DSG, Stanford University
Date: Thu, 16 Apr 92 21:16:35 GMT




	I'm running out of laundry she said
	pressing the strandworn off-white
	terrycloth to her chin (stained like
	a delicious red apple) -- gathering
	splotches of iron-mixed flesh
	juice.

	I'm running out of laundry she said
	beside the pale peach square-
	holed plastic basket piled
	high with rosy apple
	once-off-white towels smells
	of pure-white-petalled orchards
	wafting on the dryer exhaust.

	I'm running out of laundry she said
	the terry dropping from her hand
	onto the mountain of apples
	beside her the pure-white flowers
	she stems the flow of
	flesh juice pressing the now
	off-white terrycloth against
	her chin.
From: jabolliger@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: here's lookin at U
Date: 6 Apr 92 20:04:46 GMT

HEY

all of you all way TOO FUCKING HAPPY  writing these HAPPY
FUCKING POEMS.

Here's one to the side of your head.

			Letter To A Vampire

	I wait for the phone
	but it's never caught up.
	Hello, is that you?
	I am disconnected

	HELLO?  HELLO?  HELLO?
	The silence breaks my ears.

	I send a letter
	it has fallen upon bad times
	it lies clenched in
	the teeth of a schnauzer.

	I twist slowly on my bed
				try to dream.
	I want to fly
			but fall down.

		You thief
		
			You vampire
		
		You have stolen my blood.
		It meant nothing to you.

	I need my blood.
	I want to fill that space.
	The one that stands in the air
					since you left.


ja
From: zola@milton.u.washington.edu (Rebecca Louise Lowell)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Green Fan Club?
Keywords: Mr. Green Jeans is alive and well and living in Eagan?
Date: 17 Apr 92 17:33:03 GMT
Article-I.D.: u.1992Apr17.173303.9666
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle

In article <2009@tau-ceti.isc-br.com> cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams) writes:
>
>
>>Washington GREEN -- the newsletter Washington State Greens
>>8315 Lake City Way #207, Seattle, WA 98115  -- (206)526-2919 x28
>
>It would seem as though a certain person, who shall remain nameless
>but is commonly associated with the color "green", has his very own 
>fan club  here in the estate of Washing-ton.  Perhaps other states
>may wish to follow suit? What about that concept of "thinking green"?


I think perhaps the better solution (if one is going to be hanging around
lake city) is just to take a nice set of darts to Cooper's and get a 
pitcher of stout.  Or of course there is value village...


no offense to green/the greens/lettuce.