HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Oddity
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Fri, 2 Oct 92 23:17:34 GMT


                        Oddity

Marriage
it's an odd idea
when you think about it
two people
for better or worse
why?
stay together when it's worse I mean
hopes it will get better
easy then to stay together
but then it gets worse
still not easy to leave
until it's bad enough
then it's possible
then it turns out
it was only
ever
for better or bad enough.

-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (Maven o'Mirth)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Rainer Maria Rilke (was Re: Criticism)
Date: 2 Oct 92 15:41:53 GMT
Article-I.D.: sumax.5284
Organization: Seattle University, Seattle WA


To the fellow who posted about Rilke:  more than a great poet, I see Rilke
as an inspiration.  Thought I would post, for general net perusal, one of
Rilke's poems which I have held as a sort of credo for almost longer than
I can remember (long enough, at least, that I have it committed to memory
...please excuse any line break irregularities, as I wrote it down on a
scrap of paper in a library once and am having a hell of a time finding
the book again):


	Be patient toward all that is unsolved
		in your heart
	Try to love the questions themselves
	Do not now seek the answers
		which cannot be given
		because you would not be able to live them
	And the point is,
		to live everything.

	Live the questions now.
		Perhaps you will then,
		gradually,
		without noticing it
	Live along one distant day
	into the answers.


--
Sheryl Stover				|  How passing fair is youth,
*>sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu<*		|  Forever fleeting away;
and Hemingway, feline philosopher	|  Who happy would be, let him be;
Watch this .sig for news of the		|  Of tomorrow, who can say?
upcoming album from Seattle's 		|	-Lorenzo de'Medici
premier band, the Medici!		|
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: "if you die..." / Halina Poswiatowska / trans: Marek (1990)
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Wed, 30 Sep 1992 04:58:13 GMT

Halina Poswiatowska's (Marek #22), or (p. 33) of _Wiersze wybrane_, 1989.
 
English draft translation:
 
		untitled ("if you die...")
		(p. 33 of _Wiersze wybrane_, 1989)
		----------------------------------------------------------
		 
		if you die
		i won't wear the purple dress
		i won't buy the festooned wreaths
		with whispering wind in their ribbons
		none of that
		none
		 
		a hearse will arrive -- so it will
		a hearse will depart -- so it will
		i will be in the window -- looking on
		i will wave with my hand
		i will wave with my scarf
		i will bid you goodbye
		alone in this window
		 
		and in summertime
		in the crazed month of may
		i will lie down on the grass
		on the warm grass
		and with my hands i will touch your hair
		and with my mouth i will touch the fur of a bee
		biting and lovely
		like your smile
		like twilight
		 
		later on there will be
		silver -- gold
		maybe gold and just red
		for this afterglow
		this breeze
		which whispers to grasses to no end
		love -- love
		will not let me get up
		and go
		you know just go
		to my damned empty house
 
			Halina Poswiatowska, Polish, 1960s,
			translated from Polish by
 
			Marek Lugowski
			3 November 1990
			Cincinnati
 
Polish original (c) 1975 Wydawnictwo Literackie, Krakow, Poland:
		untitled ("jesli umrzesz")
		(p. 33 of _Wiersze wybrane_, 1989)
		------------------------------------------------------------
		 
		jesli umrzesz
		nie wloze sukienki lila
		nie kupie kolorowych wiencow
		z rozszeptanym wiatrem we wstazkach
		nic z tego
		nic
		 
		przyjedzie karawan -- przyjedzie
		odjedzie karawan -- odjedzie
		bede w oknie stala -- patrzyla
		bede reka machala
		chustka wiewala
		zegnala
		w tym oknie sama
		 
		a w lato
		w szalonym maju
		poloze sie na trawie
		na cieplej
		i rekoma dotkne twoich wlosow
		i ustami dotkne futra pszczoly
		kasliwej pieknej
		jak twoj usmiech
		jak zmierzch
		 
		potem bedzie srebrno -- zloto
		moze zloto i tylko czerwono
		bo ten zmierzch
		ten wiatr
		ktory trawom wyszeptuje uparcie
		milosc -- milosc
		nie pozwoli mi wstac
		i pojsc
		tak zwyczajnie
		do przeklecie pustego domu
 
			Halina Poswiatowska, Polish, 1960s.
From: goblin@maple.circa.ufl.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Bad boy
Date: 28 Sep 92 16:11:41 GMT
Reply-To: goblin@maple.circa.ufl.edu
Organization: Center for Instructional and Research Computing Activities

I'm a bad boy.
There's ice in my eyes
and I eat lies for breakfast.
You don't see it
in my cold, bold stare
but it's there, incognito,
and it sneers when you're near.
Take this knife.
I'm a bad boy
with poison for blood.
When you cut, you'll see.
It drools from my wounds.
It's okay, I admit it --
my sins found a home, 
flowing alone in my body.
No one to hold.  No one to care.
Love's leaving me slowly,
but I don't dare.
I'm a bad boy
and my teeth can cut diamonds.

------------------------------
Comments, as always, are welcome.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"LOOK at me!  I am the life force, the sex ray, the thrill of LIVING that
accompanies the awareness of the presence of DEATH!  ODYLE!  BARAKA!  WAKAN! --
I AM SATAN!!"  			--Shadowy Mister Evans, Doom Patrol #48
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
GOBLIN@ufcc.ufl.edu or GOBLIN@maple.circa.ufl.edu -- they haven't decided yet...
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:9553 soc.culture.pakistan:15403 soc.culture.indian:32786 news.groups:18633
From: nazir@sw.stratus.com (Meer Nazir)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,soc.culture.pakistan,soc.culture.indian,news.groups
Subject: Re: Creation of Urdu newsgroup
Keywords: sadi URDU Awae i Awae
Date: 2 Oct 92 13:21:04 GMT
Reply-To: nazir@jets.sw.stratus.com
Followup-To: rec.arts.poems
Organization: Stratus Computer Inc.

In article <1992Oct1.174432.17857@news.acns.nwu.edu>, marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:

> Many assents on news.groups indicate enthusiasm for an "Urdu newsgroup".
> The 3rd RFD talks broadly about discussing Urdu, the culture and the
> language.  If so, please reconsider, Ali, if hanging a sub-rec.arts.poems
> newsgroup is the right way to go about it.
> 
> It has been said before and I would like to say it again:  It appears
> that a soc.culture.urdu and a soc.culture.urdu.ghzalas (or whatever) 
> is what people really want.  Let's not start a rush of rec.arts.poems.*
> newsgroups by setting an example -- I don't think this is your intention.
> 
> I mean, do we also need rec.arts.books.urdu?  rec.bicycles.urdu?
> alt.dan-quale.urdu?...
> 
> 				-- Marek

Hi Marek I really don't understand why do you think the urdu newsgroup to
be in soc.culture.* subdomain. What difference does it make if it is in
rec.arts.poem.* . I do not exactly know the number of newsgroups but believe
just in rec. domain there are more than 100 groups. It is the matter of
anyones choice to subscribe to particular group. If you do not want to read
urdu poems or gazals just ignore the group and it will never be there for you.
Also just look at this way there are not so many groups related to literature
as compare to some other topics. This will be a good forum not only to
aware the subscribers about urdu literature but also let them make a comparison
to their "own language" literature. I know you seem to be more aware about
newsgroup structure than me, I will suggest you to peak through your .newsrc
file for so many number of groups in each domain or sub domain.

I also want to give credit to Ali for his efforts in working for urdu
newsgroup. 

MEER NAZIR
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Bainsidh
Keywords: "Bain Sidh" is Gaelic for "White Elf" - pronounced "banshee"
Date: 26 Sep 92 15:48:21 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


BAINSIDH

Ghost howls litanies to the moon,
dances with rage on impotent feet
claws phantom leaves from spectral trees;
licks the moisture from his mouth,
gapes stupidly - ghosts don't cry;
treams trace the scar that marks his chin.

Go away, I don't believe in you -
you don't exist to me...
but I hear your song on the wind and I touch myself:
forehead, sternum, left breast, right;
and I glimpse shadows in lightless night
and I pray soundless prayers, caress your ears.

Do I imagine you, Ghost? or do you imagine me?

Groundless fantasies, phantasms of what might have been
had I not seen your soul in my eyes,
had you not read my notes in a whisper...

Touch me; I shiver, my incubus' glory, you
shine in the pale of your moon.
Ragged flesh laps my skin, Ghost, mesmerized by the flow -
my river runs freely to bathe in the wraiths
made richer, and redder, more substance than before.


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--What binds us together
Date: 3 Oct 92 14:58:31 GMT
Organization: Real/Time Communications


                      What binds us together

What binds us together
is either
love
ropes of dependence
perhaps
I need your power
which I gave away
was taken from me
by someone like you
perhaps
I need to feel guilty
and you serve as my accuser
perhaps I feel awful tension
and need the
relief
afforded by your punishment.

What bind us together
is either
love
or something very different.


-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
From: ekankaan@kaira.hut.fi (Eero Kankaanp{{)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: lips
Date: 5 Oct 92 22:24:02 GMT
Organization: hip hip hurray


      And I don't lie. I am as virtous as I look.
      Read my words and mark my lips, with red.
      
      I feel sad for selling a microwave oven
      And they had to dry cats in it ?
      Feel like Jesus, saving the world for US,
      for God's sake. Did I do wrong ?
      Well it was just a stage I was going through.
      I repent.
     
      You know what ? They don't, what they're
      doing, that is. Is the question. Or is it?
      A question ?  I forget. 
      Responsibilities are for the foolish,
      memories for the weak, after all.
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Desire for the Land
Date: 28 Sep 92 17:51:18 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <7710574@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM> daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:
>In rec.arts.poems, donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole) writes:
>
>> 
>> I would like to add my voice in order to form an O'Toole chorus of praise
>> for this fellow. 
>
>As long as people realize that you are not empowered to speak for
>the militant faction of the O'Tooles.
>
>doug

As long as you're around I have no fear that people will not realize this.

post

-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
From: trussell@cwis.unomaha.edu (Tim Russell)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: On the phone
Summary: You figure it out!
Keywords: phone
Date: 1 Oct 92 01:59:29 GMT
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha

Here's a short one I just wrote..  It's my first on the net and about my
fifth ever, so please be gentle!  :-)


                sighs
                through the static
                he whispers
                encouraging her
                                \
                                 \
                                  \
                                   \
                                    \
                                       gasps
                                       on the line
                                       fingers hunt
                                       seeking release


--
    Tim Russell                 Omaha, NE              trussell@unomaha.edu
    "And it didn't matter in 1988, and it won't matter in 1992."
              -- Bush's VP Chief of Staff on Bush's part in Iran-Contra
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: bacarlso@silver.ucs.indiana.edu (Brad Carlson)
Subject: Re: Yes, A Sexual Poem
Organization: Indiana University
Date: Sun, 4 Oct 1992 19:18:52 GMT

In <moonbeam.717816844@vincent1.iastate.edu> moonbeam@iastate.edu (Timothy J Cockerham) writes:

>	I wish I could feel your warm heart beating as I bury the seed of my 
>love deeply within you, and you say my name loudly. The love in our hearts
>joined together, sealed by our passion.

Ahhhh, the ol' seed of my love trick ... 

... Brad
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: gschlesi@scott.skidmore.edu (gabriel schlesinger)
Subject: One night late
Organization: Skidmore College, Saratoga Springs NY
Date: Wed, 30 Sep 1992 02:00:22 GMT

One night late in August
he found nothing.
After all it was to be.
He waited until it was true.
Children waited to die
it made them more alive.

That's pretty
pretty...

Don't you know?
Don't you know?
Know?
Die? Do we die? die ...dying.
Know?
Don't you know?
Don't 	you 	know?
No?
no.

You know.  Do you?

Sing a song
sing a song.
Leave get the hate away, just that.

He held out his hand and shook it.
He wished he hadn't

(Special thanks to Ira Levin and his witty dialogoue)
-little brains
From: cawcolli@atlas.cs.upei.ca (Wayne Collins)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Death Dance
Date: 29 Sep 92 21:42:14 GMT
Organization: University of Prince Edward Island


  The soothing rustle of leaves
  that was our summer symphony
  is now a decaying sound...
  an autumn death rattle.

  The oneness of leaf and branch
  is shattered.
  Dried-up and faded 
  like yesterday's dreams.

  Autumn's splendid fire
  a billion glowing embers
  Consumed and lost in a spiraling
  death dance to the ground.
From: root@bing.UUCP (Administrator)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: firsts
Date: 25 Sep 92 16:28:09 GMT
Organization: Bing's Rubber Chicken Factory -- "Our clucks are boneless."

first time i saw a girl
i thought she was missing a part of her--
surely, everybody has one...

i remember one girl
who asked her mom to go to the store
and buy her one
her mom laughed for days
i remember thinking how strange that was.

and later i remember my first attempt
trying to supply a girl
with that missing part
if only for a brief time
i remember the strange feeling i had
that we were both missing something.

i learned to use a smile as a mask
for the first time that day.

9/25/92
bhb

--
Bing H Bang                                  +---------------------------+
Senior Systems Analyst                       | This is my home computer. |
National Data Corporation, Atlanta, GA       | I do not speak for NDC.   |
uucp: gatech!warlord!bing!root               +---------------------------+
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rbear@inferno.uoregon.edu (Richard Bear)
Subject: Re: hormonely yours
Organization: University of Oregon Network Services
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL5
Date: Thu, 1 Oct 92 03:02:37 GMT

hormonely yours

is very well done.

rbear
From: michael@cwi.nl (M. Guravage)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Looking for "A Harlot and a Nun"
Summary: Looking for "A Harlot and A Nun"
Keywords: poetry
Date: 5 Oct 92 10:13:39 GMT

I am looking for a book of poetry entitled: "A Harlot and a Nun" by
the American poet: Edna St. Vincent Malaie. She lived in New York
mainly, and in Britain during the the first half of this century. If
anyone has seen this book, can comment on its availability, or correct
my spelling of her name, I'd be thankful.

-- 
Michael A. Guravage                                    Email: michael@cwi.nl
Centre for Mathematics & Computer Science (CWI)        Phone: +31 20 5924164
Department of Interactive Systems                      Telex: 12571 mactr nl
Kruislaan 413, 1098 SJ Amsterdam  The Netherlands      Telefax: +31 20 5924199
From: 2ftolonger@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: A golden horse
Date: 29 Sep 92 13:06:13 CDT
Organization: University of Kansas Academic Computing Services


A golden horse rides before me,
Continually eluding my grasp.
I urge my tired stallion ahead to catch it;
But it forever escapes my hand.

Places move past so quickly,
It is hard to thoroughly consider;
What have I missed along the way?
Which path did I overlook?

Without that golden horse to hold on to;
Without a place to rest;
I am lost in constantly changing scenery.
The paths remained behind me.
They point to where I must look;
To the one place that sustains evolution--
Inside my heart.

--Angela

(So many can't remember my name by the initials AKA, and since my userid is no
help either, I will now sign with my name.  Are you happy?  :)  )
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Not A Love Sonnet
Date: 28 Sep 92 18:06:02 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <1992Sep28.053054.5442@news.acns.nwu.edu> marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
>Would someone please second the motion that Sharon Hopkins writes wonderful
>stuff, and this piece is no exception?  It merits study.  (Hey, there might
>lurk imperfections. *smile*)

>				-- Marek

Seconded.


-Posthumous O'Toole
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
Date: Friday, 25 Sep 1992 17:59:14 EST
From: <RVESTERM@vma.cc.nd.edu>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: for her: true love.


               let me be your p.p.p.
               your p.p.p., yeah, that's me
               your p.p.p.'s all i wanna be
               personal pooper poker, yes sirree.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter)
Subject: Sunday Night Self-Indulgence
Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department
Distribution: na
Date: Mon, 5 Oct 92 07:42:50 GMT


		Sunday Night Self-Indulgence
		---------------------------------------------------

		i remember sitting, typewriter in the dark
		years ago, when typing was the sweetest
		pleasure, feeling in those keys
		the violence of my words imprinting
		themselves directly at the command of
		my wild fingers onto the innocent
		defenseless page

		i was young(er) and 
		soppier and and and
		and then there is now 
		sitting here alone in my 
		cardboard box empty of 
		reasonable doubts and full
		stomach indicting my foolish
		hesitation

		ah, i remember
		the night sight through that 
		zoo window 
		of the bookish prison
		and the hives of the postadolescent
		pupae of yespeople with their 
		future corporeal legacy
		dripping from them, 
		a stinking perfume

		but now i'm here 
		watching nothing but the dark
		windows of profane neighbors
		to the yawning of solitary night jets
		at the back of the sky

			Michael Lichter
			October 4, 1992
			A few blocks from the Airport
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Trope
Summary: Trope
Keywords: Trope
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Tue, 6 Oct 1992 23:41:06 GMT


Trope


the moon is not lunatic
or female
any more than poison
stammers
crows do not blister
are not crooked
tea cups don't bleed
or chatter
shadows can't heave
or stick in throats
are never blue
pen is penis is not rod bludgeon saber cudgel spontoon cannon halberd panoply
any more than clitoris is
not
between rope and trap
twist
lucid
monsters

sls
From: torkel@sics.se (Torkel Franzen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Insects
Date: 27 Sep 92 15:04:49 GMT
Distribution: rec
Organization: Swedish Institute of Computer Science, Kista


                   Insects

      The insects are getting to me: the dead ones
      I come across on the floor, by the windows,
      by the flower pots, curled or folded, and sweep up
      with other dust or debris; those not yet dead
      to whom I speak sharply, "Go out, go out to die
      where it is proper for you to end your days,
      in the clear light of fall." They buzz and flutter
      in reply, but slowly and haltingly, and the fly on its back
      upturns itself only with difficulty, nothing like
      a proper fly, who whizzes by in a fraction of a second.
      Then one day a bee lands on my balcony,
      and slowly and laboriously preens itself in the sun,
      polishing its wings with ponderous strokes of its legs,
      and finally in a false semblance of health buzzes away.
      It brings to mind a dying guinea pig I knew,
      washing his nose with slow motions of his forelegs,
      and indeed my mother who, days away from death,
      with a slight smile combed her still blond hair,
      looking into a small mirror that showed to her a face
      of which I still know nothing.
      I suppose as I lie dying, before letting go at last
      in that stillness of rasping breath that marks the end,
      I will reach out to preen and polish, not my hair or face,
      but the words, the words! The words by I which told
      of the things I knew and I saw before I died.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca (Tim Connors )
Subject: Lumbering Anthrax
Organization: Memorial University of Newfoundland
Date: Tue, 6 Oct 1992 13:18:34 GMT

             "Lime Green Tennis Shoe"
         They dance about my patio.
    The moon is full and so am I.
    The breastbone has such... symmetry.
    A lime-green tennis shoe glides past my window.
    Odd. A lime green tennis shoe.
       Odd.
 

   
       "Bicycle built for...none"
 
    
     In my nightmnare, you wear velveteen jumpers.
     Eat melons, trade stickers. Ya'know kid stuff.
     Then I remember your mighty bicycle.
     It wasn't really a bicycle of course.
     But that didn't matter. (It was a dragon)


From the unedited works of Poetic Wheelbarrow.Where the beer is cold,
the night is long and Bertha? Bertha just dances.
 
Tim Connors

     Yaks parade across my fence


     
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: moonbeam@iastate.edu (Timothy J Cockerham)
Subject: A distant field
Organization: Iowa State University, Ames IA
Date: Wed, 30 Sep 1992 18:09:47 GMT

	Scenes from a distant field.
-----
He sits alone, his hand pressed against a blank paper. There is passion and
determination in his eyes, but the muses have left him. There is nothing left
of the man he once was.
-----
Dead animals march over the bridge. Their furry brown coats matted with cold
blood.
-----
As your eyes penetrate my soul, and I fight to remain whole.
Your lips speak soft bliss, and your hands show tenderness.
-----

	-Tim-
	Quote: "Scruffy is a bad boy, he deserves a spank." Blair H.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--I see
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 27 Sep 92 00:54:40 GMT


                               I see

My daughter's announcement
"Daddy this Halloween
I'm dressing as a whore"
my response came out
laconic
"I see"
yes
I'm jaded and
better she be allowed to pretend
than be forbidden to become.
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: and in your most fragrant
Date: 1 Oct 92 17:14:13 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=

	and in your most fragrant hour
	when the moon glistening listens
	and your stillness is a sail
	a windless veil
	in your stillness there's a gaze
	sparked again, not yet ablaze
	it's a token of a moment, of a time
	and the thunder, not so distant, sings your name


-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: 2ftolonger@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Understanding
Date: 29 Sep 92 22:25:22 CDT
Organization: University of Kansas Academic Computing Services


Letters
Are just symbols we put on paper to form
Words
Are just noises coming out of our mouths,
Used to convey meaning.
But does my symbol mean
What you symbol means?
Do my noises sound
Like your noises?
I think not--

When we talk
We do not communicate;
When I write
You do not listen.

Don't you know what I mean?

--AKA

OOOOOoooo.....LOOK!  She's got a name field!  :)
----------------------------------
Angela Kathleen Ayers
2ftolonger
@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu  (Internet)
@UKANVAX  (BITNET)
----------------------------------