HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: abenoit@sumax.seattleu.edu (CHAVALEH)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Mr. Nikolayev
Date: 18 Nov 92 01:11:16 GMT
Organization: Seattle University

[JJWebb's original article deleted for the sake of brevity.]

>>                  JJWebb-- 

>Sir or Madam,

Philip--

>I might indeed post and discuss a favourite poem, if asked, in a
>nicer tone of voice,

Please consider that when you criticize someone else.  Otherwise you are
perpetuating the very thing I described, which is contrary to your purposes.

 by someone who signed his or her full name 
>under the message.

I seem to have committed a social faux pas.  I have yet to offer Philip my
name.  I am happy to oblige, and indeed will even offer a bit more, so as
not to be accused of being secretive:

My name is Ab Enoit, and I am up at Seattle University in Washington
(thus, my address. . .abenoit@sumax.seattleu.edu).  Before anyone asks
"what kind of name is that?"  I will add that it is an Inuit name.  For
those who are not aware of the Inuits, they live near the Eskimos.

 Besides, given the context of your request, I 
>would expect you to present some credentials, because I see no 
>point in proving that I am not this week's rabid dog to someone 
>who may well be, for all I know, the mangy rat of yesteryear.

Indeed, Philip.  Perhaps you should consider that when you are offering
any of your criticisms.  It would be difficult to convince a bad poet to
leave, much less encourage a good one, if they are not assured of your
credentials.

>Philip Nikolayev
>nikolay@husc.harvard.edu

			CHAVALEH.

-- 
            CHAVALEH               |  In your concept ofthe cosmos 
    abenoit@sumax.seattleu.edu     |  be aware of the stability
 (Parenthetical                    |  that allows for individual chaos.
                Conversationalist) |       _Emmanuel's Book_ VI.92
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--The only magic
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 92 19:26:20 GMT


                                The only magic

                Because love is the only magic there ever was
                which shows us that miracle
                the disappearance of want
                takes us to the place where questioning does not reach
                which feels like home
                no because
                just is
                we know we are somewhere destined for us
                the place where all answers reside
                questionless by the sea of fading desire
                without clocks.

                Out in the baking sun
                bathing
                lolling on the particulate earth
                no lifeguards needed when the water is gone
                no heat when differences are banished
                perhaps when the rains come
                I will go home again.



-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: sujit@coombs.anu.edu.au (Sujit Mukherjee)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem -- Lost Paradise
Date: 22 Nov 92 00:16:14 GMT
Organization: Australian National University
NNTP-Posting-Host: 150.203.76.2

Here is a joint effort by a friend and me. We were quite depressed at
the time. I wrote the first stanza, and he just finished it in exactly
the same style. We don't even know each other very well, but he seemed to
read my mind......enjoy.

 
 Life tumbles onward, yet there is no end
 Still it goes on, tormenting all that live.
 For only at the end shall there be eternal peace.
 And in this peace, we'll find the lost paradise
 Of our souls. 
 
 As Life tumbles onward, and the road circles 'round
 Completing the cycle, joining all that live.
 But since we are together, we shall find our joy.
 And in this joy, we'll find the lost paradise
 Of our souls.

 As Life tumbles onward, never ceasing for the weary
 So we carry them on our backs, carrying all that live.
 But we help our freinds, and then one's we love.
 And in this love, we'll find the lost paradise
 Of our souls.

 As Life tumbles onward, throwing a new crisis at us
 That we struggle against, fighting all that live.
 But to our aid comes our freinds, one leads on our behalf.
 And in this freind, we'll find the lost paradise
 Of our souls.

 As Life tumbles onward, tumbling down
 Or tumbling up - who can tell?
 Life is all we know, all we have, all we can lose.
 Time to choose.

 Because only in life can we find the lost paradise
 Of our souls.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: wh@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Winter Nova)
Subject: Love (C&C welcome)
Organization: Purdue University Computing Center
Date: Mon, 16 Nov 1992 03:53:47 GMT

                    Love

          Love binds not two into one
          For a loss of identity
          Brings certain and quick separation
          Love inspires two to be different
          So that each would find delight
          In the other's enhanced individuality
          Love is two souls complementing one another
          To add life to life

--
***************************************************************************
* Wen-Hung Fang                   * O what can ail thee, Knight-at-arms   *   
* Autumn Wanderer / Winter Nova   * Alone and palely loitering;           *
* the lean, mean studying machine * The sedge has wither'd from the lake, *
* wh@mentor.cc.purdue.edu         * And no birds sing.       --John Keats * 
***************************************************************************
From: jtrue@acpub.duke.edu (jtrue)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: the Realm's Defender, Absent
Date: 19 Nov 92 14:37:43 GMT
Organization: the gospel of zagnut

As Marie so adroitly pointed out, I forgot to post the e-mail address
of our stalwart defender, Mr. Posthumous of the O'Tooles, who is
currenly on sebattical due to his newsfeed being temporarily yanked.
His address is: donz@ui.org so if there is anything you would like him
to peruse, feel free to send it to him (he must be rather bored right now).

-jtrue
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: suggestions for Alex / Marek (Re: Artifacts)
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Fri, 20 Nov 1992 00:23:47 GMT

Don, you're confusing me.  Here is Alex's poem in its entirety:

	Artifacts
	---------
 

	in a trash can 
	near her bed

	a wasted rose 
	and a condom full of love


Now, after reading that poem, how can you say that Marek equates sex with love
and imply that Alex doesn't?  

Also, why did you spend so much time talking about the connotations of roses
and "wasted" without telling us what they are?  And how can you, on the one 
hand, say that the connotations are obvious, and then say that the symbol is
ambiguous?  Aren't you trying to have it both ways?  

And finally, how does one grasp an ambiguity?

My own opinion is that you're reading an awful lot into this poem that
isn't there.  If so, you're in good company.


Marie Coffin
From: rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Urdu Ignorance (part II)
Date: 17 Nov 92 19:32:20 GMT
Article-I.D.: alice.24217
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories, Murray Hill NJ



wprovinc@polyslo.csc.calpoly.edu writes:
>>The business of the poet is Truth, not understanding.

>   I find this difficult to swallow.  Before you can speak about
>"Truth", you must have an understanding of what the Truth is.  To
>make life more difficult, there is no guarantee that the world 
>can ever be completely intelligible to us.  It might be better
>therefore, to start with understanding, and only then worry about
>truth with a capitol T.

How coarse and ignoble are those who confine themselves to the
pleasures of eating and drinking!

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: Anglocentricism in rec.arts.poems Re: Urdu Knowledge. Re: Urdu Ignorance (part II)
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Thu, 19 Nov 1992 19:15:08 GMT

In article <1992Nov19.175925.14938@zip.eecs.umich.edu>,
bhattach@quip.eecs.umich.edu (sayan bhattacharyya) writes:
> 
> I commend Sheila Hardon because he apparently made the effort 
> to look up the history of Urdu poetry. I would strongly recommend 
> him (and others) to look up modern , i.e. 20th century Urdu poetry    
> as well. You will not be disappointed. A good place to start is 
> the Penguin anthology of modern Urdu poetry.
> 
> On a related note, I am disappointed to find that rec.arts.poems
> is so Anglocentric and so Eurocentric. Poetry of non-Western
> cultures, particularly those of the Third world, is rarely 
> discussed here. (I may be wrong, because I have time to read this
> group rarely, but this has been my impression so far).
> 
> Enjoy!  
> 
> -Sayan Bhattacharyya

Sayan:  (a) Last time I looked, Sheila was a girl.

	(b) You are correct that there is not much discussion on r.a.p. about
	    poetry of Third World cultures.  That is not because we don't like 
	    it, it's because we don't know anything about it.  Please feel free
	    to post more information, and especially more poetry, from the
	    Third World culture of your choice.   Of course, this has nothing
	    to do with Urdu, which, as we have all been told, is not a culture.
	    
It all comes down to this:  we can only talk about what we know about.  If you
have specialized knowledge of poetry, please share it.


Marie Coffin
   
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: bkv2673@ritvax.isc.rit.edu (Miester aLster)
Subject: i'm not me...
Reply-To: bkv2673@ritvax.isc.rit.edu
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
Date: Thu, 19 Nov 1992 19:34:09 GMT


i'm not me.
not anymore.
i died just yesterday.
i was me
and now you can never see 
what i could be...

- aL 
  11/19/92
From: tpl@eng.cam.ac.uk (Tim Love)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Towers
Date: 19 Nov 92 10:47:54 GMT
Organization: cam.eng


        Towers

Windmill. Memory
spinning for the many.
The meshing grammar grinds.
The wind steers too.
The wind feeds.

Lighthouse. Warning
of the masses. Stay
away stay
away. Bringing pearls
while my lover's away.

Stay. My voice is a windmill.
My pain, shutters.
As I climb the stairs
the dead moon dreams in color 
through the turning windows.

Sails flicker the scene. 
The beam fingers the horizon clean
of its last peanut butter. Lick.
Turn and smile. Invisible the tears
and the lies. No more legends,

no shapes can be recovered from 
the deepening shadows. Each night 
incompressible emotion obeys every law. 
Clogged yesterdays loosen, start to flow. 
I can save you. Stay away. Stay.



Tim Love November 1992
C+C welcomed -- I don't know what I'm doing.
Organization: Bar-Ilan University Computing Center, Israel
Date: Wed, 18 Nov 1992 17:36:18 IST
From: <X67107@BARILVM.BITNET>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Mr. Nikolayev/Hail JJWebb

These are my opinions concerning recent postings by Chavaleh, about Mr.
Nikolayev pathetic psudo-citical attacks.

The initial artical by Chavaleh was the only piece of constructive advice
that I have I have seen  on rec.art.poems for a long time. But you powers
of criticsm are misdirected. To quote "Don't argue with a fool, people might
not know the difference" (An old saying which appears in many Kenyan bars :) )

If Nico is a fool why should we be distracted by his pathetic imitation of
criticism. If he believed what he said about "Good Poetry", if such realy
exists, then he wouldn't have acted such an intolerable thorn in the butt.


But if Niko is so obstitantly intolerable of imperfect verse,
He has only these three practical choices:

1 Learn Hebrew and read the 'Song of Solomon' in the original form :)
2 Read the inferior (but nevertheless magnifcent) works of the famous English
  poets.(I recommend Byron and Tenysson, but each person and his taste)
3 Write those perfect lines himself, so they may come into existance.

As I am not realy expecting him to bother to read this post. Let him do his
worst against the 'Sub-Poets' around, it his time and pain and the task is
thanksless.

To sum up

This News Group is a media for the discussion of poetry good bad and mediocre.
People may be offended by remarks of certain individuals, but if good poems and
good discussion can be found here than Nico and his will not be able to put offy
new potential poets.

So enough of this humbug
Write poetry!!!                                 (c.f. Blue Star Shining)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H
                      Oren THE Laughing Magican
       LAUGHING DOES TICKLE THE SOUL, THERE IS NO BETTER REASON
=========================================================================
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: your remarkable apparently
Date: 16 Nov 92 20:57:29 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=

	your remarkable apparently stillness
	unreachably quite within reach
	with timely hands and lightly feet
	and hair that chokes like choking hair might do
	with someone not around to be there
	moves slowly forward, timed to a tune
	whose refrain you won't sing
	though you know its unutterable coda
	in your mouth like cherry soda
	still fizzy still, still fizzing and fussing
	and messing and mussing your hair, here and there
	and almost not asking for wanting to know
	what questions may turn on the cue
	not asking which apparently stillness is now due
	this time around...this time
	whose refrain you won't sing
	you refrain from singing this refrain
	every word you say is one more stillness
	each word you don't is one more place to wait


-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Sun, 15 Nov 1992 23:07:18 GMT
Subject: Re: Re: constructive criticism for Doug and Donosauria
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

In rec.arts.poems, nikolay@husc8.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev) writes:

> 
> I am not interested in making the distinction between very bad
> and just bad, and don't think that progression from the one to
> the other in poetry can be called an improvement. In fact, I 
> prefer the very bad to the 'not-so-bad', because the former is 
> usually informed by lesser delusions than the latter. Doug, for
> example, is in the 'not-so-bad' category, and he probably got
> there by pursuing the path of learning, encouraged by friendly, 
> constructive criticism. If this is a difficult paragraph,
> please reread it before you respond.

Finally, a paragraph that I can largely agree with.
Phillip is wrong that I have not received harsh criticism,
but he is LARGELY correct, and I agree with him that it IS
a problem.  I actually think that a little more stern
criticism from people who know what they are talking about
is a good thing.  Note that I say stern and not cruel, although
cruel criticism can probably have value as well for someone
with the strength to take it.

And Phillip is more or less correct that when one enters the
not-so-bad category that certain delusions follow.  One
can begin to think that they really are good at what they
are doing when they are not.  I myself TRY to make the effort
to fight these delusions.  I know that the poetry that I write
falls short of being good poetry.  I may have written some
that approach being almost good poetry, but by and large I
do not have the discipline, the time, and perhaps not the
talent to be a great poet or even a good poet.  But striving
to improve is a chellenge, and the pompous sparring with Don Z. is
quite amusing.

I do not think that I will ever agree that bad poets have
a moral responsibility to stop.  I simply do not see
the moral basis for such a conclusion.  But I do not see
any problem with poking sticks into the delusions of
bad and not so bad poets, and if this is what Niko is doing
to me, then he really IS doing ME a service.  I will
not belabor why unless someone cares to ask.

I myself see no problem with poking sticks into the delusions
of anyone which is one reason I am sparring with this gentleman
publicly.  I have come to an understanding of why Phillip
does this, and it is a similar motivation to why others
have done it.  He is certainly free to do so, and I am
still free to point out how self-important it is and to
wonder why anyone should think that Phillip is qualified
to recognize good poetry from bad poetry.  Perhaps he
will elaborate.

doug
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Blue and Gold (new poem! :-)
Date: 19 Nov 92 15:36:06 GMT
Article-I.D.: midway.1992Nov19.153606.21946
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations

Blue and Gold

Sunlight on the water.
Glimmer, glow, dazzle the eye;
You the sparkle that mesmerizes,
	drawing in hapless moths, plain souls,
	and even butterflies, dimmed in lustre before
	your brilliance.
Circling, revolving, spinning, whirling,
	spiraling closer and closer until, in a single
		incandescent
		moment...
Oblivion.

And beneath your dazzle lie depths
	unplumbed by hapless insects...
	unreachable,
Save by heroes.
	Who, braving the brilliance,
	find themselves plunging into a maelstrom,
	of seldom-disturbed emotions.
Sucked by tidal forces, buffeted by moon-strong surges,
	until deposited, gasping, on a discard shelf.

Blue eyes.
Blond hair.
Sunlight on the water.

*****

M.A. Mohanraj
November 19, 1992


-- 
More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads.  One
path leads to despair and utter hopelessness.  The other to total
extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.
						 - Woody Allen
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Re: the Realm's Defender, Absent
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Thu, 19 Nov 1992 19:07:35 GMT

jtrue@acpub.duke.edu (jtrue) writes:

>As Marie so adroitly pointed out, I forgot to post the e-mail address
>of our stalwart defender, Mr. Posthumous of the O'Tooles, who is
>currenly on sebattical due to his newsfeed being temporarily yanked.
>His address is: donz@ui.org so if there is anything you would like him
>to peruse, feel free to send it to him (he must be rather bored right now).

>-jtrue

but, but, but he's back!

sls
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
From: jtrue@acpub.duke.edu (jtrue)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: the Realm's Defender, absent
Date: 17 Nov 92 16:06:32 GMT
Organization: the gospel of zagnut

To those r.a.p.pers whom it may concern: our Valiant Defender Posthumous O'
Toole has informed me that His newsfeed will be down for at least a week 
(starting yesterday, I believe) and He will be unable to be with us here until
it is back.  Those of you who wish Him to see (and/or lay hands on) any
material you post here are instructed to e-mail such material to His
Gingerness/Turtleness/Greyness Himself and you will receive His Audience.
In the meantime Posthumous sends His poetic regards to us denizens of the
Realm in the form of the following poem:

A Moron in Springtime


I crossed a bridge and found upriver
another bridge.  I crossed the bridge
and continued upriver.

Across many bridges I found the head
of this great river in the mountains
fed by mountain snow.

I could not really trust my memory.
Spring could be the first spring ever
here inside the mountains.

I brought lunch in a paper baggy
and on the banks of this great river
I ate my lunch.

I had fish inside my sandwich
chopped up finely for a texture
pleasing to my mouth.

I had water in a thermos,
but it's warm now from the sunlight.
What shall I drink?


Posthumous O'Toole
11/16/92
From: rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Urdu Ignorance (part II)
Date: 18 Nov 92 18:59:11 GMT
Article-I.D.: alice.24229
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories, Murray Hill NJ



wprovinc@polyslo.csc.calpoly.edu writes
!>>>The business of the poet is Truth, not understanding.
!>
!>>   I find this difficult to swallow.  Before you can speak about
!>>"Truth", you must have an understanding of what the Truth is.  To
!>>make life more difficult, there is no guarantee that the world 
!>>can ever be completely intelligible to us.  It might be better
!>>therefore, to start with understanding, and only then worry about
!>>truth with a capitol T.
!>
!>How coarse and ignoble are those who confine themselves to the
!>pleasures of eating and drinking!
!>
!
!    What?

Why do you say it's difficult to swallow?   A figure of speech, no
doubt.

There's a confusion between figurative taste and actual tasting, is there not?
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Re: the day the music died
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Fri, 20 Nov 1992 02:00:03 GMT

lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter) writes:

>	[A true story, sort of.  You may need to be a Certain Age
>	 for this to mean anything.]


michael, you mean old enough to love and know allen ginsberg? i've
posted his poem at the end of yours. are the similarities a
coincedence?

sls   

>		the day the music died
>		-------------------------------------------------

>		buddy holly met elvis on aisle 5
>		over by the condiments
>		where john lennon was juggling
>		mustard and pickles 

>		something ...
>		something was in the air

>		the spirit of bob dylan
>		sat in shades strumming a broom
>		on the edge of a clacking freezer 
>		advertising fresh fish stix

>		vibrating ...
>		the air was vibrating

>		turning and turning, the
>		byrds ransacked the produce
>		tossing tomatoes ahead of 
>		their fast advance

>		music ...
>		it was supposed to be music

>		i noticed i was humming along
>		the ghosts disappeared
>		"oh my god!" i said, 
>		then, amazed, "bye, bye"

>				Michael Lichter
>				November 18, 1992


A Supermarket In California

by Allen Ginsberg


        What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit-
man, for i walked down the sidestreets under the trees
with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
        In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
your enumerations!
        What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families
shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives
in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!-and you,
Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the
watermelons?
        I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old
grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator
and eyeing the grocery boys.
        I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed
the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
        I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of
cans following you, and followed in my imagination
by the store detective.
        We strode down the open corridors together in
our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every
frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
        Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors
close in an hour. Which way does your beard point
tonight?
	(I touch your book and dream of our dyseey in
the supermarket and feel absurd.)
	Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
we'll both be lonely.
	Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent
cottage?
	Ah, dear father, graybeard, loney old courage-
teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit
poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank
and stood watching the boat disappear on the black
waters of Lethe?

(Berkeley 1955)





--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu