HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: tpl@eng.cam.ac.uk (Tim Love)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Children's Art
Date: 14 Dec 92 12:45:13 GMT
Organization: cam.eng


           Children's Art

Everything begins as a circle. When children
use shapes to represent objects there are 
new feelings of ownership, of pride, and a desire 
for preservation. After so long a journey I arrive 
one morning broken. I am returned to when grass
was green, the sky always blue, and the white gap between 
colonaded with parents and a house. My house.
 
Green ran out first because I always began that way.
You who think the snow so innocent, who fight
innocence with fire, should remember
the struggling boy coloring a snowman white 
on white on green. When nights were only in winter 
the moon became a hopeless polished grey
or a grubby sugarlump for seaside donkeys,
then a balloon with a broken string.
My dad bought that balloon for me. He showed
me how to do the moon first, then the black around.
I didn't understand but I trusted him. 

Each night before mother tucked me in I had to tell
her about my day, what I saw and drew -- 
not the blackness but anything that moved.
They've both gone. Uncles and aunties too,
purified into stone one by one. All that I'd 
entrusted to them has been restored.
I still write each night. The moon's flickerless
neon chases. My plea to the empty whiteness 
is returned by a house, our house, with you 
upstairs waving, tending window boxes 
that look just enough like babies' coffins.


Tim Love (tpl@eng.cam.ac.uk) 1992
C&C ok.
From: stevem@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: October Sunset
Keywords: Rose, Sans
Date: Mon, 14 Dec 92 22:53:26 PST
Reply-To: stevem@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us


(Please forgive the bbs rookie who types his poem twice to make sure it worked)

October Sunset

Down at the seaside
Rose tint fades from Autumn sky
The Merlot in my glass goes ruby red to black
And a chill moon rises over infinite, shifting waters.
Who's to say why they come and go?
These feelings like the rolling tide - 
In rhythmic assault
They breach my best defenses
Wash my sand castles back into the depths
And leave me here, speechless
To watch
The moon
And sea
And scattering clouds
Measuring out the length and breadth of my days.
From: jbartran@sciences.sdsu.edu (Jonathan Bartran)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: computer poem
Date: 11 Dec 1992 20:39:35 GMT
Organization: San Diego State University, College of Sciences
NNTP-Posting-Host: sciences.sdsu.edu
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL7]
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Of Venice, crossposting and the neapolitan cat.
Date: 14 Dec 92 20:08:20 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

Maria C. Perissinotto writes:

> By the way, so far also the follow-ups to _Venezia_ by Mary Anne,
> Tom and Annette have appeared on soc.culture.italian.
> As to the lovely poem about the neapolitan cat, I would like to
> ask Tom if he can also post a translation. And by the way, Tom,
> how come that you know neapolitan? And is the poem yours? I have
> never heard of it, but again, I am not a neapolitan literature
> expert.


yes, the poem is mine. i am glad that you liked it. neapolitan is so
wonderful...such sound. and the songs are so great, especially the
older ones, like the canto delle lavandaie del vomero from about 1200.
let me loosely translate that one. i dont have the original in front of
me, only in my head, and i cant remember all of it...


	you promised me four scarves
	...
	if not four, well, then give me two
	that one round your neck does not belong to you


isnt that a great theme? i dont really know neapolitan. just been there
many times. more than many times.

and then there is 'no police'. haha...not about cops. just about a guy
with a flea in his ear which wont let him sleep day or night, drives
him crazy. of course, it is the classical reference to being crazy
about a woman.

i posted a couple of...translations...by other people of my cat poem,
both -completely- accurate.  do you really want another? :) :)

maria did not crosspost to s.c.i., so i wont either.

tom




-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: aep2@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (AMY ELIZABETH PASECHNICK)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: DARKNESS (C&C WELCOME)
Date: 13 Dec 92 01:00:56 GMT
Organization: Lehigh University

In the dark
I think about you
 and what you could be doing.
Memories
 creep into my mind
 and I realize how apart we are.
We were always together
 but now I'm hereand you're there
 and I can't seem to reach you.
You seem too distant.
Especially since you were five minutes away
 and now the journey is five hours.
Time keeps slipping by
 without a thought
 and our memories are quickly fading.
We may soon find
 that it's been years
 and too late to see the light.

 --AMY
 Any opinions?
 aep2@Lehigh.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sharon@netlabs.com (Sharon Hopkins)
Subject: Christmas poem
Originator: sharon@doctor.netlabs.com
Organization: NetLabs, Inc.
Date: Thu, 17 Dec 1992 17:45:33 GMT


I won't be getting what I want for Christmas;
Some things can't be purchased from a store.
Old Santa and his elves can't bring me happiness:
The love of him I love, forevermore.

--Sharon Hopkins
  Dec. 17, 1992
From: pighetti2194@iscsvax.uni.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Evil Poem?
Date: 11 Dec 92 18:32:15 -0600
Organization: University of Northern Iowa

As yet I speak, my mind still walks
And by candle lit moon I be
Through every step this demon glows
Through glassy eyes I see

I begin to stalk that of no good
And fall victim to my dreams
That in this once, evil light
My conscience strains to scream

Through altered glass I see my fate
It is too late to stop now
And yet my mind begins to burn
Of feelings I do not allow

Can I live through my faults
Will I walk again
And will my dreams carry me to
What waits me at the end?


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: darice@yoyo.cc.monash.edu.au (Fred Rice)
Subject: One Tram-stop from Sanity
Summary: revolution through limerick composition
Keywords: poem, poetry, post-modern limerick
Organization: Monash University, Melb., Australia.
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1992 02:38:23 GMT


Here's a poem I'm posting for a friend of mine.
He's quite an accomplished poet, as you will see.
However, certain persons consider his poems to be a threat to the laid-
back Australian way of life, so understandably, he has received many
death-threats.  It is for this reason that the original author of the
following artistic limerick must remain anonymous.

One Tram-stop from Sanity    a poem by Mr. Evergreen Treeleaf (pseudonym)
=========================
There once was a man from Melbourne
Who did things to make your stomach churn
On rec.arts.poems
He posted his scrotums
But he had one more left, for future fu(r)n.

Copyright (c) 1992 by Mr. Evergreen Treeleaf


Commentary:
==========
You may have noticed that the last word on the last line doesn't quite fit.
That's because the author of this poem is a member of the infamous
"post-modern limerick" movement.

 Fred Rice (posting for Mr. Evergreen Treeleaf)
 darice@yoyo.cc.monash.edu.au   

Disclaimer: I am not a member of the post-modern limerick movement, so
please remember that I am not a threat to the laid-back Australian way
of life.
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:12836 soc.culture.italian:5379
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,soc.culture.italian
Subject: Re: Venezia / F. Guccini (Italia, English translation)
Date: 14 Dec 92 19:50:00 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

Annette Dexter writes:

> Tom Wachtel writes:
> 
> >        Nuotte e juorno, juorno e nuotte, 'o gatto miezzo pazzo
> >        Va ricenno "Aggia truva' 'na gatta 'miez' 'a chiazza!"
> >        Abbasc', 'ngopp', a manca, a desta, nun truova cchiu' nisciuna.
> >        Se 'ngrife pe' melancunia, maleretta sta furtuna.
> 
> >this is a rap repost from may 91, but i hope you forgive me, as it is
> >the only thing i have ever written in neapolitan.
> 
> 	But you posted it without including the delightful translations...!
> ("Nuts and journals", if I recall rigthly).  Does anyone have them?


oh, yes, thanks for reminding me. i had forgotten. there were two
translations. one from brian ross and one from shari landes. here they
are:

# From: bjr@aifh.ed.ac.uk (Brian J Ross)
# Date: 22 May 91 14:12:30 GMT
# 
#  don't exactly know Italian, but here's a loose translation
# of the above. Probably.
# 
#           Nuts and journals, journals and nuts, oh my cake pizza
# 	  My rice in agricultural travels isn't cake with chives!
#           Glops of Basque manta rays, destinations, nun travels with 
# 	     an itchy niece.
# 	  I gripe with melancholy, malicious stamp fortunes.


# From: shari@room.Princeton.EDU (Shari L. Landes)
# Date: 23 May 91 00:27:05 GMT
# 
# I think that this may be an even looser translation:
# 
#            Nutty day, nutty day, o cat on the piazza
#              He eats rice angerly and is fed up to his chiazza!
#            Basking, he gobbles, he eats, he leaves to see a nun in a truck
#              He gripes, he's sorrowful, and it's my bad luck.


hahaha... :) :)  they are perfect, both of them. :)








-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: When Isolde was dying... / Halina Poswiatowska / trans: Marek
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Thu, 17 Dec 1992 04:01:11 GMT


Closing poem in Selected Poems.  Probably last poem.

The original is in paragraph form as quoted here.
 
				-- Marek
 
Polish original (c) 1975 Wydawnictwo Literackie, Krakow, Poland, of
Halina Poswiatowska's last (?) poem, the untitled p. 422 of 1989's
_Wiersze Wybrane_ (Kiedy Izolda umierala...)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Kiedy Izolda umierala, Tristan pochylal sie nad szpitalnym
lozkiem, reka miekka i chlodna dotykal rozpalonego czola.
Podawal oddech z wlasnych ust i pila Izolda zycie z odde-
chu kochanka.
Podtrzymywal jej osuwajaca sie glowe, waskie, szczuple ple-
cy.  Obojczyki wychudle podnosily sie spiesznie, aby nadazyc
za oddechem.  Serce bilo predko, nierowno.  Izolda zaciskala
palce wokol reki Tristana.
Przemow do mnie -- prosila -- chce slyszec twoj glos, je-
szcze moge slyszec -- mowila.
Milczal Tristan i umarla slepa Izolda przyciskajac usta do
rak kochanka.
Ktore miekkie byly i chlodne.
 
 
 
English translation
of Halina Poswiatowska's last poem,
the untitled p. 422 of  1989's
_Wiersze Wybrane_ (When Isolde was dying...)
--------------------------------------------------------------
 
When Isolde was dying, Tristan would bend over her hospital
bed and touch her with his soft, cool hand placed on her burning forehead.
He would give her his own breath and she would drink life
from her lover's breath.
He would support her falling head, her narrow, lithe back.
Her clavicles so emaciated would lift frantically, to
keep up with her breathing.  Her heart would beat fast and uneven.
Isolde would tighten her fingers around Tristan's hand.
Talk to me -- she would ask -- I want to hear your voice, I can
still hear -- she would say.
Tristan would be silent and she died, the blind Isolde, pressing
her lips to the hands of her lover.
Which were soft and cool.
 
			English translation, draft
 
			Marek Lugowski
			25 October 1990
			Cincinnati

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter)
Subject: Re: Paper, imagery, martin
Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department
Date: Sat, 12 Dec 92 03:34:52 GMT

sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Danny-Boy) writes:
>
>[free flow thought]
>
>[...many words deleted...]
>
>This all makes a painting and a paper sculpture 
>that is beautiful.
>
>
>Where was martin going? Was her mom crazy 
>and did Martin beleive her? A Path. Under trees 
>naturally. But notice the over there is not under 
>trees, o yes it was, but will it be here? it should 
>be. We will call it Path. Is Martin's mother ever 
>young? How did she grow up? Where does she 
>work? I see, she was so different as a child.

The bulk of this is very pretty, very pleasant.  When you get to
"[Mm]artin", though, you lose me.  The "paper" and the "imagery" may be
different thoughts, but they are about "you" and there is no real
disjunction; really they support each other.   Martin appears out of
nowhere, and perhaps "Path" is in the same trees "you" were looking
at out the window, but the connection is not very solid, a thin thread
instead of the firm rope I expect.

Perhaps because this is "free flow thought", you meant three seperate
pieces, and the conjunction of the first two is accidental, leading me to
false expectations abou the third?

General Question: how obligated do you-all feel not to confuse or lose
the reader?  

Personally, I want to write so that at least the average college
student, and maybe even the average high school student can understand
and make sense of what I'm saying.  I don't mind saying things that are
not completely comprehensible as long as their general sense gets
through.

Furthermore, I don't want to say something in one part of a poem which
leads people to assume something which I later show not to be the case,
unless I want to make a point about peoples' assumptions.  

Maybe this is too trivial to discuss, but I thought I'd toss it out ...

Michael
From: aep2@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (AMY ELIZABETH PASECHNICK)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: will you pass right by?
Date: 15 Dec 92 18:15:07 GMT
Organization: Lehigh University

In article <lyra.724278096@camelot>, lyra@camelot.bradley.edu (Heather Loresch)
writes:
>
>
>If I told you I cared
>what would you do?
>Whould you accept me,
>would you reject me,
>would you let it pass right by?
>There is so much in my heart
>but I am so afraid to tell you.
>If you rejected me,
>my heart would die.
>My emotions are so fragile,
>you could crush my every dream
>and my confidence with a single word.
>If I were to lose your friendship
>I don't know what I'd do.
>Do I tell you how I feel,
>do I lie and say it's just friendship,
>do I let you pass right by?
>My head spins and my heart jumps.
>I think of the things that could happen
>if I told you and you felt the same.
>I run to tell you,
>but then
>I stop.
>What if you don't feel the same,
>what if it bothers you,
>what if you let me pass right by?
>Confusion is the only thing I'm sure of,
>and my nerves are pulled tight.
>Life hasn't been easy for me.
>I'm still trying to get on my feet.
>Should I give you the chance to tear me down,
>should I grab for possible happiness,
>should I let it pass right by?
>Confidence is not my strong point,
>and the idea that you could care for me
>seems very ludicrous.
>But sometimes I see a look in your eyes
>that sets my heart fluttering
>and raises my hopes.
>Am I just fooling myself?
>I must be seeing something
>but maybe it's my imagination.
>Do I like with this confusion,
>do I talk and invite despair,
>do I let it pass right by?
>All of my life I've run away,
>let every opportunity pass right by.
>Do I dare take the chance now?
>All I know for sure is I love you.
>There are words I can say
>to make you feel the same.
>If only I could find them
>I'd tell them to you.
>I could at last be happy.
>But I don't know how to find the words,
>so I'll let you pass right by.
>
>     -hal
>
>
>this is my first posting here, so please be gentle!!! honest, but
>gentle if there is such a thing. i would love some feedback.
>thanks!
>
>lyra@camelot.bradley.edu
>

I wrote to the author personally, but wanted everyone to know how much I
appreciated this poem.

I had first read the poem because the title sounded interesting.
As I read, I realized that what was written was exactly what went through my
mind last night as I decided to give up on a "guy friend" who thought of me as
a friend as far as I knew.  I found out he and his ex-girlfriend had decided
to see other people, but I know he won't.
When I got back to my dorm last night, I tried to write my feelings, but
couldn't.  I just didn't know how to say it.

I would just like to say thank you in "public" for allowing me to see my
feelings in black and white, because I couldn't do it.
Congrats on the poem.

--AMY
aep2@Lehigh.edu
From: math1rb@rosie.uh.edu (92F07486)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Thick Glass
Date: 15 Dec 1992 12:12 CST
Organization: University of Houston
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: rosie.uh.edu
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41    

Any comments welcome...

This is from the "early" days


		"Thick Glass"

balanced river flowing through the valley,
heart sinks like the madman 
justly holding onto the daydream,
surrender the celestial flowers

i feel the nail drive into my 
soul
i feel the heart beat explode
one thing i can tell you
you got to take control, got to be bold

rain of the starving
orbiting, oblivioius to the thunder
floating fearlessly on the high tide of grass
carressing the flame

************************************************************************
**                            **                                      **
**   David C. Meyers          **  "I'm looking California,            **
**                            **    and feeling Minnesota..."         **
**   MATH1RB@JETSON.UH.EDU    **                  - Cornell           **
**                            **                                      **
************************************************************************
From: jstc_ss@troi.cc.rochester.edu (Justin M. Collins)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem:  A Star (modified)...  Please Read
Date: 13 Dec 92 03:24:42 GMT
Organization: University of Rochester - Rochester, New York


      a star

a star shined in the distance
I strived to reach it
the warmth and love pulled me towards
I reached out to touch

the twinkle caught my eye
I smiled in return
the beauty struck me with awe
I finally felt love

the star beckoned me to touch
I reached out with love
the star invited me in
We became one

yet something was a miss
I shivered with fear
the star moved from my touch
I did not understand

as the star left my gaze
I wandered alone realizing
this star was not meant for me
yet I often look into the
   night looking for that star

-------------------------------

I made some changes to the poem I posted before, I would VERY much like
people's comments and criticisms.  I was a little disappointed that only
one person commented to me last time.  Thanks...

peace,
-justin
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alk4@ellis.uchicago.edu (Alex L. Karan)
Subject: For Phil, who thinks me serious
Reply-To: alk4@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Sat, 12 Dec 1992 18:27:53 GMT

Poet Karan, Chosen 
to Produce a Poem to Change the World
--------------------------------------



Stepped with one word
onto the page:

"I"

and felt the pen
shrink in his hand.

Promptly, he chose
to change the word.



Alex L. Karan

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: kt1@herahera.cc.bellcore.com (tellefsen,karen a)
Subject: to zephyrus / Karen+Marek
Organization: Bellcore, Livingston, NJ
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 92 14:49:34 GMT



		to zephyrus
		-------------------------------------------------------------

		when i was young, pimpled, awkward
		i pretended we walked together
		soft hand brushing unwanted cheek
		you, never showing your face
		fearing I would get madder than already mad
		
		but your unsubstantial kisses 
		could not keep me
		
		so i forgot you in a fit of reality
		regained my sanity
		
		still sometimes late at night 
		the lights of the middle class
		are not so delightful
		and I have you moan outside my window
		
		reminding me
		
		
			Karen Tellefsen / Marek Lugowski
			15 December 1992
			Morristown, New Jersey / Chicago, Illinois

------------------------------------------------------------------
 The news poster gives a bad address;
 send e-mail to kt1@cc.bellcore.com  or  kt1@hera.cc.bellcore.com
 or it will be lost in the ascii aether.
 Karen Tellefsen


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: creche for absent shepherds, / Marie Coffin
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Sun, 13 Dec 1992 01:22:08 GMT


	creche for absent shepherds,
	------------------------------------------------------------
	
	the old water tower
	thrusts upward on curved silver struts
	
	not painted some earthly green
	as a modern one would be,
	or striped like a hot air balloon,
	it's shiny, a prop space-opera rocket,
	progress with a capital P
	from back when progress was a dream.
	it glitters an unplanned beauty
	against the midnight sky.
	
	soon it will snow and she'll walk
	a twelve year old girl
	with a long-haired white dog
	and a fur-trimmed hood
	giving her cheekbones to the wind
	soaking in the flakes,
	the tower, the evening star,
	all glitter, with a tightness
	in her chest.
	
	this is the ice age of innocence.


Marie Coffin
December 12, 1992
	
	

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: Several words about posting...
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1992 03:10:36 GMT

In article <1992Dec14.130635.2154@newstand.syr.edu>, keneuner@rodan.acs.syr.edu
(Kathleen E. Neuner) writes:
> 
> 	I would like to point out for you folks how well you have illustrated my
points.  The people who objected to my comments, not surprisingly, used teh net
> 	to do so...  this of course neglects teh fact that, if someone listens to
what I said, they WOULD USE MAIL.
> 
> 
	[...bunch of blather deleted...]

> 	Have a nice day, and thank you for proving my point.
> 
> 	btw: So far, I have gotten 5 copies of my own letter over RAP
> 	therefore, You also proved my point about not knowing how NOT to
> 	include every word (ok, ONE was truncated, I admit, to be honest).
> 
> 
> 			Sincerely, 
> 
> 					Keith
> 					 

Gosh, Keith, did you forget to take your happy pills, or what?  I don't even
remember your original post, despite the 5 copies that were posted to rap.  

*kiss*  Have a great day, Keith, ok?


	-- Marie

P.s. I posted this to rap, because from the tone of your post, I'm guessing
it'll make you foam at the mouth.  

P.p.s. You're so fond of logic:  did you ever think that maybe people listened
to what you said but didn't give a damn?


Ok, now here's my poem.  I'm sure it has nothing to do with you.



		ode to cheer up an estranged lover sitting in the dark
		-------------------------------------------------------------

		oh, estranged lover!  sitting in the dark!
		hark!  we sense much better times approaching
		neither a mope nor a basket case
		be
		you see, there is a lot more to life than 
		that special body
		 
		you don't feel like having any qualities at all
		you are very tired
		you feel small and you have sired much thought
		of late
		you are distraught and you ache
		 
		but, oh, estranged lover
		there is so much yet to experience
		 
		trust our confidence
		we know that you will discover
		new loves  (and that they will dump you, but never mind
		that
		for now)
		 
		cheer up, estranged lover, good doobie,
		goddammit, cheer up.
		 
		2.
		 
		oh, estranged lover!  sorrow is not still!
		don't worry!  sorrow sneaks in quietly,
		but when it wraps its lean fingers
		around your throat,
		you won't see a thing.
		 
		whatever is moving,
		estranged lover,
		whatever you see,
		it is not sorrow.
		maybe it's tomorrow,
		walking into your room
		so, cheer up.
		 
		maybe it will show you the colors of its cunt.
		 
 
			Marek Lugowski / Marie Coffin
			10 July 1992
			Cincinnati, Ohio / Ames, Iowa
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems