HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: glj27240@uxa.cso.uiuc.edu (the cult of Carrie )
Subject: re:  the business of poetry (0)
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Tue, 14 Apr 1992 15:57:04 GMT


i think the term was 'patently ridiculous'... 
					      
					      actually 'womyn' is a
perfect point of departure from within this varitable maelstrom (and
myself 'East' i suppose) whose points point in a myriad direction. 
first merely as one 'imagined' phalanx among many within a system
(machine) with little regard to the matter which, taken up (as is
occuring in/amongst some communities) would indeed make it such;
secondly it is a decent 'point of departure' in accordance with what
has already been said, or suggested, on the matter -- pointedly
Barthes on Sade(& etc.) and the necessary liberation [of whomever]
from the sociopolitical bondage of the machine.   considering the
former an apt phrase (of Mr. Green's) i have little suspicion due
his caustic irony in this instance.  but this "secondly" will have
to have its own post, after i eat: "... .... .... ...".  Not quite
as depicted, still, not a poem to be overlooked anyway.  The first
(above) is merely a matter of positing yourself (assuming awareness:
i mean this as a self-action, a _choice_, rather than the argument
or consideration of category by happenstance) a positing, then, of
onself either within or without the system.   r hardin's post which
ended "Men like to be crushed." seemed to suggest at least a form
of this awareness in its recognition of the 'majority', not as to
mere numbers, specifically the language of the media which here works
or is propagated by fundaments as our own dear government.  i don't
want this to sound sketchy:  i mean exactly that underlying language
is the same, that of the capitalist patriarchy and etc. etc. already
mentioned.  on the other hand, we need not feel so optimistic, if that
was ever our thought.  we also encounter these two jems:

  " ... I wonder why I should be motivated to care that groups
    other than the one I am in have no language? "   

    doug


and of course the "This is patently ridiculous" paragraph.  a post
appropriately enough signed:

Andrew Aiken

"Ideology:  the science of idiocy"  -- John Adams


Madison was also mentioned in the post.  (Oh... but that was a long time
ago.  - sorry, old joke.)  yet i wonder if this chad isn't also a consti-
tutionalist.  but i wonder even more what he means by "mankind as divorced
from nature"  only the incredibleness of this "nature" actually meaning to
signify a certain 'state of things' - i.e. the relationship of "people...
(and) their masters", i.e. this patriarchial machine and those who don't
fit into its dominate class; keep me from trying to see what it apprears
is there.  well, a little more than appears when Madison and John Adams,
two of the 'symbolic', and literal - founders of this great patriarchy
we've inherited are dragged up to 'support case in point'.   All i can
say, in the words of Scarry Harry, is  holy holy shit! 

 ....just say it ain't so


[the rest in (1)]




-- 
							 
                                                  the cult of Carrie
From: RSA@SSCVAX.CIS.MCMASTER.CA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Help: polish this poem!
Date: 12 Apr 92 22:38:00 GMT

I wrote the following poem (?) for someone special. But
it needs a finishing touch. I would appreciate if some
one  could modify it into more presentable form. 
I have never taken any literature courses, (just reading) and
my and my friends first language is not english so be gentle
with it.

Thanks in advance,
--
Ron

----------Poem-------------------------------------              
              A Wish

We sit on a rock in the western beach of
a tropical island
Sun is disappearing in the sea and the infinity
is putting on her evening red dress
tides kiss the shore and go back reluctantly.
breeze make your hair dance to a rhythm
I slowly touch your hands and hold them tightly
so that you would not disappear with the sun.
You smile and it is like saying I will never leave you.
the moon is ready to start his night shift.  
Is it the moon light or your smile made everything look
like we are on our little paradise?
I look at your eyes hoping to see the world from
your eyes.
But the deep shinning look in your eyes make me tell
you every little secret in my life. 
I tell myself that if there is a supreme power please
make this moment last forever.
-----------------------------------------------------
From: henning@acsu.buffalo.edu (Karl acrid Henning)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: rec-arts-pain, a prose mumble
Date: 17 Apr 92 13:33:20 GMT
Organization: UB

Sharon Hopkins writes:

>melynda writes:

>>... i realise that i only spoke of women in pain. perhaps men too can know
>>pain and not in purely intellectual or metaphorical ways. but men do not know
>>the vocabulary of pain that women have endured for millenia.

>>                                   melynda too tired for tears

>Melynda, I do not doubt the pain you have witnessed.  But I'm sorry, I do not
>buy the "Our pain is better than your pain" argument.  "Men do not know the
>vocabulary of pain that women have endured for millenia."  Heck, I'm not sure
>that *I* know that vocabulary.

>But I've watched men cry, men trained that they must not cry, must not weep,
>must not show weakness.  I've watched a man trying not to faint after his
>toddler's fingers were smashed in a door (by another sibling, accidentally),
>blushing with embarrassment at his unacceptable weakness.

I've seen (and continue to see) individuals, some of whom
are men, others women.  The aggregate of individuals belonging
to either sex do not now (and I wonder if /ever/ they did)
behave in a sexually-determined uniform manner -- despite
any shadowy "statistical majority";  not to judge from /my/
observations, anyway -- maybe I've dealt with a statistically
insignificant small sampling.

A person feels his own pain;  this person can also empathize
with others in his acquaintance who feel pain.  Only in one's
spooked imagination can one feel a pain "endured for millenia"
(nobody lives long enough);  and only in one's spooked
imagination does one attribute the behavior of an individual
to the entire sex of that individual.

When one ceases to approach men & women on an individual,
case-by-case basis, he becomes a little more mechanized,
a little less human -- binary, zero or one, male or female
and the catalogue of attendant behaviors and traits which
inevitably follow, we can cauterize that section of the
brain and replace it with a silicon-chip, it will serve
just as nicely for such a simplistic decision.

This way to the anaesthetic, ladies & gentlemen.

kph

ps/  what's "pain"?

pps/  just kidding
-- 
 The violent Russian spring that seemed []	 Karl Prescott Henning
  to begin in an hour and was like the  []  128 Hewitt/upper [] 57 Glasgow st
   whole earth cracking. -- Stravinsky  []  Bflo NY 14215    [] Roch NY 14608
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:4404 talk.bizarre:10680
From: richh@tigger.jvnc.net (RICHH)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,talk.bizarre
Subject: HOLY SHIT! EMAIL IS COOL!
Date: 9 Apr 92 23:42:39 GMT
Article-I.D.: tigger.1992Apr9.234239.20624
Followup-To: alt.personals.Blake
Organization: JvNCnet
Originator: richh@tigger.jvnc.net

The subject was:  ANIMAL SEEKS ANIMAL
But that in no way prepares one for what is to follow.

In alt.personals
dipster@wam.umd.edu (Sandip Dasgupta) writes:

>       The day was ended, his head hung towards the floor
>       Like pungent molasses it had oozed much like the day before
<WOW--killer start, dude!>

>       The blood in his his veins was electric torrid and hot
>       He always had an outlet for his passions ...... NOT!
<NOT!  You know, I will say one thing:  the boy knows his meter.
 Oops, I meant 'peter'>

>       Around him the world hung insipid and grey
>       forcing him to dance in delusions of a sunnier day
<Let us dance then, you and I, as the delusions spread out against the
 sky...>

>       The people he touched were loyal, warm and true 
>       His friend circle had once been a bubbling motley crew.
<Do NOT taunt Happy Friend Circle.  But without Vince Neil, his friend circle 
 was just a shell of its former self>

>       Yet as time wore on they drifted and strayed
>       and the foundation for feelings of loneliness were laid
<yeah yeah yeah whatever whatever>

>       He became introspective, and made a playground of his head
>       the people he met were objects; he wished them all dead.
<I do believe that this is an excellent tack for attracting women.
 Pretend to be a serial killer.  Oh how they MELT!>

>       The idea of making a living loomed high and bore down
>       On this uncertified loon, this self proclaimed clown
<Run with it, Henry>

>       He became obsessed with experiencing things before much 
>       more time dragged on
>       hang on a second.. I gotta go to the john
<Hee.  Time out for comedy.>

>       He chanced upon a world, its elements were remote 
>       "Holy shit! e-mail is cool" - thats a direct quote.
<!!!>

>       So bite all ye fishes in this USENET sea, 
>       Reply to this posting and correspond with me.
<Will do, Otis, will do.>

WOW!  So, you think he'll see any action?

RICHH
--"That's a direct quote."
Oh, it is to hurl.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: comptec91072@camins.camosun.bc.ca
Subject: Re: Reserving Rights on your poetry
Organization: Camosun College
Date: Tue, 14 Apr 1992 22:46:36 GMT

In article <9204141625.AA22420@ucbvax.Berkeley.EDU>, CCPHIL@UMCVMB.MISSOURI.EDU (Phil Leith) writes:
> 
> Ok, suppose you write a poem, somebody takes it and makes it their own,
> and maybe even publishes it.
> 
> Say one day, you want to publish a book, for WHATEVER reason (maybe
> to give to your friends... after all, who else wants to read it, right?)
> and somebody else has a copyright on something YOU wrote - now you can't
> even call it your own.  To me, poetry is to be shared, but it is not a
> gift, it is something very personal.  If you want to reserve your rights
> to do with your poetry what you will in the future, *I* don't have a
> problem with it.
>                                               Phil Leith

The easiest way to copyright anything is to mail it (registered mail is best)
to yourself. And of course, don't open it. That way your material is dated via
the post office. It only costs the price of a postage stamp. Also, a post office
stamp across the seam of the envelope is proof positive that your material was
indeed yours on the date put on the stamp
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Yes, I Will Drink of You    --MAB, 4/5/92
From: mabruscani@amherst.edu
Date: 5 Apr 92 19:56:49 GMT
Organization: Amherst College, Amherst, MA.

	        Yes, I shall drink of you
	        -------------------------

		If our elements were changed,
	one soul made unstrange to other skin,
	you should know my want and name
		as kin of yours.

	I desire religion, a sameness of selves:
	How many times, I cannot tell,
	has your image uttered this to mine:
		Drink of me and I shall quench you.

	Quench me, then.  Peel away the flesh,
	and show me your God-ness in water. 
	Here for you is mine, in air.
	And there -- though our elements unsame -- 
		how Divine we are. 

		Yes, I shall drink of you. 
	And when I am cold earth under grass and stone,
	or fired ashes thrown against the wind,
	I will let you take my breathly essence in,
		and make us whole.

			
				--Marisa A. Bruscani, 4/5/92

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: dfs30@duts.ccc.amdahl.com (Denise Solis)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: hardly any unicorns (sorry..)
Date: 15 Apr 92 14:53:04 GMT
Reply-To: dfs30@DUTS.ccc.amdahl.com (PUT YOUR NAME HERE)
Organization: Amdahl Corporation, Sunnyvale CA

In article <casteley.703342294@groucho.phil.ruu.nl> casteley@phil.ruu.nl (Eric Casteleyn) writes:
>
>
>  the voices are back
>  in tune with my thoughts
>  the rythm of my breath
>  too slow to understand
>
>  different levels of garden
>  I am a catlike shadow
>  until I reach the water
>  and plunge into the lake
>
>  I raise one hand
>  a raindrop hits my fingertip
>  grasping for the sky
>  my hands are washed away


 I don't know what this poem is about but I love the last verse

          I raise one hand
          a raindrop hits my fingertip
          grasping for the sky
          my hands are washed away

 Maybe it's my aquarian nature but I like the air and water thing.
 I visualize someone becomming the water, unfortunatly againts their
  will. Nice use of words though.

--
=========================================================================
  All poetry posted is Copyright protected, anything else is just talk.
  "Tis true; theres magic in the web of it." dfs30@DUTS.ccc.amdahl.com
=========================================================================
From: sik@cs.uow.edu.au (The 24hr man)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,k12.art
Subject: May Helleren - SECRETS
Date: 11 Apr 92 04:05:36 GMT
Organization: SikSW, Dept-Comp-Sci, Uni-Of-W'gong, NSW 2500, AUSTRALIA
Sik-Disclamer: I don't know what I'm talking about!

I am posting the following on behalf of my 15 year old daughter:

----------------------------------------------------------------
                        SECRETS
----------------------------------------------------------------

VERSE 1
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TELL YOUR SO CALLED FRIEND A SECRET,
WHO TELLS IT TO HER BEST FRIEND, WHO TELLS THE NEXT IN LINE.
AND AROUND AND AROUND A CIRCLE GOES YOUR LITTLE SECRET,
THE ONE THAT I SHARED WITH YOU, THE SECRET THAT WAS MINE.

YOU TOLD THEM YOUR LITTLE SECRET BECAUSE YOU TRUSTED THEM,
SO THEY TOLD THEIR BEST FRIEND WHO THEY ALSO TRUSTED TOO.
BUT NOW THE WHOLE WORLD KNOWS YOUR TINY LITTLE SECRET,
SO EVERYBODYUS TEASING YOU AND THEREUS NOTHING YOU CAN DO.

CHORUS
TWO PEOPLE HAVE A SECRET, TO SHARE AMONG THEMSELVES.
ONE PERSON PUTS THEIR TRUST, INTO THEIR CLOSEST FRIEND,
AND THEY HOPE THEY UNDERSTAND, THAT THIS IS VERY SPECIAL,
BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE KNOWS THE MESSAGE THAT THEY SEND.

VERSE 2
YOU SEARCH AROUND HELPLESSLY FOR SOMEONE YOU CAN TALK TO 
BUT THEY WONUT TALK TO YOU, TO THEM ITUS JUST A MIME.
IT DIDNUT OCCUR TO YOU THAT THEY WERE NOT YOUR FRIENDS  
THE ONES YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD TRUST UNTIL THE END OF TIME.

BUT NOW YOU KNOW ITUS OVER, WHAT A SILLY MISTAKE TO MAKE,
ITUS ALL YOUR OWN FAULT, YOU SHOULD THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK,
HANG ON FOR JUST A MINUTE, HOW WERE YOU SUPPOSED TO KNOW, 
ITUS NOT YOUR FAULT, THEYURE THE ONES WHO ACTED REALLY SLEEK.

CHORUS

VERSE 3
HOW COULD YOU NOT TRUST THEM, THEY TRICKED YOU DIDNUT THEY,
I DONUT THINK ANYONE KNOWS THAT THEYURE A BUNCH OF FAKES.
YOU WALKED WITH THEM AND TALKED, AND FELL INTO THEIR TRAP
NOW TELL EVERYONE ABOUT THEM FOR YOUR BODYUS FULL OF ACHES.

THEYURE THE ONES WHO HURT YOU SO WHY DONUT YOU GET THEM BACK,
IULL TELL YOU WHY YOU DONUT, YOU DONUT ACT THE WAY THEY DO,
YOU ARE AN HONEST PERSON, WITH A REPUTATION TO MAINTAIN,
MOVE AWAY FROM THERE, BECAUSE WHAT THEY DID HAS HURT YOU.

CHORUS 

VERSE 4
JUST LIVE A NORMAL LIFE AND TRY TO FORGET WHAT THEY DID,
I KNOW ITUS HARD TO, BUT JUST TRY AND DO YOUR BEST.
DONUT JUST TRY AND FORGET THE THINGS THAT THEY HAVE DONE.
TRY TO FORGET ABOUT THEM AND ALSO ALL THE REST.

BECAUSE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IS GOING TO MAKE THEM REGRET
EVERYTHING THEY DID TO MAKE YOU LOOSE YOUR FRIENDS,
THEIR GOING TO LOOSE MORE THAN YOU EVER LOST,
AND TO THEM THE LOOSING NEVER ENDS.

                            May Helleren - April 1992
----------------------------------------------------------------
This work Copyright 1992 by May Helleren.  Comments are welcome.
----------------------------------------------------------------

Stein - sik@cs.uow.edu.au
'How much is the busfare for my rabbit?' - Robert Atkinson
From: dfs30@duts.ccc.amdahl.com (Denise Solis)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Have I lived Before?
Keywords: Have I Lived Before?
Date: 13 Apr 92 14:51:29 GMT
Reply-To: dfs30@DUTS.ccc.amdahl.com (Denise)
Organization: Amdahl Corporation, Sunnyvale CA



      Have I Lived Before?
      ---------------------------------------------------

      I sometimes feel
      gravity pulling at my feet,
      riptide energy
      keeping me Earthbound
      A mortal soul.

      Yet there is a knowing of a kind,
      a semi-visual dreaming,
      a remembering,
      when I look deep into your eyes
      of being more than what I am.

      I know we have met before
      in a place or time unknown to me now.
      My material existance
      a shadow
      where eternity dances.

      The desert sun
      is familiar to me,
      though city born and caged.

      Have I lived before?
      Were you there
      When the wind blew hot across the sand
      and kings were gods?
      Or an I dreaming
      when I see
      the Tigris in a vision
      and eternity in your eyes?



--
=========================================================================
  All poetry posted is Copyright protected, anything else is just talk.
  "Tis true; theres magic in the web of it." dfs30@DUTS.ccc.amdahl.com
=========================================================================
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: glj27240@uxa.cso.uiuc.edu (the cult of Carrie )
Subject: Re: john wesley hardin
Keywords: was a friend to the poor
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Wed, 15 Apr 1992 20:12:17 GMT

rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin) writes:

>I was alluding to Cavell's analyses, and the reaction to it, of

>Now Voyager
>Stella Dallas
>Letter from an Unknown Woman
>Gaslight
>Adam's Rib
>Blonde Venus

{etc.}

>and the reaction from Modleski

{etc.}

>to which Cavell's response was what I gave to you.  How could I
>not think of it?

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 inanity of which (and i implicate this post too, hapily) could
be used around here, perhaps



>Critical Inquiry v16 n2, v17 n1
>Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome, the Constitution of Emersonian
>	Perfectionism.  The Carus Lectures, 1988
>Languages of the Unsayable, the play of negativity in literature and
>	literary theory
-- 
							 
                                                  the cult of Carrie
From: crystal@glia.biostr.washington.edu (crystal)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Rainy Day Thoughts Series #1 -> #5
Date: 17 Apr 92 19:11:26 GMT
Organization: University of Washington


 
       Rainy Day Thought  #1
           (Change)
  
Darkened clouds and thunderstorms,
The torrential rains of life
Are but catalysts for change.
 
Monsoon cloudbursts and sudden hail
On rainsoaked depths of past pain
Are but floodgates to insight.
 
Ponds and puddles and muddy pools
In the floodplains of awareness
Are but mirrors of wisdom.
 
1-29-92
 
How tears, anger, and memories all trigger insights for me to work on in my
growth phase.
 
 
 
       Rainy Day Thought  #2
           (Hope)
 
Torrential rains and mini-showers
Have opened the floodgates of change,
As each new awareness or insight
Bubbles and boils and forces its way
Over the falls into the serene pool below.
 
In the mists that rise above the roar,
I have seen the rainbow there below.
A fleeting glimpse when the sun's just right;
A hope for the pot of gold at the end;
And the celebration that is me!
 
1-29-92
 
About how much I know I will like the person I am becoming.
 
 
       Rainy Day Thought  #3
          (Privacy)
 
The rain swollen dam has burst wide open;
Its river overflowing its boundaries
Encroaching on the territories of others.
It cannot know that it is out of place;
Nor how far its muddy fingers reach;
Until Nature's firmness takes a stand -
And gently coaxes it back
To a more civilized domain.
 
1-29-92
 
For an ACOA, other people's boundaries are difficult to comprehend. This poem
helped me understand. ;>.
 
 
       Rainy Day Thought #4
        (Relationships)
      
A patch of sun peeks through the clouds.
A shining ray taps my shoulder
And shows me that the rainbow exists -
If only I can find the proper angle
From which to view it.
 
1-29-92
 
A very special colorful character in my life. From what angle was he coming?
Something I needed to know, and finally found out months later.
 
 
       Rainy Day Thought #5
        (Self-Awareness)
 
The rainbow is everywhere at all times
But the degree of our awareness
Is the key towards seeing it.
 
1-29-92
 
Just a bit of profound wisdom...
 
 
Three guesses as to what the weather had been like here in Seattle... ;>
 
 
All written at once in a sort of jumble. Uncertain as to whether it was one
poem or many til I started trying to sort out the lines to see where it all
led. (Thank Bast for word processors!) I see there were many things on my
mind at lunchtime that day, thoughts all flowing like the water that was 
currently struggling and fighting its way over Snoqualmie Falls...
 
 
Jumbled thoughts
Race to the edge
Spilling over the waterfall
Into the turbulent pool
Of unfinished literature...
 
11-16-91
 
 
(Sometimes I think I think too much, at least, I think I think... *grin*)
 
       Crystal
(The rain-soaked water nymph)
        ;>
From: Ralph.Cherubini@f10.n382.z1.FidoNet.Org (Ralph Cherubini)
Sender: uucp@p0.f39.n382.z1.FidoNet.Org
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--Join the Club
Date: 10 Apr 92 09:50:46 EST

 

I loved you so much

and I cry the child who is still within,

I don't know how to be other than I am,

and I can't deny the truth of your beauty

there is no place to hide

and I am naked with my pain

and there is nothing to be done

because I have become a human being.

 


 * Origin: Connect America #5, Austin, Tx, 512-459-3351 (1:382/10.0)

From: Ralph.Cherubini@f10.n382.z1.FidoNet.Org (Ralph Cherubini)
Sender: uucp@p0.f39.n382.z1.FidoNet.Org
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--In the Loft
Date: 14 Apr 92 12:49:53 EST

                        In the Loft
 
At my house,
in the childhood home I fled
as soon as possible,
all conversations flying to agreement
as quickly as possible,
like homing pigeons to the well-known loft,
forbidding novelty,
assuring stagnation,
continuation of endings,
tailings of life,
merely,
and the scent of death.


 * Origin: Connect America #2, Austin, Tx, 512-459-3351 (1:382/10.0)