HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: night
From: conrad@kryton.UUCP (Konstatin Kalikanzaros)
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 92 00:27:21 PST
Organization: Paradox Alley F&SF BBS 805-492-8789


	Night
	-----

	Night slides down
	upon the town
	like grease on window pane

	slowly slinking people start
	upon their dark and sordid part
	the sidewalk wet with rain
	
	soothing lack of guiding light
	hide from passing peoples sight	
	a redly creeping stain

	laying down 
	in darkened town
	a corpse feels no more pain

	nightly fights
	procure the rights
	to stay among the sane

	most are lost
	stupendous cost
	but not dear citizen[s] Kane

conrad

C&C please!



____________________________________________________________________________
Reality is for people that can't handle Science fiction.
From: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu (John David Blake)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: iz's New Poem! Written at 2:30 am!
Date: 14 Dec 1992 00:50:37 GMT
Organization: Computing Services Division, University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: 129.89.7.4
Originator: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu

Thanks a lot to those who replied to Push, my last (first!) post.
Again, I'd love C&C. I'd also take suggestions for the title to this latest
poem. 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------


Searching through my basement
trying to find those damn...
Lightning flashes!
creating for me a gray world
from the rapid succession of black and white.
During the brief illumination
my eye locates the destination of my next step.
Darkness surrounds me.
Before my foot arrives, it encounters an unseen object.
My head whirls through the storm
and I hear the thunder of my fall
Under my hand lays what I'm looking for:
New batteries for my flashlight.


Joe Wicentowski 12/13/92
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: i always wanted an elizabeth of my own to call elizabeth / Marek  '90
Date: 19 Dec 92 20:48:46 GMT
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.


		i always wanted an elizabeth of my own to call elizabeth
		-------------------------------------------------------------

		riding the downtown bus, uptown?
		riding some bus sometown.
		
		in seattle, tuesday evening, cam.
		
		what are you thinking, cam?
		what is the bus shaking and lulling
		out of you?  are you imaging
		the thoughts on my end.  reflections, too.
		no smoking.  no spitting.  se habla espanol.
		125th street n.e.
		home.
		
		darkness sets and sets lights ablaze in the agile city
		the mountain city.  the sound city.  city of moths.
		
		all our marsupial thoughts, cam.
		all our marsupial thoughts.
		
		thinking of steel skies, and green rimming forests
		of neoned brights, some dim, mailboxes glistening,
		lamp poles
		just folks out on the streets.
		and hugs.  lots of those.
		
		and you have diesel vibrations and
		window reflections
		for caresses.
		some jolting, some soft.
		
		if i should ever be so graced
		as to meet you at a bus station
		downtown anywhere
		i will hug you there terrifically
		immensely, unconditionally.
		as daughter, as lover,
		
		thought gentle marek, not at all confused.
		your words.  my word.
		
		
				Marek Lugowski
				26 June 1990
				Bloomington, Indiana
		
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: PROWSE@Meena.CC.URegina.CA (Natalie)
Subject: ducks / Natalie
Date: Thu, 17 Dec 1992 23:06:26 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.24
Organization: University of Regina, Regina, Sask., Canada


		ducks
		-------------------------------------------------------------
        	
		in the suburbs 
		as a child 
		I ran in the sun, barefoot 
		and naked (well mostly)
		catching bees 
		and the occasional head of clover
		in jars.

		then we moved to the farm.
		and farms need animals
		so we bought ducks.
		ducklings, truthfully.

		ducklings are so cute
		and soft, and warm.
		And they peep-peep so 
		plaintively, and follow you around. 
		you, their surrogate mother.

		but ducks.  ducks quack and shit.
		everywhere.  and it's wet, green, slimey shit.
		and i couldn't run barefoot anymore
		because i couldn't stand 
		that cold oozing goo, 
		coming up between my toes.

		and ducks fuck.  all the time.
		i learned alot about fucking by watching ducks.
		the drake prefers the water
		but he nearly drowns the hen 
		with his ardor.
		i felt so sorry for them.
		and took sick delight 
		in watching his thing, all sticky,
		trailing in the sawdust,
		while he waddled away
		after quenching his lust.


		    	-Natalie / Dec 17, 1992 


------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 (only a guest at prowse@meena.cc.uregina.ca)   

 "It's good to have a healthy sense of sin.  It adds *spice* to one's 
   transgressions..."  - J.H. 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien)
Subject: Re: like shakespeare -- jchien
Organization: The Land of Flowers (Stanford U.)
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 92 21:07:57 GMT


	Slow on news here, so let me respond to this after a proliferation
of discussion has already commenced...

mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin) write:

>>In article <1992Dec15.183929@IASTATE.EDU>, mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
>writes:

> Jennifer -- are we reading the same Shakespeare?  The Shakespeare 
> I remember is full of bawdy jokes and remarks.  And not much about 
> denuding flowers.

	What I meant by the reference to Shakespeare was the fact that
in an age when poets were generally writing in veiled language about sex,
(the reference to flowers early in the poem) Shakespeare was in constrast 
(as Marie noticed) quite bawdy and full of nasty connotations.
	I tried to relate being immortalized as a literary genius because of 
using in-your-face sex ('fuck') as similar to somehow being like Shakespeare
and his fame.  I didn't mean to say "(what did you think you'd write), like
Shakespeare."  I meant, "and i'll immortalize you as a literary 
genius, . . . , like shakespeare."  Does that make sense?

	O well, if not, I guess that's a drawing board thing to do...

					Jennifer
From: marek@moose.cs.indiana.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Triolet:  cool comfort
Date: 11 Dec 92 12:46:14 GMT
Article-I.D.: news.1992Dec11.174624.6234
Organization: Indiana University, Bloomington

In article <1992Dec11.015516.12756@netlabs.com> sharon@netlabs.com (Sharon Hopkins) writes:
>
>
>		Triolet:  cool comfort
>
>	You never give me comfort for my pain;
>	perhaps it's best.  I learn to live, alone
>	and self-contained:  it's shameful to complain
>	you never give me comfort.  For my pain,
>	a headache pill will do.  You don't disdain
>	to tell me all your troubles (endless drone)
>	yet never give me comfort for my pain.
>	    Perhaps it's best I learn to live alone.
>
>
>--Sharon Hopkins
>  Dec. 10, 1992

2 marks.  Sharon is one of the small set of writers on rap who use
classical forms and fascinate my mind.  She does it consistently, too.
Post more, Sharon, so others can study why it works for your *contemporary*
language.

				-- Marek
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: "Marek Lugowski" <marek@moose.cs.indiana.edu>
Subject: gladland, gladland (sacros tradizzionaliye...) / Marek (1990)
Organization: Indiana University, Bloomington
Date: Sun, 13 Dec 1992 17:59:23 -0500


		gladland, gladland
			(sacros tradizzionaliye, c. 2150,
			andantiye coni tutti floatti puntti acceleratoriye)
		------------------------------------------------------------

		gladland, gladland
		o here we comiye
		cipheretors deliveriye
		
		gladland, gladland
		shone us yer transducence
		josephsonianiye junctiviye
		y lux memoriye
		
		pulce
		pulce vita
		pulce y decodiye
		arithmetos arithmetos
		in exelcsio dea
		chibernetica
		
		gladland, gladland
		set us postdecrementiye
		y discus nos freeye
		terribitos y magnitos
		terribitos
		
		gladland, gladland
		here we agregatte
		y victor summiye
		in excelsio dea
		chibernetica
		
			Marek Lugowski
			1 July 1990
			Lake Monroe, Indiana
----
Stanislaw Lem, "A History of Bitic Literature, 1:15":
"(b) Machines also create neologisms along so-called semantic axes.
We have purposefully chosen examples of this creativity not all of
which require detailed dictionary-type explanations:
	tartlet, screwball, bedrabbled (read: bed rabbled), layette, claptrap;
	anteater, bugbear (bird feeding its brood);
	fistgob, slaytrap, slugmug;
	arithmeticker, summer, cipheretor (computer);
	suspenser (chair lift);
	deathsign (_memmento mori_);
	gladland (paradise);
	sea slicer (sawfish); etc.
Any comic effect is clearly unintended.  Also, there are elementary
examples, though characterized by distinctive features which persist--
though much harder to discern -- in later stages of development as
well.  The whole fact of the matter is that, whereas to us the real
thing is the world, for the machines the first and foremost actuality
is language.  The computer, to which the categories that culture imposes
on language were still alien, 'thought' that 'little prostitute' is the
same as 'tartlet', 'screwball', etc."

(from Imaginary Magnitude, Stanislaw Lem.  Marc E. Heine translator.)

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter)
Subject: the clash of coins in my pocket
Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department
Date: Sat, 12 Dec 92 07:09:09 GMT

		the clash of coins in my pocket
		-------------------------------------------

		the young korean woman at
		the corner store stares
		at my paper on the counter
		then looks at me then looks
		down then at me and says
		"sixty-eight cents" and
		waits

		the old korean man 
		always smiles and says 
		"sixty-eight cents
		please" like he was
		having a good time
		standing behind an old
		wooden counter in his corner
		convenience store 

		they both watch 
		the mexican men 
		their calloused hands and 
		ragged jackets 
		joking in spanish 
		among the aisles of spirits

		change 
		falls into my hand 
		and the clash of 
		coins in my pocket 
		follows me home

			Michael Lichter
			December 11, 1992
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Several words about posting...
Date: 19 Dec 92 03:41:21 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054

ATTENTION SHEILA: poem at end of post!

In article <1gqao7INNjce@sumax.seattleu.edu> sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (   Wilde Dame) writes:
>Keith,
>
>That you support the
>splinter group because you consider the O'Tooles "shit" (despite the fact
>that they seem to be some of the few serious writers on the group) seems
>hardly acceptable; 

How dare you call us serious!  Brilliant, yes, but serious??  

>What, indeed, is up with *all of us* that
>we have to call each other names whenever we attempt to have a
>conversation?  

I've been good!  Think of all the hundreds who aren't insulting each
other.  There's a bright side to every lining.
>
>As to KILL files, I have my own opinions.  I find it unfortunate that you
>have had "Re:*" in your killfile all this time; I've read a lot of what I
>considered very good poetry in response to other poems.

Most of my poems have Re:  (or half anyway)
>
>Christmas cheer, or holiday of your choice....
>
Yes Yes, which brings me to the REAL reason for this post.  I'm trying
again to write a poem that will pop sheila's bubble.  Here goes:

THIS IS A SWEATER


William swims, utterly incorporated,
in a large volume of milk.
with whitening arms, sticky hair,
and a sweater saying THIS IS SWIM
on the back and THIS IS MILK
on the front, but his sweater
wasn't swimming, wasn't milk,
and wasn't sweating--so what was it?


Posthumous O'Toole
12-18-92
-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (   Wilde Dame   )
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Garcia Lorca, in Espanol and translated
Date: 14 Dec 92 06:18:21 GMT
Organization: Seattle University

Llanto por Ignacio Sancez Mejias
	4. Alma ausente
-------------------------------------
No te conoce el toro ni la higuera,
ni caballos ni hormigas de tu casa.
no te conoce el nino ni la tarde
porque te has muerto para siempre.

No te conoce el lomo de la piedra,
ni el raso negro donde te destrozas.
No te conoce tu recuerdo mudo
porque te has muerto para siempre.

El otono vendra con caracolas,
uva de niebla y montes agrupados,
pero nadie querra' mirar tus ojos
porque te has muerto para siempre.

Porque te has muerto para siempre,
como todos los muertos de la Tierra,
como todos los muertos que se olvidan
en un monton de perros apagados.

No te conoce nadie.  No.  Pero yo te canto.
Yo canto para luego tu perfil y tu gracia.
La madurez insigne de tu conocimiento.
Tu apetencia de muerte y el gusto de su boca.
La tristeza que tuvo tu valiente alegria.

Tardara' mucho tiempo en nacer, si es que nace,
un andaluz tan claro, tan rico de aventura.
Yo canto su elegancia con palabras que gimen
y recuerdo una brisa triste por los olivos.

################################################
Translation Stephen Spender and J.L. Gili, except in a couple places where
I think they could have done it better, because I'm not all the way
through this work yet (translating, I mean) and I wanted you all to see it...

The bull and the fig tree do not know you,
nor the horses, nor the ants in your house.
The child and the afternoon do not know you
because you have died forever.

The back of the stone does not know you,
nor the black satin in which you crumble.
Your own silent memory does not know you
because you have died forever.

The autum will come with little white shells,
misty grapes and clusters of hills,
but no one will look into your eyes
because you have died forever.

Because you have died forever,
as all the dead of the earth,
as all the dead who are forgotten
in a heap of lifeless dogs.

No one know you.  No.  Yet I sing of you.
For posterity, I sing of your profile and your grace.
The signal maturity of your understanding.
Your appetite for death and the taste of her mouth.
The sadness of your once valiant gaiety.

It will be a long time, if ever, before there is born
an Andalusian so true, so rich in andventure.
I sing of his elegance with words that groan,
and I remember a sad breeze through the olive trees.
-- 
       Sheryl Stover  %  If you ask me what I have come to do in the world,
  & Hemingway & Clio  %  I who am an artist, I will reply: "I am here to
sstover@seattleu.edu  %  live aloud."                    -Emile Zola
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: Marek
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1992 18:25:37 GMT

In article <1992Dec16.172616.18477@news.acns.nwu.edu>, marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu
(Marek Lugowski) writes:

> Indeed, I heartily agree with Alex.  We should also write about tabouli
> and make it as apple-pie and motherhood (unwanted, single)

Oh, you're only saying that because you think Neil Young was right.
(Welfare mothers/make better lovers.)  I think it would be much more
tasteful to write about bread.  About how you use your nude hands to
tear off a medium-sized chunck of fresh bread, and the aroma rises 
from it...trust me, it's very sexual.  That reminds me...



		an alternative to burnt toast
		-------------------------------------------------------------

		1.

		take the butter out of the fridge.
		it's important to do this first.
		
		put some warm water and some yeast
		and oil and sugar and milk
		(oh, all right, an egg)
		into a big brown stoneware bowl.
		
		mix.
		
		put in a lot of flour.
		mix again.
		knead it until it turns into dough.
		don't be shy
		you are a mother bear
		licking her cubs into shape.
		give it a couple of vigorous slaps.
		don't be shy
		you are a doctor
		showing the baby how to breathe.
		
		tuck it back into its bowl
		and put it in a warm place to grow.
		
		put it in a pan and bake it.
		this will take an hour or so.
		time to clean the flour off the counter-top
		time to brew some tea
		time to inhale the subtle scent
		
		of bread.
		
		cut a thick slice while it's still warm
		and lay on the butter -- as soft,
		as soft as butter is -- on the firm foamy slice.
		watch it sink in.  you sink in too.
		this is the way to the door marked "in".
		
		maybe you should have made more.
		
		2.
		
		you know, i never made bread
		before
		but i do remember the childhood burning warmth
		of those huge round loaves
		of the old country
		low mountainfuls of mouthful gold.
		
		did we make toast in the old country?
		i don't think so.


			Marie Coffin / Marek Lugowski
			22 July 1992
			Ames, Iowa / Cincinnati, Ohio


Hmm....maybe it's time for lunch.


Marie Coffin
From: PROWSE@Meena.CC.URegina.CA (Natalie)
Subject: a formula for excision of character flaws /Natalie+John
Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1992 23:49:59 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.24
Organization: University of Regina, Regina, Sask., Canada



	a formula for excision of character flaws
	----------------------------------------------------------------------


	it seems prudent, at this juncture,
	to accept the existing personality as flawed
	and construct a new one from the remains. 
	since the material is second-hand seconds, 
	one can't expect even earthly perfection;
	the best one can do is to take exception
	to obvious detrimental defects
	and dispense with them.
	(a lot of double negatives, and not much positives.)
	
	defeat of reactivity must be the primary focus.
	the old personna fed on far too many
	deep feelings, desires, likes, dislikes and aspirations,
	all of which led to gratuituous grief 
	both for the patient and those around.
	it is unrealistic to attempt, or even consider, 
	building a complete automaton 
	from such volatile and dangerous material
	--it would be inherently unstable--
	so it seems that in an attempt to acheive
	something reasonably standardized 
	one must excise 
	all needs, desires, longings, cravings,
	plus associated reactions (deemed misbehavings). 
	with these features no longer in place
	the subject will still retain some remnants of character
	yet will not act inappropriately in social settings, 
	nor be racked by permanent pathological pain. 
	
	many problems that would be quite difficult 
	to handle other ways can be dealt with 
	by returning strictly and without delay to 
	*non-reactiveness*.
	the base material's standing objection to this
	can be dealt with by emphasizing specifically 
	the Ignatian principles of indifference 
	(to make free choices, one must not prefer ... over...) 
	and more generally something apparently 
	based on Christian doctrines 
	of non-judgementalness. 
	regression to occasional avatistic outbursts 
	of preferences 
	can always be accomodated 
	by the idea of `moderation'
	--for example, being at worst only moderately judgemental.
	
	this amputative approach also avoids violating 
	the original religious and moral principles 
	that the subject has requested be kept 
	along with the original body.
	indeed, one can extrapolate that they will 
	be fulfilled more faithfully than was ever 
	realistic to expect from the primary personality, 
	thus making the ensuing effect of the operation 
	quite pleasing to all.
	

		-Natalie Prowse / John Sturdy
		 Penticton BC   / Hardwick, UK
		   	Dec 15, 1992

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(nat@drao.nrc.ca) - Only a guest at prowse@meena.cc.uregina.ca

 "You want more diskquota??  Did you bring me some cheesecake?"
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alk4@ellis.uchicago.edu (Alex L. Karan)
Subject: Re: Prodigal
Reply-To: alk4@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Sat, 12 Dec 1992 18:29:50 GMT

For anyone that has tried to deal with this, here's 
a complication that may just confuse more, but may help.


Prodigal
---------



A freckled god
with skinned knees
stuck a fallen branch
into earth
and called it Tree.

Didn't notice that it grew.

His wish filled balloons
sometimes stranded 
in its foliage;

branches grew gnarled
by torn skin of many colors.

Time come round,
wooden claws stretched and scratched
into the pink skin of his God; 

tearing unnoticed 
into his eyes;

tying him closer to the ground
with string he didn't hold on to.

Unearthed by his return,
roots gorge on his rain.





Alex L. Karan



Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: aaiken@bronze.ucs.indiana.edu (Andrew C. Aiken)
Subject: And When In Blues
Organization: Indiana University
Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1992 04:16:17 GMT


And when in blues
the world in made anew
you have found your place
among these stones

At last, your place?
for having takings lost
and winnings spent
this shack, your home?

Blue, and yet aflame
a loss, a tune, a face
and then to die
O motion's Maker staid
why this rock, this glade?



Andrew Aiken

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Danny-Boy)
Subject: KILL files - syntax
Summary: put me in your kill file.
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1992 16:56:10 GMT

In article <1992Dec15.204034.3312@penet.fi> an1977@anon.penet.fi (The_Poet) writes:
>
>OK, the syntax for doing kill lines for groups of subjects (such as all Re:)
>is easy, you just do 
>
>/: Re:* /:     


>kill by AUTHOR?  My reader can't do it on its own, but I KNOW it can be done,


I think this how you do it:

/*sheilah*/h:j

but I am not sure.

experiment.
Have fun.

I am not sure if you need the wildcards.
the h is for header.

I deleted the "Re:" so that you could read this.
-- 
I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: no ducks / Marie Coffin
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Thu, 17 Dec 1992 16:25:43 GMT


		no ducks
		-----------------------------------------------------

		we wanted to feed the ducks --
		a childish thing to do, but we 
		had been childish
		all day
		underdressed for the cold
		under jackets undone
		turning chapped faces to the wind.
		
		what do ducks eat?
		we turn to the bagel shop:
		two fresh white bagels
		to feed the ducks.
		
		but we stand beside the pond
		no ducks in sight
		and hold an unexpectedly warm 
		fresh bagel in each
		stiff hand
		and, eyes alight with glee, we eat
		breaking through crustiness
		inhaling warm bread fumes
		safe in my mother's kitchen once again.

Marie Coffin
April 26, 1992
From: jbartran@sciences.sdsu.edu (Jonathan Bartran)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: hellow everybody
Date: 14 Dec 1992 03:22:18 GMT
Organization: San Diego State University, College of Sciences
NNTP-Posting-Host: sciences.sdsu.edu
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