By Abigail Thomas
I’m quintessential female
I have a jealous heart
and that last girl he brought up here
was nothing but a tart
she ate up all his ice-cream
she drank up all his schnapps
and then she made a noisy fuss
when I climbed on their laps
he took me off the sofa
he put me in the chair
she said,”My god, your furniture
is nothing but dog - hair”
(my master is an idiot
how freely I admit it
he used to have a thinking – cap
but someone must have hid it)
she laughed at all his silly jokes
(which most girls find a chore)
and then she took off all her clothes
and dropped them on the floor
it’s not that I’m small-minded
he’s had some other lovers
but this one didn’t understand
I sleep under the covers
I don’t like to be pushed around
I do not care for scowls
she told him that I snapped at her
when all I did was growl
I’m certainly no prude
(I’d prove it if he’d let me)
but I saw no reason why she shouldn’t
rue the day she met me
her clothes I chewed to pieces
her silly boots I bit up
some of this mess I swallowed
but most of it I spit up
“how could you keep a dog like him?”
she cried,”this filthy cur?”
my master looked at me and smiled,
“No, not a him, a her.”
- Suzy
Comments : I found this poem about a possessive pet dog quite cute. Rather true to human emotions too, but being expressed by a dog with rhyme and metre makes it adorable. It's from a book titled 'Unleashed. Poems by Writers Dogs'.
- Zen
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Everybody Knows
By Leonard Cohen
Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows that the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died
Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
And a long stem rose
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that you love me baby
Everybody knows that you really do
Everybody knows that you’ve been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows you’ve been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes
And everybody knows
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
And everybody knows that it’s now or never
Everybody knows that it’s me or you
And everybody knows that you live forever
Ah when you’ve done a line or two
Everybody knows the deal is rotten
Old black joes still pickin’ cotton
For your ribbons and bows
And everybody knows
And everybody knows that the plague is coming
Everybody knows that its moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But there’s gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows
And everybody knows that you’re in trouble
Everybody knows what you’ve been through
From the bloody cross on top of calvary
To the beach of malibu
Everybody knows it’s coming apart
Take one last look at this sacred heart
Before it blows
And everybody knows
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
Oh everybody knows, everybody knows
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
Comments : This is the first Leonard Cohen song I heard years ago and it still remains one of my favourite Cohen songs / poems. The cynicism, the sardonic wit, the imagery – all are just amazing. While I cannot read /hear too many Cohen song-poems at a stretch, I think they are just the thing in ones and twos when one is in the right mood to appreciate them. Cohen’s poetry puts words to stark despair and disillusionment – looking into the dark crater and back again – like no one else can. - Zen
Links to information about Leonard Cohen :
Wikipedia, of course. Interestingly, Wikipedia reveals that he underwent five years of seclusion at a Buddhist centre and has been ordained as a Buddhist monk.
This article discloses that Cohen's maternal grandfather was a rabbi who wrote a 700-page thesaurus of Talmudic interpretations. Now we know exactly where the understanding for the poem ‘Who, By Fire’ comes from. The same article also discloses that Cohen has been labelled "the poet laureate of pessimism", "the grocer of despair", "the godfather of gloom" and "the prince of bummers", in addition to 68 other facts about him.
And this is where all the information about Cohen is to be found.
Links to more poems by Leonard Cohen : http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/624.html
http://www.lyricsfreak.com/l/leonard+cohen/bird+on+the+wire_20082816.html
(Who could but love these lines – ‘Like a bird on a wire/ Like a drunk in a midnight choir/ I have tried, in my way, to be free’)
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/744.html
http://www.lyricsfreak.com/l/leonard+cohen/im+your+man_20082812.html
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/744.html
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/339.html
Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows that the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died
Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
And a long stem rose
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that you love me baby
Everybody knows that you really do
Everybody knows that you’ve been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows you’ve been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes
And everybody knows
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
And everybody knows that it’s now or never
Everybody knows that it’s me or you
And everybody knows that you live forever
Ah when you’ve done a line or two
Everybody knows the deal is rotten
Old black joes still pickin’ cotton
For your ribbons and bows
And everybody knows
And everybody knows that the plague is coming
Everybody knows that its moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But there’s gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows
And everybody knows that you’re in trouble
Everybody knows what you’ve been through
From the bloody cross on top of calvary
To the beach of malibu
Everybody knows it’s coming apart
Take one last look at this sacred heart
Before it blows
And everybody knows
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
Oh everybody knows, everybody knows
That’s how it goes
Everybody knows
Comments : This is the first Leonard Cohen song I heard years ago and it still remains one of my favourite Cohen songs / poems. The cynicism, the sardonic wit, the imagery – all are just amazing. While I cannot read /hear too many Cohen song-poems at a stretch, I think they are just the thing in ones and twos when one is in the right mood to appreciate them. Cohen’s poetry puts words to stark despair and disillusionment – looking into the dark crater and back again – like no one else can. - Zen
Links to information about Leonard Cohen :
Wikipedia, of course. Interestingly, Wikipedia reveals that he underwent five years of seclusion at a Buddhist centre and has been ordained as a Buddhist monk.
This article discloses that Cohen's maternal grandfather was a rabbi who wrote a 700-page thesaurus of Talmudic interpretations. Now we know exactly where the understanding for the poem ‘Who, By Fire’ comes from. The same article also discloses that Cohen has been labelled "the poet laureate of pessimism", "the grocer of despair", "the godfather of gloom" and "the prince of bummers", in addition to 68 other facts about him.
And this is where all the information about Cohen is to be found.
Links to more poems by Leonard Cohen : http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/624.html
http://www.lyricsfreak.com/l/leonard+cohen/bird+on+the+wire_20082816.html
(Who could but love these lines – ‘Like a bird on a wire/ Like a drunk in a midnight choir/ I have tried, in my way, to be free’)
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/744.html
http://www.lyricsfreak.com/l/leonard+cohen/im+your+man_20082812.html
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/744.html
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/339.html
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Learning to Live with Islam
(This post is reprinted from this blog, with due permission of course.)
The veil is not the same as the suicide belt. We can better pursue our values if we recognize the local and cultural context, and appreciate that people want to find their own balance between freedom and order, liberty and license.
--- Fareed Zakaria. Learning to Live With Radical Islam. Newsweek: February 28, 2009.
Sharia demands death for the adulteress
I am not an adulteress
I can learn to live with Sharia.
Sharia demands death for the gays
I am not a gay
I can learn to live with Sharia.
Sharia demands death for the blasphemer
I am not a blasphemer
I can learn to live with Sharia.
Sharia demands death for the apostate
I am not a Muslim
I can learn to live with Sharia.
Islam demands Sharia for everyone
I am no one
I learned to live with Islam.
An adaptation of "First they came...", a poem attributed to Pastor Martin Niemöller (1892–1984).
By, The Rational Fool
Comments : One of the reasons I like Desipundit is that it regularly introduces me to posts such as this. Something about the poem grabbed my attention when I read it. The wikipedia entry on Pastor Martin Niemoller and his poem was rivetting too. Am copying below the 1976 version of his poem.
- Zen
First They Came (1976 version)
When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.
When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.
When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.
When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I was not a Jew.
When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.
The veil is not the same as the suicide belt. We can better pursue our values if we recognize the local and cultural context, and appreciate that people want to find their own balance between freedom and order, liberty and license.
--- Fareed Zakaria. Learning to Live With Radical Islam. Newsweek: February 28, 2009.
Sharia demands death for the adulteress
I am not an adulteress
I can learn to live with Sharia.
Sharia demands death for the gays
I am not a gay
I can learn to live with Sharia.
Sharia demands death for the blasphemer
I am not a blasphemer
I can learn to live with Sharia.
Sharia demands death for the apostate
I am not a Muslim
I can learn to live with Sharia.
Islam demands Sharia for everyone
I am no one
I learned to live with Islam.
An adaptation of "First they came...", a poem attributed to Pastor Martin Niemöller (1892–1984).
By, The Rational Fool
Comments : One of the reasons I like Desipundit is that it regularly introduces me to posts such as this. Something about the poem grabbed my attention when I read it. The wikipedia entry on Pastor Martin Niemoller and his poem was rivetting too. Am copying below the 1976 version of his poem.
- Zen
First They Came (1976 version)
When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.
When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.
When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.
When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I was not a Jew.
When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
French Horn
By Jane Hirshfield
For a few days only,
the plum tree outside the window
shoulders perfection.
No matter the plums will be small,
eaten only by squirrels and jays.
I feast on the one thing, they on another,
the shoaling bees on a third.
What in this unpleated world isn't someone's seduction?
The boy playing his intricate horn in Mahler's Fifth,
in the gaps between playing,
turns it and turns it, dismantles a section,
shakes from it the condensation
of human passage. He is perhaps twenty.
Later he takes his four bows, his face deepening red,
while a girl holds a viola's spruce wood and maple
in one half-opened hand and looks at him hard.
Let others clap.
These two, their ears still ringing, hear nothing.
Not the shouts of bravo, bravo,
not the timpanic clamor inside their bodies.
As the plum's blossoms do not hear the bee
nor taste themselves turned into storable honey
by that sumptuous disturbance.
Comments : A friend forwarded this poem to me a few days ago and I knew I would post in on the blog over the weekend. The beginning of the poem grabbed me and drew me in - 'for a few days only, the plum tree outside the window shoulders perfection'. Lovely image !
For more poems by Jane Hirshfield, check this.
Zen
For a few days only,
the plum tree outside the window
shoulders perfection.
No matter the plums will be small,
eaten only by squirrels and jays.
I feast on the one thing, they on another,
the shoaling bees on a third.
What in this unpleated world isn't someone's seduction?
The boy playing his intricate horn in Mahler's Fifth,
in the gaps between playing,
turns it and turns it, dismantles a section,
shakes from it the condensation
of human passage. He is perhaps twenty.
Later he takes his four bows, his face deepening red,
while a girl holds a viola's spruce wood and maple
in one half-opened hand and looks at him hard.
Let others clap.
These two, their ears still ringing, hear nothing.
Not the shouts of bravo, bravo,
not the timpanic clamor inside their bodies.
As the plum's blossoms do not hear the bee
nor taste themselves turned into storable honey
by that sumptuous disturbance.
Comments : A friend forwarded this poem to me a few days ago and I knew I would post in on the blog over the weekend. The beginning of the poem grabbed me and drew me in - 'for a few days only, the plum tree outside the window shoulders perfection'. Lovely image !
For more poems by Jane Hirshfield, check this.
Zen
Monday, February 2, 2009
Still I Rise
By Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Comments : The backdrop to this poem is Federer’s defeat at the Oz Open yesterday at the hands of his nemesis Nadal. Fed wept yesterday as this is the third Grand Slam final where Rafael has thrashed him in one year, and he is very close and yet so far at equaling Pete Sampras’ record.
A poem to console fedex…. he shall rise from the ashes yet again …. :-) the poem is not v appropriate but it captures the spirit rather well..
- Sachin
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Comments : The backdrop to this poem is Federer’s defeat at the Oz Open yesterday at the hands of his nemesis Nadal. Fed wept yesterday as this is the third Grand Slam final where Rafael has thrashed him in one year, and he is very close and yet so far at equaling Pete Sampras’ record.
A poem to console fedex…. he shall rise from the ashes yet again …. :-) the poem is not v appropriate but it captures the spirit rather well..
- Sachin
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Julie Andrews on Maturity
To commemorate her birthday , actress/vocalist, Julie Andrews made a special appearance at Manhattan 's Radio City Music Hall for the benefit of the AARP.
One of the musical numbers she performed was 'My Favourite Things' from the legendary movie 'Sound Of Music'.
Here are the lyrics she used:
Botox and nose drops and needles for knitting,
Walkers and handrails and new dental fittings,
Bundles of magazines tied up in string,
These are a few of my favourite things.
Cadillacs and cataracts, hearing aids and glasses,
Polident and Fixodent and false teeth in glasses,
Pacemakers, golf carts and porches with swings,
These are a few of my favourite things.
When the pipes leak, When the bones creak,
When the knees go bad,
I simply remember my favourite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.
Hot tea and crumpets and corn pads for bunions,
No spicy hot food or food cooked with onions,
Bathrobes and heating pads and hot meals they bring,
These are a few of my favourite things.
Back pain, confused brains and no need for sinnin',
Thin bones and fractures and hair that is thinnin',
And we won't mention our short shrunken frames,
When we remember our favourite things.
When the joints ache, When the hips break,
When the eyes grow dim,
Then I remember the great life I've had,
And then I don't feel so bad.
Comments : A friend forwarded this to me as it fitted the theme for the month (thanks N). I had to run it on the blog - it was funny, plus I loved the movie as a kid and still do.
- Zen
One of the musical numbers she performed was 'My Favourite Things' from the legendary movie 'Sound Of Music'.
Here are the lyrics she used:
Botox and nose drops and needles for knitting,
Walkers and handrails and new dental fittings,
Bundles of magazines tied up in string,
These are a few of my favourite things.
Cadillacs and cataracts, hearing aids and glasses,
Polident and Fixodent and false teeth in glasses,
Pacemakers, golf carts and porches with swings,
These are a few of my favourite things.
When the pipes leak, When the bones creak,
When the knees go bad,
I simply remember my favourite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.
Hot tea and crumpets and corn pads for bunions,
No spicy hot food or food cooked with onions,
Bathrobes and heating pads and hot meals they bring,
These are a few of my favourite things.
Back pain, confused brains and no need for sinnin',
Thin bones and fractures and hair that is thinnin',
And we won't mention our short shrunken frames,
When we remember our favourite things.
When the joints ache, When the hips break,
When the eyes grow dim,
Then I remember the great life I've had,
And then I don't feel so bad.
Comments : A friend forwarded this to me as it fitted the theme for the month (thanks N). I had to run it on the blog - it was funny, plus I loved the movie as a kid and still do.
- Zen
Sunday, January 18, 2009
When I'm 64
The Beatles
When I get older losing my hair
Many years from now
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
You'll be older too
And if you say the word
I could stay with you
I could be handy, mending a fuse
When your lights have gone
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride
Doing the garden, digging the weeds
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
Every summer we can rent a cottage in the Isle of Wight
If it's not too dear
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee
Vera, Chuck & Dave
Send me a postcard, drop me a line
Stating point of view
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, wasting away
Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
Comments : Have liked this song for many years - it is just too cute. And a very different kind of lovesong too - soppy though it is. The minute Anita submitted a poem on 'turning 30', I knew ageing and the various aspects of it would be the theme for the month and that I would post 'When I'm 64'.
- Zen
When I get older losing my hair
Many years from now
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
You'll be older too
And if you say the word
I could stay with you
I could be handy, mending a fuse
When your lights have gone
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride
Doing the garden, digging the weeds
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
Every summer we can rent a cottage in the Isle of Wight
If it's not too dear
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee
Vera, Chuck & Dave
Send me a postcard, drop me a line
Stating point of view
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, wasting away
Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
Comments : Have liked this song for many years - it is just too cute. And a very different kind of lovesong too - soppy though it is. The minute Anita submitted a poem on 'turning 30', I knew ageing and the various aspects of it would be the theme for the month and that I would post 'When I'm 64'.
- Zen
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