Category Archives: re: poets

Bob & Sinclair – now there are two from Minnesota!


So it is a little like history repeats itself. Bod dared go electric. Sweden dared go Bob.

Much of the debate seems to center around – can song writing be poetry?

If we take a look we can say that a song may be written from one of two angles or a combination of the two.

  1. you get a tune and figure out some words to go with it.
  2.  you’ve figured out some words and get a tune to go with them.

Does either approach preclude the words from being poetry?

 

Maybe the words were inspired by the music? maybe inspired by something else and music was chosen to broaden the exposure of the words? What poet wouldn’t like to reach an audience?

Maybe the words were inspired by the music? If so then would not the music be like a prompt? How many poets have written work to prompts? Are we going to set standards for acceptable prompts? Remember a prompt is an inspiration. Does that mean the poetry inspired by music is inferior? So should we exclude from poetry words inspired by music?

What shall be the acceptable categories for poetical inspiration? Do we need a governing body of Poeticals to decide and more important to enforce the structure of purity? A licensing board to ensure that no mere songwriter sully the good name of poetry.

 

Its being done very successfully in popular music, only certain categories are allowed and they must all sound a certain way.  They call it the X Factor.

 

As a poet I am pleased that a poet won the Nobel Prize for literature. I do believe poetry is indeed literature.

As a music lover and fan I am very happy that the songs of my youth are acknowledged as changing the world not just myself.

As an artist I am excited by the fact the Bob has indeed brought it all back home, effortlessly stirring up the frigid & ridged catagorisers of the world. Who knows what great inspirations will fall out? Maybe even a song or two?

 

“Sinclair Lewis had won the Nobel Prize for Literature, the first American to do so. Lewis had written Elmer Gantry and was the master of absolute realism, he invented it. He was from Sauk Center, Minnesota.” – Chronicles vol.1 by Bob Dylan. a Book Of The Year.

 

noun

  • 1A short poem or other set of words set to music or meant to be sung.

     

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    red door paris 2016 pdlyons

 

the poetry of poets


i am always amazed by the incessant incredible sensitive fragility of the poetry of poets

so fucking strong

each and every

one

of them

He never got a gift of poetry before –


in the bright sun geranium room

across the bed

a blush with your words

 

for d.j.s. – compañero de armas

http://www.amazon.com/Donna-J.-Snyder/e/B00NG2CCW8

ah leave me alone, sometimes in this writing life # who knows


FUCK THIS POETRY SHIT

we the afflicted

compelled

by your numbery

to more and more outrages

until nothing even of ourselves

remains

that which we call our blood

thin clouted liquid cleverlies

that which we call our flesh

never wore a heartbeat in its life

that which you fed on nurseries

a pasteurized knee-less skin

that which you feed on

call it what you will

it is shit

we are all what we eat

 

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if you want to write – 2 cents from pd lyons


if you want to write

 

you don’t need to prep

you don’t need the latest gadget

you certainly don’t need to wait

you don’t need to even spell

what you need to do –

write.

write more than you tv

write more than you worry

write more than you think

write more than you know –

and you don’t need to know much.

see no matter what you do

no matter what you live

no matter what your experience

its all material

its all educational

its all inspirational

if only you will –

write.

then read.

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22 cents


I don’t think

poetry

comes

from pretending to forget

how to write a full

sentence

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W. B. Yeats, poets we like and live with – Politics by W.B.


220px-William_Butler_Yeats

 

 

Yeats has always been a favorite of what I call true poets. Luckily he was not beaten out of me in any school. Never had a Yeats exam. Although in university where I learned to love Shakespeare by being taught how too  read him, I was also exposed to Yeats in a more formal setting. But Yeats had come to me long before – O human child, Wandering Angus, Byzantium…. always on my fathers bookshelves or on the Clancy brother records. And at that early time in my relation ship with my now dearest partner – you know when signs, coincidence and such were so import to see if we really matched – I definitely   noticed my old friend, Yeats upon her bookshelves and took it for a good omen.

So while looking up Byzantium, I found this little gem – the last poem. Considered by some to be the last written before his death. I had never read before or if I did it faded long ago into the country not fit for old me. No matter why or how I’ll happily take it. Always wonderful to find a gem even if it might be simply  misplaced – still feels new to me.

My daughter is “doing” Sailing to Byzantium for her Leaving Cert exam.  She was happy when  I told her I’d bet her 100.00 that even they wouldn’t be able to kill it for her.

See that’s the thing about true poets, they are very subversive. not because they are radical or violent of shocking though they can be – its because they are the archetypal  human voice that always speaks to those with ears to hear and even those who don’t have such ears? It sounds kinda good to them too.  So a little gem from ol me to whoever you. Enjoy –

 

Politics

By William Butler Yeats 

‘In our time the destiny of man presents its meanings in political terms.’
THOMAS MANN.

How can I, that girl standing there,
My attention fix
On Roman or on Russian
Or on Spanish politics,
Yet here’s a travelled man that knows
What he talks about,
And there’s a politician
That has both read and thought,
And maybe what they say is true
Of war and war’s alarms,
But O that I were young again
And held her in my arms.
220px-William_Butler_Yeats

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/249168

W. B. Yeats, “Politics” from Last Poems (1938-1939). Copyright © 1939 by W. B. Yeats.  Reprinted by permission of Scribner (Simon & Schuster, Inc.).

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Politics_%28poem%29

“Politics” is a poem by Irish poet William Butler Yeats written on May 24, 1938. It was composed during the time of the Spanish Civil War as well as during the pre-war period of Adolf Hitler‘s Third Reich in Germany. The poem hints at the political situations of Rome (or Italy), Russia, and Spain, but ultimately discusses topics more relevant to private human interaction rather than public, or political situations

 

waltzing the night, ruff draft from my badlands, by pd lyons


 

holding ourselves like prayers between each other
all summer sway cool through tall screened windows
bright sounds of crickets fire flies glimmer
bare feet and beating hearts
soft by each others breath
accented by full moon kisses
rising beyond any day time horizon…

 

it was one o clock this morning.
woke up no particular reason
didn’t even need to pee
kitchen floor so cold I hurt for shoes
stood there adjusting to Frigidaire light
three bottles of beer on the second shelf
opened one by the window
chugged away to those long
hard rain halos

it’s not the city I used to know with you

maybe I go for another
maybe it’ll help me sleep
probably not
these days once I’m up
even beer can’t touch me
deserted even by the small comfort of your ghost
still I sway as if some how
we’re dancing

 

mixmed collage pdl

mix-med collage pdl

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birthday note on turning 60 by pd lyons


1974 crosby

1974

 

the old fellow near the sea

the old fellow near the sea

 

today ends my fifth decade. to morrow i will be 60.

the sixth decade begins at 5:54 am

bringer of the new dawn

 ever aging scorpion.

 

sometimes i think it has not happened

sometimes when i think of that certain little boy

i still get tears.

sometimes when i think back,

teenage, marriages, children, lovers, others –

reminding myself  of the good and of the not so very good –

reminding myself that I really  did the best I could.

 

but you know i am the luckiest man i know.

i have ended up in a country foreign to my birth

with a family of my own…

i  think i am in the best health ever.

no smoking for over 15 years

steady yoga meditation

and always did and still do love to walk –

there are miles of my life upon

mountains, shores, countries, continents

and  along those meandering pathways between the worlds.

 

and while i know all things come to an end –

as of right now i have not!

how cool is that?

cheers

.

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cover photo

photographer unknown

photographer unknown

ruff off the cuff, a love poem with photos by pd lyons


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lemons with stainless steel by pdlyons

 

the old religion of your eyes

an accent of long strings made from the heart of my wild days

contrary backwards ridden horses

painted  nights of our own solitude

mystical marvelous

fingerprints phosphorescent

 

our mouths still meet like that

all blue tattoo

all willingly open  offerings of  sky

fearless

 cities of our violence ebbing rhythmically

 a shore line languid with our peace

 

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