Birds and poetry (1 Viewer)

[Bluetail]

Geraldine, I know exactly what you mean. Throughout my secondary education I was cursed with an English teacher who I now realise should never have been in the business. He had no clue what teaching was about. He categorised all his pupils as either "brains" or "stupid", cast pearls before swine and thought it no business of his whether you picked them up or not. He had no concept whatever of helping the less able.

I take Steve's point that a poet is likely to have a definite message in mind when he writes, but I don't feel obliged to get too hung up on it. I parallel I like to draw is with music.

Some music, particularly by late Romantic composers, is "programmatic" (i.e. it is are based on some sort of underlying story) - Belioz's Symphonie fantastique and Strauss's Till Eulenspiegel are examples. It deepens your appreciation to know these, but it is hardly a sine qua non. If the music says something else to you, great. On occasion you may be so wide of the mark that it's fair to say your understanding is wrong, but for the most part your view will stand alongside the composer's. The most important thing is to enjoy it: that's what it's for. And it's a personal thing, so it doesn't matter if you don't like everything. Personally, I accept that Beethoven is one of the very greatest composers, and I can understand why he is, but most of his music leaves me stone cold. I think it's much the same with poetry.

 

[Geraldine]

And the really good stuff, be it music or poetry or whatever, works on many levels, so you can sample something and appreciate it when you are too young to understand all the layers, but if it attracts you, you will discover the extra layers as time goes by. I read all sorts of books when I was much too young to understand them fully, because they were in our house, and got a big suprise when I re-read them in adulthood and discovered the deeper meanings.

 

[Geraldine]

And speaking of Beethoven, I was four when I first heard his minuet in G, and asked the teacher at school who was playing it what it was, because I loved it so much.

 

[scampo]

"The most important thing is to enjoy it...". The difficult thing - for your teacher too, I expect, Jason - is finding a way of helping thirty-students-in-a-hot-class-waiting-for-an-exam-or-whatever to enjoy literature. It seems, for you, that he failed miserably.

But it can be a thankless job at times for all kinds of reasons. I happen to love teaching but recently a Maths teacher has published his "secret diary" (it was in the Sunday Telegraph a fortnight ago and has spread through the education system like wildfire). Every parent in the land should be required to read that diary - they would at last get an insight into the "other side" and see life from a teacher's perspective. I have to say, I am fortunate, not to have to suffer what he describes - but it could so easily be different.

 

[Bluetail]

"The most important thing is to enjoy it...". The difficult thing - for your teacher too, I expect, Jason - is finding a way of helping thirty-students-in-a-hot-class-waiting-for-an-exam-or-whatever to enjoy literature. It seems, for you, that he failed miserably.

I don't under-estimate the difficulties, Steve. I taught too for a while (and sometimes wish I'd stayed with it). But this chap had it on a plate - a grammar school of 700 pupils where the very well-respected head teacher knew every kid by name and maintained (with the inevitable odd exceptions) very good discipline. Even in the first two years, when there were no exam pressures, this chap's attitude was the same. He was simply old-fashioned (even for the 1960s), nearing retirement and jaded. Values have changed, I think, and I'm sure the ethos is very different today.

 

[Mickymouse]

Spooky, I have been listening to Beethovens 6th while reading this thread, one of my favourites ( I also like Metallica et al, but it doesn't go with poetry).
We haven't had anything from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam yet so I thought I would add a couple of quatrains from that.

(3) And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted-"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."

"7) Come, fill cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The bird of Time has but a little way
To fly-and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

No mention of birds, but his most famous verse is probable number 51:-

The Moving finger Writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

This has been a wonderful thread, I hope it goes on.
Mick

 

[Bluetail]

Thanks for posting this. I hadn't thought much about it before, but the thing that impresses me most deeply is the quality of the translation. I can't comment on Khayyam, but let's hear it for Edward Fitzgerald (I admit I had to look him up!) :clap:

 

[scampo]

Values have changed, I think, and I'm sure the ethos is very different today.

I had teachers like that, too, Jason, and in a similarly 'easy' environment - my history, Latin and Maths teachers stand out as especially poor for me (yet others thrived under them, I suppose I have to admit - and, indeed, I remain ever grateful for my knowledge of classics, such as it is!). It's a shame for the profession that the job can be so very difficult to do well and especially today, that the challenges teachers face in so many classrooms are overwhelmingly difficult. If you can get hold of that Telegraph article do.

 

[scampo]

If you can get hold of that Telegraph article do.

I've just found a link to the teacher's "secret diary" - if you are involved with kids today, this will make fascinating and utterly depressing reading:

http://www.people.co.uk/news/tm_objectid=14156977&method=full&siteid=55768&headline=secret-diary-of-a-teacher-name_page.html

Every teacher to which I have shown the article recognises its content. It has certainly put me off considering a job at some schools locally as I know I would struggle with such a daily grind. Interestingly the teacher who write it has given up that job and is working at a school for special needs.

 

[scampo]

The Moving finger Writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

This has been a wonderful thread, I hope it goes on.
Mick

Amazingly powerful words there, Mick. That's poetry for you - I always think that it's somewhat similar to music but with the meaning anchored down rather more by its use of words (if that makes sense). I shall never forget listening to Mussorgsky's marvel 'Pictures at an Exhibition' many years ago with a friend (an afficianado of classical music) - one part in the music I found serious and moving, my friend found highly amusing.

 

[Bluetail]

Yes, that article rings horribly true. Reminds me of a teacher who once told me that he made the mistake of turning his back on a class to write something on the blackboard. The next moment a maths compass embedded itself in the blackboard next to his head. Frankly I don't see why any teacher should have to put up with such conditions; clearly they are doing neither teachers nor kids any good. Sadly, no government is ever going to make the money available to fund a workable alternative - they won't even fund the current system properly.

 

[Tanny]

Oh boy!, It sure looks like weve lost the plot on this thread, we're getting into deep water and way above an uneducated brain. I was never taught poetry, like I never had an art lesson, yet I consider my verse and art to be at a reasonable standard, all self taught by reading and observing. I find some of the modern poetry and art to be totaly inconprehensible. The authors and artists in my opinion must have been, smoking, sniffing or injecting some powerfull stuff. Ever see Jackson Pollacks, Blue Poles. He was as drunk as a skunk when he painted that. The Australian Government paid millions of dollars for it, wich goes to prove thers a living to be made from mugs. Likewise some of the modern poetry is totaly unfathomable and the authors get good money for it. Ever seen on the telly at an art show and the curater of the gallery is spouting a load of unpronounceable words as he tries to explain what the picture in question means. The picture is of a pink swirl in a blue box with black lines going across and has six brown spots on the pink. The size of the picture is ten feet by ten feet and is called a "freckled Torso". Like modern poetry without rythem, the so called experts will try to explain what the author is expressing, no doubt there will be someone in the forum who will attempt to explain to me all about modern poetry. My final comment is, I know poets from way back also did poetry that is hard to understand, ie, G. Manly Hopkins, try as I might some of his poems are way out of my range of understanding.
It is up to each individual, his interlect, his education and his experiance, and probably what stimulant he takes that enables him to understand these things.
A poet is his best subject, he can only write about what he has learned and experianced. Understand the poetry and you understand the poet.
Language has the power to speak what love indites, the soul lies buried in the ink that writes.
Thank God for Democracy.
Now back to the thread.
OWL.
Travelling in the early hours before light had claimed the day,
I saw a beautiful tawny owl along our journey's way.
She drifted like a shadow, her flight briefly revealed,
Haunting the morning darkness low beside the field.
To see the beauty of her form filled my soul with awe,
Her loveliness etched in my heart to keep for ever more.
The Creator of our universe, from whom all beauty springs,
Made too the beauty of the owl with starlight on her wings.
Daybreak touched her gently with pale, unhurried hand,
As she flew in silent mystery across the open land.
Enid Pearson.
17 April, Peoples Friend Magazine.


t

 

[christineredgate]

Tanny,thanks for the lovely poem.Yes ,the way poetry is taught is changing,as is Art.It is the way of life,these days.We like our traditional verse and images,but unfortunately Tanny,this does not always meet with our approval.Stick to what you know and enjoy ,Tanny.

 

[scampo]

"the way poetry is taught is changing"...

You seem to have a good idea of what is going on at the chalk-face - I just wondered if you could expand a little on this? I suppose, too, the way poetry is being "learnt" is changing, perhaps?

 

[scampo]

Like modern poetry without rythem...

I wonder, do you have an example of this kind of 'modern poetry', Tanny? I don't know of any but I expect it exists somewhere - at least with a noticeable rhythm. I don't think you did - but maybe you mean rhyme? There's plenty of that kind of poetry - indeed much of Shakespeare's verse is of that style.

 

[christineredgate]

Actually,Steve,no I do not .I was picking up on what Tanny was saying.But I do think perhaps the concept of poetry as we knew it many years ago is perhaps not as it is being taught in schools today.But then again,Steve,you are an expert in the subject,and you really know your stuff,so perhaps I am wrong.Art is changing,and so is poetry.One must move with the times,as it were!!

 

[scampo]

I think it's important not to knock teaching without a genuine knowledge of what is going on - sorry I'm being defensive, but you can maybe understand my reasons.

Most poetry we teach is not "new" so changes in poetry, such as they are, are less significant - although we do now have to teach poetry from different cultures (and that is less obviously rhyming and rhythmic at times, but can be splendid).

 

[Bluetail]

One must move with the times,as it were!!

Blow that for a game of soldiers - this old codger isn't moving with anything! I'm with Tanny all the way. As far as I'm concerned, the value of art is in its ability to convey depths of emotion that are beyond everyday speech. If a piece of art (poetry, music, painting, whatever) needs to be explained by its creator before it can be appreciated it's both pretentious and pointless. Such an artist will tell me that my view of art is old-fashioned: art has evolved (or something like that). Give over! That's a cop-out. Such art effectively has no other function than to fuel the artist's ego. That's a regression in my book.

I'm not condemning all modern art, by any means. There is still plenty that still has enormous power to move, even though it may be so "different" that it takes some getting used to.

There. Rant over.

<Retires to don flak jacket!>

 

[AnnieW]

I fear this thread is getting far too serious, and we're in danger of losing track of the birds & poetry theme. So to address both of these concerns I offer the following which is a favourite of mine .... Mr Edward Lear's "The Scoobious Pip". It's rather long, but does mention a fair number of birds in the second verse and also serves to highlight the problem of id-ing things for the first time (particularly when its song keeps changing )

The Scroobious Pip went out one day
When the grass was green, and the sky was grey.

Then all the beasts in the world came round​

When the Scroobious Pip sat down on the ground.

The cat and the dog and the kangaroo​

The sheep and the cow and the guineapig too--​

The wolf he howled, the horse he neighed​

The little pig squeaked and the donkey brayed,

And when the lion began to roar​

There never was heard such a noise before.​

And every beast he stood on the tip​

Of his toes to look at the Scroobious Pip.
At last they said to the Fox - "By far,
You're the wisest beast! You know you are!
Go close to Scroobious Pip and say,
Tell us all about yourself we pray-
For as yet we can't make out in the least
If you're Fish or Insect, or Bird or Beast."
The Scroobious Pip looked vaguely round
And sang these words with a rumbling sound-
Chippetty Flip; Flippetty Chip;-
My only name is the Scroobious Pip.

The Scroobious Pip from the top of a tree
Saw the distant Jellybolee,-
And all the birds in the world came there,
Flying in crowds all through the air.
The Vulture and Eagle, the cock and the hen
The Ostrich the Turkey the Snipe and the Wren;
The Parrot chattered, the Blackbird sung
And the owl looked wise but held his tongue,
And when the Peacock began to scream
The hullabaloo was quite extreme.
And every bird he fluttered the tip
Of his wing as he stared at the Scroobious Pip.
At last they said to the owl- "By far,
You're the wisest Bird -- you know you are!
Fly close to the Scroobious Pip and say,
Explain all about yourself we pray-
For as yet we have neither seen nor heard
If you're fish or insect, beast or bird!"
The Scroobious Pip looked gaily round
And sang these words with a chirpy sound-
Chippetty Flip; Flippetty Chip;-
My only name is the Scroobious Pip.

The Scroobious Pip went into the sea
By the beautiful shore of Jellybolee-
All the fish in the world swam round
With a splashing squashy spluttering sound.
The sprat, the herring, the turbot too
The shark, the sole and the mackerel blue,
The flounder spluttered, the purpoise puffed
And when the whale began to spout
And every fish he shook the tip
Of his tail as he gazed on the Scroobious Pip
At last they said to the whale- "By far
You're the biggest Fish - you know you are!
Swim close to the Scroobious Pip and say-
Tell us all about yourself we pray!-
For to know you yourself is our only wish;
Are you beast or insect, bird or fish?"
The Scroobious Pip looked softly round
And sung these words with a liquid sound-
Pliffity Flip; Pliffety Flip;-
My only name is the Scroobious Pip.

The scroobious Pip sat under a tree
By the silent shores of the Jellybolee;
All the insects in all the world
About the Scroobious Pip entwirled.
Beetles and bugs with purple eyes
Gnats and buzztilential flies-
Grasshoppers, butterflies, spiders too,
Wasps and bees and dragon-flies blue,
And when the gnats began to hum
The sound it bounced like a dismal drum,
And every insect curled the tip
Of his snout, and looked a the Scroobious Pip.
At last they said to the Ant - "By far
You're the wisest insect, you know you are!
Creep close to the Scroobious Pip and say-
Tell us all about yourself we pray,
For we can't find out, and we can't tell why-
If you're beast or fish or a bird or a fly."
The Scroobious Pip turned quickly round
And sang these words with a whistly sound
Wizzeby wip - wizzeby wip--
My only name is the Scroobious Pip.

Then all the beasts that walk on the ground
Danced in a circle round and round-
And all the birds that fly in the air
Flew round and round in a circle there,
And all the fish in the Jellybolee
Swum in a circle about the sea,
And all the insects that creep or go
Buzzed in a circle to and fro.
And they roared and sang and whistled and cried
Till the noise was heard from side to side-
Chippetty tip! Chippetty tip!
It's only name is the Scroobious Pip.

I will now don my own flak jacket & retreat !!

 

[Bluetail]

Superb, Annie. Thanks for bringing us (well, me) back to ground in such a delightful way.

I love the way Lear's nonsense words revel in the beauty of sound for its own sake - as does this classic from Douglas Adams:

Oh freddled gruntbuggly, thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.
Groop! I implore thee my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don't!'
(Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz)