I was trained in the '50s as a New Critic. I remember what literature was like before the New Critics, when people stood up and talked about Shelley's soul and such things.
quote by Clifford Geertz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hyperbolic
The actor!
His greater mentor;
The actress!
Her greator mentor;
With critics and the hyperbolic of things,
But this satirical case is always seen around us.
Trained from oral history,
Trained from oral works,
And like the beauty of love plus the act of peace;
With critics and the hyerbolic of the things around us today,
But, my sweet mind will lead me on always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Wicket Cricket Critic
If the cricket critics' nagging
Merits stern official gagging
Which I doubt
How would critical ascetics,
With their prosy homiletics,
Shut it out?
And the question then arises:
If more cricketing surprises,
Such as bodyline, begin to threaten cricket,
And another stunt, when sprung,
Call for clicking of the tongue,
Should a cricket critic critically click it?
When the barrackers grow lyric
In a manner most satiric
And profane,
How, one ventures still to wonder,
May the clamor be kept under?
How restrain?
For one barbaric larrik-
In can do a lot of barrack-
In', and cause a lot of worry at the wicket.
But would sportsmen be abusing
Cricket canons in refusing
To supply that cricket critic with a ticket?
As a critic analytic
Of the cricket critics' critic
I would say,
When we criticise their cricket,
Then the players have to stick it,
Come what may.
No specific soporific
May be used; for it is diffic-
Ult to strike a critic partly paralytic.
So there's nothing gained in seeking,
As I know; and I am speaking
As a critic of the cricket critic's critic.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Where Or When
When youre awake
The things you think
Come from the dreams you dream
Thought has wings,
And lots of things
Are seldom what they see
Sometimes you think youve lived before
All that you live today
Things you do come back to you
As though they knew the way
Oh, the tricks your mind can play
It seems we stood and talked like this before
We looked at each other in the same way then
But I cant remember where or when
The clothes youre wearing and the clothes you wore
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then
But I cant remember where or when
Some things that happen for the first time
Seem to be happening again
And so it seems that we have met before
And laughed before
And loved before
But who knows where or when
It seems we stood and talked like this before
We looked at each other in the same way then
But I cant remember where or when
The clothes youre wearing and the clothes you wore
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then
But I cant remember where or when
Some things that happen for the first time
Seem to be happening again
And so it seems that we have met before
And laughed before
And loved before
But who knows where or when
(richard rodgers/lorenz hart)
song performed by by George Michael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pay no attention to what the critics say... Remember, a statue has never been set up in honor of a critic!
quote by Jean Sibelius
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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May I Have Another Helping of Those Delicious Critics, Please?
What do I have to say,
To those who are my critics?
I have been aware of them,
Since I began taking my first steps.
Since my first breath taken...
Was done independently.
I've heard it said,
My lifetime of actions...
By them has been disapproved.
And things I do have been ego led.
It's believed what I do,
Is done to seek attention.
Even those things I do to cleanse,
In privacy...
I care not mention.
We all have talents,
And those gifts that are given.
How I use the ones I have...
Aren't from a critic's invention.
Or maybe because of the creation of 'them'.
Who knows?
Perhaps that's what has them upset.
And if they have time like that to waste...
Don't hesitate in delay to say,
I am just getting started.
And what I've given to them to nibble...
Is just a little taste.
From a baking not completed,
Yet imaginations rate!
They have no idea,
Of who I am!
Or the making of 'me'.
And-what-that-takes!
Since I'm the cooker who does the feeding...
I know who eats!
And those served,
That ate.
Those who choose to regurgitate...
Do it without my decision given to make!
What do I have to say,
To those who are my critics?
I do admire their efforts,
But...
What's there is there for them to digest.
I'm not about to give up my peace,
Or my mind for them to test.
My eyes are clear,
And focused on my progress.
Not on things that I've done.
For purposes to keep manifested,
The days I spent in my youth...
Doing things to shock and stun,
Just for the 'hell' of having devilish fun.
Although I must admit,
There is 'something' about controversy...
That appetites my palate much more than just a bit.
'Excuse me...
I know I shouldn't.
Since I am here by invitation.
But,
May I have another helping of those delicious critics,
Please?
I can not believe they could be this delicious.
What have these critics been mixed with? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Talked Me Into It
I'll stand and hold onto
everything I wished for
I'm stubborn, but you talked me into it
You have the key to my mind
I melt in front of you
You turn me on without trying
You talked me into it
And I let you, at that time
I could have believed
anything you said
You ignored me before that night
but I was desperate for your attention
If I was psychic,
woulda wished for anything but you
You talked me into it
Into everything I wished for
I'm stubborn, but you talked me into it
Wondered if you knew I existed
I was enchanted with you
Never felt more forgotten
I'm stubborn, but you laughed
Said, I'll never leave you in the rain
I took your word, let you
Talk me into it
You're the only one that has
enough of me to love
and wish
You talked me into it
Banished me to the back of your mind
after all these years
Never felt more forgotten
I'm stubborn, but
I remember that night
When you talked me into it
But I stood and held onto
everything I wished for
I'm stubborn, but you talked me into it
But what is the difference between literature and journalism? Journalism is unreadable and literature is not read. That is all.
Oscar Wilde in The Critic as Artist, (1891)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I remember when…
I remember when Heather asked me out for you
I remember when I dumped my girlfriend for you because I was even then falling for you
I remember when I went over to your home to meet Grams and I felt like I was home
I remember when I kissed you for the first time my heart skipped a beat
I remember whenever we talked I would smile like a fool. And still do
I remember when I said that I loved you you said it back.
I remember all these things and more…
poem by Joe Johnson
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I Remember It All
In times gone by I remember it all
The fun we had
The friends I made
The love I won and lost
The fiery anger that burns the soul and makes my mind a cloud
It hurts my heart to tell you this
My head is in a fix
I hate this world in its dark
In times gone by I remember it all
The roads I should have taken
The things I forgot
The people whose lives destroyed
The stupid things that I have done
The evil things
I hated the things I did
The dangerous paths I took
In times gone by I remember it all
I remember the words unspoken
The pain that still sits on the heart
The problems that wreck the soul
and never been resolved
In times gone by I remember it all
The pain, the heartbreak
The laughter
I remember the good times and the bad
The stories told and untold
In times gone by I remember
The memories I have made
poem by Rachel Branscombe
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The General Public
"Ah, did you once see Shelley plain?" -- Browning.
"Shelley? Oh, yes, I saw him often then,"
The old man said. A dry smile creased his face
With many wrinkles. "That's a great poem, now!
That one of Browning's! Shelley? Shelley plain?
The time that I remember best is this --
A thin mire crept along the rutted ways,
And all the trees were harried by cold rain
That drove a moment fiercely and then ceased,
Falling so slow it hung like a grey mist
Over the school. The walks were like blurred glass.
The buildings reeked with vapor, black and harsh
Against the deepening darkness of the sky;
And each lamp was a hazy yellow moon,
Filling the space about with golden motes,
And making all things larger than they were.
One yellow halo hung above a door,
That gave on a black passage. Round about
Struggled a howling crowd of boys, pell-mell,
Pushing and jostling like a stormy sea,
With shouting faces, turned a pasty white
By the strange light, for foam. They all had clods,
Or slimy balls of mud. A few gripped stones.
And there, his back against the battered door,
His pile of books scattered about his feet,
Stood Shelley while two others held him fast,
And the clods beat upon him. `Shelley! Shelley!'
The high shouts rang through all the corridors,
`Shelley! Mad Shelley! Come along and help!'
And all the crowd dug madly at the earth,
Scratching and clawing at the streaming mud,
And fouled each other and themselves. And still
Shelley stood up. His eyes were like a flame
Set in some white, still room; for all his face
Was white, a whiteness like no human color,
But white and dreadful as consuming fire.
His hands shook now and then, like slender cords
Which bear too heavy weights. He did not speak.
So I saw Shelley plain."
"And you?" I said.
"I? I threw straighter than the most of them,
And had firm clods. I hit him -- well, at least
Thrice in the face. He made good sport that night."
poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
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Habits are comforts
To listen to the tunes that
Your ears are trained on,
To look at things that
Your eyes are trained on,
And to tread the way that
Your feet are trained in
Will appear sweet to you.
Habits bring comfort zones.
01.01.07
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Pay no attention to what the critics say; no statue has ever been put up to a critic.
quote by Jean Sibelius
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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George Trimble
Do you remember when I stood on the steps
Of the Court House and talked free-silver,
And the single-tax of Henry George?
Then do you remember that, when the Peerless Leader
Lost the first battle, I began to talk prohibition,
And became active in the church?
That was due to my wife,
Who pictured to me my destruction
If I did not prove my morality to the people.
Well, she ruined me:
For the radicals grew suspicious of me,
And the conservatives were never sure of me --
And here I lie, unwept of all.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Well, I'm not a critic, I'm just a worker. So, I'm always grateful for anything the critics say - good or bad.
quote by Mandy Patinkin
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I don't listen to what art critics say. I don't know anybody who needs a critic to find out what art is.
quote by Jean-Michel Basquiat
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Do You Remember?
We never talked about it
But I hear the blame was mine
Id call you up to say Im sorry
But I wouldnt want to waste your time
cos I love you, but I cant take any more
Theres a look I cant describe in your eyes
Yes we could try, like we tried before
When you kept on telling me those lies
Do you remember...?
There seemed no way to make up
cos it seemed your mind was set
And the way you looked it told me
Its a look I know Ill never forget
You couldve come over to my side
You couldve let me know
You couldve tried to see the distance between us
But it seemed too far for you to go.
Do you remember...?
Through all of my life
In spite of all the pain
You know people are funny sometimes
cos they just cant wait
To get hurt again
Do you remember...?
There are things we wont recall
Feelings well never find
Its taken so long to see it
Cos we never seemed to have the time
There was always something more important to do
More important to say
But I love you wasnt one of those things
And now its too late
Do you remember...?
song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Critics Outside And Inside
Peers are critics outside and conscience,
The critic inside. We listen to both.
We make efforts to silence both the critics.
When there is a conflict between the two,
Do answer the calls from the conscience
Rather than yield to the peers' pressure.
One thinks of oneself when one spends for food.
One thinks of pears when one spends on clothes.
Love from pity is the call of conscience.
Love for relation is the call of peers.
People go bankrupt from peers' pressure.
A coward is led by peers influence.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Things in vague
Mind is talked about but not located.
Heart is talked about but not ascertained.
Ghosts are talked about but not captured.
God is talked about but in ‘faith' bracket.
We find it delightful to talk about
Things about which we are not certain.
14.06.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Where Or When
It seems we stood and talked like this, before
We looked at each other in the same way then
But I cant remember where or when
The clothes youre wearing are the clothes, you wore
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then
But I cant remember where or when
Some things that happened for the first time
Seem to be happenin again
And so it seems that we have met before
And laughed before, and loved before
But who knows where or when
Some things that happened for the first time
Seem to be happenin again
And so it seems that we have met before
And laughed before, and loved before
But who knows where or when
Transcribed by todd peach
When youre awake, the things you think
Come from the dream you dream
Thought has wings, and lots of things
Are seldom what they seem
Sometimes you think youve lived before
All that you live to day
Things you do come back to you
As though they knew the way
Oh the tricks your mind can play
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Remembrance
Always remember,
You are my friend,
You are good and true,
You are wonderful person.
Always remember,
Those memories
we shared,
we talked about,
we dream.
Always remember
Those we being together
We chat and talk
About anything.
I will remember those days
Most treasures things I know.
You are always my good and best friend.
I'll remember you in this poem.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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