Most metaphysical words in Hopi are verbs, not nouns as in European languages.
quote by Benjamin Whorf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Verbs v. nouns
Nouns…
they’re dead things; names
you give to things to render them
immobile; to make them yours, your very own; fit for nothing
except scrapheaps, museums, dictionaries, armchairs;
but they make you feel good;
you have control over their world;
you don’t have to think about them any more;
they’re all locked up safe in your collecting-box,
the noun for which is head:
you can sound important with nouns:
this government’s raft of measures
for fiscal stimulation of the economy
but verbs… ah, verbs!
you can’t own them, push them about,
collect them, be important about them;
they own themselves;
they’re outdoor words: going about their
lawful business, doing what they're best at,
measuring their own life as they work;
adapting themselves to what needs to be done
which nouns can’t do without a committee
and then it’s too late; happy
to be themselves, being; even
being while they’re doing.. don't you wish
you were a verb?
Nature – (that’s a verb, by the way,
not a noun) – is all verbs; evolution
is a verb (not a theory):
DNA’s a verb – you can’t own it
like a noun…it doesn’t even
want to own you…
so, be a child – put your boots on,
run, splash, shout look at all those verbs;
how bright the world, what fun,
nothing to put in your pocket to take home
(or if you do, it’ll change to a noun, your noun,
in your pocket, in your drawer, gathering dust:
verbs don’t have the time to gather dust…)
verbs are for observing; verbs are for
seeing for the first time; wow! Verbs are for
inventors, explorers, tree-climbing,
coming home after a day of verb-watching
tired and looking forward to tomorrow
and sleeping soundly, maybe even
thanking, laughing, giving, living;
God is a verb.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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What We See As...
What we see as nouns
are verbs to God…
see the water in this glass –
clear and still;
taste the water in this glass –
its sweet taste with no taste..
watch the Spring rain;
smell the earth give thanks
see the washing blowing on the line
smelling happy to be clean
see the mighty river, fierce
to reach the sea
watch the evening sea-fog roll in over the bay;
see the city washed afresh in the morning sun;
look up to the glorious theatre of clouds,
obeying water’s laws for all to watch;
know what mercy is; how it descends – appears,
as the gentle rain from heaven within;
what we see as nouns
are verbs to God
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Words And Words
let us have an illusion of words
mesmerize ourselves with the movements of its verbs
and pretend about the beautiful feeling of its adjectives
let nothing be too personal about nouns
let us not be too excited about some interjections
let us shy away from so many questions
no orders, no imperatives no coercions
for tonight let there be only demonstrative pronouns
lips kissing, arms embracing, neck petting,
thighs making on top of each other hands entwine
fingers running, abdomens ebbing
let all be not just wishes, let it not just be on subjunctive moods
let there be verbs of romance, let there be sentences of lust
let us forget for once the word much abused by all:
i do not wish to utter it, let not love be feigned.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry is all nouns and verbs.
quote by Marianne Moore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Something Understandable
in your busy life
there is no time for
a puzzle
and so to make things
easier for you
i am simplifying words
i am giving you
all nouns and
adjectives
i am setting aside
all the verbs
like a still painting
you may stop
and find yourself
there
immobile
calm and still
stuffed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poets Mind
In a poets mind,
silence has stopped chatter,
traffic noise, childish play.
A hum from a distance sings,
words begin to congregate.
Choosing nouns, verbs and
adjectives, words collected
from the gentle light…..
Lines of tenderness and love
merge into a lovers pledge.
Music for her mind,
sonnet of love and promise
to adore forevermore.
08-06-2009
Inspired by Anjali Sinha's poem Words
poem by Bob Blackwell
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I Conquer The World With Words
I conquer the world with words,
conquer the mother tongue,
verbs, nouns, syntax.
I sweep away the beginning of things
and with a new language
that has the music of water the message of fire
I light the coming age
and stop time in your eyes
and wipe away the line
that separates
time from this single moment.
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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English Language
The English language it contains thousands of words
Which includes nouns, adjectives, constants and verbs
Structuring them together to create novels or speeches
So we can speak or read or listen while a teacher teaches
And of those thousands words that we have at our command
Some are the few words that decent people have banned
Sadly those few words most people use to swear and to curse
They are crude, coarse and obscene which are used alone or in a verse.
The English language contains thousands of words
Which equals to the stars in the sky or the multitude of birds
They are used in conversation and to define who we are
Words are the building blocks from a vast reservoir
But then we have those few words that are very crude
People use them to hurt or to insult and also to be lewd
Judge a book by its cover and the people by the words they use
When we speak, speak with caution and ponder and then be a muse.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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0008 A Love Poem in a New Old Language
Wilfrid Chin Sue says that poetry
is about ‘about’, and thank you Wilf
for that, and thanks too from us poets all
to e.e.cummings for reminding us
that lurking in the words between
the words we give most value to
like nouns and verbs and adjectives
are the words that hint,
about the presence of the subtle
so here’s a love poem about your about
because when it comes down or up
to it, it’s all about just what’s about
you – like the scent you loved to use
which brought and brings
you into an empty room
and the things you left about
which speak of you
more subtly even than your scent
and your near… ah yes, your near…that's never far from me
and your around
that made eyes light up, with life and joy and love
and your between
which I shall not speak
(about)
and the because of our true together
which I could write (about) endlessly
because of its endless, its inexplicable,
its because
which reminds me of your beyond,
which I would not write (about) in case
I wept, or failed, or failed and wept
oh so many other, being one
but most of all
I miss your
around
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Read My Lips
verbal silence. read my lips.
if you see them.
read the words. read it here.
these words. read them like
flowers in the garden.
these words speak a little.
tips of the iceberg. They are less
compared to the color of my eyes
the warmth of my fingers
the suppressed beatings of my heart.
these words that you read.
if only you can see my lips.
if only you can see my face.
and body, naked on the flowing sheet of
pure paper. IF only you know
what silence means, how emptiness
eats it, if only you know how inferior
verbs and adjectives are
compared to the caresses of the hands
and the tenderness of the fingers,
touch.
read the lines silently.
these words do not shape my lips.
they come to your eyes.
in the silence of your understanding.
never shall they speak
about me. they only talk about
the hands that write sometimes
without any meaning at all.
infinitives are not infinite.
neither do verbs know what is it to be still.
and adjectives talk only about the surface.
deep under, the noise begins.
and silence of the verbs move to another side.
now, the mountains of ideas collapse
and bury the casualties of silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old Poets
The old poets
sit drinking and conversing.
Speaking with long words; parts
of forgotten phrases, and occasional cursing.
There was among them another day, when
they thought they knew
precisely what to say, what to do.
But time, with the help of wine
has taken up the words.
Stealing their once steady voice
no longer the stronger, nor even again to be heard.
Now, the old poets gather round early
in narrow dusty bars, looking
far off, and puffing fat cigars.
Satisfied to simply sit and sip, upon
the failing wine, and fleeting time.
Watching, as both run dangerously low, like
the finish of a long and
melancholy picture show.
Time and wine, words and birds, all
fly so quickly by.
Going south with a closed mouth
the verbs and nouns of the past fall broken, and
are no longer sacramentally spoken.
What once moved so fine, within these aged poetic minds
flows now, no less, throughout each new day.
It turns old bodies weak, yet goes on bearing
the delicate souls like gold, further and further away.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Grammarians Funeral
Eight Parts of Speech this Day wear Mourning Gowns
Declin'd Verbs, Pronouns, Participles, Nouns.
And not declined, Adverbs and Conjunctions,
In Lillies Porch they stand to do their functions.
With Preposition; but the most affection
Was still observed in the Interjection.
The Substantive seeming the limbed best,
Would set an hand to bear him to his Rest.
The Adjective with very grief did say,
Hold me by strength, or I shall faint away.
The Clouds of Tears did over-cast their faces,
Yea all were in most lamentable Cases.
The five Declensions did the Work decline,
And Told the Pronoun Tu, The work is thine:
But in this case those have no call to go
That want the Vocative, and can't say O!
The Pronouns said that if the Nouns were there,
There was no need of them, they might them spare:
But for the sake of Emphasis they would,
In their Discretion do what ere they could.
Great honour was confer'd on Conjugations,
They were to follow next to the Relations.
Amo did love him best, and Doceo might
Alledge he was his Glory and Delight.
But Lego said by me he got his skill,
And therefore next the Herse I follow will.
Audio said little, hearing them so hot,
Yet knew by him much Learning he had got.
O Verbs the Active were, Or Passive sure,
Sum to be Neuter could not well endure.
But this was common to them all to Moan
Their load of grief they could not soon Depone.
A doleful Day for Verbs, they look so moody,
They drove Spectators to a Mournful Study.
The Verbs irregular, 'twas thought by some,
Would break no rule, if they were pleas'd to come.
Gaudeo could not be found; fearing disgrace
He had with-drawn, sent Maereo in his Place.
Possum did to the utmost he was able,
And bore as Stout as if he'd been A Table.
Volo was willing, Nolo some-what stout,
But Malo rather chose, not to stand out.
Possum and Volo wish'd all might afford
Their help, but had not an Imperative Word.
Edo from Service would by no means Swerve,
Rather than fail, he thought the Cakes to Serve.
Fio was taken in a fit, and said,
By him a Mournful POEM should be made.
Fero was willing for to bear a part,
Altho' he did it with an aking heart.
Feror excus'd, with grief he was so Torn,
He could not bear, he needed to be born.
Such Nouns and Verbs as we defective find,
No Grammar Rule did their attendance bind.
They were excepted, and exempted hence,
But Supines, all did blame for negligence.
Verbs Offspring, Participles hand-in-hand,
Follow, and by the same direction stand:
The rest Promiscuously did croud and cumber,
Such Multitudes of each, they wanted Number.
Next to the Corpse to make th' attendance even,
Jove, Mercury, Apollo came from heaven.
And Virgil, Cato, gods, men, Rivers, Winds,
With Elegies, Tears, Sighs, came in their kinds.
Ovid from Pontus hast's Apparrell'd thus,
In Exile-weeds bringing De Tristibus:
And Homer sure had been among the Rout,
But that the Stories say his Eyes were out.
Queens, Cities, Countries, Islands, Come
All Trees, Birds, Fishes, and each Word in Um.
What Syntax here can you expect to find?
Where each one bears such discomposed mind.
Figures of Diction and Construction,
Do little: Yet stand sadly looking on.
That such a Train may in their motion chord,
Prosodia gives the measure Word for Word.
poem by Benjamin Tompson
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In The Name Of ………
Watching the wilting dividers,
wanted to declock the time
in timeless death:
though life must move on.
After amputation, body waits to be lifted,
negating the bed.
Now it was time, which would you like,
nouns that hurt?
Or verbs that heal?
After stepping down
from my self
said the star, I have become
a black moon. Three bombs went off
within three minutes. Was it a Mendelson’s
syndrome after general anaesthesia?
The chemical god wanted to distemper
a flock of sheep. God
save the earth.
poem by Satish Verma
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The business, task or object of the scientific study of languages will if possible be 1) to trace the history of all known languages. Naturally this is possible only to a very limited extent and for very few languages.
quote by Ferdinand de Saussure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is
Greek
and other ancient languages
are happy with verbs
existing without a subject.
Renders.
Philosophers, silent;
poets, dumb;
contemplatives, still..
Is.
Becomes?
Continues?
Ends?
Cogitates:
Is?
Is:
cogitates.
Meditates.
Rests.
Cla rifies.
Wonders.
Praises.
Expands.
Em braces.
Loves.
Is.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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In fact, from then on scholars engaged in a kind of game of comparing different Indo-European languages with one another, and eventually they could not fail to wonder what exactly these connections showed, and how they should be interpreted in concrete terms.
quote by Ferdinand de Saussure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Music of your Voice
A vase upon the mantelpiece,
A ship upon the sea,
A goat upon a mountain-top
Are much the same to me;
But when you mention melon jam,
Or picnics by the creek,
Or apple pies, or pantomimes,
I love to hear you speak.
The date of Magna Charta or
The doings of the Dutch,
Or capes, or towns, or verbs, or nouns
Do not excite me much;
But when you mention motor rides -
Down by the sea for choice
Or chasing games, or chocolates,
I love to hear your voice.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Weary Poet
Lethargic verbs coax sleepy nouns
along verses of poetry
in the wee hours of the night.
A flickering fluorescent Light
tremulously glows its paleness
above the weary poets head,
each tremor depriving him sleep.
The first rays of sunlight shine through
the rooms window, devouring
the artificial annoyance
while his tired head slowly descends
onto his outstretched left forearm;
the pen still resting in his hand
while his dreams devise completion.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Wallace Stevens: The Click of Marbled Orbs
(Sonnet as Keynote to WS)
The stout man puffs on his Havana cigar
And picks canary chords on his blue guitar,
Fashions flawed words and spindrift sounds
Into day-glow verbs and glass-blown nouns.
How much the notion of a supreme fiction
Derives from bric-a-brac and spiffy diction
None knows. Say his thickest absolutes
Derive from blue rotundities of fruits:
His crispest jugglery performs the feat
Of hardening stealthy points into concrete
Trombones, sausage-makers, cattle skulls,
And pettifogging buds. His monocle's
Univocal, a prop that lets him see
Glories in pewter, and mere poetry.
(Published in The Wallace Stevens Journal, Fall 2005. Vol.29. No.2 p.304)
poem by William F Dougherty
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Panchadasi Chapter Two
O Lord, You are my own self..
remind me, now, that my own self is You..
and that’s about the measure of it:
if I were to speak of You, or praise You,
I would speak verbs, and nouns, and sentences;
remind me, Lord, that every verb
speaks of, and yet hides,
Your Creating, here and now;
that every noun speaks of, and hides
the single every name of You;
that every sentence describes, hides,
Your Creation and its beauty;
so take me, know me, Lord, to be
Your silent worshipper and friend
in the stillness of the temple of OurSelf.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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