Tiger's Rumour and other Parodies William Blake - The Tyger
Tyger’s Rumour
Rumour rushing rampant right
round faithless forests of wraith night,
what immoral hand or eye
could frame fly tearless symmetry?
In what deep and dark disguise
spread irking libel, lurking lies?
on what wasp wings dare they aspire –
e’er slander sting tongues air fame liar?
What woeful infamous black art
wrung toxic sinews, tocsin heart
rung when sin heart broke cheating beat,
what sleight of hand to greet deceit!
What wrong's hammer, what strong chain?
in what furnace forged? What brain
fed wily worms sly envy's [g]rasp,
bred spiteful deadly [t]errors’ [g]asp?
11 December 1991 revised 18 September 2009 robi3_0504_blak1_0003 PXX_JXX for previous version see below
Parody William BLAKE 1757_1827 The Tyger
Tyger’s Rumour
Rumour rushing rampant right
round faithless forests of wraith night,
what immortal hand or eye
could frame fly tearless symmetry?
In what deep and dark disguise
spread irking libel, lurking lies?
On what wasp wings dare they aspire –
e’er slander sting tongues air fame liar?
What woeful infamous black art
wrung toxic sinews, tocsin heart
rung when sin heart broke cheating beat,
what sleight of hand to greet deceit!
What wrong's hammer, what strong chain?
In what furnace forged? What brain
fed wily worms sly envy's [g]rasp,
bred them deadly, errors’ [g]asp?
11 December 1991 revised 18 September 2009 robi3_0504_blak1_0003 PXX_JXX
The Tyger
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes!
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire!
And what shoulder, and what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand! and what dread feet!
What the hammer! what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain
What the anvil, what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spear
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see
Did he who made the Lamb make thee!
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry!
William BLAKE 1757_1827
________
Tyger's Eye
Tyger Tyger, once again
we'll praise your uncontested reign
where golden eye implies rebirth,
of jungle lord's word none constrain.
From distant deeps of tropic skies.
to forests sparse where eagle flies,
your power ripples round world's girth -
how could it e'er be otherwise?
Strength in each and every part
needs no paltry poet's art
to illustrate your peerless worth
which rhymes through time in class apart.
Neither hammer, chain, may blind
furnace features, anvil mind,
you represent upon this Earth
both force and freedom none may bind.
[c] Jonathan Robin - parody William Blake written 27 June 2008 robi3_1775_blak1_0003 PXX_CNX
Tiger Siberian and Riga Balterian
Riga, Riga, brave despite
Russian army’s aimless might,
what eternal summer sky
could liberate thy people’s sigh?
Though the hammer, sickle, chain
sickly are, they still remain
a present threat, their might and main
must from within be toppled! – Plain?
Fifty years the Russian reign
ignomious has spread red stain,
fifty years too much! – again
freedom comes, no dumb refrain.
Riga, Riga, free from fright
soon, before the New Year’s Night,
independence will attain –
light and laughter come again...
© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 1 October 1991 – Parody William BLAKE – The Tyger
The Tiger
Tigre! Tigre! L’étincelle
du fond des forêts de la nuit,
quel oeil, quelle main immortelle
firent ta terrible symétrie?
Dans quelles lointaines cimes, abîmes,
prit feu la puissance en tes yeux?
quelles ailes osèrent le sublime?
quel Promothée osa ce feu?
Quelle force et savoir-faire
pliaient les muscles de ton coeur
quand ce coeur fit son tonnerre,
quelle main forte et quelle ardeur?
Quelle chaîne et quel marteau,
de quel four sort ta cervelle?
quelle enclume? Quelle poignée
défia ces terreurs mortelles?
Quand les étoiles envoient leurs dards,
versant leurs larmes au Paradis,
a-t-il souri voyant son art?
qui fit l’agneau fit toi aussi?
Tigre, Tigre! L’étincelle
du fond des forêts de la nuit,
quel oeil, quelle main immortelle,
firent ta terrible symétrie?
© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 26 January 1993 – Parody William BLAKE – The Tyger
Likable Wilma
Wilma, Wilma, in thy blouse,
Red-haired prehistoric spouse,
What immortal animator
Was thy slender waist's creator?
When the Rubble clan moved in,
Was Betty jealous of thy skin,
Thy noble nose, thy dimpled knee?
Did he who penciled Fred draw thee?
Wilma, Wilma, burning bright, ye
Cartoon goddess Aphrodite,
Was it Hanna or Barbera
Made thee hot as some caldera?
Francis HEANEY Anagram Parody William BLAKE – The Tiger
HEANEY Francis hean1_0004_hean1_0000 PWX_LXX Likable Wilma_Wilma, Wilma, in thy blouse
Nazi! Nazi!
Nazi culture burning bright
With its nordic-Grecian light,
What sub-human dare defy
Its full totemic majesty?
Greek to speceies who are not
Aryan to the fina l clot,
Its ethnic-ethic-technic dwells
In nordic livestock’s sacred cells.
Stainless Aryan youth-bands now
Teach the tourist Herr and Frau,
That all folk-stems may in turn
Kraft duch Schadenfreude learn.
Arts of blood by bloodbaths purged,
In pan-Germanic sunburst merged,
Will their rays as they aspire
Come to set the Thames on fire?
Nazi! Nazi! burning brihgt
In Europe’s deep degenerate night,
Who but Nazi’s can descry
Thy primitive sublimity?
1936
KATZIN Olga Miller 1896_198 – Parody William BLAKE – The Tyger
Reductio ad Absurdam
(The vision unfolded by Professor Schäfer of the production of life by chemical means has been declared by other scientists to be the same discovery made long since by Darwin and Huxley. The absurdity of any such pretensions in the past is, of course, easily proved by the following reference to the case of Thomas.)
Thomas, Thomas, going large
Down the Mall’s majestic marge,
What mad scientist is he
Would claim to have concocted thee?
In what oxyhydrotherm
Dwelt thy protoplasmic germ?
In what subtle chemic spasm?
What the hand dare seize the plasm?
To what end, ‘neath what pretence
Arose thy utter lack of sense?
And, bringing such a thing to pass,
What blind fool, what silly ass?
What the formule? What the fault?
In what test-tube was thy salt?
What the bunsen? What the flame
Fused the fluid of thy frame?
When the spars thrown down in spate
Formed thy weak precipitate,
Did he look on it with glee –
He who, to take a case, made me?
Thomas, Thomis going large
Down the Mall’s majestic marge,
What mad scientist is he
Dare claim to have concocted thee?
Wilfrid BLAIR 1889_1968 Sa Muse s’amuse 1914
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Tyger's Eye - after William Blake
Tyger's Eye
Tyger Tyger, once again
we'll praise your uncontested reign
where golden eye implies rebirth,
of jungle lord's word none constrain.
From distant deeps of tropic skies.
to forests sparse where eagle flies,
your power ripples round world's girth -
how could it e'er be otherwise?
Strength in each and every part
needs no paltry poet's art
to illustrate your peerless worth
which rhymes through time in class apart.
Neither hammer, chain, may blind
furnace features, anvil mind,
you represent upon this Earth
both force and freedom none may bind.
[c] Jonathan Robin - parody William Blake written 27 June 2008 robi3_1775_blak1_0003 PXX_CNX
___________
The Tyger
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes!
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire!
And what shoulder, and what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand! and what dread feet!
What the hammer! what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain
What the anvil, what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spear
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see
Did he who made the Lamb make thee!
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry!
William BLAKE 1757_1827
________
Tyger’s Rumour
Rumour rushing rampant right
round faithless forests of wraith night,
what immoral hand or eye
could frame fly tearless symmetry?
In what deep and dark disguise
spread irking libel, lurking lies?
on what wasp wings dare they aspire –
e’er slander sting tongues air fame liar?
What woeful infamous black art
wrung toxic sinews, tocsin heart
rung when sin heart broke cheating beat,
what sleight of hand to greet deceit!
What wrong's hammer, what strong chain?
in what furnace forged? What brain
fed wily worms sly envy's [g]rasp,
bred spiteful deadly [t]errors’ [g]asp?
11 December 1991 revised 18 September 2009 robi3_0504_blak1_0003 PXX_JXX for previous version see below
Parody William BLAKE 1757_1827 The Tyger
Tyger’s Rumour
Rumour rushing rampant right
round faithless forests of wraith night,
what immortal hand or eye
could frame fly tearless symmetry?
In what deep and dark disguise
spread irking libel, lurking lies?
On what wasp wings dare they aspire –
e’er slander sting tongues air fame liar?
What woeful infamous black art
wrung toxic sinews, tocsin heart
rung when sin heart broke cheating beat,
what sleight of hand to greet deceit!
What wrong's hammer, what strong chain?
In what furnace forged? What brain
fed wily worms sly envy's [g]rasp,
bred them deadly, errors’ [g]asp?
11 December 1991 revised 18 September 2009 robi3_0504_blak1_0003 PXX_JXX
_________________
Tiger Siberian and Riga Balterian
Riga, Riga, brave despite
Russian army’s aimless might,
what eternal summer sky
could liberate thy people’s sigh?
Though the hammer, sickle, chain
sickly are, they still remain
a present threat, their might and main
must from within be toppled! – Plain?
Fifty years the Russian reign
ignomious has spread red stain,
fifty years too much! – again
freedom comes, no dumb refrain.
Riga, Riga, free from fright
soon, before the New Year’s Night,
independence will attain –
light and laughter come again...
© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 1 October 1991 – Parody William BLAKE – The Tyger
The Tiger
Tigre! Tigre! L’étincelle
du fond des forêts de la nuit,
quel oeil, quelle main immortelle
firent ta terrible symétrie?
Dans quelles lointaines cimes, abîmes,
prit feu la puissance en tes yeux?
quelles ailes osèrent le sublime?
quel Promothée osa ce feu?
Quelle force et savoir-faire
pliaient les muscles de ton coeur
quand ce coeur fit son tonnerre,
quelle main forte et quelle ardeur?
Quelle chaîne et quel marteau,
de quel four sort ta cervelle?
quelle enclume? Quelle poignée
défia ces terreurs mortelles?
Quand les étoiles envoient leurs dards,
versant leurs larmes au Paradis,
a-t-il souri voyant son art?
qui fit l’agneau fit toi aussi?
Tigre, Tigre! L’étincelle
du fond des forêts de la nuit,
quel oeil, quelle main immortelle,
firent ta terrible symétrie?
© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 26 January 1993 – Parody William BLAKE – The Tyger
Likable Wilma
Wilma, Wilma, in thy blouse,
Red-haired prehistoric spouse,
What immortal animator
Was thy slender waist's creator?
When the Rubble clan moved in,
Was Betty jealous of thy skin,
Thy noble nose, thy dimpled knee?
Did he who penciled Fred draw thee?
Wilma, Wilma, burning bright, ye
Cartoon goddess Aphrodite,
Was it Hanna or Barbera
Made thee hot as some caldera?
Francis HEANEY Anagram Parody William BLAKE – The Tiger
HEANEY Francis hean1_0004_hean1_0000 PWX_LXX Likable Wilma_Wilma, Wilma, in thy blouse
Nazi! Nazi!
Nazi culture burning bright
With its nordic-Grecian light,
What sub-human dare defy
Its full totemic majesty?
Greek to speceies who are not
Aryan to the fina l clot,
Its ethnic-ethic-technic dwells
In nordic livestock’s sacred cells.
Stainless Aryan youth-bands now
Teach the tourist Herr and Frau,
That all folk-stems may in turn
Kraft duch Schadenfreude learn.
Arts of blood by bloodbaths purged,
In pan-Germanic sunburst merged,
Will their rays as they aspire
Come to set the Thames on fire?
Nazi! Nazi! burning brihgt
In Europe’s deep degenerate night,
Who but Nazi’s can descry
Thy primitive sublimity?
1936
KATZIN Olga Miller 1896_198 – Parody William BLAKE – The Tyger
Reductio ad Absurdam
(The vision unfolded by Professor Schäfer of the production of life by chemical means has been declared by other scientists to be the same discovery made long since by Darwin and Huxley. The absurdity of any such pretensions in the past is, of course, easily proved by the following reference to the case of Thomas.)
Thomas, Thomas, going large
Down the Mall’s majestic marge,
What mad scientist is he
Would claim to have concocted thee?
In what oxyhydrotherm
Dwelt thy protoplasmic germ?
In what subtle chemic spasm?
What the hand dare seize the plasm?
To what end, ‘neath what pretence
Arose thy utter lack of sense?
And, bringing such a thing to pass,
What blind fool, what silly ass?
What the formule? What the fault?
In what test-tube was thy salt?
What the bunsen? What the flame
Fused the fluid of thy frame?
When the spars thrown down in spate
Formed thy weak precipitate,
Did he look on it with glee –
He who, to take a case, made me?
Thomas, Thomis going large
Down the Mall’s majestic marge,
What mad scientist is he
Dare claim to have concocted thee?
Wilfrid BLAIR 1889_1968 Sa Muse s’amuse 1914
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tyger
Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
poem by William Blake
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Tiger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And What shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
poem by William Blake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tiger by William Blake
Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Sprinkle drinkle in the bar
Sprinkle drinkle in the bar
how I wonder what side car
I’ll rush into as some knight
whets my blurry appetite.
Drinkle, twinkle, little bar –
only hope you’re up to par!
When to blazes one is gone
ten more line up for the fun,
can I, canned, quite see the light,
can I dream of selenite?
Drinkle drinkle nothing bar –
spare a dropp for grandmama!
When rich traveller in the dark
thanks one for the little lark
two play at in dark car park,
take him for a ride stripped stark.
One should thank that lucky star
and save a tip[ple] for mamma!
But – night’s curtains rise – still keep
all Tom’s change to pay for peep,
one should never shut an eye
till its time to say goodbye!
Drinkle’s cost? - what’s lost won’t count
[hope it is a large amount] J
As his drooping tiny spark
stands not on ceremony, mark,
one should heave par[s]ting remark -
“ciao” then leave him in the dark!
Drinkle, drinkle little bar
Closing time’s the best by far!
When at last Night’s curtain falls
Knight takes no more curtain calls,
see his bark grow[l] worse than bite –
both, if witnessed, could indict –...
Help I’m summoned to the bar
no-contest? judgement won by star?
19 March 2005 Parody Ann & Jane TAYLOR The Star, William Blake Tyger
'The Star'
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
Then the traveller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark:
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.
In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.
As your bright and tiny spark
Lights the traveller in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
Jane Taylor probably parody of William BLAKE - TYGER
Twinkle, Twinkle
Twinkle, twinkle little bat,
How I wonder what you’re at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a teatray in the sky.
Lewis CARROLL 1832_1898 Parody Ann and Jane TAYLOR – The Star
Thus by extension parody of William BLAKE - TYGER
Reductio ad Absurdam
(The vision unfolded by Professor Schäfer of the production of life by chemical means has been declared by other scientists to be the same discovery made long since by Darwin and Huxley. The absurdity of any such pretensions in the past is, of course, easily proved by the following reference to the case of Thomas.)
Thomas, Thomas, going large
Down the Mall’s majestic marge,
What mad scientist is he
Would claim to have concocted thee?
In what oxyhydrotherm
Dwelt thy protoplasmic germ?
In what subtle chemic spasm?
What the hand dare seize the plasm?
To what end, ‘neath what pretence
Arose thy utter lack of sense?
And, bringing such a thing to pass,
What blind fool, what silly ass?
What the formule? What the fault?
In what test-tube was thy salt?
What the bunsen? What the flame
Fused the fluid of thy frame?
When the spars thrown down in spate
Formed thy weak precipitate,
Did he look on it with glee –
He who, to take a case, made me?
Thomas, Thomis going large
Down the Mall’s majestic marge,
What mad scientist is he
Dare claim to have concocted thee?
Wilfrid BLAIR 1889_1968 Sa Muse s’amuse 1914
Parody William BLAKE – The Tyger and Jane Taylor – Twinkle Twinkle
Mica, mica, parva stella
Mica, mica, parva stella,
Miror quaenam sis tam bella.
Super terra in caelo,
Alba gemma splendido.
Mica, mica, parva stella,
Miror quaenam sis tam bella
Henry DRURY Parody Translation Ann and Jane TAYLOR – The Star
see also Blake – The Tyger
Stella, bella, mi mica
Stella, bella, mi mica.
Miror quid sis natura.
Resplendes ex spatio
Velut gemma in caelo.
Stella, bella, mi mica.
Miror quid sis natura.
Author Unknown - Parody Translation Ann and Jane TAYLOR – The Star - see also Blake – The Tyger
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tiger (revised)
Tiger! Tiger! Burning bright,
In the forests of the night.
What immortal mind or eye
Could frame thy foolish symmetry?
From what distant keeps and skies
Have a watched with my spies?
Oh, with whom would I conspire
If I could quench thy brilliant fire?
What the methods, what the pain
Would I endure to forge thy chain?
What demons would I willingly clasp,
If I could have thee in my grasp?
I have watched thee many a year.
Would I could to teach thee fear!
Then you would finally see
Thyself as weak as you seem to me.
Tiger! Tiger! Burning bright,
In the forests of the night.
This immortal hand and eye
Would dare to mar thy symmetry.
poem by Lena Hairston
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A woman at a café’
She is a burning beauty so beguiling bright
As she sits in a café’ of a city under the night
Her skin over her face and limbs is spread like a dream
All the lights around her turn their heads in shame dim
Her legs peep beneath a dark collied skirt
Setting all passers by into anguish alert
What mortal hand or eye
Could frame or design your thigh
In what clay, in what mould
Were her eyes of fury and beauty rolled?
In what distant depths or vaulting high skies
Burnt the fire of her eyes?
He who framed her what dare he aspire?
What hand could dare size this intense fire?
Her shoulders, what an art
What craft could twist the sinews of her heart?
And when her heart begin to beat
What dread hands what dread feet?
Where is the hammer where is the chain
In what furnace she was give birth where it all began
The stars above the city threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the man make thee?
She, she, the burning fire of the night
Lent her ore to the canopy of the city so bright
The flames of the candles at her table
Competed to reflect their image in her eyes like shadows fragile
Her glass of wine did not delay; it had stelled
Her beauty's form within its convex heart
So proudly its bounty to the world it held
Claiming it never captured a better art
Burnt! Burnt! Beguiling beauty in bright
As the city approached the edge of the midnight
The trees at the avenue their blooming boughs dropped
To feel her blood in her veins throbbed
What immortal hand what heavenly eye
Dare contrive your fearful symmetry beneath this sky
And there was none in the city’s daughters
With the magic like her when she sat down to eat
And like the night music on the East river water
Was her voice loud in tease and in din beat
When as if her humor and soul were causing
The charmed river pausing
The waves at its banks to lie still gleaming
And the lulled winds seemed dreaming
And the midnight moon was weaving
Her bright image over the water deep
While her twin breasts were gently heaving
As if an infant was asleep
As she got up to leave
She walked in beauty into the night
That a city of cloudless climates can give
And all that was best in dark and bright
Were reflected in the lofty vaults of starry skies
And met in her structure and in her eyes
And thus mellowed to that tender glow of night
Which heaven bestowed on her yet to the gaudy day denied
Copy rights 2010
The Spider
Spider, Spider, weaving web-
Fine and silky, that can’t ebb;
What immortal Hand did give,
Engineering feet to live!
Swift legs moving on fine threads:
Insect prey finally dreads;
What finesse involves your act,
Smothering preys with great tact!
Gossamer-mesh baiting prey:
Caught in surprising, a way;
Wound by silken threads, so fast,
Die insects spun, quite aghast!
Thready sensors, zig-zag laid,
Helping hunter and to aid;
Moving majestically,
Howev’r strong the wind, may be.
What a cute beast? What a frame?
What made Adam give this name?
What gentleness? What great speed?
Catching prey with deadly greed!
Victor always in pinning
Lethally prey by spinning;
What superb brain, God-given,
Watching eyes, agile-driven!
Spider, Spider, weaving web-
Fine and silky, that can’t ebb;
What immortal Hand did give,
Engineering feet to live!
Written after William Blake’s, ‘The Tyger’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-6-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tyger of Blake
The tyger of Blake lies beneath a colonial blade
What do I care?
His head above an armchair of some lecherous old major
As antique as his rifle.
Dying now, his dreams as embers
Staring into the tygers eyes
Long dead now still burning
He awaits his lesson learning.
poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet XX: Oh! I Could Toil For Thee
Oh! I could toil for thee o'er burning plains;
Could smile at poverty's disastrous blow;
With thee, could wander 'midst a world of snow,
Where one long night o'er frozen Scythia reigns.
Sever'd from thee, my sick'ning soul disdains
The thrilling thought, the blissful dream to know,
And can'st thou give my days to endless woe,
Requiting sweetest bliss with cureless pains?
Away, false fear! nor think capricious fate
Would lodge a daemon in a form divine!
Sooner the dove shall seek a tyger mate,
Or the soft snow-drop round the thistle twine;
Yet, yet, I dread to hope, nor dare to hate,
Too proud to sue! too tender to resign!
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Auguries of Innocence after William Blake Auguries of Innocence - The Bat
Auguries of Innocence I
The bat that blocked will fall, Time’s sway
will bowl both balls and pads away.
Auguries of Innocence II
The bat that flits too close will leave
a brain too tight, which won’t believe...
Auguries of Innocence III
The bat that sucks will even out
red, white, - leave blue without a doubt...
[c] Jonathan Robin parody William Blake Auguries of Innocence – The Bat 29 July 1991 – Parodies Robert BLAKE – Auguries of Innocence
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Auguries of Innocence – The Bat
The bat that flits at close of eve
has left the brain that won’t believe.
Auguries
The bat that blocks at close of play
stays on to hit another day.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Great Poets Missed Never Met
Great poets missed
never met
never engaged
artistic in conversation
we missed William Shakespeare
John Milton, Edmund Spenser
who wrote 'The Faerie Queene';
John Done long gone but not forgotten
we missed Francois Marie Arouet
better known as pen name Voltaire
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
and macabre master Edgar Allan Poe
we missed the romantic poets
Shelley, Keats, Lord Byron
all dead within three years
of each others tragic deaths
we missed William Blake
“Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye”
we missed the lake poets
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
William Wordsworth who
quarrelled irrevocably parted
we missed Robert Browning
wife Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Henry Wadsworth-Longfellow
Italian Dante Gabriel Rossetti
sister Christina Georgina Rossetti
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman
Lewis Carroll who took us in concepts
‘Through the Looking-Glass’ allusions
we also missed Wilfred Owen pacifist
T.S. Eliot walking ‘The Waste Land’
Siegfried Sassoon slaughter survived
Wystan Hugh Auden a man of a lit wit
William Carlos Williams upon ‘a red
wheel barrow’ so much depends spins
Sylvia Plath into ‘The Bell Jar’ while
Allen Ginsberg stalks Walt Whitman
through ‘A Supermarket in California’
as he asks ‘Who killed the pork chops?
What price bananas? Are You my Angel? ’
‘We strode down the open corridors in
our solitary fancy tasting artichokes,
possessing every frozen delicacy, and
never passing the cashier. Where are
we going, ’ Terence Craddock they asked
me, but already I have passed on into
future flights of fancy, as I blaze past
Space Shuttle Challenger 73 seconds
into its flight; before NASA knew it needed
another seven astronauts, as silver molten
teardrops fall gravity defeated earth bound
while I stealth fly Iraqi skies dropping golden
phoenix liquid fire searching out peace signs.
Great poets missed
never met
never engaged
artistic in conversation
you missed William Shakespeare
you missed Edgar Allan Poe
you missed Allen Ginsberg
don’t miss Terence Craddock
smile on the face of the Tyger
disappears entirely leaving only
wide grin suspended in air memory
leaves stir whisper passing words
Camera Obscura vaulted dark room
collecting plate of poems bright sunlight
travelling through pinhole wickerwork
interlaced fingers creates circular patches
light cast upon the ground captures images
inner eye views Pyramidal rays thought
forms while Charon poles our poet friends
past black waters of death to alight in dreams.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Allen Ginsberg quotations are from his poem ‘A Supermarket in California’.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Siberian Tiger
He wasn't immediately visible
to us at the zoo
Ensconced in his concrete
square lair
He deigned 'finally'-
to give us a sight of him.
With measured weaving steps
magnificent feline
in the freezing Siberian
winter
yellow and white striped
master of sun and snow
red blood predator
of the dark.
Now on his grubby brown patched
square cloth of space
he takes mincing steps
slowly pacing as if he's not sure
what he's looking for-
Oh, ancestral memories;
coursing through vein & spleen
what images of predatory runs,
supplicants' mating screams,
the way the frozen game
was dragged through the ice
to the familiar lair...
Living in the zoo
guarantees a daily meal-
(Lassitude) -
While in Siberia
the oil fires burn-
unrelenting fate
of magnificent
Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
poem by Erika Horn
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Ambiguity Arose - after Rose Aylmer Walter Savage LANDOR
Oh, what avails a pretty face
with beauty creams besprinkled,
for Father Time wins every race,
soon age Life’s page has wrinkled.
Where is the flush, the lush embrace,
starred eyes that carefree twinkled?
Night draws its shutters, leaves no trace
of light, save mem’ries sinkled.
Oh, What avails a pretty face,
and voice divinely tinkled,
if all behind be ugly, base,
with mind both blind and wrinkled?
Some say unique is every case,
eyes amber, periwinkled,
yet all too soon return to base,
AND DNA's ash sprinkled.
Oh, What avails a pretty face,
bright eye sublimely crinkled,
each must a double lie encase
life left confirms this inkle!
© Jonathan Robin – robi3_0313 parody written 17 December 1991 revised 14 May 2007 and 31 October 2008 Parody Walter Savage LANDOR 1775_1864 Rose Aylmer for previous versions - title Rose Aylmer's Cousin - see below
Rose Aylmer's Cousin
Oh, what avails a pretty face
with beauty creams besprinkled,
as Father Time wins every race,
soon age Life’s page has wrinkled.
Where is the flush, the lush embrace,
starred eyes that carefree twinkled?
Night draws its shutters, leaves no trace
of light, save mem’ries sinkled.
Oh, What avails a pretty face,
and voice dIvinely tinkled,
if all behind be ugly, base,
with mind both blind and wrinkled?
Oh, What avails a pretty face,
and eye sublimely crinkled,
should it a double lie encase
and life confirm this inkle? ...
© Jonathan Robin – parody written 17 December 1991 revised 14 May 2007 for initial version see below
Rose Aylmer's Cousin
Oh, what avails a pretty face
with beauty creams besprinkled,
for Father Time wins every race,
soon age Life’s page has wrinkled.
The flush once full that did embrace,
those eyes that carefree twinkled,
Night pulls its shutters, leaves no trace
of light, save mem’ries crinkled.
© Jonathan Robin – robi3_0313 parody written 17 December 1991
Parody Walter Savage LANDOR 1775_1864 Rose Aylmer
Rose Aylmer
Ah, what avails the sceptred race!
Ah, what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and signs
I consecrate to thee.
Walter Savage LANDOR 1775_1864
see also
Rose Aylmer’s Cousin
? ? ?
Gail White
Night of Memories
Rose Aylmer whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.
Mr Latimer in County Chronicle 1950
Angela Thirkell 1890_1961
Parody Walter Savage LANDOR 1775_1864 Rose Aylmer
A Confession
Roundel
I’ve loved but thee, who art but stay!
If told the startling truth must be,
I'llspeak: forget the words, I pray,
'I've loved but thee.'
'Twas not on Herrick, but on me
That Julia cast for many a day
Her wondrous spell of witcherie;
And I it was who, wakeful, lay,
And sighed that I should never see
Rose Aylmer: so I cannot say,
I’ve loved but thee.
Parody Julia – Robert Herrick
and
Parody Walter Savage LANDOR 1775_1864 Rose Aylmer
Published 1890 J. G. CUPPLES Co. Boston
Herbert Walcott Bowen 1856_1927
Oh, What Avail?
Ah, what avail the loaded dice?
Ah, what the tubs of wine?
What every weakness, every vice?
Tom Cardan, all were thine.
Aldous Huxley 1894_1963 Barren Leaves
Parody Walter Savage LANDOR 1775_1864 Rose Aylmer
poem by Jonathan Robin
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How do I parody? after Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sonnet XLIII How do I love thee?
How Do I Parody?
How true I parody! Let me count the ways.
I parody in depth, taste copy paste insight
My mind can reach into your writing quite
Through APing Ways and Means, through rhyme’s mainstays.
I parody to the level of everyday's
post hosting feed, by sun, electric light.
In vers libres freely, sonnet set to right;
I pastiche purely, rarely spurning praise.
Reparody with passion put to use
through griefs, beliefs, rehearsed, though wanting faith.
I parody love’s theme, who dreams accuse.
Newfangled paints b[l]end colour bending brea[d]th,
Smiles, tears, [p]rune poem’s life! - and, if judge choose,
gold goblets garner, googled after death.
Parody Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sonnet XLIII How Do I Love Thee
12 February 2007 revised 10 June 2008 and 30 September 2009
for previous versions see below robi3_1323_brow7_0001 PSX_IXX
________________
How do I Parody?
How do I parody? Let me count the ways.
I parody in depth, with taste and with insight,
my mind may reach into your writing quite
through APing Ways and Means, through rhyme’s mainstays.
I parody to the level of everyday's
intimate grace, by sun, electric light.
in vers libres freely, sonnet set to right.
I pastiche purely, rarely turn from Praise,
reparody with passion put to use
through your old griefs, beliefs, though wanting faith.
I parody with love I’d never lose,
use paints newfangled, shading E.B.B.ing breath,
still showing your life's smiles, tears, for, should judge choose,
my golden goblet fame lives loved past death.
Parody Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sonnet XLIII How Do I Love Thee
[c] Jonathan Robin - 2 February 2007 revised 10 June 2008 robi3_1611_brow7_0001 PSX_IXX for previous version see below
_____________
Parody Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sonnet XLIII How Do I Love Thee
[c] Jonathan Robin - 2 February 2007 robi3_1611_brow7_0001 PSX_IXX for previous version see below
Sonnet XLIII
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elisabeth Barrett BROWNING 1806_1861
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Requiem I - Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem
Through the artificial flowers
let me slide when all my powers
have passed as pass man’s mortal hours,
and let me burn.
Spurn graven verses for my head,
spade not the body laid, instead,
as I’ll no longer look ahead
book me no urn.
© Jonathan Robin – written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem for alternative version see below
robi03_0795_stev02_0001 PXX_DIZ
Requiem II
From life's dark, unwholesome cage
where love frets, siege raised in rage,
set free who sad lived, glad the page
turns uniting night to day.
Crave no rave elegy to test
verse prowess, - without protest
here actor lies in heart arrest
retractions over his clay.
© Jonathan Robin – written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem revised 25 December 2009
robi03_0796_stev02_0001 PXX_DIZ
for previous version see below
Requiem II
In a dark, unwholesome cage
let me fret and seethe in rage,
sadly I’ve lived and glad the page
turns uniting night and day.
Rave no crude elegy to test
verse prowess, - without protest
here lies life’s actor under arrest
with a tractor over his clay.
© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem
Requiem
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me
Here he lies where he long’d to be
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Robert Louis Stevenson 1850 - 1894
Requiem
Under the free and open sky,
There let me rest, nor breathe a sigh, -
Gladly I’ve lived, and gladly I’ll lie,
Content by night and day.
Grave no rude tombstone to mark my rest;
But deep in your soul may you say with zest;
“Here is the Seeker after his Quest,
And the Actor after the Play.”
Hamish Mann 1896 – 1917 A Subaltern’s Musings: 1918
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Steel on Steel
Strength in each and every part
needs no paltry poet's art
to picture peerless tensile worth
which rhymes through time in class apart
to show glow's incandescent birth.
Hammers heated chain links bind
furnace features, anvil mind,
steel represents upon this Earth.
From forceful freedom's furnace find
fragility, flaws left behind.
18 October 2011
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Dark Forests
Dark forests...Northern...Sourthern Mountains,
Fierce tigers circle around the villages in broad daylight.
...To The red dawn of twilight
The skies shine bright
Protecting what is theirs
In the magic of the night
The tigers roam everywhere taking lives for food.
The Majesty of the tigers power,
The prey dare not make a sound.
The new kin tiger sprout every year
In the valleys low.
Male and female tigers come up and down the mountains in large groups.
There is a village near the tigers’ dens in the valley,
Where tigers often come and eat the villagers’ brown calves.
Rich young men dare not shoot the arrows at the tigers.
The Majesty of the Tiger lives forever
The Majesty of the Tiger
They only pretend to check for the tigers’ tracks in the forests.
poem by Peter LeBuhn
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L'étranger
Je me dis bien souvent : de quelle race es-tu ?
Ton coeur ne trouve rien qui l'enchaîne ou ravisse,
Ta pensée et tes sens, rien qui les assouvisse :
Il semble qu'un bonheur infini te soit dû.
Pourtant, quel paradis as-tu jamais perdu ?
A quelle auguste cause as-tu rendu service ?
Pour ne voir ici-bas que laideur et que vice,
Quelle est ta beauté propre et ta propre vertu ?
A mes vagues regrets d'un ciel que j'imagine,
A mes dégoûts divins, il faut une origine :
Vainement je la cherche en mon coeur de limon ;
Et, moi-même étonné des douleurs que j'exprime,
J'écoute en moi pleurer un étranger sublime
Qui m'a toujours caché sa patrie et son nom.
poem by Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
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The Tiger- past predator: present prey!
Tiger, Tiger, poached for hide!
By Man’s bullets many died;
Bones and claws of thine are dried;
Poachers have thee crucified.
Past predator, now a prey!
Recklessly killed every day;
Thy extinction is so nigh;
Mortality of thine’s high.
Lord of Jungle, O Tiger!
Hast thou become much tamer?
Thy reserves have dwindled fast;
Wilt thou soon be thing of past?
Oh, what sinews, what muscles!
Victor of fiercest tussles;
Thou with agility stalk;
Despite weight, thou canst cat-walk!
No beast dare challenge thy might;
Thine eyes glimmer green at night;
Thou live in forests so dense;
Mighty beast- ’tis no pretence.
Frightens thy roar every beast;
Stalk thou grassland’s beasts for feast;
What strength fills thy graceful frame!
Jungle Lord, wherefrom thou came?
poem by John Celes
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