If you’ve read this blog at all you know I consistently use famous quotations from famous people to help make a point. Over the years having all of those quotes available has made my life much easier. Not all quotes are complementary, and I found almost as many nasty and mean quotes as good ones. Here are some quotes that some people probably wish they hadn’t made. You be the judge…
“Suburbia is where the developer bulldozes out the trees, then names the streets after them.” Bill Vaughn
“You have set up in New York Harbor a monstrous idol which you call Liberty. The only thing that remains to complete the monument is to put on its pedestal the inscription written by Dante on the gates of Hell: “All hope abandon, ye who enter here.” George Bernard Shaw
“St. Laurent has excellent taste. The more he copies me, the better taste he displays.” Coco Chanel
“Everyone wants to understand painting. Why don’t they try to understand the singing of the birds? People love the night, a flower, everything which surrounds them without trying to understand. But painting – that they must understand.” Pablo Picasso
“There are moments when art attains almost the dignity of manual labor.” Oscar Wilde
This next section concerns a prolific contributor to every subject imaginable: Anonymous. I truly enjoy these mean and nasty unidentified criticizers.
“Critics are the stupid who discuss the wise.”
“An architect is two percent gentleman and ninety-eight percent renegade car salesman.”
“The Eiffel Tower in Paris is the Empire State Building after taxes.”
“A modern artist is one who throws paint on a canvas, wipes it off with a cloth, and sells the cloth.”
“They couldn’t find the artist, so they hung the picture.”
“Poetry is living proof that rhyme doesn’t pay.”
“Dancing is the perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire.”
As I was preparing this post, I decided midsentence to step away from poetry for a day or two and to return to one of my favorite things which are limericks. I have quite the collection of limericks of all types and unfortunately, I have hundreds that I really can’t post on this blog, no matter how much readers continue to request them. I’ve picked out a few random samples from different historical periods and I’ll post them over the next few weeks. Here is my history by limerick . . .
“The poet is a reporter interviewing his own heart.”
Christopher Morely
***
Poetry at times can be beautiful. It can bring tears to your eyes and joy to your heart but as with anything it also has the ability to become something dark and disturbing. I try to make a point of reading samples of poetry from as many poets as I can. Some of the most touching poems are not about happy moments running through fields of flowers with birds flying around, but of deep sadness and pain.
On a regular basis I make purchases from thrift bookstores on eBay. A book arrived at my home recently and I knew reading it was going to be extremely difficult. It’s a selection of poetry written by young people who have had to deal with divorcing parents. The book istitled “broken hearts… healing”, Young Poets Speaking Out, compiled and edited by Tom Worthen, Ph.D. I just finished reading the first half of that book and it forced me to deal with the pain I caused to my own son. Many years ago, I ended a twenty-year marriage and caused a great deal of pain to a young man that we adopted (at age twelve) from a number of state-run foster homes. He deserved better than we were able to give him at the time, and this book brought it all back with a vengeance. Here are two poems that brought tears to my eyes.
TUG OF WAR
Nobody has the life I have,
I can’t imagine if the whole world did.
My parents don’t even talk,
They get to ask who wants us and when.
It is like me and my two sisters are in the middle of everything.
So I hope you don’t have the life I have,
And if you do I’m sorry.
by Beth, Age 11
***
WHERE IS MY DAD?
He comes around like he cares,
but when I was young he was not there.
He has a new family and a wife to love dear,
when I was around he made me feel weird.
When I was alone crying in my bed,
was he there, no, it was mom instead.
When I look at my friends with their moms and dads,
As I worked my way slowly through the public school system back in the 1960’s I received little or no information or exposure to poetry. It was mentioned in passing in some classes but there never was any serious time devoted to it. It just seems to me that making some poetry (not just the classics) available to younger students might just motivate them to either read more poetry or to write their own. A gentlemen named Richard Lewis, a lecturer on children’s literature and creative writing, apparently agreed with me. In cooperation with UNESCO, he traveled through eighteen English speaking countries around the world collecting poetry written by children between the ages of five and thirteen. Three thousand poems were collected with the best 200 published in his book, “Miracles” published in 1966. I’ve picked out two samples to give you some idea of just how talented many of the youngsters can be when expressing their thoughts in a poetic fashion.
THUNDER
by Glenys Van Every, Age 9, Australia
I hear
the drummers
strike
the sky.
***
SUMMER
by Margaret Bendig, Age 10, United States
Inviting, rippling waters
Waiting for little toes
Hurry, go get changed!
***
After reading a few pages of these poems I had a minor epiphany. These children were not trained in poetry but as they wrote their poems many of them began to look very much like free-verse haiku’s. Having no set restrictions on the length of lines and syllable counting allows the young poets freedom to truly express themselves.
Of course, being the irreverent SOB that I am I decided to write this haiku of mine and take it down a road not normally traveled. It contains some reference to nature but also just a touch of my humor. It’s a poetic mortal sin to write them this way and I’m sure it will tweak the noses of a few people. It’s always fun at times to make some people a little crazy.
‘The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps . . . so that something
that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash, or thunder in.”
Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)
Well, welcome back to 2024. I hope you enjoyed the last post concerning Mr. Poe because I certainly did. I thought today I would begin talking about haikus. The current requirements for haikus are a first line with five syllables, a second line with seven syllables, and a third line of five syllables. When I first discovered the haiku I thought the rigidity of this design didn’t make a lot of sense. The more I learned about haikus the wiser I thought I became. Here are two examples of haiku’s written by a gentleman from Japan who is considered the father of haikus, Matsuo Kinsaku (1644-1694). He began writing haikus under the name of Basho in 1672. In Basho’s humble opinion a haiku should be created using a minimum of words to paint a mental picture for the reader. Basho included descriptions of nature in most of his haikus but wasn’t limited to a fixed syllable count. I’m all for free-verse haiku’s but I still find the nature requirement of Basho a bit restrictive. Here are couple of samples of Basho’s haikus published in the 1680’s. See what you think.
Spring rain –
under trees
a crystal stream.
***
On the dead limb
squats a crow –
autumn night.
The structure of haikus as mentioned above were created by two poets, Sokan (1458-1546) and Moritake (1472-1549). In Basho’s opinion their works were terse but failed to adequately evoke nature. Three hundred years later a haiku school, the Soun, was opened celebrating Basho’s free-verse approach. The haiku should be based on content not on the number of syllables in each line. With this I whole heartedly agree.
Here is a little something I discovered recently. It’s shows the form of a free-verse haiku but was simply published as a standard poem. References to nature are gone offering a more interesting take on life, love, and people.
we are the dreamers
we are the dancers
life is the music
love is the song.
For all of you Star Trek fans out there, this was written some years ago by Leonard Nimoy and was included in his book of poetry “A Lifetime of Love” published in 2002.
I thought I’d start this year with a most interesting writer and poet, Edgar Allen Poe. I was introduced to him in high school way back in the days of covered wagons and wild Indians (that was sarcasm). His poetry was spooky, dark, and mysterious which drew me to it immediately. What 15-year-old kid wouldn’t love that? As with most school systems of the time they offered only a few of his writings for classroom work and discussion. The Raven stands as one of his greatest works and we were required to read and memorize certain passages to get a passing grade and then we moved on to other things. My second Poe favorite was Anabel Lee. A love story for the ages except Anabel doesn’t long survive the experience. The flow of his words in that poem grabbed me immediately and I was able to quote some of its passages for years and occasionally still do.
As I aged and was able to read more about Poe and his strange approach to life, the more attention I began to pay to poetry in general. I still think that actual world class poets are few and far between, but Poe was the real deal. Along with Emily Dickenson they are my two favorites. I especially liked Poe because he wrote what he felt and really did nothing to pander to the masses. In my opinion that’s what gives his works real meaning and weight.
Another of Poe’s works has slowly over the years made its way to the top of my favorites list, even more so than the Raven and Anabel Lee. I stumbled on to it quite by accident years ago and it has become one of those rare things that periodically calls to me to be read again. As with all of Poe’s poetry it’s best read while wrapped in a warm blanket on a dark and stormy night by candlelight.
I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till ringing, singing on its way, The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime, A chant sublime Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, And with the sound The carols drowned Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent The hearth-stones of a continent, And made forlorn The households born Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head; “There is no peace on earth,” I said; “For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men.”
I love that term “water of life”. Any dedicated whiskey drinker has heard that phrase and knows what it means. Those of you who do not partake in whiskeys, then I’ll try to educate you a bit. I’m not exactly sure at what age I had my first sip of whiskey, but it must have been in my eighth year while playing Checkers with my grandfather. He was an avid winemaker, and he loved his whiskeys and brandies. In his old and dirty cellar near the furnace, he had huge casks of wine and brandy that he was making. Sitting in between those two casks was a small table, two old chairs and a Checkers game that was much older than I was. That’s where my whiskey, wine, brandy, and Checkers education began and eventually turned me into quite a winemaker myself and to become an aficionado of whiskey and brandy. I can never take a drink of Jack Daniels or Jim Beam or any of the other whiskeys without thinking about my grandfather. He was freaking awesome.
On one of my better half’s many recent shopping safaris she discovered a very small book titled “Whiskey” and in her infinite wisdom purchased it immediately and brought it home for me. After reading through the book, it’s only fair that I share some of the wisdom about whiskey that some of you probably have never heard. Let’s get started.
” The light music of whiskey falling into a glass – an agreeable interlude.” James Joyce
It seems that Americans in general prefer bourbon style whiskeys, but they are willing to take a chance with some of the Irish and Canadian whiskeys. Here are the top five sellers in the United States:
Jack Daniels Bourbon Whiskey
Crown Royal Canadian Whiskey
Fireball Canadian Whiskey
Jim Beam Bourbon Whiskey
Jamison Irish Whiskey
Jack Daniels is the world’s most famous whiskey brand. The actual Jack Daniels learned how to make whiskey at the age of six. Fully grown Jack Daniels was a diminutive 5’2″ tall and wore a size four shoe.
“Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite and furthermore always carry a small snake.” W. C. Fields
In October 2019 at an auction at Sotheby’s in England a bottle of Macallan Fine and Rare, 60-year-old whiskey (Cask Number 263) distilled in 1926 sold for $1.9 million. The 700 ml bottle of 20 shots would cost you $95,000 per shot.
“What whiskey will not cure, there is no cure for.” Irish Proverb
He was an American writer and professor of biochemistry at Boston University. A prolific writer, he wrote or edited more than 500 books. He also wrote an estimated 90,000 letters and postcards. Best known for his hard science fiction, Asimov also wrote mysteries and fantasy, as well as a great deal of non-fiction.
*****
I’ve been a fan of Isaac Asimov, for as long as I can remember. I’ve tried to read everything of his that I could find and have never regretted it. He’s one of the most prolific writers who’ve ever lived and is well-versed in virtually any topic someone would like to talk about. Over the years I’ve also discovered that he was one of the funniest writers as well and has written books of limericks and stories that were outrageously funny. I recently acquired a book of his from 1992 (the year of his death) titled Azimov Laughs Again. It’s a volume of funny stories from his life as well as some of his favorite jokes and limericks. Here are a couple jokes to help get your day started.
Mr. Ginsberg, age 83, went to the doctor for a complete examination head to toe. About halfway through, the doctor was called to the telephone. He said, “Mr. Ginsberg, this will not take more than a few minutes. Here’s a jar. While I am gone, go to the bathroom and place a semen sample in it for examination. Then we’ll continue. “A few minutes later, the doctor indeed returned, and there stood Mr. Ginsberg with the jar- totally empty. “Doctor,” said Mr. Ginsberg. “I did my best. I tried with my right hand, and I tried with my left hand. I even tried with both hands, but nothing happened. The doctor said soothingly, “Now, Mr. Ginsberg, don’t feel embarrassed. At the age of 83, it is quite common to be impotent.” Whereupon Ginsberg said, with towering indignation, “What do you mean, impotent? I couldn’t open the jar.”
Old Mr. Anderson and his equally aged wife were filing for divorce. The judge, eyeing them with astonishment, said, “How old are you, Mr. Anderson?” “Ninety-three”, Your Honor. “And your wife?” “Ninety-one”, Your Honor.” “And how long have you been married?” “Sixty-six years.” “Then why do you want to get a divorce now?” “Well, you know how it is, Your Honor.” We were waiting for the children to die.”
He has an interesting sense of humor and I freaking love it. Here’s a small add-on which is one of his favorite limericks.
I think it’s likely that some of you may have gotten the wrong idea with the title I used for this post. Twisted in this context does not mean heavily sexual or bawdy. These limericks are written specifically for children, and they are a cross between limericks & tongue twisters. As a kid I loved tongue twisters and at a very early age whilst sitting through a number of sessions to correct a minor lisp I had, tongue twisters were one of the exercises that we were permitted to do to help us get control of our speech patterns. I know it sounds stupid, but it was even more stupid when you’re the one who was required to do it. Enjoy!
😊😊😊
She saw a seesaw at sea,
A shawl she was wearing, was she,
The sea shrank her shawl,
Till it shrank her shawl small,
To the seesaw she saw she said “Gee!”
😁😁😁
Louise is pleased by cheesy chicken squeezed with cheesy cheese,
Squeezy peasy chicken cheesy served to please Louise,
“To other chicken, phooey!
Even Chinese chicken suey,
More squeezy greasy peasy cheesy chicken, if you please!”
😋😋😋
Hannah from Havana grew bananas in Savanna,
A bonanza of bananas that had grown in her bandanna,
everyuselessthing.com 