Hi, I am currently studying this poem for my english exam in November and I was wondering why the poet of this poem used an '&' sign instead of 'and' in lines 12 and 24? Does it mean something?
Thanks.
The essense of bad poetry seems to be that it is a Goof-on-Ya. It is all smoke and mirrors designed to fool you into thinking that it means something, when actually it means about as much as a Rorschact Test -- an ink blot in which you are supposed to see something.
Often the bad poem is composed almost entirely of words like vapor, mist, haze, cloudy, shadow, gauzy, and many abstract metaphysical words like love, yearning, music, hope, spirit, goodness, etc.
These words are strung together like a hall of smoke and mirrors. The reader is invitted to walk down that hall and find some meaning there. It's a game of Goof-on-Ya. The poet is putting us on, having a goof on us, trespassing on our credulity and goodwill.
The good poem, has ping. You know that the poet is describing something very real, not just to him/her, but to you as well. Take a line by Dylan "threw the bums a dime in your prime". It's got action. It got a picture of an event. It's got concrete terms -- dime -- bums. It's got a possible allusion to John D. Rockefeller Sr. who was famous in the 20's for handing out dimes to the indigents he met on the street. It also relates to possible street musicians in the 1960's who would leave their guitar cases open on the street as they played, and passersby who liked the music could throw in a dime, or a dollar. Anyhow, Dylan is not just talking about his hazy, gauzy, feelings of hope and love and abstract clouds in vaporland. He is making a presentation. He is carrying the burden and performing the mission of the poet by manifesting something real. Frost is great at this, and T.S. Eliot, and Shakespeare. You know the poem is not a goof-on-ya counterfeit designed to fool you into thinking there is meaning where there's really just a string of cloudy abstract words.
Emily Dickenson wrote poems with true ping. They ring out clear and honest. EE Cummings and Lawrence Ferlinghetti did too. They are not trying to get over on you with counterfeit -- they are giving you the real coin, tested in the crucible, fashion in the mint of experience of real things and real events.
Or, do you think, a rose is a rose is a rose, a poem is a poem is a poem. Who is to say that one is good and the other bad? Why isn't the hapless musing of little Billy goofboy just as valuable as a work of art as any sonnet by Shakespeare. We need some equality and some democracy in the arts. So, break dancing and ballet -- same diff. Goof on Ya poems and songs by Dylan, same diff. Jackson Pollock and Rembrandt same diff. Beethoven's 9th and a tractor pull soundtrack, same diff. Good versus Bad is just a distinction made by elitists and snobs, who don't want to really get down with the homeboys in the hood. Poems are all equal.
The Poems Are ;
. Limbo by Edward Kamau Brathwaite
. Nothing's Changed by Tatamkhulu Afrika
. Island Man by Grace Nichols
. Blessing by Imtiaz Dharker
. Two Scavengers In a Truck by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
. Night Of The Scorpion by Nissim Ezekiel
. Vultures by Chinua Achebe
. What Were They Like by Denise Levertov
. (From) Search For My Tounge by Sujata Bhatt
. Love After Love by Derker Walcott
. This Room by Imtiaz Dharker
. (From) Unrelated Incidents by Tom Leonard
. Half - Caste by John Agard
. Not My Business by Niyi Osundare
. Presents From My Aunts ... by Monzia Alvi
. Hurricane Hits England by Grace Nichols
Thank You
Here's a good one for my fellow Republicans, re: the left.....
"Freedom of speech is always under attack by Fascist mentality, which exists in all parts of the world, unfortunately." -----Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The World Is A Beautiful Place - Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don't mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don't sing
all the time
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn't half bad
if it isn't you
Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't much mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
now and then
in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction
and its priests
and other patrolmen
and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to
Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs and having inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinking
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
dancing
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
'living it up'
Yes
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling
mortician
I Am Waiting
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting
for someone to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep through the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped’ onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Great Divide to ‘be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am waiting
for the American Boy
to take off Beauty’s clothes
and get on top of her
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am waiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Hello, I am looking for a poem called #9 and I think that it's by Lawrence Ferlinghetti but I am not %100 sure on that. I have to do a project on it but lost my textbook with the poem in it. Anyways if you have a copy of the poem can you post it here. Thank You!
The Changing Light
The changing light
at San Francisco
is none of your East Coast light
none of your
pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
is a sea light
an island light
And the light of fog
blanketing the hills
drifting in at night
through the Golden Gate
to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
after the fog burns off
and the sun paints white houses
with the sea light of Greece
with sharp clean shadows
making the town look like
it had just been painted
But the wind comes up at four o'clock
sweeping the hills
And then the veil of light of early evening
And then another scrim
when the new night fog
floats in
And in that vale of light
the city drifts
anchorless upon the ocean
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
I can't get What this poem is about, It will be a great help if you guys explain it by line by line or in a summary!
15 points for the best explanation!!!!!!!!
The Changing Light
The changing light
at San Francisco
is none of your East Coast light
none of your
pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
is a sea light
an island light
And the light of fog
blanketing the hills
drifting in at night
through the Golden Gate
to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
after the fog burns off
and the sun paints white houses
with the sea light of Greece
with sharp clean shadows
making the town look like
it had just been painted
But the wind comes up at four o'clock
sweeping the hills
And then the veil of light of early evening
And then another scrim
when the new night fog
floats in
And in that vale of light
the city drifts
anchorless upon the ocean
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
I can't get What this poem is about, It will be a great help if you guys explain it by line by line or in a summary!
15 points for the best explanation!!!!!
In the poem 'A Buddha In The Woodpile' by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, how does the poem illustrate human behavior and people's control, or lack of control of how they behave? Thank you soo muchh to anyone who can help! (: And the first sorta decent answer gets Best Answer! (:
A BUDDHA IN THE WOODPILE
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
If there had been only
one Buddhist in the woodpile
in Waco Texas
to teach us how to sit still
one saffron Buddhist in the back rooms
just one Tibetan lama
just one Taoist
just one Zen
just one Thomas Merton Trappist
just one saint in the wilderness
of Waco USA
If there had been only one
calm little Gandhi
in a white sheet or suit
one not-so-silent partner
who at the last moment shouted Wait
If there had been just one
majority of one
in the lotus position
in the inner sanctum
who bowed his shaved head to the
Chief of All Police
and raised his hands in a mudra
and chanted the Great Paramita Sutra
the Diamond Sutra
the Lotus Sutra
If there had somehow been
just one Gandhian spinner
with Brian Willson
at the gates of the White House
at the Gates of Eden
then it wouldn't have been
Vietnam once again
and its "One two three four
What're we waitin' for?"
If one single ray of the light
of the Dalai Lama
when he visited this land
had penetrated somehow
the Land of the Brave
where the lion never
lies down with the lamb--
But not a glimmer got through
The Security screened it out
screened out the Buddha
and his not-so-crazy wisdom
If only in the land of Sam Houston
if only in the land of the Alamo
if only in Wacoland USA
if only in Reno
if only on CNN CBS NBC
one had comprehended
one single syllable
of the Gautama Buddha
of the young Siddhartha
one single whisper of
Gandhi's spinning wheel
one lost syllable
of Martin Luther King
or of the Early Christians
or of Mother Teresa
or Thoreau or Whitman or Allen Ginsberg
or of the millions in America tuned to them
If the inner ears of the inner sanctums
had only been half open
to any vibrations except
those of the national security state
and had only been attuned
to the sound of one hand clapping
and not one hand punching
Then that sick cult and its children
might still be breathing
the free American air
of the First Amendment
so these are the options-
e.e. cummings - Is 5
Mary Oliver - House of Light
Robert Frost - North of Boston
Langston Hughes - The Panther and the Lash
Martin Espada - Imagine the Angels of Bread
Lawrence Ferlinghetti - A Coney Island of the Mind
Gwendolyn Brooks - The Bean Eaters (within the larger collected volume, Blacks)
Sylvia Plath - Ariel
I am just wondering from anyone who has read them, which ones have the most material on the internet about them, which ones are the least confusing, basically which ones you would recommend.
so these are the options-
e.e. cummings - Is 5
Mary Oliver - House of Light
Robert Frost - North of Boston
Langston Hughes - The Panther and the Lash
Martin Espada - Imagine the Angels of Bread
Lawrence Ferlinghetti - A Coney Island of the Mind
Gwendolyn Brooks - The Bean Eaters (within the larger collected volume, Blacks)
Sylvia Plath - Ariel
I am just wondering from anyone who has read them, which ones have the most material on the internet about them, which ones are the least confusing, basically which ones you would recommend.
i am nervous, i have posted a few of my poems on here to find out what people think about them. i had just met a very wise and old Lawrence Ferlinghetti and he read some of my poems and said that he loves them, he then warned me not to show them till i publish them due to it would be horrible if they were stolen. now i fear of people stealing the poems i have posted here, has anyone ever had their poems stolen by posting them on here to get feedback?
Does anyone know how to find out when and why these poems were written:
-Two scavengers in a truck, two beautiful people in a mercedes(Lawrence Ferlinghetti)
-Nothing's Changed(Tatamkhulu Afrika)
if possible, please include social ideas and ethics in the time period and places.
I have already looked on google and Bitesize
thankyou
There are conflicting opinions on what makes poetry poetry. Lyrical poetry...is it really poetry? For example, is Bob Dylan a poet? Once, after attending a Dylan concert in Berkeley with Allen Ginsberg and Ken Kesey, Lawrence Ferlinghetti was embittered, ranting about a stringy kid with an electric guitar drawing a bigger audience than a major poet such as himself. In an interview with Robert Shelton, Ferlinghetti acknowledged that Dylan has a poet's imagination, but added, "I still think he needs that guitar."
So, what is poetry? What makes something a poem and not just a song? Paul Garon, for example, has made the emphatic and stipulative pronouncement that all blues is self-evidently poetry and that those who think otherwise must be mentally defective. What do you think?
I asked this question in the poetry section, but figured I should ask it here as well. Thanks for the answers!
There are conflicting opinions on what makes poetry poetry. Lyrical poetry...is it really poetry? For example, is Bob Dylan a poet? Once, after attending a Dylan concert in Berkeley with Allen Ginsberg and Ken Kesey, Lawrence Ferlinghetti was embittered, ranting about a stringy kid with an electric guitar drawing a bigger audience than a major poet such as himself. In an interview with Robert Shelton, Ferlinghetti acknowledged that Dylan has a poet's imagination, but added, "I still think he needs that guitar."
So, what is poetry? What makes something a poem and not just a song? Paul Garon, for example, has made the emphatic and stipulative pronouncement that all blues is self-evidently poetry and that those who think otherwise must be mentally defective. What do you think?
Don't let that horse
Don't let that horse
eat that violin
cried Chagall's mother
But he
kept right on
painting
And became famous
And kept on painting
The Horse With Violin In Mouth
And when he finally finished it
he jumped up upon the horse
and rode away
waving the violin
And then with a low bow gave it
to the first naked nude he ran across
And there were no strings
attached
By Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Why does Lawrence Ferlinghetti use anaphora in his poem I Am Waiting? I understand the repetition of "I am waiting" throughout the poem is an example of anaphora, but I don't understand why he is using it. Here's a link to the poem: http://www.think-ink.net/visit/waiting.htm
Also, what other literary devices are in the poem? I've found a ton of allusions, but I can't seem to find anything else. Thanks in advance!
my teacher asked me to write a relfection for this poem.
What things do you look for to relate?? or tips on writing a reflection for a poem. thanks! 10 points for best answer
http://project1.caryacademy.org/echoes/poet_Lawrence_Ferlinghetti/SamplePoemFerlinghetti.htm
the poem is called In Goya's Greatest Scenes We Seem to See
My paper is about how Walt Whitman uses imagery to convey to the reader that America has freedom and equality- the American Dream- and how Lawrence Ferlinghetti uses historical and literary allusions to convey that America does not have freedom and equality- that it does not have the American Dream.
I'm thinking something like:
The American Dream: Extinct like (an allusion to something historical/literary) or alive like (something with imagery)
any ideas?
This is how it starts:
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America...
and so and so on....
please someone help me im really confused and i have to write a paper bout it!!!
from Lawrence Ferlinghetti, one of the beat poets from the 1950s/early 60s beatnik scene in San Francisco:
A"Be In" couldn't happen again in San Francisco. Not these days. "Be Here Now" was the slogan in the 60s. Now with cellphones and the internet and all, it's "Be Somewhere Else Now."
