I think your point about Geoffrey Hill and 'Brand' is very acute, Doug.
As for the voices: sexual? Lucky you! Mine just talk gibberish, in Lestah
accents.
Best
Dave
David Bircumshaw
Leicester, England
Home Page
A Chide's Alphabet
Painting Without Numbers
www.paintstuff.20m.com/index.htm
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----- Original Message -----
From: "Douglas Clark" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, November 30, 2001 10:47 AM
Subject: Voices
> I think all poets have an inner voice that writes the poems
> that mean most to them. These poems are written on blank pages
> with no thought as to what the next line is going to be.
> I can think back as far as 1968 to 'Triad: The Magicians'
> and the last was probably 'Mary of the Songs' in 1992
> when no creativity was required. (I will append it below).
>
> When you have schizophrenia the poetic inner voice becomes
> live in the head and it is marvellous. But the downside is
> that the subconscious reveals itself and very nasty sexual
> voices wont go out of the head. This is why the drugs are
> necessary otherwise you could bask out the rest of your
> life in a happy happy state far removed from reality.
>
> Eventually I think the drugs kill the poetry but not
> being in love is an additional factor. (Or am I really
> not in love with the news from Ottawa).
>
> And I will just complete yesterday's note on Geoffrey Hill
> by saying that I think the biggest mistake he ever made
> was translating 'Brand the Builder'. It has turned him into
> a garrulous old man talking to himself only. (But do read
> Christopher Okigbo if you can get hold of him). And for
> Trevor Joyce he mentions Robert Desnos at 21, Okigbo is
> the last half of 87.
>
> Now for my voluntary job then the pub. My printer just
> phoned to say my pamphlet cover is to be in colour but
> as I only had a black-and-white digital photo of the
> cat to give the graphics man I am puzzled.
>
> This was probably my last given poem from my voice:
> (unless some of the Mary-poems but I cant remember).
>
>
>
> Mary of the Songs
>
>
> Great Mary of the Songs said to me:
> `Why aren't you writing?'
> I answered `My black widow haunts me.
> `In the mists of winter I see her face.
> `In the brief mid-day sun I strangulate.
> `The black widow stands between me and summer.
> `I must write her. She will be the death of me.'
>
> Big Mary of the Songs said to me:
> `Is it at an end, your poetry?'
> I answered `If my lilac takes.
> `If my lavender revives. If the sun shines.
> `I will live to name the place of my tomb.
> `The black widow will dance on my grave in rage.
> `I have made her immortal. She will never die.'
>
> Sweet Mary of the Songs said to me:
> `Was it worth it, the agony?'
> I answered `I have purged the widow.
> `No more will the black widow plague me.
> `She was there from childhood and I have defeated her.
> `I walk into an empty future with a blank mind.
> `I lived with the black widow and now am free.'
>
> Great Mary of the Songs said:
> `Listen to me.
> `You came from the morning. You walked to the citadel.
> `You married the black widow. You wrote it.
> `There's an end of it. Now you can be happy.'
> I answered `Without my widow I am nothing.
> `She was the heart of my days. Let it end.'
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Douglas Clark, Bath, England mailto: [log in to unmask]
> Lynx: Poetry from Bath ..........
http://www.bath.ac.uk/~exxdgdc/lynx.html
>
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