> Hello again Arthur,
                     Yes, everything you say about reception is totally reasonable and in line with what I think myself. I´m sort of wondering from your drfit towards the end if you had thought that I was disagreeing with Helen about the genital interpretation of the good old orchid (?) I wasn´t, though. It´s  quite reasonable to read it so and I certainly intended to suggest such a reading. Helen pointed out that it´s yellow, presumably meaning that that is an odd colour for a male organ. By adding that it was also purple I saw that the unhappy subject of the problem may well be in need of some medical treatment. The guy with the problem being the one in the poem, of course. But, it can also just be an orchid.....except that orchids don´t ordinarily grow out of people´s belly´s.....except in a fantasy maybe. Am I going round in circles? Or maybe I missed some other point you were making. 


Best wishes,   Mike



> Lähettäjä: Arthur Seeley <[log in to unmask]>
> Päiväys: 2004/04/26 ma AM 10:59:59 GMT+03:00
> Vastaanottaja: [log in to unmask]
> Aihe: Re: At Dawn- Helen
> 
> I am piggy backing here Mike. I have not received the original.Vagaries of
> the List, I'm afraid.
> A poem has three distinct defined existences I think. There is the poem the
> poet thinks he has written, there is the poem he actually wrote, the poem
> that demands its own existence and uses the poet as the medium through which
> it expresses itself and there is the poem that the reader reads. This latter
> poem can have as many existences as there are readers because each reader
> involves themselves in the poem through the act of reading. Then the three
> becomes many. Each individual reader will read with their experiences and
> understanding of words and their connotations unique to them In a sense
> reading the poem is an act of creation as unique as the writing of the poem
> itself. This opinion extends to viewing art or listening to music. Art in
> its many forms, visual, poetry, music, prose etc bestows this gift of
> creativity upon the receptor.
> I was at an exhibition of Chinese pottery in London once long ago. Progress
> through the exhibition was guided by screens which kept each piece apart
> from the others, so that on a quiet afternoon one almost had a private
> audience with each piece. I rounded one corner and entered into the presence
> of this most beautiful vase. Tall, elegant, perfect, serene. A still mirror
> of the moving world, as the vase in Four Quartets. I was deeply moved,
> physically , to a sob of pleasure and awe. Was that the vase or me, or the
> potter and I sharing a view of eternity together in private unity.
> In a similar vein I was at an exhibition in Bradford of the Bangladeshi
> Poet, the Nobel laureate, Rabindranath Tagore who was an artist as well as a
> poet.
> The morning was springlike, warm sunshine and I had entered through avenues
> of daffodils.
> I was the only person there that morning. I wandered round, honestly
> unimpressed. I was passing one drawing in red and black ink and noticed some
> writing along the edge. I stepped closer and read " Who are you, young poet,
> here to read me this fine spring morning, my words long written and I long
> dead? Who are you? What do you feel reading my dead words?" I was so
> startled I looked round as if somone had spoken but the large room was
> empty. What was going on there, Mike? Was I a partner in some strange act of
> creation? I often wonder.
> Happily those three distinct forms of poetry can merge in many different
> combinations.
> I think Helen's reading of the poem is legitimate and in fact very close to
> my own. There are sexual overtones in the poem and the orchid does feel to
> be a metaphor. But then that is my reading and as I say as valid and as
> individual an act of creation as your original inspiration.
> The secret is to recognise these different forms, almost literary
> allotropes, and admit them as all acceptable.
> The big bonus comes when all three merge into one and poet and audience are
> singing from the same hymn sheet.
> Just some thoughts. Arthur.
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Mike Horwood" <[log in to unmask]>
> To: <[log in to unmask]>
> Sent: Monday, April 26, 2004 8:09 AM
> Subject: Re: At Dawn- Helen
> 
> 
> > >
> > ...but yellow?
> 
> 
> ....and purple. Blimey, this guy has a problem....or maybe it´s just an
> orchid after all.
> 
> 
> >
> > ----- Original Message -----
> > From: "Mike Horwood" <[log in to unmask]>
> > To: <[log in to unmask]>
> > Sent: Friday, April 23, 2004 7:35 AM
> > Subject: Re: At Dawn- Helen
> >
> >
> > > Hello Helen,
> >               Ho, ho, ho! The good old famous male genitals, then, putting
> > in an appearance and, I like to think, rising to the occasion. I would,
> > though, just like to take this opportunity to deny most strenuously that
> > this poem has anything to do with masturbation in any of its
> > many...and...well, intriguing forms, tempting though they are (as a
> subject
> > for poetry, I mean). I would like to make that quite clear, and so would
> all
> > my fantasy lovers...oh, what a giveaway!
> >
> >
> >
> > Best wishes,   Mike
> >
> >
> >
> > > Lähettäjä: Helen Clare <[log in to unmask]>
> > > Päiväys: 2004/04/22 to AM 10:06:38 GMT+03:00
> > > Vastaanottaja: [log in to unmask]
> > > Aihe: Re: New sub: At Dawn
> > >
> > > I've been waiting to comment on this, not wanting to reveal myself as
> the
> > > only one with a dirty mind... but I guess it is too late to be coy.
> > > On one level this is a poem about spring and birth, and the violence
> > > implicit that.
> > > But I can't help but observe that the orchid is often used to represent
> > the
> > > male genitals... and I wondered if you were hinting at another kind of
> > dawn
> > > rising here!
> > > Helen
> > >
> > >
> > > ----- Original Message -----
> > > From: "Mike Horwood" <[log in to unmask]>
> > > To: <[log in to unmask]>
> > > Sent: Monday, April 19, 2004 1:33 PM
> > > Subject: New sub: At Dawn
> > >
> > >
> > > At Dawn
> > >
> > > I never wanted this, the heart pumping,
> > > blood punishing the veins in thin wrists.
> > >
> > > The skin below my ribs parts and tears
> > > and the orchid pushes its silky stem
> > > at the wound´s livid lips,
> > > stretching flaps of flesh
> > > into a red-raw O.
> > >
> > > Orchis raises his headbud,
> > > dislodging cells like grains of soil,
> > > rippling my belly and I cannot look
> > > away, though the starting day lights
> > > the vegetable world outside my window
> > > and streaks the dawn sky.
> > >
> > > Could I rise and step out, barefoot,
> > > on the cool grass beneath the trees?
> > >
> > > I lie back on my pillow in single
> > > contemplation of the orchid blooming
> > > below my heart, streaked purple and yellow,
> > > lurid as any sky at dawn
> > > and imagine the feel of cool grass on bare feet.
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > Mike
> > >
> >
>