Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Application #6

July 1, 2011

Matthew Arnold

Application # 6
(Something I wrote in graduate school)

The “interpoetic relationship” between Matthew Arnold’s Dover Beach and Anthony Hecht’s The Dover Bitch could hardly be less subtle. Hecht “clears poetic space” for himself by means of a “purposeful misreading” of Arnold in which Hecht inserts himself as a peripheral character in “Dover Beach”. This playful approach belies Harold Bloom’s contention that poets inevitably grapple with the “anxiety of influence” of prior works.

“Dover Bitch” is a lighthearted parody which mocks the sincerity and the seriousness of the original text. Hetch does this by transforming the object of desire in “Dover Beach” into a “girl” who is quite unworthy of her lofty stature. The woman spoken to in “Dover Beach” is the recipient of a protestation of a love which is meant to replace all the shattered Victorian certitudes which no longer exist:

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world ….
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain

This is quite a tall order to fill: Make my life meaningful in a world without God. Hecht slyly deflates Arnold’s heroic affirmation of devotion by turning its recipient into a woman far more interested in having a good time than resolving Arnold’s spiritual devastation. Hecht does not merely remove her from her pedestal, but makes her scornful of Arnold’s attempt to recreate her “(A)s a sort of mournful cosmic last resort”.

Hecht’s attempt to supplant his predecessor offers a rich vein to be tapped by those who would extract psychoanalytical deposits from the rivalries which exist between authors. When Hecht proclaims “I knew this girl”, he means it in the biblical sense. It is hard to resist the Oedipal interpretation in which Hecht not only seduces the fictional object of Arnold’s desire, but has his way with his poem as well.

Hecht’s reduction of Arnold’s contemplation on the meaning of life into a tawdry one night stand is possible because Arnold permits him the space to do so. Arnold’s failure to consider how the poem plays to its internal audience makes it possible for the reader to accept her as seeing him as an insufferable blowhard.

by Richard W. Bray

Leave me Alone

June 26, 2011

Go_Away_400x400

Leave me Alone


I don’t want to eat my spinach
I don’t want to do my chores
I don’t want to clean the bathroom
I just want to eat some s’mores

I don’t want to iron my trousers
I don’t want to cut the lawn
I don’t want to do my homework
I just want to play till dawn

I don’t want to plant a garden
I don’t want to wash the car
I don’t want to do the dishes
I just want to look at stars

I don’t want to work for money
I don’t want to paint my home
I don’t want to fix the plumbing
I just want to be alone

by Richard W. Bray

No Laughter, No Hope

June 18, 2011


I can hate life
And I can hate me
And I can hit you
So you will hit me

No laughter, no hope
Just sock in the eye
You looking for hurt?
Then I am your guy

by Richard W. Bray

Let Me Tell Ya’

June 8, 2011

Let Me Tell Ya’

Cinderella:
Let me tall ya’
Her prince is one happy fella

Ichabod Crane:
Don’t lose your brain
Enough to drive a guy insane

Frankenstein:
No friend of mine
Scarin’ people all the time

Hercules:
Golly geez
He can bench press eighty trees

Mother Goose:
On the loose
With stories for the kids to use

Winnie Pooh:
How do you do?
Got some honey just for you

Charlie Brown:
Don’t be a clown
Kick that football. Don’t fall down

Mr. Ed:
He often said,
“Don’t make me glue when I am dead”

by Richard W. Bray

That’s How Easy War Can Be

May 16, 2011

american
bombs
courageously
dropped.
everybody
feels
great
here.
imperial
justice
keeps
liberating
manifold
nonhumans.
only
pacifists
queasy.
reality
shows
transmit
universal
values.
we’re
xceptional,
you’re
zapped.

by Richard W. Bray

Sarah Fitzgerald

April 26, 2011

Carl

Sarah Fitzgerald

Sarah Fitzgerald and her brother Harold
Went to the park to play
But no girls nor boys and none of their toys
Could be found that day

For a monster named Larry and his cousin Jerry
Had scared them all away
So Sarah decided the two should be chided
And she had much to say

She marched to their dwelling, the one which was smelling
Of grime, garbage and gore
Though her brother pleaded, young Sarah proceeded
To walk right up to the door

Their uncle appeared, looking quite weird
Drenched in the blood of a boar:
“I’m not sorry to say that the two ran away.
They don’t live here any more.”

Harold told Sarah to leave it alone or a paira’
Dead youngsters they’d be
But Sarah declared that she wouldn’t be scared
By a monster or two, nor by three

Harold was prudent, an erstwhile student
Of monsters and their history:
“In Nineteen-oh-two they made a big stew
Of children like you and like me!”

Sarah was headstrong, “I will get along
With or without you around
And I’ll have you know that I’m willing to go
To the village where monsters abound”

Poor Harold followed, all fear he swallowed
As they journeyed to menacing grounds:
The City of Doom, a patch of great gloom
Where hideous creatures are found

As they entered the city where nothing is pretty
They suddenly started to hear
Wails and groans and hideous moans
Her brother quivered with fear

Several gargoyles and ghouls sporting boils
Grew increasingly near
Sarah’s pace quickened, the musty air thickened
But she knew her quest was sincere

An ogre named Carl said with a snarl,
“These two wayward youngins’ are mad
But here you are, you’ve traveled so far
Without your mum or you dad”

Sarah inquired, “Sir, help is desired.
Some monsters are making me mad
That hooligan Larry and his cousin Jerry
Have been cruel, naughty and bad”

The cantankerous ogre stared a cruel glare
And veins bulged out on his head
Harold shut eyes. The kid realized
The two were soon to be dead

Carl shuddered and shook. Poor Sarah couldn’t look
The air was frozen with dread
They thought he’d explode or perhaps he’d implode
He began to chortle instead

“My dear, I must say you do have a way.
That’s the best laugh I’ve had in a while
You deserve to be praised in various ways
For remarkable gumption and style”

What then ensued can only be viewed
As a case for the Odd Monster Files
(Folks who were there are likely to swear
That he even broke into a smile)

“You know, I reckon, someone should beckon
Those two young rascals to me”
This was no sooner said than the two lads were led
On a chain for all to see

They proceeded to plead that their dastardly deed
Was merely some young monster fun
The cousins then learned in quite certain terms
That their kid-scaring days were now done

Now Sarah’s revered and heartily cheered
Whenever she comes to the park
The children can play not simply all day
But even when it turns dark

Now Harold tells all that it was his call
To boldly and bravely embark
On that fateful day when two kids went away
To protect all who play in the park

by Richard W. Bray

I Tried

April 11, 2011

I Tried

I tried to clean my chimney
But it covered me with soot
I tried to wire my speakers
But they smoked and went kaput
I tried to lift a dumbbell
But I dropped it on my foot

I tried to tip my waiter
But his pockets were all full
I tried to wear a sweater
But I’m so itchy from the wool
I tried to ride my horsey
But I saddled up a bull

I tried to wash my car
But it began to rain
I tried some jumping jacks
But that gave me a pain
I want to do what’s right
But it’s driving me insane

by Richard W. Bray

Frannie’s Fortress

March 26, 2011

Frannie’s Fortress

Frannie’s best friend moved away
This made her very sad
When other kids went out to play
She stayed home with her dad

Naturally she felt her
Heart had hit a wall
So she sought herself a shelter
From torment, big and small

Frannie figured it was best
To keep her feelings gated
She’d build for them a fortress
To be locked and palisaded

She planned a sanctuary
Where a girl could find refuge
This stronghold would be very
Fortified and huge

She would make herself a maven
On battlements and forts
To build a bulwark and a haven
And protect her lonely heart

She’d defend her citadel
With fulltime guards on call
And no one could even tell
If she ever cried at all

As she began to write
In a notebook on the floor
Daddy was a welcome sight:
“You have people at the door.”

Sally, Ann and Mary
Came to see if she could play
They had themselves a very
Funterrific day

Daddy said, “I made some lunch
And all your friends can stay.”
The girls all drank some punch
And Frannie put her plans away

by Richard W. Bray

Walter the Wombat

March 3, 2011

Walter the Wombat

Walter Wombat went to the store
To find his family some food
The sun was shining, and what’s more
He was in a wonderful mood

When Walter got to the market
The lot was nearly full
As he maneuvered his car to park it
He backed into an angry bull

The bull stepped out of its Audi
And stomped right up to his car
As Walter prepared to say, “Howdy”
He noticed it had a huge scar

This bull didn’t look real pleasant
So Walter prepared for a fight
That’s when a ring-necked pheasant
Marched right into their sight

“Of course, y’all don’t know me”
Said Fred with a glint in his eye
“But I was wondering who could show me
Where worms fall out of the sky”

The bull looked down at Freddy
As steam came out of its nose
And the little bird got ready
To defend against terrible blows

“You really don’t want to perturb me”
Said the bull with blood in his eye
“And it’s a real mistake to disturb me
When I’m about to gore this guy”

Fred said, “I do beg your pardon
I surely do hate to bud in
And I guess I should be startin’
Home to be with my kin”

The bull turned its head quite slowly
Offended by Freddy’s words
“Did you just call me Shirley, lowly
Ring-necked little bird?”

“I believe that you’re mistaken”
Said Walter ignoring his terrors
No bird should be forsaken
For simple linguistic errors”

“The two words surely and Shirley
Are a pair of homophones
So before you get hurly burly
And speak in angry tones…”

But the bull was through with talking
He began to snort and stomp
The world was suddenly rocking
This bull was ready to romp

The bull chased after the wombat
Who headed straight for the stream
He preferred swimming to combat
He had no wish to be creamed

They both ended up in the water
But this didn’t cool off the bull
Which pointed and reared for slaughter
Until he felt the pull

The current quickly took him
To an ocean miles away
The bystanders there mistook him
For a surfer who’d lost his way

This story that I have selected
Has a moral over for you to mull:
Always stay cool and collected
And never back into a bull

by Richard W. Bray

Tonight in Every Bar

February 22, 2011

Tonight
In every bar
Drunken alcoholics speak
Of friends who really have
A drinking problem.

by Richard W. Bray