Rhyme And Verse

[Wragg]

Now I'm indulging myself!

Still, it's my thread!

I did not give my permission
You don’t need it, just take me
Don’t listen to my pleas, my screams
You don’t need to, just take me
Don’t care about my dignity
You don’t need to, just strip me
Don’t be concerned for my feelings
Just mock me, just whip me
Don’t hesitate one moment
Put on my head a thorny crown
Make me carry my crossbeam
On my walk of shame through the town
Push and drag me along
Be not concerned that I might fall
At the place of execution throw me down
On the ground, pull my legs apart
And rape me, that's your sport
Before you nail me to the beam
Pay no attention as I scream
As you pound spikes between my bones
Ignore my pitiful, plaintive moans
For mercy, just raise me to the sky
Nail my feet and watch me writhe
No regrets, stare up my thighs
See my bleeding cunt before your eyes
Pay no attention to my cries
As you watch my heaving breasts
Shudder and bobble on my chest
Don’t let me have a moment’s peace
As I hang upon my cross, here, by the street
Don’t care about the pretty girl
That on this day you’ve crucified


From here: http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/just-take-me.3724/

By the ever wonderful Roxie!

 

[Eulalia]

Indeed that there are more similitudes between German and English !
Sometimes, I could desire to share some French sings or poems with members, but, in first, I'm not enough knowing English language to well translate, and in second, the translations of these oeuvres has not been made and unfindable on the net !

I'd be happy to have a go at English versions,
especially as I'm missing Velut Luna's Italian,
it would be nice to savour some French!

 

[Wragg]

This is the third and last and best in a series by this poet:

Limping painfully,
along the beaten track,
outside the Roman encampment,
of Legio III Gallica,
whose rampaging columns,
ranging far and wide,
have laid waste the countryside

Twas the vengeful work of
Caius Accius Sparsus,
whose dear betrothed,
was so hideously crucified,
on the valley floor of the great defile,
by barbarian warriors,
in defiance of Roman rule

My people have felt,
the taste of Roman wrath,
as Caius Accius Sparsus,
and his rapacious men,
surrounded every village,
ruthlessly slaughtering all,
who dared resist

Now I their leader,
the barbarian queen,
hobbles painfully under guard,
past endless rows of crosses
arrayed along this beaten track,
each carrying a human burden
nailed pitifully to its gnarled wood

I led the barbarian army,
resisted Roman might
fought the legion to a standstill,
until the approach of night,
when suddenly a hurtling pilum
passing through my thigh,
forced my anguished cry

I fell in awful agony,
clutching my wounded leg,
and to my shock and horror,
overheard my warriors cry,
she is down, all is lost,
the battle shall now surely go,
the way of the hated Romans host

Panic gripped my forces,
as they tried,
the battlefield to flee,
Roman legionaries, flush with victory
advanced in disciplined line,
beating, hacking and cutting
panicky fugitives down in droves

Carnage, carnage everywhere,
as far as eye can see,
barbarian resistance died that day,
when its leader failed,
to lead her warriors forward,
sadly only the surviving wounded,
shall now see the light of day

Taken from the field that night,
stripped of shield and sword,
hauled to my feet,
and obliged to shuffle,
along with thousands more,
down that dusty road,
triumphant Romans at our side

One by one my surviving followers
are forced to either side,
to take their place,
astride a waiting cross,
to be nailed and raised,
to suffer and slowly die,
ignobly along that road

As I near the encampment gate
one last cross awaits,
larger, heavier than the rest,
laying on a rising slope,
a heightened vantage point,
visible to any and all who care
to weigh the might of Rome

Quickly stripped of all my clothes,
thrown naked on rough wooden stipe,
arms stretched out,
wrists are bound,
a bag of nails produced,
sharp points set in place,
hammers ringing down

I scream to my gods,
buck and arch my back,
my mounded breasts do quake,
blood spurts from my punctured wrists,
the pain is hard to take,
I gasp and cry and squint my eyes,
as sunlight beats upon my face

Strong hands grasp my legs,
knees are bent,
feet roped in place,
two more gleaming spikes appear,
placed menacingly against my feet,
the clang of hammers striking iron,
the nailing is complete

I howl and scream,
as my cross is raised,
dropped in place and secured,
the dance of death begins,
I twist and writhe,
my bare breasts sway,
my gaping sex displays

Above my head a wooden placard,
nailed crookedly in place,
reads with sardonic wit,
“Here hangs lovely Barbaria,
Queen of all who bear the guilt,
for the craven massacre of the defile.
Rome never forgets!”

Barbaria, 2014

http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/the-defile-part-3.3528/

God, we are lucky on Cruxforums!

 

[messaline]

I'd be happy to have a go at English versions,
especially as I'm missing Velut Luna's Italian,
it would be nice to savour some French!

Obviously ! I was thinking that you were too much occupied, but if you're proposing, it could be interesting !
I've nothing for the moment, but later, if I need ....

 

[Eulalia]

Never be afraid to ask - I might have to say no, or maybe it'll have to wait,
but I'd love to have a look at anything that you like
and you think would appeal to cruxers here.

 

[Wragg]

Obviously ! I was thinking that you were too much occupied, but if you're proposing, it could be interesting !
I've nothing for the moment, but later, if I need ....

Or you could write a poem in French to go with an image on Anjou Calvaries, Messa!

Here's a lovely French poem (no crux, but lovely)

La Beauté

Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s'est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour
Eternel et muet ainsi que la matière.

Je trône dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris;
J'unis un coeur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes;
Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes,
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.

Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d'austères études;

Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles:
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles!

— Charles Baudelaire

And a translation (by Aggeler)

Beauty

I am fair, O mortals! like a dream carved in stone,
And my breast where each one in turn has bruised himself
Is made to inspire in the poet a love
As eternal and silent as matter.

On a throne in the sky, a mysterious sphinx,
I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans;
I hate movement for it displaces lines,
And never do I weep and never do I laugh.

Poets, before my grandiose poses,
Which I seem to assume from the proudest statues,
Will consume their lives in austere study;

For I have, to enchant those submissive lovers,
Pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful:
My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal brightness!

 

[messaline]

Before having viewed the author, I'd guess him ! Beaudelaire is very identifying ...
But I find that the translation is not better than the original : sometimes, the rythm of the verses are well respected, but sometimes no ... It's a little hurtful for the poem ...
Anyway, a translation is always difficult to do and often, the result is not satisfying for those who know the original ...
I dont remember who was saying :" Traductor, Trahitor est" (Latin) ... (translator is a betrayer )

 

[Wragg]

Before having viewed the author, I'd guess him ! Beaudelaire is very identifying ...
But I find that the translation is not better than the original : sometimes, the rythm of the verses are well respected, but sometimes no ... It's a little hurtful for the poem ...
Anyway, a translation is always difficult to do and often, the result is not satisfying for those who know the original ...
I dont remember who was saying :" Traductor, Trahitor est" (Latin) ... (translator is a betrayer )

I have attempted to translate verse, but only from German, never French, and only songs, so that I am forced to preserve the metre, but you are absolutely right, a poem is best in its original language, and often a translation is horrible. My only attempt at French poetry was for your birthday (with much help from Eul), and you were very sweet about it, but I think Beaudelaire was turning in his grave!

 

[Primus pilus]

Pp was brought up on the Australian bush poetry of "The Banjo" (AB Paterson) and Henry Lawson. He learnt so many of these, by heart, on his grandfather's knee.

With no little inspiration from Eulalia he is slowly, too slowly, working on rewriting one of The Banjo's epics into some crux-appropriate words but this stanza, from Clancy Of The Overflow, will never be changed:

"And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him

In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,

And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,

And at night the wond’rous glory of the everlasting stars."​

Pp has travelled the world yet, whether he is in a Middle East desert, on a snow-capped New Zealand mountain, even in a hotel in a bustling Beijing or any European or US city he can close his eyes, recite just this one verse, and be instantly returned to his beloved Australian bush.

 

[Hondoboot2]

I for one rejoice greatly at the amount of poetry on these forums. I wondered if it might be helpful to start a little thread considering the elements of poetry in order to encourage others to pitch in and have a go, because poetry is highly expressive and highly fun!

The first question might be, do you want to write a structured poem or in ‘free’ verse?

‘Of course, free verse is much easier than structured verse, because you don’t have to worry about the structure, right?’

Wrong. In structured verse most of the work is done for you by the structure, the reader is drawn along by the clickety clack of the verses. Free verse poets have to make every single word count, drawing the reader through the poem by the sheer beauty and power of the words they choose. There are some fantastic free verse poets here, and I hope that they will chip in and give us the benefit of their experience.

Secondly, a good entry into poetry is comic verse, where you can take liberties. It is very difficult to use free verse to comic effect, in my humble opinion, so you are heading into the stratosphere of emotive writing when you pick the free verse option, and to illustrate this point just look at Siss' latest offering, 'Daydreams and Nightmares.'

http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/daydreams-and-nightmares.4527/

I’ll stick with structured verse, therefore!

There is much that could be written about poetry, but the elements are metre and rhyme.

Metre is the rhythm of the lines, specifically it is the number of beats in the line.

Here’s a line of structured poetry, from Casabianca by Felicia Dorothea Hemans (the poem is better known than the poet)

The boy stood on the burning deck.

Count the beats and you should come up with 8.

‘So I just get 8 syllables in a line and I’m home and dry. Right?’

Not quite, because in addition to the number of syllables the line has a rhythm:

The BOY stood ON the BURNing DECK

The syllables are not equal, some are stressed. Dee-DAH dee-DAH dee-DAH dee-DAH. (If you’re interested, each pair of syllables is called a ‘foot’. A foot which stresses the second syllable is called an ‘iamb’ and a foot which stresses the first is a ‘trochee’. Four feet together, like this, is called ‘quadrameter’, this line is therefore iambic quadrameter. But you can ignore all that stuff for now.)

So you do have to pay some attention to the natural rhythm of words. You can see, for instance, that you couldn’t make ‘burning’ the last word in the line without pronouncing it ‘burNING’ which sounds false.

And that’s the key. It’s as simple as that. Does the line ‘sound’ right or not? As we say ‘does it scan’? Or are you forcing stress on syllables that don’t normally take stress?

There are various tricks to help you get your metre into order.

1. Turn two syllables into one. Here’s a famous example: ‘Twas the night before Christmas.’
   
   
2. Get a thesaurus. Chances are, if you look through the rich variety of synonyms in the English language, you will find a word that fits better into your line than the one you’re thinking of.
   
   
3. Think about the whole phrase. Believe that there’s a way of saying it that fits the metre you need. So, if I wanted to write ‘Think about the whole phrase’ in the eight beat form of our example, I might come up with ‘Consider how the whole phrase works.’ ConSIDder HOW the WHOLE phrase WORKS. Simples! And ‘consider’ is a lovely word, so much better than ‘think about’, even though it has the same number of syllables.

Right ho, just a few thoughts about rhyme, and then I’ll shut up and give way to the real experts!

Let’s have a look at the rest of the first verse of Ms Heman’s poem:

The boy stood on the burning deck.
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck.
Shone round him o'er the dead

So the second and fourth lines are shorter, just six beats, and that makes them a bit punchier, and this 8.6.8.6 structure is so beloved of poets and songwriters that it is called ‘common metre’ or ‘ballad metre’.

These are the simplest rhymes, ‘deck’ and ‘wreck’ rhyme perfectly, as do ‘fled’ and ‘dead’, in a rhyming structure that we can describe as a,b,a,b.

But here’s a rather naughty caricature:

The boy stood on the burning deck.
His feet were covered in blisters.
He'd burnt the socks right off his feet
And had to wear his sister's.

I don’t know about you, but I think that is quite funny. It emphasises my point about comedy verse. Whoever wrote that has completely messed up the metre, the first and third lines don’t rhyme, and yet it works! You can’t sing it (try ‘the House of the Rising Sun’) but it brings a smile to the lips.

It does also instruct us a little, firstly that the ‘key’ rhymes are those at the end of lines two and four, so it is perfectly acceptable, if you struggle with rhymes, or if you are writing a long ballad, or if you simply prefer it, to ignore the ‘a’ rhymes in common metre.

Secondly, it illustrates another way of rhyming, and another important point. The rhyme must be on the stressed syllable. The ‘ters’ of ‘blisters’ may rhyme with ‘hers’ but there’s no way you could end the last line with ‘hers’, or even with a two syllable word that ends –ers (try substituting ‘mother’s’ for ‘sister’s’)

But don’t be a slave to a rhyme. Often there is a genuinely limited choice of rhymes available and if you’re not careful you end up twisting the poem just to get a rhyme. (For a great example of that, used to hilarious comedy effect, look no further than W.S. Gilbert’s ‘Modern Major-General’)

Think about ‘phononyms’ – these are words which do not rhyme perfectly, but where the stressed syllable sounds very similar to that of the word you want to rhyme:

She wasn’t quite so helpful now
The soldiers fought to hold her down;

And beware of ‘identicals’

A girl with golden blond hair
Had lost all her clothes, and was bare
She thought ‘what a bore’
When she heard a loud roar
And beheld a bad tempered brown bear.


Even in a limerick, the rhyming of ‘bare’ and ‘bear’ is disappointing (though the alliteration in the last line has merit – but alliteration is another story.)

Final thought – you can’t hold every word in your head, it is not ‘cheating’ to use a rhyming dictionary or a website like ‘rhymezone’.

So go on, have a go. Feel free to use this thread to play on!

Very interesting Sir Wragg.
The few poems I have written and posted, I do not think I followed any rules. I just drank some whisky, and started with a feeling, and then just started typing the words as they came to me.
That might be why they were strange.

 

[Primus pilus]

Very interesting Sir Wragg.
The few poems I have written and posted, I do not think I followed any rules. I just drank some whisky, and started with a feeling, and then just started typing the words as they came to me.
That might be why they were strange.

If there is a better way than that then the world is a sad old place. Always start with a feeling. You can always apply a few rules as guidelines later IF you feel the need.

 

[Eulalia]

Before having viewed the author, I'd guess him ! Beaudelaire is very identifying ...
But I find that the translation is not better than the original : sometimes, the rythm of the verses are well respected, but sometimes no ... It's a little hurtful for the poem ...
Anyway, a translation is always difficult to do and often, the result is not satisfying for those who know the original ...
I dont remember who was saying :" Traductor, Trahitor est" (Latin) ... (translator is a betrayer )

Yes, Baudelaire is delicious, and a supreme challenge to the translator.
It depends what you're looking for - a translation which accurately reflects the meaning
is very unlikely to be able to match the rhythm and sound-play.
A translation which works well as a poem in English will probably be some distance from the original in meaning.
And of course the complex connotations of the original will be lost on an English reader
(but then how many 21st century French readers hear all the connotations in Baudelaire?)
I always prefer to read non-English poetry in the original if it's in a language I have any knowledge of at all,
so I like 'parallel text' editions with original and translation side by side.
But I've got quite a collection of poetry in English translation (from ancient and modern languages)
and would certainly say that the best translations stand as fine poems in their own right,
even if they're far from close (in word-for-word meaning) to the originals.

 

[Eulalia]

There's the old saying, 10% inspiration, 90% perspiration.
The perspiration is in finding the exactly right words,
getting rid of unnecessary words, rewriting again and again,
and, yes, getting the sound right -
the rhythm and phonetic qualities (rhyme, alliteration etc) -
otherwise it's just prose chopped up.

 

[messaline]

...
and would certainly say that the best translations stand as fine poems in their own right,
even if they're far from close (in word-for-word meaning) to the originals.

Yes, I think so ... The ideal would be to perfectely know all the hearth'languages .... but .....

Aaaaah! Damned Babel'tower !!!

 

[Wragg]

Eulalia reminds me that the correct term for a four footed line is 'tetrameter' rather than 'quadrameter'.

You do see the term 'quadrameter' used but mostly by people like me that get our Latin and Greek roots all muddled up

 

[Eulalia]

It's shocking - as the great editor of the Manchester Guardian, C. P. Scott, said
"Television? The word is half Latin and half Greek. No good can come of it."

 

[roxie]

There's the old saying, 10% inspiration, 90% perspiration.
The perspiration is in finding the exactly right words,
getting rid of unnecessary words, rewriting again and again,
and, yes, getting the sound right -
the rhythm and phonetic qualities (rhyme, alliteration etc) -
otherwise it's just prose chopped up.

To expand a bit on what Eulalia has posted, I recently read what Percy Bysshe Sheeley had to say about the written poem as contrasted to the inspired thoughts of the poet. In his "Defence of Poetry," Shelley writes that the actual poem is a "feeble shadow" of what is in the mind of the poet. This is very true in my case. Though what I write hardly rises above the level of doggerel (much less good doggerel!), I find that it is very difficult to translate my ineffable thoughts on the topics of this site into meaningful words. What so excites me, inflames with with such erotic passion (weird, I know!!!), cannot be adequately expressed...and this is very frustrating.

Oh well...what we write about on this site we cannot possibly experience for real (and it is good that we can't). This is what fantasies are for!

 

[messaline]

And you're not alone, Roxie ! Though in my case, I've also the language'barrier ...
Perhaps it's the reason which does make me manips rather than writtings ...
But, never mind, I think that your poems about crucifixion are among the best that we could read here ...
Continue, please ....

 

[Wragg]

To expand a bit on what Eulalia has posted, I recently read what Percy Bysshe Sheeley had to say about the written poem as contrasted to the inspired thoughts of the poet. In his "Defence of Poetry," Shelley writes that the actual poem is a "feeble shadow" of what is in the mind of the poet. This is very true in my case. Though what I write hardly rises above the level of doggerel (much less good doggerel!), I find that it is very difficult to translate my ineffable thoughts on the topics of this site into meaningful words. What so excites me, inflames with with such erotic passion (weird, I know!!!), cannot be adequately expressed...and this is very frustrating.

Oh well...what we write about on this site we cannot possibly experience for real (and it is good that we can't). This is what fantasies are for!

I agree with most of what you say, Roxie!

Just the 'doggerel' bit that gives me a problem. You do not write doggerel. Period.

 

[roxie]

Now I'm indulging myself!

Still, it's my thread!

I did not give my permission
You don’t need it, just take me
Don’t listen to my pleas, my screams
You don’t need to, just take me
Don’t care about my dignity
You don’t need to, just strip me
Don’t be concerned for my feelings
Just mock me, just whip me
Don’t hesitate one moment
Put on my head a thorny crown
Make me carry my crossbeam
On my walk of shame through the town
Push and drag me along
Be not concerned that I might fall
At the place of execution throw me down
On the ground, pull my legs apart
And rape me, that's your sport
Before you nail me to the beam
Pay no attention as I scream
As you pound spikes between my bones
Ignore my pitiful, plaintive moans
For mercy, just raise me to the sky
Nail my feet and watch me writhe
No regrets, stare up my thighs
See my bleeding cunt before your eyes
Pay no attention to my cries
As you watch my heaving breasts
Shudder and bobble on my chest
Don’t let me have a moment’s peace
As I hang upon my cross, here, by the street
Don’t care about the pretty girl
That on this day you’ve crucified


From here: http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/just-take-me.3724/

By the ever wonderful Roxie!

Oh Wragg, thank you! Thank you so much for including my little poem on your thread., though it hardly merits inclusion.

I was catching up on the thread, started reading this post, and said to myself "Hey, that sounds familiar!"

Now that I've read it over a few times since I posted it some months ago, I wish I had included some lines, deleted some, reworked others. As Messa said above it is very hard finding all the right words to express our thoughts, our inspirations, our fantasies...