Grey with scattered snow
Did you knowthere are machines that can generate poetry? The lines created by their lifeless ticks and hums might be as meaningful and beautiful as an Eliot or a Frost or a Lawrence or a Kerouac piece, simply because of our very unique ability to contextualize and fantasize.
Did you know,
if you took the first lines of these 5 D.H. Lawrence poems,
1) A Winter's Tale
2) Baby Tortoise
3)Letters from Town: The Almond Tree
4)Under the Oak
5)Last Words to Miriam
and combined them, they'll make another poignant piece open to your very own melancholic interpretation?
Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow
You know what it is to be born alone
You promised to send me some violets. Did you forget?
Did you know,
you can yell out loud and call your boss a "Baby Tortoise!" without getting into trouble at the annual company retreat?
Yes, you can. Only if you knew poetry, like you knew how to recite this piece from memory ::::
Baby Tortoise
by D.H. Lawrence
 | |
| You know what it is to be born alone, | |
| Baby tortoise! | |
| The first day to heave your feet little by little from the shell, | |
| Not yet awake, | |
| 5 | And remain lapsed on earth, |
| Not quite alive. | |
| A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean. | |
| To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as if it would never open, | |
| Like some iron door; | |
| 10 | To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower base |
| And reach your skinny neck | |
| And take your first bite at some dim bit of herbage, | |
| Alone, small insect, | |
| Tiny bright-eye, | |
| 15 | Slow one. |
| To take your first solitary bite | |
| And move on your slow, solitary hunt. | |
| Your bright, dark little eye, | |
| Your eye of a dark disturbed night, | |
| 20 | Under its slow lid, tiny baby tortoise, |
| So indomitable. | |
| No one ever heard you complain. | |
| You draw your head forward, slowly, from your little wimple | |
| And set forward, slow-dragging, on your four-pinned toes, | |
| 25 | Rowing slowly forward. |
| Whither away, small bird? | |
| Rather like a baby working its limbs, | |
| Except that you make slow, ageless progress | |
| And a baby makes none. | |
| 30 | The touch of sun excites you, |
| And the long ages, and the lingering chill | |
| Make you pause to yawn, | |
| Opening your impervious mouth, | |
| Suddenly beak-shaped, and very wide, like some suddenly gaping pincers; | |
| 35 | Soft red tongue, and hard thin gums, |
| Then close the wedge of your little mountain front, | |
| Your face, baby tortoise. | |
| Do you wonder at the world, as slowly you turn your head in its wimple | |
| And look with laconic, black eyes? | |
| 40 | Or is sleep coming over you again, |
| The non-life? | |
| You are so hard to wake. | |
| Are you able to wonder? | |
| Or is it just your indomitable will and pride of the first life | |
| 45 | Looking round |
| And slowly pitching itself against the inertia | |
| Which had seemed invincible? | |
| The vast inanimate, | |
| And the fine brilliance of your so tiny eye, | |
| 50 | Challenger. |
| Nay, tiny shell-bird. | |
| What a huge vast inanimate it is, that you must row against, | |
| What an incalculable inertia. | |
| Challenger, | |
| 55 | Little Ulysses, fore-runner, |
| No bigger than my thumb-nail, | |
| Buon viaggio. | |
| All animate creation on your shoulder, | |
| Set forth, little Titan, under your battle-shield. | |
| 60 | The ponderous, preponderate, |
| Inanimate universe; | |
| And you are slowly moving, pioneer, you alone. | |
| How vivid your travelling seems now, in the troubled sunshine, | |
| Stoic, Ulyssean atom; | |
| 65 | Suddenly hasty, reckless, on high toes. |
| Voiceless little bird, | |
| Resting your head half out of your wimple | |
| In the slow dignity of your eternal pause. | |
| Alone, with no sense of being alone, | |
| 70 | And hence six times more solitary; |
| Fulfilled of the slow passion of pitching through immemorial ages | |
| Your little round house in the midst of chaos. | |
| Over the garden earth, | |
| Small bird, | |
| 75 | Over the edge of all things. |
| Traveller, | |
| With your tail tucked a little on one side | |
| Like a gentleman in a long-skirted coat. | |
| All life carried on your shoulder, | |
| 80 | Invincible fore-runner. |
posted by audaciousjoy @ 1:36 AM
3 Comments:
(: hairpee chinese new year!
here's to a great year ahead.
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