Ken Armstrong wrote:
> At 03:12 PM 2/8/2007, Diana Manister wrote:
> >Carrol, since you are being legalistic about it, I should say the affect
> >is elicited by language designed to do so. I do not believe that words
> >have their own feelings. Diana
> Carrol sort of has a point, as not only affect but anything at all
> relating to language must be located in the hearer (more than the reader)
> or the speaker (or writer). On the other hand, surely we can all agree that
> there is affected language. It's affected because it is spoke or writ that
Perhaps -- but Diana & CR seem to want to make ascribing such language
some kind of compliment to Eliot, but it isn't. It is merely a trivial
tautology which tells us nothing about the poems.
If one wants affect one might try
It takes a heap of livin' to make a house a hone
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree
The roses stand in the chill of early spring
leggy and bare, thorns exposed,
memories of summer's blossoms swelled
into red and golden hips: hard, round, and full.
The frost-withered tomato vine
lies dreaming of harvests past, and to come,
the smell of ripening fruit rising warm and acrid
from the heat of summer noons.
Now stilled, the work of hands
that brought these harvests forth,
brought forth the warm bread, steaming, on a winter night,
crafted the solid heft of a quilt
to be laid down upon the sleeping child,
brought forth the children themselves, sowing their seed,
their children, upon the earth --
the work is not diminished
because the hands have come to rest.
Two sisters: one thin, one fat.
One prickly and difficult; one longing and warm.
"O please don't kill me. You can fuck me in the ass but
pleasepleaseplease dont' kll me."
"She was buried on her wedding day," these words a friend gave,
Her lover went as a mourner, a mourner to her grave,
His name was Forest Dilly, a young man over west,
He loved this handsome Maryette, the lily of the west.
Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?
Then I fling the fisherman's flaccid corpse
At the feet of the fisherman's wife.
Entrapt inside a submarine,
With death approachung on the scene,
The crew compose their minds to dice,
More for the pleasure than the vice.
(Congressman H.C. Canfield, "Elegy
on the Loss of U.S. Submarine S4")
mail provider not working. i cannot even rate myself in the scale
today/tonight. i feel
helpless and hopeless, psychotic and extremely hyper at different
moments. i'm not the same
getting lots of noise. last night (and still) my hand(s) look(ed) upside
down. noise is too
loud. but then i dance the "Juliet monologue Rap dance & lyrics" for
theatre tomorrow. go
am working, get tired too soon. do lots of things, drop asleep somewhere
afterwards. i dunno
wtf is happening to me....... ??
**hugs for everyone, warm and safe for those in pain, nice and stable
one for those who are
take care everyone, be safe, [from the list walkers-in-darkness - name
"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon my breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Emotion and thought are too inextricably interlinked to make it
worthwhile puffing away at drawing distinctions.