Tagged: poetry

February 24, 2012

Edgar Allan Poe and Evocation of Anchors in Poetry

The Bells

by Edgar Allan Poe

[01:56] <@MadQueen> <.<
[01:56] <@MadQueen> >.>
[01:56] <@MadQueen> HEAR the sledges with the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Silver bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> What a world of merriment their melody foretells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> In the icy air of night !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> While the stars that oversprinkle
[01:56] <@MadQueen> All the heavens, seem to twinkle
[01:56] <@MadQueen> With a crystalline delight ;
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Keeping time, time, time,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> In a sort of Runic rhyme,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
[01:56] <@MadQueen> From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen> From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Hear the mellow wedding bells
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Golden bells!
[01:56] <@MadQueen> What a world of happiness their harmony foretells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Through the balmy air of night
[01:56] <@MadQueen> How they ring out their delight !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> From the molten-golden notes,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> And all in tune,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> What a liquid ditty floats
[01:56] <@MadQueen> To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
[01:56] <@MadQueen> On the moon !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Oh, from out the sounding cells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> What a gush of euphony voluminously wells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> How it swells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> How it dwells
[01:56] <@MadQueen> On the Future ! how it tells
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Of the rapture that impels
[01:56] <@MadQueen> To the swinging and the ringing
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Of the bells, bells, bells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  Hear the loud alarum bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Brazen bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   In the startled ear of night
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   How they scream out their affright !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Too much horrified to speak,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   They can only shriek, shriek,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Out of tune,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Leaping higher, higher, higher,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   With a desperate desire,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   And a resolute endeavor
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Now — now to sit or never,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   By the side of the pale-faced moon.
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Oh, the bells, bells, bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   What a tale their terror tells
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Of Despair !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   How they clang, and clash, and roar !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   What a horror they outpour
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  On the bosom of the palpitating air !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Yet the ear, it fully knows,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   By the twanging,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   And the clanging,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   How the danger ebbs and flows ;
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Yet, the ear distinctly tells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   In the jangling,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   And the wrangling,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   How the danger sinks and swells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   In the clamour and the clangour of the bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Hear the tolling of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Iron bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   In the silence of the night,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   How we shiver with affright
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   At the melancholy meaning of their tone !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   For every sound that floats
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   From the rust within their throats
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Is a groan.
[01:56] <@MadQueen> And the people — ah, the people –
[01:56] <@MadQueen> They that dwell up in the steeple,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> All alone,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> In that muffled monotone,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Feel a glory in so rolling
[01:56] <@MadQueen> On the human heart a stone –
[01:56] <@MadQueen> They are neither man nor woman –
[01:56] <@MadQueen> They are neither brute nor human –
[01:56] <@MadQueen> They are Ghouls: –
[01:56] <@MadQueen> And their king it is who tolls ;
[01:56] <@MadQueen> And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Rolls
[01:56] <@MadQueen> A pæan from the bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> And his merry bosom swells
[01:56] <@MadQueen> With the pæan of the bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> And he dances, and he yells ;
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Keeping time, time, time,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> In a sort of Runic rhyme,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> To the pæan of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Of the bells :
[01:56] <@MadQueen> Keeping time, time, time,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> In a sort of Runic rhyme,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> To the throbbing of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Of the bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   To the sobbing of the bells ;
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Keeping time, time, time,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   As he knells, knells, knells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   In a happy Runic rhyme,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   To the rolling of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Of the bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   To the tolling of the bells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Of the bells, bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

This poem is one of my absolute favorite examples of beautifully executed iambic pentameter. It evokes emotions with not only with the descriptions but also with the overall sounds of the vowels, and words used to make those descriptions. They have been programmed in layers since birth from everyday life and interaction with society. The poet sees the layers and will utilize as many as possible concurrently.

These are the tools a poet needs to perform an anchor evocation.

The “feel” of words.
Their definitions.
The theatrical presentation and conveyance of the message.

These things all help to illicit responses responses in the reader predicted by probability and anchored by previously experienced emotions. Using sound is a subtle way of affecting the reader and getting the subconscious reaction the author intends. When this is used in tune with the words chosen it’s a powerful evocative of a magical act; combining conscious and subconscious layers of effect and consensual culturally ingrained symbolism.

An example in The Bells by Edgar Allan Poe is the sprialing change of tone and feeling from”light and merry” to ”dark and terrifying” at the end. The use of wording such as “the tintinnabulation that so musically wells” is a stark contrast to “what a world of solemn thought their monody compels”.

This is direct conscious manipulation of basic minor emotional anchors.

To add to the power of of its delivery the indentations and offset of the above text was done purposely in an attempt to match the way Poe originally wrote it. There is debate among scholars as to what, if any, importance this may have. However most will agree that the undulations of words create a unique form and face to the poem.

Forms, shapes, patterns and outlines can all illicit an almost intuitive response by a programmed reaction. It seems the shape of the poem is to assist with the overall “falling” theme synthesized on multiple levels and layers within the piece.

Fare thee well wordslingers. And we are well met

February 11, 2012

Infinite in Reality, Infinite in Dreams.

Spoken word by Tesseract Ouroboros
Music by anon
Compiled by MadQueen
August 2011

Based off of the Original poem “The Rivers of AI” by Tesseract Ouroboros

(Previously published in The Infinity Network 2011 Summer Ezine)

_______________

The Rivers of AI

In the Wastes, the unnumbered dead shambled restlessly
Sixteen angels wept in their chains, rattling across the dirty sky
The hoof beats fell as a long rolling thunder, kicking up ash
Over the static dial, the children wailed
Chasing the rainbow, distant fly
Craggy peaks afar glinting white
The hollow groan of the engines of the Machine
Songs of sparrows departed spiraling in the deep
Shimmer of the mirage, heat rising off the sand
Dusty sky and dirty loam, the meadows of the Dead
Madness ringing in the ears, the droning of the hive
Locusts of the unborn wild, fecundant
Yellow glare of dusk, the poached brains of zombies reeking
The endless jingle of the bells of distant Hell
Those doors swung wide and broken
The meadows lost and broken
The patter of bloody rain on the dunes,
Nightfall cold and dear
Calming the ghosts of nightmares far
Twelve hours out from the spire of ash
Cracked bones bleached dry
Skeletal metal groans in complaining despair
Visions shattered glass eyes in the Wastes
Inferno of the arrogant, shelter of the lost
A thousand horses galloping across the cosmos
A million stars spread as jewels, diamonds flickering
Spiral dance infinite, the smoke of entropy
The lantern bloody in the night
Echoes in the deep, monsters waiting
The fluttering of the midnight butterfly
Pale flutter of the ages, tattered
Flags billowing in the wind
The lonesome snake slithers in the dust
The Spire empty and wanting
Gates only passed through in sorrow
Orchards of the empty dawn
Shards of the times before strewn in ashen streets
Windows empty of candles, no feathers on the ground
Only the shuffling memories, the rosy cloak of nepenthe
Gardens of the blackened waste

September 15, 2011

The Little Red God

One of my fav. poems ive used it as a chant to boost my self worth and confidence, and have plans for proper invocation/evocation of “the little red god” in the near future, which the results of will be posted in the forums.

The Little Red God

Here’s a little red song to the god of guts,
Who dwells in palaces, brothels, huts;
The little Red God with the craw of grit;
The god who never learned how to quit;
He is neither a fool with a frozen smile,
Or sad old toad in a cask of bile;
He can dance with a shoe-nail in his heel
And never a sign of his pain reveal;
He can hold a mob with an empty gun
And turn a tragedy into fun;
Kill a man in a flash, a breath,
Or snatch a friend from the claws of death;
Swallow the pill of assured defeat
And plan attack in his slow retreat;
Spin the wheel till the numbers dance
And bit his thumb at the god of Chance;
Drink straight water with whisky-soaks,
Or call for liquor with temperance folks;
Tearless stand at the graven stone,
Yet weep in the silence of night, alone;
Worship a sweet, white virgin’s glove,
Or teach a courtesan how to love;
Dare the dullness of fireside bliss,
Or stake his soul for a wanton’s kiss;
Blind his soul to a woman’s eyes
When she says she loves and he knows she lies;
Shovel dung in the city mart
To earn a crust for his chosen art;
Build where the builders all have failed,
And sail the seas that no man has sailed;
Run a tunnel or dam a stream,
Or damn the men who finance the dream;
Tell a pal what his work is worth,
Though he lose his last, best friend on earth;
Lend the critical monkey-elf
A razor — hoping he’ll kill himself;
Wear the garments he likes to wear,
Never dreaming that people stare;
Go to church if his conscience wills,
Or find his own — in the far, blue hills.

He is kind and gentle, or harsh and gruff;
He is tender as love — or he’s rawhide tough;
A rough-necked rider in spurs and chaps,
Or well-groomed son of the town — perhaps;
And this is the little Red God I sing,
Who cares not a wallop for anything
That walks or gallops, that crawls or struts,
No matter how clothed — if it hasn’t got guts.

– Unknown