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Watch the video at Colbert Nation. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery. Poetry. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery. Poetry. poiesis / techne for the ancient Greeks (according to Heidegger), two different “takes” on the real, two different types of “making”. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery. Poetry.

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  1. Watch the video at Colbert Nation ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  2. Poetry ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  3. Poetry poiesis / techne for the ancient Greeks (according to Heidegger), two different “takes” on the real, two different types of “making” ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  4. Poetry In his essay “Concerning the Poet,” Rainer Maria Rilke tries to provide an analogy for “the position of the poet in the existing world” by describing a boat which he once traveled, manned by oarsman pulling steadfastly against the current of a great river. Although the crew counts aloud to keep time, Rilke tells us, they remain uncommunicative, constantly reverting to the “watchful gaze of an animal,” and their individual voices fail to become articulate. But at the front of the boat, on the right side, one individual does achieve expression. He sings, as if as a guide to the work of the crew, “suddenly, at quite irregular intervals,” often when the other rowers are exuberantly engaged only in ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  5. Poetry their task and unmindful of all else. He seems, Rilke notes, little influenced by the rest of the crew who sit behind him; it is, rather, the “pure movement of his feeling when it met the open distance” that truly concerns him and inspires him. His song springs, Rilke observes, out of the point of counterpoise which centers the “forward thrust” of the vessel and the opposing force of the river, and although the boat moves successfully through the water, there remains nevertheless a residue of something “that could not be overcome (was not susceptible of being overcome)”; and that residue the singer in the front of the boat ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  6. Poetry • transmuted into a series of long floating sounds, detached in space, which each appropriated to himself. While those about him were always occupied with the most immediate actuality and the overcoming of it, his voice maintained contact with the farthest distance, linking us with it until we felt the power of its attraction. • This man is the poet. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  7. Poetry ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery Poetry is indispensable—if I only knew what for. --Jean Cocteau Reflections on Poetry

  8. Poetry If a poet looks through a microscope or a telescope, he always sees the same thing. The poet puts language in danger. --Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space Reflections on Poetry ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  9. Poetry [Poetry] is a compromise for a language of intuition which would hand over sensations bodily. It always endeavors to arrest you, and to make you continuously see a physical thing, to prevent you gliding through an abstract process. . . . Verse is a pedestrian taking you over the ground, prose--a train which delivers you at a destination. --T. E. Hulme Reflections on Poetry ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  10. Poetry A poem is not so much heard as overheard. --John Stuart Mill Reflections on Poetry ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  11. Poetry The purpose of poetry is to make life complete in itself. --Wallace Stevens, "Adagia” Reflections on Poetry ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  12. Poetry I don't believe in a tame poetry. When poetry hears its own name, it runs, flies, swims off for fear of its own life. You can bet your boots on that. Jean Cocteau said a poet rarely bothers about poetry. Does a gardener perfume his roses? --Frank Stanford Reflections on Poetry ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  13. Poetry [Poetry] gives knowledge of the chaos and confusion of the world by imposing order upon it which leaves it still the chaos and confusion which it really is. --Archibald MacLeish Reflections on Poetry ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  14. Poetry “Poetry takes the top of your head off.” Reflections on Poetry ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  15. William Shakespeare (1564-1616) Two Shakespearean Sonnets ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  16. William Shakespeare (1564-1616) Two Shakespearean Sonnets ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  17. Two Shakespearean Sonnets ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  18. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery • Need to Know: • The Italian Renaissance • Portrait Painting • Dramatic Monologue Robert Browning (1812-1889), My Last Duchess

  19. Thomas Gainsborough, Mrs. Peter William Baker 1781 Robert Browning (1812-1889), My Last Duchess ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  20. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery Robert Browning (1812-1889), My Last Duchess Francisco Goya, The Family of Carlos IV (1800-1801)

  21. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery FERRARA That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said "Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by the curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess's cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps Over my lady's wrist too much," or Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Robert Browning, My Last Duchess

  22. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery Half flush that dies along her throat": such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace--all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men--good! but thanked Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will Quite clear to such a one, and say, "Just this Robert Browning, My Last Duchess

  23. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse --E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet the company below, then. I repeat The Count your master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretense Of mine dowry will be disallowed Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! Robert Browning, My Last Duchess

  24. Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), To His Coy Mistress • Need to Know: • Carpe Diem poems • The Puritan Revolution (1660-1666) • The River Ganges • The River Humber • The Conversion of the Jews ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  25. Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day; Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood; And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  26. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery Andrew Marvell To His Coy Mistress

  27. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like am'rous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power. Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball; And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. Andrew Marvell To His Coy Mistress ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  28. Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day; Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood; And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like am'rous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power. Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball; And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. Andrew Marvell To His Coy Mistress • The “To His Coy Mistress” Syllogism • Stanza 1: If we had all the time in the world, we could wait. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  29. Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day; Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood; And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like am'rous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power. Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball; And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. Andrew Marvell To His Coy Mistress • The “To His Coy Mistress” Syllogism • Stanza 1: If we had all the time in the world, we could wait. • Stanza 2: We don’t have all the time in the world. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  30. Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day; Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood; And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like am'rous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power. Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball; And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. Andrew Marvell To His Coy Mistress • The “To His Coy Mistress” Syllogism • Stanza 1: If we had all the time in the world, we could wait. • Stanza 2: We don’t have all the time in the world. • Stanza 3: Carpe Diem ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  31. Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day; Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood; And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like am'rous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power. Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball; And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. Andrew Marvell To His Coy Mistress • The “To His Coy Mistress” Syllogism • Stanza 1: If we had all the time in the world, we could wait. • Stanza 2: We don’t have all the time in the world. • Stanza 3: Carpe Diem • Or . . . ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  32. Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day; Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood; And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like am'rous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power. Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball; And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. Andrew Marvell To His Coy Mistress • The “To His Coy Mistress” Syllogism • Stanza 1: If we had all the time in the world, we could wait. • Stanza 2: We don’t have all the time in the world. • Stanza 3: Carpe Diem • Or, as Leonard Golson, starting center on the University of Florida basketball team (1973) put it: “Get it On!” ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  33. Poetry ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  34. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery Poetry • found poem

  35. Poetry • found poem ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery

  36. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery SloughCome friendly bombs and fall on Slough!It isn't fit for humans now,There isn't grass to graze a cow.Swarm over, Death!Come, bombs and blow to smithereensThose air -conditioned, bright canteens,Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,Tinned minds, tinned breath.Mess up the mess they call a town-A house for ninety-seven downAnd once a week a half a crownFor twenty years. John Betjeman (1906-1984), Slough

  37. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery Slough (2)And get that man with double chinWho'll always cheat and always win,Who washes his repulsive skinIn women's tears:And smash his desk of polished oakAnd smash his hands so used to strokeAnd stop his boring dirty jokeAnd make him yell.But spare the bald young clerks who addThe profits of the stinking cad;It's not their fault that they are mad,They've tasted Hell.It's not their fault they do not knowThe birdsong from the radio,It's not their fault they often goTo Maidenhead John Betjeman, Slough The British The Office is set in Slough.

  38. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery Slough (3)And talk of sport and makes of carsIn various bogus-Tudor barsAnd daren't look up and see the starsBut belch instead.In labour-saving homes, with careTheir wives frizz out peroxide hairAnd dry it in synthetic airAnd paint their nails.Come, friendly bombs and fall on SloughTo get it ready for the plough.The cabbages are coming now;The earth exhales. (1937) John Betjeman, Slough

  39. ENGL 2030—Summer 2013 | Lavery This Be The Verse Philip Larkin They f&*k you up, your mum and dad.   They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had   And add some extra, just for you. But they were f&*ked up in their turn   By fools in old-style hats and coats, Who half the time were soppy-stern   And half at one another's throats. Man hands on misery to man.   It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can,   And don't have any kids yourself. Philip Larkin (1922-1985), This Be the Verse

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