Before You're Sixty-Four.

[bee]

Andrew- of course, it is a good and very enjoyable poem!
It is silly to have this moral condemnation over a sweet poem.
Geoffrey's renting is just a sign of jealousy, (I suspect he is not quite serious about it) . Many have someone in mind, whom to take to that bed&breakfast from the past,-just for one last time, but of course, it never happens, and if they did , most probably that would be a disaster of crashing disappointments and rude awakening from sweetest dreams.
Andrew- do you remember the poem of Pastern- candle in the window?- that one also is from the doctor zhivago novel-a haunting poem.
I wish I had some of his writing now.

[Diane]

Hi Bee ! Good to see you back on the forum. I just clicked on your profile, and I can't find a link to your new site with all your beautiful paintings . Stop hiding your light under a bushel, dear.

I have a feeling that Geoffery should be taken with a large grain of salt. He does write great posts, though.

Diane

[bee]

Very true, darling Diane, I owe you e-am, will do in the morning, glad you are back from the trip.
I know what you mean, I do enjoy Geoffrey horrible renting too, makes me laugh, but still- Andrew wrote a good poem, and it comes to that upsetting state, that if it would not even matter, which is not fare. I really dislike when arts are measured by moral standards, - well, people are free to do what ever- it was entertaining, it caught my eye. I am not sure if I am back here though.

[Diane]

Andrew,

I have still managed to miss the Shipping Forecast, despite being up late enough a couple of nights this week, so I had to locate it on the bbc website just now.

The monotone delivery of info about conditions in those mythical-sounding areas of the sea has the effect of a soothing lullaby . I actually adore the sea, and like this quote:

In his diaries, the late Sir Alec Guinness described the shipping forecast as “the best thing on BBC radio. It is romantic, authoritative and mesmeric; my imagination provides me with stinging spray and I think I hear breakers and the clanging bell of a buoy”.

Anyway, could it be that the crucial aspect of the music, "Sailing By", in your poem, is related to the fact that it is 'filling in time'?:

The shipping forecast at 0048 is expected to be broadcast precisely on time by mariners on the night watch, and for this reason a gap in programming of around 3 minutes is always left after the previous programme. Should the schedule be overrunning for any reason, this 3-minute gap can be shortened, sometimes running straight into the forecast. The gap is filled with a piece of light music - Sailing By - composed by Ronald Binge, played at 0045.

Now please just fully explain your pome, without further ado.

Diane

[Andrew McGeever]

"Now please just fully explain your pome, without further ado" (sic)
Diane, I can't do that right now: I'm not sure I ever will.
The poem surprised me, and some of the responses, including Geoffrey's, led me to reconsider both the text and the motivation.
I stand by the text, yet it points to unchartered territory. Maybe what I'm trying to say is the stuff of another poem.
I will respond in more detail about Sailing By.
Andrew.

P.S. I recall an interview with Colin Dexter, the author of the Inspector Morse crime novels. He stated that "unbutton" was one of the most erotic words in the English language, and his character, Morse, understood that too.

[Diane]

OK, Andrew. I am not always excited by analysis of poetry, anyway. I know it adds to appreciation, but it also detracts. And, as Carl Jung said:

The artist is essentially the instrument, and he stands below his work, for which reason we should never expect from him an interpretation of his own work. He achieved his highest with his composition.

I really like that quote. However, I still look forward to your Sailing By explanation .

"Unbutton", yes I can see how that could be an erotic word. I have been wondering about the most beautiful word for Sandra's thread. So, here is a word that is both beautiful and erotic: "trust" (in the sense of unbuttoning of the mind).

Good wishes,

Diane

[lizzytysh]

Geez... I recall Geoffrey's writing, via paraphrase, about some clearly licentious thoughts, from one of Leonard's books. However, Leonard's merely having written the text didn't warrant the same level of condemnation... at least Geoffrey didn't give it that [i.e. this] kind of attention . Personally, I think he may have opted to use this poem for his targeted exercises on his adjective/descriptive, writing-workout days.

~ Lizzy

[ania]

beautiful

[lizzytysh]

I love that quote, Diane, and it lends to my understanding of my lack of compulsion to analyze Leonard's work; yet, still my interest in doing so, from time to time, remains.

Great comment, Ania . I agree.


~ Lizzy

[Cohen Kid]

Well done!! it's nice!

[~greg]

(Translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Canto 5
----------

Thus I descended out of the first circle
Down to the second, that less space begirds,
And so much greater dole, that goads to wailing.

There standeth Minos horribly, and snarls;
Examines the transgressions at the entrance;
Judges, and sends according as he girds him.

I say, that when the spirit evil-born
Cometh before him, wholly it confesses;
And this discriminator of transgressions

Seeth what place in Hell is meet for it;
Girds himself with his tail as many times
As grades he wishes it should be thrust down.

Always before him many of them stand;
They go by turns each one unto the judgment;
They speak, and hear, and then are downward hurled.

"O thou, that to this dolorous hostelry
Comest," said Minos to me, when he saw me,
Leaving the practice of so great an office,

"Look how thou enterest, and in whom thou trustest;
Let not the portal's amplitude deceive thee."
And unto him my Guide: "Why criest thou too?

Do not impede his journey fate-ordained;
It is so willed there where is power to do
That which is willed; and ask no further question."

And now begin the dolesome notes to grow
Audible unto me; now am I come
There where much lamentation strikes upon me.

I came into a place mute of all light,
Which bellows as the sea does in a tempest,
If by opposing winds 't is combated.

The infernal hurricane that never rests
Hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine;
Whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them.

When they arrive before the precipice,
There are the shrieks, the plaints, and the laments,
There they blaspheme the puissance divine.

I understood that unto such a torment
The carnal malefactors were condemned,
Who reason subjugate to appetite.

And as the wings of starlings bear them on
In the cold season in large band and full,
So doth that blast the spirits maledict;

It hither, thither, downward, upward, drives them;
No hope doth comfort them for evermore,
Not of repose, but even of lesser pain.

And as the cranes go chanting forth their lays,
Making in air a long line of themselves,
So saw I coming, uttering lamentations,

Shadows borne onward by the aforesaid stress.
Whereupon said I: "Master, who are those
People, whom the black air so castigates?"

"The first of those, of whom intelligence
Thou fain wouldst have," then said he unto me,
"The empress was of many languages.

To sensual vices she was so abandoned,
That lustful she made licit in her law,
To remove the blame to which she had been led.

She is Semiramis, of whom we read
That she succeeded Ninus, and was his spouse;
She held the land which now the Sultan rules.

The next is she who killed herself for love,
And broke faith with the ashes of Sichaeus;
Then Cleopatra the voluptuous."

Helen I saw, for whom so many ruthless
Seasons revolved; and saw the great Achilles,
Who at the last hour combated with Love.

Paris I saw, Tristan; and more than a thousand
Shades did he name and point out with his finger,
Whom Love had separated from our life.

After that I had listened to my Teacher,
Naming the dames of eld and cavaliers,
Pity prevailed, and I was nigh bewildered.

And I began: "O Poet, willingly
Speak would I to those two, who go together,
And seem upon the wind to be so light."

And, he to me: "Thou'lt mark, when they shall be
Nearer to us; and then do thou implore them
By love which leadeth them, and they will come."

Soon as the wind in our direction sways them,
My voice uplift I: "O ye weary souls!
Come speak to us, if no one interdicts it."

As turtle-doves, called onward by desire,
With open and steady wings to the sweet nest
Fly through the air by their volition borne,

So came they from the band where Dido is,
Approaching us athwart the air malign,
So strong was the affectionate appeal.

"O living creature gracious and benignant,
Who visiting goest through the purple air
Us, who have stained the world incarnadine,

If were the King of the Universe our friend,
We would pray unto him to give thee peace,
Since thou hast pity on our woe perverse.

Of what it pleases thee to hear and speak,
That will we hear, and we will speak to you,
While silent is the wind, as it is now.

Sitteth the city, wherein I was born,
Upon the sea-shore where the Po descends
To rest in peace with all his retinue.

Love, that on gentle heart doth swiftly seize,
Seized this man for the person beautiful
That was ta'en from me, and still the mode offends me.

Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving,
Seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly,
That, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me;

Love has conducted us unto one death;
Caina waiteth him who quenched our life!"
These words were borne along from them to us.

As soon as I had heard those souls tormented,
I bowed my face, and so long held it down
Until the Poet said to me: "What thinkest?"

When I made answer, I began: "Alas!
How many pleasant thoughts, how much desire,
Conducted these unto the dolorous pass!"

Then unto them I turned me, and I spake,
And I began: "Thine agonies, Francesca,
Sad and compassionate to weeping make me.

But tell me, at the time of those sweet sighs,
By what and in what manner Love conceded,
That you should know your dubious desires?"

And she to me: "There is no greater sorrow
Than to be mindful of the happy time
In misery, and that thy Teacher knows.

But, if to recognise the earliest root
Of love in us thou hast so great desire,
I will do even as he who weeps and speaks.

One day we reading were for our delight
Of Launcelot, how Love did him enthral.
Alone we were and without any fear.

Full many a time our eyes together drew
That reading, and drove the colour from our faces;
But one point only was it that o'ercame us.

When as we read of the much-longed-for smile
Being by such a noble lover kissed,
This one, who ne'er from me shall be divided,

Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating.
Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it.
That day no farther did we read therein."

And all the while one spirit uttered this,
The other one did weep so, that, for pity,
I swooned away as if I had been dying,

And fell, even as a dead body falls.

[Andrew McGeever]

It appears that this poem is dangerously delightful or deliciously dangerous, or somewhere in between.
I haven't yet responded to Diane (Sir Alec Guinness and Carl Jung) re Sailing By, nor have I addressed the 5th Canto of Dante's Inferno (i.e. Greg's post).
It's getting late; I've work to do tomorrow, and it's way past
Sailing By.

Andrew.

[Andrew McGeever]

An update or two:
I've been booked to read my poetry at the Shore Poets in Edinburgh next January. This is the premier venue for "Live poetry and music in Edinburgh's Literary Quarter" (sic).
I have a good mind to include "Before You're Sixtyfour" in my slot.
I've changed my mind: I will read it, unless I'm consumed into the inferno.
There are one or two others, posted in the L.C. Files, which need to see the light of day, or, at least, a live reading. The rest will be new stuff, some of which hasn't yet been written.
For those interested, the address of the Shore Poets is
http://www.shorepoets.org.uk

It's getting late, though I have no work tomorrow.

Andrew.

[lizzytysh]

You "have no work tomorrow" or you "have to work tomorrow," Andrew?

I'm glad to hear you'll be reading it. Let us know if you see any judgemental looks on the faces of your listeners, or if anyone comes up to you afterward to express their discontent with your morality .

Good reading to you . Congratulations on the venue .


~ Lizzy

[Andrew McGeever]

Lizzy,
I have NO work tomorrow
This means I don't have TO work tomorrow
As for " judgemental looks on the faces of your listeners", I'll let you know after it's over.
Right now, I plan to read it back-to-back with "Soon".

Andrew.
P.S. I wish I could go to Berlin, meet you all, and read at an open mic session