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They are more important: understand
They watch over the plains from which we sprang
The plains we glimpse in monochrome at dawn
Not realizing what our eyes feast on
Protected by a camera or a glove
From that which we have learned to fear or love

They are more important: understand
They occupy edenic promised land
No title and no good deed left undone
It is their own, their holy site and stake
Where they are pacified and burned
By subterfuge and cruel recoil
Of tranquiliser dart and gun

Now in this casual struggle to the last
Who will outlive the other, who can tell
The pachyderm, the homo sapiens
Distilling shame from all magnificence
The quicksands of commercial commonsense:
The plains are emptier than when we came
They who are more important, almost tamed.

I like the image of the Rhino as protector of the planes, occupiers of their own holy land. All creatures are important but there is something noble seeming about these big and strong animals.

It's an important subject Richard ... our children may be the last ones to live at the same time as wild Rhinos. I suppose there would still be some varieties left in zoos but what would that say about us.

this is very moving, richard. more valuable than gold, their tusks/horns. and how are they left to live without them? it's their personal protection and their feeding weapon.

Dear Cate, Dear Lizzy,

You are each so very kind.

Richard

rmorgan wrote:They are more important: understand
They watch over the plains from which we sprang
The plains we glimpse in monochrome at dawn
Not realizing what our eyes feast on
Protected by a camera or a glove
From that which we have learned to fear or love

They are more important: understand
They occupy edenic promised land
No title and no good deed left undone
It is their own, their holy site and stake
Where they are pacified and burned
By subterfuge and cruel recoil
Of tranquiliser dart and gun

Now in this casual struggle to the last
Who will outlive the other, who can tell
The pachyderm, the homo sapiens
Distilling shame from all magnificence
The quicksands of commercial commonsense:
The plains are emptier than when we came
They who are more important, almost tamed.

Ruthy, Ruthy, rarely has the love/glove cliché been more abused. You realise you could have composed that "protected by a camera or a bike, from that which we have learned to fear or like" . You could even have gone crazy and offered "protected by a camera and a treasure, from that which we have learned to fear or pleasure". Both nonsense of course but less laboured and dull. Look, fuck the glove. It is available on rare occasions for decent descriptive use not as a desperate rhyme for love. Will you learn? Who can tell?

I doubt that I will learn, or even wish to. I needed the glove there, to convey the huntress's self-assumed refinement. Doubtless also I had Van Morrison's immortal lines in mind: "Hey Love, you forgot your glove/And the Love that loves to love the Love that loves to love". These are precious to me.

rmorgan wrote:I doubt that I will learn, or even wish to. I needed the glove there, to convey the huntress's self-assumed refinement. Doubtless also I had Van Morrison's immortal lines in mind: "Hey Love, you forgot your glove/And the Love that loves to love the Love that loves to love". These are precious to me.

So, imagine you needed the glove- then resist the love. Work harder to find something interesting to say instead. It's a heart-sinking rhyme. Now, in music it's a different t'ing entirely. Few artists can write like Cohen, or in raconteur style like Waits. They are truly gifted with words. Obviously, they wouldn't sink to lovey/glovey stuff. Van Morrison, it's a different story. It's in his singing and style, no-one expects great lyrics, just ones that suit his voice and the rhythm

all the best, Ruthy

Fish.

Hi Richard ~

As I know you already know, some people simply love to criticize. It can serve as a platform for their own concept of cleverness. Some things will be clever, other things won't. Some suggestions will be helpful, other suggestions won't... or will simply be of no interest at all to the writer or even to the contributor. Some people will isolate things out of certain poems that they would never isolate for mockery out of other poems; analogies, rhymes, or references written by others with whom they have a pre-existing relationship. Many analogies can be looked at literally and ridiculed. Bullying and ridicule love bandwagons. My comments won't stop it [and, in fact, may predictably inflame and exacerbate it ~ since that's the nature of the dynamic]; but I want you to know that [it's important to me that you know that] there are people out here who are appreciating what you... and others here... contribute in goodwill.

Still, take what you will [or won't ] from the 'critiques' and I hope you keep on posting what you write.
I love the essence, goodwill, good intent, sensitivity, and caring in your poem. I would love to see the same level of goodwill returned to you.

All the best, Richard not Ruthy,
Lizzy

lizzytysh wrote:Hi Richard ~

As I know you already know, some people simply love to criticize. It can serve as a platform for their own concept of cleverness. Some things will be clever, other things won't. Some suggestions will be helpful, other suggestions won't... or will simply be of no interest at all to the writer or even to the contributor. Some people will isolate things out of certain poems that they would never isolate for mockery out of other poems; analogies, rhymes, or references written by others with whom they have a pre-existing relationship. Many analogies can be looked at literally and ridiculed. Bullying and ridicule love bandwagons. My comments won't stop it [and, in fact, may predictably inflame and exacerbate it ~ since that's the nature of the dynamic]; but I want you to know that [it's important to me that you know that] there are people out here who are appreciating what you... and others here... contribute in goodwill.

Still, take what you will [or won't ] from the 'critiques' and I hope you keep on posting what you write.
I love the essence, goodwill, good intent, sensitivity, and caring in your poem. I would love to see the same level of goodwill returned to you.

All the best, Richard not Ruthy,
Lizzy

Dear Ruthy, I too think that writing about animals is admirable, I'm an animal lover. Some things are constant in this forum, teasing is one of them. LIzzy riding her white steed to the rescue is another. Let me tell you a story about good ol' Lizzie. I had a friend who used to take a whole set of encyclopaedias and other learned books to his home station and transport them on the train to work each day. He had volumes and volumes of them and sometimes his baggage crowded out other commuters who couldn't wait comfortably for their train nor get anywhere near the train doors. They had to take the bandwagon instead. Lizzy lived within 3,000 miles of these happenings and therefore had a solemn duty to intervene. She snapped into action and a year later complained to the Railway that the station was serving as a platform for his own cleverness.

Always read the critiques- those who are neither super-sensitive nor full-time rescuers, will find lots of diamonds in (the) mine

All goodwill

Fish

rmorgan wrote:I needed the glove there, to convey the huntress's self-assumed refinement. Doubtless also I had Van Morrison's immortal lines in mind: "Hey Love, you forgot your glove/And the Love that loves to love the Love that loves to love". These are precious to me.

to me too. the album 'astral weeks' forces me to believe in god. no man could plan or create such a masterpiece without divine intervention. it stands alongside cohen's 'beautiful losers' novel as another powerful example that holy miracles do occur, that some supreme deity excluded from our comprehension is able to silently tap each shoulder of a mortal with its sword and produce a temporary genius. we are blessed with powerful evidence that an almighty spiritual being does actually exist.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6eRh6HdVpo

Down on Cyprus Avenue, with the childlike visions leaping into view.
Clicking, clacking of the high heeled shoe. Ford and Fitzroy, Madame George.

Marching with the soldier boy behind. He's much older now with hat on drinking wine.
And that smell of sweet perfume comes drifting through ah, the cool night air like Shalimar.

And outside they're making all the stops. Kids out in the street collecting bottle-tops.
Gone for cigarettes and matches in the shops. Happy taken Madame George.

Whoa, that's when you fall. Wo-wo-wo-wo-woa, that's when you fall. Yeah, that's when you fall.

When you fall into a trance, sitting on a sofa playing games of chance.
With your folded arms and history books you glance into the eyes of Madame George.

And you think you found the bag. You're getting weaker and your knees begin to sag.
In the corner playing dominoes in drag, the one and only Madame George.

And then, from outside, the frosty window raps. She jumps up and says: "Lord, have mercy I think that it's the cops!"
And immediately drops everything she gots down into the street below.

And you know you gotta go on that train from Dublin up to Sandy Row.
Throwing pennies at the bridges down below, and the rain, hail, sleet and snow.

Say goodbye to Madame George. Dry your eye for Madame George. Wonder why for Madame George. Whoa-woa-wo-o.

And then you leave, the room is filled with music. Laughing, music, dancing, music all around the room.
And the little boys come around, walking away from it all, so cold.

And then you're about to leave, she jumps up and says: "Hey love, you forgot your glove."
A-and did love, did love's to love, did love's to love, did love's to love, did love's to love, did love did love's to love, did love did love.

Say goodbye to Madame George. Dry your eye for Madame George. Hu-hu.
Wonder why-y-y for Madame George. Dry your eyes for Madame George.

Say goodbye in the wind and the rain in the back street. In the backstreet, in the back street.
Say goodbye to Madame George. In the backstreet, in the back street, in the back street.
Yeah-heh-hea-wea. Down home, down home in the back street.

Gotta go. Say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
Dry your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye, your eye. Say goodbye to Madame George.

And the love, did love's to love, did love's to love, did love's to love, did love, did love did love's to love, did love did love's to love.

Say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

Ooo-ooo . . .
Mmm-mmm . . .

Say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, bye to Madame George.

Dry your eye for Madame George. Wonder why for Madame George.

And the love, did love's to love, did love's to love, did love, did love's to love, did love, did love's to love. Say goodbye, goodbye.

Get on the train, darling. Get on the train, the train, the train, the train, the train, darling.
This is the train, this is the train, darling. This is the train.
Whoa, say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye-a-hye.

Get on the train, get on the train, this is the train.