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Browning's tragedies are tragedies without villains.

quote by Edward Dowden
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Heroes And Villains

I've been in this town so long that back in the city
I've been taken for lost and gone
And unknown for a long long time
Fell in love years ago
With an innocent girl
From the spanish and indian home
Home of the heroes and villains
Once at night catillian squared the fight
And she was right in the rain of the bullets that eventually brought her down
But she's still dancing in the night
Unafraid of what a dude'll do in a town full of heroes and villains
Heroes and villains
Just see what you've done
Heroes and villains
Just see what you've done
Stand or fall i know there
Shall be peace in the valley
And it's all an affair
Of my life with the heroes and villains
My children were raised
You know they suddenly rise
They started slow long ago
Head to toe healthy weathy and wise
I've been in this town so long
So long to the city
I'm fit with the stuff
To ride in the rough
And sunny down snuff i'm alright
By the heroes and
Heroes and villains
Just see what you've done
Heroes and villains
Just see what you've done

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Heroes & Villains

Ive been in this town so long that back in the city
Ive been taken for lost and gone
And unknown for a long long time
Fell in love years ago
With an innocent girl
From the spanish and indian home
Home of the heroes and villains
Once at night catillian squared the fight
And she was right in the rain of the bullets that eventually brought her down
But shes still dancing in the night
Unafraid of what a dudell do in a town full of heroes and villains
Heroes and villains
Just see what youve done
Heroes and villains
Just see what youve done
Stand or fall I know there
Shall be peace in the valley
And its all an affair
Of my life with the heroes and villains
My children were raised
You know they suddenly rise
They started slow long ago
Head to toe healthy weathy and wise
Ive been in this town so long
So long to the city
Im fit with the stuff
To ride in the rough
And sunny down snuff Im alright
By the heroes and
Heroes and villains
Just see what youve done
Heroes and villains
Just see what youve done

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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How do I parody? after Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sonnet XLIII How do I love thee?

How Do I Parody?

How true I parody! Let me count the ways.
I parody in depth, taste copy paste insight
My mind can reach into your writing quite
Through APing Ways and Means, through rhyme’s mainstays.
I parody to the level of everyday's
post hosting feed, by sun, electric light.
In vers libres freely, sonnet set to right;
I pastiche purely, rarely spurning praise.
Reparody with passion put to use
through griefs, beliefs, rehearsed, though wanting faith.
I parody love’s theme, who dreams accuse.
Newfangled paints b[l]end colour bending brea[d]th,
Smiles, tears, [p]rune poem’s life! - and, if judge choose,
gold goblets garner, googled after death.

Parody Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sonnet XLIII How Do I Love Thee

12 February 2007 revised 10 June 2008 and 30 September 2009
for previous versions see below robi3_1323_brow7_0001 PSX_IXX

________________

How do I Parody?

How do I parody? Let me count the ways.
I parody in depth, with taste and with insight,
my mind may reach into your writing quite
through APing Ways and Means, through rhyme’s mainstays.
I parody to the level of everyday's
intimate grace, by sun, electric light.
in vers libres freely, sonnet set to right.
I pastiche purely, rarely turn from Praise,
reparody with passion put to use
through your old griefs, beliefs, though wanting faith.
I parody with love I’d never lose,
use paints newfangled, shading E.B.B.ing breath,
still showing your life's smiles, tears, for, should judge choose,
my golden goblet fame lives loved past death.

Parody Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sonnet XLIII How Do I Love Thee
[c] Jonathan Robin - 2 February 2007 revised 10 June 2008 robi3_1611_brow7_0001 PSX_IXX for previous version see below
_____________

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Alankar (Decor) -28

Villains(Rondel)

Lot lots are villains surrounding
Like dust that helps mites to build mounds
Get housed snakes but there in mites'mounds
Dust and snakes no doubt surrounding
But they are rare seen surrounding
Not in huge swarms like mosquitoes
Lot lots are villains surrounding
'Bite and suck' their manifestoes
These are just few picks surrounding
Lot more in the guise of servants
Be it loam or home, those servants
Cheat, beat, loot to grab anything
Lot lots are villains surrounding

poem by Indira Renganathan
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De Tea Fabula

Do I sleep? Do I dream?
Am I hoaxed by a scout?
Are things what they seem,
Or is Sophists about?
Is our 'to ti en einai' a failure, or is Robert Browning played
out?
Which expressions like these
May be fairly applied
By a party who sees
A Society skied
Upon tea that the Warden of Keble had biled with legitimate
pride.
'Twas November the third,
And I says to Bill Nye,
'Which it's true what I've heard:
If you're, so to speak, fly,
There's a chance of some tea and cheap culture, the sort
recommended as High.'
Which I mentioned its name,
And he ups and remarks:
'If dress-coats is the game
And pow-wow in the Parks,
Then I 'm nuts on Sordello and Hohenstiel-Schwangau and similar
Snarks.'
Now the pride of Bill Nye
Cannot well be express'd;
For he wore a white tie
And a cut-away vest:
Says I, 'Solomon's lilies ain't in it, and they was reputed well
dress'd.'
But not far did we wend,
When we saw Pippa pass
On the arm of a friend
—Doctor Furnivall 'twas,
And he wore in his hat two half-tickets for London, return,
second-class.
'Well,' I thought, 'this is odd.'
But we came pretty quick
To a sort of a quad
That was all of red brick,
And I says to the porter,—'R. Browning: free passes; and kindly
look slick.'
But says he, dripping tears
In his check handkerchief,
'That symposium's career's
Been regrettably brief,
For it went all its pile upon crumpets and busted on
gunpowder-leaf!'
Then we tucked up the sleeves
Of our shirts (that were biled),

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
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Don't YOU Know? ?

Don't YOU know what YOU All are doin'?

Havn't YOU any care in YOU at all?

How do Ya' ever sleep at night?

Down this old River Walk...YOU Fall;

The Seasons they are a changin'...

The leaves of time are blowin' 'cross the plains...

Frost and icy wind comes hollerin' after YOU...

And the ole Sun is Beginning to wane;

YOU all need to face up to all of YOUR Ghosts, pronto...

YOU need to check in, on your skeletons too...

'Cause the Winter White...its a comin'...oh ya! ! !

And in the end of it all (Just past Fall) that there blame-

(Its headin' straight for YOU)

October 3,2009
From The Attic Of My Heart
With great thoughts of Tom Sawyer
And of Huckleberry Finn***

Also: Elizabeth Barrett Browning***
Robert Browning***
Their son: Paul O (C. Browning)

And With Thanks To My Very Good
Friend Nan.

poem by Theodora Onken
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The Carlysles

[I was talking with a newspaper man the other day who seemed to think that the fact that Mrs. Carlyle threw a teacup at Mr. Carlyle should be given to the public merely as a fact. But a fact presented to the people without the proper--or even, if necessary, without the improper--human being to go with it does not mean anything and does not really become alive or caper about in people's minds. But what I want and what I believe most people want when a fact is being presented is one or two touches that will make natural and human questions rise in and play about like this: 'Did a servant see Mrs. Carlyle throw the teacup? Was the servant an English servant with an English imagination or an Irish servant with an Irish imagination? What would the fact have been like if Mr. Browning had been listening at the keyhole? Or Oscar Wilde, or Punch, or the Missionary Herald, or The New York Sun, or the Christian Science Monitor?"--GERALD STANLEY LEE in the Saturday Evening Post]

BY OUR OWN ROBERT BROWNING

As a poet heart- and fancy-free--whole,
I listened at the Carlyle's keyhole;
And I saw, I, Robert Browning, saw,
Tom hurl a teacup at Jane's jaw.
She silent sat, nor tried to speak up
When came the wallop with the teacup--
A Cup not filled with Beaune or Clicquot,
But one that brimmed with Orange Pekoe.
"Jane Welsh Carlyle," said Thomas, bold,
"The tea you brewed for m' breakfast's cold!
I'm feeling low i' my mind; a thing
You know b' this time. Have at you!" . . . Bing!
And hurled, threw he at her the teacup;
And I wrote it, deeming it unique, up.

* * * *
BY OUR OWN OSCAR WILDE

LADY LEFFINGWELL (coldly).--A full tea-cup! What a waste! So many good women and so little good tea.
[Exit Lady Leffingwell]

* * * *
FROM OUR OWN "PUNCH"

A MANCHESTER autograph collector, we are informed, has just offered £50 for the signature of Tea Carlyle.

* * * *
FROM OUR OWN "MISSIONARY HERALD"

From what clouds cannot sunshine be distilled! When, in a fit of godless rage, Mr. Carlyle threw a teacup at the good woman he had vowed at the altar to love, honour, and obey, she smiled and the thought of China entered her head.
Yesterday Mrs. Carlyle enrolled as a missionary, and will sail for the benighted land of the heathen tomorrow.

* * * *
FROM OUR OWN "NEW YORK SUN"

Fortunate is MRS JANE WELSH CARLYLE to have escaped with her life, though if she had not, no American worthy of the traditions of Washington could simulate acute sorrow. MR. CARLYLE, wearied of the dilatory demands of the BAKERIAN War Department, properly took the law into his own strong hands.
The argument that resulted in the teacup's leaving MR. CARLYLE'S hands was common in most households. It transpires that MRS. CARLYLE, with a Bolshevistic tendency that makes patriots wonder what the Department of Justice--to borrow a phrase from a newspaper cartoonist--thinks about, had begun championing the British-Wilson League of Nations, that league which will make ironically true our "E PLURIBUS UNUM"--one of many. Repeated efforts by MR. CARLYLE, in appeals to the Department of Justice, the Military Intelligence Division, and the City Government, were of no avail. And so MR. CARLYLE, like the red-blooded American he is, did what the authorities should have saved him from the embarrasing trouble of doing.

* * * *
FROM OUR OWN "CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR"

[...] Read more

poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Beside Myself

Small child messing down, messing down.
In the streets of bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, no shame;
Indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
Im beside myself.
Big sister, can you hear him, can you hear him?
Im beside myself.
Big sister, can you see him cry, see him cry?
Im beside myself.
I saw you taking money in the shadows --
In the shadows by the station there.
Ill wish you up a silver train
To carry you to school, bring you home again.
Strip off that work paint and put a cleaner face on.
Im beside myself.
Hollow faced mother with her babe in arms,
Babe in arms-looks through me.
Behind forgotten charms,
Forgotten charms to soothe me.
Between the guilt and charity --
I feel the wimp inside of me.
Im beside myself.
Out in the middle distance, still more tragedies are playing.
Im beside myself.
Im so proud of you --
Swimming up from the deep blue.
Which one of me do you run to?
Im beside myself.
Small child messing down, messing down.
In the streets of bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, have no shame;
Indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
Im beside myself.

song performed by Jethro Tull
Added by Lucian Velea
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Beside Myself

Small child messing down, messing down.
In the streets of bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, no shame;
Indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
Im beside myself.
Big sister, can you hear him, can you hear him?
Im beside myself.
Big sister, can you see him cry, see him cry?
Im beside myself.
I saw you taking money in the shadows --
In the shadows by the station there.
Ill wish you up a silver train
To carry you to school, bring you home again.
Strip off that work paint and put a cleaner face on.
Im beside myself.
Hollow faced mother with her babe in arms,
Babe in arms-looks through me.
Behind forgotten charms,
Forgotten charms to soothe me.
Between the guilt and charity --
I feel the wimp inside of me.
Im beside myself.
Out in the middle distance, still more tragedies are playing.
Im beside myself.
Im so proud of you --
Swimming up from the deep blue.
Which one of me do you run to?
Im beside myself.
Small child messing down, messing down.
In the streets of bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, have no shame;
Indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
Im beside myself.

song performed by Jethro Tull
Added by Lucian Velea
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How Do I Love You? (Cavatina)

(after Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

In every day’s longing, in the sheer need
of how life is,
when feelings are totally out of sight,
in each sweet kiss,
in my childish kind of lingering faith,
you bring me bliss
and to the depths of my soul I love you
in everything that is good, noble and true.

[Reference: “How Do I Love Thee? ” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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To Be In The Veldt

(after Robert Browning)

Oh, to be in the veldt while its spring
to see all the wildflowers rising,
to hear the birds, the bees
as they sweetly sing

with the greenness in every grass and leaf,
the blushing colour of the eve
might be the greatest blessing
a beautiful, very great thing.

[Reference: “Home-thoughts, from Abroad” by Robert Browning.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Carroll County Accident

Carroll countys pointed out as kind of square
The biggest thing that happens is the county fair
And I guess thats why it seemed like such a big event
What we all call the carroll county accident
The wreck was on the highway just inside the line
Walter browning lost his life and for a time
It seemed that mary ellen jones would surely die
But she lived long enough for her to testify
Now walter browning was a happy married man
And he wore a golden wedding ring upon his hand
But it was gone nobody knew just where it went
Hed lost it in the carroll county accident
Mary ellen testified he flagged her down
Said he was sick and could she drive him into town
And no one even doubted what she said was true
Cause she was well respected in the county too
Now I went down to see the wreck like all the rest
The bloody seats, the broken glass, the tangled mess
But I found something no one else had even seen
Behind the dash in marys crumpled up machine
A little matchbox circled by a rubberband
And inside the ring from walter brownings hand
And it took a while to figure out just what it meant
The truth about the carroll county accident
By dark of night I dropped the ring into a well
And I took a sacred oath that I would never tell
The secret of the carroll county accident
Cause the county ordered dad a marble monument
I lost him in the carroll county accident

song performed by Dolly Parton
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About Some Things Unseen (Cavatina Sequence)

(after Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

In loving each other we sow our seed,
in passion kiss
while we wish for some greater happiness,
in joy's great bliss
and then suddenly some life comes from us
and we know this
binds us each to each and to a own child,
our joy and pride runs extremely wild.

From our very birth we learn about love;
feelings within
at times comes forward from the very dark,
they are unseen
but alive they jump, breathe, roar, run and thrill;
they are quite keen
to set a mark on each single life
they materialize in love and strive.

Still the depths of some selfless love remain
a mystery
while we create like the divine some new life,
we are set free
to love or hate, to do right or wrong in
integrity
or in the evil, we strive on our own,
or we try to reach beyond the unknown.

[Reference: 'Mystery' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Love and Loving

(after Robert Browning)

Right through spring
I bought her bunches of roses and carnations
that were flowering
wrote verses in anticipation
that somehow these things would catch her eye
but she had even thrown a sheave away to die.

In mere meagre words
I tried to put all of my love,
as my feelings to my wife to prove
but her actions were cutting me like swords
when she chose another above me,
demanded from our marriage to be free.

During our separation I phoned her
and she acted as if I were someone unknown
while in the background I heard her lover whisper
and around me my entire world had fallen down
while she acted in iniquity
and I heard them both laugh in glee.

l’Envoi
Since then many years have gone
while with other women my life went on
and I know love and loving well,
that it can be either heaven or hell.

[Reference: “One way of love” by Robert Browning.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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How Do I Love You? (Sonnet Corona)

(after Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

I

There is no way
that I can truly express my love for you,
the yearning of every day
not even in the things that I say and do,

the simple things
that fit into the puzzle of life,
and heartfelt tidings
outbalances the every day strife

that comes naturally to a consort, or wife
is all unclear in the quite need,
and its truth never pierces like a knife,
it is from beyond any act or deed

but is like childhood faith, without pain
it’s somewhat difficult to explain.

II

It’s somewhat difficult to explain
how love is supposed to be
in rays of sunlight, drops of rain
and everything that we see

totally without iniquity
even in sorrow, pain, joy,
as a natural instinct, sprouting free
from every ploy

or whatever life brings, in sincerity
it is in every heart beat, every breath,
the things that you are to me
surpassing even the power of death,

that against adversity can endure
as something sweet, something pure.

III

As something sweet, something pure,
our love is always striving to be true
coming free from any pressure and being sure
it bonds me to you in all that I pursue,

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poem by Gert Strydom
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On Her Face I See The Light Play

(after Robert Browning)

On her face I see the light play
as it did the first time that we met
and her face is just as sweet as before,
but now love is lost from her eyes.

Still I am wondering what I have done
for love to be gone,
if it was in a words that I said?
As she turns her head

strangely she is still the only one,
with a gesture so similar
as when our love did begun
but there is also something unfamiliar.

How strange it is that love has gone away,
on her face I see the light play
as it did the first time that we met
while my eyes are suddenly wet
and her face is just as sweet as before,
she is still the girl, which I did adore
but now love is lost from her eyes,
and slowly the light dies.

[Reference: In a year by Robert Browning.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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When all of life is condensed as true (Italian sonnet)

(after Robert Browning)

All other times things, people coming before
has no consequence when we merge intimately,
as when we are apart, act separately
between us the depth is just so much more

as we enter life's, ecstasy's central core
while we are one and you are around me
kisses are sublime, time lingers eternally
as if nothing can be anything more

when all of life is condensed as true
with soul and sense in a single moment,
when each to each together we do meet
in the connection between me and you
in bliss, rapture, in perfect enchantment
and life that moment is eternally sweet.

[Reference: "Now" by Robert Browning]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Drawing a Purple Blank Verse after Gelett BURGESS Purple Cow

DRAWING A PURPLE BLANK VERSE
Kindly refer to notes

I've never cowed to purple prose
know now I'll never write it,
for anyhow true writer knows
hand stretched finds critics bite it.

I've never wowed, and goodness knows
hacks lack the knack of versing,
won't bow, kowtow to backhand blows,
preferring role reverse_sing.

Ah, yes, I wrote on purple prose,
yet can't regret I penned it,
one far prefers rhyme's timeless flows,
no blush need rush defend it.

10 February 2009
robi03_1856_burg01_0001 PWX_IXX

Parody Gelett BURGESS The Purple Cow

Author notes

For original and variations on a theme see bekiw
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
THE PURPLE COW

I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one,
But I can tell you anyhow,
I’d rather see than be one.

Gelett BURGESS 1866_1951
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
CONFESSION

Ah, yes! I wrote the « Purple Cow » -
I’m Sorry, now, I Wrote it,
But I can Tell you Anyhow
I’ll Kill you if you Quote it.

Gelett BURGESS 1866_1951
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
A Perfect Woman

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Have A Nice Day

'Help, help, ' said a man. 'I'm drowning.'
'Hang on, ' said a man from the shore.
'Help, help, ' said the man. 'I'm not clowning.'
'Yes, I know, I heard you before.
Be patient dear man who is drowning,
You, see I've got a disease.
I'm waiting for a Doctor J. Browning.
So do be patient please.'
'How long, ' said the man who was drowning. 'Will it take for the Doc to arrive? '
'Not very long, ' said the man with the disease. 'Till then try staying alive.'
'Very well, ' said the man who was drowning. 'I'll try and stay afloat.
By reciting the poems of Browning
And other things he wrote.'
'Help, help, ' said the man with the disease, 'I suddenly feel quite ill.'
'Keep calm.' said the man who was drowning, ' Breathe deeply and lie quite still.'
'Oh dear, ' said the man with the awful disease. 'I think I'm going to die.'
'Farewell, ' said the man who was drowning.
Said the man with the disease, 'goodbye.'
So the man who was drowning, drownded
And the man with the disease past away.
But apart from that,
And a fire in my flat,
It's been a very nice day.

poem by Spike Milligan
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The General Public

"Ah, did you once see Shelley plain?" -- Browning.
"Shelley? Oh, yes, I saw him often then,"
The old man said. A dry smile creased his face
With many wrinkles. "That's a great poem, now!
That one of Browning's! Shelley? Shelley plain?
The time that I remember best is this --

A thin mire crept along the rutted ways,
And all the trees were harried by cold rain
That drove a moment fiercely and then ceased,
Falling so slow it hung like a grey mist
Over the school. The walks were like blurred glass.
The buildings reeked with vapor, black and harsh
Against the deepening darkness of the sky;
And each lamp was a hazy yellow moon,
Filling the space about with golden motes,
And making all things larger than they were.
One yellow halo hung above a door,
That gave on a black passage. Round about
Struggled a howling crowd of boys, pell-mell,
Pushing and jostling like a stormy sea,
With shouting faces, turned a pasty white
By the strange light, for foam. They all had clods,
Or slimy balls of mud. A few gripped stones.
And there, his back against the battered door,
His pile of books scattered about his feet,
Stood Shelley while two others held him fast,
And the clods beat upon him. `Shelley! Shelley!'
The high shouts rang through all the corridors,
`Shelley! Mad Shelley! Come along and help!'
And all the crowd dug madly at the earth,
Scratching and clawing at the streaming mud,
And fouled each other and themselves. And still
Shelley stood up. His eyes were like a flame
Set in some white, still room; for all his face
Was white, a whiteness like no human color,
But white and dreadful as consuming fire.
His hands shook now and then, like slender cords
Which bear too heavy weights. He did not speak.
So I saw Shelley plain."
"And you?" I said.

"I? I threw straighter than the most of them,
And had firm clods. I hit him -- well, at least
Thrice in the face. He made good sport that night."

poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
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