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Telephone Conversation

Wednesday, January 23,2008
Week 10: Telephone Conversation by Wole Soyinka

Week 10 Dividing lines: Differences in Class, race, Gender and Ideology

Telephone Conversation
by Wole Soyinka

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poem by Tamilarasi Shalu
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The Irony of Love

Irony is a literary or rhetorical device.
The essayist Henry Watson Fowler wrote:
“any definition of irony
—though hundreds might be given,
and very few of them would be accepted—
must include this,
that the surface meaning
and the underlying meaning of
what is said are not the same.'
He left out that any definition of
Irony must include that it is cruel.

I never understood
The meaning of irony
Or how cruel it can be,
Until you told me,
That though you may love me,
You find it difficult to
Hear the words
“I love you” from me.

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poem by Hal Caufield
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The Prisoner

A misfit who is old before his time
Poverty has turned him to crime
Boredom gives him too much time to think
He pours another drink.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
He wonders why his landscape looks so strange
Burger bars are home on the range
An empty bottle falling from his hand
He does'nt understand.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
A cork unlocks the door to other lands
Of battles won and destinies in hand
A half-remembered state of liquid dreams
Where things aren't what they seem.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony

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song performed by Ub40
Added by Lucian Velea
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Real art is without irony. Irony distances the author from his material. Irony is a product of something. It's not the reason for doing something. Irony is a cheap shot.

quote by Robert Altman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Justify

To add justice,
I did not scream nor cry,
I instead called,
“Irony.”
Yes,
Irony.
The strange noun that bites and slaps when least expected.
So, to justify,
I called Irony.
I would like it to be shown, to the court at least, that I did nothing wrong,
nor nothing right.
I called his name,
when he was gone from sight.
I whispered my wisdom,
to a deaf and blind old fool,
I gave my only love,
To one who would never love at all.
So,
To justify,
I believe I did not lose,

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poem by Kaitey Cat
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Irony of Things

It is an irony to believe that Ayothya
Is the birth place of Rama, as by the time
When Rama lived around 1450 B.C.,
Aryans never crossed Punjab or beyond.

It is an irony to say that Mathura
Is the birth place of Krishna, as by the time
When Krishna lived around 900 B.C.,
Aryans never reached up to Mathura.

It is an irony to establish that Durga,
A Dravidian origin, fostered later by Aryans,
Is the destroyer of Sura padman,
An asura, a co-dravidian, among Dravidians.

It is an irony that the very Dravidian
Movement has landed in the hand of a Brahmin
And then at a hand who too had mortgaged the interest
To Aryan for sake of his dynasty.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Withitness

Some people love the experimental in poetry
Poetry, in the experimental, love some people
Love poetry, experimental people. Some
Lovesome

Challenging all preconceptions
Preconceptions all challenging…
Preconceptions challenging all
All-challenging

Playing with outmoded language
Language playing outmoded
With playing language
Language-playing

But with an implicit social critique
Critique but social
An implicit but
Critique-implicit

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poem by Michael Shepherd
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Song: Spell Out The Blues

There's no-one who's better,
Better than you!
No ruthless go-getter,
With the dumb luck of youth.
There's no-one who's better,
Better than you!
A fashion trend setter,
Who's never uncouth.

My life's such a clutter,
But what can I do?
I've pulled down the shutters,
And choked off the view.
The world is a gutter,
A foul smelling brew.
And my writings still stutter,
To spell out the blues.
Spell out the blues!
They spell out the blues!
All the words that I splutter,

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poem by David SmithWhite
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In Days to Come

IN DAYS TO COME

In days to come when, dumb, I’ll strum no more
rhymed witness to timed world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest unblessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel one penny poor?
Most, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
our irony, reflections poet pours
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ scores
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Self is both root and cause of fatal flaws.

My memory, wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
may shadow search vain answers to Life’s game.

20 May 2005 revised 16 November 2006 and 25 March 2009
robi03_1257_robi03_0000 SXX_DIZ

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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L'Héautontimorouménos (The Man Who Tortures Himself)

L'Héautontimorouménos
Je te frapperai sans colère
Et sans haine, comme un boucher,
Comme Moïse le rocher
Et je ferai de ta paupière,

Pour abreuver mon Saharah
Jaillir les eaux de la souffrance.
Mon désir gonflé d'espérance
Sur tes pleurs salés nagera

Comme un vaisseau qui prend le large,
Et dans mon coeur qu'ils soûleront
Tes chers sanglots retentiront
Comme un tambour qui bat la charge!
Ne suis-je pas un faux accord
Dans la divine symphonie,
Grâce à la vorace Ironie
Qui me secoue et qui me mord
Elle est dans ma voix, la criarde!

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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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