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Re: [Pagan Poets Society] Discovering the writings if Betjeman, and the argument over Muses in Poetry

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    Thanks for sharing and having some depth - I enjoyed it all immensely. Jude ... From: Tomás Ó Cárthaigh Subject: [Pagan Poets
    Message 1 of 2 , Aug 13, 2008
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      Thanks for sharing and having some depth - I enjoyed it all immensely. Jude

      --- On Wed, 8/13/08, Tomás Ó Cárthaigh <tomasocarthaigh@...> wrote:

      From: Tomás Ó Cárthaigh <tomasocarthaigh@...>
      Subject: [Pagan Poets Society] Discovering the writings if Betjeman, and the argument over Muses in Poetry
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      Date: Wednesday, August 13, 2008, 10:50 AM

      Discovering the writings if Betjeman, and the argument over Muses in Poetry
      Taken from my blog on the Telegraph.co. uk site.
      http://my.telegraph .co.uk/tocarthai gh

      I have recently come across the work of the writer John Betjeman, who heretofor I had only known for his political activities, being vaguely aware of his writing capacities.
      I read his ode to the muse of whom he wrote, A Subaltern's Love Song, and the simplicity and movement of the poem shows to me what is so wrong with what we call poetry today.
      A debate on an article in the Guardian website showed a body of opinion that to write for a muse like he did was foolish and patrionising to womenfolk, and all at once I felt angry and sad that this could be thought to be so.
      For if one cannot write a poem to a woman... why should a man write at all?
      My own efforts have created the Stanzas to Roberta series, a few of which I recreate here, the rest of whom are on my site, and while not the top class of literature, are sufficient for my contribution to culture nonetheless.
      A society that loses contact with poetry. has lost a part of its soul, and in our society and all its ills, poetry to the common man is seen as elite and irrelevant.
      You do not have to be educated to write poetry, and should not have to be to read it, unless its on an obscure topic.
      The work of the often primary school only educated Weaver Poets from Ulster, Scotland and the North of England shows what can be created as they wrote regular verse and Standard Habbie formats both in English and their native Doric sourced dialects.

      She Was A Dandelion Seed In The Wind

      Once upon a time in a garden
      There was a seed that the wind blew
      Dancing, like a ballerina in the air
      Up and down and round it threw
      In a dance that was enchanting
      The parachuted passenger seed of dandelion
      In the flamenco passion of the wind
      Looking like a creation devine
      And chance would tell where it lay
      And time would tell where it grew
      Such a seed was she blowing into my life
      That girl from Italy I once knew.
      Sometimes you have to catch a seed
      To hold it close and lose it never
      But I let her blow away
      And so lost her forever
      I will never forget her smile
      Though I forget her last name
      That dandelion seed in my life
      That I failed to plant and tame.
      All dandelion seeds are the same they say
      And true as that may be
      I knew in my heart there was the chance
      She was the one for me.
      But if the garden of my heart
      Was good for her to grow
      I never had the courage to ask
      And so, shall never know.
      So when you see a dandelion seed you desire
      Grasp it in your hand
      And blow its parachute away
      With love... strand by strand.
      Or you will be like me
      Full of regret because
      A wind blew her over the garden wall of my life
      And I lost a love that never was.

      "The girl who was the tennis playing muse to Betjeman. A current trend in poetic thinking that women as muses is patrionising is something with which I cannot agree.
      If a man cannot write a love poem for a woman, of what can he write? "

        Some of the "Stanzas to Roberta": 

       Lady of the Sweetest Smile

      Lady of the sweetest smile
      In this town and round for many a mile
      Laughter, fun, and all with grace,
      The Mona Lisa should have had your face.
      Now gone, to a better tomorrow
      In Dublin: where future is present
      Not for you the life of struggle and sorrow:
      The factory worker: today's peasant.
      God looks after, they say, the good
      May He take care of you
      Because thou art, and He should,
      Fair of face, and heart that's true.
      Love for you I do not hold,
      As I know it could never be
      I wish the man whose yours well
      And wish that it could have been me!

      Her I Would Follow Dropping All
      Her I would follow dropping all
      And everything at her call
      She who to call me to do so never would,
      And so drop all I never could.
      But, of, if another time,
      When to leave all was not a crime
      When nothing to this earth I owed,
      For me no assetts or liabilities showed.
      I'd cast by all that I'd earned,
      To follow she for whom I yearned,
      To the ends of the earth and more,
      Dangers face for her, Id throw myself before.
      But to do so I was not free,
      And she desired not from me...


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