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ISSUE 244 Date: 6th July 2012

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Issue 244

Page 2

Bette Davis (unknown) "She did it the hard way"

Jefferson Davis (unknown) "At Rest An American Soldier

And Defender of the Constitution"

Sammy Davis Jr. (by Altovise Davis and his children) "The Entertainer. He Did it All."

Emily Dickinson (herself) "Called back"

Curly Joe DeRita (unknown) "The Last Stooge" Last surviving member of The Three

Stooges.

John Donne (Himself)

"He lies here in the dust but beholds Him

whose name is Rising."

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (unknown) "Steel true blade straight"

Diophantus of Alexandria (unknown) "This tomb holds Diophantus. Ah, what a marvel! And the tomb tells scientifi-

cally the measure of his life. God vouchsafed that he should be a boy for the sixth part of his life; when a twelfth

was added, his cheeks acquired a beard; He kindled for him the light of marriage after a seventh, and in the fifth

year after his marriage He granted him a son. Alas! late-begotten and miserable child, when he had reached the

measure of half his father's life, the chill grave took him. After consoling his grief by this science of numbers for

four years, he reached the end of his life."

Wyatt Earp (unknown) Nothing's So Sacred As Honor

And Nothing's So Loyal As Love.

Edward I of England (unknown) "Hic est Edwardvs Primus Scottorum Malleus"

Translation: "Here is Edward I, Hammer of the Scots"

William Faulkner (unknown)- 1897-1962 Belove'd Go With God.

W.C. Fields (unknown)- 1880-1946 "W. C. Fields 1880 - 1946"

1925 article Vanity Fair Fields proposed the epitaph "Here lies W.C. Fields. I would rather be living in Philadelphia."

because of his long-standing jokes about Philadelphia (where he was born) This is often repeated as "On the

whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia." His tomb at Forest Lawn in Glendale, California reads as above.

F. Scott Fitzgerald (himself; from The Great Gatsby) "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back

ceaselessly into the past."

Benjamin Franklin (himself)

"The Body of B. Franklin, printer

Like the Cover of an old Book

Its Contents torn out

And stripped of its Lettering & Gilding

Lies here food for worms

For, it will as he believed appear once more

In a new and more elegant edition

Corrected and improved by the Author."

Robert Frost (himself) "I had a lover's quarrel with the world"

R. Buckminster Fuller (himself) "Call Me Trimtab" A trimtab is part of a rudder for a ship and controls the direc-

tion of the craft.

John Gay (himself) 1635 - 1732

"Life's a jest, and all things show it;

I thought so once, and now I know it."

LIFE OBSERVATIONS

It‟s been a trifle damp of late.

Powercuts are very frustrating and inconvenient to those of us in the Western

World, who rely so much on computers, TVs, microwaves, telephones and central

heating. How we would survive a single day in the Third World, I don‟t know.

Place glasses on top of head and then spend ages looking for them ...

Tie up dog outside shop, drive home, forget dog. Remember dog. Drive back to

shop, walk home, forget car.

It‟s a good job diabetic patients don‟t intend to go blind quickly what with a fifteen

week wait for an eye-clinic appointment.

The smell of vanilla ice-cream evokes memories of childhood.

Calorie counting? Careful with those yogurt pots that only state the 100ml amount

of calories when the actual pot contains 125ml or 150ml ... Naughty! But, legal.

enterolith n

A mineral concretion in the intestinal tract.

ancillary adj

Subordinate; secondary; auxiliary; accessory.

monochrome n

A black and white image, especially a photograph.

A ceramic glaze of a single colour, or an object so glazed.

A painting executed in shades of a single colour.

inexorably adv

In an inexorable manner; without the possibility of stopping or preventing.

unobtrusively adv

In an unobtrusive manner; in a manner that is not noticeable or

blatant.

dulse n

A seaweed of a reddish-brown color (Palmaria palmata) which is

sometimes eaten.

precocious adj

Characterized by exceptionally early development or maturity.

Exhibiting advanced skills at an abnormally early age.

caesura n

A pause or interruption in a poem, music, building or other work

of art.

In Classical prosody, using two words to divide a metrical foot.

Wikipedia image

Issue 244

Page 3

CLIVE’s three free e-books

NOW PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Issue 244

Page 4

Steph’s FREE poetry e-chapbook is now published on www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

and on RBW main site

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

The chapbook is illustrated by some of her original artwork.

She is a member of Stafford Art Group, 2012 winner of the Allardice Portrait Cup and has

exhibited some pieces locally. Next exhibition: Millbank Gallery, October.

Random words: David – Journey – Tradition – Confession –

Danger – Variable – Schooldays - Oiling – Secret.

Assignment: Forgotten birthdays/encounters with wildlife

Random words PMW

Gwendoline was short of sleep, and the night was

long. She tried counting sheep; 1999, 2000, 2001…..

Eventually, she nodded off….and found herself on a

tropical island, complete with sun, sand and palm

trees. Amongst the trees was a bus stop, and waiting

there, a handsome, tanned man.

“I must have died and gone to heaven!” Gwen-

doline thought.

The man approached, smiling, and handed her a

box, which contained a ring

with a huge diamond.

Gwendoline couldn‟t recall

when she had felt so happy.

Just then, a large coconut fell and struck him

sharply on the temples, drawing blood. She rushed for-

ward, to bandage him with her scarf.

Then, the telephone by her bed rang. She woke. It

was Jean.

“Hi there, sleepy head! Fancy meeting me at the

mall later for a coffee?”

“Oh hi. OK.” Gwen replied disappointedly.

“Whereabouts?”

“Under those plastic palms at the Food Court,” Jean

suggested.

Wikipedia image

Wikipedia image

Issue 244

Page 5

Random Words:

„All rise in court,‟ bellowed the usher, Mr. Bellview-Short. He need

not have bothered, the booming building only contained Gwendo-

lyn and a man in the press bench frantically trying to turn off his

mobile telephone. The usher gave the unfortunate soul with a

bandage on his wrist a long stare. He flushed scarlet, Gwendolyn

gave him a smile. Not that she had anything to smile, or to be

happy about. She couldn‟t decide if this was all a horrible dream,

if only she were still asleep. If only, she hadn‟t seen that van with

the coconut logo stop outside the bank that morning when she

was waiting at the bus stop, if only, she hadn‟t been late for work

none of this would have happened.

UPDATE FROM THE POETRY LIBRARY Latest Competitions: Build Africa (Excel for Charity) Poetry Competition 2012 | Closing Date: 15-Jul-12 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1203 Bradford on Avon Fringe Festival Poetry Competition 2012 | Closing Date: 23-Jul-12 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1204 Portico Poetry Prizes | Closing Date: 31-Jul-12 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1206

Manchester Poetry Prize 2012 | Closing Date: 31-Aug-12 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1205

Havant Literary Festival Open Poetry Competition | Closing Date: 01-Sep-12 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1207

New Magazines: Miracle http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/magazines/emagazines/?id=658

Art Fist http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/magazines/emagazines/?id=657

Love is the Law http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/magazines/emagazines/?id=656

Latest News: Novels in Poetry Library | 23-Jun-12 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/acquisitions/?id=926

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Enjoying taking part

After recently celebrating

A 100th birthday. Issue 244

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Barry‟s jaw dropped open.

„You‟re having a laugh. You‟ve got a date with Princess Angelikka? The real one!

Pull the other one, it‟s got bells on.‟

„Saturday. Mum‟s invited her to tea. She said yes.‟

„Just like that?‟

„No, not exactly. Mum asked her to bring her mum‟s stuff round for a,‟ mumble

mumble, „party.‟

„A what?‟ grinned Barry who knew what Mrs. Mountjoy was into, what with him

having the telescope trained on every room in their house, just in case the Princess

was ever into wandering around in the buff. This wasn‟t always such a clever move

as her brother, the weight-lifter, Big-Lad Ferris, was in the habit of wandering

around starkers scratching his itches while searching for his boxers in the washing

basket. Often Barry had an eye-full of humongous dangly bits he‟d rather not have

had imprinted on his retina for the rest of the evening. It wasn‟t all milk and honey

being a virtual artist.

Randolph‟s lips tightened into line as tight as a paper-cut in best lamb‟s liver: „A

Francine‟s Secret-Spring Party.‟

Barry exploded into fits of giggles, most unbecoming for a manga warrior warlord.

„I thought that was a girls-only do. All those frills and fancies flashing about.‟

„It is,‟ grimaced Randolph really wishing he had kept his big mouth shut.

„What room will they be using?‟ said Barry, retraining the telescope.

„Oi,‟ said Randolph jumping up off the beanbag, „you keep that lens away from

my mum‟s conservatory. She isn‟t a forgiving sort of person.‟

Barry smiled. He had all the info he needed. The glass roof of Mrs. Andover‟s

conservatory was no barrier to his all-seeing eye. Saturday tea-time, all the great

and the good ladies of the estate would be peeling off to squeeze their flabbiness

into Francine Secret-Spring‟s lace and wire corsetry. Manna from heaven. Good job

he hadn‟t confided in his new buddy that his latest acquisition was a camera with a

zoom so powerful it could read the writing in Sharlene‟s diary if she was careless

enough to leave it open on her desk.

„Now, what have you got for me, today?‟ he asked, changing the subject and wav-

ing a plain brown envelope which wasn‟t as well stuffed as Randolph would have

liked. Randolph pulled a MBF carrier bag from under this sweatshirt, „This is quite

nice.‟

With trembling fingers Barry reached in and pulled out a 1960s baby-doll nighty

in pale pink satin trimmed with black ostrich feathers... „OMG,‟ he murmured rub-

bing the shininess between finger and thumb, „What a score, mate. What a beauty.‟

The plain brown envelope changed hands and Randolph toddled off down the

stepladder from Barry‟s attic lair feeling very pleased with himself. A few more deliv-

eries like this one and his dream machine wouldn‟t be such a distant prospect. Now

all he had to do was work out how to waylay Sharlene after the frilly-draws party and

before she went home. He‟d already offered to be a bouncer and a waiter, which his

ma was having none of ... such a pity his ma didn‟t have another male interest in

her life.

Barry‟s ma had several. Yeah, Barry‟s ma was a Trentby cougar, a very old be

whiskered cougar. Bet she had a season ticket to Francine Secret-Spring parties.

No, he didn‟t want his ma to turn into a chubbier version of Barry‟s old lady. But, a

decent bloke with a good job, who‟d take her out a lot and get her off his back now

that was an interesting thought. He‟d give that idea a run round the block and see

what he could sort out.

© Leeloomultipass | Stock Free Images & Dreamstime Stock Photos

PRESS RELEASE sent to RBW via email: A new website for writers (and readers) is launched - Burrst (http://burrst.com/).

Burrst is a site for sharing writing bursts of 1,250 words or less (either written or spoken), the website aims to encourage people to spend 15-30 minutes everyday writ-ing, narrating, reading or listening to short fiction. There's a more complete description at http://blog.burrst.com/post/24735683986/from-june-18th-write-1-250-words-everyday-to-stay. If you’re 13 or older you can join Burrst, it's completely free. Burrst is currently invite only, new writers are asked to send in an example of their work before we let them sign up to write, the reason for this is to ensure that peo-ple who join are really interested in writing. Burrst is a non-commercial website. Writers retain their copyright. Writers are free to post existing work (if applica-ble) and to publish work they post on Burrst elsewhere. Writers can remove their work from Burrst at anytime. Burrst has some guidelines for submissions, these can be read at - http://burrst.com/guidelines/ There is no payment for posts on Burrst, however writers can promote themselves, their website, or their Smashword books via their profile, or in the description they include with a post.

Random words YW

It’s the practice for the congregation of a Catholic Church to go regularly to confession

and receive absolution for their sins. During his school days this tradition gave David

the idea of an unholy moneymaking scheme. On the journey to school he’d think of a

misdemeanour and encourage his friends to bet on how many Hail Mary’s he’d receive

at confession. To make his scheme work his imaginary misdemeanours had to be vari-

able. David felt safe knowing that the priest must keep secret all he heard. The priest

spent hours on his knees praying for this persistent sinner. Oiling his knees afterwards

didn’t help. Years later, David was a successful surgeon. Imagine how he felt when

called upon to replace the old priest’s knees.

Cryptic clue.

Ill with love? No. Just an imposing tree.

It's the 50th edition of The Loop and there‟s a brand new 2 hour mix of material

now playing on Radio Wildfire – Now playing 24/7 a completely new selection of

stories, satires, poetry, spoken word, music and interview @ www.radiowildfire.com

- another two hours of live literature and chat.

In this edition ...

The Loop brings you interviews with poet in residence at Birmingham's Symphony

Hall Julie Boden about her new poetry and photography exhibition at Coventry's

Belgrade Theatre, 110 Metre Hurdles, and with storyteller Maria Whatton about

her work in progress The Lunar Men.

The Loop brings you a plays from Keith Large, with his look at domestic violence

Fists and Chips, and from Douglas Mackin with a powerful tale of a cheating hus-

band Signal To Noise.

The Loop brings you poetry from Sarah James with Scarred, based on her experi-

ence of diabetes

... and poetry with soundscape and music from Stephen Mead, Andrew Barnes and

Mark Goodwin.

The Loop brings you a review of Being Human the Midlands Creative Projects pro-

duction of the anthology from Bloodaxe Books.

The Loop brings you satire from Joe Grimwade who asks you to Blow Your Nose for

Britain.

The Loop brings you song from Carol Widenbar.

The Loop brings you the latest part of Mal Dewhirst's series The Lost Poets: Alfred

Williams, The Hammerman Poet

PLUS: Irons In The Fire: Jan Watts' Laureate's Diary - the monthly diary from Bir-

mingham's Poet Laureate

AND there's Gary Longden's Listings - check it out you might just be featured!

The Loop is curated by Vaughn Reeves and will play online continuously for the

next month, except during our live broadcast on Monday 2nd July starting at

8.00pm UK time with a full programme of pre-recorded tracks, live studio guests

and conversation.

WHAT IS RADIO WILDFIRE?

Radio Wildfire is an independent online radio station which blends spoken word,

poetry, performance literature, comedy, storytelling, short stories and more with a

novel selection of word/music fusion and an eclectic mix of musical

styles. www.radiowildfire.com currently broadcasts live 8.00-10.00pm (UK time)

on the first Monday of every month.

Issue 244

Page 17

PETER SHILSTON writes ... A friend quoted to me a remark of Emerson's on the difficulties of writing rhymed poetry. Emerson spoke of a poet who had thought up a "beautiful line" about stars, only to find he couldn't think of any good rhyme for "stars", with the result that his poem had to be abandoned. I do not accept Emerson's difficulty in finding a rhyme for "stars" (see end), though his point is a fair one. Of course, the problem can always be avoided by writ-ing "vers libre", with neither rhymes nor scansion (what one literary critic described to me as "prose that doesn't reach the right-hand margin"), but it is obvious that any clumsy, contrived or unsuitable rhyme kills a serious poem stone-dead: bathos is f atal. Even great poets are guilty of dreadful lapses at times. Consider the following from the first verse of Wordworth's "Simon Lee", about an aged man:-

"Of years he has upon his back No doubt a burden weighty He says he is three score and ten But others say he's eighty"

This can hardly fail to raise a smile, and as a result the serious message of the poem, which is intended to evoke sympathy for the old man's difficulties, is irretrieva-bly lost.

In writing comic verse, by contrast, the more improbable or contrived the rhymes, the better, since ridiculous rhymes can add greatly to the humorous effect. For Exhibit 2, here is the opening of "Lord Roehampton", by Hilaire Belloc:-

"During the late election, Lord Roehampton strained a vocal chord By shouting very loud and high To lots and lots of people, why The Budget, in his own opin- -ion should not be allowed to win"

You can't get much more contrived than this, but as comic writing it is highly effec-tive. Furthermore, the scansion is perfect and the poet is clearly in total command of his material: he has composed it al l quite deliberately.

One doesn't need to be a great poet to know the answer to Emerson's problem, which is simply this: if a line is going to end in a weak or contrived rhyme, then the weak line must be placed first, not second. We don't have to investigate major liter-ary works to find that natural poets know this by instinct. Take the example of this anonymous Border Ballad from the 15th century, which tells of how Henry Percy of Northumberland (Shakespeare's Harry Hotspur) rides forth from his stronghold at Newcastle to challenge the Scots raiders under Earl Douglas:-

"But oh, how pale his lady looked Frae off the castle wall When down before the Scottish spears She saw proud Percy fall"

The second line is actually rather weak, but you don't notice, because the verse builds up to a climax with the word "fall". If you recite it out, as would originally have been the case, then you can anticipate the final word coming, with sinister ef-fect.

Take an example from pop music. There are few really striking rhymes for "bridge", but Chuck Berry had no problem coping with this in "Memphis Tennessee":-

"Her home is on the south side, high up on a ridge, Round a half a mile from the Mississippi bridge"

Nobody would pretend that this is great poetry, but think how feeble and contrived it would be if "ridge" had been used in the second line of the couplet rather than the first!

The use of proper nouns can be effective if they fit naturally and provide a suitable climax at the end of a line. As an example, here is the chorus of an old Scottish song about the whaling ships of the 19th century, operating out of ports like Peter-head and Dundee:-

"The wind is in the quarter, the engine's burning free, There's not another whaler that saild out from Dundee Can beat the old "Balaena"; she needs no trial runs, And will challenge all, both great and small, From Dundee to St. John's."

Here we have two rather weak rhymes, concealed by each being placed first, with two place-names used to provide a climax. ("St. John's" comes as a surprise: it was the port in Newfoundland where the whalers called in on their way up to the icy waters west of Greenland)

To finally illustrate the point, and refute Emerson's case of the lack of any really good rhyme for "stars", I offer the following two and a half line of impromptu, mean-ing nothing in particular:- "..... and still she hears In distant echo through her prison bars Ancient eternal music of the stars"

"Bars" remains a weak rhyme for "stars", but its weakness has been concealed.

Issue 244

Page 20

I Am

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,

My friends forsake me like a memory lost;

I am the self-consumer of my woes,

They rise and vanish in oblivious host,

Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;

And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,

Into the living sea of waking dreams,

Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,

But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;

And e'en the dearest--that I loved the best--

Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;

A place where woman never smil'd or wept;

There to abide with my creator, God,

And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:

Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;

The grass below--above the vaulted sky.

John Clare

Autumn

The thistledown's flying, though the winds are all still,

On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill,

The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot;

Through stones past the counting it bubbles red-hot.

The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread,

The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead.

The fallow fields glitter like water indeed,

And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed.

Hill-tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun,

And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run;

Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;

Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.

John Clare

John Clare

(13 July 1793 – 20 May 1864) has be-

come recognised as a celebrated English

poet.

Of short stature at five feet tall, Clare, was

the son of a farm labourer and himself

laboured in the fields as a child. His po-

etic works celebrated the English country-

side and lamented its change.

Clare is now considered among the most

important 19th-century poets. Clare

spoke powerfully of nature and of a coun-

try childhood through his works.

Once a published poet, Clare was torn be-

tween the society of literary London and

his roots in the countryside where there

was widespread illiteracy; between the

urge to write poetry and the practicality to

provide sufficient funding to feed and clothe his seven children.

His health suffered. He had bouts of severe depression. By 1830 his sixth child was born

and poetry sales slumped. In 1832, the family was moved through the help of patronage to a

smallholding in the village of Northborough, not far from Helpston. However, Clare‟s mental

stability did not improve. He drank and his behaviour became ever more erratic. In 1837 he

voluntarily entered a private mental asylum where he was able to concentrate on his writing.

After a period at liberty with his family and in a state of confusion Clare was admitted to

Northampton Asylum in 1840 where he remained, encouraged with his writing, until his

death.

He died on 20 May 1864, aged 71. He was buried at Helpston in St Botolph‟s churchyard.

It is said, to mark his birthday, children

from the John Clare Primary School,

have paraded through the village to

place flowers on Clare's grave.

(Inscription: "To the Memory of John

Clare The Northamptonshire Peasant

Poet" and "A Poet is Born not Made").

The thatched cottage where he was

born was purchased by the John Clare

Education & Environment Trust in 2005.

Faith Hickey

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