New poetry contest begins today, and ends on Abraham Lincoln's birthday, February 12th. Topic: sainthood. (Original idea was Valentine's Day contest, but it turned out St. Valentine was a martyr, perhaps, and thus a saint. Secondly, it was close to Lincoln's birthday [is he not a saint?], and I thought this would create tension between northern and southern participants on the blog.) Poems should be less than 30 lines. Anyone can enter as many poems as they like, but you can only vote for one poem (it must be one other than your own, and all votes tallied by midnight of the 12th of February and contest winner will be announced on February 13th). Winner is a Lutheran surrealist saint for four score and seven years. Here is my own first entry to kick off the contest:
THE BLOOD OF MARTYRS
Pray the hours loosen
in somersaults the fascination
of combat,
pray gladiators versus
zebras & giraffes
versus gladiators,
Christians fighting
what?
werewolves . . .
pray the doves
over stadiums.
59 comments:
mother theresa of calcutta was a character of recent mythology
she did not exist
except for in the mind of pathetic dreamers
nor did dorothy day exist
she was a myth unto herself
she was the product of
religious imagination
a distraction from the real
therese of lisieux - a figure created for a comic book series
some obscure french imagist (or was that a symbolist) brought her to life momentarily...she is little more than
a picture of rose petals
dropping from heaven...
she and her pathetic little way...very very stupid childish imagination stuff
hildegard - a fiction
catherine of genoa - mythic character -- a shrew a wench a wild warrior of demented fiction
mother ann seton
mother cabrini
stock characters in a hollywood narrative about ghosts in the modern day
lurking in the streets of an unlit nation
all of them anthropomorphic distortions
figments all of them
of deluded imaginations
all of them united in the roles of loving a god who does not exist
i think we should make
an exception to the 20 line rule
for jh's poem
and for any other poem
that i happen to like
i actually like kirby's a lot too
a plea for the end
of senseless bloodshed
Sally, I already DQ'd Jh's entry due to its length. My poem remains the only legally sanctioned entry.
hey that's no fair
in fact the poem is only seven lines
even a saint could't negotiate the line breaks and constraints placed upon us by modern technology...i demand re-entry into the contest...i will get a lawyer...we'lll fight this in the haloed sanctions of american justice in rooms that reek of justice...this is a violation of my right to free speech---this is an atrocity...i cannot stand for it...count them you fools....7 lines each stanza is a line in my way of thinking
there's a saint standing at a DEAD-END sign
i'm calling my lawyer
she'll talk me back into this thing
yes
she will
jh the martyr
I may enter this time, but it will depend on whether you find a way to keep the poems separate for easier reading.
Srsly! It's not hard to copy and paste them into the post. So I'm not buying your excuse about it being too technically difficult.
WW
I don't understand WW's beef, or JH's beef, or the beef with the 20 lines cut-off. Anarchists everywhere, but I draw the line, I must draw the line, as well as walk it.
What can I say
About Saint Genet?
I grew up thinking
That Abraham Lincoln
Was a model worthy
Of emulation, but he
Wasn't as smart
As John Paul Sartre.
Saints
ain't.
maybe i need to explain
what a line is
what's my line
a line is a curve in space
lines extend beyond human orchestrations of reality
the line just keeps going on into infinity
there are lines and then there are lines
line 'em up knock 'em down
all the ducks
lineage is a quandary
lines converge in a quagmire
lines defy constriction they always echo
life is a punch line
line is the bed upon which algebra seeks to lightly lie
wittgenstein who?
the shortest distance between two points is a vacation
jh
Pronounced juh
There once was a martyr named jh
Who lived east of South Dakota.
His lines were too long,
And he got the gong.
Kirby's imposed Sharia!!!
:)
my little treatment of catholic holy women doesn't hold a votive candle to craig's tight existentialist composition
i guess existentialists had their saints too
grrrrh!
grrrrrh!
jh
Ithought Palmer's piece was excellent!
are we now having
ithoughts
2nd N tree
absurdities abound
at my expense
my whole being sighs
like a saint in a swoon
jh
The Armor of Jesus
The arrows of Satan are many,
he'd put your soul in the grave.
But the armor of Jesus is certain,
it will not fail to save.
So armor yourself with Jesus
and open your heart to his grace.
Should Satan attempt then pierce it,
the Lord's heart will take your heart's place.
Sigh.
Should Satan attempt then to pierce it....
My proof-reader needs to spend time in the unemployment line with Kirby's fact-checker.
stu i used to own and operate a poetry repair shop what we would do is take little blunders like that and make them into something better...take it one step further...
i hate to ammend your verse on a semi public space ...but here goes..o...and you don't have to pay one damn bit of attention to what i say here...nobody else does
try
"Should Satan tempt then pierce it"
and
"His heart" on the last line
it will dance a bit better then
(you lutherans can be so dang tentative)
i think that lends itself to a more visceral reality of the possibility of faaaaaaaaaaaallllllIiIIIINNNNNNGGGGGG!!!!!
if you catch my drift....
:=]
jh
It's too early to call, but I do like 2nd N tree. The title alone is worth the price of admission, a tree hugging football metaphor, and quite apropos after a gain of seven big yards on first down was improperly whistled for ill eagle procedure. Where's the eye in the sky? The play is under review.
or maybe
"Christ's heart"
on that last line
stu
to avoid misunderstanding
jh
jh,
Thank you for your suggestions. I'd be honored if you consented to be considered a co-author. Kirby thinks that poetry competitions are about poets. I think this is silly—poetry competitions are about poetry.
The Armor of Jesus
The arrows of Satan are many,
he'd put your soul in the grave.
But the armor of Jesus is certain,
it will not fail to save.
So armor yourself with Jesus
and open your heart to his grace.
Should Satan tempt then pierce it,
Christ's heart will take its place.
stu i'd be careful about how you use the word silly when being critical over here on LS i know at least one person who takes things like that pretty seriously i don't know his name but his initials are k o...silly is the last thing you're going to get over here i mean these guys have postules of seriousness coming out of their skin these guys extend prose beyond reasonable likits whatever likits are i don't know i'm just trying to make this thing sound like one long line one lone long fishing line
one long floating line on a blue gurggling trout stream
i can't read all the extended prose over here i tell you what the lines seem to get longer and longer
saints dally about in infinity
that last line was my third entry
jh
why do i feel like ww is just sitting back and enjoying all this pious piffle
Increments
A saint.
A+ saint.
At sainthood?
Couldn'ta, woulda, should.
Not me yet.
Not yet.
Too hard
To be.
Number 2
In the Trinity
Does saint 4 me.
at least picklesworth is willing to accept the fact that the 20th century did happen and creative experimentation with form is an acceptable poetic choice
why i can't seem to get away with it over here boggles the mind
like them bobble head baseball statues
i like this poem very much wb
jh
UNIVERSAL HEALTHCARE
Pangolins who want to be squirrels
No expense shall be spared on their surgery
Grief counselling for cougars
with Lyme Disease
All-Expenses paid trip to
Connecticut hospitals
Doctors dress as skeletons
Wagging fingers no-no on Fox
Elephant hearts in Africa
Flown in to talk to Dr. Phil
Poachers got my baby
The leaping mechanism of fleas repaired by shoe repairmen
Full employment by .gov
Worms shall do grief counselling
For the baby birds
Shocked at what they've eaten
Democrats shall raise a hullaballoo
As the Saints go marching in
As the Saints go marching in
Democrats shall redistribute
the sexes of hermaphroditic snails,
And squirrels shall be whales,
As the Saints go marching in.
kirby may have won his own contest at last
he'll be able to pin the star which actually has a sharp pin end on his forehead
the voice of LS blaring out into the world
with the profound and noisy clarity of truth
a trumpet out of tune
a saint perplexed by duty
jh
The first concert I went to on the UW campus was in 1976 in Kane Hall. Some friends of mine told me I had to go with them to see Taj Mahal. I had never heard of him before, but the ticket was only five bucks, so I went.
Ten years ago my wife and I were in Seattle on home leave staying in Rainier Valley with a lesbian couple we know. It was good of them to put us up for a few days because the day after we got home my mother had a massive stroke and was evacuated by helicopter from Whidbey General in Coupeville to Harborview. I got to see her once before she had her stroke and we told her that we were moving from Fiji to Manila in a few months. The next day she was in a coma and she passed on five days later on a Sunday morning. I went up to the hospital early that morning to see her. Her body was still in the room, but she was gone. My dad and my brothers and sisters had all gotten together in the hospital room a few days earlier to decide about life support and whether her organs should be donated to medical science. We decided against it in defiance of her wishes. Our big concern was that she might stay in a coma for months or even years. I was the only one in the family to see her actual corpse. She was cremated and a few months later her ashes were sprinkled in the lily pads near her parents' cottage on Lake Wawasee in Indiana. That's where her brother's ashes were scattered thirty years ago. Her two younger sisters, who own the cottage now and are still with us, will likely follow suit. Their grandfather was a minister and their parents were quite religious, but all of them abandoned formal worship.
I went up to the Seattle Center and met up with my wife and her friends. It was the first week of September and the last day of Bumbershoot. Around seven in the evening the last concert of the day got started and somehow we got tickets. Taj Mahal was up on the stage with his National guitar and a troupe of Senegalese musicians. They played stringed instruments their ancestors were picking before Columbus ever thought about sailing the ocean blue.
wendy hoke
ww
whatever
i'm keeping a compilation
of the poems here
over on my blog
you will be required
to post the poems here
if you're willing to risk the horrible fate of beautiful loss
i will then cut n' paste your or any other pome over on my blog
and then publish in the major international cyber journal
the poems in their completelness and i will be given 100s of 1000s of dollars for literary contributions to the world of verse
if anyone has a problem with that he/she can take it up with me personally
intellectual property is tricky business
tricky and sticky
like only one or two other things in life
jh
have i admitted here or anywhere
that
i in fact have owned and played
the KORA
and i am looking for another one
if anyone has a line on one
i wonder if KORAs are for sale on eBay
thnks crg
jh
I wouldn't know where to find a kora, but my sister has a nice collection of tablas and some hammer dulcimers. She wrote her dissertation on tabla and how the drumming evolves from each generation to the next by maintaining a delicate balance between innovation and tradition.
jh has this category of "found poetry." To that end, I'd like to suggest the following, by Melanchton, et. al., as a historical rebuttal to WB's poem of existential angst:
The Church is the congregation of saints
in which the Gospel is rightly taught
and the Sacraments are rightly administered.
Thanks jh.
Stu, I was focusing on the wonderful exchange.
Oy, I've got to catch up.
WB,
Stu, I was focusing on the wonderful exchange.
I was actually trying to make a point, not just trying to razz you.
Let me just work at the point now, and more explicitly, lest it be lost.
There is clearly a distinction in the way that Lutherans and Catholics use the word "saint." Catholics use it to refer to "capital S" Saints, i.e., individuals whose faith has been manifest through the miraculous, and who have been properly vetted by the "capital-RC" Roman Church. Whereas Lutherans mean "lower-case s" saints, i.e., believers.
The Augsburg Confession used "saints" in the definition of "church" to exclude folks who showed up, but didn't believe (i.e., "hypocrites and evil" in the language of Article VIII, or "wicked" in the language of the Apology -- note here that my copies of the Book of Concord are at home, so I'm working off of the online version, which is to say McCain rather than Tappert or Kolb-Wengard-Schaffer).
Anyway, Kirby's original poem focussed on martyrs, and jh's follow-up on several female "capital S" Saints. These two initial entries essentially bound the word saints to its "capital S" meaning, and in that sense, your poem is very Lutheran in its despair at being measured against such a standard. Indeed, from a Lutheran perspective, one cannot chose to be "capital S" Saint, one must be called to it, and few are. This is a round about way of saying that the Lutheran resolution is to recognize that we are called to be "lower-case s" saints and this requires only that we, through the faith granted by God's grace, believe in his promises.
Throwing yourself on Jesus is always acceptable, but reclaiming the language as you do it might be even better.
stu wb
there is an understated tradition of sainthood in RC domains as well
for instance
theresa of Avila stated
the true saints
are the parents of children
and francis of assisi initiated a critique of christian heroism and sought to make it justified by a willingness for selfsacrifice in the name of Christ's Kingdom
in the monastery we say
for every saint there are 40 martyrs
and
the young monks look holy but they are not
the middle age monks don't look holy at all and
they are not
the old monks look pretty beaten and tired
and they are close to holiness
collectively the knowledge exists that most saints remain anonymous
but we rejoice in the PEOPLE the actual historical PEOPLE who have followed christ we have names and we celebrate with them whenever we celebrate...we achnowledge the COMMUNION OF SAINTS...we color our history constantly with the lives of PEOPLE who live to serve christ
history not simply of events but of PEOPLE -- and what they taught and what they did and who they were and how they followed - hagiography is a full time job for the jesuits/and others known as bollandists
i really love this whole thing of stories and legends of saints
catholics have no problem with tall tales about people
we celebrate it
if ever you kneel to pray with others you are a saint if ever you raie your voice in praise with others you are a saint
if you can do something that is both marvelous and beautiful in witness to christ then perhaps you are a SAINT
stuz delineation is valuable none the less
jh
Curious
That the team
Called by the name
Of Saints with a capital S
Hails form a city
Know for sin
Nawlins
It's like
Rome fielding
A team with a name
Like "The Mighty Lutherans"
Slight disconnect
Theological
Nope
minimal sainthood
St. Nihil
this world phenomena
having perused again the poems
i've decided to cast my vote for kirby's first entry and while it may seem a little tasteless for the promoter of contest to win his own contest i don't see that it would be in violation of anything that transpires on this blog
the blood of martyrs - 1 vote
(on the condition that my first entry is back in the running after major literary litigation)
"should be less than 30 lines"
seems ambiguous enough to allow my interpretation of the line
Ok, I'll take the vote, and put your first piece back into the running. I did expand the line count from 20 to 30 lines already, so you are not banned or DQ'd, especially as you have voted for my poem.
Now, I will just have to suppress vote totals, and perhaps I'll eke across the finish line tortoise-like, without a single other contender!
Ha ha!
I'm a criminal, no saint, but in these postmodern times, how on earth can anyone tell the difference?
Saint Genet and all that!
JH, I'm voting for your first poem, including the last two lines, which would ordinarily DQ you.
I must avoid winning my own contest for fear of ridicule.
Someone else vote for JH!
It seems clear to me that you've got to call attention to the contest again. Rustle up some voters. I'm not going to vote tonight as I've got to take another look at what's on offer and I've just been told that it's bedtime. I won't argue with that.
Someone else vote for JH!
Sounds like a good idea. But since this blog seems to thrive on chaos, I'll cast my vote for WB's poem, "Curious," and make it a three-way tie.
Voting is over, now, and so a three-way tie it is. But since I am the blog-meister, I will call it a two-way tie: between JH and WB.
Nice going, guys! Lutheran Surrealist Saints for the next 150 years (barring the commission of major felonies -- as sainthood is generally not granted to the living).
Casting.
What a fruitful word.
Casting aspersions.
Casting your troubles on Jesus.
Plaster casting.
Casting your bread on the waters.
Casting nets.
Casting call (I hope I got the part!)
Casting votes. Or rather casting a vote. (I would hate to be disqualified.)
jh was disqualified for awhile because he doesn't like rules enough. But the rules have changed. And there is such charming indignation in his Entry #1. I cast my one vote for that poem.
Wait a second! As I wrote my last comment, Kirby seems to have swooped in and closed the voting booth. But I was still in there with my marker! Throw it to the court. Don't disenfranchise me. Help!
holy shit
i'm an LS saint
i honestly don't think i'm up to it
why is this plunger stuck
on the side of my head
))
jh
i still think craigs
tight existentialist poem rocks
the laurel leaves
WB disqualifies himself by voting for JH, which I've decided to allow, which means that JH is a Lutheran Surrealist saint for 150 years or LIFE, whichever ends first. In the case of death, LS does not retain saint status, because we think the dead are no longer part of our domain (two kingdoms and all that).
So, JH is the world's only Lutheran Surrealist saint.
We may make more of these later, but for now he's the only one.
Congratulations, JH!
Please do not abuse this status. Felonies and other indiscretions might still disqualify you as an LS saint, and other restrictions might apply.
But as of right now, you are the world's only Lutheran surrealist saint! Remember, enjoyment of status has responsibilities.
well i was going to vote for kirby's first entry (did he have more than one?), but it seems that the polling booth has closed--kirby you never make it clear when the deadline for voting is!
now it seems that kirby
has withdrawn his entry
which he has every right to do
as blog meister
so i will cast my vote for jh's
first entry
which upon rereading
probably should have earned
my vote initially
a great poem!
congratulations sir
Sorry if my contest guidelines weren't clear. The problem is that I think the lead-in for this contest was too long.
Glad you voted for JH. He's now the world's first official Lutheran Surrealist saint. He's also the only living Lutheran surrealist saint. (Dead LS saints automatically revert to ordinary citizenship level because we believe that once you're dead there are not as many ways to commit sin, and thus, in God's kingdom, either everyone is a saint or no one is. But over here there are very few if any saints.
And felonies and other crimes, and other restrictions do apply to our living saint.
JH -- we shall be watching you VERY closely!
GM's 2-word poem really rocked, too.
so does this allow me to be as surreal as i want to be as long as i don't commit felonies??
being as it is that i feel so unworthy of such a title i must make it known that i will be requiring a whole commitee a whole entourage to assist me in my new status
and i'd sort of like one of those nice northern italian villas too if i could
so anyway
sally is my consultant
in lutheran surrealist sainthood
she's pretty sirius these days
check out her blog why don't cha
i feel like i'm lost in an escher print
:)
jh
It allows you to be as LUTHERAN as you want, which means not committing any felonies, and also restraining others who might do so.
The saint part means you have to be scrupulous day and night in defending all kinds of human dignity.
I'm not sure what the surrealism part contributes to your role. You are the first Lutheran Surrealist saint so we look to you as a role model.
Your behavior will set standards for decades, possibly millenia, to come.
So you have to decide!
the problem with
being lutheran is that i'd have to posit some idea about protest
and i don't have anything to protest
i think i'd rather explore the possibilities of surrealism
it's pretty dangerous out there
the world is hell i could just use the word TERRORIST in a joke and that could be a felony
i can't do the sainthood thing
i will go through the rest of my life in abject bewilderment (that part's not all that new)a reluctant saint a saint blistered with angst a saint in utter darkness about who the hell he is supposed to be
the cost of discipleship seems way too high
can't i just get a job in editing
i'm a derelict on the way to heaven
and my feet smell like hell
jh
JH, you are the first to negotiate the virgin woods of Lutheran Surrealist sainthood.
You are a kind of Lewis & Clark without a guide!
Blaze the path, and write back to us. I have complete faith in you and your cognitive mapping skills.
hey i think sally voted over on my blog
for you kirby
that would give you 2 votes
i don't think i couold be the LS pioneer saint by dfault
this has gotten to be so very difficult
we might bave to appeal to a higher authority
lord take this burden from me
jh
i'll need a $1000 retainer
to take on this consultantship role
aren't saints supposed to
be able to perform miracles?
let's see
we'll have to schedule
a media appearance
where you can walk on water
or turn water into wine
or walk on wine
or something like that
or maybe heal a victim
of the haiti earthquake
no, let's see if you can
predict earthquakes
or prevent them
then we'll need a sample of your blood
and various other body parts
some hair
a fingernail
maybe the little toe from your left foot
some things that we can auction off
as relics
that should get us started
(am i fired yet?)
JH, sleep on this for a week, and if you can't hack your status, I'll join you in sainthood, JH, as a gesture of renunciation.
ok
if turning water into wine
is too hard for you
we might settle for whine :)
on the other hand
if jh is really a saint
then perhaps we need to begin
to question his very existence
perhaps he is merely a character
of recent mythology
a fictional character
devised by a clever blogmeister
to attract folks to his blog
perhaps jh is really kirby's alter ego
maybe kirby even created jh's own
supposed blog to support this fiction
so this poetry contest
is really a tie between
kirby and himself
i mean have any of you
actually ever met this jh guy?
ok well i have
but... can i trust my senses?
did i just imagine him?
a product of wishful thinking?
the fact that i've stayed on here
at LS for so long
is something of a miracle
no sally you're not fired
i think you have the right approach
surreal is the word
i'll give this whole thing a prelenten
prayerful consideration
i'll get drunk out of my mind on mardi gras
and then go to confession on ash wednesday
i hear the sounds of
manha de carnival
;-}
jh
I cast my vote for Colin Wilson, even though he didn't enter a poem in the contest. He makes a much better saint than Jean Genet and he's British so his work doesn't get skewed by translators. I really liked Philosopher's Stone and some of the occult relations of mind and matter. Things like earthquakes and tsunamis actually generated by mental contact between the living and the spirits of the Old Ones. It seemed plausible to me at the time. I'm voting absentee from overseas, so my vote is allowed to be late, but it only counts in races too tight to call.
Thanks for the honorable mention, Kirby--I think it's one of my favorite poems now--and might qualify for world's shortest poem.
Again--
Saints
ain't.
:D
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