woolymonkey: (kitty hug)
The poetry chapter of AA100 is rolling round again so I'm rereading the Faber Book of Beasts.  Every year I marvel at

My Cat Jeoffry by Christopher Smart

Written in 17something when Smart was confined for insanity.  Best. Cat. Poem. Ever.

My favourite lines today:

For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer...

For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon...

For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat...

For by stroaking of him I have found out electricity...

And the one in the subject line, of course.
woolymonkey: (keyboard)
I find this phrase from a student essay is pure poetry:

the seemingly number of endless roundabouts.

Doesn't that perfectly convey the feeling of befuddled alienation you get when driving round Milton Keynes?

Lots of them are writing about Milton Keynes because it's one of the examples of places that might be considered sacred. Yes, really. It has ley lines, and streets aligned on solstice sunrise/sunset. Really. (It's in the course materials, admitedly without the bits about Satan and Heathrow airport, but I thought you'd like to have those too.)

It's a pity the assignment is Religious Studies and not Creative Writing because I'd love to be able to reward him for that.


Jan. 20th, 2011 05:21 pm
woolymonkey: (wtf?)
What do you call a mondegreen if you read it instead of hearing it?

I've nearly finished marking those student assignments about Edwin Muir's 'The Horses'. The good ones were all hiding in the last batch, which cheered me up. Now I just have to mop up the late ones, so I'm not working to a deadline any more.

I still love the poem, but it will never be quite the same since a student quoted

Nothing. The radios dumb;
And still they stand in corners of our kitchens,
And stand, perhaps, turned on, in a million rooms
All over the world. But now if they should speak,
If on a sudden they should speak again,
If on the stroke of noon a voice should speak,
We would not listen, we would not let it bring
That old bad world that swallowed its children quick.
At one great gulp. We would not have it again.


That old bad world that swallowed its chicken quick.


woolymonkey: (Default)

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