Benny Bunter
Well-known member
Which is what I was saying too, you're the one who just called it 'gibberish'! Lol
Trying to find meaning in this is an exercise in going crazy. Which I think of as a good thing. It's like being a kabbalistic scholar
Switches over to some stuff about a muse like female figure, lost love in the last 4 lines, perhaps.I had a bit of fun thinking about this daft little one last night:
USE YOUR LOAF
Then part of it fell down.
It was like rain, down was its fall
but partial and to the side.
The side-part fell, if down
then sideways and lay
dying there too, on my side.
Thus parted, own you like it
as eye-pain. You laid it down,
her name your art dies for.
Beside herself you all part then
and her own is not so, known
down there as ways fallen apart
..which if anyone who has tried to bake a loaf of bread before knows, if you don't do it properly sometimes as it rises in the oven, it partially collapses on one side.
From there he's obviously gone off into wordplay and with no real meaning, but he's 'used his loaf' to start the whole exercise off both literally and metaphorically.
Funny one, isn't it?
Yeah cool, I like that. And then you could link the falling down/apart of a relationship to the first bit about the failed loaf of bread collapsing (on one side, significantly) in the oven. Why not?Switches over to some stuff about a muse like female figure, lost love in the last 4 lines, perhaps.
What this tradition calls 'study' and 'reading' requires that any reality be treated as an obscure message addressed by an unknowable or even unnameable agency. As with a verse of the Torah, one must listen to the phenomenon, decipher and interpret it, of course, but with humour, without forgetting that this interpretation will itself be interpreted as a message no less enigmatic - Levinas would say no less marvellous - than the initial event.
This poem is fucking amazing, wow! Definitely gonna have to get into some of that Romantic stuff (is it from lyrical ballads?)Read another thing linking it to this which I can't be bothered to read. (If you want to track these things down good 'JH Prynne Bruckner'
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Frost at Midnight
and as oft With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower, Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day, So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear Most like articulate…www.poetryfoundation.org