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admin
| | Posted on Saturday, July 31, 2004 - 12:05 pm: | |
This topic contains messages moved from an earlier discussion in the "General Discussion" area. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 06, 2004 - 07:26 am: | |
Cassiel & Duncan: Yes, I can put a theory forward.
I'm glad you threw open a door to a possible explanation reguarding the relationship between the lifestyles of the constituent members of the band, the autobiographical content of the lyrics and the artistic methodology employed by all of its members.
I've been harboring a theory about their methodology and was waiting for the right moment to put it forward.
I believe that it is a unique methodology, one which may not have been attempted by any rock band previous to The Go-Betweens. and may not have been repeated by any rock band since. If this is true, then it is a remarkable achievement in the annals of Rock 'n Roll, where imitation is often the norm and originality is so difficult for anyone to achieve.
Any methodology must have rules and the rules employed by the GBs where designed to protect its members from the ravages of exposure to public scrutiny but not inhibit the artistic integrity and empowerment that comes with bare honesty.
The methodology that I believe they employed was an ingenious concatenation of the Art imitating Life (the creative arts approach) versus the Life imitating Art (the performing arts approach).
I believe the methodology of the GBs might be best described as Life imitating Art imitating Life. It goes to the core of why they choose to call themselves The Go-Betweens, after the book by LP Hartley.
Quite simply, their methodology required each member of the band to play a theme or character from the book, in their public life.
When Robert sings:
Nothing in my life is numbered
In my life nothing is planned
You might think you see purpose
When what you're seeing is a band
He is making the direct observation that what you are seeing, his public persona, is a role playing exercise designed to shield his inner self from the ravages of exposure to public scrutiny. A case of Life imitating Art.
This theory has the potential to explain many (perhaps all) of the on-stage antics of the GBs, such as the cross-dressing episodes and can also be used to explain the quirky idiosyncratic style of many of their interviews.
The reference to numbers, taken from the lyric above, is a direct reference to the numbers on the page of a book. Robert is directly acknowledging that his public persona is largely the product of role playing. When he sings "In my life nothing is planned" he is acknowledging that his reality can not be taken from the pages of a book, because his future is not written.
This provides the key to the title of the song Too Much of One Thing. The thing that there is too much of, is the role playing of characters or themes from the one book, The Go-Between.
This is the thin line, like from a spider upon which he dances!! What a breathtakingly succinct and beautiful piece of poerty that is. "Like a thin line" is what the printed lines of a book appear to be. He is the performer in this context, like the spider who is restricted to dancing only along its web. The rules of the methodology are like that web. They restrict him.
I may follow this line of thought more throughly, later, through the entire lyric of the song but for now I would like to turn to the second leg of my theory, which is the Art imitating Life component of the stated methodology.
It is essential that at all times we have both components, or my theory fails. Although Robert's lyrics can be interpreted as a critism of his own methodology (that he finds it restrictive, "Too Much of One Thing") he is not abandoning it. The other leg requires his art to imitate his life.
And there it is, as plain as the nose on your face. He describes the song as "the Ballad of the Go-Betweens". To be a ballad it must be a narrative and to imitate life it must be based on reality. In the case of Too Much of One Thing he is critiquing the methodology of his own band The Go-Betweens. David uses the word "disquisition" and I agree. At all times the lyrics of the GBs must be factual accounts of life. (Most often their own lives, but not always). Too Much of One Thing is a special case in that it holds a mirror to the very methodology that created it.
And finally, here we have the symbiotic nature of the dichotomy, with each arm nurtured by the other. The real life role playing protects them from the ravages of exposure to public scrutiny, but alows them the freedom to write directly from their own experiances and therefore the empowerment that comes with the bare honesty, without ever endangering the inner self.
Don't be to hard on me. It's only a theory. I have never read David's book, so I don't know how much of his theory shares mine, or visa versa. |
Duncan H
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 06, 2004 - 11:31 am: | |
Quite a theory, Mark. Let's hope they've read the book! |
Alfred
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 06, 2004 - 08:56 pm: | |
No offense, Mark, but you're trying too hard to be analytical; it reminds me of my professor colleagues who teach Dylan lyrics as if Keats or Tennyson had written them.
I don't discount the merit of your theory, but parsing each line burdens a structure as gossamer as the "thin line from a spider" Robert cites robs the song of its deep mystery. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Wednesday, July 07, 2004 - 05:19 am: | |
Alf: If I may. As I have previously observed about myself:
Quote:I've often thought that Roberts lyrics most often worked both as a literal first person revelation and at the higher ethereal, reflective level.
I'm not going to be offended by your comparison. It was not intended to be taken seriously by anyone.
As for your critiquing my methodology, you are welcome to do so, but don't expect me to change.
Lastly, as I said, the very reason why I did not parse each line was so as to not obscure the larger theory I wished to propose.
It is a grand theory and grand theories are far more easily disproved than proved. Often they stand only as theories which can not be disproved.
I do not expect my grand theory to even withstand the duration of this thread, not that I am withholding any fatal flaw, but it should make for some interesting discussion. |
James
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 20, 2004 - 03:22 pm: | |
Beware anyone who tells you they know the 'proper' way to analyse literature. |
Alfred
| | Posted on Wednesday, July 07, 2004 - 06:56 pm: | |
Mark: thank you for accepting my criticism with such grace.
If I sounded snarky, it's because I thumbed through Christopher Ricks' new Dylan book. This brilliant critic devotes 20-odd pages to bloody "Like A Rolling Stone," using a methodology more suited to his fine glosses on Hopkins, Keats, and Tennyson than to a rocker whose verbal glories owe lots more to his rhythmic instincts than his so-called lyrical acumen.
As for your theory, I agree with most of it. "Too Much" is an oblique, demotic examination of Robert and Grant's friendship and their relationship to their art. It's also a warning to avoid the dangers of consistency (thanks to their uneven albums, no danger of that); the irony, of course, is that the song itself never breaks out of its unoffensive, pleasant lilt. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Thursday, July 08, 2004 - 07:16 am: | |
I can accommodate your understanding.
The symbolic launguage I used was "each arm nurtured by the other". Theirs is a symbiotic relationship that can operate within the general framework of the methodology.
I got this symbolism by examining the photo on the inside of the BYBO CD. Here, you can see the symbolic nurture by each arm.
Turning to the outside cover of the BYBO CD and by examining the group photo on this message-board's homepage, I got the relationship between Rob's gesture with his arms and the graphic artwork on the cover of the CD.
It is Shelter. |
James
| | Posted on Thursday, July 08, 2004 - 02:14 pm: | |
Alfred, I disagree that TMOOT is "also a warning to avoid the dangers of consistency". My interpretation is that Robert feels that being too much of one thing is neither good or bad but more of a personality trait that both he and Grant display, albeit in different ways. This is perhaps the core of their relationship, both personally, and artistically. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Monday, July 12, 2004 - 09:04 pm: | |
Ah, how could I have been so blind.
Now that I can see it, it is perfectly obvious to me what the thing is that there is just to much of.
Mistrust is the song's central theme, not the more symptomatic role-playing that I attributed to it.
Now the lyric flows like the fountain of conscious thought that all Rob's lyrics must.
My initial understanding gave me the first and last third of the lyric's meaning, but I could not fathom how that theme expressed itself through the more symbolic middle third of the lyric, starting with "In the distance is a bridge" and ending with "Then carry you through these hills".
When Rob sings:
"In the distance is a bridge
And on the bridge is a rail"
The bridge that is yet to be crossed, crosses the divide of mistrust. He knows that there is a rail on the bridge to help him cross. It's name is love. Halleluiah!
"I have known a hundred women
And part of me loves to fail"
Every man knows that it is the fear of emotional intimacy that causes him to fail. Men love to fail at love so as to avoid this fear.
Now the rest of the lyric flows from here. The role-playing is only symptomatic of the mistrust. |
Catherine
| | Posted on Friday, July 16, 2004 - 02:14 pm: | |
While its always interesting to know what the writer means in a particular verse of a song, or whether its about somebody in particular, I’ve never understood why anyone wants to analyse a song in such detail and to such an extent that it becomes just a bunch of words.
I feel that stepping back and seeing the whole song can achieve a better notion of what that song is about. If we analysed the Mona Lisa in the same manner, as is being done here, all we’d have is a pile of paint flakes.
Now lighten up. |
Nicky
| | Posted on Friday, July 16, 2004 - 10:08 pm: | |
Testify sister!
This is my main problem here! I like what I like. If it moves me, then so be it. I do not feel the need to anal-yse every nuance, every word, every inflection. I prefer to feel it, than understand it.
I'm all for healthy debate, but sheesh! the debates here are becoming decidedly unhealthy. Can you people not enjoy the music of your choice? Ask yourselves, do the Go-b's set out to confuse and confound you at every turn? Do Grant and Robert sit down when writing and think "hmmmm I know, let's get those posters on the MB talking about what I might possibly mean!".... Come on here! let's all get a grip (and possibly a life!)
Nicky (who is proud to post under her own name and with a valid email should anyone wish to discuss this off board)
Ps Catherine, I feel there are many issues we would agree on (including the ones of women dancing for drinks PMSL) |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Saturday, July 17, 2004 - 12:44 pm: | |
Isn't this place a Hoot!
Cath: Yes, lyrics often convey feelings without having specific meanings. They may even be able to convey feeling without any meaning at all; sometimes the feeling is conveyed purely in the way they are sung.
But when these same lyrics are written, they can be stripped of all meaning conveyed by the deliverey, and may simply become meaningless words.
The lyrics of The Go-Betweens are not in this category. When written, they retain most of their original meanings because they are fine examples of both prose and poetry. They are literary works in their own right.
Under these circumstances, it is perfectly normal to discuss and study the lyric as a literary work, in exactely the same way that one would study a book or a play. Often, the true meanings can only be found after sharing our understandings with others and allowing their scrutiny.
Moreover, it is a perfectly legitimate use of this messageboard to do this. If the discussion proves to be too analytical for your liking, then you are welcomed to write a more intrinsic understanding, but I have never before seen anyone attempt to argue that it is possible to "analyse a song in such detail and to such an extent that it becomes just a bunch of words" without meaning. Analysis requires a determination of the relationship of the parts. It is called the theme |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Saturday, July 17, 2004 - 01:46 pm: | |
Nicky: Feeling it is often an integral part of my undersanding, as well. Often I could not have come to the undersandings that I have without first feeling it.
Look at my understanding of the "In the distance is a bridge" stanza (above). An integral part of my understanding is a feeling.
Emotional intelligence first led to that understanding, but such an understanding does not preclude the further intellectual analysis. If that where the case I would never have been able to attribute the symbolic significance of the bridge and the rail and how they related to the propsed theme of mistrust.
Analysis is a tool that alows us to further our understanding. There is no shame in using it. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 20, 2004 - 04:00 pm: | |
James: The "Proper" related to "use of analysis", not the 'proper' way to analyse literature.
I never said there was a 'proper' way to analyse literature only a 'proper' way to use analysis.
I stand by my words. |
Catherine
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 20, 2004 - 04:10 pm: | |
The 'proper' way to type all messages is to do so while standing on your head, with your left big toe stuck into your right nostril (For capitals). ONLY THE LEFT BABY TOE SHOULD BE USED. If you wish to type in italics, assume the lotus position, and bow your head to the keyboard, striking each key with your nose. If I suspect that anyone has not been typing using the above methods, I shall beat you over the head with a large feather duster until you either comply, or your ears bleed. |
James
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 20, 2004 - 05:58 pm: | |
Beware anyone who tells you they know the 'proper' way to use analysis literature. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Wednesday, July 21, 2004 - 06:15 am: | |
James: My position is “Literature must be an analysis of experience and a synthesis of the findings into a unity”.
Therefore, the 'proper' use of analysis in literature is that which does not seek to contort meaning by separating intellectual material out of the context of the relationship in which they where laid by the author.
No one has any good reason to be cautious of me for saying so. |
James
| | Posted on Thursday, July 22, 2004 - 11:55 am: | |
Mark: What does 'the use of analysis in literature' mean? are you referring writing about literature, or a literary style that is itself analytical? |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Thursday, July 22, 2004 - 02:04 pm: | |
James: I mean; in reading literature to further our understanding.
The quote is by Rebecca West and is one of the better known definitions of literature. It may mean a number of things, but the most important meaning (to me) is that the analysis of literature must be compliant with "a synthesis of the findings into a unity".
It does not matter where you start. Top down or bottom up. Both directions use analysis in an attempt to gain a unified understanding of the whole, that is consistent with the meanings attributed to its component parts. |
phughes03@yahoo.co.uk
| | Posted on Thursday, July 22, 2004 - 02:59 pm: | |
Gee, that must be an old book you are reading. I thought unifying theories of art were long since abandoned. I mean they so often read like the author is ripping the work apart simply to fit it into some grand conception they have come up with.
If you don't mind me saying - your lyric analysis earlier in this thread seems to suffer from this fault.
I'm interested though. Which Rebecca West text is this quotation from, and in what context is she making this claim? |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Friday, July 23, 2004 - 07:20 am: | |
This place just keeps on getting better and better.
Phughes: No, I don't mind you saying so.
I don't think I'm relying on any "unifying theory of art". I was simply making a statement about the 'proper' use of analysis in literature.
In my view, the 'proper' use of analysis in literature is one that does not seek to contort meaning by separating intellectual material out of the context of the relationships in which they where placed by the author.
Yes, my earlier analysis of the lyrics of TMOOT contained a grand conception. The lyrics of TMOOT are both poetic and symbolic. So it is nessecary for me to start from a intrinsic understanding (the grand conception) and then work down and see if the possible meanings attributed to its component parts can be fitted into the stated theme.
Which intrinsic understanding is then used as a starting point becomes irrelivent because I must allow my intrinsic understandings to be modified in preference to assigning nonsensical meanings to the component parts[1].
That was the very process that allows me to move from my initial understandings that which I now have and which may allow me to move again.
The Rebecca West quotation comes from the definition of literature in reference to "Imaginative or creative writing, especially of recognized artistic value:" from The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language.
It is what I meant when I said it is "is one of the better known definitions of literature".
[1] This is because the underlying assumption is that what is being analysed is literature and therefore not meaningless. |
Pete
| | Posted on Friday, July 23, 2004 - 08:22 am: | |
Your approach seems rather niaive, I'm afraid.
As you have just described, your technique is to adopt a unified view of the material (your "intrinsic understanding") before a proper analysis of its poetic and symbolic content. Surely one of the great things about art is that the "intrinsic understanding" is hard to find, and much more complex and beautiful that can be discovered on the first, second of umpteenth listen, view or reading.
It seems to me that your technique, in varying degrees of skill, was passed off as literary analysis for many years. Yet it seems to me that it has been discredited because as its worst, it leads to fairly crass generalizations on what the work of art is about. In such cases reading an analysis that appears to violate a beloved song/book/ art work is painful in the extreme. (I, for one, felt extremely uncomfortable reading your TMOOT interpretation)
If you are simply looking for a subjective perspective on the work, that's fine. But if you are looking to pass that off to a greater audience, then I think you are likely to meet considerable resistance to your interpretations.
For a start, I would suggest looking beyond the definition of 'literature' in The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language.
So long now. Until next week.
Pete |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Friday, July 23, 2004 - 09:18 am: | |
Pete: I actually don't find "intrinsic understanding" hard to grasp. It really comes easily to me. When my intrinsic understanding fails to explain a particular component of the verse, I search for a new intrinsic understanding in myself that may allow for that component to be incorporated into the whole.
Sometimes this is not possible. Sometimes it is. The reasons why it may not be possible are never clear. Is it our failure or the writers?
I can only say that I have the utmost faith in the lyrics of McLennan and Forster, so I immerse myself in the belief that it is always possible to find that next level of intrinsic understanding.
You may see it as niaive. I see it more as a matter of trust in their skills as writers. I would not like to categorically state that my trust could not be misplaced. |
Pete
| | Posted on Friday, July 23, 2004 - 10:07 am: | |
Maybe the failure is to due to the fact that the "intinsic understanding" you have extracted is way off in the first place?
Your technique reminds me of the cartoon of cinderella. You know, where the ugly sister tries to get the slipper the fit. She strains and strains to get her bulging foot into the dainty shoe and cries "it fits". But we kids knew it didn't.
I'm not exactly calling you the ugly sister but..... |
James
| | Posted on Friday, July 23, 2004 - 10:13 am: | |
Mark the basis of your technique assumes that an author 'places' their 'intellectual material' in a 'context' of meaningful 'relationships'? How can you prove this? |
Pete
| | Posted on Friday, July 23, 2004 - 10:26 am: | |
Please excuse the awful typos in my last post.
Pete |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Friday, July 23, 2004 - 01:34 pm: | |
Pete: The basic criteria is how much of the lyric can be satisfactorily explained by the intrinsic understanding. An understanding that can explain the entire lyric must be considered more adequate than an understanding that leaves some proportion of the lyric unexplained.
At all times, the meanings that flow from the explanation must be reasonable interpretations of the constituent parts. That is, non-sensical explainations can't be generated as 'interpretations' of constituent parts which otherwise can't be brought into accordance with the intrinsic understanding.
James: The relationships I spoke of then are most often found in the near context. i.e. The parts of a text or statement that surrounds a particular word or passage and determines its meaning. It is reasonable to assume that the author intended the near context to convey meaning and that it didn't just happen by chance. |
cam
| | Posted on Friday, July 23, 2004 - 05:44 pm: | |
lots of songwriters are quite prepared for the meaning to happen by chance Mark.
In fact, that final statement pretty much says all I need to know about you... any butterflies on wheels in your house? |
michael
| | Posted on Friday, July 23, 2004 - 10:35 pm: | |
cam, i think you are on the right track.
Time and time again I've heard these people who write the songs that we all love say - well they just happen, they just come out, and the best ones were the most unexpected, or - the harder I tried, the worse it got, it just sounded plagerised, overwrought, reconditioned, too much like I was trying too hard. I don't mean to suggest we have to surcome to, the beat poet philosophy, however there is something in that, don't tell me dylan planned all those great insights (yeh well I'm gonna sit here all night, lean on the window sill, write it all down and fuck em all up good this time, no, he was up all night leaning on the window sill) it will not be explained by the teleologic arguement. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Saturday, July 24, 2004 - 01:56 pm: | |
Cam: Certainly some lyricists do select words on a basis that has nothing to do with meaning.
They may pick a word simply because it rhymes with another and for no other reason. They may choose words that suit the rhythm, tempo or even the mood that the music conveys at that point, without any reference to an intended meaning.
In which case, there is a chance element in the meanings taken by the listener. Usually, this style of writing is characterised by lyrics which convey vague and unrelated meanings. When a writer does this, it is usually impossible to assign a coherent meaning to all of the song's parts that is compliant with a stated theme. Some parts fit and some parts won't.
At the other end of the spectrum are songs where the whole of the lyric can be assigned coherent meanings which then fall within a stated theme. When this happens, it is completely reasonable to propose that this was not a chance occurrence but it is the intended theme of the author.
Problems do arise where more than one wholly compatable theme can be found throughout a given lyric. I this case, one explanation may be as good as another and in the absence of a statement from the author on which was intended, it may be impossible to choose one theme over another. Perhaps the author meant both!
Usually, lyrics either have a literal meaning, which is not in dispute, or because of the use of a lot of symbolic language, the difficulty in assiging them a wholly compatable theme throughout means thay very few wholly compatable themes can be found.
Problems also arise when a wholly compatable themes can not be found. In which case we have to ask ourselves who is at fault. Us or the writer? |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Saturday, July 24, 2004 - 02:31 pm: | |
Michael: Is it your position that these lyrics "just happened" or "come out" without any cognitive effort? i.e: that they where not derived from a conscious effort to express ideas and convey meaning?
Therefore, are you claiming that my explanations must be teleological? That is; that I seek to explain natural phenomena which in fact has no design or purpose and therefore can not be assigned a cognisant meaning? |
Pete
| | Posted on Saturday, July 24, 2004 - 06:03 pm: | |
Sigh, you speak with such authority, Mark. Yet you peddle the most uninspiring, even dreary ideas. Your conception of literature as a type of poetic riddle that needs solving is one of the first things a first year undergraduate student of literature is dissuaded off.
To top it all, you dress your arguments in quasi- philosophical language as if to impress those unfortunates reading that your ideas are profound (A remnant, no doubt of your aus.motorcycles alter ego, Roy. All visitors to this message board should place several garlic bulbs around their computers to keep that demon away!).
You should try your ideas out on a forum dedicated to discussing literary matters and see how far you get. Or do you consider the Go-Betweens message board a soft touch for your brand of ignorance?
Goodness, if literature was made of the stuff that you describe, I would never read again. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Sunday, July 25, 2004 - 02:33 pm: | |
Michael: Does all poetry just come into existence or just specific examples?
TMOOT has a strict ABCB rhyme scheme and is composed in an almost strict poetic meter. Almost every line sung is of uniform duration, and about 6 words long. The uniformality of the structure is very pronounced.
All this structure just can't be by chance. There is clearly an intelligence at work here. So how does it "just come out" or "just happen"?
Are you implying the RF just sits down, with no prior plan or forethought, and out of his pen flows completed works of poetry with ABCB rhyme scheme in almost strict poetic meter? |
andrew stafford
| | Posted on Sunday, July 25, 2004 - 03:32 pm: | |
Mark, is your tendency to (over)use italics in prose a self-conscious imitation of how Robert Forster's quotations are presented in David Nichols' book?
Apart your belief that the rhyme sceme of Too Much Of One Thing is evidence of high literary genius, this certainly appears to be an odd form of hero worship on your part. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Sunday, July 25, 2004 - 03:55 pm: | |
Pete: To start with, there is actually nothing wrong with presenting ideas on this messageboard for the scrutiny of others. It has often made for some good discussions in the past.
When presenting ideas, I always run the risk of criticism. That is exactely why I present them. I did not put my ideas here specifically for your entertainment. So, if you do find my ideas uninspiring and dreary then I really don't care, but please do not hold the expectation that I did. That would be an act of condescension for you to do so. I am not here for your entertainment. I am here for mine.
My conception of literature is much wider than poetry. Poety does present the special problem that the language may be symbolic and the other requirements of meter and rhyme do make for complex forms of expression. Poety can be a riddle, without literal meanings. We have to work for or understandings and sometimes share them with others before they can be improved.
Undergraduate students of literature may take whatever position they like on their conception of the meanings conveyed by poetry. I think it is essentially wrong minded to assert that analysis is not a valuable tool when moving from one intrinsic undersatnding to another. Indeed, it's actually unscholarly to think that reason can't be applied when forming our understandings.
Lastly, I am quite content to present my ideas to this forum, thankyou. It is an entirely appropriate place for me to do so.
(p.s. Roy kicked arse, btw) |
cam
| | Posted on Sunday, July 25, 2004 - 05:51 pm: | |
I applaud Mark's method
if he were not given this opportunity, just think what he might be doing in the real world? |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 10:17 am: | |
Andrew: a) I've never even seen David Nichol's book, let alone tried to read it.
I am expressing my opinions as they are formed. They are my opinions, but they were not formed in a vacuum, as some here believe.
I am getting some information first hand and from a credible source. I also get some encouragement and general guidance from this same person when forming the opinions that I express herein, but they remain wholly my opinions and not her's, because I write them.
b) The rhyme sceme of TMOOT is commonplace, as you well know. The extraordinary aspect of this lyric is the uniformity of its poetic meter. Almost every line sung is six words long and all are perfectly formed expressions of a common theme, grouped into 4 line stanzas with an 'abcb' rhyme sceme.
I would challenge any writer here to try to emulate the feat and see how long it takes them to write ten four-line stanzas, each of considerable poetic beauty and symboloism, each composed of perfectly formed six word lines, each expressing a common theme and each writen in perfect 'abcb' rhyme sceme. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 10:45 am: | |
Cam: This exercise consumes about two sixteenths of my day. |
John Dryden
| | Posted on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 08:34 pm: | |
Ten 4 line stanzas! What pish, is this?. Scan this, my boy.
It's dedicated to you, although I've adapted it from an earlier piece I wrote about another utter bore.
It's Mack, Feck! No!
**********************
All human things are subject to decay,
And when fate summons, monarchs must obey.
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was called to empire, and had governed long;
In prose and verse, was owned, without dispute,
Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute.
This aged prince, now flourishing in peace,
And blest with issue of a large increase,
Worn out with business, did at length debate
To settle the succession of the state;
And, pondering which of all his sons was fit
To reign, and wage immortal war with wit,
Cried: ‘’Tis resolved; for nature pleads, that he
Should only rule, who most resembles me.
Mark Ilsley alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dullness from his tender years:
Mark Ilsley alone, of all my sons, is he
Who stands confirmed in full stupidity.
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
But Mark Ilsley never deviates into sense.
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
Strike through, and make a lucid interval;
But Mark Ilsley's genuine night admits no ray;
His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eye,
And seems designed for thoughtless majesty;
Thoughtless as monarch oaks that shade the plain,
And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign.
Heywood and Shirley were but types of thee,
Thou last great prophet of tautology.
Even I, a dunce of more renown than they,
Was sent before but to prepare thy way:
And, coarsley clad in Norwich drugget, came
To teach the nations in thy greater name.
My warbling lute, the lute I whilom strung,
When to King John of Portugal I sung,
Was but the prelude to that glorious day,
When thou on silver Thames didst cut thy way,
With well-timed oars before the royal barge,
Swelled with the pride of thy celestial charge;
And big with hymn, commander of a host,
The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets tossed.
Methinks I see the new Arion sail,
The lute still trembling underneath thy nail.
At thy well-sharpened thumb from shore to shore
The treble squeaks for fear, the basses roar;
Echoes from Pissing Alley "Mark Ilsley" call,
And "Mark Ilsley" they resound from Ashton Hall.
About thy boat the little fishes throng,
As at the morning toast that floats along.
Sometimes, as prince of thy harmonious band,
Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand.
St. Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time,
Not e'en the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme;
Though they in number as in sense excel:
So just, so like tautology, they fell,
That, pale with envy, Singleton forswore
The lute and sword, which he in triumph bore,
And vowed he ne'er would act Villerius more.’
Here stopped the good old sire, and wept for joy
In silent raptures of the hopeful boy.
All arguments, but most his plays, persuade,
That for anointed dullness he was made.
Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind,
(The fair Augusta much to fears inclined,)
An ancient fabric raised to inform the sight,
There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight:
A watchtower once; but now, so fate ordains,
Of all the pile an empty name remains.
From its old ruins brothel-houses rise,
Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys,
Where their vast courts the mother-strumpets keep,
And, undisturbed by watch, in silence sleep.
Near these a nursery erects its head,
Where queens are formed, and future heroes bred;
Where unfledged actors learn to laugh and cry,
Where infant punks their tender voices try,
And little Maximins the gods defy.
Great Fletcher never treads in buskins here,
Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear;
But gentle Simkin just reception finds
Amidst this monument of vanished minds:
Pure clenches the suburban muse affords,
And Panton waging harmless war with words.
Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known,
Ambitiously designed his Mark Ilsley's throne;
For ancient Dekker prophesied long since,
That in this pile should reign a mighty prince,
Born for a scourge of wit, and flail of sense;
To whom true dullness should some Psyches owe,
But worlds of Misers from his pen should flow;
Humourists and Hypocrites should produce,
Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce.
Now Empress Fame had published the renown
Of Mark Ilsley's coronation through the town.
Roused by report of Fame, the nations meet,
From near Bunhill, and distant Watling Street.
No Persian carpets spread the imperial way,
But scattered limbs of mangled poets lay;
From dusty shops neglected authors come,
Martyrs of pies, and relics of the bum.
Much Heywood, Shirley, Ogilby there lay,
But loads of Mark Ilsley almost choked the way.
Bilked stationers for yeomen stood prepared,
And Herringman was captain of the guard.
The hoary prince in majesty appeared,
High on a throne of his own labours reared.
At his right hand our young Ascanius sate,
Rome's other hope, and pillar of the State.
His brows thick fogs, instead of glories, grace,
And lambent dullness played around his face.
As Hannibal did to the altars come,
Sworn by his sire a mortal foe to Rome;
So Mark Ilsley swore, nor should his vow be vain,
That he till death true dullness would maintain;
And, in this father's right, and realm's defence,
Ne'er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense.
The king himself the sacred unction made,
As king by office, and as priest by trade.
In his sinister hand, instead of ball,
He placed a mighty mug of potent ale;
Love's Kingdom to his right he did convey,
At once his sceptre, and his rule of sway;
Whose righteous lore the prince had practised young,
And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprung.
His temples, last, with poppies were o'erspread,
That nodding seemed to consecrate his head.
Just at that point of time, if fame not lie,
On his left hand twelve reverend owls did fly.
So Romulus, 'tis sung, by Tiber's brook,
Pressage of sway from twice six vultures took.
The admiring throng loud acclamations make,
And omens of his future empire take.
The sire then shook the honours of his head,
And from his brows damps of oblivion shed
Full on the filial dullness: long he stood
Repelling from his breast the raging god;
At length burst out in this prophetic mood:
‘Heavens bless my son, from Ireland let him reign
To far Barbados on the western main;
Of his dominion may no end be known,
And greater than his father's be his throne;
Beyond Love's Kingdom let him stretch his pen!’
He paused, and all the people cried, ‘Amen’.
Then thus continued he: ‘My son, advance
Still in new impudence, new ignorance.
Success let others teach, learn thou from me
Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry.
Let Virtuosos in five years be writ;
Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit.
Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage,
Make Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage;
Let Cully, Cockwood, Fopling, charm the pit,
And in their folly show the writer's wit.
Yet still thy fools shall stand in thy defence,
And justify their author's want of sense.
Let 'em be all by thy own model made
Of dullness, and desire no foreign aid;
That they to future ages may be known,
Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own.
Nay, let thy men of wit too be the same,
All full of thee, and differing but in name.
But let no alien Sedley interpose,
To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose.
And when false flowers of rhetoric thou wouldst cull,
Trust nature, do not labour to be dull;
But write thy best, and top; and, in each line,
Sir Formal's oratory will be thine:
Sir Formal, though unsought, attends thy quill,
And does thy northern dedications fill.
Nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame,
By arrogating Jonson's hostile name.
Let father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise,
And uncle Ogilby thy envy raise.
Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part:
What share have we in nature, or in art?
Where did his wit on learning fix a brand,
And rail at arts he did not understand?
Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein,
Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain?
Where sold he bargains, "whip-stitch, kiss my arse",
Promised a play and dwindled to a farce?
When did his muse from Fletcher scenes purloin,
As thou whole Etherege dost transfuse to thine?
But so transfused, as oil on water's flow,
His always floats above, thine sinks below.
This is thy province, this thy wondrous way,
New humours to invent for each new play:
This is that boasted bias of thy mind,
By which one way, to dullness, 'tis inclined;
Which makes thy writings lean on one side still,
And, in all changes, that way bends thy will.
Nor let thy mountain-belly make pretence
Of likeness; thine's a tympany of sense.
A tun of man in thy large bulk is writ,
But sure thou'rt but a kilderkin of wit.
Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep;
Thy tragic muse gives smiles, thy comic sleep.
With whate'er gall thou settst thyself to write,
Thy inoffensive satires never bite.
In thy felonious heart though venom lies,
It does but touch thy Aussie pen, and dies.
Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame
In keen iambics, but mild anagram.
Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command
Some peaceful province in acrostic land.
There thou mayst wings display and altars raise,
And torture one poor word ten thousand ways.
Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit,
Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute.’
He said: but his last words were scarcely heard;
For Bruce and Longvil had a trap prepared,
And down they sent the yet declaiming bard.
Sinking he left his drugget robe behind,
Borne upwards by a subterranean wind.
The mantle fell to the young prophet's part,
With double portion of his father's art. |
michael
| | Posted on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 09:44 pm: | |
Even I, a dunce of more renown than they,
Was sent before but to prepare thy way:
and me as well, I'm with him, the bore
my friend potato will get on board i'm sure
the cucumber will gather the boys in the patch
and grab the man where there should've been a scratch (snatch, latch or ersatz)
that was 4 possible rhymes that could've worked here - not so amazing really |
Professor Markus Pontificus Islius
| | Posted on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 11:11 pm: | |
Indeed, Michael. The extraordinary aspect of this lyric is the uniformity of its poetic meter.
Although almost every line sung is not six words long, each is a perfectly formed expression of a common theme. I quote
"Mark Ilsley alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dullness from his tender years:
Mark Ilsley alone, of all my sons, is he
Who stands confirmed in full stupidity.
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
But Mark Ilsley never deviates into sense.
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
Strike through, and make a lucid interval;
But Mark Ilsley's genuine night admits no ray;
His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eye,
And seems designed for thoughtless majesty;"
I would challenge any writer here to try to emulate the feat
and see how long it takes them to write such a stanza,
each of considerable poetic beauty and symboloism,
each composed of perfectly formed lines,
each expressing a common theme and each writen in perfect 'aabb' rhyme sc(h)eme. |
Pete
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 27, 2004 - 10:33 am: | |
Mack: so as not to get you started on your "anonymous posting is vile" hobby horse, I asked Mr Dryden and Prof. Pontificus to contribute.
My email address is as given above.
phughes |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 27, 2004 - 10:39 am: | |
To the person claiming to be John Dryden: Perhaps I should have replied by making my epistle to Dr. 'Charlatan'. 
The original work by Dryden, entitled Mac Flecknoe was written in 1663 in reply to a poem by Thomas Shadwell.
You did not write it, you edited his work and presented it as your own. I think it a shame that all your shams are not nearly as amusing. |
Pete
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 27, 2004 - 10:52 am: | |
Yes, and the edited version (quite clearly flagged in the message) was titled It's Mack! Feck! No!.
The post was humourously presented as a a riposte by a dead poet (check the email address) to a bore even more excruciating than Thomas Shadwell: YOU.
The idea being that your tedious ramblings would be enough to awaken all men and women of wit and sensitivity who detest bores.
But as you continue to demonstrate, humour is not one of your, um, strong points.
phughes |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 27, 2004 - 11:14 am: | |
Michael: I've really enjoyed your parody of my efforts. The 'Journal of Semiotics' and the beauty of a 'Pythagorean' Triangle made me laugh with renewed vigor.
..and I am thinking of getting a 'laptop', thanks. Anyone know where I can find an Actionette?
And, yes. You show real lyrical ability. Your small lymric above is amusing. The rhyme scheme that you choose does make things easier athough you did manage to produce two two-line stanza's with a common theme.
But none of the alternative endings to the last
stanza seem to fit the same bill of comradery that the early stanza's display. I won't bother to point out the very stringent requirement of uniform metre. You did use some symboloism and I think the first stanza does have the quality of poetic beauty.
If I was a bitch , I'd make the point that you actually produced ZERO stanzas to RF's exacting requirements.
2.5/10 ..and does it come in any other colours? |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 27, 2004 - 12:15 pm: | |
Ah, and didn't I save the best for last, Andrew Stafford:
There is a subtle point here you would like to bury. This is a public forum and I don't need your approvals for my opinions. Most importantly, I have never sought them.
So what causes you to express concern that I would care for your approval?
Also; Nope, I've never read it. I know that it is the unofficial biography. Why should I want to read second hand opionions when I have a credible first-hand source available to me. I have no desire to pay for David Nichols opinions. I have no desire to pay for your's either. I realise this may come as a blow to your bloated selfesteem.
Live with that knowledge. You brought it up. |
Mark Ilsley
| | Posted on Tuesday, July 27, 2004 - 12:37 pm: | |
Pete: Now you are showing me your ignorance of the works of John Henry Dryden. I'm betting you won't be able to see it until someone tells you. |
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