He himself said,
he was not master of the school--
(though he had apparent charge)
He acted as a headmaster would act.
No doubt of that--
perhaps it was in his deeds.

Through that fall semester
others made for him claims,
but he was silent about what was said;
and he was ever around-- appearing
for special events on special days;

He said and quietly so, “Praesopitus says.”

One day he whom we called Praesopitus
called fortth all students to Meredith Hall.
When they had settled down, he said.
"All will have recess one day a week.
We’ll sup at 6 with wine and fellowship.
We'll be kind to children and
watch them play. We will visit
the imprisoned, give to beggers drink,
feed the hungry, clothe those naked and cold."

Was the headmaster a Praesopitus?
We know him truly as headmaster,
and only problematically as a Praesopitus.

Then he by that name Praesopitus
at a special supper surprised all attending
by calling for the demolition of the school—
all the buildings and the grounds,
all upon which the students depended.

Questions came—
no satisfactory answers were given.
Departed they, the students away,
from the man called Praesopitus.
Traveled back to their homes,
reunions with friends.

But unbeknown to faculty and students,
Praesopitus, in a generous scheme
of reorganization, had arranged for
a new, altogether superior campus
to be built a distance away.

v

Looked up 'praesopitus' and not finding it Google suggested
'praepositus' = provost/headmaster. Knowing you're way too
learned for your own good, I assumed you were playing with
words. 'Sopitus' has to do with 'sleep' or 'lulled to sleep'.
Is this a term from you or somewhere for an ineffectual and/or
deceptive headmaster? Riddled with riddle...

hey V

(04-04-2012, 02:59 AM)Veronique Wrote:  He himself said, ...could drop the comma
he was not master of the school--
(though he had apparent charge)
He acted as a headmaster would act.
No doubt of that--
perhaps it was in his deeds...."deeds" felt a little flat; I wanted an actual example or description. could just be me

Through that fall semester
others made for him claims, ..."for him claims" felt just slightly awkward
but he was silent about what was said;
and he was ever around-- appearing
for special events on special days;

He said, and quietly so, “Praesopitus says.”

One day he whom we called Praesopitus ...slightly awkward. suggestion: "One day the man we called Praesopitus"
called fortth all students to Meredith Hall. ...watch the spelling on "forth".
When they had settled down, he said.
"All will have recess one day a week.
We’ll sup at 6 with wine and fellowship.
We'll be kind to children and
watch them play. We will visit
the imprisoned, give to beggers drink,
feed the hungry, clothe those naked and cold."

Was the headmaster a Praesopitus?
We know him truly as headmaster,
and only problematically as a Praesopitus.

Then he by that name Praesopitus
at a special supper surprised all attending
by calling for the demolition of the school—
all the buildings and the grounds,
all upon which the students depended....I didn't get enough of the students depending on this building from the poem; this line could have been taken away with little impact on me

Questions came—
no satisfactory answers were given.
Departed they, the students away, ...possibly switch the comma to "the students, away
from the man called Praesopitus.
Traveled back to their homes,
reunions with friends....again, makes it seem like the "dependence" of the stanza above is slightly exaggerated, if everyone makes it back home OK
But unbeknown to faculty and students,
Praesopitus, in a generous scheme
of reorganization, had arranged for
a new, altogether superior campus
to be built a distance away....the last four lines felt a bit more direct than I would have liked; read more like a book or the end of a fairytale than an actual poem to me

v

interesting read; kept me going until the end. hope this is of use

(04-05-2012, 04:32 AM)Philatone Wrote:  hey V

[quote='Veronique' pid='93722' dateline='1333475986']
He himself said, ...could drop the comma
he was not master of the school--
(though he had apparent charge)
He acted as a headmaster would act.
No doubt of that--
perhaps it was in his deeds...."deeds" felt a little flat; I wanted an actual example or description. could just be me

Through that fall semester
others made for him claims, ..."for him claims" felt just slightly awkward
but he was silent about what was said;
and he was ever around-- appearing
for special events on special days;

He said, and quietly so, “Praesopitus says.”

One day he whom we called Praesopitus ...slightly awkward. suggestion: "One day the man we called Praesopitus"
called fortth all students to Meredith Hall. ...watch the spelling on "forth".
When they had settled down, he said.
"All will have recess one day a week.
We’ll sup at 6 with wine and fellowship.
We'll be kind to children and
watch them play. We will visit
the imprisoned, give to beggers drink,
feed the hungry, clothe those naked and cold."

Was the headmaster a Praesopitus?
We know him truly as headmaster,
and only problematically as a Praesopitus.

Then he by that name Praesopitus
at a special supper surprised all attending
by calling for the demolition of the school—
all the buildings and the grounds,
all upon which the students depended....I didn't get enough of the students depending on this building from the poem; this line could have been taken away with little impact on me

Questions came—
no satisfactory answers were given.
Departed they, the students away, ...possibly switch the comma to "the students, away
from the man called Praesopitus.
Traveled back to their homes,
reunions with friends....again, makes it seem like the "dependence" of the stanza above is slightly exaggerated, if everyone makes it back home OK
But unbeknown to faculty and students,
Praesopitus, in a generous scheme
of reorganization, had arranged for
a new, altogether superior campus
to be built a distance away....the last four lines felt a bit more direct than I would have liked; read more like a book or the end of a fairytale than an actual poem to me

v

interesting read; kept me going until the end. hope this is of use

******
I know,

I'll never gete the 'hang' of poetry.
What I write is prose. I admit.

So what am I doing?

Irritating people, probably.
Doing what I always spoke against-- relying
on ideas, when my favorite poet, Ranson,
sought to eject all ideas from poetry.

A Kemnyon Review article many, many years
ago (one 'many' would have sufficed)...
I have it somewhere. I'll find it and post
another comment.

I rememner the phrase 'pure poetry' -- poetry
without idea.

hmmmmmm ...

Thanks for the comments. I was trying to
demonstrate 'discernment' and 'commitment'--
two terms central to religious language.

It's better not to have 'anything' in mind
when scribbling a poem, except locations of
the Irish whiskey bottle and the back porch.

reading it yet again, I certainly see more prose roots. that being said, it only stood out most in that last stanza for me. perhaps the progression is too linear? or more pauses done by the speaker to reflect on a specific aspect? i'm not quite sure, and far from the best person to be giving advice, yet I do think those factors could help give you that 'poetic' aspect you appear to think you're missing. whatever you may decide, know that I approached this as a poem because that is what it is.

your headmaster character is interesting; he seems like a nice man, though perhaps extravagant and drawn heavily to ideals. in some ways, the piece could be more compelling if we see at least some negatives from his decisions (e.g., focusing on a kid who couldn't make it home so easily or maybe had no one to turn to); everything feels too perfect for me. where is the conflict?

(04-05-2012, 06:47 AM)Philatone Wrote:  reading it yet again, I certainly see more prose roots. that being said, it only stood out most in that last stanza for me. perhaps the progression is too linear? or more pauses done by the speaker to reflect on a specific aspect? i'm not quite sure, and far from the best person to be giving advice, yet I do think those factors could help give you that 'poetic' aspect you appear to think you're missing. whatever you may decide, know that I approached this as a poem because that is what it is.

your headmaster character is interesting; he seems like a nice man, though perhaps extravagant and drawn heavily to ideals. in some ways, the piece could be more compelling if we see at least some negatives from his decisions (e.g., focusing on a kid who couldn't make it home so easily or maybe had no one to turn to); everything feels too perfect for me. where is the conflict?

**
Praesopitus is Jesus.

The campus to be built is Heaven.

The poem(?) is based on the Book of Matthew.

The question of identity.

.
"What I write is prose. I admit."

What I write is milkshakes. While my intent is poetic,
they usually end up strawberry.


"So what am I doing?
Irritating people, probably."


This is holy work. I salute you and pray for your success.
(Though, technically, you've been too interesting to be
a success recently. Well, whatever, I salute your failure.)

Ejecting ideas is hard work, though, if I were looking for a
congenial medium, poetry fits the bill.


"Praesopitus is Jesus."

Jesus? Where's randy-the-sex-starved-goat?

"pure poetry" reminds me of Neruda's piece:
---------------------------------------------


Toward An Impure Poetry
by Pablo Neruda

It is good, at certain hours of the day and night, to look closely at the world of objects at rest. Wheels that have crossed long, dusty distances with their mineral and vegetable burdens, sacks from the coal bins, barrels, and baskets, handles and hafts for the carpenter's tool chest. From them flow the contacts of man with the earth, like a text for all troubled lyricists. The used surfaces of things, the wear that the hands give to things, the air, tragic at times, pathetic at others, of such things---all lend a curious attactiveness to the reality of the world that should not be underprized.

In them one sees the confused impurity of the human condition, the massing of things, the use and disuse of substance, footprints and fingerprints, the abiding presence of the human engulfing all artifacts, inside and out.

Let that be the poetry we search for: worn with the hand's obligations, as by acids, steeped in sweat and in smoke, smelling of the lilies and urine, spattered diversely by the trades that we live by, inside the law or beyond it.

A poetry impure as the clothing we wear, or our bodies, soup-stained, soiled with our shameful behavior, our wrinkles and vigils and dreams, observations and prophecies, declarations of loathing and love, idylls and beasts, the shocks of encounter, political loyalties, denials and doubts, affirmations and taxes.

The holy canons of madrigal, the mandates of touch, smell, taste, sight, hearing, the passion for justice, sexual desire, the sea sounding---willfully rejecting and accepting nothing: the deep penetraion of things in the transports of love, a consummate poetry soiled by the pigeon's claw, ice-marked and tooh-marked, bitten delicately with our sweatdrops and usage, perhaps. Till the instrument so restlessly played yields us the comfort of its surfaces, and the woods show the knottiest suavities shaped by the pride of the tool. Blossom and water and wheat kernel share one precious consistency: the sumptuous appeal of the tactile.

Let no one forget them. Melancholy, old mawkishness impure and unflawed, fruits of a fabulous species lost to the memory, cast away in a frenzy's abandonment---moonlight, the swan in the gathering darkness, all hackneyed endearments: surely that is the poet's concern, essential and absolute.

Those who shun the "bad taste" of things will fall flat on the ice.
.

ah, I wish you had not told me that, V.
I want more of a question of identity, or perhaps something more than a question of identity. i'm reading this an extremely exact replica of the stories from the bible--everything is an allusion practically. For what purpose? So the Jesus story gets a modern facelift; is it to show how He would operate in our times?

Perhaps it is just me, but it feels dangerously close to the original, and I'm not sure what I am supposed to take from it. It does not give me any twists that I noticed, nothing to subvert it, so I can read and like what I read, but move on relatively untouched once I'm finished.
I'm not sure if I'm making sense, feel free to critique the critique, as I'm bound to be missing too many things

[quote='Philatone' pid='93801' dateline='1333597481']
ah, I wish you had not told me that, V.
I want more of a question of identity, or perhaps something more than a question of identity. i'm reading this an extremely exact replica of the stories from the bible--everything is an allusion practically. For what purpose? So the Jesus story gets a modern facelift; is it to show how He would operate in our times?

Perhaps it is just me, but it feels dangerously close to the original, and I'm not sure what I am supposed to take from it. It does not give me any twists that I noticed, nothing to subvert it, so I can read and like what I read, but move on relatively untouched once I'm finished.

Wait ... the predicate of this confession doesn't seem to
'agree' with the first part. It doesn't give you twists,
nothing to subvert it, and you want something that would
leave you 'touched,' not untouched.

Now, you are moving on untouched. Being 'touched' is good.
Being touched is a warm holon more than the 'sun' of its
parts.

I'll wait for your reply before moving on, down.
the road less traveled and unserved by AAA.

One more thing ...

I wanted it to be a parable, but it came through as
more parabolic, Do you not think the Book of Matthew
is all about identity? about shifting and fussing and
hiding and coming out and thrusting and withdrawing--

somewhat similiar to the methods of the Roman General
Quintas Fabius Maximus who drove Hannibal nuts.

"Who is this guy?"

... we still don't know.

Right now he's washing his dad's Cadillac
and later plans to finish the sun deck for
his mother.
V

Praesopitus=before death

Praesopitus
eat me
drink me
and in three days

A fitting piece for Easter!

Dale

hey V

yeah, I want to be left with a greater impact than the one I felt when I finished. Not that I was empty--I liked what I read; agree with dale that the timing is perfect as well--but I didn't feel anything that would last over time, something I would linger over for some time after reading. again, it is probably just me. i'm familiar enough with the original stories, and this poem gave me another version through more modern eyes. in fact, it reads to me like a summary, which is probably the reason why it's impact wasn't as great for me as it could have been if it focused on a specific event--the declaration that the school would close, the building of the new one, the talk at Meredith hall.

i'm not denying the identity aspect. in fact, the conflict of deciding who Praesopitus is interests me as much as the question of who the speaker is to a degree.

have to go, but i hope i'm making myself clearer. just let me know!

(04-06-2012, 01:30 AM)Philatone Wrote:  hey V

yeah, I want to be left with a greater impact than the one I felt when I finished. Not that I was empty--I liked what I read; agree with dale that the timing is perfect as well--but I didn't feel anything that would last over time, something I would linger over for some time after reading. again, it is probably just me. i'm familiar enough with the original stories, and this poem gave me another version through more modern eyes. in fact, it reads to me like a summary, which is probably the reason why it's impact wasn't as great for me as it could have been if it focused on a specific event--the declaration that the school would close, the building of the new one, the talk at Meredith hall.

i'm not denying the identity aspect. in fact, the conflict of deciding who Praesopitus is interests me as much as the question of who the speaker is to a degree.

have to go, but i hope i'm making myself clearer. just let me know!

**********************
We have scrambled about on this long enough--
a satisfactory scramble to be sure.

delighted
V

fair enough, agreed