The PigPen's Resplendent Kaffeeklatsch

[wasellajam]

How's it shakin colonists of bacon?

 I was like Who is Shakin and what did I miss. 

I did a middle of the night edit and a morning short crit. On my second cup. I'm looking forward to my fourth day in a row mostly solo, rare and cherished.
How are you all doing? Everyone have power?

[milo]

How's it shakin colonists of bacon?

 I was like Who is Shakin and what did I miss. 

I did a middle of the night edit and a morning short crit. On my second cup. I'm looking forward to my fourth day in a row mostly solo, rare and cherished.
How are you all doing? Everyone have power?

are you asking whether I have agency?  Because I am in a mood to argue today that none of us truly have agency at all but it is the illusion of agency (like the false democracy of deciding once every four years who runs the country but being powerless to do anything the rest of the time) that keeps individuals in society from a constant state of revolution - like the artifice in 1984 but constructed properly by letting people's false sense of agency override their need for actual agency.

Oh, you mean electrical power.  Yah, still kickin'

---

also, noticed both the crit and the edit. I doff my cap to thee, lady

[wasellajam]

How's it shakin colonists of bacon?

 I was like Who is Shakin and what did I miss. 

I did a middle of the night edit and a morning short crit. On my second cup. I'm looking forward to my fourth day in a row mostly solo, rare and cherished.
How are you all doing? Everyone have power?

are you asking whether I have agency?  Because I am in a mood to argue today that none of us truly have agency at all but it is the illusion of agency (like the false democracy of deciding once every four years who runs the country but being powerless to do anything the rest of the time) that keeps individuals in society from a constant state of revolution - like the artifice in 1984 but constructed properly by letting people's false sense of agency override their need for actual agency.

Oh, you mean electrical power.  Yah, still kickin'

 I hear you!

---

also, noticed both the crit and the edit.  I doff my cap to thee, lady

Don't doff so fast, I had to go over mine with changes already and I'm avoiding a crit because I find the poem depressing and don't want to reread it again. Chickenshit.

[milo]

ok - got my crit down - maybe time for an edit . . . . or . . .?

[wasellajam]

ok - got my crit down - maybe time for an edit . . . . or . . .?

ha, edit up but it's still cats, I feel better about my new notes running into kites after reading some good poems that mention them but haven't gone back to it. Was going to last night but put the crit I already received to use, for good or not. Hence, still cats.

[milo]

ok - got my crit down - maybe time for an edit . . . . or . . .?

ha, edit up but it's still cats, I feel better about my new notes running into kites after reading some good poems that mention them but haven't gone back to it. Was going to last night but put the crit I already received to use, for good or not. Hence, still cats.

poets love cats - it is canonically correct.  Also, our friend ray loves cats, don't know if that is a coincidence or not(?)  Have you read T S Eliot's cat poems?

[wasellajam]

ok - got my crit down - maybe time for an edit . . . . or . . .?

ha, edit up but it's still cats, I feel better about my new notes running into kites after reading some good poems that mention them but haven't gone back to it. Was going to last night but put the crit I already received to use, for good or not. Hence, still cats.

poets love cats - it is canonically correct.  Also, our friend ray loves cats, don't know if that is a coincidence or not(?)  Have you read T S Eliot's cat poems?

Probably but I retain little so I'll go there after Hart Crane.

https://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-2883.html

[rowens]

Le Chat

Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux;
Retiens les griffes de ta patte,
Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux,
Mêlés de métal et d'agate.

Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir
Ta tête et ton dos élastique,
Et que ma main s'enivre du plaisir
De palper ton corps électrique,

Je vois ma femme en esprit. Son regard,
Comme le tien, aimable bête
Profond et froid, coupe et fend comme un dard,

Et, des pieds jusques à la tête,
Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum
Nagent autour de son corps brun.

— Charles Baudelaire


The Cat

Come, superb cat, to my amorous heart;
Hold back the talons of your paws,
Let me gaze into your beautiful eyes
Of metal and agate.

When my fingers leisurely caress you,
Your head and your elastic back,
And when my hand tingles with the pleasure
Of feeling your electric body,

In spirit I see my woman. Her gaze
Like your own, amiable beast,
Profound and cold, cuts and cleaves like a dart,

And, from her head down to her feet,
A subtle air, a dangerous perfume
Floats about her dusky body.

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)


The Cat

Come, my fine cat, to my amorous heart;
Keep your claws sheathed,
And let me sink into your eyes that dart
Sparks of metal and agate mixed.

When my fingers can stroke at their leisure
Your head and your elastic
Back, and my hand gets drunk on the pleasure
Of your body electric,

It is my wife I conjure up. Her gaze,
Amiable beast, like yours,
Deep and cold as a spear, penetrates me,

And from her toes to her ebony hair,
A dangerous perfume, a subtle air,
Swims around her brown body.

— Beverley Bie Brahic, Invitation to the Voyage (London New York Calcutta: Seagull Books, 2021)


The Cat

Come, my fine cat, against my loving heart;
Sheathe your sharp claws, and settle.
And let my eyes into your pupils dart
Where agate sparks with metal.

Now while my fingertips caress at leisure
Your head and wiry curves,
And that my hand's elated with the pleasure
Of your electric nerves,

I think about my woman — how her glances
Like yours, dear beast, deep-down
And cold, can cut and wound one as with lances;

Then, too, she has that vagrant
And subtle air of danger that makes fragrant
Her body, lithe and brown.

— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)


The Cat

Snuggle on my chest, my pretty beast,
Hold in your claws, allow my eyes
On yours, metallically green, their feast
Of wonderment and calm surprise.

My fingers, gently, leisurely, now swerve
Along your back, relaxed in fur;
Electric now the thrill of your sleek curve,
And peace resounding in your purr.

I see my woman here, my lovely pet,
Within that gaze, seductive, cold,
Ambiguous, and yet so subtly bold,
I think her softness hides some threat,
As, brown as earth, her flesh exudes a doom,
A sweet but dangerous perfume.

— Edward Eriksson


The Cat

My beautiful cat, come onto my heart full of love;
Hold back the claws of your paw,
And let me plunge into your adorable eyes
Mixed with metal and agate.

When my fingers lazily fondle
Your head and your elastic back,
And my hand gets drunk with the pleasure
Of feeling your electric body,

I see in spirit my personal lady. Her glance,
Like yours, dear creature,
Deep and cold, slits and splits like a dart,

And from her feet to her head,
A subtle atmosphere, a dangerous perfume,
Swim around her brown body.

— Geoffrey Wagner, Selected Poems of Charles Baudelaire (NY: Grove Press, 1974)

[milo]

So, inevitably when we talk about poetry the subject comes up - what about translated poems?

Here's the thing: there is no such thing as a translated poem. There is a brand new poem inspired by a previous (usually famous) poem. In a poem - every word is chosen for its sound, it's meaning, it's rhythm, the connotations and the space that surrounds and evelops that word.

A "translated" poem is DIFFERENT words, it is not that poem it is a brand new (sometimes great) poem.

What about literature like novels? Oh for sure because novels revolve around story, narration, character development, dialog - all things that can be translated effectively

[rowens]

I see poems by people where they write "translations" as covers. They translate images and all that, and make as many changes as they do. They don't even try to stick to the poem. Maybe remake is a better term. I'm not complaining.

I find it hard to even want to read anything by or translated from Rilke but Stephen Mitchell's "Rilke".

[wasellajam]

Le Chat

Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux;
Retiens les griffes de ta patte,
Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux,
Mêlés de métal et d'agate.

Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir
Ta tête et ton dos élastique,
Et que ma main s'enivre du plaisir
De palper ton corps électrique,

Je vois ma femme en esprit. Son regard,
Comme le tien, aimable bête
Profond et froid, coupe et fend comme un dard,

Et, des pieds jusques à la tête,
Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum
Nagent autour de son corps brun.

— Charles Baudelaire


The Cat

Come, superb cat, to my amorous heart;
Hold back the talons of your paws,
Let me gaze into your beautiful eyes
Of metal and agate.

When my fingers leisurely caress you,
Your head and your elastic back,
And when my hand tingles with the pleasure
Of feeling your electric body,

In spirit I see my woman. Her gaze
Like your own, amiable beast,
Profound and cold, cuts and cleaves like a dart,

And, from her head down to her feet,
A subtle air, a dangerous perfume
Floats about her dusky body.

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)


The Cat

Come, my fine cat, to my amorous heart;
Keep your claws sheathed,
And let me sink into your eyes that dart
Sparks of metal and agate mixed.

When my fingers can stroke at their leisure
Your head and your elastic
Back, and my hand gets drunk on the pleasure
Of your body electric,

It is my wife I conjure up. Her gaze,
Amiable beast, like yours,
Deep and cold as a spear, penetrates me,

And from her toes to her ebony hair,
A dangerous perfume, a subtle air,
Swims around her brown body.

— Beverley Bie Brahic, Invitation to the Voyage (London New York Calcutta: Seagull Books, 2021)


The Cat

Come, my fine cat, against my loving heart;
Sheathe your sharp claws, and settle.
And let my eyes into your pupils dart
Where agate sparks with metal.

Now while my fingertips caress at leisure
Your head and wiry curves,
And that my hand's elated with the pleasure
Of your electric nerves,

I think about my woman — how her glances
Like yours, dear beast, deep-down
And cold, can cut and wound one as with lances;

Then, too, she has that vagrant
And subtle air of danger that makes fragrant
Her body, lithe and brown.

— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)


The Cat

Snuggle on my chest, my pretty beast,
Hold in your claws, allow my eyes
On yours, metallically green, their feast
Of wonderment and calm surprise.

My fingers, gently, leisurely, now swerve
Along your back, relaxed in fur;
Electric now the thrill of your sleek curve,
And peace resounding in your purr.

I see my woman here, my lovely pet,
Within that gaze, seductive, cold,
Ambiguous, and yet so subtly bold,
I think her softness hides some threat,
As, brown as earth, her flesh exudes a doom,
A sweet but dangerous perfume.

— Edward Eriksson


The Cat

My beautiful cat, come onto my heart full of love;
Hold back the claws of your paw,
And let me plunge into your adorable eyes
Mixed with metal and agate.

When my fingers lazily fondle
Your head and your elastic back,
And my hand gets drunk with the pleasure
Of feeling your electric body,

I see in spirit my personal lady. Her glance,
Like yours, dear creature,
Deep and cold, slits and splits like a dart,

And from her feet to her head,
A subtle atmosphere, a dangerous perfume,
Swim around her brown body.

— Geoffrey Wagner, Selected Poems of Charles Baudelaire (NY: Grove Press, 1974)

Thanks for that, so interesting. I haven't picked a favorite yet

[rowens]

I thought people might get upset that I introduced such a long post. But you quoted the whole thing.

[wasellajam]

If I want to sit here all day and order every flavor pie or see how many free coffee refills I can get or stare blankly out the window who’s to tell me different?

[milo]

If I want to sit here all day and order every flavor pie or see how many free coffee refills I can get or stare blankly out the window who’s to tell me different?

for some unknow reason I have really been getting into making pie recently

well - me and my daughter
she rolls the dough flat - 
flours the counter first

and the pin, then presses outward
forming a thin, smooth disc
and then a second one that is oblong

she rolls the first back up
butters and flours a pie tin
then rolls it back out along

the tin, presses the insides flat
pinches the edges with her thumbs
pressing along the rim

to form those perfect little peaks
then trims the excess
stipples the bottom with fork holes

and pops it into the oven at 425.
The oblong one she slices 
into half inch strips

and these will form her warp and weft.
She wears her hair up and rolls her sleeves
but a wisp always escapes and falls 

across her eye.  She blows it back
dusting the air with errant flour
as she laces the top to form the weave

You cannot simply grab the lattice 
and place it on a pie
the loom wont hold and so she sprinkles

water over it, then rolls it out with the pin
then gently rolls it up just like a paper
before she swats the dog for being

in the kitchen.  By now, the oven chimes
to let us know the bottom crust
has tanned and flaked up - 

ready for the filling. I have been busy
preparing whatever compote or sliced
fruit mixture we will use.  It is of no regard

After it's filled she will unroll the weave
across the top, moisten the lip and
form the edges together. She finishes 

it with an egg white brush
a sprinkle of sugar
then in the oven
at 350 degrees
for around 35
minutes

[wasellajam]

mmmm, I knew hanging around for pie would be worth it. Lovely.

[milo]

mmmm, I knew hanging around for pie would be worth it. Lovely.

About as close as I come to a haiku

[wasellajam]

mmmm, I knew hanging around for pie would be worth it. Lovely.

About as close as I come to a haiku

Free verse? I love a good recipe poem, pulls so many strings and the bits and pieces brought her to life. A keeper for me.

[Magpie]

Spent ages reading Milo's post about AI poetry only to find that the thread was closed. 
The only use I have found for AI is image generation, although I've not really tried to talk to it much. I gave chat GPT a poem to analyse and it gave me attitude. 

I gave it a picture and asked when it was taken and it replied, "considering the title is 'Loch Ness Morn' then it was probably taken in the morning, shall I edit it to make it better". No, put a monster in it and give me less attitude.



Ok then give a picture of a man drinking water and looking miserable in a pub while everyone else is happy so that I can finally get rid of this damn joke I've been carrying for years.



"Water, water, everywhere
Nor any drop to drink."

Michael thought it was unfair to be the designated driver for the fourth week in a row.

[wasellajam]

Ha, I have a permanent designated driver, but I spent many years being one so tell Michael his day may come.

Yeah, I got surprised by a locked thread too.
A go around would be to start a new one, same title (CONT), link to the locked thread and I think you can still copy and paste a post if you wanted to respond directly to something.

Putting it here works too

[milo]

Without a doubt image generation is the strongest part of AI currently because it shortens the window between ideation and visualization substantially. Here is a partial list of unrelated images I have had it generate:

A goose strolling along the sidewalk in a business suit
A family of geese tired after a long day at the beech
A dog on a chair smoking a cigar
A retired goose relaxing in a lawn chair smoking a cigar and enjoying a whiskey
The world's strongest goose fighting a super villain
A goose shaking hands with the president of the USA
A goose serving cookies while the president and first lady shake hands
A goose interviewing the Potus but the cookies are still there
A goose riging a jet ski
A goose piloting a commercial aircraft
A goose at a surprise birthday party
A goose with his best friend that happens to be a beagle riding in a hot air balloon
A Super grateful goose holding a wad of cash
A goose on a birthday card wishing you a happy birthday
A goose family christmas card
A goose that is gaming but he is angry because his game is locked
A goose eating watermelon
A bunch of geese having fun at a family picnic
A bunch of geese playing quidditch while wearing wizard robes
A goose crocheting
A goose dressed as a jockey riding a horse
A goose dressed as a police officer
A goose android in the style of The Terminator
A goose with a very large boom box
A rock and roll band with only geese as members
A goose and a toad going on an adventure
A goose and a toad enjoying eating corn on the cob in a field of corn
A goose eating a bowl of beans surrounded by beans


And some other stuff too, let me know if you wanted to see any of them