CHUMKI SHARMA OF CALCUTTA IS MARCH MADNESS CHAMPION!

AFTER EVERY RAIN I LEAVE THE PLACE FOR SOMETHING CALLED HOME

WHO MADE ME FEEL BY FEELING NOTHING

I WISH YOU WERE JUST YOU IN MY DREAMS

THE LARKS CRY OUT AND NOT WITH MUSIC

This is the FINAL FOUR, Chumki Sharma, Maura Stanton, Lori Desrosiers, Mary Angela Douglas, with the final order of the final four, and champion!
Thanks to all who played.  Congratulations, Chumki  Sharma!

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10 Comments

  1. maryangeladouglas said,

    May 18, 2016 at 4:04 am

    Good choice.

    POETRY AND ITS BANISHMENT

    to John Keats

    I saw Poetry as if it were a golden sea
    and many ships were there, I thought
    and their loveliness, and I cared about this-

    and skiffs of crystal and barges
    of the rare umber.
    and this was a legacy

    and a music that could not go under.
    this was at the begining
    and in the cool of morning

    and the mourning doves
    did not mourn then.
    that came later

    when the sea abated
    and the ships grew plain
    and the light was no longer

    jeweled. with the kingdoms, my kingdoms, shunned.
    and oh they did not want;
    they did not think it meet

    that Poetry could be that sweet
    and such a surcease
    from pain

    and the old names
    the heraldic, the fantastic
    the murmuring lyrical names

    they struck dumb.

    mary angela douglas 17 may 2016

  2. Gary B. Fitzgerald said,

    May 19, 2016 at 12:51 am

    Keats

    Out on the bench before dinner
    writing a poem about sunset
    in the burning ochre light.
    Writing about the victory at twilight
    that proves the value of our fight.
    Unexpectedly, the light was gone
    and I couldn’t see to write.
    Then night, and I never finished
    the poem.

    Copyright 2010 – Ponds and Lawnd: New and Corrected Poems, Gary B. Fitzgerald

  3. Gary B. Fitzgerald said,

    May 19, 2016 at 1:00 am

    To John

    “What poets were you influenced by?
    Who most inspired your poetry?”

    Well, I replied, I’d have to say
    it was sea gulls. And Jackson Pollock.
    Sailing ships and timber wolves
    and everyone who ever died.

    (Reality itself is not poetic,
    just its origin and fruits)
    The seed and the flower.

    I don’t understand, you said.

    Being, my friend! Being dead!
    Just this. Who cares why?
    That’s what inspires!
    The physics of quantum,
    the quality of light,
    all the tears that were ever cried,
    the emptiness and the power.
    The beauty of the mystery.

    I still don’t understand.

    That’s it! Not understanding!
    Negative capability.

    Copyright 2010 – Ponds and Lawns: New and Corrected Poems, Gary B. Fitzgerald

    • Gary B. Fitzgerald said,

      May 19, 2016 at 1:01 am

      Just having a little fun. Sorry.

  4. Gary B. Fitzgerald said,

    May 19, 2016 at 2:16 am

    There ain’t no money in poetry,
    that’s what sets the poet free.

    Guy Clark 1941-2016

  5. Mr. Woo said,

    May 20, 2016 at 8:32 pm

    Beautiful, beautiful lines. My thanks and blessings to these poets. Chumki Sharma’s line for me is like stepping barefoot out of a cafe to toss your shoes into a fountain.

    Though I just prefer Mary Angela Douglas’ line. It stabs me, here, with starkness sorrowful and human.

    • thomasbrady said,

      May 20, 2016 at 8:48 pm

      Mr. Woo,

      Thanks!

      For the Final Four, we did on-the-ground voting. A heavy metal fan voted for Douglas’ “The Larks Cry Out And Not With Music,” thinking it “dark,” which isn’t quite how I thought of the line. I love how you describe Chumki Sharma’s line. In the voting, hers had the widest appeal—it hits the most places in your brain?

      • Mr. Woo said,

        May 20, 2016 at 9:30 pm

        You’re very welcome,

        On-the-ground voting, that’s wonderful!

        And yes, agreed, Sharma’s hit the most places in my brain, certainly. I was astonished to see in the comments section recently a link to the essay by Turner and Poppel, The Neural Lyre. Absorbing stuff. Poetry and the Brain are my two biggest passions; foolishly I couldn’t fathom that people were doing serious research on this.

        One of the many unexpected treasures to be found on Scarriet!

  6. maryangeladouglas said,

    May 20, 2016 at 9:53 pm

    Since there are a few comments on my line here about the larks I will say the assessment as stark is true. My emotional reference point for this poem was manifold; the fairy tale “The Tongue Cut Sparrow” which I believe is Chinese or Japanese, and the atmosphere under Stalin for poetry, and specifically the Silver Age persecuted lyric poets Osip Mandelstam and Anna Akhmatova and Boris Pasternak. As well as the current anti lyrical trend in modern poetry (after Yeats, and presently). The larks cry out with pain and not music because of persecution, negligence, and as a warning of the kind of danger, catastrophe of the soul in such a repressive atmosphere. It is maybe, Cassandra like in tone.

    Not Heavy Metal, however. Shostakovich Symphony No. 14 is the musical reference.

    WHOLE POEM ( I KNOW I POSTED IT BEFORE BUT IT SEEMS APPROPRIATE TO DO SO AGAIN)…

    HOW WOULD I SAIL WITH YOU, STRANGE MARINERS

    “Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days! ”
    -William Butler Yeats, To The Rose Upon The Rood Of Time

    forgetting the seam between star and star,
    remember radiance! I cried to the wall,
    but I was forgotten, though ridden with brightness;

    never in love with the particles. judged by those who were
    ripping apart with jeweled propensity, lenses:
    the wing from the flights

    till the larks cry out
    and not with music.

    praised, the destroyers

    relentless Forever

    the parters of waves from each other.
    the fizzlers of fusion,
    roaring at starlight

    and amber crests of song.

    strange mariners, you do wrong
    the diamond Light;
    how would I sail with you?

    plucking the rose from the Rose;

    blow torching the snows-
    cocksure not to know
    the rose as Whole and visionary.

    demeaning the Soul as merely, wonder,
    you- parry-
    focused on plunder.

    mary angela douglas 6.13 january 2016

  7. maryangeladouglas said,

    May 24, 2016 at 7:23 pm

    WE MOVE THROUGH SPACE

    we move through space as through
    transparencies of angels;
    through time, as though

    we never had left home.
    and in the tower rooms
    sometimes, we feel neglected;

    yet sometimes feel,
    we’re truly not alone.
    God on the bright winged days

    is living still.
    and high birdsong among
    the sheltering trees.

    and all that’s made of anguish
    sifts like snowfall
    beyond the mind’s

    imaginative seas.
    still may we write in gold
    our soul’s deep journey

    or linger long
    in childhood’s violet wood
    or carry in our hearts

    the great locked secrets
    of all that’s true,
    and beautiful

    and good.
    let news of the outside, rumors
    cast away

    and leave us here
    as contemplation’s wards.
    that God set between us and the dead-

    forever vivid, each noetic Word.
    until the day
    the dream is vindicated;

    accusing fact stands cowering
    near the door
    and flees into the night

    that’s never ending
    while we in hope depart
    for green lit shores.

    mary angela douglas 24 may 2016


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