# Writing: vernacular forms vs. standard English



## jerry old (Aug 19, 2019)

I am old, way old.  I've lived by myself, or been alone-sometimes my son's 'move in' but there not much company.
I started writing many years ago, primarily due to being lonely.  I scribed, scribble... Several years ago, I got serious about
my writing.  (Nine years ago I lost my internet access, you just can't write with pen and paper once you've become used to
Microsoft Word.
I'm primarily interested in exchanging ideas, form of writing, topics chosen to write about,   basically, all forms of writing.
I consider myself an expert on Emily Dickinson, would love to find others of like interest.


S


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## hypochondriac (Aug 19, 2019)

i need to read up on Emily Dickinson


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## AnnieA (Aug 20, 2019)

jerry r. garner said:


> I consider myself an expert on Emily Dickinson, would love to find others of like interest.



Interesting that a recluse wrote in such an emotionally connecting way.    Copying and pasting my favorite of her poems below.  It's so haunting and full of yearning; I've always wondered if the absence of this person in her life contributed to her isolation.

The last line is particularly powerful.  "It goads me, like the goblin bee,That will not state its sting."    To me it means that she'd rather experience true physical pain than the painful emotions of loss and longing.  And yes, I'm projecting, but isn't that how we interpret poetry and song lyrics? 

And welcome to the forum!   I love how you describe yourself!

If you were coming in the fall

If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.  

If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemens land.

If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.





_       20_​


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## Liberty (Aug 20, 2019)

jerry r. garner said:


> I am old, way old.  I've lived by myself, or been alone-sometimes my son's 'move in' but there not much company.
> I started writing many years ago, primarily due to being lonely.  I scribed, scribble... Several years ago, I got serious about
> my writing.  (Nine years ago I lost my internet access, you just can't write with pen and paper once you've become used to
> Microsoft Word.
> ...


You have found a kindred sole in the admiration of Emily Dickinson...she once said, when ask about having a vocation outside the home something like  I have found life so startling I can't imagine anything beyond my home.   Love when she talks of funeral processions and life itself.
Of course she is known for her fav poem " Hope" -
*“Hope” is the thing with feathers - (314)*
BY EMILY DICKINSON
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.


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## Pepper (Aug 20, 2019)

My book club read a wonderful novel starring Emily Dickinson titled "Miss Emily" by Irish author Nuala O'Connor.  Great read!


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## jerry old (Aug 20, 2019)

Liberty said:


> You have found a kindred sole in the admiration of Emily Dickinson...she once said, when ask about having a vocation outside the home something like  I have found life so startling I can't imagine anything beyond my home.   Love when she talks of funeral processions and life itself.
> Of course she is known for her fav poem " Hope" -
> *“Hope” is the thing with feathers - (314)*
> BY EMILY DICKINSON
> ...




She has another poem "...Hope is over there (behind) the chest-not sure about  
behind, but she has lines that stick in your mind, reverberating, popping out at the most peculiar times.
Emily was a recluse. I'm a recluse, no doubt that is why #303, 'The soul selects her own society'
has such great meaning to me.
What's your take on #1463, "A route of evanescence,'  that last line, 'an easy' Mornings Ride-' has perplexed,
bewildered me for decades.  
You hang out on the site which has all of her poems?  The viewers post comments..., The kiddies have invaded this site,
making immature comments; still it is the best around.


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## jerry old (Aug 21, 2019)

Pepper said:


> My book club read a wonderful novel starring Emily Dickinson titled "Miss Emily" by Irish author Nuala O'Connor.  Great read!


I have yet to read it; I read everything published on her up to  2005, that is everything available to me,  library or Half Priced Books.
Some were good, some not so good, publishers like to perpetuate 'the myth of the strange lady in Amherst.'
The publishers like her because, as long as they can keep 'the myth' going they can sell books. 
Whatever Emily was, she lived outsides the norm of conventional society.  If one can describe  her as a bit peculiar in our time, imagine
how the wags of Amherst in the 19th century.
Let me correct 'our time'.  There are so many weird events and weird people 'loose' today, few would notice Emily, even fewer would care.
We live in a strange time, a hard time for caring what others think or need...


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## jerry old (Aug 21, 2019)

jerry r. garner said:


> She has another poem "...Hope is over there (behind) the chest-not sure about
> behind, but she has lines that stick in your mind, reverberating, popping out at the most peculiar times.
> Emily was a recluse. I'm a recluse, no doubt that is why #303, 'The soul selects her own society'
> has such great meaning to me.
> ...


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## jerry old (Aug 21, 2019)

AnnieA said:


> Interesting that a recluse wrote in such an emotionally connecting way.    Copying and pasting my favorite of her poems below.  It's so haunting and full of yearning; I've always wondered if the absence of this person in her life contributed to her isolation.
> 
> The last line is particularly powerful.  "It goads me, like the goblin bee,That will not state its sting."    To me it means that she'd rather experience true physical pain than the painful emotions of loss and longing.  And yes, I'm projecting, but isn't that how we interpret poetry and song lyrics?
> 
> ...


Ain't she a pistol.  Our betters  tell us Whitman was superior to Miss Emily in range, talent... Could he
 take your emotions wring them out like a washcloth?  
Keep reading, don't confuse yourself as I did by reading many books on Miss Emily, hoping to find the answer to her
in 'experts.  They had to be experts didn't they, they wrote a book, how dumb I was (am?).  Emily is where she always was and is-
tucked away in her quatrains, waiting for you and I to develop an entirely new method of perception.


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## jerry old (Aug 21, 2019)

jerry r. garner said:


> Ain't she a pistol.  Our betters  tell us Whitman was superior to Miss Emily in range, talent... Could he
> take your emotions wring them out like a washcloth?
> Keep reading, don't confuse yourself as I did by reading many books on Miss Emily, hoping to find the answer to her
> in 'experts.  They had to be experts didn't they, they wrote a book, how dumb I was (am?).  Emily is where she always was and is-
> ...





jerry r. garner said:


> Ain't she a pistol.  Our betters  tell us Whitman was superior to Miss Emily in range, talent... Could he
> take your emotions wring them out like a washcloth?
> Keep reading, don't confuse yourself as I did by reading many books on Miss Emily, hoping to find the answer to her
> in 'experts.  They had to be experts didn't they, they wrote a book, how dumb I was (am?).  Emily is where she always was and is-
> tucked away in her quatrains, waiting for you and I to develop an entirely new method of perception.


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## jerry old (Aug 21, 2019)

hypochondriac said:


> i need to read up on Emily Dickinson


Yes sir-the time spent will bring you vast rewards.  She can be read for pleasure, insight, scholarly interruption-analysis.  Read her for as many reasons as you have fingers and toes, just read.


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## AnnieA (Aug 21, 2019)

jerry r. garner said:


> Keep reading, don't confuse yourself as I did by reading many books on Miss Emily, hoping to find the answer to her
> in 'experts.



No fear of that!  I thought about majoring in lit during my undergraduate years but dislike most scholarly literary criticism.  It's like taking a beautifully prepared meal apart bit by bit to the point it's no longer pretty or tasty.   Poetry is best savored whole as it came from the author's heart.

I do, on the other hand,  enjoy reading about the lives of favorite authors.


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## Liberty (Aug 21, 2019)

jerry r. garner said:


> She has another poem "...Hope is over there (behind) the chest-not sure about
> behind, but she has lines that stick in your mind, reverberating, popping out at the most peculiar times.
> Emily was a recluse. I'm a recluse, no doubt that is why #303, 'The soul selects her own society'
> has such great meaning to me.
> ...


Think this poem was about a wonderfully beautiful morning filled with nature's best.  The hummingbirds, the flowers smiling up accordingly, 
perhaps to have their nectar drawn, getting the mail, it is an "easy ride".  Since this poem was part of a letter and written in the early 20's it was probably in a horse drawn carriage, I'd guess.


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## jerry old (Aug 21, 2019)

AnnieA said:


> No fear of that!  I thought about majoring in lit during my undergraduate years but dislike most scholarly literary criticism.  It's like taking a beautifully prepared meal apart bit by bit to the point it's no longer pretty or tasty.   Poetry is best savored whole as it came from the author's heart.
> 
> I do, on the other hand,  enjoy reading about the lives of favorite authors.


Yea, you nailed it.  Remember Whitman's poem  about the Learned Astronomy   (can't remember exact title).  
Yes, you tear enough legs off a spider, what's left?


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## jerry old (Aug 22, 2019)

Okay, ready here come master poems


The Soul selects her own Society —
Then — shuts the Door —
To her divine Majority —
Present no more —

Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing —
At her low Gate —
Unmoved — an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat —

I’ve known her — from an ample nation —
Choose One —
Then — close the Valves of her attention —
Like Stone —

Miss Emily says piss off- you have no interest in my talent, you've not shunned me, nor have I shunned you.
My world is immense, forest, flowers, pain, confusion, but you have no interest.  Therefore,  I've written a bill of divorce:
I will stay in my world, you yours.  Pay heed to the sign on the door: Private, no trespassing..


Now for grit:


*Death of the Ball Turret Gunner"* is a five-line poem by Randall Jarrell published in 1945. It is about the death of a gunner in a Sperry ball turret on a World War II American bomber aircraft.
From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.


Number 2


Now an oldie, but goodie:


*THE Eagle *

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson



How’s this for imagery





He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.



The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls.


NUNBER 3


*Death of the Ball Turret Gunner"* is a five-line poem by Randall Jarrell published in 1945. It is about the death of a gunner in a Sperry ball turret on a World War II American bomber aircraft.


From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Wow, line one and two, his passage down the birth canal, still wet with afterbirth, just an innocent,,,
This newborn knows nothing of war:  Yet the state grabs him, but him in a bomber where the NIGHTMARE FIGHTERS fine him.
A grateful nation honors him by washing him out of his sanctuary with a hose.




The  brevity of the poem emphasizes it's power.  You'll not find better.                                                                        



e


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## jerry old (Sep 23, 2019)

Prose

*Larry Brown-interview with the king of ‘Grit Lit”

*

*“Joe,” is a novel of *
*Do you have any advice for aspiring authors?*

Rejection.
Trial and error.
Make lots of stupid mistakes.
There are no shortcuts.
You have to learn to write fiction that grabs the reader by the throat and doesn't let him go until you're through with him.
And the only way to do that is to sit down and spend years writing and failing and writing again.
If you quit, nobody's ever going to hear from you.

And I failed plenty before than. Five novels. Burned one. I've written about
short stories. Poetry. All bad. I've done a ton of nonfiction, and love writing it. There are boxes and boxes and boxes of unpublished stuff in my attic. That's what it takes -- boxes and boxes of stuff that's no good for anything. But you have to sit there and write it anyway to learn how to do it right. That's the rules. No way around it if you want to be a really good writer.


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## bearcat (Mar 18, 2020)

jerry old said:


> I am old, way old.  I've lived by myself, or been alone-sometimes my son's 'move in' but there not much company.
> I started writing many years ago, primarily due to being lonely.  I scribed, scribble... Several years ago, I got serious about
> my writing.  (Nine years ago I lost my internet access, you just can't write with pen and paper once you've become used to
> Microsoft Word.
> ...



An exercise that is sometimes useful.  Compose something, then go back and literally cross out every other word.
Read what is left.
Put back in only what is absolutely necessary.
During the process of writing, stop every few minutes. Read.
Ask:  how does that paragraph carry the story forward?
Ask:  how can I use fewer words to evoke in the mind of the reader the concept I want to convey?


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## jerry old (Apr 15, 2020)

Good advise Bearcat, there is no easy method.  It's all blood
and sweat, and the trashcan.


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## JaniceM (Apr 16, 2020)

jerry old said:


> I am old, way old.  I've lived by myself, or been alone-sometimes my son's 'move in' but there not much company.
> I started writing many years ago, primarily due to being lonely.  I scribed, scribble... Several years ago, I got serious about
> my writing.  (Nine years ago I lost my internet access, you just can't write with pen and paper once you've become used to
> Microsoft Word.
> ...



I'm the opposite-  even after all these years, I still can't get used to "writing" on, or proofreading on, a computer.


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## Em in Ohio (Apr 16, 2020)

jerry old said:


> I am old, way old.  I've lived by myself, or been alone-sometimes my son's 'move in' but there not much company.
> I started writing many years ago, primarily due to being lonely.  I scribed, scribble... Several years ago, I got serious about
> my writing.  (Nine years ago I lost my internet access, you just can't write with pen and paper once you've become used to
> Microsoft Word.
> ...


Hi Jerry:  I was intrigued and a bit confused by your thread topic, to be honest.  I love your responses and they clearly indicate that you are a fine wordsmith, but I fear this thread will get buried.  I started a thread on favorite poems and someone else (sorry, poor memory) started a thread for original poetry works - I'd love to see this material in one or both of those.  Perhaps you could start a thread for non-fiction or other specific types of writing.  As for your interest in Emily Dickinson, is that noted in your profile page?  It _might_ help expand your E.D. connections. I'm new to social media, so these are just my impressions.  EDIT:  I just realized that there is a FORUM here at * https://www.seniorforums.com/threads/literature-poetry.32632/page-2* and I'm not sure that I knew that or posted to it... That's, no doubt, where these types of topics/materials should go.  My apologies!


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## jerry old (May 18, 2020)

My mother, Southern to the bone, once told me, “All Southern literature can be summed up in these words: ‘On the night the hogs ate Willie, Mama died when she heard what Daddy did to Sister.’” She raised me up to be a Southern writer, but it wasn’t easy.

Pat Conroy


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## MarciKS (May 18, 2020)

I enjoy writing. I dabble in poetry. Mostly to rid myself of my demons. Not really taken the time to read Emily Dickinson.


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## jerry old (May 19, 2020)

DEMONS?




(Figurative language can be interpreted so many ways, if you keep pumping it. It is a method of imparting information which be, or may not be applicable to the recipient, depending upon the readers perception at the time it is read.)


The ogre hiding in the closet and the monster under the bed still survive and they are tired of living on dust balls.
The older you become the greater their desire for meat, for they have been hungry since you were a child and your soul is a delightful morsel.

Shadows demons and soul snatchers, parade within the synonyms for perpetual things in the shadows.
They have known you since childhood fears and continue to lurk, awaiting an opportunity to present themselves, once again.  This time, much stronger, more savage, and extremely difficult to banish.

They know how you think, feel, and your habits; they know you must enter the closet, as a part of your daily routine, they know you must sleep-and they have endless patience.

Children and monsters know this; you have forgotten.
The years and memories you have accumulated
have given you cognitive spears to thrust at things
that bring harm. “I won’t think about it.”

Thus you and I withhold full recognition of the monsters,
demons, and ogres.
They are patient, they wait in the shadows, just beyond recognition.


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## Em in Ohio (May 19, 2020)

jerry old said:


> My mother, Southern to the bone, once told me, “All Southern literature can be summed up in these words: ‘On the night the hogs ate Willie, Mama died when she heard what Daddy did to Sister.’” She raised me up to be a Southern writer, but it wasn’t easy.
> 
> Pat Conroy


Admittedly, I have no idea what that means.  Perhaps it is because I'm a North Coast woman.  The link, however, was filled with wonderful quotes!


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## jerry old (May 19, 2020)

Em
Song lyrics for you

Well, I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison
And I went to pick her up in the rain
But before I could get to the station in my pickup truck
She got run ned over by a damned old train

From hillbilly song  "'She don't even know my name."
by David Allen Cole


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## Meanderer (May 19, 2020)

128

Bring me the sunset in a cup
Reckon the morning's flagons up
And say how many Dew
Tell me how far the morning leaps
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadth of blue!

Write me how many notes there be
In the new Robin's ecstasy
Among astonished boughs
How many trips the Tortoise makes
How many cups the Bee partakes
The Debauchee of Dews!

Also, who laid the Rainbow's piers
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite
Who counts the wampum of the night
To see that none is due?

Who built this little Alban House
And shut the windows down so close
My spirit cannot see?
Who'll let me out some gala day
With implements to fly away
Passing Pomposity?


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## jujube (May 19, 2020)

As they say, everyone likes books about Lincoln, doctors and dogs.....so write a book titled " Lincoln's Doctor's Dog" and you can't fail.


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## jerry old (Aug 13, 2020)

How did I miss post 26

Again a phrase with a hook
"Bring me the sunset in a cup"
"morning leaps"
'weaver sleeps?  (does not make sense)

The questions within the lines, what are we to make of them?


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## gennie (Aug 13, 2020)

Em in Ohio said:


> Admittedly, I have no idea what that means.  Perhaps it is because I'm a North Coast woman.  The link, however, was filled with wonderful quotes!


Basically it means there is a good story here but it won't be pretty.  It helps to be southern to get it.


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## gennie (Aug 13, 2020)

Jerry, you are an excellent wordsmith.  If you're not published, you should be.


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## jerry old (Aug 13, 2020)

Post 3
That poem is alleged to be Emily's yearning for her boyfriend, lover-in fantasy only,
hoping, wanting, knowing it could never be.
The 'boyfriend' was married, a minister, later he moved to the west coast; now Emily
had to learn long-distance yearning.

The last stanza on post 3
Emily was not a stranger to anguish or self- inflicted Pain-strange lady.


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## JaniceM (Aug 13, 2020)

gennie said:


> Jerry, you are an excellent wordsmith.  If you're not published, you should be.


Yes, what she  ^  said!!!!!


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## ohioboy (Feb 27, 2021)

jerry old said:


> I am old, way old.  I've lived by myself, or been alone-sometimes my son's 'move in' but there not much company.
> I started writing many years ago, primarily due to being lonely.  I scribed, scribble... Several years ago, I got serious about
> my writing.  (Nine years ago I lost my internet access, you just can't write with pen and paper once you've become used to
> Microsoft Word.
> ...



I'm by no means an ED scholar, but have studied/read her for many years. Have you ever visited/toured her home in Amherst, MA? I have 3 different times. Last visit in 2001 the Evergreens was open for tours also, which of course I could not pass up.

Do you own the Voices and Visions/Annenberg CPB project video for her, very well presented, R.B Sewall was brilliant.

I also toured Harvard's Houghten library's Emily Dickinson room.

Also, the Jones library on Amity street, they have a few of her Manuscripts and at least 1 of the 1890 first editions.

And of course her gravesite, with family, in West cemetery. Her headstone reads-- ''Called Back". I'm sure you know all this though. To me she was Genius, as Mabel Loomis Todd said that about her.

My 1st visit in 1988 one of the guides was an older woman who actually met and knew ED's niece Mattie, thrilling.


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## ohioboy (Feb 27, 2021)

Here is one of mine. Emily wrote about death in many poems, what she called the Flood Subject.

I am without sin (fiction)

I am without sin
I heard a rumor tell.
I have no heart to feel,
I have no soul to quell.

Sin is just a word
A passing mere expression,
Meant no harm, no foul,
A facial misconception.

Dire pain within me
A welcome not to wince.
I have no King to bow to
Just an Evil Prince.

I'll cast the first stone
I heard a rumor tell.
And cast around my neck
One fathom into Hell.


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## jerry old (Feb 27, 2021)

Ohioboy:
I was within 30 miles of Emily's home many years ago.  I almost went to visit 'The Homestead,' but i wrestled with my emotions.
I felt it would be veneration, which is a trait i lack.  I wish i had, but...
Miss Emily crawls into your mind, with  single lines that will not go away.
She is the American Poet.
I'm somewhat irked that her life is an exploration of  'The Recluse of Amherst,. rather than her poetry.
Yes, the lady had her problems, but she left quatrains that startle, shock the senses and demand attention.
She has been my 'girlfriend' for many decades and has brought a sense of wonder into my life.

She explored topics that most of us shy away from and 'slaps the reader in the face with them.'


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## Irwin (Feb 27, 2021)

I completed the first draft of a novel set in the late seventies about some people a few years out of high school. It's semi-autobiographical. I don't know if I'll ever finish it, since I'm kind of sick of things about the '70s. I mean, that was a great and fascinating period in U.S. history, but you reach a point of saturation and crave something more contemporary.

So then I outlined and started writing a novel about a serial killer using modern technology to avoid capture. To me, it's a good story, but writing a novel is a huge amount of work, and chances are, you'd be lucky to earn a few hundred dollars from it, so you have to really love to write. I hope to someday get to that point. Right now, it's still work, and who the hell wants to work when you don't have to. I'd much rather play.


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## jerry old (Feb 27, 2021)

Don't know, could be wrong...not sure we write for money, though money is nice' we/you/us write because we
must, can't help it.


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## SetWave (Mar 7, 2021)

I love writing and keep promising myself to let the muse have sway.  Often while falling asleep or in the throes of REM sleep my mind goes wild with the flow of prose. Been like that since childhood. Often, upon waking I might jot something down before it fades.


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## jerry old (Mar 7, 2021)

I've written hundreds of brilliant novels while trying to go to sleep-no really good stuff, but when i sit down at pc
"POOF' the the great lines and plots are gone.


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## SetWave (Mar 7, 2021)

Yep, that's exactly how it goes, Jerry.  Yet I do enjoy the creative experience as sleep comes.


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## ohioboy (Apr 16, 2021)

Jerry, do you own the video "The Belle of Amherst" by William Luce. Julie Harris captures her essence perfectly.


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## Gary O' (Apr 16, 2021)

SetWave said:


> I love writing and keep promising myself to let the muse have sway. Often while falling asleep or in the throes of REM sleep my mind goes wild with the flow of prose. Been like that since childhood. Often, upon waking I might jot something down before it fades.





jerry old said:


> I've written hundreds of brilliant novels while trying to go to sleep-no really good stuff, but when i sit down at pc
> "POOF' the the great lines and plots are gone.


When it comes, for me, its akin to speeding thru the curves of a country road
......with the throttle stuck, and no brakes

Can't type fast enough

Can't stop

No matter time of day


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## Meanderer (Apr 17, 2021)




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## ohioboy (Apr 17, 2021)

Meanderer said:


>


Love it.


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## jerry old (Apr 17, 2021)

ohioboy said:


> Jerry, do you own the video "The Belle of Amherst" by William Luce. Julie Harris captures her essence perfectly.


Oh yea, she's my girlfriend, a bit gamey, but she was gamey when she had to live around others too.
Them books about here contain a lot of silly

She done drove a spike in your mind; you call'um quatrains-four lines is plenty for a thought, mostly.

Her was a strange girl, but she liked being strange.


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## ohioboy (Apr 17, 2021)

jerry old said:


> Oh yea, she's my girlfriend, a bit gamey, but she was gamey when she had to live around others too.
> Them books about here contain a lot of silly
> 
> She done drove a spike in your mind; you call'um quatrains-four lines is plenty for a thought, mostly.
> ...


On my last visit to her home in her bedroom, of course the focal point of the tour, they had one of her white dresses on display, very humbling to look at.

Based on the size of the dress, and her death certificate notation of the casket size/length, I'm going to put her height at 4' 6-7''.

Of course the way it is painted now, her home, I do not like, I much preferred the Brick house. I hope I get back someday, I really do.

The grounds are beautiful also. The garden she attended is on the corner of Main and Triangle street, it was a thrill just to walk around the grounds.


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## jerry old (Apr 17, 2021)

No, no,no her was well over 6 feet tall, that's how come her was a'feared to go out and mingle.

The family was weird-given the mores of the time, sweet brother (slipping off from spouse)  and his honey would hook up in Emily's house. 
Emily was ever the helpful sis...

Don't suppose you were there the one day a year when they display Emily's dress (supposed to be a white dress that she flopped around the
lawn)?
I think the sister's had an Elderberry Wine problem

Me and the old woman were down at Fenway Park, i  wanted to go see my lady friend, old woman cranked that idea.
Ain't never been    back it that area


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## ohioboy (Apr 17, 2021)

jerry old said:


> No, no,no her was well over 6 feet tall, that's how come her was a'feared to go out and mingle.


HUH?


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## helenbacque (Apr 18, 2021)

Em in Ohio said:


> Hi Jerry:  I was intrigued and a bit confused by your thread topic, to be honest.  I love your responses and they clearly indicate that you are a fine wordsmith, but I fear this thread will get buried.  I started a thread on favorite poems and someone else (sorry, poor memory) started a thread for original poetry works - I'd love to see this material in one or both of those.  Perhaps you could start a thread for non-fiction or other specific types of writing.  As for your interest in Emily Dickinson, is that noted in your profile page?  It _might_ help expand your E.D. connections. I'm new to social media, so these are just my impressions.  EDIT:  I just realized that there is a FORUM here at * https://www.seniorforums.com/threads/literature-poetry.32632/page-2* and I'm not sure that I knew that or posted to it... That's, no doubt, where these types of topics/materials should go.  My apologies!


I too was confused by thread title.  I thought my problem was Sunday morning brain fog.  Interesting dialogue about Emily and good poetry but little connection to thread title.  Was it just to inspire clicks?

IMHO, a lot of literature would be dull and boring without dialogue in the vernacular.


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## jerry old (Apr 18, 2021)

My forever war again standard english  continues:

Now you go find yourself a plot greater than form and structure
like this Daniel Woodrell fell'a did:

Winter’s Bone
Daniel Woodrell


A no good daddy got thrown in jail; he had no money to make bail so he used his house for the surety bond.
He had a court appearance scheduled, if he failed to appear the bail bondsman would foreclose on his house.
The no good daddy would have kept his court appearance, but he wandered off and got *kilt *by folks that was as rough as he was. The folks that kilt him chunked his body into the swamp.

The dead daddy weren’t no lose, ‘cepting to his 16 y/o daughter a crazy wife and two other youngins lived in the house.
Iff’ing in the dead daddy failed to keep his court appearance the home would be seized, leaving his children and crazy spouse destitute.

(You got all that) Okay, the daughter had to prove to the court that her daddy couldn’t keep his court appearance ‘cause he was dead.
The sheriff said he needed a body of ‘sumpting to prove the daddy was dead.

The daughter knowed her shirt-tail relatives had kilt her paw; she asked them if she could have *the body* to prove to the sheriff that her pap was dead?
The no-good relatives didn’t want to owe up to killing the no-good daddy. They beat her ass bad hoping to silence her. If she keep looking for her daddy they’d give her a spot next to him.

This here is what you call a dilemma

 How she resolved it is plumb scary.

If you can find a plot that outweighs all other factors, folk's read it.

(This is great fun to me,  doubtful that others will find it so
It ain't where i was headed, but here tis, it's the best i can do
given my brain problem)

Oh yea, the ending of the book, it gets it all scrambled


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## ohioboy (Apr 18, 2021)

This is how Emily described herself in an 1862 letter to Thomas Wentworth Higginson, as he asked her for a picture, but she had none.

"_I am small, like the Wren_, and my Hair is bold, like the Chestnut Bur–and my eyes, like the Sherry in the Glass, that the guest leaves."

In case TWH is unfamiliar to some, he and Mabel Loomis Todd, edited the 1st edition of her poetry in 1890. Her brother, William Austin, was having a lengthy affair with Mabel, the so called "War between the Houses". Both homes knew of it, but Mabel's husband David Peck Todd was an Astronomer at Amherst College where Austin was treasurer, he did not want to risk his job I suppose.

TWH was also a member of John Brown's "Secret Six".

Emily withdrew from society interaction at about age 30. She never lived outside her Father's home except when she had to travel to Boston to see an eye specialist, then she stayed with her Norcross cousins. She feared going blind so she packaged her poems, so many to a fascicle for preservation. Harvard University owns about 1/2 her manuscripts, and the Robert Frost library in Amherst owns about 1/2, with some private hands.

Emily never married, nor did her sister Lavinia. Emily's reclusive nature seems in part, maybe mostly, due to what would be diagnosed today as Panic or Anxiety attacks, unable to cope with the outside world. MLT described her as somewhat of a genius. How else? She died at age 55 from Brights disease. What a historical masterpiece it would have been if her voice had been recorded!

Prior to the great T.H. Johnson edition of her poems, her editors mainly removed the --- (dashes) she used for emphasis/punctuation. She never used titles, that was an editor's mark. What a brilliant mind she possessed.


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## ohioboy (Apr 18, 2021)

deleted


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## drifter (Apr 21, 2021)

@jerry old, It do sound as though you have a book or two inside you somewhere. I've tried for many years. Maybe I'm one of those who would like to have written.


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## ohioboy (Apr 29, 2021)

I wrote this about 20 years ago about life's reflections.

Self Evident

Live and love will flourish.
Hate, your heart dies slow.
The Soul is redeemed by a power Supreme,
Not by the wailing of woe.

Need and you just go on searching.
Want and you cry from within.
Seldom is found a love to expound,
And love minus love can't win.

Be silent, no one can hear you.
Resound or expect to be last.
Make effort to feel for love that is real,
So the wings of evil fly past.

If rich, your friends are abundant.
If homeless they censure your faults.
Excel in love, shower it thereof,
And no man can measure you small.

Loose faith and the Earth will darken.
Repent, heaven will surely abide.
No need for friends when time nears it's end,
For we each have to choose how we die.

For us there's a place in the Heaven's
To welcome the righteous and good.
And one by one with the setting Sun--
We'll be judged on life how we stood.


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## ohioboy (May 3, 2021)

Love — is anterior to Life —
Posterior — to Death —
Initial of Creation, and
The Exponent of Earth —

Emily Dickinson


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## jerry old (Aug 10, 2021)

"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can _see_
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency

Emily Dickinson is at it again, exhibiting our frailties with a muffled drum.
See how she draws attention to "Faith" as the first word, then shows us sometimes faith is not enough.

(I've been casually searching for this quatrain over two years, finally found it.)


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## ohioboy (Aug 10, 2021)

jerry old said:


> "Faith" is a fine invention
> When Gentlemen can _see_
> But Microscopes are prudent
> In an Emergency
> ...



This poem was included in a letter from Emily to T.W.Higginson in about 1860, plus dialogue.

"You spoke of the East. I have thought about it this winter. Don't you think you and I should be shrewder, to take the Mountain Road? That Bareheaded life under the grass - worries one like a Wasp. This Rose is for Mary".

Emily


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## jerry old (Aug 10, 2021)

ohioboy said:


> This poem was included in a letter from Emily to T.W.Higginson in about 1860, plus dialogue.
> 
> "You spoke of the East. I have thought about it this winter. Don't you think you and I should be shrewder, to take the Mountain Road? That Bareheaded life under the grass - worries one like a Wasp. This Rose is for Mary".
> 
> Emily


The coyness Emily displayed when dealing with Higginson led to her being called, "my partially cracked poetess..."
Poor Higginson, he was so far out of his league it's pitiful.


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## ohioboy (Aug 11, 2021)

jerry old said:


> The coyness Emily displayed when dealing with Higginson led to her being called, "my partially cracked poetess..."
> Poor Higginson, he was so far out of his league it's pitiful.


Emily outwitted most of her contemporaries.


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## oldiebutgoody (Aug 11, 2021)

jerry old said:


> muffled drum





A very proper image, I feel.

Every time Miss Dickinson is presented on stage or in the recent movie  *A Quiet Passion* *she is portrayed as highly demonstrative, vocal, assertive, forthright, and  down right passionate about just about anything.  Based upon what I've read, my feeling is that she was rather reserved especially among strangers, restrained in speech and action, and far more inclined to retire rather than openly express herself so assertively among strangers as she is portrayed on stage or video. Thus, while being vocal in her poems she was muffled at just about  all other times.

Everything about her life bespeaks of being unassertive and highly reserved ~ her self imposed isolation, her dog being her only companion, her black cake and plants being the only other things she created along with her poetry, her shyness in sending so few of her poems to editors in the hope of having them published. Thus, while personally reserved she was able to communicate with the world through her letters and poems.  But not through fiery speech as she is portrayed today. 

As for my favorite writing of hers, I love this rather humble poem,

_The saints forget
Our bashful feet—

My holiday shall be
That they remember me;

My paradise, the fame
That they pronounce my name._





Miss Emily as she is often viewed today:





















** *International Trailer (imdb.com)


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## jerry old (Aug 12, 2021)

No one knew what actually went on in the Dickinson home.
Emily's bedroom was private, so private.

Her quatrains were private
not for any of us to read

Yet, the push-pull of wanting others
to judge her poems always remained

She never resolved this conflict
the fear of ridicule was too dangerous



The poems we read
are stolen, forbidden  reading
we think how wonderful
as ms Emily smolders 

That is my blood and soul
you treat so casually
so very casually

(The ten poems she sent to  newspapers
in her early years
were an a search for acclaim
that did not arrive-so much for publishing)


I am a solitary person
that is my role, i will do it well
You'll do not understand
You;ll will never understand


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## jerry old (Aug 14, 2021)

oldiebutgoody said:


> A very proper image, I feel.
> 
> Every time Miss Dickinson is presented on stage or in the recent movie  *A Quiet Passion* *she is portrayed as highly demonstrative, vocal, assertive, forthright, and  down right passionate about just about anything.  Based upon what I've read, my feeling is that she was rather reserved especially among strangers, restrained in speech and action, and far more inclined to retire rather than openly express herself so assertively among strangers as she is portrayed on stage or video. Thus, while being vocal in her poems she was muffled at just about  all other times.
> 
> ...


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## jerry old (Aug 14, 2021)

The Disappeared One
1914 Memoriam

Whisked away at The Marne
Then again

Evaporated at Ypres
Again,
Then Again

Even the shadows twice- Groaned at the Somme,
One, two and Oh!

Who drained our blood at Transylvania?
Icons without miracles at Tannenberg

Drowned at Jutland
Swallowed at Faukland

Do not forget us
Cried the stone eyes at Kut

Scampered into eternity at Gallipoli
Snatched up at Belleau Woods

Then the war to end all wars was done


(This is not a poem,  this is only that which must out)


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## Jennina (Aug 14, 2021)

jerry old said:


> I am old, way old.  I've lived by myself, or been alone-sometimes my son's 'move in' but there not much company.
> I started writing many years ago, primarily due to being lonely.  I scribed, scribble... Several years ago, I got serious about
> my writing.  (Nine years ago I lost my internet access, you just can't write with pen and paper once you've become used to
> Microsoft Word.
> ...


You should consider self publishing.


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## oldiebutgoody (Aug 14, 2021)

jerry old said:


> I am a solitary person
> that is my role, i will do it well
> You'll do not understand
> You;ll will never understand





Yes, it is true we will not quite fully understand her.  And maybe we shouldn't.

But it is very interesting how for over one hundred years she was viewed as the sensitive, solitary, reserved, recluse.  Today she is viewed as being so demonstrative by many.  Times change, people's viewpoints change.  But such is life.  And it is not unprecedented.

One of my very favorite examples of this is Father Mapple who opens the classic novel  *Moby Dick* by Herman Melville. Many view this as the greatest novel ever written by an American (indeed, that is my view as well).  When it published it almost went into immediate obscurity largely because of Fr Mapple.   Since the 1930s he has been presented on movies and tv as a soft spoken white skinned country preacher who speaks in subdued tones. But look carefully at the narrative and you see that he is actually a black man (he is described as having 'large brown hands' and a 'swarthy forehead') who makes a fire and brimstone sermon. *The very essence of his sermon is that each of us whether black or white is an equal.  *This created an outrage back then.  Some critics asked, _how can someone be so stupid as to think that blacks and whites are equal?_    Remember that slavery was legal back then.  Melville like others in the Transcendentalist movement condemned slavery and attacked it in every way possible.  *Moby Dick* (many words of which were gleaned from the sermons of Frederick Douglass) was a novel about true brotherhood, an example of the Sunday sermon and Bible illustrated.  No modern day critics that I know of views it that way.  A few historians well versed in Douglass & Melville, however, know it for a fact.

What caused people to change their interpretation of the novel and of this essential character?  I do not have the answer.  As with our view of Miss Emily, we may never know why this alteration took place.


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## jerry old (Aug 17, 2021)

oldiebutgoody said:


> Yes, it is true we will not quite fully understand her.  And maybe we shouldn't.
> 
> But it is very interesting how for over one hundred years she was viewed as the sensitive, solitary, reserved, recluse.  Today she is viewed as being so demonstrative by many.  Times change, people's viewpoints change.  But such is life.  And it is not unprecedented.
> 
> ...



Miss Emily and Moby Dick

I've tried to read Moby Dick several times. 
It's 500+ pages often drag. 
The witch doctor, Ahab's personal witch doctor did not please me.
I've never found any discussion of the Witch Doctor, perhaps it is explained in the 900+ Moby Dick published in Britain

Melville tried to discuss Moby Dick with Hawthorn, telling Hawthorn* 'I've written a very evil book.'*
( Hawthorn was 'the man of letters in America.' Melville was basically his flunkie, or that is my interruption of there relationship.)
With all it's thorns and rabbit trails,  it remains the best literature produce in America.

Your line on  Miss Emily-*Yes, it is true we will not quite fully understand her.  And maybe we shouldn't*.
Immediately sent me to a quote from 'A River Runs Through It.'

*Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters*

Great line Oldie


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## Mango Chutney (Aug 25, 2021)

I am not living alone but I do write poetry - nothing wishy-washy or lovey-dovey tho.

I tell "Yarns" in Free Verse and I am writing 50 and I am up to #47 in my Yarnetry Collection. The subjects are diverse and some are old jokes that I retell and others are totally original by me. 

Please click on the links to Google Docs.

If you wish to avago then please post, we may be able to exchange ideas. They can be read in any order bur the first one "Yarnetry" is an introduction. 

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1wsxcO5AYv72gVcNCBAMykveRu6xd68oj9YHg6AhFC1Q/edit?usp=sharing


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## jerry old (Oct 12, 2021)

Coffins in the Sky
(Circa 1944)


Jewish ashes
thrust through chimneys,
they rise.

Pink dragons floating above
licking ashes
belching pink candy balls
as the world slumbers

Old Rabbi’s murmur
at the fiery glow,
as an ancient people,
are thrown into the sky.

The guards pace unaware
of the chimney’s groan
as a combusted people,
forever gone


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## jerry old (Nov 2, 2021)

Prose, poetry and song lyrics are all one form-all must bow to content.


*Remembering Stranton*

Stranton was a solider boy
a devout Catholic solider boy
A married solider boy

His government called, he answered
Stranton was given solider boy clothing
trained to do things
that he did not care for

The army put him on a ship
to a foreign land
two thousand miles from his love
He wrote long letters home


His wife did not want to hug a pillow
She found a man she could hug
She wrote Stranton, asking freedom
from marital ties

She sent him pictures
or herself and her new love
Stranton cried
Soliders don't cry


His friend
who was not his friend
stole the pictures of Stranton’s wife
shared them with the troops

We liked pictures of naked ladies
made spicier by knowing the husband
We did not care about his  tears

A war of letter was fought
‘ divorce’
‘No, I am Catholic.’

His friend
who was not his friend
stole the letters
We read the letters for a laugh

Did we respected the privy
content of the letters
‘Hell, we were solider boys.’
a titillation is a titillation

Stranton was a sweet loveable guy
He should have been a chaplain’s assistant
or something like those guys
He did not belong with regular troops

Time swallow Stranton
his presence was recalled with a smirk
‘Hell  he was always
crying about his woman


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## jerry old (Nov 23, 2021)

Interlude



It wasn’t love,
it wasn’t nothing
just a way to be
warm.

She was yammy,
ripe and old,
but it was cold and
she had a room

In the morning,
she was grateful
I was glad to be
on my way.

She handed me a dollar
‘for warm, on your way.’
I asked if she
had five?


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## jerry old (Nov 24, 2021)

There is the poetry and prose both are made of words; 
they are the same.

*HORSES

 FIVE RED HORSES GREET THE SUN
SNICKERING AT THEIR JOY TO COME
FIRST THE CANTER THEN:

 BENDING OUR HEADS TO THE SUN WE BEGIN THE RUN.
IT IS BEYOND PLEASURE, THIS TASK OF RUN.

 WE RUN THROUGH A STREAM SENDING RAINBOWS OF SPARKLE.
WE DO NOT PAUSE, WE ARE THE RUN THERE IS NO PHILOSOPHY TO RUN

 FLARED NOSTRILS WHISTLE A HYMN SURGING LIFE IN THE LUNGS 
LIFE LIVES IN THE HOOVES AND THE RUN *


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