My First Poetry Collection

Transcription

My First Poetry Collection
By Catherine Moody
and her real life alter ego
with annotations by the la5er
First edition: March 2008
Second edition: April 2010
Loves like a child
feet lithe dancing on new soil
bounds up with joy
tears fall easily
like a ki5en
she runs through time
–
“The Girl At The Door” by Hensonian Pennyfeather,
wri9en for Catherine Moody
To those
who understand
and care
Contents
Preface
On Friendship
Midel'ʹs GiI.................................................................................10
For Lizzie....................................................................................12
Rez Me.........................................................................................14
Delightful Nothings
Assorted Nonsense....................................................................17
On Blake......................................................................................................17
Hamlet'ʹs Hallucination.............................................................................17
Lament of An Iambic Yam........................................................................18
A Pin Pun....................................................................................................18
Griefing in Woods on a Sunday Evening...............................................19
Limericks for my Friends.........................................................19
On Winning an Imaginary Game of Chess against Alphonsus...................................................................................20
Alphonsus'ʹ Revenge..................................................................20
100 Words in Iambic Pentameter.............................................22
Portrait Poem..............................................................................22
Silent Danger..............................................................................23
Faithful Servant..........................................................................23
Heather'ʹs Lawn..........................................................................24
Social Commentaries
Club Extreme..............................................................................26
HelloMultiTool...........................................................................28
Take It Easy!................................................................................29
Epitaph........................................................................................31
Funeral of a Tree........................................................................31
One Day In The Life Of An Aspiring Poetess........................32
Utilitarian Rhymes
Group Notice for a Piano Recital.............................................35
Come and Join the POETRY GUILD.......................................36
On Art and Music
In Celebration of Faeria............................................................38
Mistress of the Ephemeral........................................................41
Upon Finishing a Composition...............................................42
Ten Thousand Monkeys...........................................................43
Personal Expressions
Snow............................................................................................46
Threads of Sound.......................................................................46
Flowers........................................................................................46
January 28, 2009.........................................................................47
Communion................................................................................48
Childhood Treasures.................................................................49
Catharsis......................................................................................50
Annotations
Glossary of Second Life Terms
Acknowledgements
Preface
Charming, wi5y, sometimes irreverent, oIen melancholy, and al-‐‑
ways intensely human, the poems in this collection provide a glimpse into the soul of Second Life avatar Catherine Moody. They range from the simple to the profound – from silly wordplay, to sly satire, to indirect commentaries on the purpose of art and of exis-‐‑
tence itself. Catherine'ʹs spontaneous language and her sense of rhyme and rhythm endear her to our inner children. But beneath that sugar coating there are layers of meaning waiting to be discov-‐‑
ered – expressions of disapproval, empathy, yearning to be loved.
Catherine is first and foremost a musician, and her poetry is word music. It is meant to be spoken aloud, with all the drama of a musi-‐‑
cal performance. Her full stops are rests, her commas phrase-‐‑arcs, and her exclamation marks sforzandi. There are cadences, refrains, variations. She writes with a5ention to detail, and expects to be read with a5ention to detail.
Virtual worlds such as Second Life provoke questions about the meaning of identity, forcing us to redefine our concept of reality. Catherine Moody is insubstantial; she exists merely as a cache of in-‐‑
formation stored on the Linden Labs servers – the purest form of ex-‐‑
istence, one might say. She is my creation; the artist is herself a work of art, in that ideal state that W. B. Yeats aspired to in “Sailing to Byzantium”. She is my child; I guide her through life, and she has taught me much in return. She has a personality; I watch her through the screen, and she smiles back, making remarks, encourag-‐‑
ing me to write my own poems. Catherine and her avatar friends are comforting proof that the human spirit is very much alive in her fantasy world, which is a reflection of our own.
Catherine'ʹs character is defined by her blog, her poetry, and her mu-‐‑
sic, but ultimately, our imagination is her lifeblood. I hope that this li5le book will inspire its readers to keep her alive in their minds and hearts. In her own words:
“... they will understand – at last –
Who I am; what I am; and why.”
Catherine Moody'ʹs real life alter ego
2008-‐‑2-‐‑10
7
8
On Friendship
9
Midel'ʹs Gi*
Catherine Moody, 2006-‐‑12-‐‑28
I know a funny li5le elf.
His first name is Midel.
He helps out li5le newbies
at the Shelter, Isabel.
I told him I was lonely.
He said, “Well, here'ʹs for you
A tiny li5le pussy cat
That'ʹll cheer you with its mew.”
The ki5en hung suspended in mid-‐‑air.
I wondered how
To make her feel at home with me.
At last I got it. Now
She sits upon my shoulder
And meows all night and day.
But still I love her very much –
My ki5y'ʹs here to stay!
10
For Lizzie
Sometimes you'ʹre a princess
Astride a handsome steed,
Sometimes you'ʹre a leggy cop
Helping those in need.
Sometimes you'ʹre on a frozen lake
On shining silver skates,
Gliding round the silent swans
In graceful figure-‐‑eights.
You surprise me with your ever-‐‑changing
Clothes, and skin, and hair,
But one thing always stays the same—
For all your friends you care.
Lizzie, I fear my second life
Is drawing to an end.
Before I die, please let me say
Thank you for being my friend!
12
Rez Me
Edited 2007-‐‑5-‐‑11
Rez me a sofa, a table and chair,
Rez me a package of long flexi-‐‑hair.
Rez me a ball gown of silver and gold
To make Princess Moody a sight to behold.
Rez me a castle high up on a cloud,
Rez me a garden with magic endowed.
Rez me a chamber with pose balls galore
And ban lines and scripted things guarding the door.
Rez me a stallion to carry me quick,
A butler that serves me when on him I click.
Rez me a close friend who'ʹs willing to chat,
who loves and consoles me. Or can you not do that?
14
Delightful
Nothings
16
Assorted Nonsense
Catherine Moody, 2007-‐‑5-‐‑23; 2007-‐‑9-‐‑29
On Blake
Trochee! trochee! List'ʹ to me,
William Blake was fond of thee.
"ʺTyger, Tyger"ʺ starts with three…
Oh, scrap this silly parody!
Wyllyam Blake, he wrote so well,
But I must sai he could not spell.
Nor could he rhime. Have you read hys
"ʺMercy, Pity, Love and Peace"ʺ? Hamlet'ʹs Hallucination
Hamlet to himself said he
in delirious soliloquy:
"ʺAm I to be, or not to be?
Is this a bee I see by me?
A bee? Two bees? … Or is'ʹt just me?
Do bees, too, mock my misery?"ʺ
17
Lament of An Iambic Yam
I am a yam. A yam I am,
And I am an iambic yam:
I am iambic. Big am I –
A big iambic yam, aye-‐‑aye!
I am a yam that likes iambs.
I also like iambic yams:
When an iambic yam I eye,
I say “Ahem” and then “Uh, hi!”
Alas, my many I'ʹs and M'ʹs
Do not impress the other yams.
Alone, I sigh.
My end is nigh…
~ The End ~
Bye-‐‑bye!
A Pin Pun
If a top has been spinning, we say that it spun.
If a pin has been pinning, do we say that it pun?
18
Griefing in Woods on a Sunday Evening
Catherine Moody, 2007-‐‑9-‐‑21 – set in Faeria Forest
Whose woods these are I think I know.
She'ʹs ao-‐‑ing in the village though;
She will not see me rezzing here
My scripted griefing kit – oh ho!
The company will think it queer
When suddenly some cubes appear.
'ʹMid smoke and flame, their frantic cries
Will taste like candy to my ear!
“Oh, curse the lag!” “Aieee! My eyes!”
“Stop griefing us! It'ʹs so not nice!”
“Ha ha!” I laugh, before I run,
“I knew I'ʹd catch you by surprise!”
Thank you, my victims, that was fun,
But I'ʹve more mischief to be done,
And sims to grief besides this one,
And sims to grief besides this one!
Limericks for my Friends
You'ʹre a wonderful friend to us, Mykyl,
And I do enjoy hearing you spykyl.
But when you start on mythology
And gossamer-‐‑ology,
I'ʹm afraid that to me it'ʹs all Grykyl!
Our dear sister alphaTest03
Is a genius at scripting and poetry;
I propose that we vote
alphaTest to promote
To the office of Brotherhood Notary! 19
On Winning an Imaginary Game of Chess against Alphonsus
Alphonsus Peck! Alphonsus Peck!
Despite your fearsome intellect
And wise grey beard, I do suspect
You'ʹre in hot soup up to your neck!
Your pawn formation is a wreck,
Your queen is gone, your king'ʹs in check:
It'ʹs mate in three. Am I correct?
I'ʹm stopping here, 'ʹcause what the h*** —
There'ʹs nothing else that rhymes with "ʺPeck"ʺ!
Alphonsus'ʹ Revenge
or, “Upon Losing the Return Match to Alphonsus”
Alphonsus Peck! Alphonsus Peck!
I think I'ʹve lost—Alas! Alack!
Upon these squares of white and black
As I served you, you'ʹve served me back!
This time round, you changed your tack;
Your strategy I did not expect:
With lined-‐‑up rooks and queen you hacked
Till my defense began to crack.
My crumbling keep you quickly sacked,
It could not brook your fierce a5ack!
To your superior intellect
My poor white king has lost his neck.
We'ʹre even now, o Master Peck:
Let'ʹs call a truce—please sign this pact!
20
21
100 Words in Iambic Pentameter
Wri$en for a challenge at Persephone Phoenix'ʹs Blue Angel poetry dive
I like to spam, and spam, and spam, and spam,
And spam, and spam, and spam, and spam, and spam,
And spam, and spam, and spam, and spam, and spam!
Portrait Poem
Wri$en for a challenge at Persephone Phoenix'ʹs Blue Angel poetry dive
This is a portrait of a certain Melissa who a5ended my concerts (and was really nice to talk to):
hair
face
chin
shoulders
boooooob boooooob
boooooob boooooob
boooooob boooooob
boooooob boooooob
boooooob boooooob
boooooob boooooob
boooooob boooooob
boooooob boooooob
leg leg
foot foot
22
Silent Danger
Catherine Moody'ʹs real life alter ego, 2007-‐‑8-‐‑4
We live in your home,
usually in pairs,
on the walls, just above the skirting.
Our sad li5le faces gasp at you
in looks of perpetual shock,
waiting for you to feed us—
or rather, waiting to feed those snaky creatures who also live in your home
and come to suck on us with their fangs.
Especially the one who makes that really loud noise.
Sometimes you crawl over to us,
your big round eyes staring at our li5le rectangular eyes.
You poke our faces, as if to say hello,
oblivious to the mighty power sloshing back and forth within us, straining to get out.
Our eyes are too small for your finger. You are safe for now.
You are growing older and smarter. But not wiser.
We are immune to your weapons of plastic, paper, wood.
But provoke us with metal and
We. Will.
Retaliate.
Faithful Servant
I am your faithful servant.
You see me every day.
I satisfy your basic needs
In a very basic way.
23
I patiently await you
in the next room, while you dine.
And when you have had your dinner,
Then it is time for mine.
With reverence I eat and drink
Your fresh organic waste.
It'ʹs wholesome, though it has a stink
And a most peculiar taste.
At your command I swallow
This exotic root beer float.
How I gargle and I gurgle
as the stuff goes down my throat!
Please clean my mouth with LYSOL® spray
and leave a while to soak.
Don'ʹt feed me paper towels, pray:
They make me gag and choke!
I am your faithful servant,
and I'ʹll do my best for you
If you keep me strictly on a diet
of paper, pee, and p––!
Heather'ʹs Lawn
Grass moat
Daisy farm
Bird cafe
Squirrel pantry
Dog toilet
24
Social
Commentaries
25
Club Extreme
I saw them at the Shelter party –
A happy snowman, a purple wolf,
a giant cat, an elephant dancing,
Dancing the night away.
I saw the folks at Club Extreme,
supermen and wonder women –
A fantasy of color, pulsating and dancing,
I saw my friends, the Hellbound posse,
Rocking and rolling to eighties numbers.
The drums are pounding, and we'ʹre all dancing
The bombs rain down, the flames go up,
Children scream and stray dogs whimper.
But the night is young and we carry on dancing,
Dancing our lives away.
26
HelloMultiTool
“HelloMultiTool-‐‑v6 (hug/kiss/goto/etc)”
Of all the things I'ʹve seen in life,
The coolest of the cool
Is Jester Spearmann'ʹs “Version Five”
HelloMultiTool.
This lil'ʹ device is pre5y neat.
It fits both guys and gals,
It helps you rez a magic seat
To take you to your pals.
If you say "ʺexclamation ping"ʺ
And name a nearby friend,
A pre5y stream of colored things
To him or her you send.
Or if you'ʹre in a jovial mood,
Try "ʺexclamation stand"ʺ:
Ta-‐‑da! You'ʹre up on her caput—
I just love that command!
This gadget gives you lightning speed
To fly from place to place.
Be careful with it, or you'ʹll need
a TP back from Space!
But here is why I recommend
the HelloMultiTool:
It lets you hug and kiss your friends!
Aww! Isn'ʹt that cool?
Prefabricated feelings in
convenient freebie packs…
I wonder when they'ʹll come up with
prefabricated sex! 28
Take It Easy!
If your notices don'ʹt post,
If you “can'ʹt connect to host”,
If your clothes have disappeared,
If your avie'ʹs grown a beard,
Lie down low and dream a dream,
Enjoy your strawberries and cream.
Linden Labs will take the blame…
Second Life is just a game! Our presidents, to win our votes
Promise lots of action,
And play “WarcraI” with tanks and troops
In time for next election!
It'ʹs just a giant game of Risk
With strategy and fighting,
Plus eloquent oratory
To make it more exciting. So:
If your hair is in your crotch,
If your inventory is botched,
If your balance doesn'ʹt show
And your lamps have lost their glow,
Take your shoes off and your socks,
Mute th'ʹ alarms on all your clocks,
Second Life is just a game!
If your pastor bashes gays,
If he says they'ʹll go to hell,
He'ʹs seeing hookers other days
And paying for the meth they sell.
And then he'ʹll try to get away
Before his buddies ring the bell.
It'ʹs just a game of cat and mouse.
-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑(And sheep, as well.)
29
So, if you'ʹre permanently gray
And your audio doesn'ʹt play,
If your TPs keep on failing
And your graphics card is ailing,
If your prims refuse to rez,
If you crash… and crash… and crash…
Just relax and close your eyes,
Imagine you'ʹre in paradise.
Second Life is just a game!
If you go out with a pre5y date
Remember it'ʹs all just for fun:
She just wants you to bite the bait
before she hooks another one.
If Cute Guy showers you with praise
Declaring “love for evermore”,
Don'ʹt be fooled by his cunning plays:
He just wants to see if he can SCORE!
-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑
-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑-‐‑Therefore:
If you'ʹre permanently gray,
And your audio doesn'ʹt play,
And your TPs keep on failing
And your graphics card is ailing
And your balance doesn'ʹt show
And your lamps have lost their glow
And your hair is in your crotch
And your inventory is botched
And your clothes have disappeared
And your avie'ʹs grown a beard
And your notices don'ʹt post
And you “can'ʹt connect to host”
And your prims refuse to rez
And you crash…
and crash…
and crash…
Turn the music up and chill,
Feed the cat and pay your bills,
Close your eyes and breathe in deep,
Just relax and try to sleep,
30
Rest your hands and hum a song,
Grid recov'ʹry won'ʹt take long:
Second Life is just… a… game!
Epitaph
Here lies a poor man, murdered by his wife
For spending too much time on Second Life.
Funeral of a Tree
Tree!
O you
who have stood here for so many years
Your thick green riches have sheltered us
filtering the light of the blazing sun.
A jungle thrived in your cool shadow.
Tree!
O you
whose leaves have been home
to swarms of tickling red ants
and perhaps a bird family,
you have seen people come and go
and live and die.
Now the young birds have leI the nest
and the red ants have migrated.
Your limbs are empty and bare.
What use are you now?
Men will come
with axes and chainsaws
to devour you.
The end is near, O tree.
And when dawn comes
31
You will be reduced to a heap of fallen glory
a mangled skeleton of branches
and carted away in an open hearse.
Only a stump will be leI...
a lonely reminder of the past.
One Day In The Life Of An Aspiring Poetess
(Sestina experiment, dedicated to Heather Owen)
This aIernoon I bought some fresh tilapia
at Marsh, on the way back home from tennis.
Now that was fun! My tennis clothes still smell
of the court. I'ʹll take a shower before choir.
Tonight I'ʹve got to start on that sestina...
The phone rings. "ʺWho is it, Lucas?"ʺ
There'ʹs no reply. "ʺWHO'ʹS ON THE PHONE, LUCAS?"ʺ
I shout, while rubbing salt on the tilapia.
(I mustn'ʹt forget to work on that sestina.
It'ʹs only due on Thurs, but morning tennis
will keep me busy...) "ʺIT'ʹS JEFF FROM CHOIR."ʺ
Oh no, not Jeff again. My salty fingers smell
of lemon and raw fish. My phone will smell
the same way if I touch it. Oh, well. "ʺLucas,
pass the... NO! DON'ʹT THROW IT!"ʺ "ʺ... Choir?
Yes, I'ʹll be there. ... Marla what?"ʺ The tilapia
is begging for a5ention. "ʺNo, I'ʹve tennis
tomorrow morning. And I MUST write a sestina
For this poetry class I'ʹm taking."ʺ "ʺWhat'ʹs a sestina?"ʺ
"ʺUmm, it'ʹs... FRANNY! GET DOWN! I know you smell
the fish..."ʺ Front door opens. Bill is back from tennis.
"ʺFRANNY, NO... Bill, can you please take Lucas
to lesson?"ʺ "ʺJeff, my hands are full of tilapia.
Sorry -‐‑-‐‑ I'ʹll talk to you tonight at choir."ʺ
It'ʹs eight-‐‑fiIeen. At last I'ʹm back from choir.
32
All right, I'ʹll start work on that darn sestina.
"ʺRRRUFF! RRRUFF!"ʺ 'ʹKay, Mimi, out you go. The tilapia
is in the oven. What a yummy smell!
Let'ʹs see. Six lines per stanza... Bill and Lucas
are back from Sharron'ʹs, just in time for tennis
broadcast from Australia. "ʺHow was tennis,
Bill?"ʺ "ʺFine. I beat Tim. How was choir?"ʺ
"ʺThe altos couldn'ʹt get the rhythm. Lucas,
do you have homework?"ʺ "ʺMom, write your sestina!"ʺ
Too many distractions. Hmm. What'ʹs that I smell?
Oh no! It smells like burning grilled tilapia!
Epilogue:
The moral of the story: "ʺtennis"ʺ, "ʺsmell"ʺ,
"ʺLucas"ʺ, "ʺchoir"ʺ, and "ʺtilapia"ʺ are
an AWFUL choice of words for a sestina.
I think I'ʹll stick to limericks instead....
33
Utilitarian
Rhymes
34
Group Notice for a Piano Recital
Catherine Moody, circa 2007-‐‑5-‐‑25
My friends, I'ʹd like to share (if to my piano you will hark)
An hour of fine music by
Johann Sebastian Bach.
This concert is presented by my mommy dear, Tyrol,
So come, have nectar for the ears
and tonic for the soul!
Catherine Moody
Sunday 2007-‐‑5-‐‑27, 2PM SLT
Maemi Gardens, Maemi (215, 81, 143)
35
Come and Join the POETRY GUILD
Catherine Moody, c. 2007-‐‑8-‐‑2
If prims don'ʹt rez or scripts don'ʹt work
or your avie'ʹs under the weather,
Come join us in the POETRY GUILD
and soon you'ʹll feel much be5er!
At six on Wednesday evenings
In a secret spot we gather,
A place each week that'ʹs chosen by
Hensonian Pennyfeather.
Hensonian is a pre5y cat
Who dresses up in leather.
(Actually, that'ʹs Secundo Dharma.)
She wears a feather in her hat
And rolls around in heather.
(Just kidding.)
How graciously she puts up with
Our silly puns and laughter!
She encourages us to share our poems,
And always thanks us aIer.
Come on! You'ʹll get to make some friends
and learn about each other.
We'ʹre like a happy fam'ʹly with
Hensonian as our mother!
We'ʹre always keen to hear your rhymes
(or non-‐‑rhymes, for that ma5er).
Don'ʹt worry if your poetry'ʹs bad:
There'ʹs always someone badder!
So let your mind go wild, free your creativity from its tether,
The POETRY GUILD and you will have
A splendid time together!
36
On Art and
Music
37
In Celebration of Faeria
Almighty Lindens! Blessèd was the day
and holy place, as we ourselves were blessed,
Where Mykyl Nordwind, fairest of the fae
and mermaid clan, into this world did rez.
O noble Queene, we welcome you today
to grace us with your simple loveliness.
You spent much time to make your dream come true;
Your work bore fruit as Faeria slowly grew.
You labored long and hard on every prim,
You built a pathway right across the sim.
You met adversity at every stage,
Adversity that caused you tears of rage;
Dark days of anguish have you leI behind
That I, your humble bard, do call to mind—
Try as you did, you could not get us in:
Casinos, wild with greed, were strangling Huin.
Where others had despaired, you stood your ground,
Gathering an army from around,
To file a stern report of grave abuse,
To call upon the power of the Word.
Your fervent pleas at last the Lindens heard—
The camping chairs in number were reduced!
The ba5le over, traffic trickled in,
And gradual signs of life returned to Huin.
Not only we, but all your neighbors too,
Professed their heartfelt gratitude to you.
Humble Catherine shall sing your praise,
And all the region echo with hoorays.
38
A new day dawns. The flowers spread their love,
The sun smiles bright upon the village green;
While bu5erflies dance breezily above, Do grateful voices hail their Faerie Queene.
A curious squirr'ʹl observes us from a tree,
A chirping bluejay fills the air with cheer.
A wishing well gives wishes (for a fee!);
A sign proclaims that all are welcome here.
A palace looks on proud, its marble floors
and curtained stage inviting us to dance.
As lovers occupy the cuddle balls
Good Faeria hath her visitors entranced
with scenes of rustic peace upon the walls.
Gentle melodies driI o'ʹer the land,
Born of some unknown composer'ʹs smile,
Played by some unseen musician'ʹs hand,
Infusing open hearts and open doors;
A penguin, touched, recites a poem, while
from open pages a wingèd spirit soars.
39
O pre5y Faeria!
The souls that circumstances kept apart,
You bring together. How your mission shines—
A haven for expression of the heart,
A celebration of diversity,
A sanctuary for all creative minds,
A conflux of divine activity
My friends, let us with one united voice
Renounce the dross of shallow vanity;
In friendship, truth, and love let us rejoice,
The golden warmth of true humanity.
Almighty Lindens! Aid us as we strive
To realize our dreams in Second Life.
Ten Thousand Monkeys
Ten thousand monkeys a-‐‑mining for gold,
Ten thousand monkeys that do as they'ʹre told,
Deliv'ʹring to me all the treasure they find –
Oh, think of the riches that soon would be mine!
Ten thousand monkeys with axes and spears,
Ten thousand bringers of chaos and fear:
I'ʹll bet you an army of monkeys like that
Could take down a city at the drop of a hat!
Ten thousand monkeys all typing away,
Ten thousand monkeys at work every day.
Tell me, dear reader, how likely it is
That those monkeys might come up with a poem like this – ?
40
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41
Mistress of the Ephemeral
They are not visions set in distant lands,
Nor words that speak of kings and maidens fair,
Nor shapes of wood and stone that I command —
But invisible vibrations of the air
That dance and fade. Guided by my hands,
Inspired by my soul, through time they weave
Like shadow-‐‑creatures cast by rustling leaves
Or pa5erns wrought by waves upon the sand. 42
Upon Finishing a Composition
Catherine Moody'ʹs real life alter ego, 1997-‐‑8-‐‑23; completed 1997-‐‑9-‐‑17
I tremble a li5le as I draw the double bar-‐‑line
and write underneath:
Completed 23/8/97.
It has been a difficult journey through the maze of alternatives.
Each empty bar represents a fork in the road, a superposition of quantum states – shall I write F sharp or F natural?
I ponder for days, even months,
and when finally I make a decision
(physicists call it collapse of the wavefunction)
the other alternatives vanish into nothingness, like a shimmering mirage.
And now I draw the double bar-‐‑line.
This simple ceremony – is it a celebration of accomplishment or an act of sacrilege?
fixing the notes, tempo, expression marks,
destroying the last bit of quantum uncertainty,
the delightful fuzziness of unwri5en sounds
no longer open to improvisation.
Will this be my Requiem?
But then again, no music is ever finished.
Though the crotchets and quavers be carved indelibly in mind and memory
time and again we discover new things about a piece, any piece,
though it be our own creation.
Subtle changes in interpretation, like the blues and greens in an artist’s landscape,
cast a new light on that which seems so familiar. And thus our compositions evolve and mature.
43
Whatever regrets may come to mind, I cannot turn back.
The double bar-‐‑line is drawn: the coffin is sealed.
This date will be another milestone in my life.
44
Personal
Expressions
45
Snow
Snowflakes flu5ering down from heaven,
shrouding joy and sorrow in clean, white monotony…
Solace for a while.
Threads of Sound
I want to take hold of your heart
and wrap it round and round with my threads of sound
and when I have control I will twist you, break you, squeeze out tears from you
so that our souls will be bound, bound
by the memories of the threads of sound
and you will never forget me… Flowers
A fragment by Catherine Moody'ʹs real life alter ego, 1997-‐‑9-‐‑17
My poor, poor flowers!
This room is no place for you
Gradually withering away, forgo5en amidst the (clu5er of books)
Your sadly drooping heads smile at me nonetheless,
like when you first brought me comfort and happiness.
Colourful still – alive still –
… gently removing the dead leaves
so much change has taken place without me noticing.
46
January 28, 2009
(blank verse experiment)
"ʺWinter Storm Alert!"ʺ The weather station
Warns of snow and freezing rain tonight,
Eleven inches of precipitation
Here in Columbus. Snug and warm in bed,
a pencil in my hand, computer off for once
(the ba5ery lights were flashing green and amber;
ba5ery'ʹs in the fridge -‐‑-‐‑ they say that might revive it)
silence all around, I lie supine,
Trying to frame the icy wrath of God
In fatuous iambics.
I wonder who might be out there right now
At midnight, in the sleet and freezing rain.
Shelf-‐‑stackers at Wal-‐‑Mart on Bethel Road,
employees at the drive-‐‑through KFC
Returning from their shiI. On I-‐‑71,
a freight truck charging through the driving snow,
windshield wipers swishing furiously,
its driver wide-‐‑eyed, hands firmly on wheel,
cigare5e in mouth, ta5ooed arms
with names of lovers from a previous life,
hauling her load to Cleveland, to arrive
By noon tomorrow. Grunts of the economy.
In another lane, a forty-‐‑something son
Driving alone through the bi5er storm
to see his dying mother.
Strangers -‐‑-‐‑
if you could hear -‐‑-‐‑ I love you all, and say:
May the Lord bless you and protect you
May He make His face to shine upon you
Forever and ever. Amen.
47
Communion
My crystal ball informs me that one day –
far in the future –
Modern science will invent a way
to capture a soul:
To extract it,
refine it,
culture it,
preserve it
In li5le vials, securely stashed away.
Then there will no longer be a need
for my poetry,
for my music,
for my smiling, laughing, crying,
jumping, clapping,
si5ing on everything in sight,
telling strangers “I love you” –
For blogs about my life, my words, my deeds.
My crystal ball says: Long aIer I die –
far in the future –
People will be lining up to buy,
in their local store,
li5le vials
labelled “Essence” or “Spirit of Catherine Moody”
or “Catherine Moody inside”.
They will take me home
and stir me into a warm broth.
Sipping me slowly,
they will understand – at last –
Who I am; what I am; and why.
Amen.
48
Childhood Treasures
WriZen at home, during summer holidays; completed 1997-‐‑9-‐‑17
A wooden box lies under the bed
packed with a child’s once-‐‑prized possessions,
relics of a bygone era.
A torn school bag, a choo-‐‑choo train,
some favourite comics, a cuddly teddy bear with one ear missing…
li5le things that meant so much before.
But now the magic of childhood has worn away,
and these colourful objects reveal their true nature:
lifeless, emotionless pieces of plastic and metal
si5ing sadly there in the wooden box,
no longer brought to life by young imagination.
Yesterday I opened the box.
Familiar sights and familiar smells greeted me
bringing to mind delights and joys of earlier days, flooding my thoughts with poignant memories,
even a guilt at one’s former indulgence.
And for a moment I am a child again,
gleefully mesmerized in a world of the past.
I sigh. One last look at these childhood treasures,
soon to be passed on or discarded
along with childhood itself.
49
Catharsis
2004-‐‑3-‐‑6, 7:00-‐‑9:45pm
“I'ʹll have my bond.” The devil speaks.
“A pound of flesh from thee.
Give me my bond, thou cursèd freak!
Give, and thou shalt be free.”
O splendid knife, superbly made,
O gleaming edge of steel.
O loving tool, o wondrous blade,
So clean and sharp to feel!
Painful delight, delightful pain
To sample at my leisure.
Such torture, such as doth contain
Such overwhelming pleasure!
“I'ʹll have my bond.” He speaks again.
“A pound of flesh from thee.
Give me a pound of flesh and blood,
A pound of flesh for me!”
How good it feels, how cold to touch,
This knife against my skin.
O tender steel, to furnish such
Indulgence for my sin!
The knife begins its sacred task,
A delicate incision;
I draw my breath ― ― I gasp:
A sliver of bright crimson…
“Deeper!” groans the hooded fiend,
Imperative and hoarse.
“Deeper in thy wretched skin!”
Yes. I shall. Of course.
I cut again, and free a slice
of flesh a li5le thicker.
And from the wound there oozes out
50
A drop of sweet red liquor.
“More!” I make another slit
Higher up the arm.
And another. And another.
And a slash across the palm.
“Cut in! Cut deep!” the fiend doth roar.
“Drive the sharp blade in!
I'ʹll have my bond! I'ʹll have some more!
Do penance for thy sin!”
Obedient knife, it swiIly moves
From limb to bloodied limb.
The fresh blood drips in a silver bowl
And fills it to the brim.
“More!” My body wracked with pain,
I grimace in the agony.
And yet my spirit revels in
Inexplicable ecstasy.
“Scream! Wail! Shriek! Weep!
Rejoice thou in thy suffering!
Thy flesh and blood and tears aside,
Thou nought else hast for offering!”
Too weak… too weak to hold the knife…
To cry… too short of breath,
And still… … I'ʹm still alive.
It'ʹs not yet time for death.
How else for a poor tormented mind
To wash away its guilt?
A debt too dear to pay in brine
Demands that blood be spilt!
51
The devil laughs a wicked laugh.
“Allow thy scars to heal.
And when thy wounds have closèd up,
Continue with the deal.
I'ʹll have my bond. A pound of flesh,
Of flesh and blood, I say.
My bond! If thou would'ʹst happiness,
Thou know'ʹst the price to pay!”
52
53
Annotations
by Catherine Moody'ʹs real life alter ego
Midel'ʹs Gi/
Catherine wrote this charming li5le poem – her first piece – when she was just four days old. At the time of writing, the ki5en'ʹs name was simply “FREE Li5le White Cat!”; a few days later she was chris-‐‑
tened “Daisy”.
The li5le “mewing” ki5en in stanza 2 has grown, in stanza 4, into a cat that “meows” all day. Catherine writes “pussy cat”, “ki5en”, “she”, “ki5y” in a desperate a5empt to avoid repeating the same word. If only she had put the same effort into finding substitutes for “li5le”; “li5le” is used indiscriminately in the poem. The third stanza was a very awkward a5empt to remain true to history while adhering to meter.
The second last line, “But still I love her very much” – with a dash to catch the reader'ʹs a5ention – may have been a subconscious a5empt to deliver a moral message: “Love is tolerant”.
For Lizzie
When Catherine was still a newbie, she met Lizzie Scaggs riding a beautiful white horse on a remote island beach. The kind Lizzie gave Catherine some freebies, including the red Proton Ponytail and the HelloMultiTool, and took her to many wonderful places.
The repetition of the word “sometimes” gives structure to the begin-‐‑
ning of the poem, but the third time the word appears, its second syllable is stressed, giving variation within the repetition. “Shining silver skates”, “silent swans”, and “gliding…graceful” are deliberate instances of alliteration, but also an accurate depiction of the skating rink in the Wales region (which no longer exists). The world of Sec-‐‑
ond Life evolves quickly, and words oIen survive the objects or avatars they described.
The third stanza begins with an extra syllable (“You surprise”), which is itself a surprise! This is one of the wonderful coincidences in Catherine'ʹs poetry. Catherine has a habit of repeating conjunc-‐‑
tions, e.g., “Clothes, and skin, and hair”, a trick for nudging words into their rightful places in the meter; here, it has the desirable side 54
effect of making the sentence sound spontaneous instead of premed-‐‑
itated. Lizzie'ʹs “ever-‐‑changing skin” is a reminder that the poem is set in Second Life. In the third line, a dash again sets off the mes-‐‑
sage of the poem: the value of constancy in friendship.
The last stanza completes the poem as an expression of appreciation for Lizzie'ʹs friendship, but also reveals Catherine'ʹs moody side.
Rez Me
“Rez Me” is the third of Catherine'ʹs newbie poems, and arguably the finest. It is built out of threes: three stanzas, each containing three “rez” instructions, in a galloping rhythm with three syllables per metrical foot. It progresses from household objects in the first stanza, to buildings and gardens in the next, and finally to living things.
In the world of Second Life, “to rez” means to conjure into existence. “Rez me a sofa”, although not standard usage in SL, is easily under-‐‑
stood as the command “Conjure up a sofa for me”. The first stanza begins with a request for simple items of home furniture. Then, Catherine begins to daydream. The original version of the poem had “red flexi-‐‑hair” in the first stanza (probably referring to the Pro-‐‑
ton Ponytail); this was later changed to “long flexi-‐‑hair”, which sounds much more sensuous. By writing “Princess Moody”, Catherine hints at the moody undertone of the poem; subsituting “Princess Catherine” would lose this subtlety.
The second stanza begins dealing with real estate. Logically, a more natural progression would be from garden to castle to chamber. However, the ear-‐‑catching inverted word order in “Rez me a garden with magic endowed” obliges it to be in second place; swapping the first two lines destroys the magic of the poem:
Rez me a garden with magic endowed,
Rez me a castle high up on a cloud.
The order of the lines is also justified by the increasing lengths of the stressed syllables of “cas-‐‑tle”, “gar-‐‑den”, and “cham-‐‑ber”.
In the third stanza, the stallion, like most animals in Second Life, is merely a vehicle or a wearable object. Similarly, the butler is simply a photograph of a gentleman in a tux, slapped on a prim and scripted to give drinks to those who click on him. The line “A butler 55
that serves me when on him I click” juxtaposes the living and the inanimate: “butler” and “him” are human words; “that” (in place of “who”), “serves”, and “click” are dehumanizing words. As a role-‐‑
played character, Catherine generally prefers the term “touch”, but here she uses “click” for its humorous effect.
The daydream has been ge5ing ever more fanciful, but it is merely a prop. Catherine, in her characteristic style, spends most of the poem se5ing the stage, from which she then delivers a concise, unex-‐‑
pected, and powerful message. The last two lines signify a return to earth: aIer locking herself in her magical chamber, the Catherine of the poem realizes that grand castles and scripted servants cannot take the place of friends. “Chat”, “loves”, and “consoles” convey progressively stronger sentiments: only with the last of these words does Catherine reveal her sadness – loneliness, perhaps?
These last two lines cry out to be read in a different tone of voice. For the rhyming pa5ern not to interfere with the change in tone, the two lines must be able to stand alone; i.e., they must form a rhyming couplet. This dictates that the pa5ern throughout the poem has to be AABB. This is most clearly demonstrated by reading aloud a variant using an ABAB rhyme scheme such as the following:
Rez me a stallion as fleet as the wind,
Rez me a maid and a pedigree cat.
Rez me a close friend like one of my kin
who loves and consoles me. Or can you not do that?
The above modification causes the poem to lose its emotional im-‐‑
pact.
On Blake
This is a bit of lighthearted satire on Blake'ʹs “The Tyger” [sic] and “The Divine Image”.
Limericks for my Friends
“Mykyl” is pronounced “MEEK-‐‑yeel”. “Gossamer-‐‑ology” is a refer-‐‑
ence to Mykyl Nordwind'ʹs poem, “Reincarnation”. The Brother-‐‑
hood of Twisted Prim is a secret society, of which alphaTest03 Yohkoh is a member.
56
“On Winning an Imaginary Game of Chess against Alphon-‐‑
sus” and “Alphonsus'ʹ Revenge”
Alphonsus Peck, in his “Wiseman” form, was a kindly grandfather figure to the young Catherine. These poems capture the spirit of a joyful, playful young girl teasing her elderly opponent.
Inverted word order, i.e., variations on the usual subject-‐‑verb-‐‑object order (“Your strategy I did not expect”, “My crumbling keep you quickly sacked”), is a natural consequence of forcing ideas into rhyme and meter, but it also introduces variety into what would otherwise have been a tasteless succession of rhyming sentences. And, as in much of her other work, Catherine practises personifica-‐‑
tion, gleefully applying human verbs and adjectives to inanimate objects: “wise beard”, “white king has lost his neck”, “[my keep] could not brook (bear/tolerate/endure) your fierce a5ack”. It is such nuances that distinguish poetry from prose.
Alekhine'ʹs gun is more a tactic (a method of maneuvering troops in ba5le) than a strategy (a long-‐‑term plan). However, “tactic” would sound silly immediately aIer “tack”, so Catherine writes “strategy” even though it breaks the meter. “My crumbling keep you quickly sacked” refers to the observation that once the opponent'ʹs line is breached, the a5acker'ʹs pieces can hop around capturing pawns while the opponent'ʹs king flees in panic.
It is difficult to choose between “lined-‐‑up rooks and queen” and “lined-‐‑up queen and rooks”. The former is slightly more poetic be-‐‑
cause it goes from the lesser pieces to the most powerful piece on the board.
Silent Danger
The resemblance of a U.S. electrical outlet to a human face was something that struck me soon aIer moving to the country (circa 2005). However, it was only in August 2007 that I found the rest of the material for “Silent Dan-‐‑
ger”, in the form of a curious baby investigat-‐‑
ing a wall socket during a dinner party.
From the first stanza a careful reader can de-‐‑
duce that the speaker is a socket, but only in the second stanza does it become apparent 57
that a baby is being addressed. This, in hindsight, justifies the wording of the first stanza as a baby'ʹs perception of a household en-‐‑
vironment.
When reading this poem aloud, read the last four lines with a dimin-‐‑
uendo, and speak the last word in an almost inaudible whisper, but with energy and a sense of imminent danger.
Club Extreme
The four stanzas of this poem form a definite progression from fan-‐‑
tasy to reality – from furries, to humanoid superheroes, to normal human avatars, and finally to Real Life itself. The meter is rather free, and rhyme is not present; nevertheless, a clear structure is visi-‐‑
ble. The motif “dancing, dancing the night away” is repeated in each stanza, with a sinister variation the last time.
In the first two stanzas Catherine is a passive observer, watching strangers. In the third stanza, the dancers are Catherine'ʹs friends, and she herself joins in: “we'ʹre all dancing”. A “posse” is slang for “a group of friends or associates”; however, it also means “a gang involved in crimes such as running guns and illegal narcotics traf-‐‑
ficking.” It matches “Hellbound” – which was the name of a night-‐‑
club where Catherine spent one evening with her good friend Loren. Thus, “Hellbound posse” is superficially “a clique of people who hang out at the Hellbound club”, but also suggests “condemned criminals”. With her choice of words, Catherine subconsciously ad-‐‑
mits that by joining in the dancing she, too, is guilty of self-‐‑indul-‐‑
gence and apathy towards the problems of the real world.
The final stanza presents stark images of Real Life that contrast with the fantasy of Second Life. The sentence “Children scream and stray dogs whimper” begs the question: where are the men and women – the oh-‐‑so-‐‑sensible grown-‐‑ups? Perhaps they are busy an-‐‑
nihilating each other. Or perhaps they have already done so. The word “night” occurs in the third line, pre-‐‑empting its use in the final line – the following sounds stupid when read aloud:
But the night is young and we carry on dancing,
Catherine solves this problem by altering the final line, forming a ironic conclusion to the poem: “While people are dying in wars in Real Life, we waste our lives dancing”.
58
The avatars referred to in stanza 1 were Happy Goalpost, Bergamo Becke5, AllieKat Stovall, and Salvador Dalgleish.
HelloMultiTool
A multitool, in Second Life, is a scripted gadget that allows its user to perform many useful tasks by clicking on it or “saying” com-‐‑
mands. The commands referred to in the poem are !goto, !ping, !stand, /hug, and /kiss.
This poem appears to be an innocent advertisement extolling the virtues of the MultiTool, but in fact it was meant as a sarcastic a5ack on people who place too much significance on avatar sex. (This is why I have classified it as a “social commentary”.) The whole point of the last stanza is that “they” – the savvy capitalists of Second Life – have already come up with “prefabricated sex”: all the sex pose-‐‑
balls on sale in the shops have been extensively alpha-‐‑tested and beta-‐‑tested before being sold en masse. The poem also mocks the shallowness of relationships that are based on material objects; in real life, one doesn'ʹt need a “tool“ to let one “hug and kiss one'ʹs friends”!
The spontaneous feel of the poem is in fact a result of Catherine'ʹs a5ention to detail. She felt it important that the repeated phrases oc-‐‑
cupied different positions within each stanza. Watch how “regular-‐‑
ization” destroys spontaneity:
If you say "ʺexclamation ping"ʺ
And name a nearby friend,
A pre9y stream of colored things
To him or her you send.
If you say "ʺexclamation stand"ʺ
(and name your friend) instead,
It teleports you and you land
On top of his/her head.
…
How wonderful it is to have
Prefabricated hugs…
I wonder when they'ʹll come up with
Prefabricated *****!
59
Take It Easy!
This delightful piece of satire appears to be a laugh at the expense of the Second Life addict (“Feed the cat and pay your bills”). However, its true targets are lying politicans, hypocrites, and false lovers: “Many people don'ʹt take Real Life seriously. For them, love is a game, or a sport, like fishing; religion is a game of Bluff. Worse still, we are at the mercy of the politicians who send our children off to war as part of their game. Since Real Life is like that, there is no point in being serious about Second Life, which is merely a virtual world; we should just take it easy and have fun!” The two-‐‑line refrain is meant to be ironic. For me, Second Life is NOT at all a game, but a wonderful environment that fosters friend-‐‑
ship and creativity.
The final stanza repeats the material from earlier stanzas, but with if'ʹs changed to and'ʹs in order to make the pace more and more fran-‐‑
tic, towards a climax of exasperation: “And you crash… and crash… and crash…” If this is the equivalent of a musical stringendo, what follows would be marked subito calmato: “Turn the music up and chill”.
In the stanzas about Second Life, the order of the lines is largely ar-‐‑
bitrary; the only real criterion is that “Imagine you'ʹre in paradise” should appear as late as possible.
The fourth stanza alludes to a Real Life scandal that took place in 2007.
Funeral of a Tree
This poem was wri5en when I returned from university for a short holiday to discover that the tree in our neighbours'ʹ garden had been chopped down (and taken away in a large truck to be disposed, ac-‐‑
cording to my mum). My parents were pleased, as they had consid-‐‑
ered the tree a nuisance, but I was saddened by the change. The neighbours'ʹ children had grown up and leI home, and their parents were growing old and infirm; this was reflected in the poem.
In Celebration of Faeria
This elegant poem was Catherine'ʹs first a5empt at iambic pentame-‐‑
ter (and mine, too). In the course of the poem it becomes clear that 60
Catherine is playing the role of a bard or court minstrel at the coro-‐‑
nation of her Faerie Queene, Mykyl Nordwind. The first stanza is a “prayer” of thanks; the last is a prayer of request. Stanza 2 is narra-‐‑
tive; stanzas 3–4, descriptive; stanza 5, imperative, delivering a moral message in a manner unusually direct for Catherine. The poem is mostly fact: the history and environment of Faeria Village provided ample material for Catherine, who found no need to delve into her imagination.
The rhyme scheme is varied:
ABABAB; AABBCCDDEEFF GHHG IĲJKK;
ABAB CDCD E FGFG HIHEIE; ABACBC; ABAB; AA.
The last six lines have the feel of a sonnet; Catherine may have been influenced by Pat Hartono'ʹs sonnets, which she read with enthusi-‐‑
asm as a newbie.
In stanza 1, the last two lines provide the following descriptions of Queene Mykyl: noble, graceful (or gracious), simple, lovely. Those who know the Queene will agree that “simple loveliness” is apt.
Catherine'ʹs favorite technique of personification is used throughout the poem: the “casinos”, like their owners, are “wild with greed”; in-‐‑
stead of “flying”, the bu5erflies “dance”; the flowers do not “bloom” and “emit perfume”, they “spread their love”; the sun “smiles” in-‐‑
stead of “shining”; the palace “looks on proud”; the sign “pro-‐‑
claims”.
It is not surprising that Catherine, as a musician, devotes four lines to her profession. “Born of some unknown composer'ʹs smile” sug-‐‑
gests that happiness was the inspiration for the music which is “driIing o'ʹer the land”. These lines describe the Internet radio sta-‐‑
tions used as background music in Second Life: since the stream URL known only to the landowner, the public is unaware of the composers or performers they are listening to.
“A penguin, touched, recites a poem”: this is one of the happy coin-‐‑
cidences that bless Catherine'ʹs writing. Superficially, this line says that the scripted penguin is activated when an avatar clicks on it. But there is a deeper hidden meaning: “The penguin, listening to the beautiful music, is so moved by the magic of Faeria that – despite being a mere scripted bird – it is inspired to speak poetry”. 61
The wingèd spirit is Shaway, the wild goose from Mykyl'ʹs epony-‐‑
mous story. “Wingèd spirits” would preserve the meter and be truer to the story. However, the plural would sound less intimate, less personal, and Catherine wishes her relationship with her read-‐‑
ers to be intensely intimate and personal; she prefers to focus the at-‐‑
tention on the particular as opposed to the generic, on a single living thing as opposed to the species. “From open pages a wingèd spirit soars” implies that Mykyl'ʹs writing is so vivid that as one reads her book, Shaway jumps to life from between its pages.
Faeria is an open, outdoor environment, and the word “open” is re-‐‑
peated thrice in the last three lines (although Catherine only noticed this four months aIer writing the poem).
“Scenes of rustic peace upon the walls” refers to the photography by Great Mills and Hastings Bournemouth in the galleries of Faeria Vil-‐‑
lage.
Mistress of the Ephemeral
In the first four lines, Catherine is saying: “I am not a painter, a writer, nor a sculptor – but a musician.”
“Through time they weave” sounds poetically sensible, but it has a more literal meaning as well. In physics, sounds – “invisible vibra-‐‑
tions of the air” – can be represented by displacements of air mole-‐‑
cules as functions of time. A plot of a sound waveform resembles a wiggly line weaving over and under the time axis – hence, “through time they weave”.
Line 7 is personification at work again: “shadow-‐‑creatures cast by rustling leaves” sounds far more inspiring than “shadows cast by rustling leaves”. The last two lines emphasize the transient nature of music. Cather-‐‑
ine'ʹs imagery is echoed in the following picture caption:
“It was warm enough for a walk on the beach today. … In the wet sand were marks made by people, dogs, and birds. But right at the water'ʹs edge, the shallow waves were making beautiful pa?erns in the sand, pa?erns that appear, vanish, and then repeat, seeming to be constantly changing but yet al-‐‑
ways the same.”
– h?p://flickr.com/photos/randiart/310752156/
62
Ten Thousand Monkeys
The intended message of this poem is that although brute force (rep-‐‑
resented by the ten thousand monkeys) allows one to amass wealth (gold) or power (by conquering cities), it cannot replace human cre-‐‑
ativity and critical judgment; artistic creations are precious on ac-‐‑
count of their information content. The question “How likely is it that a monkey will type a certain phrase?” is a well known mathe-‐‑
matical problem; see Wikipedia for a review and interesting anec-‐‑
dotes:
… Today, popular interest in the typing monkeys is sustained by numerous appearances in literature, television and radio, music, and the Internet. A "ʺMonkey Shakespeare Simulator"ʺ website got as far as 24 characters with "ʺRUMOUR. Open your ears; "ʺ. In 2003 a humorous experiment was performed with six Sulawesi crested macaques, but their literary contri-‐‑
bution was five pages consisting largely of the leMer S, besides aMacking and defecating on the keyboard. Researchers con-‐‑
cluded that the infinite monkey theorem does not apply to real monkeys; despite their entertaining methods, they make poor random number generators, as well as needing to be fed. – hMp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infinite_monkey_theorem
The number “ten thousand” was chosen because it sounded be5er than “one hundred”, “one thousand”, “one million”, or “ten million”.
The original draI of this poem was intended to convey an addi-‐‑
tional message: “Compared with the great artists, musicians, sculp-‐‑
tors, and poets of the past, we are mere monkeys; even ten thousand of us working together would not be able to come up with such a masterpiece as Beethoven'ʹs Ninth, say, or Shakespeare'ʹs Hamlet.” Unfortunately, the current version of the poem is unlikely to inspire such a thought.
Communion
The form of this poem – free verse framed by lines in iambic pen-‐‑
tameter – gives it a unique feel. The poem did not turn out as well as it could have. This is a pity, as it is based on several ideas that all have literary potential; it mixes personal emotions, science fiction, and religious allusions.
63
The primary message of the poem is revealed in the third line from the end. Catherine shares her poetry and music in the hope of being “understood”, of finding a kindred spirit who can connect with her “soul”. However, the “people” of the present day do not “under-‐‑
stand” her; people will finally understand her “far in the future”, when “soul-‐‑capture” technology has been developed. This is con-‐‑
nected with the more general idea that all artists yearn to be “under-‐‑
stood” through their work, but the personal element of the poem is strong enough that I have classified it under “Personal Expressions” rather than under “On Art”. The idea was partly derived from the lyrics of Don McLean'ʹs famous song about Vincent van Gogh:
Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they'ʹre not listening still
Perhaps they never will…
By giving two syllables to “science”, Catherine portrays it as some-‐‑
thing of great power. However, this is meant to be ironic. Can a person'ʹs soul really be stored as a clear liquid in a li5le vial? Can the process of ge5ing to know a person really be supplanted by sim-‐‑
ple ingestion? It is oIen said that genuine human interaction is get-‐‑
ting rarer in this age of communications technology; might it disap-‐‑
pear completely in the future? Note that Catherine could have wri5en “Science will be able to release a soul from its corporeal prison, se5ing it free to roam the world on optical fibres”, but she chooses to write “Science will be able to capture a soul” and “store it securely in a vial”. There is a definite bias here, an expression of re-‐‑
vulsion.
The title of the poem, “Communion”, can mean “the sharing of thoughts or feelings” – the “understanding” that Catherine longs for – but its dominant sense is “the Christian ceremony in which mem-‐‑
bers of the congregation partake of a small amount of bread and wine representing the body of Christ and the blood of Christ”. The “Amen” at the end of the poem reinforces this sense. These two words introduce a whole new dimension to the poem. Does Cather-‐‑
ine actually know that people will be drinking her soul one day in the future – or is she merely hoping, or praying, for that to happen? From a discussion of the poem, one may also discover a moral mes-‐‑
sage. If it is unthinkable (as it will be to some readers) that people might understand Catherine'ʹs soul simply by drinking it, it is even more absurd to say that one can absorb Christ or become like Christ 64
by drinking a millilitre of store-‐‑bought red grape juice. This is a re-‐‑
minder that religious rites should be interpreted symbolically, not literally.
Catherine oIen goes by the title “Gypsy Spirit”, which was sug-‐‑
gested early on by Tyrol Rimbaud. The gypsy fortune-‐‑teller'ʹs crystal ball was not in the original plan of the poem. It was added for rea-‐‑
sons of meter and structure; unfortunately it may distract the reader from the more important themes. The “prophecy” theme and the “religion” theme, taken together, have unintended consequences; they provoke the following question: Is Catherine comparing herself to Christ – is she prophesying that far in the future, people will be drinking her in a ritual of communion?
“Spirit of Catherine Moody” has a double meaning; “spirit” can be “alcoholic liquid” or “essential nature of a person”.
In the line “Who I am; what I am; and why”, “why” stands for “why I am”. This might be interpreted as a further abbreviation for “[they will understand] why I am what I am”. Catherine'ʹs interpretation, however, treats am as an intransitive verb: “[they will understand] why I exist”. That is, “they will understand my purpose in this world”, or, “they will understand why I have been brought into the world of Second Life”. One could say that I, Catherine'ʹs real life al-‐‑
ter ego, am speaking through her. Catharsis
Based on first-‐‑hand experience, and wri5en in just three hours, “Catharsis” is my finest – and darkest – work.
This poem consists of 11 stanzas in ballad verse (iambic tetrameter and trimeter) alternating between 4-‐‑line speeches by “the devil” and 8-‐‑line narrations by the writer. Among the poems in this collection, “Catharsis” is remarkable for its brutal directness. In the first stanza, the devil wastes no time in declaring his intent: “I'ʹll have my bond”; “A pound of flesh”. The familiar form “thou” suits the tone of u5er contempt: “Give me my bond, thou cursèd freak!” The devil continues, laying out his promise – or premise: “Give, and thou shalt be free.” 65
In stanza 2, “knife”, “edge”, “tool”, 'ʹblade” are used to avoid repeti-‐‑
tion; yet the repetition of the idea suggests the writer'ʹs obsession with the act of self-‐‑harm. Similarly, the repetition of “a pound of flesh” in stanza 3 shows the devil'ʹs Shylock-‐‑like obsession. Stanza 3 is similar to stanza 1; the similarities form a framework that allows the differences to be highlighted in a live reading by changes of vol-‐‑
ume or inflection. We now learn that blood is part of the bond: un-‐‑
like in The Merchant of Venice, there will be no clever Portia and no lucky escape for the writer.
Stanza 4 continues the writer'ʹs soliloquy; the action does not begin until halfway through the stanza. “Catharsis” is not a poem about violence per se; it is about psychology, about a mental problem, about struggles with one'ʹs inner demons. Remove the soliloquy, and the poem becomes meaningless. “Indulgence” is used in its the-‐‑
ological sense: a remission of punishment, obtained by completing certain tasks
(h5p://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indulgence).
The devil'ʹs speech verbs grow in intensity through the first nine stanzas, in line with the writer'ʹs actions: he “speaks”, “groans”, and then “roars”. Stanza 10 summarizes the psychology of self-‐‑
harm:
How else for a poor tormented mind
To wash away its guilt?
A debt too dear to pay in brine Demands that blood be spilt!
(i.e., the person has commiAed a sin so grievous that tears of repentance are insufficient to absolve himself/herself, and a sacrifice of blood is necessary)
The devil'ʹs promise was: “Give me my bond… and thou shalt be free.” But by the end of the poem it is clear that the bond has yet to be paid in full: “Continue with the deal.” This is meant to give the reader the chilling realization that the writer'ʹs suffering is ongoing; it is far from over.
Pay a5ention to the punctuation marks, especially when reading this poem aloud. Quotes accompany changes in diction; dashes and el-‐‑
lipses are placeholders for missing syllables, suggesting audible breaths. Full stops interrupt the flow of speech, to good effect: “Yes. I shall. Of course.”; “And another. And another.”
66
Throughout the poem there is deliberate use of contrast and oxy-‐‑
moron: “Loving tool”, “painful delight”, “torture – pleasure”, “ten-‐‑
der steel”,”body – spirit”, ”agony – ecstasy”. It is interesting that “cursèd”, “wretched”, “wicked”, “closèd” appear in the same posi-‐‑
tions in the meter. This may subtly add to the coherence of the poem. “Leisure”, in my accent, rhymes with “pleasure”.
The title of the poem has a double meaning. Was it the act described that was cathartic? Or was it the act of writing the poem?
If you are a parent who has just discovered that his daughter is cuAing herself: […] Please, please do not judge or blame your child for what has happened. It'ʹs so very important to try and listen — to really hear what they have to say. Your child is in a lot of psychological pain and is trying desperately to deal with it. Just hug them if they will let you, or sit by their side. The first things to say are: "ʺI am so sorry you are going through this. You must be hurting so very badly inside, and no maAer what has happened in the past, I am your par-‐‑
ent and I love you. What can I do to help?"ʺ
– hAp://health.discovery.com/centers/teen/cuAers/cuAers.html
2007-‐‑9-‐‑25
67
Glossary of Second Life Terms
a3: adj., v.i. “away from keyboard”: an avatar who is ao is in an idle state, and may be unaware of what is happening around him/her
avatar, avie, AV: n. Sanskrit for “incarnation”. In Second Life, an avatar is a character, usually humanoid, that moves around and interacts with ob-‐‑
jects and other avatars according to its controller'ʹs wishes; it is the virtual alter ego from whose viewpoint we experience the world of SL.
ban lines: n. force fields that prevent unauthorized avatars from en-‐‑
tering a private plot of land
cuddle ball: n. see pose ball.
crash: n. an unintended diconnection from SL due to soIware, hardware, or network failure; v. to experience a crash
camp: v. To boost traffic on their parcels of land (and hence improve their chances of being found through the SL classifed ads), many SL en-‐‑
trepreneurs provide seats (“camping chairs”) that pay a meager wage to avatars who “camp” on them.
freebie: n. an item that may be obtained free-‐‑of-‐‑charge from a shop, or from other avatars
grief: v.i., v.tr. to act in a manner to deliberately cause annoyance, disrup-‐‑
tion, or grievance
inventory: n. a collection of objects, notecards, and other items owned and managed by an avatar
lag: n. tears in the fabric of Second Life spacetime that cause movement and speech to become sluggish and jerky
linden: n. colloquialism for “Linden dollar”, the unit of currency in SL. One linden is roughly equivalent to 0.3 US cents.
Linden: n. a god or goddess of Second Life, easily identified by the last name “Linden”
Linden Labs: n. The home of the gods (c.f. Mount Olympus). In RL, Lin-‐‑
den Labs is a company with headquarters in San Francisco, CA, USA.
newbie: n. someone who is new to SL
68
pose ball, poseball: n. a spherical object that causes an avatar to perform a certain pose or animation when he/she sits on it, e.g., “cuddle ball”, “dance ball”
prim: n. a three-‐‑dimensional geometric primitive, such as a cube, sphere or cone. Most objects in SL are built out of prims.
rez: v.tr. to conjure up; v.i. to appear; to materialize; to be conjured up
region: n. a 256mx256m plot of land in SL, controlled by a single computer or “simulator” (see “sim”)
Real Life (RL): n. the world from which SL avatars are controlled. Also re-‐‑
ferred to as First Life, 1st Life, or FL.
script: n. a computer program that can be embedded in a SL object and exe-‐‑
cutes from within; v.i, v.tr. to write a script
Second Life (SL): n. A three-‐‑dimensional online virtual world maintained by Linden Labs and dominated by user-‐‑created content
sim: n. abbreviation for “simulator” or “simulation”; a colloquialism for “region”
teleport (TP): v.i. to magically travel to a distant location; v.tr. to magically bring someone else to one'ʹs location (“I teleported him”); n. an invitation to teleport to one'ʹs location (“Send me a TP”, “I accepted her TP”)
traffic: n. a numerical score for a parcel of land representing the amount of recent activity
69
Acknowledgements
Catherine and her alter ego are deeply grateful to our friends for their inspiration, appreciation, and help with this book:
Midel Shabtay
Lizzie Scaggs
Loren Fitzgerald
Blu Laszlo
Tyrol Rimbaud
Pat Hartono
Mykyl Nordwind
Becky Rawley
Alphonsus Peck
Princess Ivory
FD Spark
alphaTest03 Yohkoh
Great Mills
Melissa Yeuxdoux
Hensonian Pennyfeather
Secundo Dharma
Persephone Phoenix
Phorkyad Acropolis
Meroveus Merlin
mindserfer Hilbert
The POETRY GUILD
Wikipedia
wpclipart.com
OpenOffice.org
“Art”
A. N. C.
Many, many others
You!
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My First Poetry Collection

Transcription

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