🚀 go-pugleaf

On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> [...] 
> A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> [...] 
> https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> 
> Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons
What a boring, sing-song poem!  We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet:

“Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.”

“The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950).
https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html

Full poem:

"A July Day
by Eben Eugene Rexford
In idle mood, this happy day,
I let the moments drift away;
I lie among the tangled grass
And watch the crinkling billows pass
O'er seas of clover. Like a tide
That sets across the meadow wide,
The crimson-crested ripples run
From isles of shade to shores of sun;
And one white lily seems to be
A sail upon this summer sea,
Blown northward, bringing me, to-day,
A fragrant freight from far Cathay.

Low as the wind that waves the rose
In gardens where the poppy grows,
And sweet as bells heard far away,
A robin sings his song to-day;
Sings softly, by his hidden nest,
A little roundelay of rest;
And as the wind his dwelling swings
He dreams his dream of unfledged wings,
While, blending with his song, I hear
A brook's low babble, somewhere near.

A glory wraps the hills, and seems
To weave an atmosphere of dreams
About the mountain's kingly crest
As sinks the sun adown the west.
Earth seems to sit with folded hands
In peace he only understands
Who has no care, no vain regret,
No sorrow he would fain forget,
And like a child upon her breast
I lie, this happy day, and rest.

The " green things growing " whisper me
Of many an earth-old mystery;
Of blossoms hiding in the mold,
And what the acorn-cups enfold;
Of life unseen by eyes too dim
To look through Nature up to Him
Who writes the poem of the year
For human heart, and eye, and ear.

O summer day, surpassing fair,
With hints of heaven in earth and air,
Not long I keep you in my hold —
The book is closed — the tale is told.
The valley fills with amber mist;
The sky is gold and amethyst.
Soft, soft and low, and silver clear
The robin's vesper hymn I hear,
And see the stars lit, one by one.
The happy summer day is done."

On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote: 
>
> > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> > [...] 
> > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > [...] 
> > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> > 
> > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons
> What a boring, sing-song poem

Look who's talking.

You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene.

HTH and HAND.

! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet: 
> 
> “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.” 
> 
> “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950). 
> https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html 
> 
> Full poem: 
> 
> "A July Day 
> by Eben Eugene Rexford 
> In idle mood, this happy day, 
> I let the moments drift away; 
> I lie among the tangled grass 
> And watch the crinkling billows pass 
> O'er seas of clover. Like a tide 
> That sets across the meadow wide, 
> The crimson-crested ripples run 
> From isles of shade to shores of sun; 
> And one white lily seems to be 
> A sail upon this summer sea, 
> Blown northward, bringing me, to-day, 
> A fragrant freight from far Cathay. 
> 
> Low as the wind that waves the rose 
> In gardens where the poppy grows, 
> And sweet as bells heard far away, 
> A robin sings his song to-day; 
> Sings softly, by his hidden nest, 
> A little roundelay of rest; 
> And as the wind his dwelling swings 
> He dreams his dream of unfledged wings, 
> While, blending with his song, I hear 
> A brook's low babble, somewhere near.
> A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> To weave an atmosphere of dreams
> About the mountain's kingly crest 
> As sinks the sun adown the west. 
> Earth seems to sit with folded hands 
> In peace he only understands 
> Who has no care, no vain regret, 
> No sorrow he would fain forget, 
> And like a child upon her breast 
> I lie, this happy day, and rest. 
> 
> The " green things growing " whisper me 
> Of many an earth-old mystery; 
> Of blossoms hiding in the mold, 
> And what the acorn-cups enfold; 
> Of life unseen by eyes too dim 
> To look through Nature up to Him 
> Who writes the poem of the year 
> For human heart, and eye, and ear. 
> 
> O summer day, surpassing fair, 
> With hints of heaven in earth and air, 
> Not long I keep you in my hold — 
> The book is closed — the tale is told. 
> The valley fills with amber mist; 
> The sky is gold and amethyst. 
> Soft, soft and low, and silver clear 
> The robin's vesper hymn I hear, 
> And see the stars lit, one by one. 
> The happy summer day is done."

On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote: 
> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote: 
> > 
> > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> > > [...] 
> > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > > [...] 
> > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> > > 
> > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons 
> > What a boring, sing-song poem
> Look who's talking. 
> 
> You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene. 

You defend a poem that you didn't read by attacking Michael's and our poems?


> ! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet: 
> > 
> > “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.” 
> > 
> > “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950). 
> > https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html 
> > 
> > Full poem: 
> > 
> > "A July Day 
> > by Eben Eugene Rexford 
> > In idle mood, this happy day, 
> > I let the moments drift away; 
> > I lie among the tangled grass 
> > And watch the crinkling billows pass 
> > O'er seas of clover. Like a tide 
> > That sets across the meadow wide, 
> > The crimson-crested ripples run 
> > From isles of shade to shores of sun; 
> > And one white lily seems to be 
> > A sail upon this summer sea, 
> > Blown northward, bringing me, to-day, 
> > A fragrant freight from far Cathay. 
> > 
> > Low as the wind that waves the rose 
> > In gardens where the poppy grows, 
> > And sweet as bells heard far away, 
> > A robin sings his song to-day; 
> > Sings softly, by his hidden nest, 
> > A little roundelay of rest; 
> > And as the wind his dwelling swings 
> > He dreams his dream of unfledged wings, 
> > While, blending with his song, I hear 
> > A brook's low babble, somewhere near. 
> > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > About the mountain's kingly crest 
> > As sinks the sun adown the west. 
> > Earth seems to sit with folded hands 
> > In peace he only understands 
> > Who has no care, no vain regret, 
> > No sorrow he would fain forget, 
> > And like a child upon her breast 
> > I lie, this happy day, and rest. 
> > 
> > The " green things growing " whisper me 
> > Of many an earth-old mystery; 
> > Of blossoms hiding in the mold, 
> > And what the acorn-cups enfold; 
> > Of life unseen by eyes too dim 
> > To look through Nature up to Him 
> > Who writes the poem of the year 
> > For human heart, and eye, and ear. 
> > 
> > O summer day, surpassing fair, 
> > With hints of heaven in earth and air, 
> > Not long I keep you in my hold — 
> > The book is closed — the tale is told. 
> > The valley fills with amber mist; 
> > The sky is gold and amethyst. 
> > Soft, soft and low, and silver clear 
> > The robin's vesper hymn I hear, 
> > And see the stars lit, one by one. 
> > The happy summer day is done."

On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 3:57:27 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, Will Dockery wrote: 
> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote: 
> > > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote: 
> > > 
> > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> > > > [...] 
> > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > > > [...] 
> > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> > > > 
> > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons 
> > > What a boring, sing-song poem 
> > Look who's talking. 
> > 
> > You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene.
> You defend a poem 

Not really.

🙂

> > ! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet: 
> > > 
> > > “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.” 
> > > 
> > > “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950). 
> > > https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html 
> > > 
> > > Full poem: 
> > > 
> > > "A July Day 
> > > by Eben Eugene Rexford 
> > > In idle mood, this happy day, 
> > > I let the moments drift away; 
> > > I lie among the tangled grass 
> > > And watch the crinkling billows pass 
> > > O'er seas of clover. Like a tide 
> > > That sets across the meadow wide, 
> > > The crimson-crested ripples run 
> > > From isles of shade to shores of sun; 
> > > And one white lily seems to be 
> > > A sail upon this summer sea, 
> > > Blown northward, bringing me, to-day, 
> > > A fragrant freight from far Cathay. 
> > > 
> > > Low as the wind that waves the rose 
> > > In gardens where the poppy grows, 
> > > And sweet as bells heard far away, 
> > > A robin sings his song to-day; 
> > > Sings softly, by his hidden nest, 
> > > A little roundelay of rest; 
> > > And as the wind his dwelling swings 
> > > He dreams his dream of unfledged wings, 
> > > While, blending with his song, I hear 
> > > A brook's low babble, somewhere near. 
> > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > > About the mountain's kingly crest 
> > > As sinks the sun adown the west. 
> > > Earth seems to sit with folded hands 
> > > In peace he only understands 
> > > Who has no care, no vain regret, 
> > > No sorrow he would fain forget, 
> > > And like a child upon her breast 
> > > I lie, this happy day, and rest. 
> > > 
> > > The " green things growing " whisper me 
> > > Of many an earth-old mystery; 
> > > Of blossoms hiding in the mold, 
> > > And what the acorn-cups enfold; 
> > > Of life unseen by eyes too dim 
> > > To look through Nature up to Him 
> > > Who writes the poem of the year 
> > > For human heart, and eye, and ear. 
> > > 
> > > O summer day, surpassing fair, 
> > > With hints of heaven in earth and air, 
> > > Not long I keep you in my hold — 
> > > The book is closed — the tale is told. 
> > > The valley fills with amber mist; 
> > > The sky is gold and amethyst. 
> > > Soft, soft and low, and silver clear 
> > > The robin's vesper hymn I hear, 
> > > And see the stars lit, one by one. 
> > > The happy summer day is done."

On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 8:04:16 PM UTC, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 3:57:27 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote: 
> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, Will Dockery wrote: 
> > > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote: 
> > > > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote: 
> > > > 
> > > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> > > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> > > > > [...] 
> > > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > > > > [...] 
> > > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> > > > > 
> > > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> > > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons 
> > > > What a boring, sing-song poem!  
> > > Look who's talking. 
> > > 
> > > You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene. 
> > You defend a poem that you didn't read by attacking Michael's and our poems? 
> Not really. 

You are "not really" defending the poem or you didn't read it?  Mr. Dockery, you have no business on this newsgroup.  Comebacks such as "look who's talking" and "Not really"  would never come from a real writer.  We said why we didn't like the poem and gave a supporting reference.  You didn't read the poem, and the only reason you even posted was to boost George Dance.  Do you think that George Dance chose the poem solely because it mentioned July?  

If you like the poem, please tell us why, and not that it is good because you like it and you like it because it is good.  You are a sham and a coward.  You are unable to come up with any opinion of your own because you are too dumb to be able to analyze any circumstance, let alone a poem or an essay or a book.  Even if you could, you would not be able to write it down in intelligible sentences.  You are no smarter now than when you were in high school repeating and failing grades.  You are what you were then, which is of low intelligence and delusive self esteem.  
 
Look around you at your comic books and hack writers collection and weep.

> > > ! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet: 
> > > > 
> > > > “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.” 

FWI, Emmeline Grangerford was a character in "Huckleberry Finn."  We know that you never read that.

> > > > 
> > > > “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950). 
> > > > https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html 
> > > > 
> > > > Full poem: 
> > > > 
> > > > "A July Day 
> > > > by Eben Eugene Rexford 
> > > > In idle mood, this happy day, 
> > > > I let the moments drift away; 
> > > > I lie among the tangled grass 
> > > > And watch the crinkling billows pass 
> > > > O'er seas of clover. Like a tide 
> > > > That sets across the meadow wide, 
> > > > The crimson-crested ripples run 
> > > > From isles of shade to shores of sun; 
> > > > And one white lily seems to be 
> > > > A sail upon this summer sea, 
> > > > Blown northward, bringing me, to-day, 
> > > > A fragrant freight from far Cathay. 
> > > > 
> > > > Low as the wind that waves the rose 
> > > > In gardens where the poppy grows, 
> > > > And sweet as bells heard far away, 
> > > > A robin sings his song to-day; 
> > > > Sings softly, by his hidden nest, 
> > > > A little roundelay of rest; 
> > > > And as the wind his dwelling swings 
> > > > He dreams his dream of unfledged wings, 
> > > > While, blending with his song, I hear 
> > > > A brook's low babble, somewhere near. 
> > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > > > About the mountain's kingly crest 
> > > > As sinks the sun adown the west. 
> > > > Earth seems to sit with folded hands 
> > > > In peace he only understands 
> > > > Who has no care, no vain regret, 
> > > > No sorrow he would fain forget, 
> > > > And like a child upon her breast 
> > > > I lie, this happy day, and rest. 
> > > > 
> > > > The " green things growing " whisper me 
> > > > Of many an earth-old mystery; 
> > > > Of blossoms hiding in the mold, 
> > > > And what the acorn-cups enfold; 
> > > > Of life unseen by eyes too dim 
> > > > To look through Nature up to Him 
> > > > Who writes the poem of the year 
> > > > For human heart, and eye, and ear. 
> > > > 
> > > > O summer day, surpassing fair, 
> > > > With hints of heaven in earth and air, 
> > > > Not long I keep you in my hold — 
> > > > The book is closed — the tale is told. 
> > > > The valley fills with amber mist; 
> > > > The sky is gold and amethyst. 
> > > > Soft, soft and low, and silver clear 
> > > > The robin's vesper hymn I hear, 
> > > > And see the stars lit, one by one. 
> > > > The happy summer day is done."

NancyGene wrote:

> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 8:04:16 PM UTC, Will Dockery wrote:
>> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 3:57:27 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
>> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, George Dance wrote:
>
>> > > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
>> > > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
>> > > > > [...]
>> > > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems
>> > > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams
>> > > > > [...]
>> > > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills,
>> > > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons
>> > > > What a boring, sing-song poem!
>> > > Look who's talking.
>> > >
>> > > You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene.
>> > You defend a poem that you didn't read by attacking Michael's and our poems?
>> Not really.

> You are "not really" defending the poem

That's right, but the poem is just as good or better than the bland sing-song second handed poetry you and Michael Pendragon churn out, Nancy Gene.

HTH and HAND.

George J. Dance wrote:
>
> Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
> A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
> [...]
> A glory wraps the hills, and seems
> To weave an atmosphere of dreams
> [...]
> https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html

> Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills,
> 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons

Good choice, George.

🙂

On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 7:00:08 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> Will Dockery wrote: 
> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 3:57:27 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote: 
> >> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, George Dance wrote: 
> >> 
> >>> > > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> >>> > > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> >>> > > > > [...] 
> >>> > > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> >>> > > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> >>> > > > > [...] 
> >>> > > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> >>> > > > > 
> >>> > > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> >>> > > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons 
> >>> > > > What a boring, sing-song poem! 
> >>> > > Look who's talking. 
> >>> > > 
> >>> > > You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene. 
> >>> > You defend a poem that you didn't read by attacking Michael's and our poems? 
> >>> Not really. 
> 
> >> You are "not really" defending the poem 
> 
> > That's right, but the poem is just as good or better than the bland sing-song second handed poetry you and Michael Pendragon churn out, Nancy Gene. 
> 
> > HTH and HAND.
> I found this poem to be quite cogent...

FYI: 

Cogent
adjective
1a : appealing forcibly to the mind or reason : convincing cogent evidence
b : pertinent, relevant a cogent analysis
2 : having power to compel or constrain cogent forces

If these definitions (courtesy of Merriam-Webster) don't sound like they're describing poems, it's because the word "cogent" doesn't apply to poetry.

A criminal lawyer's argument can be cogent; a textbook can be cogent; a scientific paper can be cogent; a newspaper article can be cogent; a philosophical argument can be cogent; a political speech can be cogent... but a poem neither can, nor should, be.

One does not use poetry to present and analysis or argument.  A poem captures an emotion, a mood, a tone.  Nor does poetry seek to appeal to reason.  Poetry employs symbolism and metaphors which are often difficult to understand and/or open to multiple interpretations.  There are often numerous layers (and meanings) to an individual poem.  

To call a poem "cogent" is to compare it to "The Federalist Papers" or "Origin of Species."

There are only a handful of poems where "cogent" would be even remotely applicable: Lucretius' "On the Nature of Things," for example (although it includes the use of metaphor); but "A July Day," a whimsical idyll, is not one of them.

Rexford's poem is easy to follow, and clearly expressed -- but that doesn't make it cogent.  There is no argument or analysis being set forth in "A July Day."  It's a poem, not a term paper, and you do it an unintentional disservice by describing in terms generally reserved for the latter.

On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 7:00:08 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> Will Dockery wrote: 
> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 3:57:27 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote: 
> >> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, George Dance wrote: 
> >> 
> >>> > > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> >>> > > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> >>> > > > > [...] 
> >>> > > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> >>> > > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> >>> > > > > [...] 
> >>> > > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> >>> > > > > 
> >>> > > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> >>> > > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons 
> >>> > > > What a boring, sing-song poem! 
> >>> > > Look who's talking. 
> >>> > > 
> >>> > > You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene. 
> >>> > You defend a poem that you didn't read by attacking Michael's and our poems? 
> >>> Not really. 
> 
> >> You are "not really" defending the poem 
> 
> > That's right, but the poem is just as good or better than the bland sing-song second handed poetry you and Michael Pendragon churn out, Nancy Gene. 
> 
> > HTH and HAND.
> I found this poem to be quite cogent...

Good Stephan Pickering homage with "cogent".

🙂

On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 8:03:05 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 7:00:08 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> > Will Dockery wrote:
> > > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 3:57:27 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > >> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, George Dance wrote:
> > >>
> > >>> > > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
> > >>> > > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
> > >>> > > > > [...]
> > >>> > > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems
> > >>> > > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams
> > >>> > > > > [...]
> > >>> > > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html
> > >>> > > > >
> > >>> > > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills,
> > >>> > > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons
> > >>> > > > What a boring, sing-song poem!
> > >>> > > Look who's talking.
> > >>> > >
> > >>> > > You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene.
> > >>> > You defend a poem that you didn't read by attacking Michael's and our poems?
> > >>> Not really.
> >
> > >> You are "not really" defending the poem
> >
> > > That's right, but the poem is just as good or better than the bland sing-song second handed poetry you and Michael Pendragon churn out, Nancy Gene.
> >
> > > HTH and HAND.
> > I found this poem to be quite cogent...
> Good Stephan Pickering homage with "cogent".

How is continuing Pickles' ignorant butchery of the English language an homage?

Pick was an idiot who pretended to be a savant.  What he failed to understand was that using "big words" incorrectly makes you sound like a pretentious, uneducated fool; whereas using common words correctly makes you seem intelligent.



Michael Pendragon
"The call me MISTER WAD!"
-- William Abraham Donkey on his short signoff.

Here comes Michael Pendragon, whining about something, as usual.

And so it goes.

🙂

On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 8:32:28 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> Here comes Michael Pendragon, whining about something, as usual.

I've already determined that you are uneducable.  The General, otoh, might still be able to step up his game a few notches.

Would it hurt you if he were to improve his English skills?


Michael Pendragon
"Generally, East Coast refers to NYC."
-- Will Dockery, village idiot

On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 8:32:28 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> Here comes Michael Pendragon, whining about something, as usual.

And there's Will Dockery whining about something-- and so it goes, Will's whining.

Just had to say something (breaking my staying off of people's poetry threads), because Will accusing people of whining whenever they say something sure sounds like a typical cyberbully-- just saying...

I tried to encourage Zod to step up his poetry, but he's like Will, they see Bukowski's work and think their simple poetry is good enough.  But I hate to tell them, their poetry doesn't have the energy or imagery of Ginsberg's work.

On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 10:05:20 PM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 8:32:28 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>
> > Here comes Michael Pendragon, whining about something, as usual.
> I've already determined that you are uneducable

Apparently you determined that about Jim Senetto and his inability to learn how to use an apostrophe.

HTH and HAND.

On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 10:19:25 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 10:05:20 PM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 8:32:28 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> >
> > > Here comes Michael Pendragon, whining about something, as usual.
> > I've already determined that you are uneducable
> Apparently you determined that about Jim Senetto and his inability to learn how to use an apostrophe.

For the 107th time, Donkey.

When I review/critique Jim's poetry, I note his errors.  I have always noted his errors.

When I review/critique his poetry in the future, I shall continue to point out his errors.

This group is a poetry workshop.  When we make errors, we expect our fellow writers to correct us.

Some of us learn from their corrections.

Some of us do not.


Michael Pendragon
"I tend to be stunned by the soft green eyed redheads the most, but the raven haired Xenas
give me quite a buzz, as do the brown eyed bombshells, et cetera ad infinitum... and can fall in love at the drop of a hat, or panties...***wink***"
-- Will Dockery, on romantic love.

Like I said, here comes Michael Pendragon, whining about something, as usual. 

And so it goes. 

🙂

On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 11:41:49 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> Like I said, here comes Michael Pendragon, whining about something, as usual. 

I would try to teach you what "whining" actually means... again... but having repeatedly demonstrated your spudlike nature, your aren't worth the effort.

Michael Pendragon
"And this is my main beef with the 'Christianity' that is overwhelmingly with us today... that Jesus was some kinda gay virgin nerd, rather than the Kickboxing Shaman (probably Warlock, too, judging from all the cool miracles he shot out when he was feeling frisky)."
-- Will Dockery, pontificating on Christianity.

On Sunday, July 31, 2022 at 4:16:29 AM UTC+10, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
> A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
> [...]
> A glory wraps the hills, and seems
> To weave an atmosphere of dreams
> [...]
> https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html
>
> Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills,
> 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons

This one's excellent, going to check out the author.

Will Dockery wrote:
> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 3:57:27 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
>> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, George Dance wrote:
>>
>>> > > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
>>> > > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
>>> > > > > [...]
>>> > > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems
>>> > > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams
>>> > > > > [...]
>>> > > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html
>>> > > > >
>>> > > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills,
>>> > > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons
>>> > > > What a boring, sing-song poem!
>>> > > Look who's talking.
>>> > >
>>> > > You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene.
>>> > You defend a poem that you didn't read by attacking Michael's and our poems?
>>> Not really.

>> You are "not really" defending the poem

> That's right, but the poem is just as good or better than the bland sing-song second handed poetry you and Michael Pendragon churn out, Nancy Gene.

> HTH and HAND.


I found this poem to be quite cogent...

On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 11:54:55 PM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 11:41:49 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote: 
>
> > Like I said, here comes Michael Pendragon, whining about something, as usual.
> I would try to teach you 

A shame you were never able to teach Jim Senetto anything, not even how to use an apostrophe.

And so it goes.

> 
> Michael Pendragon 
> "And this is my main beef with the 'Christianity' that is overwhelmingly with us today... that Jesus was some kinda gay virgin nerd, rather than the Kickboxing Shaman (probably Warlock, too, judging from all the cool miracles he shot out when he was feeling frisky)." 
> -- Will Dockery, pontificating on Christianity.

On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 11:41:49 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
[*kicked the broken record to pieces*]

And sWill whines about apostraphes, all the while, telling his so called "friends"* that they don't have to correct errors (like correcting I and you) while his has an editor and his "friends" are on their own.  Not sad but downright amusing how gullible his "friends" (*trolling support lackeys) are!

Now I have to agree with Ilya, the poet's style, although kinda dull to my taste, looks like most of the conventional poetry of the time (early 20th century) and I didn't see anything terrible about.

I'm not whining about Jim Senetto's inability to learn how to use an apostrophe, I'm pointing out Michael Pendragon's hypocrisy.

HTH and HAND.

On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 12:38:42 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> I'm not whining about Jim Senetto's inability to learn how to use an apostrophe, I'm pointing out Michael Pendragon's hypocrisy. 
> 
> HTH and HAND.

Actually, you're whining about what you perceive (or claim) to be an injustice.

You whine like this all the time (which explains why you've latched onto the word, since you latch onto everything that anyone else accuses you of doing/being).

whine 
verb
\ ˈ(h)wīn  \
whined; whining
intransitive verb

1a: to utter a high-pitched plaintive or distressed cry
b: to make a sound similar to such a cry
the wind whined in the chimney
2: to complain with or as if with a whine
always whining about the weather
3: to move or proceed with the sound of a whine
the bullet whined … across the ice
— Berton Roueché

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/whine

Definition #2 fits the majority of your posts like a glove.

Michael Pendragon 
"I don't pop pills unless there's no other alternative... being drug free for a few years now, you know."  
-- Will Dockery, on being clean and sober… except when he isn't

And, as expected, here comes Michael Pendragon, whining about something, as usual. 

Why do you whine and lie so much, Pendragon, you shit slinging little monkey?

🙂

On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 12:34:43 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 11:41:49 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote: 
> [*kicked the broken record to pieces*] 
> 
> And sWill whines about apostraphes, all the while, telling his so called "friends"* that they don't have to correct errors (like correcting I and you) while his has an editor and his "friends" are on their own. Not sad but downright amusing how gullible his "friends" (*trolling support lackeys) are! 
> 
> Now I have to agree with Ilya, the poet's style, although kinda dull to my taste, looks like most of the conventional poetry of the time (early 20th century) and I didn't see anything terrible about.
>

I agree with you about the poem.  It's a cut above the majority that PPB rescues from obscurity.  The narrative has a dreamy-eyed whimsy about it that carries over nicely to soften the hints of age in the penultimate, and death in the final, stanza -- appropriately seeing age and death as nothing more than the peaceful close of a glorious Summer day (life).

The overall sentiment is Pantheistic (the poet sees God manifested through Nature), which appeals to me as I have similar beliefs.  The rhyme and meter is nicely handled, and the poem contains several imaginative and appealing images -- particularly the portrayal of sunrise as a single white lily becoming a sailboat that's bringing the day to the poet from the mysterious lands of the East.

But as much as I like the poem, I have to agree that there is an inexplicable sense of dullness about it.  As beautiful and imaginative as the thoughts and images are, the words never really grab me.  So while the poem remains a pleasant and thought-provoking read, it's not going to stick in my memory, much less inspire me to memorize it.

I think the problem might be that the overall feeling reflects the languid, drowsy peacefulness of the July day it depicts.  It captures the fancy of a daydreaming poet, but lacks any deep-seated emotions.  That said, it remains a well-crafted idyll, with a deeper meaning (the acceptance of age and death as a natural part of the human experience) for those who scratch just below the surface.

On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 9:12:46 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 12:34:43 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote: 
> > On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 11:41:49 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote: 
> > [*kicked the broken record to pieces*] 
> > 
> > And sWill whines about apostraphes, all the while, telling his so called "friends"* that they don't have to correct errors (like correcting I and you) while his has an editor and his "friends" are on their own. Not sad but downright amusing how gullible his "friends" (*trolling support lackeys) are! 
> > 
> > Now I have to agree with Ilya, the poet's style, although kinda dull to my taste, looks like most of the conventional poetry of the time (early 20th century) and I didn't see anything terrible about. 
> >
> I agree with you about the poem. It's a cut above the majority that PPB rescues from obscurity. The narrative has a dreamy-eyed whimsy about it that carries over nicely to soften the hints of age in the penultimate, and death in the final, stanza -- appropriately seeing age and death as nothing more than the peaceful close of a glorious Summer day (life). 
> 
> The overall sentiment is Pantheistic (the poet sees God manifested through Nature), which appeals to me as I have similar beliefs. The rhyme and meter is nicely handled, and the poem contains several imaginative and appealing images -- particularly the portrayal of sunrise as a single white lily becoming a sailboat that's bringing the day to the poet from the mysterious lands of the East. 
> 
> But as much as I like the poem, I have to agree that there is an inexplicable sense of dullness about it. As beautiful and imaginative as the thoughts and images are, the words never really grab me. So while the poem remains a pleasant and thought-provoking read, it's not going to stick in my memory, much less inspire me to memorize it. 
> 
> I think the problem might be that the overall feeling reflects the languid, drowsy peacefulness of the July day it depicts. It captures the fancy of a daydreaming poet, but lacks any deep-seated emotions. That said, it remains a well-crafted idyll, with a deeper meaning (the acceptance of age and death as a natural part of the human experience) for those who scratch just below the surface.

Spam reported.

On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 12:06:32 AM UTC-4, ibsh...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Sunday, July 31, 2022 at 4:16:29 AM UTC+10, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>
> > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
> > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
> > [...]
> > A glory wraps the hills, and seems
> > To weave an atmosphere of dreams
> > [...]
> > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html
> >
> > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills,
> > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons
> This one's excellent, going to check out the author.

Agreed and seconded.

On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 9:12:46 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 12:34:43 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote: 
> > On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 11:41:49 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote: 
> > [*kicked the broken record to pieces*] 
> > 
> > And sWill whines about apostraphes, all the while, telling his so called "friends"* that they don't have to correct errors (like correcting I and you) while his has an editor and his "friends" are on their own. Not sad but downright amusing how gullible his "friends" (*trolling support lackeys) are! 
> > 
> > Now I have to agree with Ilya, the poet's style, although kinda dull to my taste, looks like most of the conventional poetry of the time (early 20th century) and I didn't see anything terrible about. 
> >
> I agree with you about the poem. It's a cut above the majority that PPB rescues from obscurity. The narrative has a dreamy-eyed whimsy about it that carries over nicely to soften the hints of age in the penultimate, and death in the final, stanza -- appropriately seeing age and death as nothing more than the peaceful close of a glorious Summer day (life). 
> 
> The overall sentiment is Pantheistic (the poet sees God manifested through Nature), which appeals to me as I have similar beliefs. The rhyme and meter is nicely handled, and the poem contains several imaginative and appealing images -- particularly the portrayal of sunrise as a single white lily becoming a sailboat that's bringing the day to the poet from the mysterious lands of the East. 

That's what I liked, from what remember when I was younger and first seeing mainstream art and writing from the early 20th, the Pantheistic theme.
 
> But as much as I like the poem, I have to agree that there is an inexplicable sense of dullness about it. As beautiful and imaginative as the thoughts and images are, the words never really grab me. So while the poem remains a pleasant and thought-provoking read, it's not going to stick in my memory, much less inspire me to memorize it. 

That's what I came away with. I wouldn't go back to it like I do with TS Eliot or Kahlil Gibran.
 
> I think the problem might be that the overall feeling reflects the languid, drowsy peacefulness of the July day it depicts. It captures the fancy of a daydreaming poet, but lacks any deep-seated emotions. That said, it remains a well-crafted idyll, with a deeper meaning (the acceptance of age and death as a natural part of the human experience) for those who scratch just below the surface.

On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 12:38:42 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> I'm not whining about Jim Senetto's inability to learn how to use an apostrophe, I'm pointing out Michael Pendragon's hypocrisy. 

You really think everyone is not just blind but stupid like you and you trolling support lackeys.

You constantly whine about Jim's apostrophes-- every chance you get-- like in this thread where there was no reason for it to be brought up.

I also noticed that your only "poetry commentary" here was personally attacking members who's commentary was negative  about the poem.  You are a self imagined tyrant-- no one is allowed to say anything that you feel is negative, unless it's about your opponents or otherwise you fly into a trolling tizzy of a rant.

On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote: 
> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote: 
> > 
> > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> > > [...] 
> > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > > [...] 
> > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> > > 
> > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons 
> > What a boring, sing-song poem

Like I said, look who's talking. 

You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene. 

And so it goes.

> ! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet: 
> > 
> > “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.” 
> > 
> > “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950). 
> > https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html 
> > 
> > Full poem: 
> > 
> > "A July Day 
> > by Eben Eugene Rexford 
> > In idle mood, this happy day, 
> > I let the moments drift away; 
> > I lie among the tangled grass 
> > And watch the crinkling billows pass 
> > O'er seas of clover. Like a tide 
> > That sets across the meadow wide, 
> > The crimson-crested ripples run 
> > From isles of shade to shores of sun; 
> > And one white lily seems to be 
> > A sail upon this summer sea, 
> > Blown northward, bringing me, to-day, 
> > A fragrant freight from far Cathay. 
> > 
> > Low as the wind that waves the rose 
> > In gardens where the poppy grows, 
> > And sweet as bells heard far away, 
> > A robin sings his song to-day; 
> > Sings softly, by his hidden nest, 
> > A little roundelay of rest; 
> > And as the wind his dwelling swings 
> > He dreams his dream of unfledged wings, 
> > While, blending with his song, I hear 
> > A brook's low babble, somewhere near. 
> > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > About the mountain's kingly crest 
> > As sinks the sun adown the west. 
> > Earth seems to sit with folded hands 
> > In peace he only understands 
> > Who has no care, no vain regret, 
> > No sorrow he would fain forget, 
> > And like a child upon her breast 
> > I lie, this happy day, and rest. 
> > 
> > The " green things growing " whisper me 
> > Of many an earth-old mystery; 
> > Of blossoms hiding in the mold, 
> > And what the acorn-cups enfold; 
> > Of life unseen by eyes too dim 
> > To look through Nature up to Him 
> > Who writes the poem of the year 
> > For human heart, and eye, and ear. 
> > 
> > O summer day, surpassing fair, 
> > With hints of heaven in earth and air, 
> > Not long I keep you in my hold — 
> > The book is closed — the tale is told. 
> > The valley fills with amber mist; 
> > The sky is gold and amethyst. 
> > Soft, soft and low, and silver clear 
> > The robin's vesper hymn I hear, 
> > And see the stars lit, one by one. 
> > The happy summer day is done."
...

On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 11:23:41 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote: 
> > > 
> > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> > > > [...] 
> > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> > > > [...] 
> > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> > > > 
> > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons
> > > What a boring, sing-song poem 
> 
> Like I said, look who's talking.
> You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene.
> And so it goes.
> > ! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet: 
> > > 
> > > “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.” 
> > >
> > > “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950). 
> > > https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html 
> > > 
> > > Full poem: 
> > > 
> > > "A July Day 
> > > by Eben Eugene Rexford 
> > > In idle mood, this happy day, 
> > > I let the moments drift away; 
> > > I lie among the tangled grass 
> > > And watch the crinkling billows pass 
> > > O'er seas of clover. Like a tide 
> > > That sets across the meadow wide, 
> > > The crimson-crested ripples run 
> > > From isles of shade to shores of sun; 
> > > And one white lily seems to be 
> > > A sail upon this summer sea, 
> > > Blown northward, bringing me, to-day, 
> > > A fragrant freight from far Cathay. 
> > > 
> > > Low as the wind that waves the rose 
> > > In gardens where the poppy grows, 
> > > And sweet as bells heard far away, 
> > > A robin sings his song to-day; 
> > > Sings softly, by his hidden nest, 
> > > A little roundelay of rest; 
> > > And as the wind his dwelling swings 
> > > He dreams his dream of unfledged wings, 
> > > While, blending with his song, I hear 
> > > A brook's low babble, somewhere near.
> > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams
> > > About the mountain's kingly crest 
> > > As sinks the sun adown the west. 
> > > Earth seems to sit with folded hands 
> > > In peace he only understands 
> > > Who has no care, no vain regret, 
> > > No sorrow he would fain forget, 
> > > And like a child upon her breast 
> > > I lie, this happy day, and rest. 
> > > 
> > > The " green things growing " whisper me 
> > > Of many an earth-old mystery; 
> > > Of blossoms hiding in the mold, 
> > > And what the acorn-cups enfold; 
> > > Of life unseen by eyes too dim 
> > > To look through Nature up to Him 
> > > Who writes the poem of the year 
> > > For human heart, and eye, and ear. 
> > > 
> > > O summer day, surpassing fair, 
> > > With hints of heaven in earth and air, 
> > > Not long I keep you in my hold — 
> > > The book is closed — the tale is told. 
> > > The valley fills with amber mist; 
> > > The sky is gold and amethyst. 
> > > Soft, soft and low, and silver clear 
> > > The robin's vesper hymn I hear, 
> > > And see the stars lit, one by one. 
> > > The happy summer day is done."
> ...

Like I said tyrant, ust like Trump, you've know that you can outright do what you call is wrong- right in people's faces and then try to tell people you didn't, because you know your lackeys will accept anything you say as gospel, like a Fundie minister.

You have been great inspiration for writings against the alt Right, so I must thank you for being such a willing heel!

On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 8:41:21 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> Ash Wurthing wrote: 
> 
> > On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 11:23:41 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote: 
> >> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote: 
> >> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote: 
> >> > > 
> >> > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> >> > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> >> > > > [...] 
> >> > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> >> > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> >> > > > [...]
> >> > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford..html
> >> > > > 
> >> > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills, 
> >> > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons 
> >> > > What a boring, sing-song poem 
> >> 
> >> Like I said, look who's talking. 
> >> You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene. 
> >> And so it goes. 
> >> > ! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet: 
> >> > > 
> >> > > “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.” 
> >> > > 
> >> > > “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950). 
> >> > > https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html 
> >> > > 
> >> > > Full poem: 
> >> > > 
> >> > > "A July Day 
> >> > > by Eben Eugene Rexford 
> >> > > In idle mood, this happy day, 
> >> > > I let the moments drift away; 
> >> > > I lie among the tangled grass 
> >> > > And watch the crinkling billows pass 
> >> > > O'er seas of clover. Like a tide 
> >> > > That sets across the meadow wide, 
> >> > > The crimson-crested ripples run 
> >> > > From isles of shade to shores of sun; 
> >> > > And one white lily seems to be 
> >> > > A sail upon this summer sea, 
> >> > > Blown northward, bringing me, to-day, 
> >> > > A fragrant freight from far Cathay. 
> >> > > 
> >> > > Low as the wind that waves the rose 
> >> > > In gardens where the poppy grows, 
> >> > > And sweet as bells heard far away, 
> >> > > A robin sings his song to-day; 
> >> > > Sings softly, by his hidden nest, 
> >> > > A little roundelay of rest; 
> >> > > And as the wind his dwelling swings 
> >> > > He dreams his dream of unfledged wings, 
> >> > > While, blending with his song, I hear 
> >> > > A brook's low babble, somewhere near. 
> >> > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> >> > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> >> > > About the mountain's kingly crest 
> >> > > As sinks the sun adown the west. 
> >> > > Earth seems to sit with folded hands 
> >> > > In peace he only understands 
> >> > > Who has no care, no vain regret, 
> >> > > No sorrow he would fain forget, 
> >> > > And like a child upon her breast 
> >> > > I lie, this happy day, and rest. 
> >> > > 
> >> > > The " green things growing " whisper me 
> >> > > Of many an earth-old mystery; 
> >> > > Of blossoms hiding in the mold, 
> >> > > And what the acorn-cups enfold; 
> >> > > Of life unseen by eyes too dim 
> >> > > To look through Nature up to Him 
> >> > > Who writes the poem of the year 
> >> > > For human heart, and eye, and ear. 
> >> > > 
> >> > > O summer day, surpassing fair, 
> >> > > With hints of heaven in earth and air, 
> >> > > Not long I keep you in my hold — 
> >> > > The book is closed — the tale is told. 
> >> > > The valley fills with amber mist; 
> >> > > The sky is gold and amethyst. 
> >> > > Soft, soft and low, and silver clear 
> >> > > The robin's vesper hymn I hear, 
> >> > > And see the stars lit, one by one. 
> >> > > The happy summer day is done." 
> >> ... 
> 
> > Like I said tyrant, ust like Trump, you've know that you can outright do what you call is wrong- right in people's faces and then try to tell people you didn't, because you know your lackeys will accept anything you say as gospel, like a Fundie minister. 
> 
> > You have been great inspiration for writings against the alt Right, so I must thank you for being such a willing heel!
> While you actually are the one spewing more bullshit than even Donald Trump can manage, on your own limited mental scale, Ash. 

Now that's an accomplishment!  Seeing Trump plead the fifth over 400 times in a single trial.  You seem bitterrly jealous of me with your accusations, Willy wannabe Trump of this dump! mln_

On 2022-08-11 9:44 a.m., HC wrote:
>
> Spam reported.

On 2022-08-11 9:44 a.m., HC wrote:
>
> Spam reported.

Ash Wurthing wrote:

> On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 11:23:41 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
>> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>> > >
>> > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
>> > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
>> > > > [...]
>> > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems
>> > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams
>> > > > [...]
>> > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford..html
>> > > >
>> > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills,
>> > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons
>> > > What a boring, sing-song poem
>>
>> Like I said, look who's talking.
>> You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene.
>> And so it goes.
>> > ! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet:
>> > >
>> > > “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.”
>> > >
>> > > “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950).
>> > > https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html
>> > >
>> > > Full poem:
>> > >
>> > > "A July Day
>> > > by Eben Eugene Rexford
>> > > In idle mood, this happy day,
>> > > I let the moments drift away;
>> > > I lie among the tangled grass
>> > > And watch the crinkling billows pass
>> > > O'er seas of clover. Like a tide
>> > > That sets across the meadow wide,
>> > > The crimson-crested ripples run
>> > > From isles of shade to shores of sun;
>> > > And one white lily seems to be
>> > > A sail upon this summer sea,
>> > > Blown northward, bringing me, to-day,
>> > > A fragrant freight from far Cathay.
>> > >
>> > > Low as the wind that waves the rose
>> > > In gardens where the poppy grows,
>> > > And sweet as bells heard far away,
>> > > A robin sings his song to-day;
>> > > Sings softly, by his hidden nest,
>> > > A little roundelay of rest;
>> > > And as the wind his dwelling swings
>> > > He dreams his dream of unfledged wings,
>> > > While, blending with his song, I hear
>> > > A brook's low babble, somewhere near.
>> > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems
>> > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams
>> > > About the mountain's kingly crest
>> > > As sinks the sun adown the west.
>> > > Earth seems to sit with folded hands
>> > > In peace he only understands
>> > > Who has no care, no vain regret,
>> > > No sorrow he would fain forget,
>> > > And like a child upon her breast
>> > > I lie, this happy day, and rest.
>> > >
>> > > The " green things growing " whisper me
>> > > Of many an earth-old mystery;
>> > > Of blossoms hiding in the mold,
>> > > And what the acorn-cups enfold;
>> > > Of life unseen by eyes too dim
>> > > To look through Nature up to Him
>> > > Who writes the poem of the year
>> > > For human heart, and eye, and ear.
>> > >
>> > > O summer day, surpassing fair,
>> > > With hints of heaven in earth and air,
>> > > Not long I keep you in my hold —
>> > > The book is closed — the tale is told.
>> > > The valley fills with amber mist;
>> > > The sky is gold and amethyst.
>> > > Soft, soft and low, and silver clear
>> > > The robin's vesper hymn I hear,
>> > > And see the stars lit, one by one.
>> > > The happy summer day is done."
>> ...

> Like I said tyrant, ust like Trump, you've know that you can outright do what you call is wrong- right in people's faces and then try to tell people you didn't, because you know your lackeys will accept anything you say as gospel, like a Fundie minister.

> You have been great inspiration for writings against the alt Right, so I must thank you for being such a willing heel!

While you actually are the one spewing more bullshit than even Donald Trump can manage, on your own limited mental scale, Ash.

HTH and HAND.

Will Dockery wrote:

> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
>> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>>
>> > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
>> > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
>> > [...]
>> > A glory wraps the hills, and seems
>> > To weave an atmosphere of dreams
>> > [...]
>> > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html
>> >
>> > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills,
>> > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons
>> What a boring, sing-song poem

> Look who's talking.

> You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene.

> HTH and HAND.

> ! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet:
>>
>> “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.”
>>
>> “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950).
>> https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html
>>
>> Full poem:
>>
>> "A July Day
>> by Eben Eugene Rexford
>> In idle mood, this happy day,
>> I let the moments drift away;
>> I lie among the tangled grass
>> And watch the crinkling billows pass
>> O'er seas of clover. Like a tide
>> That sets across the meadow wide,
>> The crimson-crested ripples run
>> From isles of shade to shores of sun;
>> And one white lily seems to be
>> A sail upon this summer sea,
>> Blown northward, bringing me, to-day,
>> A fragrant freight from far Cathay.
>>
>> Low as the wind that waves the rose
>> In gardens where the poppy grows,
>> And sweet as bells heard far away,
>> A robin sings his song to-day;
>> Sings softly, by his hidden nest,
>> A little roundelay of rest;
>> And as the wind his dwelling swings
>> He dreams his dream of unfledged wings,
>> While, blending with his song, I hear
>> A brook's low babble, somewhere near.
>> A glory wraps the hills, and seems
>> To weave an atmosphere of dreams
>> About the mountain's kingly crest
>> As sinks the sun adown the west.
>> Earth seems to sit with folded hands
>> In peace he only understands
>> Who has no care, no vain regret,
>> No sorrow he would fain forget,
>> And like a child upon her breast
>> I lie, this happy day, and rest.
>>
>> The " green things growing " whisper me
>> Of many an earth-old mystery;
>> Of blossoms hiding in the mold,
>> And what the acorn-cups enfold;
>> Of life unseen by eyes too dim
>> To look through Nature up to Him
>> Who writes the poem of the year
>> For human heart, and eye, and ear.
>>
>> O summer day, surpassing fair,
>> With hints of heaven in earth and air,
>> Not long I keep you in my hold —
>> The book is closed — the tale is told.
>> The valley fills with amber mist;
>> The sky is gold and amethyst.
>> Soft, soft and low, and silver clear
>> The robin's vesper hymn I hear,
>> And see the stars lit, one by one.
>> The happy summer day is done."

Again, agreed, this is one excellent old school styled poem....

Ash Wurthing wrote:

> On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 8:41:21 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>> Ash Wurthing wrote:
>>
>> > On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 11:23:41 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>> >> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 2:38:18 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
>> >> > On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 6:16:29 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>> >> > >
>> >> > > > Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
>> >> > > > A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
>> >> > > > [...]
>> >> > > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems
>> >> > > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams
>> >> > > > [...]
>> >> > > > https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford..html
>> >> > > >
>> >> > > > Picture: William Merritt Chase (1849-1916), Summer at Shinnecock Hills,
>> >> > > > 1891. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons
>> >> > > What a boring, sing-song poem
>> >>
>> >> Like I said, look who's talking.
>> >> You and Michael Pendragon specialize in dreary sing-song, second handed rhymes, Nancy Gene.
>> >> And so it goes.
>> >> > ! We saw this review of Mr. Rexford's ability as a poet:
>> >> > >
>> >> > > “Most of his poems are as far on the lugubrious side as are the poems of a certain recent popular poet on the pollyanna, but they are just as bad, and are reminiscent of the poems of Emmeline Grangerford.”
>> >> > >
>> >> > > “The House of Beadle & Adams and its Dime and Nickel Novels: The Story of a Vanished Literature” by Albert Johannsen (c1950).
>> >> > > https://www.ulib.niu.edu/badndp/rexford_eben.html
>> >> > >
>> >> > > Full poem:
>> >> > >
>> >> > > "A July Day
>> >> > > by Eben Eugene Rexford
>> >> > > In idle mood, this happy day,
>> >> > > I let the moments drift away;
>> >> > > I lie among the tangled grass
>> >> > > And watch the crinkling billows pass
>> >> > > O'er seas of clover. Like a tide
>> >> > > That sets across the meadow wide,
>> >> > > The crimson-crested ripples run
>> >> > > From isles of shade to shores of sun;
>> >> > > And one white lily seems to be
>> >> > > A sail upon this summer sea,
>> >> > > Blown northward, bringing me, to-day,
>> >> > > A fragrant freight from far Cathay.
>> >> > >
>> >> > > Low as the wind that waves the rose
>> >> > > In gardens where the poppy grows,
>> >> > > And sweet as bells heard far away,
>> >> > > A robin sings his song to-day;
>> >> > > Sings softly, by his hidden nest,
>> >> > > A little roundelay of rest;
>> >> > > And as the wind his dwelling swings
>> >> > > He dreams his dream of unfledged wings,
>> >> > > While, blending with his song, I hear
>> >> > > A brook's low babble, somewhere near.
>> >> > > A glory wraps the hills, and seems
>> >> > > To weave an atmosphere of dreams
>> >> > > About the mountain's kingly crest
>> >> > > As sinks the sun adown the west.
>> >> > > Earth seems to sit with folded hands
>> >> > > In peace he only understands
>> >> > > Who has no care, no vain regret,
>> >> > > No sorrow he would fain forget,
>> >> > > And like a child upon her breast
>> >> > > I lie, this happy day, and rest.
>> >> > >
>> >> > > The " green things growing " whisper me
>> >> > > Of many an earth-old mystery;
>> >> > > Of blossoms hiding in the mold,
>> >> > > And what the acorn-cups enfold;
>> >> > > Of life unseen by eyes too dim
>> >> > > To look through Nature up to Him
>> >> > > Who writes the poem of the year
>> >> > > For human heart, and eye, and ear.
>> >> > >
>> >> > > O summer day, surpassing fair,
>> >> > > With hints of heaven in earth and air,
>> >> > > Not long I keep you in my hold —
>> >> > > The book is closed — the tale is told.
>> >> > > The valley fills with amber mist;
>> >> > > The sky is gold and amethyst.
>> >> > > Soft, soft and low, and silver clear
>> >> > > The robin's vesper hymn I hear,
>> >> > > And see the stars lit, one by one.
>> >> > > The happy summer day is done."
>> >> ...
>>
>> > Like I said tyrant, ust like Trump, you've know that you can outright do what you call is wrong- right in people's faces and then try to tell people you didn't, because you know your lackeys will accept anything you say as gospel, like a Fundie minister.
>>
>> > You have been great inspiration for writings against the alt Right, so I must thank you for being such a willing heel!
>> While you actually are the one spewing more bullshit than even Donald Trump can manage, on your own limited mental scale, Ash.

> Now that's an accomplishment!  Seeing Trump plead the fifth over 400 times in a single trial.  You seem bitterrly jealous of me with your accusations, Willy wannabe Trump of this dump! mln_

Again, you're obviously confused, Ash.

HTH and HAND.

On Saturday, August 13, 2022 at 3:23:25 PM UTC-4, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> On 2022-08-10 7:57 p.m., Michael Pendragon wrote: 
> 
> > On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 7:00:08 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> >>>> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, George Dance wrote: 
> >>>> 
> >>>>>>>>> Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog: 
> >>>>>>>>> A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford 
> >>>>>>>>> [...] 
> >>>>>>>>> A glory wraps the hills, and seems 
> >>>>>>>>> To weave an atmosphere of dreams 
> >>>>>>>>> [...]
> >>>>>>>>> https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html 
> >>>>>>>>> 
> >> I found this poem to be quite cogent... 
> > 
> > FYI: 
> > 
> > Cogent 
> > adjective 
> > 1a : appealing forcibly to the mind or reason : convincing cogent evidence 
> > b : pertinent, relevant a cogent analysis 
> > 2 : having power to compel or constrain cogent forces 
> > 
> > If these definitions (courtesy of Merriam-Webster) don't sound like they're describing poems, it's because the word "cogent" doesn't apply to poetry. 
> > 
> > A criminal lawyer's argument can be cogent; a textbook can be cogent; a scientific paper can be cogent; a newspaper article can be cogent; a philosophical argument can be cogent; a political speech can be cogent... but a poem neither can, nor should, be. 
> > 
> > One does not use poetry to present and analysis or argument. A poem captures an emotion, a mood, a tone. Nor does poetry seek to appeal to reason. Poetry employs symbolism and metaphors which are often difficult to understand and/or open to multiple interpretations. There are often numerous layers (and meanings) to an individual poem. 
> > 
> > To call a poem "cogent" is to compare it to "The Federalist Papers" or "Origin of Species." 
> > 
> > There are only a handful of poems where "cogent" would be even remotely applicable: Lucretius' "On the Nature of Things," for example (although it includes the use of metaphor); but "A July Day," a whimsical idyll, is not one of them. 
> > 
> > Rexford's poem is easy to follow, and clearly expressed -- but that doesn't make it cogent. There is no argument or analysis being set forth in "A July Day." It's a poem, not a term paper, and you do it an unintentional disservice by describing in terms generally reserved for the latter. 
> > 
> 
> I have to disagree. I definitely see a depth of emotion (something you 
> saw a lack of in your review) being communicated, and a thought being 
> argued for. 
> 
> The emotion being summoned up is serenity (pure happiness in the 
> moment), and the correlative thought (because emotion leads to thought) 
> is "Life is good." 

Happiness (especially when viewed as serenity) is a superficial, or surface, emotion.  It is a mixture of a lack of pain/want (momentary loss of self-awareness) and an appreciation of the act of *being.*

It is a light, easy, laid back kind of emotion (one perfectly suited to a day in July).  But it is hardly what one refers to by a "depth of emotion."

Depth of emotion refers to strong, overpowering passions, angers, hopes, fears, etc.

In terms of happiness, ecstasy would be a deep manifestation of a happy or joyful feeling.

Even a permanent, spiritual form of serenity (as in Buddhism) is emotionally superficial -- achieved by distancing oneself from one's physical needs and material and/or sensual desires.

My point in initially bring this up, was to explain why I feel the poem fails to be a strongly affecting and/or memorable work; namely that it lacks in emotional appeal due to its dispassionate nature (or, if you prefer, to the dispassionate nature of serenity).

However, you seem to be less interested in the dispassionate nature of both the poem and its subject, than in determining whether the poem is "cogent" (a well-intentioned, but detrimental sop to General Zod, as it will encourage him to continue misapplying the word).  

> The poet argues for that by presenting all those different things that 
> are wonderful to experience on a summer day. It's long, and without any 
> drama or excitement -- but as you noted, that's meant to capture the 
> peacefulness of this lazy summer day. Laziness is peacefulness or 
> serenity (as in the song "Up a Lazy River"). 

I was thinking more of "A Lazy Afternoon," which has a much more languid pace:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1cC9EfjE_Q

> Yes, it's dull, but it's 
> meant to be dull or non-dramatic -- drama reflects tension and the 
> interplay of positives and negatives. Not to dismiss it -- conflict is a 
> necessary part of life -- but so are these moments of undiluted bliss. 
> 

I had already stated that the poem's tone perfectly captures it subject:

"I think the problem might be that the overall feeling reflects the languid, drowsy peacefulness of the July day it depicts. It captures the fancy of a daydreaming poet, but lacks any deep-seated emotions."

However, presenting peace, whimsical, lazy, droswy Summer scenes does not qualify as presenting a clear-cut, logical "argument."  

"b : a coherent series of reasons, statements, or facts intended to support or establish a point of view(.)"

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/argument

Scenes of serenity are not reasons, statements or facts, but *examples* which would have supported such an argument had one, in fact, been stated.  At best, one can say that the argument was "implied," but an implication would not be considered "cogent."

But enough of semantics: we have greater things to discuss.

> "Life is good" is a simple thought, but it's a necessary one to have; 
> everyone has moments when they consider ending their own life, and it's 
> good to have experiences like this to balance them off against -- to 
> remember that killing oneself means losing not only the possibility of 
> having more experiences like that, but even the possibility of 
> remembering the past ones.

"Life is good" is undoubtedly a necessary thought to sustain life.  However, it remains a thought -- not a *deep emotion.*

One can accept, and agree with the poem's underlying thought, as I do; but such a poem appeals to one's intellect -- not to one's emotions.

Which brings us back to my original concluding statement, that: "it remains a well-crafted idyll, with a deeper meaning (the acceptance of age and death as a natural part of the human experience) for those who scratch just below the surface" and the greater implications that holds regarding poetry in general.

Three of us (you, Ash, and myself) have expressed our views on the poem.  All of us like it in general, but two of us hold varying degrees of reservations -- both of which are based on the poem's lack of emotional appeal.  Poetry, like music, is often said to appeal directly to the emotions.  There are, of course, examples to the contrary -- Pope, for example, but my reaction to them is similar to my reaction to "A July Day" (although I greatly prefer the latter).

I've often noted that "Mensa George" (no offense intended) is more a creature of intellect than of emotion, which presupposes an inclination on your part for "intellectual" poetry (Pope, Eliot, et al.).  I, otoh, am drawn to Romantic poetry, which appeals more directly to the emotions.  I gravitate toward poetry that gives me an emotional thrill.  Carman's "A Vagabond Sthrill" in me as he experienced from the natural scenes he was describing.  Carman's words "shake me like the cry of bugles," and when I read his lines "my heart is like a rhyme... keeping time" with his imagery, meter, and words.

Poetry directed at the intellect does not affect my emotions, and therefore my feeling for it remain neutral at best.  I can appreciate them intellectually, find them clever, amusing, or even profound... but I'm not going to *feel* anything from reading them.  And, as they haven't stirred my feelings, I cannot become emotionally attached to them.

Is this a failure on the part of the author or the poem?  No, since neither set out to recreate stirring emotions in their reader.  Is it a flaw in the concept of intellectual verse (and Enlightment literature and Modern poetry in general)?  It is for those of us of a passionate nature.  

Rexford's poem, however, is a far cry from Enlightenment or Modern poetry (a compliment).  He successfully captures the idle, daydreamy mood he sought -- and conveys that mood to his readers with equal success.  His poem was practically flawless -- but for me, it *could* have been so much more.  If only some, intangible, indefinable emotion had shaken my spirit with the same intensity of Carman's words, I'd be heralding his poem as a masterpiece.  

"A Lazy Afternoon" might not be able to stand on its own as a poem, but as a song, it accomplishes what Rexford's poem does not -- it makes me *feel* (as opposed to understand/appreciate) its mood.

On 2022-08-11 9:12 a.m., Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Thursday, August 11, 2022 at 12:34:43 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
>>
>> Now I have to agree with Ilya, the poet's style, although kinda dull to my taste, looks like most of the conventional poetry of the time (early 20th century) and I didn't see anything terrible about.
>>
>
> I agree with you about the poem.  It's a cut above the majority that PPB rescues from obscurity.  The narrative has a dreamy-eyed whimsy about it that carries over nicely to soften the hints of age in the penultimate, and death in the final, stanza -- appropriately seeing age and death as nothing more than the peaceful close of a glorious Summer day (life).
>
> The overall sentiment is Pantheistic (the poet sees God manifested through Nature), which appeals to me as I have similar beliefs.  The rhyme and meter is nicely handled, and the poem contains several imaginative and appealing images -- particularly the portrayal of sunrise as a single white lily becoming a sailboat that's bringing the day to the poet from the mysterious lands of the East.
>
> But as much as I like the poem, I have to agree that there is an inexplicable sense of dullness about it.  As beautiful and imaginative as the thoughts and images are, the words never really grab me.  So while the poem remains a pleasant and thought-provoking read, it's not going to stick in my memory, much less inspire me to memorize it.
>
> I think the problem might be that the overall feeling reflects the languid, drowsy peacefulness of the July day it depicts.  It captures the fancy of a daydreaming poet, but lacks any deep-seated emotions.  That said, it remains a well-crafted idyll, with a deeper meaning (the acceptance of age and death as a natural part of the human experience) for those who scratch just below the surface.

A very good, even "quite cogent," review of Rexford's poem. It makes me
want to strike up a conversation about it; which I'll do in another part
of the thread.

On 2022-08-10 7:57 p.m., Michael Pendragon wrote:

> On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 7:00:08 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>>>> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, George Dance wrote:
>>>>
>>>>>>>>> Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
>>>>>>>>> A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
>>>>>>>>> [...]
>>>>>>>>> A glory wraps the hills, and seems
>>>>>>>>> To weave an atmosphere of dreams
>>>>>>>>> [...]
>>>>>>>>> https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html
>>>>>>>>>
>> I found this poem to be quite cogent...
>
> FYI:
>
> Cogent
> adjective
> 1a : appealing forcibly to the mind or reason : convincing cogent evidence
> b : pertinent, relevant a cogent analysis
> 2 : having power to compel or constrain cogent forces
>
> If these definitions (courtesy of Merriam-Webster) don't sound like they're describing poems, it's because the word "cogent" doesn't apply to poetry.
>
> A criminal lawyer's argument can be cogent; a textbook can be cogent; a scientific paper can be cogent; a newspaper article can be cogent; a philosophical argument can be cogent; a political speech can be cogent... but a poem neither can, nor should, be.
>
> One does not use poetry to present and analysis or argument.  A poem captures an emotion, a mood, a tone.  Nor does poetry seek to appeal to reason.  Poetry employs symbolism and metaphors which are often difficult to understand and/or open to multiple interpretations.  There are often numerous layers (and meanings) to an individual poem.
>
> To call a poem "cogent" is to compare it to "The Federalist Papers" or "Origin of Species."
>
> There are only a handful of poems where "cogent" would be even remotely applicable: Lucretius' "On the Nature of Things," for example (although it includes the use of metaphor); but "A July Day," a whimsical idyll, is not one of them.
>
> Rexford's poem is easy to follow, and clearly expressed -- but that doesn't make it cogent.  There is no argument or analysis being set forth in "A July Day."  It's a poem, not a term paper, and you do it an unintentional disservice by describing in terms generally reserved for the latter.
>

I have to disagree. I definitely see a depth of emotion (something you
saw a lack of in your review) being communicated, and a thought being
argued for.

The emotion being summoned up is serenity (pure happiness in the
moment), and the correlative thought (because emotion leads to thought)
is "Life is good."

The poet argues for that by presenting all those different things that
are wonderful to experience on a summer day. It's long, and without any
drama or excitement -- but as you noted, that's meant to capture the
peacefulness of this lazy summer day. Laziness is peacefulness or
serenity (as in the song "Up a Lazy River"). Yes, it's dull, but it's
meant to be dull or non-dramatic -- drama reflects tension and the
interplay of positives and negatives. Not to dismiss it -- conflict is a
necessary part of life -- but so are these moments of undiluted bliss.

"Life is good" is a simple thought, but it's a necessary one to have;
everyone has moments when they consider ending their own life, and it's
good to have experiences like this to balance them off against -- to
remember that killing oneself means losing not only the possibility of
having more experiences like that, but even the possibility of
remembering the past ones.

George J. Dance wrote:

> On 2022-08-10 7:57 p.m., Michael Pendragon wrote:

>> On Wednesday, August 10, 2022 at 7:00:08 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>>>>> On Saturday, July 30, 2022 at 7:05:04 PM UTC, George Dance wrote:
>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>> Today's poem on Penny's Poetry Blog:
>>>>>>>>>> A July Day, by Eben E. Rexford
>>>>>>>>>> [...]
>>>>>>>>>> A glory wraps the hills, and seems
>>>>>>>>>> To weave an atmosphere of dreams
>>>>>>>>>> [...]
>>>>>>>>>> https://gdancesbetty.blogspot.com/2022/07/a-july-day-eben-e-rexford.html
>>>>>>>>>>
>>> I found this poem to be quite cogent...
>>
>> FYI:
>>
>> Cogent
>> adjective
>> 1a : appealing forcibly to the mind or reason : convincing cogent evidence
>> b : pertinent, relevant a cogent analysis
>> 2 : having power to compel or constrain cogent forces
>>
>> If these definitions (courtesy of Merriam-Webster) don't sound like they're describing poems, it's because the word "cogent" doesn't apply to poetry.
>>
>> A criminal lawyer's argument can be cogent; a textbook can be cogent; a scientific paper can be cogent; a newspaper article can be cogent; a philosophical argument can be cogent; a political speech can be cogent... but a poem neither can, nor should, be.
>>
>> One does not use poetry to present and analysis or argument.  A poem captures an emotion, a mood, a tone.  Nor does poetry seek to appeal to reason.  Poetry employs symbolism and metaphors which are often difficult to understand and/or open to multiple interpretations.  There are often numerous layers (and meanings) to an individual poem.
>>
>> To call a poem "cogent" is to compare it to "The Federalist Papers" or "Origin of Species."
>>
>> There are only a handful of poems where "cogent" would be even remotely applicable: Lucretius' "On the Nature of Things," for example (although it includes the use of metaphor); but "A July Day," a whimsical idyll, is not one of them.
>>
>> Rexford's poem is easy to follow, and clearly expressed -- but that doesn't make it cogent.  There is no argument or analysis being set forth in "A July Day."  It's a poem, not a term paper, and you do it an unintentional disservice by describing in terms generally reserved for the latter.
>>

> I have to disagree. I definitely see a depth of emotion (something you
> saw a lack of in your review) being communicated, and a thought being
> argued for.

> The emotion being summoned up is serenity (pure happiness in the
> moment), and the correlative thought (because emotion leads to thought)
> is "Life is good."

> The poet argues for that by presenting all those different things that
> are wonderful to experience on a summer day. It's long, and without any
> drama or excitement -- but as you noted, that's meant to capture the
> peacefulness of this lazy summer day. Laziness is peacefulness or
> serenity (as in the song "Up a Lazy River"). Yes, it's dull, but it's
> meant to be dull or non-dramatic -- drama reflects tension and the
> interplay of positives and negatives. Not to dismiss it -- conflict is a
> necessary part of life -- but so are these moments of undiluted bliss.

> "Life is good" is a simple thought, but it's a necessary one to have;
> everyone has moments when they consider ending their own life, and it's
> good to have experiences like this to balance them off against -- to
> remember that killing oneself means losing not only the possibility of
> having more experiences like that, but even the possibility of
> remembering the past ones.

Well put, G.D.