Lucky (v3)
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Lord Lucan lives inside our garden shed,
an empty champagne bottle by his head.
He's been there now for fifty years,
or is it sixty? At night I seem to hear his tears. No cushion.
I even sometimes gently knock upon the door,
like I'm a curate to the undeserving poor,
offer him a well cut sandwich made of cress.
Piss off you prole, he rightly says. Get me a woman.
I understand his bitterness. His life's
reduced to gambling with the passing mice.
He bellows in the droppings and the dreary low grade light,
recalls his dusty bottle, calls for ice. Get me a dozen.
v2
Lord Lucan lives inside our garden shed.
Beside his still slicked head: an empty champagne bottle.
He's been there now for fifty years, or is it sixty?
At night I sometimes seem to hear his dropping, tip-top tears
even sometimes gently knock upon the un-exclusive door,
like I'm a curate to the undeserving poor,
offer him a well cut sandwich made of cress.
Piss off you prole, he rightly says. Get me a woman.
I understand his bitterness. His life's
reduced to gambling with the passing mice.
He bellows in the droppings and the dreary low grade light,
recalls his dusty bottle, calls for ice. Get me a dozen.
....
v1
Lord Lucan lives inside our garden shed,
an empty champagne bottle by his head.
He's been there now for fifty years or is it sixty?
At night I sometimes hear his dripping tears
even sometimes gently knock upon the door,
like I'm a curate to the undeserving poor,
offer him a well cut sandwich made of cress.
Fuck of you prole, he rightly says. Get me a woman.
I understand his bitterness. His life's
reduced to gambling with the passing mice.
He bellows in the droppings and dreary low grade light,
recalls his bottle, calls for ice. Get me a dozen.
an empty champagne bottle by his head.
He's been there now for fifty years,
or is it sixty? At night I seem to hear his tears. No cushion.
I even sometimes gently knock upon the door,
like I'm a curate to the undeserving poor,
offer him a well cut sandwich made of cress.
Piss off you prole, he rightly says. Get me a woman.
I understand his bitterness. His life's
reduced to gambling with the passing mice.
He bellows in the droppings and the dreary low grade light,
recalls his dusty bottle, calls for ice. Get me a dozen.
v2
Lord Lucan lives inside our garden shed.
Beside his still slicked head: an empty champagne bottle.
He's been there now for fifty years, or is it sixty?
At night I sometimes seem to hear his dropping, tip-top tears
even sometimes gently knock upon the un-exclusive door,
like I'm a curate to the undeserving poor,
offer him a well cut sandwich made of cress.
Piss off you prole, he rightly says. Get me a woman.
I understand his bitterness. His life's
reduced to gambling with the passing mice.
He bellows in the droppings and the dreary low grade light,
recalls his dusty bottle, calls for ice. Get me a dozen.
....
v1
Lord Lucan lives inside our garden shed,
an empty champagne bottle by his head.
He's been there now for fifty years or is it sixty?
At night I sometimes hear his dripping tears
even sometimes gently knock upon the door,
like I'm a curate to the undeserving poor,
offer him a well cut sandwich made of cress.
Fuck of you prole, he rightly says. Get me a woman.
I understand his bitterness. His life's
reduced to gambling with the passing mice.
He bellows in the droppings and dreary low grade light,
recalls his bottle, calls for ice. Get me a dozen.
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
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Hi Lynn, thanks for calling by.
Seth
I'll see what I can do.wonder why you didn't have more fun with it?
Seth
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Great fun, a well controlled, clever piece. It made me think somehow N sees aspects of his own emerging character in the shed bound aristocrat? After some research into Lucan, I would guess not, but nonetheless a rather irreverent and refreshing idea bound up in the piece. I like it, Seth.
Luke
Luke
Seth, this is such fun to read with such sprightly, unexpected sounds.
I thought you'd just invented a great character until Luke's reference to an aristocrat told me I had something else to look up. I still like him as your own invented character.
Jackie
I thought you'd just invented a great character until Luke's reference to an aristocrat told me I had something else to look up. I still like him as your own invented character.
Jackie
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Luke, thank you. Yes, perhaps N is turning into LL in the shed.
Jackie, thank you. It was once of very well known case here. There were songs. Shadwell will know it.
Jackie, thank you. It was once of very well known case here. There were songs. Shadwell will know it.
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
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Fun! I'm not sure I get the title?
The rhythm felt a bit odd in line 2 - I thought you were going for a strict meter but then realised the line lengths vary quite a lot. I like v2 and 3 a lot - v1 feels a little scene-setting, but of course you need that. Just doesn't feel quite as strong as the rest, which is great.
Ros
The rhythm felt a bit odd in line 2 - I thought you were going for a strict meter but then realised the line lengths vary quite a lot. I like v2 and 3 a lot - v1 feels a little scene-setting, but of course you need that. Just doesn't feel quite as strong as the rest, which is great.
Ros
Rosencrantz: What are you playing at? Guildenstern: Words. Words. They're all we have to go on.
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Nope, still not there...1lankest wrote:'Fun! I'm not sure I get the title?'
Lucky Lucan!
Rosencrantz: What are you playing at? Guildenstern: Words. Words. They're all we have to go on.
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Thanks, Ros...yeh, on reflection, I can see the first is weaker. Good thought. Hmm. So often happens doesn't it with a start? I'll try and stengthen it.
Seth
As Luke mentioned (thanks Luke!) his nickname was "Lucky". I was going for irony in the title.Nope, still not there...
Seth
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
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Sometimes you need to write the start to get going with the poem, then go back and strengthen it when you've found out what the rest was about!
Rosencrantz: What are you playing at? Guildenstern: Words. Words. They're all we have to go on.
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Doesn't this have to scan to work?
Lord Lucan lives inside our shed,
a champagne bottle by his head.
He's been there now for fifty years
I sometimes hear his dripping tears
when gently knocking on the door,
a curate of the servile poor,
bring sandwiches [um] made of cress.
Piss off you prole, he rightly says.
..um, I had to give up.
Sorry if that's not the idea
Best
R
Lord Lucan lives inside our shed,
a champagne bottle by his head.
He's been there now for fifty years
I sometimes hear his dripping tears
when gently knocking on the door,
a curate of the servile poor,
bring sandwiches [um] made of cress.
Piss off you prole, he rightly says.
..um, I had to give up.
Sorry if that's not the idea
Best
R
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Thanks, Richard
However, from your version (thanks) it seems you mostly want to insist that the rhymes be all end rhymes without featuring any asides in the rhyme scheme. And that the answer to the question of whether all rhyme needs to be end-placed is certainly no. We are allowed deviant sections/line portions. Sometimes it works well, but as to whether it works well here, that is another matter.
Ros,
Seth
I don't know. Genuinely, I don't know.Doesn't this have to scan to work?
However, from your version (thanks) it seems you mostly want to insist that the rhymes be all end rhymes without featuring any asides in the rhyme scheme. And that the answer to the question of whether all rhyme needs to be end-placed is certainly no. We are allowed deviant sections/line portions. Sometimes it works well, but as to whether it works well here, that is another matter.
Ros,
yeh, exactlySometimes you need to write the start to get going with the poem, then go back and strengthen it when you've found out what the rest was about!
Seth
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
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Tweaked, to avoid setting the expectation that Richard mentions, and to strengthen the opening stanza as Ros called for.
Seth
Seth
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
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I'm afraid I feel that the added adjectives weaken this, particularly
At night I sometimes seem to hear his dropping, tip-top tears
even sometimes gently knock upon the un-exclusive door,
It also made the two 'sometimes' stand out for me, and not in a good way. Would it be possible to go in the other direction, and make the more formal rhythm work?
Ros
At night I sometimes seem to hear his dropping, tip-top tears
even sometimes gently knock upon the un-exclusive door,
It also made the two 'sometimes' stand out for me, and not in a good way. Would it be possible to go in the other direction, and make the more formal rhythm work?
Ros
Rosencrantz: What are you playing at? Guildenstern: Words. Words. They're all we have to go on.
___________________________
Antiphon - www.antiphon.org.uk
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Very nice, Seth, last 2 verses especially. I don't understand why 50 or 60 years. It's 40 years since he went missing, why not just say so?
I'd suggest you expand "No cushion" to Get me a cushion and give it, and the other Get mes their own lines. Like so
Lord Lucan lives inside our garden shed,
an empty champagne bottle at his head.
He's been there now for forty years.
At night I seem to hear his tears.
Get me a cushion.
I even sometimes gently knock upon his door,
like I'm a curate to the undeserving poor,
offering a well cut sandwich made of cress.
Piss off you prole, he rightly says.
Get me a woman.
I understand his bitterness. His life's
reduced to gambling with the passing mice.
He bellows in the droppings and the dreary low grade light,
recalls his dusty bottle, calls for ice.
Get me a dozen.
I'd suggest you expand "No cushion" to Get me a cushion and give it, and the other Get mes their own lines. Like so
Lord Lucan lives inside our garden shed,
an empty champagne bottle at his head.
He's been there now for forty years.
At night I seem to hear his tears.
Get me a cushion.
I even sometimes gently knock upon his door,
like I'm a curate to the undeserving poor,
offering a well cut sandwich made of cress.
Piss off you prole, he rightly says.
Get me a woman.
I understand his bitterness. His life's
reduced to gambling with the passing mice.
He bellows in the droppings and the dreary low grade light,
recalls his dusty bottle, calls for ice.
Get me a dozen.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I'm definitely in the minority on this one Seth. After all Lucan is/was a killer...allegedly. Perhaps I am not understanding the moral viewpoint that lies beyond the entertainment?I LOVE the idea of this and wonder why you didn't have more fun with it?
cheers
mac
Last edited by Macavity on Sun Mar 02, 2014 5:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
I have to say I agree with Richard on this. I like the poem a lot, but I think Ray's suggestions are inspired. You do too, I see.Richard wrote:Doesn't this have to scan to work?
Great idea, and beautifully executed.
Cheers
David
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"or is it sixty?"
Is superfluous, is too jarring to the rhythm, and spoils the comedy.
Is superfluous, is too jarring to the rhythm, and spoils the comedy.
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Thanks for calling by with your thoughts, Jeremy.
Thanks very much David....I do.
Thanks, Mac
Someone had to be serious about Lucan and I see it has been you. I had wondered over the point, but I think the poem does not display anything akin to sympathy for Lucan...stressing the likely misery of his post-flee existence of anything...keeping freedom, but in a way that amounts to little. Do you think it reads too sympathetically?
Seth
Thanks very much David....I do.
Thanks, Mac
Someone had to be serious about Lucan and I see it has been you. I had wondered over the point, but I think the poem does not display anything akin to sympathy for Lucan...stressing the likely misery of his post-flee existence of anything...keeping freedom, but in a way that amounts to little. Do you think it reads too sympathetically?
Seth
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Perhaps N. does Seth? But that wasn't my point really. A number of reader responses use the word 'fun' and that made me wonder about the poem's moral viewpoint...but like I said, mine is a minority view for the entertainment value was enough for most!I even sometimes gently knock upon the door
all the best
mac
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Interesting, Mac. I am not sure that N does have much sympathy...but even if they do have something akin to a sympathy for part of the lot of Lucan, I think N is sufficiently odd for their attitude not to imply any pro Lucan stance in the poem itself. True, the poem does not overtly condemn Lucan and condemn him for the murder. But need it? Can't we just take it as given that he should be condemned? I think you may be suggesting something like this principle:Perhaps N. does Seth?
if a poem does not, then finding entertainment value in the poem, is morally unnacceptable in some way.
I am genuinely pondering. You may be right. I think of films that involve at some point the Jack the Ripper figure.
Seth
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
Richard Wilbur