Like I said, I didn't expect you to admit to your delusional fantasies about how you believe that you're a better poet than T.S. Eliot, Pendragon, you whining little shit spewing ape boy.

HTH and HAND.

Zod wrote:

> On Monday, November 28, 2022 at 1:10:53 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>> On 2022-11-26 4:01 p.m., Zod wrote:
>> > On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:46:45 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>> >> On 2022-11-26 3:32 p.m., NancyGene wrote:
>> >>
>> >>> Where is Mount Father? Is that in Canada?
>> >> Thanks for the good catch, dear. I can't delete this, but I'll repost.
>> >
>> > That's pretty funny coming from NancyGene, who thinks London, home of John Dunne and Robert F. Stillings, is in Ireland... ha ha.
>>
>> What was even funnier, for me, was that just after announding the Yeats
>> exhibit in London, Ireland, Prof. NG suddenly took a month-long
>> "sabbatical" from the group. I spent a couple of amusing hours imagining
>> them roaming around Ireland looking for London. (Of course, not being a
>> troll, I never posted about it.)

> Ha ha ... you nailed it G.D....

By her own logic, NancyGene being "stupid".

And so it goes.

On Tuesday, December 20, 2022 at 10:52:35 AM UTC-5, cocodeso...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Tuesday, December 20, 2022 at 10:47:05 AM UTC-5, jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
> > On Tuesday, December 20, 2022 at 10:30:18 AM UTC-5, W.Dockery wrote:
> > > Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > > Will Dockery wrote:
> > > >> Zod wrote:
> > > >>> > On Sunday, December 18, 2022 at 3:17:01 PM UTC-5, George J. Dance wrote:
> > > >>> >> On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 9:12:57 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail..com wrote:
> > > >>> >> > On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 5:19:31 PM UTC-5, george....@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > > >>> >> > > On Tuesday, November 29, 2022 at 2:00:03 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > >>> >>
> > > >>> >> > > > Continuing my analysis of George J. Dance.
> > > >>> >> > > >
> > > >>> >> > > > Dance needs to realize that his father was not the authority figure he imagined.
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > Of course my father was an "authority figure". He did a very good job of it, too.
> > > >>> >> > No, George, your poem makes his position in society clear.
> > > >>> >> No, Michael, the poem says just two things about my father's "position in society" -- he had a full-time job, and he owned land.
> > > >>> >> > He was a disciplinarian (where you were concerned).
> > > >>> >> Of course he was (and an authority figure). There's no reason in the world to see him as anything else.
> > > >>> >> > He had no "authority" outside of his house.
> > > >>> >> That's not something that comes from the poem. One again, it's something solely from ur imatination.
> > > >>> >> > > > His father was a poor, working class man who struggled to afford a home for himself and his family.
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > I actually have no idea of my father's financial status (and, of course, neither do you).
> > > >>> >>
> > > >>> >> > People with money don't live in a do-it-yourself prefabricated house that is literally from a box.
> > > >>> >> Sure, most people (with money or not) wouldn't be able to build a house (including buying the land and laying the foundation). I'm not sure if I could. It's much easier to buy all that from a developer at 3-5x the price and live with a high mortgage. But a high mortgage isn't exactly a proof of status, or even of having money.
> > > >>> >> > > > He was only able to do so by purchasing a low-cost House-in-a-Box (a prefabricated, do-it-yourself home -- one step up from a trailer).
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > I actually have no idea how much a prefab home cost (and neithe, I suspect, do you, though you could have looked it up).
> > > >>> >> > They cost about $5,000. (Costs vary a thousand or two depending on style.)
> > > >>> >> >
> > > >>> >> > https://retrorenovation.com/2013/01/21/factory-built-houses-28-pages-of-lincoln-homes-from-1955/
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > > His father was most likely a blue-collar laborer who often skipped on basics for himself in order to keep his family clothed and fed.
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > I wouldn't agree with the first two points. But , yes, we were clothed and fed, as I've said.
> > > >>> >>
> > > >>> >> > Let me guess... he was a book packager.
> > > >>> >> For those who missed the joke: I ran a packing crew at a bindery for a dozen years, so I've been getting these sneers about "blue collar laborers" from Michael Monkey and his fellow snobs (like Robert Burros) for years.
> > > >>> >> > > > His house represented his one act of success in this life. It was his means of reassuring himself that he was being a "man" -- that he was successfully providing for his wife and family. And, as such, he wanted to keep it as nice as possible.
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > I doubt it. I don't even know where you're getting any of this from. Not from the poem. Perhaps you've found another "subtext"?
> > > >>> >> > According to the poem, you had to remove your shoes to enter, sit in a corner chair, and, as a boy, were considered "filthy."
> > > >>> >> No; once again (since you're still having trouble with the distinction) the speaker (the grown-up boy) in the poem remembers all of that.
> > > >>> >> > > > But houses require upkeep and repair -- and upkeep and repair can cost a small fortune -- so a lower-income homeowner has good reason to be overprotective of his house.
> > > >>> >> > > >
> > > >>> >> > > > Consequently, when his children race through his house with muddy shoes, put their feet on the furniture, scratch the floors, scribble on the walls, etc., it becomes both frustrating and infuriating for him.. There he is slaving his life away in order to provide his children with a nice home to live in, and they treat it like a shack, tearing it down faster than he can afford to repair it.
> > > >>> >> > > >
> > > >>> >> > > > Far from being an authority figure, George's father was at the bottom (or near-bottom) of the socio-economic chain. His house symbolized his rebellion against authority/society -- it stood as a slap in the face to the economic class system that was designed to keep blue-collar laborers down. He had a house. He was a landowner. He was able to provide for his family.
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > Yes, of course building a house was a way to "provide for his family." What makes you think it was all that other shit as well? To name just one absurdity. You've got both building the house (what my father and the father in the poem both did) and burning down the house (as the speaker in the poem dreams of doing) as acts of rebellion against "society".
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > Which each, in its particular context, is.
> > > >>> >> >
> > > >>> >> I suppose you can see them as that, since there's nothing in the poem that says they weren't both rebelling against "society".
> > > >>> >> > Your father was rebelling against his station in life, by becoming a landowner. You were rebelling against your father, by wishing to reduce him to his former status (by burning down his house).
> > > >>> >> You could probably describe anything as an act of rebellion, I suppose -- for instance, my going and getting a coffee just now was a rebellion against thirst. But it just sounds like irrelevant psychobabble to me, convincing only to those who'd be coninced by that sort of talk.
> > > >>> >> > > > His desire to keep his house as nice as possible, led to his adopting a set of seemingly strict rules (no shoes indoors, for instance), and corporal punishment for those who transgressed. It was the desperate act of an impoverished man to maintain the quality of the one thing he possessed -- his home.
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > Someone should remind the soi-disant analyst that many homes have had rules like "no shoes inside", and corporal punishement as well. Surely they weren't all the "desperate acts" of "impoverished" men; they're perfectly understandable reactions, which don't need psychological embellisment.
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > Many homes do. But I've never heard of any other little boys who were forced to lie in bed with their pajama pants pulled down while they awaited their father and his belt.
> > > >>> >> I'll remind you that you didn't hear it "of" me, either; you read that memorable image in a poem of mine.
> > > >>> >> > > > George needs to grant his father the same leeway he allows to social miscreants at AAPC. He needs to stop seeing his father as a dictator, but as a fellow victim (of a capitalistic society and an economically-based social caste system).
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > "Blame it on capitalism." That's pablum I'd expect from a dold like the Ashtroll, not from you.
> > > >>> >>
> > > >>> >> > Do I need to explain my Marxist-leaning political views again? An agrarian-based philosophical monarchy wherein money is abolished, and all people live in the same sized underground quarters, while working above-ground during the daylight hours returning earth to Her natural state -- and outlawing: the manufacture of non-biodegradable items, harming animals, exploiting fossil fuels, and any form of pollution.
> > > >>> >> I'm glad you did go into it, as I see it as explaining where you're coming from. This ideal world you like to imagine imposing, if you were teh world dictator, is more Platonist totalitarianism than Marxist, but it's similar in being a total "rebellion against society". It explains why you'd feel alienated from society for not recognizing your superiority and making you dictator, much the same as Marx felt, and why like yim you'd find alienation and rebellion everywhere.
> > > >>> >> > > He needs to not only forgive his father for having been (or, rather, seemed) harsh, but to take pride in his accomplishment in advancing his family a rung or two up the ladder of success.
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > Thanks, but I'm quite proud of my father, and we were cool..
> > > >>> >>
> > > >>> >> > Were that so, you'd not wish to burn down his house.
> > > >>> >> Once again, that's the grown-up boy in the poem. He is not coll with his father.
> > > >>> >> > > > And he needs to accept that his younger self had little choice but to impotently subject himself to his father's demands. Defiance or even resistance would only have resulted in more beatings.
> > > >>> >> > >
> > > >>> >> > > I was quite aware of that at the time, thanks. No special 'psychiatric' insight needed there, either.
> > > >>> >>
> > > >>> >> > Then stop lashing out at everyone who isn't a mentally impaired, perpetually unemployed loser.
> > > >
> > > >> >> When you trash talk someone's father,, even to the point accusing him of "possible" incest, you should count yourself damn lucky if all you get is a verbal "lashing". You're a scoundrel, and you deserve to be horsewhipped.
> > > >
> > > >>> Penhead has those nasty habits, some of the vile things he has written about me, Jordy and Doc for examples....
> > > >
> > > >> In other words Pendragon remains a malicious lying little monkey.
> > >
> > > >
> > > > But you, Jordy
> > > Like I asked, why do you lie and misrepresent so much, Michael Pendragon, you sleazy little shit eating ape boy?
> > >
> > > HTH and HAND.
> > he is lying because I do have a job, a part time job, in addition to volunteer work... have worked part time and/or been doing volunteer work for about 29 years now... had paid job from 1995-1997, 1997-2005, 2005-2007 and 2007-now... have had many volunteer jobs as well since 1993, at libraries, book stores, soup kitchens, a friendly visitor of elderly people for Jewish Family Services(won a volunteer of the year award), The Red Cross(won a volunteer of the year award), CPUSA etc...
> >
> Congratulations on your job, Jordy's Creepy Uncle Isaac! That's the first I've heard of it.
>
> Your obsession with your nephew, however, is still extremely disturbing.

On Sunday, December 18, 2022 at 4:19:40 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Sunday, December 18, 2022 at 3:17:01 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 9:12:57 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 5:19:31 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > > > On Tuesday, November 29, 2022 at 2:00:03 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > >
> > > > > Continuing my analysis of George J. Dance.
> > > > >
> > > > > Dance needs to realize that his father was not the authority figure he imagined.
> > > >
> > > > Of course my father was an "authority figure". He did a very good job of it, too.
> > > No, George, your poem makes his position in society clear.
> > No, Michael, the poem says just two things about my father's "position in society" -- he had a full-time job, and he owned land.
> It "says" much more, both contextually and by implication, George.
> > > He was a disciplinarian (where you were concerned).
> > Of course he was (and an authority figure). There's no reason in the world to see him as anything else.
> An authority figure is a judge, a policeman, a teacher, the president of a corporation, etc. There is nothing in your poem to indicate that your father held any such position in society.

And nothing to indicate he didn't either. That's left completely open; a reader can imagine whatever he wants. What a reader imagines, though, is not what the poem says; that's another distinction you seem to be confused about.

> > > He had no "authority" outside of his house.
> > That's not something that comes from the poem. One again, it's something solely from your imagination.
> The fact that he lived in a prefabricated house strongly implies his lack of social standing.

No, it doesn't. It implies that he wanted a house in the country mortgage-free, and was willing to work hard to achieve it; both admirable traits, IMO..

> > > > > His father was a poor, working class man who struggled to afford a home for himself and his family.
> > > >
> > > > I actually have no idea of my father's financial status (and, of course, neither do you).
> >
> > > People with money don't live in a do-it-yourself prefabricated house that is literally from a box.
> > Sure, most people (with money or not) wouldn't be able to build a house (including buying the land and laying the foundation). I'm not sure if I could. It's much easier to buy all that from a developer at 3-5x the price and live with a high mortgage. But a high mortgage isn't exactly a proof of status, or even of having money.
> >
> You've left out the third option: having the necessary funds to purchase the land and build a house on it without having to take out a mortgage.

No, that's the option my father took.

> > > > > He was only able to do so by purchasing a low-cost House-in-a-Box (a prefabricated, do-it-yourself home -- one step up from a trailer).
> > > >
> > > > I actually have no idea how much a prefab home cost (and neithe, I suspect, do you, though you could have looked it up).
> > > They cost about $5,000. (Costs vary a thousand or two depending on style.)
> > >
> > > https://retrorenovation.com/2013/01/21/factory-built-houses-28-pages-of-lincoln-homes-from-1955/
> > > >
> > > > > His father was most likely a blue-collar laborer who often skipped on basics for himself in order to keep his family clothed and fed.
> > > >
> > > > I wouldn't agree with the first two points. But , yes, we were clothed and fed, as I've said.
> >
> > > Let me guess... he was a book packager.
> > For those who missed the joke: I ran a packing crew at a bindery for a dozen years, so I've been getting these sneers about "blue collar laborers" from Michael Monkey and his fellow snobs (like Robert Burrows) for years.
> >
> I've had plenty of blue collar jobs, George. My point is that children usually advance (however slightly) from their parents' position in society. The son of a bank president doesn't usually end up flipping burgers at a fast food chain (which is one of the jobs I'd had back in the day). If your job (before you retired) was packing books at a bindery (unskilled labor), it's a pretty safe bet that your father wasn't a brain surgeon.

Got it. According to you, running a packing line in working as a bindery is the second lowest "position in society"; according to your silly generalization, my father must have been "lower" in society; and therefore my father must have been "lower". Your logic's valid, for once, but your premises suck big time.

If you want to know what my father did for a living, BTW, all you have to do is go to my wiki page and read it.

> > > > > His house represented his one act of success in this life. It was his means of reassuring himself that he was being a "man" -- that he was successfully providing for his wife and family. And, as such, he wanted to keep it as nice as possible.
> > > >
> > > > I doubt it. I don't even know where you're getting any of this from.. Not from the poem. Perhaps you've found another "subtext"?
> > > According to the poem, you had to remove your shoes to enter, sit in a corner chair, and, as a boy, were considered "filthy."
> > No; once again (since you're still having trouble with the distinction) the speaker (the grown-up boy) in the poem remembers all of that.

> But you've already admitted that the speaker's recollections are *largely* modeled on your own.

Aside from your pretense that a 15-year old quotation you found and post-edited is something you got me to to "admit", that's true enough.

Since I'm a charitable guy, even to monkey trolls, I'll give you that one. I didn't wear shoes inside. None of the family did. Are we at "child abuse" yet?

> > > > > But houses require upkeep and repair -- and upkeep and repair can cost a small fortune -- so a lower-income homeowner has good reason to be overprotective of his house.
> > > > >
> > > > > Consequently, when his children race through his house with muddy shoes, put their feet on the furniture, scratch the floors, scribble on the walls, etc., it becomes both frustrating and infuriating for him. There he is slaving his life away in order to provide his children with a nice home to live in, and they treat it like a shack, tearing it down faster than he can afford to repair it.
> > > > >
> > > > > Far from being an authority figure, George's father was at the bottom (or near-bottom) of the socio-economic chain. His house symbolized his rebellion against authority/society -- it stood as a slap in the face to the economic class system that was designed to keep blue-collar laborers down. He had a house. He was a landowner. He was able to provide for his family.
> > > >
> > > > Yes, of course building a house was a way to "provide for his family." What makes you think it was all that other shit as well? To name just one absurdity. You've got both building the house (what my father and the father in the poem both did) and burning down the house (as the speaker in the poem dreams of doing) as acts of rebellion against "society".
> > > >
> > > Which each, in its particular context, is.
> > >
> > I suppose you can see them as that, since there's nothing in the poem that says they weren't both rebelling against "society".
> > > Your father was rebelling against his station in life, by becoming a landowner. You were rebelling against your father, by wishing to reduce him to his former status (by burning down his house).

> > You could probably describe anything as an act of rebellion, I suppose -- for instance, my going and getting a coffee just now was a rebellion against thirst. But it just sounds like irrelevant psychobabble to me, convincing only to those who'd be coninced by that sort of talk.
> >
> The speaker's fantasized act of rebellion forms the climax of your poem, George: the burning down of his deceased father's house.

The burning house is a dramatic image, probably the second most noted one in the poem. If it attracts people who see it as a symbol of 'revenge,' 'rebellion," 'revolution' or whatever, great (I guess). But as I explained to Robert, that's not what I wrote or how I'd interpret what I wrote.
> In the context of the poem, it's hard to perceive such an act as anything *other* than a child's after-the-fact rebellion against his authoritarian parent.

As I told Robert: The 'house' symbolizes the speaker's memories that are oppressing or traumatizing him, and burning it symbolizes purging those memories. That's it.

On Tuesday, December 13, 2022 at 12:23:15 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Tuesday, December 13, 2022 at 12:20:15 PM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> > Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >
> > > On Tuesday, December 13, 2022 at 10:19:44 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> > >> On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:09:21 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > >>
> > >> >
> > >> > My Father's House
> > >> >
> > >> > This is my father's house, although
> > >> > The man died thirteen years ago.
> > >> > They said it would be quite all right
> > >> > To take a drive to see it now.
> > >> >
> > >> > Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
> > >> > And built the whole thing (from a box),
> > >> > Toiling after each full day's work.
> > >> > I helped, though I was only six.
> > >> >
> > >> > Look, here's the back door I would use
> > >> > And here's where I'd remove my shoes
> > >> > To enter; there I'd leave my things
> > >> > And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
> > >> >
> > >> > In this room I'd wash many a dish,
> > >> > Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
> > >> > To be so many other places.
> > >> > (Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
> > >> >
> > >> > Outside, the garden that he grew
> > >> > Where I would work the summers through,
> > >> > While watching my friends run and play
> > >> > Mysterious games I never knew.
> > >> >
> > >> > That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
> > >> > The one chair I was let to sit?
> > >> > (For boys can be such filthy things.)
> > >> > Which, the corner where boys were put?
> > >> >
> > >> > Oh ... down that hall there is a room
> > >> > Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
> > >> > After the meal, to make no noise,
> > >> > To read or play alone, and then
> > >> >
> > >> > Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
> > >> > Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
> > >> > Face and pyjama bottoms down
> > >> > As for my father's belt I'd wait.
> > >> >
> > >> > Oh, if I were a millionaire
> > >> > I'd buy my father's house, and there
> > >> > I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
> > >> > Its flames would light up all the air.
> > >> >
> > >> > ~~
> > >> > George J. Dance
> > >> > from Logos and other logoi, 2021
> > >>
> > >> Far from poorly written.
> > >>
> > >> Why do you lie and misrepresent so much Michael Pendragon, you shit slinging little monkey?
> >
> > > It's third rate doggerel at best.
> >
> > > Like I said, this is not one of George's better works.
> > Says the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot..
> Judge for yourself, Donkey:
>
<snip>
> -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.

If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better.

On Monday, December 5, 2022 at 9:53:29 AM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Monday, December 5, 2022 at 5:42:43 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > On 2022-12-05 4:47 a.m., Robert Burrows wrote:
> > > On Monday, December 5, 2022 at 4:33:02 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > >> On 2022-12-03 6:57 p.m., NancyGene wrote:
> > >>> On Saturday, December 3, 2022 at 11:38:11 PM UTC, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > >>>> On 2022-12-03 4:21 p.m., NancyGene wrote:
> > >>>>> On Saturday, December 3, 2022 at 7:41:33 PM UTC, Dennis Rowan wrote:
> > >>>>>> On Saturday, December 3, 2022 at 1:15:49 PM UTC-5, rjbur...@gmail.com wrote:
> > >>>>>>> On Saturday, December 3, 2022 at 8:48:08 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> > >>>>>>>> George J. Dance wrote:
> > >>>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> My Father's House
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> This is my father's house, although
> > >>>>>>>>> The man died thirteen years ago.
> > >>>>>>>>> They said it would be quite all right
> > >>>>>>>>> To take a drive to see it now.
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
> > >>>>>>>>> And built the whole thing (from a box),
> > >>>>>>>>> Toiling after each full day's work.
> > >>>>>>>>> I helped, though I was only six.
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> Look, here's the back door I would use
> > >>>>>>>>> And here's where I'd remove my shoes
> > >>>>>>>>> To enter; there I'd leave my things
> > >>>>>>>>> And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> In this room I'd wash many a dish,
> > >>>>>>>>> Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
> > >>>>>>>>> To be so many other places.
> > >>>>>>>>> (Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> Outside, the garden that he grew
> > >>>>>>>>> Where I would work the summers through,
> > >>>>>>>>> While watching my friends run and play
> > >>>>>>>>> Mysterious games I never knew.
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
> > >>>>>>>>> The one chair I was let to sit?
> > >>>>>>>>> (For boys can be such filthy things.)
> > >>>>>>>>> Which, the corner where boys were put?
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> Oh ... down that hall there is a room
> > >>>>>>>>> Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
> > >>>>>>>>> After the meal, to make no noise,
> > >>>>>>>>> To read or play alone, and then
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
> > >>>>>>>>> Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
> > >>>>>>>>> Face and pyjama bottoms down
> > >>>>>>>>> As for my father's belt I'd wait.
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> Oh, if I were a millionaire
> > >>>>>>>>> I'd buy my father's house, and there
> > >>>>>>>>> I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
> > >>>>>>>>> Its flames would light up all the air.
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>>> ~~
> > >>>>>>>>> George J. Dance
> > >>>>>>>>> from Logos and other logoi, 2021
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>> Again, excellent poetry, as all apparently agree.
> > >>>>>>>>
> > >>>>>>>> 🙂
> > >>>>>>> It's pathological, not poetic.
> > >>>>>> I like George's poem.
> > >>>>>> It's a sad poem but bold and unaffected.
> > >>>>>
> > >>>>> We don't see it as a sad poem--rather, it is a revenge poem.
> > >>>> That's a weird take. There's only one person in the poem; who is he
> > >>>> supposed to be taking revenge on?
> > >>> George Dance, George Dance, George Dance! Revenge on the memory of his father in the blasted house of child abuse.
> > >>
> > >> Like I said, weird.
> > > I don't know what's "weird" about it, George.
> > You really don't see anything weird in the idea of destroying an
> > inanimate object to take revenge on one of your memories. Maybe an
> > example would help: Is that something you you do?
> >
> > As it is, I've got to ask: What isn't weird about seeing your own
> > memories as something to can or should be taking 'revenge' on? What
> > isn't weird about thinking, that destroying that object somehow gains
> > you that mysterious 'revenge' (whatever it is)?

> The speaker isn't thinking about taking revenge on his memories, George.... unless he's also considering a lobotomy. He's daydreaming about taking revenge on his decease father. I suspect that you meant to say he was thinking about taking revenge on the memory of his late father -- but that use of "memory" is different from one's recollections about the past.

That is how NG put it - "Revenge on the memory of his father" - but that doesn't make it more but less sensible. A memory has to be someone's memory; there aren't any mind-independent memories floating around out there. So whose?

Nor does the idea that he's not really seeking revenge on a memory, but on his father, make it any more sensible. His father is dead, and has been for over a decade. The point I've always understood about "revenge" is that it was to even the score -- to hurt the other person the way they hurt you -- and it's simply not possible to hurt a dead man.
>
> And, no... I find nothing weird in daydreaming about taking revenge on someone after their death. When someone has the effrontery to die before one can enact their revenge on him, one is left in need of closure. Burning down an inanimate box house as a token of one's father, would not only be a normal, but a psychologically healthy, thing to do.

It's still a weird idea, to me, but it isn't ruled out by the poem.

> > > The poem ends with the speaker impotently fantasizing about burning> down his abusive father's house.
> > Earth to Bobby: I wrote the poem. Don't pretend to tell me what it says..
> Touchy, touchy.

Perhaps. I have to remind myself that different readers ae going to interpret the poem differently, and that they will disagree with mine. But I do draw the line at one of them trying to pretend he knows my poems better than I do, which Bobby was clearly trying to do.

> > What it doesn't say is that the speaker (the grown-up boy) wants to take
> > "revenge" on his memory of his father, and thinks that burning down the
> > house is the way to do that. That's your friend's own weird idea, which
> > I'd like you to explain in a way that doesn't make it sound weird. if
> > you can.

> It very much says that, George.

Not in the text. Of course i can't read your "subtext" so it might be in there.

>The final stanza could even be seen as a symbolic attempt on the writer's part to bring about his unacted revenge.

"Could be seen" is a good way of putting it. It's an interpretation that, as strange as it sounds to me, is not weird to some -- I have noticed plenty of flaming of dead people in my time here -- and is not ruled out by anything in the poem.

OTOH, telling me that' the poem "very much says" anything about revenge sounds like you're doing the same as Robert, and telling an author that you understand his work better than he does. Asshole behavior.

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:00:13 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:

I see I left out the most important point.

> >
> <snip>
> > -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.
> If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so

**by opening a new thread**.

would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better.

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:00:13 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:
>
> I see I left out the most important point.

>> >
>> <snip>
>> > -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.
>> If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so

> **by opening a new thread**.

> would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better.

Yes, Pendragon was spamming that every time I mentioned what a delusional fuckwit he appears when he posts that he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.

As his comparison shows, even a lesser T.S. Eliot poem is still 1,000 better than a Michael Pendragon poem.

🙂

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 5:45:15 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> On Sunday, December 18, 2022 at 4:19:40 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > On Sunday, December 18, 2022 at 3:17:01 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > > On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 9:12:57 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 5:19:31 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo..ca wrote:
> > > > > On Tuesday, November 29, 2022 at 2:00:03 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef....@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > > >
> > > > > > Continuing my analysis of George J. Dance.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > Dance needs to realize that his father was not the authority figure he imagined.
> > > > >
> > > > > Of course my father was an "authority figure". He did a very good job of it, too.
> > > > No, George, your poem makes his position in society clear.
> > > No, Michael, the poem says just two things about my father's "position in society" -- he had a full-time job, and he owned land.
> > It "says" much more, both contextually and by implication, George.
> > > > He was a disciplinarian (where you were concerned).
> > > Of course he was (and an authority figure). There's no reason in the world to see him as anything else.
> > An authority figure is a judge, a policeman, a teacher, the president of a corporation, etc. There is nothing in your poem to indicate that your father held any such position in society.
>
> And nothing to indicate he didn't either. That's left completely open; a reader can imagine whatever he wants. What a reader imagines, though, is not what the poem says; that's another distinction you seem to be confused about.
> > > > He had no "authority" outside of his house.
> > > That's not something that comes from the poem. One again, it's something solely from your imagination.
> > The fact that he lived in a prefabricated house strongly implies his lack of social standing.
>
> No, it doesn't. It implies that he wanted a house in the country mortgage-free, and was willing to work hard to achieve it; both admirable traits, IMO.
> > > > > > His father was a poor, working class man who struggled to afford a home for himself and his family.
> > > > >
> > > > > I actually have no idea of my father's financial status (and, of course, neither do you).
> > >
> > > > People with money don't live in a do-it-yourself prefabricated house that is literally from a box.
>
> > > Sure, most people (with money or not) wouldn't be able to build a house (including buying the land and laying the foundation). I'm not sure if I could. It's much easier to buy all that from a developer at 3-5x the price and live with a high mortgage. But a high mortgage isn't exactly a proof of status, or even of having money.
> > >
> > You've left out the third option: having the necessary funds to purchase the land and build a house on it without having to take out a mortgage.
>
> No, that's the option my father took.
> > > > > > He was only able to do so by purchasing a low-cost House-in-a-Box (a prefabricated, do-it-yourself home -- one step up from a trailer).
> > > > >
> > > > > I actually have no idea how much a prefab home cost (and neithe, I suspect, do you, though you could have looked it up).
> > > > They cost about $5,000. (Costs vary a thousand or two depending on style.)
> > > >
> > > > https://retrorenovation.com/2013/01/21/factory-built-houses-28-pages-of-lincoln-homes-from-1955/
> > > > >
> > > > > > His father was most likely a blue-collar laborer who often skipped on basics for himself in order to keep his family clothed and fed.
> > > > >
> > > > > I wouldn't agree with the first two points. But , yes, we were clothed and fed, as I've said.
> > >
> > > > Let me guess... he was a book packager.
> > > For those who missed the joke: I ran a packing crew at a bindery for a dozen years, so I've been getting these sneers about "blue collar laborers" from Michael Monkey and his fellow snobs (like Robert Burrows) for years..
> > >
> > I've had plenty of blue collar jobs, George. My point is that children usually advance (however slightly) from their parents' position in society. The son of a bank president doesn't usually end up flipping burgers at a fast food chain (which is one of the jobs I'd had back in the day). If your job (before you retired) was packing books at a bindery (unskilled labor), it's a pretty safe bet that your father wasn't a brain surgeon.
>
> Got it. According to you, running a packing line in working as a bindery is the second lowest "position in society"; according to your silly generalization, my father must have been "lower" in society; and therefore my father must have been "lower". Your logic's valid, for once, but your premises suck big time.
>
> If you want to know what my father did for a living, BTW, all you have to do is go to my wiki page and read it.
> > > > > > His house represented his one act of success in this life. It was his means of reassuring himself that he was being a "man" -- that he was successfully providing for his wife and family. And, as such, he wanted to keep it as nice as possible.
> > > > >
> > > > > I doubt it. I don't even know where you're getting any of this from. Not from the poem. Perhaps you've found another "subtext"?
> > > > According to the poem, you had to remove your shoes to enter, sit in a corner chair, and, as a boy, were considered "filthy."
> > > No; once again (since you're still having trouble with the distinction) the speaker (the grown-up boy) in the poem remembers all of that.
> > But you've already admitted that the speaker's recollections are *largely* modeled on your own.
>
> Aside from your pretense that a 15-year old quotation you found and post-edited is something you got me to to "admit", that's true enough.
>
> Since I'm a charitable guy, even to monkey trolls, I'll give you that one.. I didn't wear shoes inside. None of the family did. Are we at "child abuse" yet?
> > > > > > But houses require upkeep and repair -- and upkeep and repair can cost a small fortune -- so a lower-income homeowner has good reason to be overprotective of his house.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > Consequently, when his children race through his house with muddy shoes, put their feet on the furniture, scratch the floors, scribble on the walls, etc., it becomes both frustrating and infuriating for him. There he is slaving his life away in order to provide his children with a nice home to live in, and they treat it like a shack, tearing it down faster than he can afford to repair it.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > Far from being an authority figure, George's father was at the bottom (or near-bottom) of the socio-economic chain. His house symbolized his rebellion against authority/society -- it stood as a slap in the face to the economic class system that was designed to keep blue-collar laborers down. He had a house. He was a landowner. He was able to provide for his family.
> > > > >
> > > > > Yes, of course building a house was a way to "provide for his family." What makes you think it was all that other shit as well? To name just one absurdity. You've got both building the house (what my father and the father in the poem both did) and burning down the house (as the speaker in the poem dreams of doing) as acts of rebellion against "society".
> > > > >
> > > > Which each, in its particular context, is.
> > > >
> > > I suppose you can see them as that, since there's nothing in the poem that says they weren't both rebelling against "society".
> > > > Your father was rebelling against his station in life, by becoming a landowner. You were rebelling against your father, by wishing to reduce him to his former status (by burning down his house).
>
> > > You could probably describe anything as an act of rebellion, I suppose -- for instance, my going and getting a coffee just now was a rebellion against thirst. But it just sounds like irrelevant psychobabble to me, convincing only to those who'd be coninced by that sort of talk.
> > >
> > The speaker's fantasized act of rebellion forms the climax of your poem, George: the burning down of his deceased father's house.
>
> The burning house is a dramatic image, probably the second most noted one in the poem. If it attracts people who see it as a symbol of 'revenge,' 'rebellion," 'revolution' or whatever, great (I guess). But as I explained to Robert, that's not what I wrote or how I'd interpret what I wrote.
>
> > In the context of the poem, it's hard to perceive such an act as anything *other* than a child's after-the-fact rebellion against his authoritarian parent.
>
> As I told Robert: The 'house' symbolizes the speaker's memories that are oppressing or traumatizing him, and burning it symbolizes purging those memories. That's it.
> > > > > > His desire to keep his house as nice as possible, led to his adopting a set of seemingly strict rules (no shoes indoors, for instance), and corporal punishment for those who transgressed. It was the desperate act of an impoverished man to maintain the quality of the one thing he possessed -- his home.
> > > > >
> > > > > Someone should remind the soi-disant analyst that many homes have had rules like "no shoes inside", and corporal punishement as well. Surely they weren't all the "desperate acts" of "impoverished" men; they're perfectly understandable reactions, which don't need psychological embellisment.
> > > > >
> > > > Many homes do. But I've never heard of any other little boys who were forced to lie in bed with their pajama pants pulled down while they awaited their father and his belt.
>
> > > I'll remind you that you didn't hear it "of" me, either; you read that memorable image in a poem of mine.
> > What's you're point?
>
> s/b "Your" point.
>
> The first point is that, while you seem to have stopped calling my poem autobiographical, you're still assuming that it's autobiographical. I've sold you for a month that that is not the case. Stop trying to conflate the details of the poem with the events I've told the group of my life. Those are two distinct sets of facts.
>
> > That abused children only speak of it through poetry after having become adults? I'm getting the impression that you've run out of proverbial straws to grasp at.
>
> That's a good second point. You've decided that the speaker in the poem was abused, and therefore that I was abused, but you haven't demonstrated either. I don't mind discussing either, but you do have to keep those discussions separate.
> > > > > George needs to grant his father the same leeway he allows to social miscreants at AAPC. He needs to stop seeing his father as a dictator, but as a fellow victim (of a capitalistic society and an economically-based social caste system).
> > > > >
> > > > > "Blame it on capitalism." That's pablum I'd expect from a dolt like the Ashtroll, not from you.
> > >
> > > > Do I need to explain my Marxist-leaning political views again? An agrarian-based philosophical monarchy wherein money is abolished, and all people live in the same sized underground quarters, while working above-ground during the daylight hours returning earth to Her natural state -- and outlawing: the manufacture of non-biodegradable items, harming animals, exploiting fossil fuels, and any form of pollution.
> > > I'm glad you did go into it, as I see it as explaining where you're coming from. This ideal world you like to imagine imposing, if you were teh world dictator, is more Platonist totalitarianism than Marxist, but it's similar in being a total "rebellion against society". It explains why you'd feel alienated from society for not recognizing your superiority and making you dictator, much the same as Marx felt, and why like yim you'd find alienation and rebellion everywhere.
> > >
> > It is undeniably partially inspired by "The Republic." It is also inspired by other sources (like "The Salvaging of Civilization," by H.G. Wells and "The Prince," by Machiavelli). It is Marxist in its attempt to create a caste-free, thoroughly equal society wherein all citizens work, to the best of their ability, for the common good.
> >
> > However, I don't expect society to appoint me as their leader -- for the simple fact that I have never attempted to have myself appointed such. I'm an idea man -- a dreamer -- and would be both bored and unhappy having to actually run a world government.
> > > > > He needs to not only forgive his father for having been (or, rather, seemed) harsh, but to take pride in his accomplishment in advancing his family a rung or two up the ladder of success.
> > > > >
> > > > > Thanks, but I'm quite proud of my father, and we were cool.
> > >
> > > > Were that so, you'd not wish to burn down his house.
> > > Once again, that's the grown-up boy in the poem. He is not cool with his father.
> > Perhaps you're not as "cool" with your father as you think.
>
> I see no reason to doubt it, but it's rather moot since my father is long dead. Our relationship was what it was.
> > > > > > And he needs to accept that his younger self had little choice but to impotently subject himself to his father's demands. Defiance or even resistance would only have resulted in more beatings.
> > > > >
> > > > > I was quite aware of that at the time, thanks. No special 'psychiatric' insight needed there, either.
> > >
> > > > Then stop lashing out at everyone who isn't a mentally impaired, perpetually unemployed loser.
> > > When you trash talk someone's father,, even to the point accusing him of "possible" incest, you should count yourself damn lucky if all you get is a verbal "lashing". You're a scoundrel, and you deserve to be horsewhipped.
> > >
> > You're exaggerating, George. I said that the image in your poem implies the possibility of incest -- and that it certainly has incestuous overtones. And remember that I'm not the only one who picked up on these.
>
> Just you and your MEatpuppet, in the past 15 years. I'd class that "subtext" along with the revenge/rebellion "subtext". It's not in the poem, but it's not ruled out. , if that's the stuff you guys like to think about, and it increases your enjoyment of the poem, I'd say go for it.
>
> > If you don't want you poem to imply incest, you need to rethink the idea of the bare-bottomed boy lying on his stomach in bed.
>
> Once again: the image does not "imply" incest. I'd wager that boys have been spanked on their bare bottoms since the dawn of man; to infer from that that they were all being buggered is absurd.

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 4:12:51 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> On Tuesday, December 20, 2022 at 10:52:35 AM UTC-5, cocodeso...@gmail.com wrote:
> > On Tuesday, December 20, 2022 at 10:47:05 AM UTC-5, jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, December 20, 2022 at 10:30:18 AM UTC-5, W.Dockery wrote:
> > > > Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > > > Will Dockery wrote:
> > > > >> Zod wrote:
> > > > >>> > On Sunday, December 18, 2022 at 3:17:01 PM UTC-5, George J. Dance wrote:
> > > > >>> >> On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 9:12:57 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail..com wrote:
> > > > >>> >> > On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 5:19:31 PM UTC-5, george....@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > > > >>> >> > > On Tuesday, November 29, 2022 at 2:00:03 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > > > Continuing my analysis of George J. Dance.
> > > > >>> >> > > >
> > > > >>> >> > > > Dance needs to realize that his father was not the authority figure he imagined.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > Of course my father was an "authority figure". He did a very good job of it, too.
> > > > >>> >> > No, George, your poem makes his position in society clear.
> > > > >>> >> No, Michael, the poem says just two things about my father's "position in society" -- he had a full-time job, and he owned land.
> > > > >>> >> > He was a disciplinarian (where you were concerned).
> > > > >>> >> Of course he was (and an authority figure). There's no reason in the world to see him as anything else.
> > > > >>> >> > He had no "authority" outside of his house.
> > > > >>> >> That's not something that comes from the poem. One again, it's something solely from ur imatination.
> > > > >>> >> > > > His father was a poor, working class man who struggled to afford a home for himself and his family.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > I actually have no idea of my father's financial status (and, of course, neither do you).
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > People with money don't live in a do-it-yourself prefabricated house that is literally from a box.
> > > > >>> >> Sure, most people (with money or not) wouldn't be able to build a house (including buying the land and laying the foundation). I'm not sure if I could. It's much easier to buy all that from a developer at 3-5x the price and live with a high mortgage. But a high mortgage isn't exactly a proof of status, or even of having money.
> > > > >>> >> > > > He was only able to do so by purchasing a low-cost House-in-a-Box (a prefabricated, do-it-yourself home -- one step up from a trailer).
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > I actually have no idea how much a prefab home cost (and neithe, I suspect, do you, though you could have looked it up).
> > > > >>> >> > They cost about $5,000. (Costs vary a thousand or two depending on style.)
> > > > >>> >> >
> > > > >>> >> > https://retrorenovation.com/2013/01/21/factory-built-houses-28-pages-of-lincoln-homes-from-1955/
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > > His father was most likely a blue-collar laborer who often skipped on basics for himself in order to keep his family clothed and fed.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > I wouldn't agree with the first two points. But , yes, we were clothed and fed, as I've said.
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > Let me guess... he was a book packager.
> > > > >>> >> For those who missed the joke: I ran a packing crew at a bindery for a dozen years, so I've been getting these sneers about "blue collar laborers" from Michael Monkey and his fellow snobs (like Robert Burros) for years.
> > > > >>> >> > > > His house represented his one act of success in this life. It was his means of reassuring himself that he was being a "man" -- that he was successfully providing for his wife and family. And, as such, he wanted to keep it as nice as possible.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > I doubt it. I don't even know where you're getting any of this from. Not from the poem. Perhaps you've found another "subtext"?
> > > > >>> >> > According to the poem, you had to remove your shoes to enter, sit in a corner chair, and, as a boy, were considered "filthy."
> > > > >>> >> No; once again (since you're still having trouble with the distinction) the speaker (the grown-up boy) in the poem remembers all of that.
> > > > >>> >> > > > But houses require upkeep and repair -- and upkeep and repair can cost a small fortune -- so a lower-income homeowner has good reason to be overprotective of his house.
> > > > >>> >> > > >
> > > > >>> >> > > > Consequently, when his children race through his house with muddy shoes, put their feet on the furniture, scratch the floors, scribble on the walls, etc., it becomes both frustrating and infuriating for him. There he is slaving his life away in order to provide his children with a nice home to live in, and they treat it like a shack, tearing it down faster than he can afford to repair it.
> > > > >>> >> > > >
> > > > >>> >> > > > Far from being an authority figure, George's father was at the bottom (or near-bottom) of the socio-economic chain. His house symbolized his rebellion against authority/society -- it stood as a slap in the face to the economic class system that was designed to keep blue-collar laborers down. He had a house. He was a landowner. He was able to provide for his family.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > Yes, of course building a house was a way to "provide for his family." What makes you think it was all that other shit as well? To name just one absurdity. You've got both building the house (what my father and the father in the poem both did) and burning down the house (as the speaker in the poem dreams of doing) as acts of rebellion against "society".
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > Which each, in its particular context, is.
> > > > >>> >> >
> > > > >>> >> I suppose you can see them as that, since there's nothing in the poem that says they weren't both rebelling against "society".
> > > > >>> >> > Your father was rebelling against his station in life, by becoming a landowner. You were rebelling against your father, by wishing to reduce him to his former status (by burning down his house).
> > > > >>> >> You could probably describe anything as an act of rebellion, I suppose -- for instance, my going and getting a coffee just now was a rebellion against thirst. But it just sounds like irrelevant psychobabble to me, convincing only to those who'd be coninced by that sort of talk.
> > > > >>> >> > > > His desire to keep his house as nice as possible, led to his adopting a set of seemingly strict rules (no shoes indoors, for instance), and corporal punishment for those who transgressed. It was the desperate act of an impoverished man to maintain the quality of the one thing he possessed -- his home.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > Someone should remind the soi-disant analyst that many homes have had rules like "no shoes inside", and corporal punishement as well. Surely they weren't all the "desperate acts" of "impoverished" men; they're perfectly understandable reactions, which don't need psychological embellisment.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > Many homes do. But I've never heard of any other little boys who were forced to lie in bed with their pajama pants pulled down while they awaited their father and his belt.
> > > > >>> >> I'll remind you that you didn't hear it "of" me, either; you read that memorable image in a poem of mine.
> > > > >>> >> > > > George needs to grant his father the same leeway he allows to social miscreants at AAPC. He needs to stop seeing his father as a dictator, but as a fellow victim (of a capitalistic society and an economically-based social caste system).
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > "Blame it on capitalism." That's pablum I'd expect from a dold like the Ashtroll, not from you.
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > Do I need to explain my Marxist-leaning political views again? An agrarian-based philosophical monarchy wherein money is abolished, and all people live in the same sized underground quarters, while working above-ground during the daylight hours returning earth to Her natural state -- and outlawing: the manufacture of non-biodegradable items, harming animals, exploiting fossil fuels, and any form of pollution.
> > > > >>> >> I'm glad you did go into it, as I see it as explaining where you're coming from. This ideal world you like to imagine imposing, if you were teh world dictator, is more Platonist totalitarianism than Marxist, but it's similar in being a total "rebellion against society". It explains why you'd feel alienated from society for not recognizing your superiority and making you dictator, much the same as Marx felt, and why like yim you'd find alienation and rebellion everywhere.
> > > > >>> >> > > He needs to not only forgive his father for having been (or, rather, seemed) harsh, but to take pride in his accomplishment in advancing his family a rung or two up the ladder of success.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > Thanks, but I'm quite proud of my father, and we were cool.
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > Were that so, you'd not wish to burn down his house.
> > > > >>> >> Once again, that's the grown-up boy in the poem. He is not coll with his father.
> > > > >>> >> > > > And he needs to accept that his younger self had little choice but to impotently subject himself to his father's demands. Defiance or even resistance would only have resulted in more beatings.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > I was quite aware of that at the time, thanks. No special 'psychiatric' insight needed there, either.
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > Then stop lashing out at everyone who isn't a mentally impaired, perpetually unemployed loser.
> > > > >
> > > > >> >> When you trash talk someone's father,, even to the point accusing him of "possible" incest, you should count yourself damn lucky if all you get is a verbal "lashing". You're a scoundrel, and you deserve to be horsewhipped.
> > > > >
> > > > >>> Penhead has those nasty habits, some of the vile things he has written about me, Jordy and Doc for examples....
> > > > >
> > > > >> In other words Pendragon remains a malicious lying little monkey..
> > > >
> > > > >
> > > > > But you, Jordy
> > > > Like I asked, why do you lie and misrepresent so much, Michael Pendragon, you sleazy little shit eating ape boy?
> > > >
> > > > HTH and HAND.
> > > he is lying because I do have a job, a part time job, in addition to volunteer work... have worked part time and/or been doing volunteer work for about 29 years now... had paid job from 1995-1997, 1997-2005, 2005-2007 and 2007-now... have had many volunteer jobs as well since 1993, at libraries, book stores, soup kitchens, a friendly visitor of elderly people for Jewish Family Services(won a volunteer of the year award), The Red Cross(won a volunteer of the year award), CPUSA etc...
> > >
> > Congratulations on your job, Jordy's Creepy Uncle Isaac! That's the first I've heard of it.
> >
> > Your obsession with your nephew, however, is still extremely disturbing..
>
> Sounds like Michael Monkey's discovered another "subtext".

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 4:12:51 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> On Tuesday, December 20, 2022 at 10:52:35 AM UTC-5, cocodeso...@gmail.com wrote:
> > On Tuesday, December 20, 2022 at 10:47:05 AM UTC-5, jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, December 20, 2022 at 10:30:18 AM UTC-5, W.Dockery wrote:
> > > > Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > > > Will Dockery wrote:
> > > > >> Zod wrote:
> > > > >>> > On Sunday, December 18, 2022 at 3:17:01 PM UTC-5, George J. Dance wrote:
> > > > >>> >> On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 9:12:57 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail..com wrote:
> > > > >>> >> > On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 5:19:31 PM UTC-5, george....@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > > > >>> >> > > On Tuesday, November 29, 2022 at 2:00:03 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > > > Continuing my analysis of George J. Dance.
> > > > >>> >> > > >
> > > > >>> >> > > > Dance needs to realize that his father was not the authority figure he imagined.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > Of course my father was an "authority figure". He did a very good job of it, too.
> > > > >>> >> > No, George, your poem makes his position in society clear.
> > > > >>> >> No, Michael, the poem says just two things about my father's "position in society" -- he had a full-time job, and he owned land.
> > > > >>> >> > He was a disciplinarian (where you were concerned).
> > > > >>> >> Of course he was (and an authority figure). There's no reason in the world to see him as anything else.
> > > > >>> >> > He had no "authority" outside of his house.
> > > > >>> >> That's not something that comes from the poem. One again, it's something solely from ur imatination.
> > > > >>> >> > > > His father was a poor, working class man who struggled to afford a home for himself and his family.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > I actually have no idea of my father's financial status (and, of course, neither do you).
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > People with money don't live in a do-it-yourself prefabricated house that is literally from a box.
> > > > >>> >> Sure, most people (with money or not) wouldn't be able to build a house (including buying the land and laying the foundation). I'm not sure if I could. It's much easier to buy all that from a developer at 3-5x the price and live with a high mortgage. But a high mortgage isn't exactly a proof of status, or even of having money.
> > > > >>> >> > > > He was only able to do so by purchasing a low-cost House-in-a-Box (a prefabricated, do-it-yourself home -- one step up from a trailer).
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > I actually have no idea how much a prefab home cost (and neithe, I suspect, do you, though you could have looked it up).
> > > > >>> >> > They cost about $5,000. (Costs vary a thousand or two depending on style.)
> > > > >>> >> >
> > > > >>> >> > https://retrorenovation.com/2013/01/21/factory-built-houses-28-pages-of-lincoln-homes-from-1955/
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > > His father was most likely a blue-collar laborer who often skipped on basics for himself in order to keep his family clothed and fed.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > I wouldn't agree with the first two points. But , yes, we were clothed and fed, as I've said.
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > Let me guess... he was a book packager.
> > > > >>> >> For those who missed the joke: I ran a packing crew at a bindery for a dozen years, so I've been getting these sneers about "blue collar laborers" from Michael Monkey and his fellow snobs (like Robert Burros) for years.
> > > > >>> >> > > > His house represented his one act of success in this life. It was his means of reassuring himself that he was being a "man" -- that he was successfully providing for his wife and family. And, as such, he wanted to keep it as nice as possible.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > I doubt it. I don't even know where you're getting any of this from. Not from the poem. Perhaps you've found another "subtext"?
> > > > >>> >> > According to the poem, you had to remove your shoes to enter, sit in a corner chair, and, as a boy, were considered "filthy."
> > > > >>> >> No; once again (since you're still having trouble with the distinction) the speaker (the grown-up boy) in the poem remembers all of that.
> > > > >>> >> > > > But houses require upkeep and repair -- and upkeep and repair can cost a small fortune -- so a lower-income homeowner has good reason to be overprotective of his house.
> > > > >>> >> > > >
> > > > >>> >> > > > Consequently, when his children race through his house with muddy shoes, put their feet on the furniture, scratch the floors, scribble on the walls, etc., it becomes both frustrating and infuriating for him. There he is slaving his life away in order to provide his children with a nice home to live in, and they treat it like a shack, tearing it down faster than he can afford to repair it.
> > > > >>> >> > > >
> > > > >>> >> > > > Far from being an authority figure, George's father was at the bottom (or near-bottom) of the socio-economic chain. His house symbolized his rebellion against authority/society -- it stood as a slap in the face to the economic class system that was designed to keep blue-collar laborers down. He had a house. He was a landowner. He was able to provide for his family.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > Yes, of course building a house was a way to "provide for his family." What makes you think it was all that other shit as well? To name just one absurdity. You've got both building the house (what my father and the father in the poem both did) and burning down the house (as the speaker in the poem dreams of doing) as acts of rebellion against "society".
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > Which each, in its particular context, is.
> > > > >>> >> >
> > > > >>> >> I suppose you can see them as that, since there's nothing in the poem that says they weren't both rebelling against "society".
> > > > >>> >> > Your father was rebelling against his station in life, by becoming a landowner. You were rebelling against your father, by wishing to reduce him to his former status (by burning down his house).
> > > > >>> >> You could probably describe anything as an act of rebellion, I suppose -- for instance, my going and getting a coffee just now was a rebellion against thirst. But it just sounds like irrelevant psychobabble to me, convincing only to those who'd be coninced by that sort of talk.
> > > > >>> >> > > > His desire to keep his house as nice as possible, led to his adopting a set of seemingly strict rules (no shoes indoors, for instance), and corporal punishment for those who transgressed. It was the desperate act of an impoverished man to maintain the quality of the one thing he possessed -- his home.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > Someone should remind the soi-disant analyst that many homes have had rules like "no shoes inside", and corporal punishement as well. Surely they weren't all the "desperate acts" of "impoverished" men; they're perfectly understandable reactions, which don't need psychological embellisment.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > Many homes do. But I've never heard of any other little boys who were forced to lie in bed with their pajama pants pulled down while they awaited their father and his belt.
> > > > >>> >> I'll remind you that you didn't hear it "of" me, either; you read that memorable image in a poem of mine.
> > > > >>> >> > > > George needs to grant his father the same leeway he allows to social miscreants at AAPC. He needs to stop seeing his father as a dictator, but as a fellow victim (of a capitalistic society and an economically-based social caste system).
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > "Blame it on capitalism." That's pablum I'd expect from a dold like the Ashtroll, not from you.
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > Do I need to explain my Marxist-leaning political views again? An agrarian-based philosophical monarchy wherein money is abolished, and all people live in the same sized underground quarters, while working above-ground during the daylight hours returning earth to Her natural state -- and outlawing: the manufacture of non-biodegradable items, harming animals, exploiting fossil fuels, and any form of pollution.
> > > > >>> >> I'm glad you did go into it, as I see it as explaining where you're coming from. This ideal world you like to imagine imposing, if you were teh world dictator, is more Platonist totalitarianism than Marxist, but it's similar in being a total "rebellion against society". It explains why you'd feel alienated from society for not recognizing your superiority and making you dictator, much the same as Marx felt, and why like yim you'd find alienation and rebellion everywhere.
> > > > >>> >> > > He needs to not only forgive his father for having been (or, rather, seemed) harsh, but to take pride in his accomplishment in advancing his family a rung or two up the ladder of success.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > Thanks, but I'm quite proud of my father, and we were cool.
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > Were that so, you'd not wish to burn down his house.
> > > > >>> >> Once again, that's the grown-up boy in the poem. He is not coll with his father.
> > > > >>> >> > > > And he needs to accept that his younger self had little choice but to impotently subject himself to his father's demands. Defiance or even resistance would only have resulted in more beatings.
> > > > >>> >> > >
> > > > >>> >> > > I was quite aware of that at the time, thanks. No special 'psychiatric' insight needed there, either.
> > > > >>> >>
> > > > >>> >> > Then stop lashing out at everyone who isn't a mentally impaired, perpetually unemployed loser.
> > > > >
> > > > >> >> When you trash talk someone's father,, even to the point accusing him of "possible" incest, you should count yourself damn lucky if all you get is a verbal "lashing". You're a scoundrel, and you deserve to be horsewhipped.
> > > > >
> > > > >>> Penhead has those nasty habits, some of the vile things he has written about me, Jordy and Doc for examples....
> > > > >
> > > > >> In other words Pendragon remains a malicious lying little monkey..
> > > >
> > > > >
> > > > > But you, Jordy
> > > > Like I asked, why do you lie and misrepresent so much, Michael Pendragon, you sleazy little shit eating ape boy?
> > > >
> > > > HTH and HAND.
> > > he is lying because I do have a job, a part time job, in addition to volunteer work... have worked part time and/or been doing volunteer work for about 29 years now... had paid job from 1995-1997, 1997-2005, 2005-2007 and 2007-now... have had many volunteer jobs as well since 1993, at libraries, book stores, soup kitchens, a friendly visitor of elderly people for Jewish Family Services(won a volunteer of the year award), The Red Cross(won a volunteer of the year award), CPUSA etc...
> > >
> > Congratulations on your job, Jordy's Creepy Uncle Isaac! That's the first I've heard of it.
> >
> > Your obsession with your nephew, however, is still extremely disturbing..
>
> Sounds like Michael Monkey's discovered another "subtext".

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 5:45:15 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> On Sunday, December 18, 2022 at 4:19:40 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > On Sunday, December 18, 2022 at 3:17:01 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > > On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 9:12:57 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 5:19:31 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo..ca wrote:
> > > > > On Tuesday, November 29, 2022 at 2:00:03 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef....@gmail.com wrote:
> > > > > >
> > > > > > Continuing my analysis of George J. Dance.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > Dance needs to realize that his father was not the authority figure he imagined.
> > > > >
> > > > > Of course my father was an "authority figure". He did a very good job of it, too.
> > > > No, George, your poem makes his position in society clear.
> > > No, Michael, the poem says just two things about my father's "position in society" -- he had a full-time job, and he owned land.
> > It "says" much more, both contextually and by implication, George.
> > > > He was a disciplinarian (where you were concerned).
> > > Of course he was (and an authority figure). There's no reason in the world to see him as anything else.
> > An authority figure is a judge, a policeman, a teacher, the president of a corporation, etc. There is nothing in your poem to indicate that your father held any such position in society.
>
> And nothing to indicate he didn't either. That's left completely open; a reader can imagine whatever he wants. What a reader imagines, though, is not what the poem says; that's another distinction you seem to be confused about.
>

On the contrary: a build-it-yourself, house-in-the-box implies a lower income, blue collar life.

Whipping a child as punishment is also associated with the lower classes.

> > > > He had no "authority" outside of his house.
> > > That's not something that comes from the poem. One again, it's something solely from your imagination.
> > The fact that he lived in a prefabricated house strongly implies his lack of social standing.
>
> No, it doesn't. It implies that he wanted a house in the country mortgage-free, and was willing to work hard to achieve it; both admirable traits, IMO.

What have such "admirable traits" to do with ones socio-economic class?

A prefabricated house is a step up from a trailer -- and living in a trailer park was never looked on as a social status symbol.

> > > > > > His father was a poor, working class man who struggled to afford a home for himself and his family.
> > > > >
> > > > > I actually have no idea of my father's financial status (and, of course, neither do you).
> > >
> > > > People with money don't live in a do-it-yourself prefabricated house that is literally from a box.
>
> > > Sure, most people (with money or not) wouldn't be able to build a house (including buying the land and laying the foundation). I'm not sure if I could. It's much easier to buy all that from a developer at 3-5x the price and live with a high mortgage. But a high mortgage isn't exactly a proof of status, or even of having money.
> > >
> > You've left out the third option: having the necessary funds to purchase the land and build a house on it without having to take out a mortgage.
>
> No, that's the option my father took.

Bully for him.

A mansion is a symbol of wealth/position in society. A box house is a symbol of the lack thereof.

And bear in mind that we are not discussing your father but your poem. And a box house in a literary work is going to connote poverty/low social status.

> > > > > > He was only able to do so by purchasing a low-cost House-in-a-Box (a prefabricated, do-it-yourself home -- one step up from a trailer).
> > > > >
> > > > > I actually have no idea how much a prefab home cost (and neithe, I suspect, do you, though you could have looked it up).
> > > > They cost about $5,000. (Costs vary a thousand or two depending on style.)
> > > >
> > > > https://retrorenovation.com/2013/01/21/factory-built-houses-28-pages-of-lincoln-homes-from-1955/
> > > > >
> > > > > > His father was most likely a blue-collar laborer who often skipped on basics for himself in order to keep his family clothed and fed.
> > > > >
> > > > > I wouldn't agree with the first two points. But , yes, we were clothed and fed, as I've said.
> > >
> > > > Let me guess... he was a book packager.
> > > For those who missed the joke: I ran a packing crew at a bindery for a dozen years, so I've been getting these sneers about "blue collar laborers" from Michael Monkey and his fellow snobs (like Robert Burrows) for years..
> > >
> > I've had plenty of blue collar jobs, George. My point is that children usually advance (however slightly) from their parents' position in society. The son of a bank president doesn't usually end up flipping burgers at a fast food chain (which is one of the jobs I'd had back in the day). If your job (before you retired) was packing books at a bindery (unskilled labor), it's a pretty safe bet that your father wasn't a brain surgeon.
>
> Got it. According to you, running a packing line in working as a bindery is the second lowest "position in society"; according to your silly generalization, my father must have been "lower" in society; and therefore my father must have been "lower". Your logic's valid, for once, but your premises suck big time.
>

Now, George, I haven't assigned numbers to specific occupations.

Your job (packing books into boxes) wasn't a particularly high level position: unskilled labor within a white(ish) collar environment. Your father was probably blue collar.

I'm not putting it down -- my father was a blue collar worker as well (and as I said, I've held several blue collar positions).

It is, however, the natural supposition one makes from having read your poem. That's all.

> If you want to know what my father did for a living, BTW, all you have to do is go to my wiki page and read it.

I've no such interest, George.

I'm discussing your poem. Your poem gives the reader reason to believe that the father in your poem is a blue collar laborer; and no reason for us to think otherwise.

> > > > > > His house represented his one act of success in this life. It was his means of reassuring himself that he was being a "man" -- that he was successfully providing for his wife and family. And, as such, he wanted to keep it as nice as possible.
> > > > >
> > > > > I doubt it. I don't even know where you're getting any of this from. Not from the poem. Perhaps you've found another "subtext"?
> > > > According to the poem, you had to remove your shoes to enter, sit in a corner chair, and, as a boy, were considered "filthy."
> > > No; once again (since you're still having trouble with the distinction) the speaker (the grown-up boy) in the poem remembers all of that.
> > But you've already admitted that the speaker's recollections are *largely* modeled on your own.
>
> Aside from your pretense that a 15-year old quotation you found and post-edited is something you got me to to "admit", that's true enough.

I didn't say that I got you to admit it, George. You obviously admitted it on your own free will.

My point is that narrator of your poem is, by your own admission, "largely" modeled on yourself -- which makes your poem "largely" autobiographical.

> Since I'm a charitable guy, even to monkey trolls, I'll give you that one.. I didn't wear shoes inside. None of the family did. Are we at "child abuse" yet?

Don't be facetious. You know where the child abuse takes place, George.

Seriously, don't. You lack the wit to successfully bring it off.

> > > > > > But houses require upkeep and repair -- and upkeep and repair can cost a small fortune -- so a lower-income homeowner has good reason to be overprotective of his house.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > Consequently, when his children race through his house with muddy shoes, put their feet on the furniture, scratch the floors, scribble on the walls, etc., it becomes both frustrating and infuriating for him. There he is slaving his life away in order to provide his children with a nice home to live in, and they treat it like a shack, tearing it down faster than he can afford to repair it.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > Far from being an authority figure, George's father was at the bottom (or near-bottom) of the socio-economic chain. His house symbolized his rebellion against authority/society -- it stood as a slap in the face to the economic class system that was designed to keep blue-collar laborers down. He had a house. He was a landowner. He was able to provide for his family.
> > > > >
> > > > > Yes, of course building a house was a way to "provide for his family." What makes you think it was all that other shit as well? To name just one absurdity. You've got both building the house (what my father and the father in the poem both did) and burning down the house (as the speaker in the poem dreams of doing) as acts of rebellion against "society".
> > > > >
> > > > Which each, in its particular context, is.
> > > >
> > > I suppose you can see them as that, since there's nothing in the poem that says they weren't both rebelling against "society".
> > > > Your father was rebelling against his station in life, by becoming a landowner. You were rebelling against your father, by wishing to reduce him to his former status (by burning down his house).
>
> > > You could probably describe anything as an act of rebellion, I suppose -- for instance, my going and getting a coffee just now was a rebellion against thirst. But it just sounds like irrelevant psychobabble to me, convincing only to those who'd be coninced by that sort of talk.
> > >
> > The speaker's fantasized act of rebellion forms the climax of your poem, George: the burning down of his deceased father's house.
>
> The burning house is a dramatic image, probably the second most noted one in the poem. If it attracts people who see it as a symbol of 'revenge,' 'rebellion," 'revolution' or whatever, great (I guess). But as I explained to Robert, that's not what I wrote or how I'd interpret what I wrote.
>

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:00:13 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> On Tuesday, December 13, 2022 at 12:23:15 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail..com wrote:
> > On Tuesday, December 13, 2022 at 12:20:15 PM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> > > Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > >
> > > > On Tuesday, December 13, 2022 at 10:19:44 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> > > >> On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:09:21 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > > >>
> > > >> >
> > > >> > My Father's House
> > > >> >
> > > >> > This is my father's house, although
> > > >> > The man died thirteen years ago.
> > > >> > They said it would be quite all right
> > > >> > To take a drive to see it now.
> > > >> >
> > > >> > Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
> > > >> > And built the whole thing (from a box),
> > > >> > Toiling after each full day's work.
> > > >> > I helped, though I was only six.
> > > >> >
> > > >> > Look, here's the back door I would use
> > > >> > And here's where I'd remove my shoes
> > > >> > To enter; there I'd leave my things
> > > >> > And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
> > > >> >
> > > >> > In this room I'd wash many a dish,
> > > >> > Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
> > > >> > To be so many other places.
> > > >> > (Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
> > > >> >
> > > >> > Outside, the garden that he grew
> > > >> > Where I would work the summers through,
> > > >> > While watching my friends run and play
> > > >> > Mysterious games I never knew.
> > > >> >
> > > >> > That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
> > > >> > The one chair I was let to sit?
> > > >> > (For boys can be such filthy things.)
> > > >> > Which, the corner where boys were put?
> > > >> >
> > > >> > Oh ... down that hall there is a room
> > > >> > Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
> > > >> > After the meal, to make no noise,
> > > >> > To read or play alone, and then
> > > >> >
> > > >> > Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
> > > >> > Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
> > > >> > Face and pyjama bottoms down
> > > >> > As for my father's belt I'd wait.
> > > >> >
> > > >> > Oh, if I were a millionaire
> > > >> > I'd buy my father's house, and there
> > > >> > I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
> > > >> > Its flames would light up all the air.
> > > >> >
> > > >> > ~~
> > > >> > George J. Dance
> > > >> > from Logos and other logoi, 2021
> > > >>
> > > >> Far from poorly written.
> > > >>
> > > >> Why do you lie and misrepresent so much Michael Pendragon, you shit slinging little monkey?
> > >
> > > > It's third rate doggerel at best.
> > >
> > > > Like I said, this is not one of George's better works.
> > > Says the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
> > Judge for yourself, Donkey:
> >
> <snip>
> > -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.
> If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better..
>

It was the Donkey who hijacked your thread, George. I was merely setting the record straight (specifically discrediting his claim that I was delusional by providing evidence to the contrary).

Both you and your Donkey have advocated setting the record straight in the past. Apparently you object to my setting the record straight in your thread, yet have no objection to your Donkey introducing (untrue) exterior information about me in that same thread.

Double standard much, George?

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:49:18 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> On Monday, December 5, 2022 at 9:53:29 AM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > On Monday, December 5, 2022 at 5:42:43 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > > On 2022-12-05 4:47 a.m., Robert Burrows wrote:
> > > > On Monday, December 5, 2022 at 4:33:02 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> > > >> On 2022-12-03 6:57 p.m., NancyGene wrote:
> > > >>> On Saturday, December 3, 2022 at 11:38:11 PM UTC, george...@yahoo..ca wrote:
> > > >>>> On 2022-12-03 4:21 p.m., NancyGene wrote:
> > > >>>>> On Saturday, December 3, 2022 at 7:41:33 PM UTC, Dennis Rowan wrote:
> > > >>>>>> On Saturday, December 3, 2022 at 1:15:49 PM UTC-5, rjbur...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > >>>>>>> On Saturday, December 3, 2022 at 8:48:08 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> > > >>>>>>>> George J. Dance wrote:
> > > >>>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> My Father's House
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> This is my father's house, although
> > > >>>>>>>>> The man died thirteen years ago.
> > > >>>>>>>>> They said it would be quite all right
> > > >>>>>>>>> To take a drive to see it now.
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
> > > >>>>>>>>> And built the whole thing (from a box),
> > > >>>>>>>>> Toiling after each full day's work.
> > > >>>>>>>>> I helped, though I was only six.
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> Look, here's the back door I would use
> > > >>>>>>>>> And here's where I'd remove my shoes
> > > >>>>>>>>> To enter; there I'd leave my things
> > > >>>>>>>>> And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> In this room I'd wash many a dish,
> > > >>>>>>>>> Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
> > > >>>>>>>>> To be so many other places.
> > > >>>>>>>>> (Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> Outside, the garden that he grew
> > > >>>>>>>>> Where I would work the summers through,
> > > >>>>>>>>> While watching my friends run and play
> > > >>>>>>>>> Mysterious games I never knew.
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
> > > >>>>>>>>> The one chair I was let to sit?
> > > >>>>>>>>> (For boys can be such filthy things.)
> > > >>>>>>>>> Which, the corner where boys were put?
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> Oh ... down that hall there is a room
> > > >>>>>>>>> Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
> > > >>>>>>>>> After the meal, to make no noise,
> > > >>>>>>>>> To read or play alone, and then
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
> > > >>>>>>>>> Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
> > > >>>>>>>>> Face and pyjama bottoms down
> > > >>>>>>>>> As for my father's belt I'd wait.
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> Oh, if I were a millionaire
> > > >>>>>>>>> I'd buy my father's house, and there
> > > >>>>>>>>> I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
> > > >>>>>>>>> Its flames would light up all the air.
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>>> ~~
> > > >>>>>>>>> George J. Dance
> > > >>>>>>>>> from Logos and other logoi, 2021
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>> Again, excellent poetry, as all apparently agree.
> > > >>>>>>>>
> > > >>>>>>>> 🙂
> > > >>>>>>> It's pathological, not poetic.
> > > >>>>>> I like George's poem.
> > > >>>>>> It's a sad poem but bold and unaffected.
> > > >>>>>
> > > >>>>> We don't see it as a sad poem--rather, it is a revenge poem.
> > > >>>> That's a weird take. There's only one person in the poem; who is he
> > > >>>> supposed to be taking revenge on?
> > > >>> George Dance, George Dance, George Dance! Revenge on the memory of his father in the blasted house of child abuse.
> > > >>
> > > >> Like I said, weird.
> > > > I don't know what's "weird" about it, George.
> > > You really don't see anything weird in the idea of destroying an
> > > inanimate object to take revenge on one of your memories. Maybe an
> > > example would help: Is that something you you do?
> > >
> > > As it is, I've got to ask: What isn't weird about seeing your own
> > > memories as something to can or should be taking 'revenge' on? What
> > > isn't weird about thinking, that destroying that object somehow gains
> > > you that mysterious 'revenge' (whatever it is)?
>
> > The speaker isn't thinking about taking revenge on his memories, George.... unless he's also considering a lobotomy. He's daydreaming about taking revenge on his decease father. I suspect that you meant to say he was thinking about taking revenge on the memory of his late father -- but that use of "memory" is different from one's recollections about the past.
>
> That is how NG put it - "Revenge on the memory of his father" - but that doesn't make it more but less sensible. A memory has to be someone's memory; there aren't any mind-independent memories floating around out there. So whose?
>

You're playing the dunce again, George. NancyGene said "the memory of his father" -- not his actual memories.

Saying "the memory of my father" denotes the lingering effects of my father within my consciousness. "The memory of my father" still exists as a very real entity that still affects my life to some degree. It constitutes the complete image of my father that I carry within me.

My memories of my father, otoh, are simply individual recollections of the times we spent together.

I can take revenge on "the memory of my father" by doing something that I know would displease him. I cannot take revenge on my memories of my father, because the memories are simply recollections of past events.

> Nor does the idea that he's not really seeking revenge on a memory, but on his father, make it any more sensible. His father is dead, and has been for over a decade. The point I've always understood about "revenge" is that it was to even the score -- to hurt the other person the way they hurt you -- and it's simply not possible to hurt a dead man.
> >

You cannot hurt a dead many, but you can hurt *his* memory (the image of him that exists within your psyche). The performance of such a belated revenge won't affect your dead father, but it will provide you with a sense of empowerment and closure.

> > And, no... I find nothing weird in daydreaming about taking revenge on someone after their death. When someone has the effrontery to die before one can enact their revenge on him, one is left in need of closure. Burning down an inanimate box house as a token of one's father, would not only be a normal, but a psychologically healthy, thing to do.
>
> It's still a weird idea, to me, but it isn't ruled out by the poem.

It's obviously not a weird idea to you, since you've expressed your desire to enact just such a revenge in your poem.

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 8:45:12 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:00:13 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:
> >
> > I see I left out the most important point.
>
> >> >
> >> <snip>
> >> > -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.
> >> If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so
>
> > **by opening a new thread**.
>
> > would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better.
> Yes, Pendragon was spamming that every time I mentioned what a delusional fuckwit he appears when he posts that he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
>
> As his comparison shows, even a lesser T.S. Eliot poem is still 1,000 better than a Michael Pendragon poem.

Thank you for admitting that you were the one who introduced this topic into George's thread, thereby hijacking it.

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 2:49:23 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 8:45:12 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> > On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:00:13 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:
> > >
> > > I see I left out the most important point.
> >
> > >> >
> > >> <snip>
> > >> > -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.
> > >> If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so
> >
> > > **by opening a new thread**.
> >
> > > would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better.
> > Yes, Pendragon was spamming that every time I mentioned what a delusional fuckwit he appears when he posts that he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot..
> >
> > As his comparison shows, even a lesser T.S. Eliot poem is still 1,000 better than a Michael Pendragon poem.
> Thank you for admitting that you were the one who introduced this topic into George's thread, thereby hijacking it.

I didn't force you to spam your poem over several threads, Pendragon, you delusional whining little shit spewing ape boy.

🙂

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 3:35:45 PM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 2:49:23 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 8:45:12 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> > > On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:00:13 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:
> > > >
> > > > I see I left out the most important point.
> > >
> > > >> >
> > > >> <snip>
> > > >> > -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.
> > > >> If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so
> > >
> > > > **by opening a new thread**.
> > >
> > > > would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better.
> > > Yes, Pendragon was spamming that every time I mentioned what a delusional fuckwit he appears when he posts that he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
> > >
> > > As his comparison shows, even a lesser T.S. Eliot poem is still 1,000 better than a Michael Pendragon poem.
> > Thank you for admitting that you were the one who introduced this topic into George's thread, thereby hijacking it.
> I didn't force you to spam your poem over several threads, Pendragon, you delusional whining little shit spewing ape boy.

Of course you did, Donkey.

You claimed that I was delusional for thinking that I'm a better poet than Eliot. Simple nay-saying (the Donkey method) doesn't set anything straight.. In this case, the only thing that would serve the purpose was a side-by-side comparison of one of Eliot's poems with one of mine.

Corey preferred Eliot's. Others may have as well. Regardless of they're preferences, I afforded them the opportunity to judge for themselves.

Michael Pendragon wrote:

> On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 3:35:45 PM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
>> On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 2:49:23 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
>> > On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 8:45:12 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
>> > > On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:00:13 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:
>> > > >
>> > > > I see I left out the most important point.
>> > >
>> > > >> >
>> > > >> <snip>
>> > > >> > -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.
>> > > >> If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so
>> > >
>> > > > **by opening a new thread**.
>> > >
>> > > > would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better.
>> > > Yes, Pendragon was spamming that every time I mentioned what a delusional fuckwit he appears when he posts that he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
>> > >
>> > > As his comparison shows, even a lesser T.S. Eliot poem is still 1,000 better than a Michael Pendragon poem.
>> > Thank you for admitting that you were the one who introduced this topic into George's thread, thereby hijacking it.
>> I didn't force you to spam your poem over several threads, Pendragon, you delusional whining little shit spewing ape boy.

> Of course you did

Not at all.

> You claimed that I was delusional for thinking that I'm a better poet than Eliot

Obviously you are

HTH and HAND.

On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 7:10:13 PM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> Michael Pendragon wrote:
>
> > On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 3:35:45 PM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> >> On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 2:49:23 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> >> > On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 8:45:12 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> >> > > On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:00:13 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:
> >> > > >
> >> > > > I see I left out the most important point.
> >> > >
> >> > > >> >
> >> > > >> <snip>
> >> > > >> > -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.
> >> > > >> If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so
> >> > >
> >> > > > **by opening a new thread**.
> >> > >
> >> > > > would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better.
> >> > > Yes, Pendragon was spamming that every time I mentioned what a delusional fuckwit he appears when he posts that he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
> >> > >
> >> > > As his comparison shows, even a lesser T.S. Eliot poem is still 1,000 better than a Michael Pendragon poem.
> >> > Thank you for admitting that you were the one who introduced this topic into George's thread, thereby hijacking it.
> >> I didn't force you to spam your poem over several threads, Pendragon, you delusional whining little shit spewing ape boy.
>
> > Of course you did
> Not at all.
> > You claimed that I was delusional for thinking that I'm a better poet than Eliot
> Obviously you are
>
>
> HTH and HAND.

Per your request...

DAYBREAK
M.M. Pendragon
(Inspired by "Rhapsody on a Windy Night," by T.S. Eliot)

The moonlit masquerade at last is done
As music fades like stars at dawn's first kiss,
The streetlamps sputter sparks, like fireflies gone
As mad as April trees whose budded bliss
Will freeze beneath the season's final snow.

While through the quiet streets, the gentle glow
Of morning amber stretches sleepy arms
As taxis yawn their way past bursts of steam
That hiss through subway grates, while New York warms
Awaking from her bootblack-scented dream
To pushcart cups of joe and cigarettes.

I greet the old bronze clock at Herald Square
With ragged vagabonds, and fond regrets
Of cocktail-colored dances, unbound hair
And Cinderella eyes lost in the blur
Of midnight faces, heavy-lidded lies.

The new day beckons, Broadway buskers stir
Sweat suits give way to button shirts and ties
Newstands roll up their gates as pushbrooms sweep
The shadow-remnants of the night aside.

I wander through the crowds, too tired to sleep
Too spent to keep the pace; I opt to hide
Inside a small café, as sunbeams spill
Their contents 'cross a pigeon-feathered sky.

The morning calls, but I have had my fill
With alabaster hopes of wealth and fame
I nurse my coffee, watch the day slip by
And wonder why I'd never asked her name.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0NhytKdNLg

vs

Rhapsody on a Windy Night
T. S. Eliot - 1888-1965

Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions.
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

   Half-past one,
The street-lamp sputtered,
The street-lamp muttered,
The street-lamp said, "Regard that woman
Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin."

   The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.

   Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

   Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smooths the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and eau de Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain."
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.

   The lamp said,
"Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."

   The last twist of the knife.

Zod wrote:

> On Monday, November 28, 2022 at 1:10:53 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>> On 2022-11-26 4:01 p.m., Zod wrote:
>> > On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:46:45 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>> >> On 2022-11-26 3:32 p.m., NancyGene wrote:
>> >>
>> >>> Where is Mount Father? Is that in Canada?
>> >> Thanks for the good catch, dear. I can't delete this, but I'll repost.
>> >
>> > That's pretty funny coming from NancyGene, who thinks London, home of John Dunne and Robert F. Stillings, is in Ireland... ha ha.
>>
>> What was even funnier, for me, was that just after announding the Yeats
>> exhibit in London, Ireland, Prof. NG suddenly took a month-long
>> "sabbatical" from the group. I spent a couple of amusing hours imagining
>> them roaming around Ireland looking for London. (Of course, not being a
>> troll, I never posted about it.)

> Ha ha ... you nailed it G.D....

To the wall.

🙂

George Dance wrote:

> michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
>> george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>>> michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
>> > > On Thursday, December 15, 2022 at 5:19:31 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>> > > > On Tuesday, November 29, 2022 at 2:00:03 PM UTC-5, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
>
>> > > > > Continuing my analysis of George J. Dance.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Dance needs to realize that his father was not the authority figure he imagined.
>> > > >
>> > > > Of course my father was an "authority figure". He did a very good job of it, too.
>> > > No, George, your poem makes his position in society clear.
>> > No, Michael, the poem says just two things about my father's "position in society" -- he had a full-time job, and he owned land.
>> It "says" much more, both contextually and by implication, George.
>> > > He was a disciplinarian (where you were concerned).
>> > Of course he was (and an authority figure). There's no reason in the world to see him as anything else.
>> An authority figure is a judge, a policeman, a teacher, the president of a corporation, etc. There is nothing in your poem to indicate that your father held any such position in society.

> And nothing to indicate he didn't either. That's left completely open; a reader can imagine whatever he wants. What a reader imagines, though, is not what the poem says; that's another distinction you seem to be confused about.

>> > > He had no "authority" outside of his house.
>> > That's not something that comes from the poem. One again, it's something solely from your imagination.
>> The fact that he lived in a prefabricated house strongly implies his lack of social standing.

> No, it doesn't. It implies that he wanted a house in the country mortgage-free, and was willing to work hard to achieve it; both admirable traits, IMO..

>> > > > > His father was a poor, working class man who struggled to afford a home for himself and his family.
>> > > >
>> > > > I actually have no idea of my father's financial status (and, of course, neither do you).
>> >
>> > > People with money don't live in a do-it-yourself prefabricated house that is literally from a box.

>> > Sure, most people (with money or not) wouldn't be able to build a house (including buying the land and laying the foundation). I'm not sure if I could. It's much easier to buy all that from a developer at 3-5x the price and live with a high mortgage. But a high mortgage isn't exactly a proof of status, or even of having money.
>> >
>> You've left out the third option: having the necessary funds to purchase the land and build a house on it without having to take out a mortgage.

> No, that's the option my father took.

>> > > > > He was only able to do so by purchasing a low-cost House-in-a-Box (a prefabricated, do-it-yourself home -- one step up from a trailer).
>> > > >
>> > > > I actually have no idea how much a prefab home cost (and neithe, I suspect, do you, though you could have looked it up).
>> > > They cost about $5,000. (Costs vary a thousand or two depending on style.)
>> > >
>> > > https://retrorenovation.com/2013/01/21/factory-built-houses-28-pages-of-lincoln-homes-from-1955/
>> > > >
>> > > > > His father was most likely a blue-collar laborer who often skipped on basics for himself in order to keep his family clothed and fed.
>> > > >
>> > > > I wouldn't agree with the first two points. But , yes, we were clothed and fed, as I've said.
>> >
>> > > Let me guess... he was a book packager.
>> > For those who missed the joke: I ran a packing crew at a bindery for a dozen years, so I've been getting these sneers about "blue collar laborers" from Michael Monkey and his fellow snobs (like Robert Burrows) for years.
>> >
>> I've had plenty of blue collar jobs, George. My point is that children usually advance (however slightly) from their parents' position in society. The son of a bank president doesn't usually end up flipping burgers at a fast food chain (which is one of the jobs I'd had back in the day). If your job (before you retired) was packing books at a bindery (unskilled labor), it's a pretty safe bet that your father wasn't a brain surgeon.

> Got it. According to you, running a packing line in working as a bindery is the second lowest "position in society"; according to your silly generalization, my father must have been "lower" in society; and therefore my father must have been "lower". Your logic's valid, for once, but your premises suck big time.

> If you want to know what my father did for a living, BTW, all you have to do is go to my wiki page and read it.

>> > > > > His house represented his one act of success in this life. It was his means of reassuring himself that he was being a "man" -- that he was successfully providing for his wife and family. And, as such, he wanted to keep it as nice as possible.
>> > > >
>> > > > I doubt it. I don't even know where you're getting any of this from.. Not from the poem. Perhaps you've found another "subtext"?
>> > > According to the poem, you had to remove your shoes to enter, sit in a corner chair, and, as a boy, were considered "filthy."
>> > No; once again (since you're still having trouble with the distinction) the speaker (the grown-up boy) in the poem remembers all of that.

>> But you've already admitted that the speaker's recollections are *largely* modeled on your own.

> Aside from your pretense that a 15-year old quotation you found and post-edited is something you got me to to "admit", that's true enough.

> Since I'm a charitable guy, even to monkey trolls, I'll give you that one. I didn't wear shoes inside. None of the family did. Are we at "child abuse" yet?

>> > > > > But houses require upkeep and repair -- and upkeep and repair can cost a small fortune -- so a lower-income homeowner has good reason to be overprotective of his house.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Consequently, when his children race through his house with muddy shoes, put their feet on the furniture, scratch the floors, scribble on the walls, etc., it becomes both frustrating and infuriating for him. There he is slaving his life away in order to provide his children with a nice home to live in, and they treat it like a shack, tearing it down faster than he can afford to repair it.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Far from being an authority figure, George's father was at the bottom (or near-bottom) of the socio-economic chain. His house symbolized his rebellion against authority/society -- it stood as a slap in the face to the economic class system that was designed to keep blue-collar laborers down. He had a house. He was a landowner. He was able to provide for his family.
>> > > >
>> > > > Yes, of course building a house was a way to "provide for his family." What makes you think it was all that other shit as well? To name just one absurdity. You've got both building the house (what my father and the father in the poem both did) and burning down the house (as the speaker in the poem dreams of doing) as acts of rebellion against "society".
>> > > >
>> > > Which each, in its particular context, is.
>> > >
>> > I suppose you can see them as that, since there's nothing in the poem that says they weren't both rebelling against "society".
>> > > Your father was rebelling against his station in life, by becoming a landowner. You were rebelling against your father, by wishing to reduce him to his former status (by burning down his house).

>> > You could probably describe anything as an act of rebellion, I suppose -- for instance, my going and getting a coffee just now was a rebellion against thirst. But it just sounds like irrelevant psychobabble to me, convincing only to those who'd be coninced by that sort of talk.
>> >
>> The speaker's fantasized act of rebellion forms the climax of your poem, George: the burning down of his deceased father's house.

> The burning house is a dramatic image, probably the second most noted one in the poem. If it attracts people who see it as a symbol of 'revenge,' 'rebellion," 'revolution' or whatever, great (I guess). But as I explained to Robert, that's not what I wrote or how I'd interpret what I wrote.

>> In the context of the poem, it's hard to perceive such an act as anything *other* than a child's after-the-fact rebellion against his authoritarian parent.

> As I told Robert: The 'house' symbolizes the speaker's memories that are oppressing or traumatizing him, and burning it symbolizes purging those memories. That's it.

Michael Pendragon wrote:

> On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 8:45:12 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
>> On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:00:13 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:
>> >
>> > I see I left out the most important point.
>>
>> >> >
>> >> <snip>
>> >> > -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.
>> >> If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so
>>
>> > **by opening a new thread**.
>>
>> > would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better.
>> Yes, Pendragon was spamming that every time I mentioned what a delusional fuckwit he appears when he posts that he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
>>
>> As his comparison shows, even a lesser T.S. Eliot poem is still 1,000 better than a Michael Pendragon poem.

> Thank you for admitting

Why do you lie and misrepresent so much, Michael Pendragon?

On Monday, January 2, 2023 at 3:00:13 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> Michael Pendragon wrote:
>
> > On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 8:45:12 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> >> On Friday, December 30, 2022 at 6:00:13 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:
> >> >
> >> > I see I left out the most important point.
> >>
> >> >> >
> >> >> <snip>
> >> >> > -- Michael Pendragon, "Hicksville," from A Year of Sundays, July 2020.
> >> >> If you'd like to compare your poem to one of Eliot's, then doing so
> >>
> >> > **by opening a new thread**.
> >>
> >> > would probably get you more attention. Even if not: Do not hijack other people's poetry threads to promote your own. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from a relative newbie like the Ashtroll, but I'd hoped that you'd know better.
> >> Yes, Pendragon was spamming that every time I mentioned what a delusional fuckwit he appears when he posts that he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
> >>
> >> As his comparison shows, even a lesser T.S. Eliot poem is still 1,000 better than a Michael Pendragon poem.
>
> > Thank you for admitting
> Why do you lie and misrepresent so much, Michael Pendragon?

Penhead is a malicious troll, that is what malicious trolls do....

Zod wrote:

> On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:46:45 PM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
>> On 2022-11-26 3:32 p.m., NancyGene wrote:
>>
>> > Where is Mount Father? Is that in Canada?
>> Thanks for the good catch, dear. I can't delete this, but I'll repost.

> That's pretty funny coming from NancyGene, who thinks London, home of John Dunne and Robert F. Stillings, is in Ireland... ha ha.

Exactly.

🙂

George Dance wrote:
>
> My Father's House
>
> This is my father's house, although
> The man died thirteen years ago.
> They said it would be quite all right
> To take a drive to see it now.
>
> Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
> And built the whole thing (from a box),
> Toiling after each full day's work.
> I helped, though I was only six.
>
> Look, here's the back door I would use
> And here's where I'd remove my shoes
> To enter; there I'd leave my things
> And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
>
> In this room I'd wash many a dish,
> Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
> To be so many other places.
> (Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
>
> Outside, the garden that he grew
> Where I would work the summers through,
> While watching my friends run and play
> Mysterious games I never knew.
>
> That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
> The one chair I was let to sit?
> (For boys can be such filthy things.)
> Which, the corner where boys were put?
>
> Oh ... down that hall there is a room
> Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
> After the meal, to make no noise,
> To read or play alone, and then
>
> Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
> Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
> Face and pyjama bottoms down
> As for my father's belt I'd wait.
>
> Oh, if I were a millionaire
> I'd buy my father's house, and there
> I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
> Its flames would light up all the air.
>
> ~~
> George J. Dance
> from Logos and other logoi, 2021

Having another read... still the original... still the best....