On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 5:20:13 AM UTC-5, W-Dockery wrote:
> Zod wrote:
>
> > Will Dockery wrote:
> >> Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >>> Zod wrote:
> >> >> 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
> >> >> >> >> >>>
> >> >> >> >> >>> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
> >> >> >> >> >> Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
> >> >> >> >> >> but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
> >> >> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> >> >> The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
> >> >> >> >> >> one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
> >> >> >> >> >> complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
> >> >> >> >> >> speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
> >> >> >> >> >> is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
> >> >> >> >> >> over a decade makes that much clearer.
> >> >> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> >> >> As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
> >> >> >> >> >> plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
> >> >> >> >> >> house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in..
> >> >> >> >> >> It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
> >> >> >> >> >> was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
> >> >> >> >> >> but I wanted to keep that hidden.
> >> >> >> >> >
> >> >> >> >> > Cool... cool...
> >> >> >> >> It's interesting; writing the first draft (which is most of the finished
> >> >> >> >> poem) took 15 or 20 minutes; but I've made little tweaks that improved
> >> >> >> >> it. One I thought of tonight, when I reread it, was how one person,
> >> >> >> >> Karla I think, complained about two uses of "oh" in the last stanza,
> >> >> >> >> which she said were just padding to fit the meter. Dennis Hammes advised
> >> >> >> >> me to add "oh" in some earlier stanzas, which would make it "voice" - so
> >> >> >> >> I did. I do have to agree that Dennis was right. The interjections don't
> >> >> >> >> stick out at all; after hearing the speaker talk like that throughout
> >> >> >> >> the poem, the reader can just accept them as how he talks.
> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> > Regardless of how your rationalize them, they come across as filler.
> >> >> >> Troll much, Pendragon?
> >> >>
> >> >> > Constructive criticism is not trolling
> >> >> You've been trolling George Dance about this poem from the start, Pendragon.
> >>
> >> >
> >> > AAPC is an acronym that stands for "Alt.Arts.Poetry.Comments."
> >>
> >> > George posted a poem -- I have provided him with comments.
> >> Okay, fair enough.
>
> > Yep but the comments should not be used to attack and troll the poet... and that is what Pen seemed to be leaning to in his (mis)reading of GD's poem....
>
> Which is one of Michael Pendragon's typical troll tactics.

That isn't true, Donkey.

I said that I found George's poem disturbing. Not because it was a well written poem (as George, disingenuously, tried to claim), but because of the image it presented of a child who had been so brutalized that he dutifully submitted to cruel and abusive punishment on a regular basis.

I am not attacking George by pointing this out. Abuse is not the fault of the child.

I am simply discussing, along with my colleague, Dr. NancyGene, the psychological ramifications such an upbringing would have.

And, in spite of his denials, George is well aware of these ramifications, as he implies that his narrator is under psychological care, and has him express his desire to burn his father's house to the ground (which is certainly not the act of a sane man).

Like Mr. Dance, you tend to see attacks and conspiracies where none, in fact, exist. In your case, it stems from your inability to comprehend anything written beyond the level of an "I Can Read!" book.

Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 5:20:13 AM UTC-5, W-Dockery wrote:
> Zod wrote:
>
> > Will Dockery wrote:
> >> Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >>> Zod wrote:
> >> >> 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
> >> >> >> >> >>>
> >> >> >> >> >>> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
> >> >> >> >> >> Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
> >> >> >> >> >> but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
> >> >> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> >> >> The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
> >> >> >> >> >> one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
> >> >> >> >> >> complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
> >> >> >> >> >> speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
> >> >> >> >> >> is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
> >> >> >> >> >> over a decade makes that much clearer.
> >> >> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> >> >> As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
> >> >> >> >> >> plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
> >> >> >> >> >> house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in..
> >> >> >> >> >> It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
> >> >> >> >> >> was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
> >> >> >> >> >> but I wanted to keep that hidden.
> >> >> >> >> >
> >> >> >> >> > Cool... cool...
> >> >> >> >> It's interesting; writing the first draft (which is most of the finished
> >> >> >> >> poem) took 15 or 20 minutes; but I've made little tweaks that improved
> >> >> >> >> it. One I thought of tonight, when I reread it, was how one person,
> >> >> >> >> Karla I think, complained about two uses of "oh" in the last stanza,
> >> >> >> >> which she said were just padding to fit the meter. Dennis Hammes advised
> >> >> >> >> me to add "oh" in some earlier stanzas, which would make it "voice" - so
> >> >> >> >> I did. I do have to agree that Dennis was right. The interjections don't
> >> >> >> >> stick out at all; after hearing the speaker talk like that throughout
> >> >> >> >> the poem, the reader can just accept them as how he talks.
> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> > Regardless of how your rationalize them, they come across as filler.
> >> >> >> Troll much, Pendragon?
> >> >>
> >> >> > Constructive criticism is not trolling
> >> >> You've been trolling George Dance about this poem from the start, Pendragon.
> >>
> >> >
> >> > AAPC is an acronym that stands for "Alt.Arts.Poetry.Comments."
> >>
> >> > George posted a poem -- I have provided him with comments.
> >> Okay, fair enough.
>
>> > Yep but the comments should not be used to attack and troll the poet.... and that is what Pen seemed to be leaning to in his (mis)reading of GD's poem....
>
>> Which is one of Michael Pendragon's typical troll tactics.
>
>> HTH and HAND.
>
> That isn't true

I didn't expect you to admit it, little monkey boy.

🙂

On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 2:42:57 PM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 5:20:13 AM UTC-5, W-Dockery wrote:
> > Zod wrote:
> >
> > > Will Dockery wrote:
> > >> Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > >>> Zod wrote:
> > >> >> 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
> > >> >> >> >> >>>
> > >> >> >> >> >>> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
> > >> >> >> >> >> Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
> > >> >> >> >> >> but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
> > >> >> >> >> >>
> > >> >> >> >> >> The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
> > >> >> >> >> >> one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
> > >> >> >> >> >> complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
> > >> >> >> >> >> speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
> > >> >> >> >> >> is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
> > >> >> >> >> >> over a decade makes that much clearer.
> > >> >> >> >> >>
> > >> >> >> >> >> As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
> > >> >> >> >> >> plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
> > >> >> >> >> >> house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in..
> > >> >> >> >> >> It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
> > >> >> >> >> >> was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
> > >> >> >> >> >> but I wanted to keep that hidden.
> > >> >> >> >> >
> > >> >> >> >> > Cool... cool...
> > >> >> >> >> It's interesting; writing the first draft (which is most of the finished
> > >> >> >> >> poem) took 15 or 20 minutes; but I've made little tweaks that improved
> > >> >> >> >> it. One I thought of tonight, when I reread it, was how one person,
> > >> >> >> >> Karla I think, complained about two uses of "oh" in the last stanza,
> > >> >> >> >> which she said were just padding to fit the meter. Dennis Hammes advised
> > >> >> >> >> me to add "oh" in some earlier stanzas, which would make it "voice" - so
> > >> >> >> >> I did. I do have to agree that Dennis was right. The interjections don't
> > >> >> >> >> stick out at all; after hearing the speaker talk like that throughout
> > >> >> >> >> the poem, the reader can just accept them as how he talks.
> > >> >> >>
> > >> >> >> > Regardless of how your rationalize them, they come across as filler.
> > >> >> >> Troll much, Pendragon?
> > >> >>
> > >> >> > Constructive criticism is not trolling
> > >> >> You've been trolling George Dance about this poem from the start, Pendragon.
> > >>
> > >> >
> > >> > AAPC is an acronym that stands for "Alt.Arts.Poetry.Comments."
> > >>
> > >> > George posted a poem -- I have provided him with comments.
> > >> Okay, fair enough.
> >
> >> > Yep but the comments should not be used to attack and troll the poet... and that is what Pen seemed to be leaning to in his (mis)reading of GD's poem....
> >
> >> Which is one of Michael Pendragon's typical troll tactics.
> >
> >> HTH and HAND.
> >
> > That isn't true
>
> I didn't expect you to admit it, little monkey boy.

There's nothing to admit, Donkey.

On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 5:20:13 AM UTC-5, Zod wrote:
>
> > Will Dockery wrote:
> >> Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >>> Zod wrote:
> >> >> 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
> >> >> >> >> >>>
> >> >> >> >> >>> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
> >> >> >> >> >> Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
> >> >> >> >> >> but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
> >> >> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> >> >> The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
> >> >> >> >> >> one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
> >> >> >> >> >> complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
> >> >> >> >> >> speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
> >> >> >> >> >> is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
> >> >> >> >> >> over a decade makes that much clearer.
> >> >> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> >> >> As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
> >> >> >> >> >> plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
> >> >> >> >> >> house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in..
> >> >> >> >> >> It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
> >> >> >> >> >> was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
> >> >> >> >> >> but I wanted to keep that hidden.
> >> >> >> >> >
> >> >> >> >> > Cool... cool...
> >> >> >> >> It's interesting; writing the first draft (which is most of the finished
> >> >> >> >> poem) took 15 or 20 minutes; but I've made little tweaks that improved
> >> >> >> >> it. One I thought of tonight, when I reread it, was how one person,
> >> >> >> >> Karla I think, complained about two uses of "oh" in the last stanza,
> >> >> >> >> which she said were just padding to fit the meter. Dennis Hammes advised
> >> >> >> >> me to add "oh" in some earlier stanzas, which would make it "voice" - so
> >> >> >> >> I did. I do have to agree that Dennis was right. The interjections don't
> >> >> >> >> stick out at all; after hearing the speaker talk like that throughout
> >> >> >> >> the poem, the reader can just accept them as how he talks.
> >> >> >>
> >> >> >> > Regardless of how your rationalize them, they come across as filler.
> >> >> >> Troll much, Pendragon?
> >> >>
> >> >> > Constructive criticism is not trolling
> >> >> You've been trolling George Dance about this poem from the start, Pendragon.
> >>
> >> >
> >> > AAPC is an acronym that stands for "Alt.Arts.Poetry.Comments."
> >>
> >> > George posted a poem -- I have provided him with comments.
> >> Okay, fair enough.
>
>
> Yep but the comments should not be used to attack and troll the poet... and that is what Pen seemed to be leaning to in his (mis)reading of GD's poem....

Like I said, which is one of Michael Pendragon's typical troll tactics.
HTH and HAND.

On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 2:52:41 PM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 5:20:13 AM UTC-5, Zod wrote:
> >
> > > Will Dockery wrote:
> > >> Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > >>> Zod wrote:
> > >> >> 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
> > >> >> >> >> >>>
> > >> >> >> >> >>> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
> > >> >> >> >> >> Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
> > >> >> >> >> >> but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
> > >> >> >> >> >>
> > >> >> >> >> >> The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
> > >> >> >> >> >> one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
> > >> >> >> >> >> complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
> > >> >> >> >> >> speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
> > >> >> >> >> >> is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
> > >> >> >> >> >> over a decade makes that much clearer.
> > >> >> >> >> >>
> > >> >> >> >> >> As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
> > >> >> >> >> >> plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
> > >> >> >> >> >> house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in..
> > >> >> >> >> >> It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
> > >> >> >> >> >> was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
> > >> >> >> >> >> but I wanted to keep that hidden.
> > >> >> >> >> >
> > >> >> >> >> > Cool... cool...
> > >> >> >> >> It's interesting; writing the first draft (which is most of the finished
> > >> >> >> >> poem) took 15 or 20 minutes; but I've made little tweaks that improved
> > >> >> >> >> it. One I thought of tonight, when I reread it, was how one person,
> > >> >> >> >> Karla I think, complained about two uses of "oh" in the last stanza,
> > >> >> >> >> which she said were just padding to fit the meter. Dennis Hammes advised
> > >> >> >> >> me to add "oh" in some earlier stanzas, which would make it "voice" - so
> > >> >> >> >> I did. I do have to agree that Dennis was right. The interjections don't
> > >> >> >> >> stick out at all; after hearing the speaker talk like that throughout
> > >> >> >> >> the poem, the reader can just accept them as how he talks.
> > >> >> >>
> > >> >> >> > Regardless of how your rationalize them, they come across as filler.
> > >> >> >> Troll much, Pendragon?
> > >> >>
> > >> >> > Constructive criticism is not trolling
> > >> >> You've been trolling George Dance about this poem from the start, Pendragon.
> > >>
> > >> >
> > >> > AAPC is an acronym that stands for "Alt.Arts.Poetry.Comments."
> > >>
> > >> > George posted a poem -- I have provided him with comments.
> > >> Okay, fair enough.
> >
> >
> > Yep but the comments should not be used to attack and troll the poet... and that is what Pen seemed to be leaning to in his (mis)reading of GD's poem....
> Like I said, which is one of Michael Pendragon's typical troll tactics.
> HTH and HAND.

There's nothing to admit, Donkey.

Did you ever lie in bed with your pajama pants pulled down, and your naked ass exposed as you dutifully awaited your father coming into your room to whip you with his belt?

George Dance thinks that's normal.

On Wednesday, November 30, 2022 at 11:38:08 AM UTC-5, George J. Dance wrote:
> On 2022-11-30 8:30 a.m., Will Dockery wrote:
> > On Wednesday, November 30, 2022 at 8:25:12 AM UTC-5, rjbur...@gmail.com wrote:
> >> On Wednesday, November 30, 2022 at 8:10:26 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> >>> On Wednesday, November 30, 2022 at 8:07:34 AM UTC-5, rjbur...@gmail.com wrote:
> >>>> On Wednesday, November 30, 2022 at 12:09:25 AM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> >>>>> Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >>>>>
> >>>>>> On Tuesday, November 29, 2022 at 11:05:30 PM UTC-5, Will Dockery wrote:
> >>>>>>> Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >>>>>>>
> >>>>>>>> On Tuesday, November 29, 2022 at 3:28:27 PM UTC-5, Zod wrote:
> >>>>>>>>> On Monday, November 28, 2022 at 10:05:34 AM UTC-5, george...@yahoo.ca wrote:
> >>>>>>>>>> On 2022-11-27 7:09 a.m., Spam-I-Am wrote:
> >>>>>>>>>>> On Sunday, November 27, 2022 at 6:39:31 AM UTC-5, Spam-I-Am wrote:
> >>>>>>>>>>>> On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:49:07 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
> >>>>>>>>>>>> Okay, so the poem tells a story of remembered abuse.
> >>>>>>>>>>>> The extent to which the story in the poem reflects the
> >>>>>>>>>>>> true story of your life and memory is fundamentally
> >>>>>>>>>>>> irrelevant to the reader except to the extent that your
> >>>>>>>>>>>> life experience informs your ability to write emotionally
> >>>>>>>>>>>> convincing stories that are of interest to other people.
> >>>>>>>>>>>> When you say “My” father’s house, “By” George J. Dance,
> >>>>>>>>>>>> people are going to think you’re talking about yourself.
> >>>>>>>>>>>
> >>>>>>>>>>> Therefore, “my” recommendation is to change the title of “your” poem from
> >>>>>>>>>>> “My Father’s House” to “Our Father’s House”, and all of the relevant pronouns
> >>>>>>>>>>> from singular to plural possessive. “Our” Father’s House allows “you” to represent
> >>>>>>>>>>> and speak for “your” kin, those who identify with the speaker, and also provides a
> >>>>>>>>>>> subtle religious connotation, “Our Father, who art in heaven…”, that “My” does not.
> >>>>>>>>>>>
> >>>>>>>>>>
> >>>>>>>>>> Thanks for giving it so much thought and effort. I have to acknowledge
> >>>>>>>>>> that.
> >>>>>>>>>>
> >>>>>>>>>> Pluralizing all the pronouns would change the poem considerably, but one
> >>>>>>>>>> thing it wouldn't change is the confusion you mentioned. If someone
> >>>>>>>>>> thought this was a poem about my own father and childhood because it was
> >>>>>>>>>> titled "My Father's House," they'd be just as likely to think that if it
> >>>>>>>>>> were titled "Our Father's House".
> >>>>>>>>>>
> >>>>>>>>>> Except, of course, for that religious connotation; some might think it
> >>>>>>>>>> was a poem about God. But it's not a poem about God, and that's an
> >>>>>>>>>> interpretation I wouldn't want to encourage.
> >>>>>>>>>>
> >>>>>>>>>>> Lose the parentheses.
> >>>>>>>>>>
> >>>>>>>>>> I like them. They're both interruptions in the speaker's thought process.
> >>>>>>>>> Exactly, you are the best judge of how your poem should be presented......
> >>>>>>>
> >>>>>>>> Words of wisdom from a man who chooses to live
> >>>>>>> Key word being "chooses".
> >>>>>
> >>>>>> Correct. The key word is "chooses"
> >>>>> And, as we all know, Zod chose the path of the Dharma Bum.
> >>>>>
> >>>>
> >>>> Do you really believe that a person who was truly following what you call "the "path of the Dharma Bum" would send a minute of their time and energy in a place like aapc?
> >>> Jack Kerouac, maybe, probably not Gary Snyder.
> >> Discovering that his most well known book spawned acolytes like you and Zod is the main reason why Jack Kerouac drank himself to death.
> >
> > Not really.
> >
> > Jack Kerouac was a hard drinker long before he became famous.
> >
> > Look it up.
> Yes he was; ut his drinking got more "extreme" afterward.
>
> " Kerouac had long dealt with a drinking problem, and even by age 26 it
> occurred to him that he should cut back. On March 22, 1948, he wrote in
> his journal, “I started drinking at eighteen but that’s after eight
> years of occasional boozing, I can’t physically take it any more, nor
> mentally. It was at the age of eighteen, too, when melancholy and
> indecision first came over me—there’s a fair connection there.”[4] Yet
> his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the
> Road. In addition to losing his treasured privacy, Jack was also shocked
> by Neal Cassady’s arrest for possession of marijuana in 1958, for which
> Neal served two years in a California prison.[5]"
> https://www.beatdom.com/death-within-a-chrysalis/#:~:text=Kerouac%20had%20long%20dealt%20with,it%20any%20more%2C%20nor%20mentally.

Michael Pendragon wrote:

> George J. Dance wrote:
>> On 2022-11-30 8:30 a.m., Will Dockery wrote:
>> >>>>>>>>>>>> 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

>> > Jack Kerouac was a hard drinker long before he became famous.
>> >
>> > Look it up.
>> Yes he was; but his drinking got more "extreme" afterward.
>>
>> " Kerouac had long dealt with a drinking problem, and even by age 26 it
>> occurred to him that he should cut back. On March 22, 1948, he wrote in
>> his journal, “I started drinking at eighteen but that’s after eight
>> years of occasional boozing, I can’t physically take it any more, nor
>> mentally. It was at the age of eighteen, too, when melancholy and
>> indecision first came over me—there’s a fair connection there.”[4] Yet
>> his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the
>> Road. In addition to losing his treasured privacy, Jack was also shocked
>> by Neal Cassady’s arrest for possession of marijuana in 1958, for which
>> Neal served two years in a California prison.[5]"
>> https://www.beatdom.com/death-within-a-chrysalis/#:~:text=Kerouac%20had%20long%20dealt%20with,it%20any%20more%2C%20nor%20mentally.

> This supports Robert's statement: "his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the Road."

So what, alcoholic writes and artists were and are very common, including Edgar Allan Poe....

On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 3:35:15 PM UTC-5, General-Zod wrote:
> Michael Pendragon wrote:
>
> > George J. Dance wrote:
> >> On 2022-11-30 8:30 a.m., Will Dockery wrote:
> >> >>>>>>>>>>>> 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
> >> > Jack Kerouac was a hard drinker long before he became famous.
> >> >
> >> > Look it up.
> >> Yes he was; but his drinking got more "extreme" afterward.
> >>
> >> " Kerouac had long dealt with a drinking problem, and even by age 26 it
> >> occurred to him that he should cut back. On March 22, 1948, he wrote in
> >> his journal, “I started drinking at eighteen but that’s after eight
> >> years of occasional boozing, I can’t physically take it any more, nor
> >> mentally. It was at the age of eighteen, too, when melancholy and
> >> indecision first came over me—there’s a fair connection there.”[4] Yet
> >> his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the
> >> Road. In addition to losing his treasured privacy, Jack was also shocked
> >> by Neal Cassady’s arrest for possession of marijuana in 1958, for which
> >> Neal served two years in a California prison.[5]"
> >> https://www.beatdom.com/death-within-a-chrysalis/#:~:text=Kerouac%20had%20long%20dealt%20with,it%20any%20more%2C%20nor%20mentally.
>
> > This supports Robert's statement: "his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the Road."
> So what, alcoholic writes and artists were and are very common, including Edgar Allan Poe....

The statement attributes a pronounced increase in his alcoholism to the publication (and success) of "On the Road."

Either he was unable to handle his new-found fame; or (as Robert's friend who *knew* Kerouac, is a Kerouac scholar, and owns an unpublished Kerouac manuscript, stated) he "drank himself to death" out of disappointment over the sort of acolytes "his most well known book ('On the Road') spawned."

The former explanation is based solely on unsupported conjecture; the latter upon the conclusions of someone who would is in a position to know.

Michael Pendragon wrote:
> Will Dockery wrote:
>> Michael Pendragon wrote:
>>> Zod wrote:
>> >> 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
>> > >> >> >> >> >>>
>> > >> >> >> >> >>> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
>> > >> >> >> >> >> Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
>> > >> >> >> >> >> but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
>> > >> >> >> >> >>
>> > >> >> >> >> >> The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
>> > >> >> >> >> >> one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
>> > >> >> >> >> >> complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
>> > >> >> >> >> >> speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
>> > >> >> >> >> >> is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
>> > >> >> >> >> >> over a decade makes that much clearer.
>> > >> >> >> >> >>
>> > >> >> >> >> >> As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
>> > >> >> >> >> >> plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
>> > >> >> >> >> >> house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in..
>> > >> >> >> >> >> It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
>> > >> >> >> >> >> was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
>> > >> >> >> >> >> but I wanted to keep that hidden.
>> > >> >> >> >> >
>> > >> >> >> >> > Cool... cool...
>> > >> >> >> >> It's interesting; writing the first draft (which is most of the finished
>> > >> >> >> >> poem) took 15 or 20 minutes; but I've made little tweaks that improved
>> > >> >> >> >> it. One I thought of tonight, when I reread it, was how one person,
>> > >> >> >> >> Karla I think, complained about two uses of "oh" in the last stanza,
>> > >> >> >> >> which she said were just padding to fit the meter. Dennis Hammes advised
>> > >> >> >> >> me to add "oh" in some earlier stanzas, which would make it "voice" - so
>> > >> >> >> >> I did. I do have to agree that Dennis was right. The interjections don't
>> > >> >> >> >> stick out at all; after hearing the speaker talk like that throughout
>> > >> >> >> >> the poem, the reader can just accept them as how he talks.
>> > >> >> >>
>> > >> >> >> > Regardless of how your rationalize them, they come across as filler.
>> > >> >> >> Troll much, Pendragon?
>> > >> >>
>> > >> >> > Constructive criticism is not trolling
>> > >> >> You've been trolling George Dance about this poem from the start, Pendragon.
>> > >>
>> > >> >
>> > >> > AAPC is an acronym that stands for "Alt.Arts.Poetry.Comments."
>> > >>
>> > >> > George posted a poem -- I have provided him with comments.
>> > >> Okay, fair enough.
>> >
>> >> > Yep but the comments should not be used to attack and troll the poet... and that is what Pen seemed to be leaning to in his (mis)reading of GD's poem....
>> >
>> >> Which is one of Michael Pendragon's typical troll tactics.
>> >
>> >> HTH and HAND.
>> >
>> > That isn't true
>>
>> I didn't expect you to admit it, little monkey boy.

On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 1:57:08 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 5:20:13 AM UTC-5, W-Dockery wrote:
> > Zod wrote:
> >
> > > Will Dockery wrote:
> > >> Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > >>> Zod wrote:
> > >> >> 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
> > >> >> >> >> >>>
> > >> >> >> >> >>> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
> > >> >> >> >> >> Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
> > >> >> >> >> >> but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
> > >> >> >> >> >>
> > >> >> >> >> >> The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
> > >> >> >> >> >> one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
> > >> >> >> >> >> complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
> > >> >> >> >> >> speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
> > >> >> >> >> >> is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
> > >> >> >> >> >> over a decade makes that much clearer.
> > >> >> >> >> >>
> > >> >> >> >> >> As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
> > >> >> >> >> >> plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
> > >> >> >> >> >> house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in..
> > >> >> >> >> >> It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
> > >> >> >> >> >> was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
> > >> >> >> >> >> but I wanted to keep that hidden.
> > >> >> >> >> >
> > >> >> >> >> > Cool... cool...
> > >> >> >> >> It's interesting; writing the first draft (which is most of the finished
> > >> >> >> >> poem) took 15 or 20 minutes; but I've made little tweaks that improved
> > >> >> >> >> it. One I thought of tonight, when I reread it, was how one person,
> > >> >> >> >> Karla I think, complained about two uses of "oh" in the last stanza,
> > >> >> >> >> which she said were just padding to fit the meter. Dennis Hammes advised
> > >> >> >> >> me to add "oh" in some earlier stanzas, which would make it "voice" - so
> > >> >> >> >> I did. I do have to agree that Dennis was right. The interjections don't
> > >> >> >> >> stick out at all; after hearing the speaker talk like that throughout
> > >> >> >> >> the poem, the reader can just accept them as how he talks.
> > >> >> >>
> > >> >> >> > Regardless of how your rationalize them, they come across as filler.
> > >> >> >> Troll much, Pendragon?
> > >> >>
> > >> >> > Constructive criticism is not trolling
> > >> >> You've been trolling George Dance about this poem from the start, Pendragon.
> > >>
> > >> >
> > >> > AAPC is an acronym that stands for "Alt.Arts.Poetry.Comments."
> > >>
> > >> > George posted a poem -- I have provided him with comments.
> > >> Okay, fair enough.
> >
> > > Yep but the comments should not be used to attack and troll the poet.... and that is what Pen seemed to be leaning to in his (mis)reading of GD's poem....
> >
> > Which is one of Michael Pendragon's typical troll tactics.
> That isn't true, Donkey.
>
> I said that I found George's poem disturbing. Not because it was a well written poem (as George, disingenuously, tried to claim), but because of the image it presented of a child who had been so brutalized that he dutifully submitted to cruel and abusive punishment on a regular basis.

On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 3:44:02 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 3:35:15 PM UTC-5, General-Zod wrote:
> > Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >
> > > George J. Dance wrote:
> > >> On 2022-11-30 8:30 a.m., Will Dockery wrote:
> > >> >>>>>>>>>>>> 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
> > >> > Jack Kerouac was a hard drinker long before he became famous.
> > >> >
> > >> > Look it up.
> > >> Yes he was; but his drinking got more "extreme" afterward.
> > >>
> > >> " Kerouac had long dealt with a drinking problem, and even by age 26 it
> > >> occurred to him that he should cut back. On March 22, 1948, he wrote in
> > >> his journal, “I started drinking at eighteen but that’s after eight
> > >> years of occasional boozing, I can’t physically take it any more, nor
> > >> mentally. It was at the age of eighteen, too, when melancholy and
> > >> indecision first came over me—there’s a fair connection there.”[4] Yet
> > >> his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the
> > >> Road. In addition to losing his treasured privacy, Jack was also shocked
> > >> by Neal Cassady’s arrest for possession of marijuana in 1958, for which
> > >> Neal served two years in a California prison.[5]"
> > >> https://www.beatdom.com/death-within-a-chrysalis/#:~:text=Kerouac%20had%20long%20dealt%20with,it%20any%20more%2C%20nor%20mentally.
> >
> > > This supports Robert's statement: "his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the Road."
> > So what, alcoholic writes and artists were and are very common, including Edgar Allan Poe....
> The statement attributes a pronounced increase in his alcoholism to the publication (and success) of "On the Road."
>
> Either he was unable to handle his new-found fame; or (as Robert's friend who *knew* Kerouac, is a Kerouac scholar, and owns an unpublished Kerouac manuscript, stated) he "drank himself to death" out of disappointment over the sort of acolytes "his most well known book ('On the Road') spawned."

Could be, but Jack Kerouac was a very complicated person, as those of who are well familiar with his writings are quite aware...

> > I said that I found George's poem disturbing. Not because it was a well written poem (as George, disingenuously, tried to claim), but because of the image it presented of a child who had been so brutalized that he dutifully submitted to cruel and abusive punishment on a regular basis.
> Please don't misrepresent what I've said. I never said that you were disturbed because it was a *well-written* poem. This troll of yours at doesn't even make sense.

Liar!

Feb 1, 2023, 4:14:08 PM (11 days ago):

MMP: Your poem isn't effective, because (as previously explained) you've written about a serious, and disturbing, subject in a style suited to light verse.

GD: Considering the responses that my poem has received, I'd say that it's been highly "effective".

https://groups.google.com/g/alt.arts.poetry.comments/c/vhO7kDQSMqw/m/U4PlbOd3DwAJ?hl=en

> > I am not attacking George by pointing this out. Abuse is not the fault of the child.
> No, you've attacking me by calling me mentally ill, allegedly from all thie alleged incidents of the posting that I was mentally ill from all of thege alleged incidents of this so-called 'abuse' (including incidents not even in the poem), along with a bunch of other insults. .
> >

I wasn't calling you mentally ill, George. However, after reading the above slice of gibberish, I'm beginning to reconsider my findings.

> > I am simply discussing, along with my colleague, Dr. NancyGene, the psychological ramifications such an upbringing would have.
> Sometimes the two of you claim to be doctors, but you have no credentials and haven't demonstrated any competence. If I believed in "armchair psychology,"" I'd say you and NastyGoon had a mutually-supportive shared delusion..
>

Armchair psychology doesn't require any credentials, George. What part of "armchair" are you failing to understand.

> > And, in spite of his denials, George is well aware of these ramifications, as he implies that his narrator is under psychological care, and has him express his desire to burn his father's house to the ground (which is certainly not the act of a sane man).
> That's not what the poem says. (1) The idea that "they" could be or include psychiatrists occurred to me too, on rereading my last revision; but it's certainly not implied. The narrator does have psychological issues -- he's written that way, as I've said before -- but he's rational enough to know he needed permission(s) to be in this house he doesn't own, and to have got them. (2) Similarly, he's sane enough to know that he can't burn down this house he doesn't own.
>

Possessing the desire to burn down his father's former house is indicative of a deeply troubled psyche.

> > Like Mr. Dance, you tend to see attacks and conspiracies where none, in fact, exist. In your case, it stems from your inability to comprehend anything written beyond the level of an "I Can Read!" book.
> Are you really so clueless as to think your second line sounds like anything but an attack? Or, in consequence, your denial that you're making any attacks as as anything but shameless lying? If so, I'd suggest again that you get some help to improve your communication skills.
>

Earth to George. I am addressing Will Donkey in the above-quoted passage. I am not referring to you.

On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 4:12:29 PM UTC-5, Zod wrote:
> On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 3:44:02 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 3:35:15 PM UTC-5, General-Zod wrote:
> > > Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > >
> > > > George J. Dance wrote:
> > > >> On 2022-11-30 8:30 a.m., Will Dockery wrote:
> > > >> >>>>>>>>>>>> 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
> > > >> > Jack Kerouac was a hard drinker long before he became famous.
> > > >> >
> > > >> > Look it up.
> > > >> Yes he was; but his drinking got more "extreme" afterward.
> > > >>
> > > >> " Kerouac had long dealt with a drinking problem, and even by age 26 it
> > > >> occurred to him that he should cut back. On March 22, 1948, he wrote in
> > > >> his journal, “I started drinking at eighteen but that’s after eight
> > > >> years of occasional boozing, I can’t physically take it any more, nor
> > > >> mentally. It was at the age of eighteen, too, when melancholy and
> > > >> indecision first came over me—there’s a fair connection there.”[4] Yet
> > > >> his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the
> > > >> Road. In addition to losing his treasured privacy, Jack was also shocked
> > > >> by Neal Cassady’s arrest for possession of marijuana in 1958, for which
> > > >> Neal served two years in a California prison.[5]"
> > > >> https://www.beatdom.com/death-within-a-chrysalis/#:~:text=Kerouac%20had%20long%20dealt%20with,it%20any%20more%2C%20nor%20mentally.
> > >
> > > > This supports Robert's statement: "his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the Road."
> > > So what, alcoholic writes and artists were and are very common, including Edgar Allan Poe....
> > The statement attributes a pronounced increase in his alcoholism to the publication (and success) of "On the Road."
> >
> > Either he was unable to handle his new-found fame; or (as Robert's friend who *knew* Kerouac, is a Kerouac scholar, and owns an unpublished Kerouac manuscript, stated) he "drank himself to death" out of disappointment over the sort of acolytes "his most well known book ('On the Road') spawned."
> Could be, but Jack Kerouac was a very complicated person, as those of who are well familiar with his writings are quite aware...

Exactly.

On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 5:16:29 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > I said that I found George's poem disturbing. Not because it was a well written poem (as George, disingenuously, tried to claim), but because of the image it presented of a child who had been so brutalized that he dutifully submitted to cruel and abusive punishment on a regular basis.
> > Please don't misrepresent what I've said. I never said that you were disturbed because it was a *well-written* poem. This troll of yours at doesn't even make sense.
> Liar!
>
> Feb 1, 2023, 4:14:08 PM (11 days ago):
>
> MMP: Your poem isn't effective, because (as previously explained) you've written about a serious, and disturbing, subject in a style suited to light verse.
>
> GD: Considering the responses that my poem has received, I'd say that it's been highly "effective".
> https://groups.google.com/g/alt.arts.poetry.comments/c/vhO7kDQSMqw/m/U4PlbOd3DwAJ?hl=en
That's true enough. Too bad it has nothing to do with what that "disingenuous claim" you just falsely accused me of (that you were disturbed "because it was a well written poem".) We all know that you'd never call an 'adversary's ' poem *well-written*; your M.O. is the opposite: "When he is seen as an adversary, you assign a childish name to him and claim he can't write."
https://groups.google.com/g/alt.arts.poetry.comments/c/hDYKsC5l5Ew/m/IR5NzWPJBQAJ?hl=en

> > > I am not attacking George by pointing this out. Abuse is not the fault of the child.
> > No, you've attack[ed] me by calling me mentally ill, allegedly from all [...] of the[s]e alleged incidents of this so-called 'abuse' (including incidents not even in the poem), along with a bunch of other insults.
[Edited, since Michael had trouble understanding the original.]

And, I should point out, you've also been attacking my family, accusing my father of child abuse and incest -- something you also like to do to your "adversaries" on the group and their family members.

> I wasn't calling you mentally ill, George.

Now, that's not true, and since you know it, it's fair comment to point out that you're a liar. Here's your first very first comment on the subject (from before we even discovered you were talking about a poem):
Chimp: "> This Mensa man has some serious issues."
Monkey: "Paranoia with a resultant persecution complex."
https://groups.google.com/g/alt.arts.poetry.comments/c/W8bu7laNLQQ/m/dWv8bBeCBAAJ?hl=en
- and you've been spewing similar psychobabble about me since. That's a third part of your standard M.O.: Not only do you like to call your adversaries illiterates, and child molesters, but you also like to call them mentally ill. Your denying that as stupid a lie as the one you'd pretended I'd said.

> However, after reading the above slice of gibberish, I'm beginning to reconsider my findings.

> > > I am simply discussing, along with my colleague, Dr. NancyGene, the psychological ramifications such an upbringing would have.
> > Sometimes the two of you claim to be doctors, but you have no credentials and haven't demonstrated any competence. If I believed in "armchair psychology,"" I'd say you and NastyGoon had a mutually-supportive shared delusion.
> >
> Armchair psychology doesn't require any credentials, George.

Michael - being a doctor requires having a doctorate (like Dr. Dalton, Dr. Procter, or others you've attacked here). The name for people like you and NastyGoon, who pretend to be doctors when they aren't is "quack".

> What part of "armchair" are you failing to understand.

Unlike you, I'm quite aware of what the word actually means:
"1: remote from direct dealing with problems : theoretical rather than practical"

Trying to win arguments by redefining words is yet another standard part of your troll M.O., of course.

> > > And, in spite of his denials, George is well aware of these ramifications, as he implies that his narrator is under psychological care, and has him express his desire to burn his father's house to the ground (which is certainly not the act of a sane man).
> > That's not what the poem says. (1) The idea that "they" could be or include psychiatrists occurred to me too, on rereading my last revision; but it's certainly not implied. The narrator does have psychological issues -- he's written that way, as I've said before -- but he's rational enough to know he needed permission(s) to be in this house he doesn't own, and to have got them. (2) Similarly, he's sane enough to know that he can't burn down this house he doesn't own.
> >
> Possessing the desire to burn down his father's former house is indicative of a deeply troubled psyche.

I think you mean "expressing".Yes, expressing the desire to burn a house down indicates a "troubled psyche"
(which is how the character was written.

> > > Like Mr. Dance, you tend to see attacks and conspiracies where none, in fact, exist. In your case, it stems from your inability to comprehend anything written beyond the level of an "I Can Read!" book.
> > Are you really so clueless as to think your second line sounds like anything but an attack? Or, in consequence, your denial that you're making any attacks as as anything but shameless lying? If so, I'd suggest again that you get some help to improve your communication skills.
> >
> Earth to George. I am addressing Will Donkey in the above-quoted passage.

Did I say or imply you weren't? Of course not. So stop playing stupid, and focus on what you said to him. You attacked him twice. First, you called him a paranoid just "Like Mr. Dance." Second, you called him an illiterate. (Both parts of your standard troll M.O., as noted above). And hilariously, in between those two attacks, lied that "in fact" you haven't been attacking him at all.

In the past you've always attacked another group member in one thread while denying that you've been attacking them in different threads. Doing both in the same paragraph, as I said, makes you look like s shameless liar, who doesn't even care any longer whether anyone believes him or not.

> I am not referring to you.

Not that I should believe you (see above :). But, assuming you're being honest this time , "Like Mr. Dance" must refer to my father. So are you saying that you and the other armchair quack are accusing him, too, of ""Paranoia with a resultant persecution complex."?

On Monday, February 13, 2023 at 6:58:42 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:
> On Sunday, February 12, 2023 at 5:16:29 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > > I said that I found George's poem disturbing. Not because it was a well written poem (as George, disingenuously, tried to claim), but because of the image it presented of a child who had been so brutalized that he dutifully submitted to cruel and abusive punishment on a regular basis.
> > > Please don't misrepresent what I've said. I never said that you were disturbed because it was a *well-written* poem. This troll of yours at doesn't even make sense.
> > Liar!
> >
> > Feb 1, 2023, 4:14:08 PM (11 days ago):
> >
> > MMP: Your poem isn't effective, because (as previously explained) you've written about a serious, and disturbing, subject in a style suited to light verse.
> >
> > GD: Considering the responses that my poem has received, I'd say that it's been highly "effective".
> > https://groups.google.com/g/alt.arts.poetry.comments/c/vhO7kDQSMqw/m/U4PlbOd3DwAJ?hl=en
> That's true enough. Too bad it has nothing to do with what that "disingenuous claim" you just falsely accused me of (that you were disturbed "because it was a well written poem".)

Your reading comprehension skills have dropped considerably lower than our resident Donkey's, George.

I had criticized your use of an AABC rhyme scheme as being inappropriate for a disturbing topic like child abuse.

Contextually, your response that your poem was "effective" must necessarily apply to your choice of having written the poem in the aforementioned rhyme scheme.

> We all know that you'd never call an 'adversary's ' poem *well-written*; your M.O. is the opposite: "When he is seen as an adversary, you assign a childish name to him and claim he can't write."

You are quoting a statement that I made about *you,* George. My statement describes your M.O. -- not mine. I have consistently maintained that you are capable of writing well-crafted poetry, and have even gone so far as to publish several of your poems in "A Year of Sundays."

However, unlike you (who base your assessments upon who you see as "friend" or "foe"), I never pronounce *all* the poetry of a friend to be "excellent," when it is not. Your "Father's House" is a terrible poem (for the reasons I've already noted). Had you not been banned from "AYoS," I would not have included it in the year-end print volume.

> https://groups.google.com/g/alt.arts.poetry.comments/c/hDYKsC5l5Ew/m/IR5NzWPJBQAJ?hl=en
> > > > I am not attacking George by pointing this out. Abuse is not the fault of the child.
> > > No, you've attack[ed] me by calling me mentally ill, allegedly from all [...] of the[s]e alleged incidents of this so-called 'abuse' (including incidents not even in the poem), along with a bunch of other insults.
> [Edited, since Michael had trouble understanding the original.]

I don't see how anyone could fail to have difficulty following the "original" gibberish: "No, you've attacking me by calling me mentally ill, allegedly from all thie alleged incidents of the posting that I was mentally ill from all of thege alleged incidents of this so-called 'abuse' (including incidents not even in the poem), along with a bunch of other insults. ."

> And, I should point out, you've also been attacking my family, accusing my father of child abuse and incest -- something you also like to do to your "adversaries" on the group and their family members.

Bullshit.

I said that your poem's imagery suggests incest. I stand by that assessment. The image of a little boy lying in bed with is pajama pants pulled down, and his naked bottom exposed, as he awaits a whipping from his father strongly suggests incestuous overtones.

This doesn't mean that the narrator was sexually assaulted -- only that he associated his "punishment" with homosexual/incestuous sex acts.

It most certainly does not mean that your father performed any such acts (although the suggestion remains there as well).

> > I wasn't calling you mentally ill, George.
> Now, that's not true, and since you know it, it's fair comment to point out that you're a liar. Here's your first very first comment on the subject (from before we even discovered you were talking about a poem):
> Chimp: "> This Mensa man has some serious issues."
> Monkey: "Paranoia with a resultant persecution complex."
> https://groups.google.com/g/alt.arts.poetry.comments/c/W8bu7laNLQQ/m/dWv8bBeCBAAJ?hl=en
> - and you've been spewing similar psychobabble about me since. That's a third part of your standard M.O.: Not only do you like to call your adversaries illiterates, and child molesters, but you also like to call them mentally ill. Your denying that as stupid a lie as the one you'd pretended I'd said.
>

"Serious issues" including "paranoia with a resultant persecution complex" are common neuroses -- not what one generally means by "mentally ill." In the common parlance, one who is "mentally ill" is fit to be shut up in an asylum. Everyone has their neuroses, yet remain functional members of society (The Donkey and his Stink excepted, of course).

I would not, and more importantly, I *did not,* call you "mentally ill."

That said, my diagnosis of paranoia with a resultant persecution complex stands (and is, in fact, supported by your above accusation).

> > However, after reading the above slice of gibberish, I'm beginning to reconsider my findings.
>
> > > > I am simply discussing, along with my colleague, Dr. NancyGene, the psychological ramifications such an upbringing would have.
> > > Sometimes the two of you claim to be doctors, but you have no credentials and haven't demonstrated any competence. If I believed in "armchair psychology,"" I'd say you and NastyGoon had a mutually-supportive shared delusion.
> > >
> > Armchair psychology doesn't require any credentials, George.
> Michael - being a doctor requires having a doctorate (like Dr. Dalton, Dr.. Procter, or others you've attacked here). The name for people like you and NastyGoon, who pretend to be doctors when they aren't is "quack".

The American Society of Armchair Psychologists (ASAP) has conferred doctorates on both my colleague and myself in honor of our outstanding work in providing armchair psychoanalyses via the Usenet.

> > What part of "armchair" are you failing to understand.
> Unlike you, I'm quite aware of what the word actually means:
> "1: remote from direct dealing with problems : theoretical rather than practical"

Are you denying that our analyses are theoretical? Are you claiming that they are of a practical nature?

And, as far as your "awareness" is concerned, here is a definition of "armchair psychology" from "Mind Tools":

"Armchair psychology is when someone without any relevant experience or qualifications gives you mental illness advice."

https://www.mindtools.com/blog/armchair-psychology-at-work/#:~:text=Armchair%20psychology%20is%20when%20someone,%22diagnoses%22%20can%20be%20damaging.

As per usual, humor remains a foreign concept to you.

> Trying to win arguments by redefining words is yet another standard part of your troll M.O., of course.

I am neither redefining words, nor trying to win an argument (with my *correct* use of "armchair psychology"), George. I am using self-effacing humor -- partially to allow you (and any readers) to see that our analyses are offered in a light-hearted (if pointed) manner.

> > > > And, in spite of his denials, George is well aware of these ramifications, as he implies that his narrator is under psychological care, and has him express his desire to burn his father's house to the ground (which is certainly not the act of a sane man).
> > > That's not what the poem says. (1) The idea that "they" could be or include psychiatrists occurred to me too, on rereading my last revision; but it's certainly not implied. The narrator does have psychological issues -- he's written that way, as I've said before -- but he's rational enough to know he needed permission(s) to be in this house he doesn't own, and to have got them. (2) Similarly, he's sane enough to know that he can't burn down this house he doesn't own.
> > >
> > Possessing the desire to burn down his father's former house is indicative of a deeply troubled psyche.
> I think you mean "expressing".Yes, expressing the desire to burn a house down indicates a "troubled psyche"

Had I meant "expressing," I'd have said "expressing."

IMHO, *possession* of such a violent, destructive *desire* (regardless of whether one expresses it) is indicative of a deeply troubled psyche.

> (which is how the character was written.
> > > > Like Mr. Dance, you tend to see attacks and conspiracies where none, in fact, exist. In your case, it stems from your inability to comprehend anything written beyond the level of an "I Can Read!" book.
> > > Are you really so clueless as to think your second line sounds like anything but an attack? Or, in consequence, your denial that you're making any attacks as as anything but shameless lying? If so, I'd suggest again that you get some help to improve your communication skills.
> > >
> > Earth to George. I am addressing Will Donkey in the above-quoted passage.
> Did I say or imply you weren't? Of course not. So stop playing stupid, and focus on what you said to him. You attacked him twice. First, you called him a paranoid just "Like Mr. Dance." Second, you called him an illiterate. (Both parts of your standard troll M.O., as noted above). And hilariously, in between those two attacks, lied that "in fact" you haven't been attacking him at all.
>

On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 4:02:41 PM UTC-5, Zod wrote:
> On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:49:07 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
> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!

Back on topic, agreed.

On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 6:48:40 PM UTC-5, George J. Dance wrote:
> On 2022-11-26 4:02 p.m., Zod wrote:
> > On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:49:07 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
> >
> > Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
> Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
> but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
>
> The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
> one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
> complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
> speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
> is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
> over a decade makes that much clearer.
>
> As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
> plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
> house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in.
> It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
> was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
> but I wanted to keep that hidden.

The poem has sure shown to have continuing popularity with the readership...

On Sunday, November 27, 2022 at 2:50:39 AM UTC-5, W-Dockery wrote:
> George J. Dance wrote:
>
> > On 2022-11-26 4:02 p.m., Zod wrote:
> >> On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:49:07 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
> >>
> >> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
>
> > Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
> > but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
>
> > The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
> > one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
> > complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
> > speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
> > is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
> > over a decade makes that much clearer.
>
> > As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
> > plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
> > house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in.
> > It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
> > was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
> > but I wanted to keep that hidden.
> I remember what must have been early versions of this poem.

How many versions were there...?

General-Zod wrote:

> Michael Pendragon wrote:

>> George J. Dance wrote:
>>> On 2022-11-30 8:30 a.m., Will Dockery wrote:
>>> >>>>>>>>>>>> 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

>>> > Jack Kerouac was a hard drinker long before he became famous.
>>> >
>>> > Look it up.
>>> Yes he was; but his drinking got more "extreme" afterward.
>>>
>>> " Kerouac had long dealt with a drinking problem, and even by age 26 it
>>> occurred to him that he should cut back. On March 22, 1948, he wrote in
>>> his journal, “I started drinking at eighteen but that’s after eight
>>> years of occasional boozing, I can’t physically take it any more, nor
>>> mentally. It was at the age of eighteen, too, when melancholy and
>>> indecision first came over me—there’s a fair connection there.”[4] Yet
>>> his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the
>>> Road. In addition to losing his treasured privacy, Jack was also shocked
>>> by Neal Cassady’s arrest for possession of marijuana in 1958, for which
>>> Neal served two years in a California prison.[5]"
>>> https://www.beatdom.com/death-within-a-chrysalis/#:~:text=Kerouac%20had%20long%20dealt%20with,it%20any%20more%2C%20nor%20mentally.

>> This supports Robert's statement: "his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the Road."

> So what, alcoholic writes and artists were and are very common, including Edgar Allan Poe....

Among dozens, hundreds of other famous alcoholic writers.

On Tuesday, February 14, 2023 at 4:51:53 PM UTC-5, Zod wrote:
> On Sunday, November 27, 2022 at 2:50:39 AM UTC-5, W-Dockery wrote:
> > George J. Dance wrote:
> >
> > > On 2022-11-26 4:02 p.m., Zod wrote:
> > >> On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:49:07 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
> > >>
> > >> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
> >
> > > Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
> > > but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
> >
> > > The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
> > > one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
> > > complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
> > > speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
> > > is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
> > > over a decade makes that much clearer.
> >
> > > As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
> > > plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
> > > house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in.
> > > It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
> > > was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
> > > but I wanted to keep that hidden.
> > I remember what must have been early versions of this poem.
>
> How many versions were there...?

Just two. I posted the first draft here in 2007:
https://groups.google.com/g/alt.arts.poetry.comments/c/JMaPb2xVZyU/m/5T8GQGq9n0MJ?hl=en
- and in the original Sunday Sampler in 2017:
The revised draft was in my last chapbook in 2021, but I first posted it here only only last November, in this thread.

On Friday, February 17, 2023 at 7:15:14 PM UTC-5, W-Dockery wrote:
> General-Zod wrote:
>
> > Michael Pendragon wrote:
>
> >> George J. Dance wrote:
> >>> On 2022-11-30 8:30 a.m., Will Dockery wrote:
> >>> >>>>>>>>>>>> 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
>
> >>> > Jack Kerouac was a hard drinker long before he became famous.
> >>> >
> >>> > Look it up.
> >>> Yes he was; but his drinking got more "extreme" afterward.
> >>>
> >>> " Kerouac had long dealt with a drinking problem, and even by age 26 it
> >>> occurred to him that he should cut back. On March 22, 1948, he wrote in
> >>> his journal, “I started drinking at eighteen but that’s after eight
> >>> years of occasional boozing, I can’t physically take it any more, nor
> >>> mentally. It was at the age of eighteen, too, when melancholy and
> >>> indecision first came over me—there’s a fair connection there.”[4] Yet
> >>> his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the
> >>> Road. In addition to losing his treasured privacy, Jack was also shocked
> >>> by Neal Cassady’s arrest for possession of marijuana in 1958, for which
> >>> Neal served two years in a California prison.[5]"
> >>> https://www.beatdom.com/death-within-a-chrysalis/#:~:text=Kerouac%20had%20long%20dealt%20with,it%20any%20more%2C%20nor%20mentally.
>
> >> This supports Robert's statement: "his alcoholism reached new extremes after the publication of On the Road."
>
> > So what, alcoholic writes and artists were and are very common, including Edgar Allan Poe....
> Among dozens, hundreds of other famous alcoholic writers.

That's neither an answer, nor a sentence, Donkey.

George Dance wrote:

> On Tuesday, February 14, 2023 at 4:51:53 PM UTC-5, Zod wrote:
>> On Sunday, November 27, 2022 at 2:50:39 AM UTC-5, W-Dockery wrote:
>> > George J. Dance wrote:
>> >
>> > > On 2022-11-26 4:02 p.m., Zod wrote:
>> > >> On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:49:07 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
>> > >>
>> > >> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
>> >
>> > > Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
>> > > but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
>> >
>> > > The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
>> > > one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
>> > > complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
>> > > speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
>> > > is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
>> > > over a decade makes that much clearer.
>> >
>> > > As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
>> > > plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
>> > > house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in.
>> > > It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
>> > > was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
>> > > but I wanted to keep that hidden.
>> > I remember what must have been early versions of this poem.
>>
>> How many versions were there...?

> Just two. I posted the first draft here in 2007:
> https://groups.google.com/g/alt.arts.poetry.comments/c/JMaPb2xVZyU/m/5T8GQGq9n0MJ?hl=en
> - and in the original Sunday Sampler in 2017:

> The revised draft was in my last chapbook in 2021, but I first posted it here only only last November, in this thread.

Good morning George, thanks for the information.

On Thursday, February 23, 2023 at 6:46:38 AM UTC-5, George Dance wrote:
> On Tuesday, February 14, 2023 at 4:51:53 PM UTC-5, Zod wrote:
> > On Sunday, November 27, 2022 at 2:50:39 AM UTC-5, W-Dockery wrote:
> > > George J. Dance wrote:
> > >
> > > > On 2022-11-26 4:02 p.m., Zod wrote:
> > > >> On Saturday, November 26, 2022 at 3:49:07 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
> > > >>
> > > >> Read twice, outstanding work of poetry....!
> > >
> > > > Thanks, Zod. It's a poem I'm proud of. I wrote the first draft quickly,
> > > > but I spent several years tweaking it before it went into a book.
> > >
> > > > The big revision here is the rewrite to L2. In the original discussion,
> > > > one of the people trying to cut it to shreds was a poet, and amongst her
> > > > complaints she had a criticism I thought valid: it's not clear that the
> > > > speaker is the child of the poem now grown up. And I think realizing tht
> > > > is essential to appreciating the thing. Having the father been dead for
> > > > over a decade makes that much clearer.
> > >
> > > > As well, it makes certain things more ambiguous, and I think that's a
> > > > plus as well. By taking out the old L2, it's no longer clear whether the
> > > > house this guy is walking around in is abandoned, or still lived in..
> > > > It's also unclear who "they" are; my hidden idea was that the speaker
> > > > was under psychiatric care, ant "they" were the ones looking after him,
> > > > but I wanted to keep that hidden.
> > > I remember what must have been early versions of this poem.
> >
> > How many versions were there...?
> Just two. I posted the first draft here in 2007:
> https://groups.google.com/g/alt.arts.poetry.comments/c/JMaPb2xVZyU/m/5T8GQGq9n0MJ?hl=en
> - and in the original Sunday Sampler in 2017:
>
> The revised draft was in my last chapbook in 2021, but I first posted it here only only last November, in this thread.

Cool, it has become a modern day classic in very little time...!

On Sunday, November 27, 2022 at 6:49:07 AM UTC+10, 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

Excellent.

On Thursday, February 23, 2023 at 11:15:09 PM UTC-5, Ilya Shambat wrote:
> On Sunday, November 27, 2022 at 6:49:07 AM UTC+10, 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
> Excellent.

Good afternoon, Ilya, agreed.