Pigeons on the grass alas.
Pigeons on the grass alas.
Short longer grass short longer longer shorter yellow grass. Pigeons
large pigeons on the shorter longer yellow grass alas pigeons on the
grass.
If they were not pigeons what were they.
If they were not pigeons on the grass alas what were they. He had
heard of a third and he asked about if it was a magpie in the sky.
If a magpie in the sky on the sky can not cry if the pigeon on the
grass alas can alas and to pass the pigeon on the grass alas and the
magpie in the sky on the sky and to try and to try alas on the
grass alas the pigeon on the grass the pigeon on the grass and alas.
They might be very well they might be very well very well they might
be.
Let Lucy Lily Lily Lucy Lucy let Lucy Lucy Lily Lily Lily Lily
Lily let Lily Lucy Lucy let Lily. Let Lucy Lily.
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From guest Glen Garcia (contact)
Love this poem, along with the one about Picasso she did, whose title escapes me at the moment, but it was a great poem, trust me =) I also love James Thurber's wonderfully funny rebuttal (There's an Owl in My Room). I recommend both of these works, bookended so you won't forget both sides of the issue. -
Brought to you
From guest Nicholas Maravell (contact)
I sought you out thanks to a recording by Jean Shepherd - on one of his radio shows he spoke a line from this poem - recorded July 31, 1975. -
I agree with James Thurber
From guest John (contact)
If you haven't read it, I highly recommend Thurber's "There's an Owl in My Room." Hell, I recommend it even if you have read it. It's quite simply brilliant--the humorist in top form. -
gertrude, gertrude, gertrude
From guest m.b. (contact)
she's a mishugganur(editor: "crazy"), but set to virgil thomsen's bumptious score, it all works so nicely together to make quick irreverence of st. ignatius loyola and scholastic theology. -
From guest Trevor (contact)
I had to read this out loud in class in front of a very critical teacher, and a giggling class. Hard to keep a straight face with that -
A lot of almost-musical syllable play,
the style is a practice-run of sorts it seems.
Essentially, she throws around an interesting technique, and sacrifices content for form.
The repetition drives to distraction, the brain painfully contracts; alas, 'twas almost a good poem, or maybe it is, if you turn your head to the side; try it. -
i think she is brilliant. this poem is my inspiration.
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It's not the story I have a problem with (really) it's the utter repetition. I write in repetition myself but not like this, some repetition gives me headaches and I just don't want to read them.
We all have our particulars, mine's repetition of this accord.
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actually, the story behind this particular poem is that she was walking in the park in paris and observed a pigeon. she was seized by an emotion, and began repeating these images of the moment to herself (and onto paper). she continued in this abstract representation of the moment until the emotion which had taken over her left. almost in the style of jackson pollack (??) in how he ended his painted. i find this poem quite the impressive one.
Edited on Apr 14, 6:23 p.m. because ''. -
Extremely queer; that's what I have to say about Stein's poems. They give me a headache and to think that this one is an excerpt of a longer piece just makes that headache grow.
Perhaps her poems (or what not) are for children, perhaps they are not all so repetitious?
It surely does boggle my mind.
Edited on Sep 29, 5:35 because ''.
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