On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, W.Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka "HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your
pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.)
No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was >>> pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses youhttps://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the
psychology of a speaker or persona.
The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker
doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, W.Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.)
No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was >>>> pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological >>> obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
I haven't the time to go searching for the exact quote, but you had
initially maintained that it was "mostly autobiographical" or "mostly
based on your childhood," or similar words expressing the same thing.
Eventually, you specified that only *one* passage in the portions of the
poem relating to your childhood had been inspired by something else.
IIRC it was the use of the term "boys can be such filthy things."
But why bicker over words.
If you now wish to deny that any other portions of the poem were based
on your actual childhood experiences, please do so.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monologue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the
psychology of a speaker or persona.
You are defaming Mr. Browning, sirrah!
The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker
doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
If the speaker (who we both know is George Dance)
doesn't consider it
abuse, he should take the opportunity to explain why.
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
JFC! George. There's no question that any of the above were forms of
abuse.
That poor little boy had a bleak, loveless, existence filled with
verbal, emotional, and physical abuses.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
Um... I was a child 50-60 years ago, and my father was physically
abusive (for a two year period after my mother's death) -- and I find
your story to be horrifying.
Normal children may occasionally have been physically punished for
tracking dirt into the house, and such, but look at your poem... the
other children are outside playing while Little George is stuck inside
the house doing chores.
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 20:15:36 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, W.Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it >>> has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.)
No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was >>>>> pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological >>>> obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
I haven't the time to go searching for the exact quote, but you had
initially maintained that it was "mostly autobiographical" or "mostly
based on your childhood," or similar words expressing the same thing.
If you don't have time, get your NastyGoon to search for it. In this
case I have to call your bullshit. You claimed the poem was "autobiographical", and I tried to explain to you the difference between creative literature and autobiography - repeatedly. You believe it's autobiographical because you said it was autobiographical, and for no
other reason.
Eventually, you specified that only *one* passage in the portions of the
poem relating to your childhood had been inspired by something else.
IIRC it was the use of the term "boys can be such filthy things."
More bullshit from HarryLiar. All the passages in the poem are about a
grown man returning to his childhood home, and his thoughts while he was there. None of that was "inspired" by anything in my life.
But why bicker over words.
Because words have meanings: when you claim the poem is
"autobiographical", you're not just using a "word" but making a false
claim about the poem (and dishonestly trying to support your claim by pretending that's a word I'd used to describe it).
If you now wish to deny that any other portions of the poem were based
on your actual childhood experiences, please do so.
Well, let's look at what happens in the poem.
S1 - the speaker revisits the house (after getting permission from
someone unspecified).
S2 - the speaker remembers his father building the house.
S3 - the speaker enters the back door, and remembers having to always
have had to use that door.
S4 - the speaker goes into the kitchen, and recalls having to wash
dishes.
S5 - the speaker looks out the kitchen window at the garden, and recalls having to work in it when he'd rather be playing.
S6 - the speaker goes into the living room, and recalls not being
allowed to sit wherever he chose.
S7 - the speaker thinks about his bedroom (but does not go there) and remembers being sent there to be alone after dinner until bedtime.
S8 - the speaker continues to think about his bedroom, and remembers
having an early bedtime and being subject to corporal punishment.
S9 - the speaker wishes he could burn the house down.
None of those events happened to me, as I've told you repeatedly.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monologue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the
psychology of a speaker or persona.
You are defaming Mr. Browning, sirrah!
Not at all. Calling "My Last Duchess" an autobiographical poem would
have defamed him; if you did that, you'd be accusing him of murdering
his wife. (Do you think "My Last Duchess" was autobiographical?)
The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker
doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house >>> at the end).
If the speaker (who we both know is George Dance)
No; we both know that's a claim you (in your "Pendragon" sock) made
about the poem; and precisely what we're discussing. You actually
claimed that I broke into this house and tried to burn it down. Since I
don't "know" things that aren't true, I don't "know" that; only you
"know" it, simply because you said it previously.
doesn't consider it
abuse, he should take the opportunity to explain why.
Why should he? The speaker of the poem is not writing his
"autobiography" either; he's just remembering things, and sticking to
the facts.
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
JFC! George. There's no question that any of the above were forms of
abuse.
No, HarryLiar: having to use a back door, and remove one's shoes; having
to wash dishes and do garden work; not being allowed on all the
furniture; having an early bedtime; and receiving corporal punishment
from one's father; are not all unquestionably abusive.
That poor little boy had a bleak, loveless, existence filled with
verbal, emotional, and physical abuses.
He may think he does, though that's not what he says. He's just relating
the facts as he remembers them. (Since he doesn't exist outside the
poem, there's no point in quibble over what he thinks; that's why I left
all that to the reader).
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none >>> of them were commonly considered abusive.
Um... I was a child 50-60 years ago, and my father was physically
abusive (for a two year period after my mother's death) -- and I find
your story to be horrifying.
Normal children may occasionally have been physically punished for
tracking dirt into the house, and such, but look at your poem... the
other children are outside playing while Little George is stuck inside
the house doing chores.
I'm sure many "normal children" had to do chores when they'd rather be playing with their friends. That wasn't only my experience, but that of
most of my friends, and they all seemed "normal" enough to me.
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.)
No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was >>>> pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological >>> obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the
psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker
doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the
poem."
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 19:58:55 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:36:08 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it >>>> has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one >>>> person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place >>>> to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the >>>> group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems >>>>
Why do you lie so much, George?No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was >>>>>> pathological, lying, or
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.) >>>>>>
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological >>>>> obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called >>>> this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I >>>> have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's >>>> memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the
psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker
doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house >>>> at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually >>>> had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to >>>> use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being >>>> allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at >>>> night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none >>>> of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the
poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you,
that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its
author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or
events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a
dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be
analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average
reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your
own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical
reading."
--
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 4:18:39 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 2:10:00 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 19:58:55 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:36:08 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it >>>>>> has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one >>>>>> person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place >>>>>> to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the >>>>>> group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems >>>>>>
Why do you lie so much, George?No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>>>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.) >>>>>>>>
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you >>>>>>> suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called >>>>>> this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I >>>>>> have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's >>>>>> memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning >>>>>> (His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the >>>>>> psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced >>>>>> his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker >>>>>> doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he >>>>>> wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house >>>>>> at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually >>>>>> had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect, >>>>>> from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to >>>>>> use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being >>>>>> allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at >>>>>> night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment. >>>>>> Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the >>>>>> father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events >>>>>> were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none >>>>>> of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the
poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you,
that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate >>>> the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are >>>> going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its >>>> author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or
events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a
dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be
analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average
reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your >>>> own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical
reading."
--
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
Are you trying to troll
No, you're the super troll, Pendragon.
I'm here for the poetry.
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 16:24:26 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 8:40:55 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 4:18:39 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 2:10:00 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 19:58:55 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:36:08 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems >>>>>>>>
Why do you lie so much, George?No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your
pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.) >>>>>>>>>>
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you >>>>>>>>> suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called >>>>>>>> this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's >>>>>>>> memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to >>>>>>>> support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning >>>>>>>> (His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the >>>>>>>> psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced >>>>>>>> his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker >>>>>>>> doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he >>>>>>>> wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually >>>>>>>> had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect, >>>>>>>> from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to >>>>>>>> use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing >>>>>>>> household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being >>>>>>>> allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment. >>>>>>>> Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the >>>>>>>> father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events >>>>>>>> were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the >>>>>>> poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you, >>>>>> that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate >>>>>> the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are >>>>>> going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its >>>>>> author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or >>>>>> events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a >>>>>> dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be >>>>>> analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average >>>>>> reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your >>>>>> own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical >>>>>> reading."
--
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
Are you trying to troll
No, you're the super troll, Pendragon.
I'm here for the poetry.
You're only here for the waffles.
While you're only here to lie and misrepresent, Harry.
And so it goes.
"I have not been to a Waffle House in months."
"…the Waffle House dining area was not open the last time I stopped by
there."
"I just rode past the Waffle House on Macon Road and they seem to be
closed."
"…the local Waffle House locations are closing at 9pm, so are not good
for late night coffee and Wi-Fi."
"Now it turns out that Waffle House is open until nine at night, which
is a major change from the open all night schedule that was
traditional."
"Waffle House is no longer the late night spot for coffee, conversation
and Wi-Fi."
"Waffle House locations here close at nine at night so they are not open
all night, which explains why I stated that they were closed."
"The last time I went to Waffle House was in August, at the Alabama
location."
"Waffle House closing at 9pm is a big change."
-- Assorted "poetry" quotes by Willie the Waffle House Donkey
--
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.)
No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was >>>> pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological >>> obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the
psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker
doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
I grew up in that era, very different ideas on punishing children in
those years.
Here I am with my family on Christmas 1967:
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1MwsSqpqfU/
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 14:12:44 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 20:15:36 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, W.Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it >>>> has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one >>>> person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place >>>> to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the >>>> group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems >>>>
Why do you lie so much, George?No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was >>>>>> pathological, lying, or
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.) >>>>>>
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological >>>>> obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called >>>> this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I >>>> have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's >>>> memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
I haven't the time to go searching for the exact quote, but you had
initially maintained that it was "mostly autobiographical" or "mostly
based on your childhood," or similar words expressing the same thing.
If you don't have time, get your NastyGoon to search for it. In this
case I have to call your bullshit. You claimed the poem was
"autobiographical", and I tried to explain to you the difference between
creative literature and autobiography - repeatedly. You believe it's
autobiographical because you said it was autobiographical, and for no
other reason.
George, George, George... no autobiography is 100% accurate.
People
present *their* interpretation of the various events comprising their
lives. And everyone's interpretation is colored by various factors.
This is why your perception of Dr. NancyGene's and my analyses of your
poem strike you as personal attacks, whereas from my perspective the
*only* way to examine a semi-autobiographical poem on child abuse is
consider the speaker and the poet as being essentially the same
individual.
In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or
events might have inspired it.
Every literary work is similar to a
dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be
analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average
reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your
own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical
reading.
Despite your claims of taking the reader through Little George's home
(with the same floor plan as its real life counterpart) on a
room-by-room basis, you jump from the kitchen to the garden.
I am
guessing that you'd originally written the garden stanza to come first
within the body of the narrative, but had later switched it with the
kitchen stanza based on the severity of the (potentially perceived)
abuses.
In this stanza, Little George is forced to spend his summers
working in the garden -- while enviously watching the neighborhood
children. Because Little George describes their games as "mis
How autobiographical is your poem? Let's see.
In the poem "Little George" states that the house came in a box, and
that he helped his father assemble it, You had said that in real life,
your house came in a box, and that you helped your father assemble it.
Little George tells how he was made to use the back door, had to take
off his shoes (and things), and wait for permission to enter. In real
life, you had to use the back door, and remove your shoes before
entering as well. I don't recall whether you also had to wait for permission.
You have also stated that the house in the poem is laid out exactly your
real life childhood house, and that you have intentionally chosen to
take the reader through this house room by room. You have also said
that you intentionally chose to present each room along with a
description of a (possibly abusive) memory associated with it.
S1 - the speaker revisits the house (after getting permission from
someone unspecified).
S2 - the speaker remembers his father building the house.
S3 - the speaker enters the back door, and remembers having to always
have had to use that door.
S4 - the speaker goes into the kitchen, and recalls having to wash
dishes.
S5 - the speaker looks out the kitchen window at the garden, and recalls
having to work in it when he'd rather be playing.
S6 - the speaker goes into the living room, and recalls not being
allowed to sit wherever he chose.
S7 - the speaker thinks about his bedroom (but does not go there) and
remembers being sent there to be alone after dinner until bedtime.
S8 - the speaker continues to think about his bedroom, and remembers
having an early bedtime and being subject to corporal punishment.
S9 - the speaker wishes he could burn the house down.
The first room in Little George's house is the kitchen. Little George associates this room with having to wash dishes, while looking out the
window and wishing that he was some other place. In real life, you were
also made to wash dishes. This is not uncommon. Most children 50 years
ago were given chores to perform. I had chores to do as well. The difference is that I was paid a weekly allowance for doing them, and had
the option of quitting my "job" at my discretion.
In spite of your claim that you were taking the reader on a tour of
Little George's house (which has the same floorplan as your real life childhood home), the narrative jumps from the kitchen to the garden.
I'm guessing that the garden stanza originally came before the kitchen
one, but that you later rearranged the stanzas to present the supposed "abuses" in order of severity (as you have recently stated). Little
George spends his summers working in the garden, all the while envious
of the neighborhood children who are free to play at their will. The
fact that Little George calls their games "mysterious" and laments that
he "never knew" them implies both that he had to spend the entire day
doing chores and that he was not allowed to join the other children in
their games.
Was George Dance also forced to work in the garden all day/denied the
fun of playing with the other children? I don't know. I'm guessing
that he was, because many children had gardens that they tended every
day. I certainly did. I would spend an hour or so tending my garden
every morning -- along with my mother and siblings. I loved my garden
and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I was also allowed to play with
the local kids who would drop by on an almost daily basis.
Little George's next stanza opens with the line "That room's all
changed" implying either that the garden is a room, or that he is taking
the reader on a walking tour of his childhood house. This appears to be another problem caused by switching the kitchen and garden stanzas'
position in the narrative.
I'm assuming that it's the living room,
although Little George neither specifies nor gives us any other clue
than that it contains a chair on which he is forbidden to sit.
IIRC,
George Dance stated that while he was also barred from using the living
room furniture, the parental description of boys as "filthy things" was derived from the life of another boy that he knew.
Last stop on the tour is the bedroom. Little George is sent there after dinner every night where he feels as if he is trapped within a tomb --
alone and forced to pass the time quietly playing by himself. "Each
night" at 9pm, Little George was forced to turn out the lights,
and lie
face down in bed with his pajama pants pulled down and his bare behind awaiting his father's belt. George Dance hasn't said that this bedtime ritual occurred on a daily basis in real life, but has intimated that
the "spankings" (which he refused to call "whippings" even though the
blows were delivered with a belt) frequently took place.
So, pretty much the entire "flashback" portion of the poem was based on
real events from George Dance's childhood. Some of the events may have
been slightly exaggerated, or enhanced, for dramatic purposes, and one
item was interpolated from another boy's stories about his own
childhood.
This leaves the "modern" portions of the narrative which
frame the flashback portion.
In the modern portion, it is strongly
implied (by George Dance's own explanation) that the speaker is
receiving some form of psychiatric care, and is probably residing in a
mental hospital.
He has permission to leave the grounds during the day,
and (unrealistically) to visit his childhood home that is now occupied
by another family.
wish that he would like to burn his father's house to the ground.
The framing story, is obviously fictional insofar as real life George
Dance is not living in a mental institution, and is not (to the best of
my knowledge) undergoing psychiatric care.
It is, however, reasonable
to conclude that the author thinks of his childhood home as *his
father's house*
and that he still harbors some anger toward his father
(even though his father is presumed to be deceased).
In short, the bulk of the narrative is based on real life memories from
its author's childhood.
Why then all the fuss about my having called it "autobiographical"?
It's a typical Straw Man argument intended to divert the discussion from examining the psychological aspects of the narrative, and to falsely represent an attempt to provide an in-depth analysis of the poem as a personal attack upon himself.
Good old paranoid, perpetually persecuted George.
Let's search for the opening line of Mr. Dance's most well known poem:snip
"This is my father's house, although The man died thirteen years ago."
The search returned a whopping 10 pages of results.
Here's another example where the father is the speaker's biological one:
it's the title of a song by Bruce Springsteen. Bruce's relationship
with his father in the song appears to be a loving one (and one can even
draw a parallel between the relationship of Little Bruce and his
biological to one between Grownup Bruce and God). Again, a different message, but the Title is *exactly* the same.
Of course I would never so much as intimate that George Dance lifted the title of his poem from Mr. Springsteen. I would not even imply this
when I think it highly probable that Mr. Dance has some familiarity with
Mr. Springsteen's song. Since most titles are intended to call
attention to a poem's topic, there are many poems and songs that have
the same titles.
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:28:12 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 14:12:44 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 20:15:36 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, W.Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it >>>>> has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one >>>>> person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place >>>>> to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the >>>>> group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems >>>>>
Why do you lie so much, George?No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.) >>>>>>>
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you >>>>>> suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological >>>>>> obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called >>>>> this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I >>>>> have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's >>>>> memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
I haven't the time to go searching for the exact quote, but you had
initially maintained that it was "mostly autobiographical" or "mostly
based on your childhood," or similar words expressing the same thing.
If you don't have time, get your NastyGoon to search for it. In this
case I have to call your bullshit. You claimed the poem was
"autobiographical", and I tried to explain to you the difference between >>> creative literature and autobiography - repeatedly. You believe it's
autobiographical because you said it was autobiographical, and for no
other reason.
George, George, George... no autobiography is 100% accurate.
As I've told you before, I don't think the difference between creative literature and autobiography is merely one of "accuracy." The difference
is that in the latter one is trying to be as accurate and comprehensive
as possible: to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth. Whereas in the former, one is selectively recreating an
experience, using experiences that reinforce the story.
People
present *their* interpretation of the various events comprising their
lives. And everyone's interpretation is colored by various factors.
The question, though, is whose interpretation? If I were writing an autobiographical account, it surely wouldn't be 100% accurate; but in
this case I was creating a fictional persona, and giving his "interpretation".
Your constant misrepresentation of the poem as an autobiography
(including misquoting me, as we've seen) indicates that you're convinced
that you just can't see that difference; you've got the idea in your
head that this is how I'd "interpret" the events of my childhood (not to mention my young manhood).
This is why your perception of Dr. NancyGene's and my analyses of your
poem strike you as personal attacks, whereas from my perspective the
*only* way to examine a semi-autobiographical poem on child abuse is
consider the speaker and the poet as being essentially the same
individual.
Well, no, HarryLiar, I "interpret" your comments on the poem, and "Dr." NastyGoon's as personal attacks because you use them for personal
attacks.
A good example is your opening paragraph that I quoted, where
you use your account of the poem, plus your misinterpretation of
something else I'd said, to call me a "pathological liar".
The more you
try to pretend comments like that that are not personal attacks, but
just comments on a poem, the harder it is to believe anything you say.
In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its
author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or
events might have inspired it.
That sounds like another contradiction to me. Previously you said that "every" character in a novel represents an aspect of the author, and now
you admit that at least some are actually inspired by other people.
Of
course they're filtered through the author's imagination, but that's the precisely the point I'm trying to make to you: that the poem is a work
of imagination, not simply a recitation of facts. The poem uses my
memories, but it's not based on my memories; it's based on my speakker's memories as I imagined them to be.
Every literary work is similar to a
dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be
analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average
reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your
own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical
reading.
Forgive me if I use the term "psychobabble" again, but that's precisely
what your mention of "analyzing" dream constructs put into my head. It reminded me of how your Dr. Freud came up with his theory of the Oedipus Complex (which you and the other "doctor" claimed I suffered from) by "analyzing" a child's dream about two giraffes.
Despite your claims of taking the reader through Little George's home
(with the same floor plan as its real life counterpart) on a
room-by-room basis, you jump from the kitchen to the garden.
Your insistence on calling the speaker "George" is annoying (although it
is preferable to the "Boy George" nickname you previously borrowed for
him him and then insisted on calling me). I think you're just playing
with words to blur the very distinction between speaker and writer that
I'm trying to make with you. So I'm going to start calling him "Bob"
instead.
I am
guessing that you'd originally written the garden stanza to come first
within the body of the narrative, but had later switched it with the
kitchen stanza based on the severity of the (potentially perceived)
abuses.
No, you guessed wrong again; the stanzas were not switched. The poem
switches from the kitchen to the garden because the speaker is looking
out the window, and in the floor plan of the house (which I've told you)
the kitchen window overlook s the garden at the back of it.
In this stanza, Little George is forced to spend his summers
working in the garden -- while enviously watching the neighborhood
children. Because Little George describes their games as "mis
You seem to have "frozen up", HarryLiar. That's not a big deal, of
course; I realize that responding to a long post takes time: one often
gets interrupted, even in mid-sentence. I mentioned it only because you
and "Dr." NastyGoon have pointed to it, when I did it, as evidence that
I suffered from not just psychological but various neurological
diseases.
How autobiographical is your poem? Let's see.
In the poem "Little George" states that the house came in a box, and
that he helped his father assemble it, You had said that in real life,
your house came in a box, and that you helped your father assemble it.
Little George tells how he was made to use the back door, had to take
off his shoes (and things), and wait for permission to enter. In real
life, you had to use the back door, and remove your shoes before
entering as well. I don't recall whether you also had to wait for
permission.
True; in real life, the entire family removed their shoes on entering
the house, and that's a reason we used the back door (because it had a landing where the shoes could be left. If I were writing an
autobiography, I'd mention it that way; but because I'm imagining a
fictional speaker's memories, I omitted that detail. As for needing to
have permission to enter; I recall a few times when I was chased back outside, but it wasn't an everyday thing. Once again, I was not
recounting events as I remembered them, but events as how I'd imagine my speaker remembering them.
You have also stated that the house in the poem is laid out exactly your
real life childhood house, and that you have intentionally chosen to
take the reader through this house room by room. You have also said
that you intentionally chose to present each room along with a
description of a (possibly abusive) memory associated with it.
Yes I did. I gave you the latter description in the very post you're
replying to. Since you've buried it, it may be a good idea to move it up here:
S1 - the speaker revisits the house (after getting permission from
someone unspecified).
S2 - the speaker remembers his father building the house.
S3 - the speaker enters the back door, and remembers having to always
have had to use that door.
S4 - the speaker goes into the kitchen, and recalls having to wash
dishes.
S5 - the speaker looks out the kitchen window at the garden, and recalls >>> having to work in it when he'd rather be playing.
S6 - the speaker goes into the living room, and recalls not being
allowed to sit wherever he chose.
S7 - the speaker thinks about his bedroom (but does not go there) and
remembers being sent there to be alone after dinner until bedtime.
S8 - the speaker continues to think about his bedroom, and remembers
having an early bedtime and being subject to corporal punishment.
S9 - the speaker wishes he could burn the house down.
The first room in Little George's house is the kitchen. Little George
associates this room with having to wash dishes, while looking out the
window and wishing that he was some other place. In real life, you were
also made to wash dishes. This is not uncommon. Most children 50 years
ago were given chores to perform. I had chores to do as well. The
difference is that I was paid a weekly allowance for doing them, and had
the option of quitting my "job" at my discretion.
Unlike you, I did not receive an allowance, and I was not able to walk
away and leave the dishes dirty when I wanted to do something else.
Unlike both you and Bob, I washed dishes twice a day with my sister (and later with one of my step-nieces). That last is another detail I changed
for dramatic effect.
In spite of your claim that you were taking the reader on a tour of
Little George's house (which has the same floorplan as your real life
childhood home), the narrative jumps from the kitchen to the garden.
I'm guessing that the garden stanza originally came before the kitchen
one, but that you later rearranged the stanzas to present the supposed
"abuses" in order of severity (as you have recently stated). Little
George spends his summers working in the garden, all the while envious
of the neighborhood children who are free to play at their will. The
fact that Little George calls their games "mysterious" and laments that
he "never knew" them implies both that he had to spend the entire day
doing chores and that he was not allowed to join the other children in
their games.
It sounds like you're repeating yourself;
but maybe it's worth making
the same points in return. I wasn't *always* working in the garden,
while my friends were always working - though that's how it seemed
sometimes when I was working and they were playing - so that's how I had
Bob remember it.
Was George Dance also forced to work in the garden all day/denied the
fun of playing with the other children? I don't know. I'm guessing
that he was, because many children had gardens that they tended every
day. I certainly did. I would spend an hour or so tending my garden
every morning -- along with my mother and siblings. I loved my garden
and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I was also allowed to play with
the local kids who would drop by on an almost daily basis.
That sounds like a little flowerbed.
Suffice it to say, both my father's
garden and my own were produce gardens, where we grew virtually all our
own vegetables. So it was a much bigger task, which took me at least a
couple of hours a day (and pretty much every day when school was out);
and again, like you, I could not simply drop everything and go off to
play during that time. There was plenty of times though that my friends
were doing work and my sister and I were the ones playing; and even more
when we all had free time and could play together.
Little George's next stanza opens with the line "That room's all
changed" implying either that the garden is a room, or that he is taking
the reader on a walking tour of his childhood house. This appears to be
another problem caused by switching the kitchen and garden stanzas'
position in the narrative.
The "problem" seems to be caused by your either: (1) not realizing the speaker could have been looking "outside" through a window; or (2) your constant attempts, in your guise as literary critic, to find errors in
the poem. The garden stanza is deliberately s5 (the mid stanza of the
poem), for reasons I'll have to explain.
There are two stanzas where the D line is a rhymes perfectly with the
A-B lines; s5 and s9. The reason that the failure of the others to
rhyme, as I'm sure I've explained to you before, is to subliminally
reinforce the idea that Bob is having trouble completing his thoughts. Whereas in s5 and s9 he does bring his thoughts to a conclusion; in s5
he realizes that (IHO) he's been deprived as a child, and in s9 he
realizes that he wants to be rid of those memories.
I'm assuming that it's the living room,
although Little George neither specifies nor gives us any other clue
than that it contains a chair on which he is forbidden to sit.
Actually, the room contains one chair in which Bob is allowed to sit.
But, yes, it's the living room. I don't know how things were in your
home, but in mine and most of the one's I've encountered, the living
room was where the family sat together. (In Britain it's actually called
the "sitting room").
IIRC,
George Dance stated that while he was also barred from using the living
room furniture, the parental description of boys as "filthy things" was
derived from the life of another boy that he knew.
There was in fact only one place for the children to sit in my family's living room, though it was a couch (for all the children), not a
separate chair.
Last stop on the tour is the bedroom. Little George is sent there after
dinner every night where he feels as if he is trapped within a tomb --
alone and forced to pass the time quietly playing by himself. "Each
night" at 9pm, Little George was forced to turn out the lights,
Yes, I was, but "Each night" is a bit of an exaggeration; that was
actually each night in which I had school (or something equally
important) the next day. On weekends and in the summer, I could stay up later, and go outside after dinner until dark, and that was all free
time. Once again, if I were relating an autobiography (which it looks
like you've forced me to do) I'd have mentioned those exceptions, but as
I was not recounting my memories but Bob's, I had him exaggerate.
and lie
face down in bed with his pajama pants pulled down and his bare behind
awaiting his father's belt. George Dance hasn't said that this bedtime
ritual occurred on a daily basis in real life, but has intimated that
the "spankings" (which he refused to call "whippings" even though the
blows were delivered with a belt) frequently took place.
Well, being "whipped" (to use your preferred term though there was no
whip involved) took place too often for my liking, but I certainly
wouldn't call it a "bedtime ritual" (which does make it sound like it happened on some fixed schedule irrespective of how I behaved). And Bob clearly states that that happened only "some nights".
So, pretty much the entire "flashback" portion of the poem was based on
real events from George Dance's childhood. Some of the events may have
been slightly exaggerated, or enhanced, for dramatic purposes, and one
item was interpolated from another boy's stories about his own
childhood.
No, I did not say I got the expression "boys can be such filthy things"
from another boy's account to me. IIRC, it was just something I read somewhere. I did a lot of reading as a child and as a young adult, and a
lot of the speakers' "memories" and other thoughts use what I've read
(and simply imagined) as well as what I directly experienced.
This leaves the "modern" portions of the narrative which
frame the flashback portion.
I don't think you can separate the poem like that. Bob's actions, and
Bob's memories, are fully integrated - you cannot separate the memories
from the fact that Bob's remembering them.
In the modern portion, it is strongly
implied (by George Dance's own explanation) that the speaker is
receiving some form of psychiatric care, and is probably residing in a
mental hospital.
I thought that was an interesting touch from the beginning, though (as I
made it clear in previous explanations) there is no reason to think,
from the fact that Bob was in the house with permission, that he was in
a mental hospital or that he was under psychiatric care. His mental
state is obviously disturbed - as noted, he has difficulty staying on
one subject and drawing conclusions - but I think those could follow
from the situation (he's experiencing childhood memories that he'd
rather not) rather than his own mental state.
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 18:52:17 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 4:18:39 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 2:10:00 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 19:58:55 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:36:08 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>>>>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote: >>>>>>>>>>>>> Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that yourNo, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.) >>>>>>>>>>>>
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you >>>>>>>>>>> suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above. >>>>>>>>>> https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>>>>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an >>>>>>>>>> autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to >>>>>>>>>> support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the >>>>>>>>>> psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker >>>>>>>>>> doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he >>>>>>>>>> wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing >>>>>>>>>> household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events >>>>>>>>>> were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the >>>>>>>>> poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you, >>>>>>>> that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its
author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or >>>>>>>> events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a >>>>>>>> dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be >>>>>>>> analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average >>>>>>>> reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your >>>>>>>> own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical >>>>>>>> reading."
--
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
Are you trying to troll
No, you're the super troll, Pendragon.
I'm here for the poetry.
You're only here for the waffles.
While you're only here to lie and misrepresent, Harry.
And so it goes.
Are you denying that you posted each of the statements listed below,
As part of a discussion with others.
Context matters.
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 18:52:17 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 4:18:39 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 2:10:00 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 19:58:55 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:36:08 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>>>>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote: >>>>>>>>>>>>> Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that yourNo, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.) >>>>>>>>>>>>
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you >>>>>>>>>>> suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above. >>>>>>>>>> https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>>>>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an >>>>>>>>>> autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to >>>>>>>>>> support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the >>>>>>>>>> psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker >>>>>>>>>> doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he >>>>>>>>>> wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing >>>>>>>>>> household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events >>>>>>>>>> were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the >>>>>>>>> poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you, >>>>>>>> that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its
author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or >>>>>>>> events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a >>>>>>>> dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be >>>>>>>> analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average >>>>>>>> reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your >>>>>>>> own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical >>>>>>>> reading."
--
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
Are you trying to troll
No, you're the super troll, Pendragon.
I'm here for the poetry.
You're only here for the waffles.
While you're only here to lie and misrepresent, Harry.
And so it goes.
Are you denying that you posted each of the statements listed below,
As part of a discussion with others.
Context matters.
On Wed, 12 Feb 2025 4:25:14 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 19:06:31 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 4:18:39 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 19:58:55 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote: >>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your
pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.)
No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above. >>>>>>>>>>>> https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an >>>>>>>>>>>> autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to >>>>>>>>>>>> support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the >>>>>>>>>>>> psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker >>>>>>>>>>>> doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing >>>>>>>>>>>> household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the >>>>>>>>>>> poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you,
that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its
author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or >>>>>>>>>> events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a >>>>>>>>>> dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be >>>>>>>>>> analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average >>>>>>>>>> reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your
own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical >>>>>>>>>> reading."
--
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
Are you trying to troll
No, you're the super troll, Pendragon.
I'm here for the poetry.
You're only here for the waffles.
While you're only here to lie and misrepresent, Harry.
And so it goes.
Are you denying that you posted each of the statements listed below,
As part of a discussion with others.
Context matters.
Not in this case
Sure it does
How does it matter whether you were discussing the local Waffle Houses
with Zid in several different threads, or whether you launched several
Waffle-related threads on your own?
The point is that you were discussing Waffle Houses, repeatedly, in a
newsgroup about poetry.
The same can be said about you right now.
😏
Ergo, you were not here for the poetry (which you rarely discuss --
That's not true, I've been discussing the poetry of Robert Creeley for a
week now.
On Wed, 12 Feb 2025 14:33:05 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Wed, 12 Feb 2025 5:07:19 +0000, W.Dockery wrote:
On Wed, 12 Feb 2025 4:25:14 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 19:06:31 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 4:18:39 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 19:58:55 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote: >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your
pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.)
No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above. >>>>>>>>>>>>>> https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an >>>>>>>>>>>>>> autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the
psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker
doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the
poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you,
that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its
author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or >>>>>>>>>>>> events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a
dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be >>>>>>>>>>>> analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average >>>>>>>>>>>> reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your
own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical
reading."
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
I'm here for the poetry.
You're only here to lie and misrepresent, Harry.
While I've been discussing the poetry of Robert Creeley for a
week now.
You've made very few attempts to discuss anyone's poetry over the years
No, I've discussed dozens of poems and poets here over more than two
decades.
On Wed, 12 Feb 2025 15:32:22 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 19:58:55 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
No, I've discussed dozens of poems and poets here over more than twoMy 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
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote: >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your
pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.)
No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the
psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker
doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the
poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you,
that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its
author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or
events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a
dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be
analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average
reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your
own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical
reading."
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
I'm here for the poetry.
You're only here to lie and misrepresent, Harry.
While I've been discussing the poetry of Robert Creeley for a
week now.
You've made very few attempts to discuss anyone's poetry over the years >>>
decades.
I challenged you to pick a Bukowski
poem of you choice, and write at least one paragraph
I posted that months ago, Harry.
Look it up.
On Tue, 11 Feb 2025 17:11:19 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:28:12 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 14:12:44 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 20:15:36 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
If you don't have time, get your NastyGoon to search for it. In thisMy 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
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it >>>>>> has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one >>>>>> person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place >>>>>> to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the >>>>>> group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems >>>>>>
Why do you lie so much, George?No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>>>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.) >>>>>>>>
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you >>>>>>> suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called >>>>>> this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I >>>>>> have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's >>>>>> memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
I haven't the time to go searching for the exact quote, but you had
initially maintained that it was "mostly autobiographical" or "mostly >>>>> based on your childhood," or similar words expressing the same thing. >>>>
case I have to call your bullshit. You claimed the poem was
"autobiographical", and I tried to explain to you the difference between >>>> creative literature and autobiography - repeatedly. You believe it's
autobiographical because you said it was autobiographical, and for no
other reason.
George, George, George... no autobiography is 100% accurate.
As I've told you before, I don't think the difference between creative
literature and autobiography is merely one of "accuracy." The difference
is that in the latter one is trying to be as accurate and comprehensive
as possible: to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth. Whereas in the former, one is selectively recreating an
experience, using experiences that reinforce the story.
People
present *their* interpretation of the various events comprising their
lives. And everyone's interpretation is colored by various factors.
The question, though, is whose interpretation? If I were writing an
autobiographical account, it surely wouldn't be 100% accurate; but in
this case I was creating a fictional persona, and giving his
"interpretation".
Your constant misrepresentation of the poem as an autobiography
(including misquoting me, as we've seen) indicates that you're convinced
that you just can't see that difference; you've got the idea in your
head that this is how I'd "interpret" the events of my childhood (not to
mention my young manhood).
This is why your perception of Dr. NancyGene's and my analyses of your
poem strike you as personal attacks, whereas from my perspective the
*only* way to examine a semi-autobiographical poem on child abuse is
consider the speaker and the poet as being essentially the same
individual.
Well, no, HarryLiar, I "interpret" your comments on the poem, and "Dr."
NastyGoon's as personal attacks because you use them for personal
attacks. A good example is your opening paragraph that I quoted, where
you use your account of the poem, plus your misinterpretation of
something else I'd said, to call me a "pathological liar". The more you
try to pretend comments like that that are not personal attacks, but
just comments on a poem, the harder it is to believe anything you say.
In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its >>> author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or
events might have inspired it.
That sounds like another contradiction to me. Previously you said that
"every" character in a novel represents an aspect of the author, and now
you admit that at least some are actually inspired by other people. Of
course they're filtered through the author's imagination, but that's the
precisely the point I'm trying to make to you: that the poem is a work
of imagination, not simply a recitation of facts. The poem uses my
memories, but it's not based on my memories; it's based on my speakker's
memories as I imagined them to be.
Every literary work is similar to a
dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be
analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average
reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your
own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical
reading.
Forgive me if I use the term "psychobabble" again, but that's precisely
what your mention of "analyzing" dream constructs put into my head. It
reminded me of how your Dr. Freud came up with his theory of the Oedipus
Complex (which you and the other "doctor" claimed I suffered from) by
"analyzing" a child's dream about two giraffes.
Despite your claims of taking the reader through Little George's home
(with the same floor plan as its real life counterpart) on a
room-by-room basis, you jump from the kitchen to the garden.
Your insistence on calling the speaker "George" is annoying (although it
is preferable to the "Boy George" nickname you previously borrowed for
him him and then insisted on calling me). I think you're just playing
with words to blur the very distinction between speaker and writer that
I'm trying to make with you. So I'm going to start calling him "Bob"
instead.
I am
guessing that you'd originally written the garden stanza to come first
within the body of the narrative, but had later switched it with the
kitchen stanza based on the severity of the (potentially perceived)
abuses.
No, you guessed wrong again; the stanzas were not switched. The poem
switches from the kitchen to the garden because the speaker is looking
out the window, and in the floor plan of the house (which I've told you)
the kitchen window overlook s the garden at the back of it.
In this stanza, Little George is forced to spend his summers
working in the garden -- while enviously watching the neighborhood
children. Because Little George describes their games as "mis
You seem to have "frozen up", HarryLiar. That's not a big deal, of
course; I realize that responding to a long post takes time: one often
gets interrupted, even in mid-sentence. I mentioned it only because you
and "Dr." NastyGoon have pointed to it, when I did it, as evidence that
I suffered from not just psychological but various neurological
diseases.
How autobiographical is your poem? Let's see.
In the poem "Little George" states that the house came in a box, and
that he helped his father assemble it, You had said that in real life,
your house came in a box, and that you helped your father assemble it.
Little George tells how he was made to use the back door, had to take
off his shoes (and things), and wait for permission to enter. In real
life, you had to use the back door, and remove your shoes before
entering as well. I don't recall whether you also had to wait for
permission.
True; in real life, the entire family removed their shoes on entering
the house, and that's a reason we used the back door (because it had a
landing where the shoes could be left. If I were writing an
autobiography, I'd mention it that way; but because I'm imagining a
fictional speaker's memories, I omitted that detail. As for needing to
have permission to enter; I recall a few times when I was chased back
outside, but it wasn't an everyday thing. Once again, I was not
recounting events as I remembered them, but events as how I'd imagine my
speaker remembering them.
You have also stated that the house in the poem is laid out exactly your >>> real life childhood house, and that you have intentionally chosen to
take the reader through this house room by room. You have also said
that you intentionally chose to present each room along with a
description of a (possibly abusive) memory associated with it.
Yes I did. I gave you the latter description in the very post you're
replying to. Since you've buried it, it may be a good idea to move it up
here:
S1 - the speaker revisits the house (after getting permission from
someone unspecified).
S2 - the speaker remembers his father building the house.
S3 - the speaker enters the back door, and remembers having to always
have had to use that door.
S4 - the speaker goes into the kitchen, and recalls having to wash
dishes.
S5 - the speaker looks out the kitchen window at the garden, and recalls >>>> having to work in it when he'd rather be playing.
S6 - the speaker goes into the living room, and recalls not being
allowed to sit wherever he chose.
S7 - the speaker thinks about his bedroom (but does not go there) and
remembers being sent there to be alone after dinner until bedtime.
S8 - the speaker continues to think about his bedroom, and remembers
having an early bedtime and being subject to corporal punishment.
S9 - the speaker wishes he could burn the house down.
The first room in Little George's house is the kitchen. Little George
associates this room with having to wash dishes, while looking out the
window and wishing that he was some other place. In real life, you were >>> also made to wash dishes. This is not uncommon. Most children 50 years >>> ago were given chores to perform. I had chores to do as well. The
difference is that I was paid a weekly allowance for doing them, and had >>> the option of quitting my "job" at my discretion.
Unlike you, I did not receive an allowance, and I was not able to walk
away and leave the dishes dirty when I wanted to do something else.
Unlike both you and Bob, I washed dishes twice a day with my sister (and
later with one of my step-nieces). That last is another detail I changed
for dramatic effect.
In spite of your claim that you were taking the reader on a tour of
Little George's house (which has the same floorplan as your real life
childhood home), the narrative jumps from the kitchen to the garden.
I'm guessing that the garden stanza originally came before the kitchen
one, but that you later rearranged the stanzas to present the supposed
"abuses" in order of severity (as you have recently stated). Little
George spends his summers working in the garden, all the while envious
of the neighborhood children who are free to play at their will. The
fact that Little George calls their games "mysterious" and laments that
he "never knew" them implies both that he had to spend the entire day
doing chores and that he was not allowed to join the other children in
their games.
It sounds like you're repeating yourself; but maybe it's worth making
the same points in return. I wasn't *always* working in the garden,
while my friends were always working - though that's how it seemed
sometimes when I was working and they were playing - so that's how I had
Bob remember it.
Was George Dance also forced to work in the garden all day/denied the
fun of playing with the other children? I don't know. I'm guessing
that he was, because many children had gardens that they tended every
day. I certainly did. I would spend an hour or so tending my garden
every morning -- along with my mother and siblings. I loved my garden
and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I was also allowed to play with
the local kids who would drop by on an almost daily basis.
That sounds like a little flowerbed. Suffice it to say, both my father's
garden and my own were produce gardens, where we grew virtually all our
own vegetables. So it was a much bigger task, which took me at least a
couple of hours a day (and pretty much every day when school was out);
and again, like you, I could not simply drop everything and go off to
play during that time. There was plenty of times though that my friends
were doing work and my sister and I were the ones playing; and even more
when we all had free time and could play together.
Little George's next stanza opens with the line "That room's all
changed" implying either that the garden is a room, or that he is taking >>> the reader on a walking tour of his childhood house. This appears to be >>> another problem caused by switching the kitchen and garden stanzas'
position in the narrative.
The "problem" seems to be caused by your either: (1) not realizing the
speaker could have been looking "outside" through a window; or (2) your
constant attempts, in your guise as literary critic, to find errors in
the poem. The garden stanza is deliberately s5 (the mid stanza of the
poem), for reasons I'll have to explain.
There are two stanzas where the D line is a rhymes perfectly with the
A-B lines; s5 and s9. The reason that the failure of the others to
rhyme, as I'm sure I've explained to you before, is to subliminally
reinforce the idea that Bob is having trouble completing his thoughts.
Whereas in s5 and s9 he does bring his thoughts to a conclusion; in s5
he realizes that (IHO) he's been deprived as a child, and in s9 he
realizes that he wants to be rid of those memories.
I'm assuming that it's the living room,
although Little George neither specifies nor gives us any other clue
than that it contains a chair on which he is forbidden to sit.
Actually, the room contains one chair in which Bob is allowed to sit.
But, yes, it's the living room. I don't know how things were in your
home, but in mine and most of the one's I've encountered, the living
room was where the family sat together. (In Britain it's actually called
the "sitting room").
IIRC,
George Dance stated that while he was also barred from using the living
room furniture, the parental description of boys as "filthy things" was
derived from the life of another boy that he knew.
There was in fact only one place for the children to sit in my family's
living room, though it was a couch (for all the children), not a
separate chair.
Last stop on the tour is the bedroom. Little George is sent there after >>> dinner every night where he feels as if he is trapped within a tomb --
alone and forced to pass the time quietly playing by himself. "Each
night" at 9pm, Little George was forced to turn out the lights,
Yes, I was, but "Each night" is a bit of an exaggeration; that was
actually each night in which I had school (or something equally
important) the next day. On weekends and in the summer, I could stay up
later, and go outside after dinner until dark, and that was all free
time. Once again, if I were relating an autobiography (which it looks
like you've forced me to do) I'd have mentioned those exceptions, but as
I was not recounting my memories but Bob's, I had him exaggerate.
and lie
face down in bed with his pajama pants pulled down and his bare behind
awaiting his father's belt. George Dance hasn't said that this bedtime
ritual occurred on a daily basis in real life, but has intimated that
the "spankings" (which he refused to call "whippings" even though the
blows were delivered with a belt) frequently took place.
Well, being "whipped" (to use your preferred term though there was no
whip involved) took place too often for my liking, but I certainly
wouldn't call it a "bedtime ritual" (which does make it sound like it
happened on some fixed schedule irrespective of how I behaved). And Bob
clearly states that that happened only "some nights".
So, pretty much the entire "flashback" portion of the poem was based on
real events from George Dance's childhood. Some of the events may have
been slightly exaggerated, or enhanced, for dramatic purposes, and one
item was interpolated from another boy's stories about his own
childhood.
No, I did not say I got the expression "boys can be such filthy things"
from another boy's account to me. IIRC, it was just something I read
somewhere. I did a lot of reading as a child and as a young adult, and a
lot of the speakers' "memories" and other thoughts use what I've read
(and simply imagined) as well as what I directly experienced.
This leaves the "modern" portions of the narrative which
frame the flashback portion.
I don't think you can separate the poem like that. Bob's actions, and
Bob's memories, are fully integrated - you cannot separate the memories
from the fact that Bob's remembering them.
In the modern portion, it is strongly
implied (by George Dance's own explanation) that the speaker is
receiving some form of psychiatric care, and is probably residing in a
mental hospital.
I thought that was an interesting touch from the beginning, though (as I
made it clear in previous explanations) there is no reason to think,
from the fact that Bob was in the house with permission, that he was in
a mental hospital or that he was under psychiatric care. His mental
state is obviously disturbed - as noted, he has difficulty staying on
one subject and drawing conclusions - but I think those could follow
from the situation (he's experiencing childhood memories that he'd
rather not) rather than his own mental state.
He has permission to leave the grounds during the day,
and (unrealistically) to visit his childhood home that is now occupied
by another family.
Yes, the idea that someone confined to a mental hospital would be given
a day pass to go off on a road trip by himself is very "unrealistic" and
(while I liked it being as possibility) it's not a very logical
possibility. I believe you went for it because you wanted to and went on
to claim that Bob broke into the house, and you had to get rid of the
idea that he had permission to be there.
"Grownup George" ends the poem by expressing his
wish that he would like to burn his father's house to the ground.
So Bob does. It's a very dramatic ending, which could make a reader
think that he was a psycho -- iff the reader had already decided he was
a psycho. Which is why I had Bob daydream about being able to buy the
house and burn it, rather than simply start looking for matches and
gasoline. As I said, I wanted to balance things and let the reader draw
her own conclusions.
The framing story, is obviously fictional insofar as real life George
Dance is not living in a mental institution, and is not (to the best of
my knowledge) undergoing psychiatric care.
As I say, it's impossible to separate the two. The Bob who's walking
through the house, and looking out the window, is the same Bob who's
remembering these things; and the fact that Bob's having those memories,
is the same fact as that he's remembering them. If you decided, from s1,
that he's escaped from a mental institution (which is what you meant by
claiming it's "unrealistic" for him to have got permission to visit the
house), then you'd go on to look for confirming evidence in s2-s8, which
is what it sounds like you did.
It is, however, reasonable
to conclude that the author thinks of his childhood home as *his
father's house*
Yes, of course it was *his father's house*, just as the home I grew up
in was my own father's house. He built it with his own hands; but even
if he'd just bought it or even rented it, it would still be his, the
place he provided for his family to live. I'd consider a child's refusal
to acknowledge that fact to be a sign of rivalry and resentment, a
refusal to give one's father due credit.
and that he still harbors some anger toward his father
(even though his father is presumed to be deceased).
Bob certainly has unresolved issues with his father, but "anger" (much
less the desire for revenge "De." NastyGoon attributed to him) is a
matter of interpretation. OTOH, whether Bob's father is dead or not is
not a matter of interpretation; it's clearly stated in the poem.
In short, the bulk of the narrative is based on real life memories from
its author's childhood.
All my poetry is "based" on my memories, but (as I've told you) my
memories include much more than direct experience). In this case, I
mainly used my own memories of my childhood because they worked. I
certainly had issues with my father as a teenager when I lived there,
and for a small time after I ceased to do so, and I wanted to make Bob's
issues no different from mine.
Why then all the fuss about my having called it "autobiographical"?
Because you not only repeatedly insist that it's "autobiographical" when
you've been told it wasn't, you try to draw conclusions about me from
it. (One particularly funny example of that, which I have to mention, is
a claim you made that I call you and "Dr." NastyGoon malicious trolls,
not because I perceive the two of you as malicious trolls, but because I
perceive you as "parent figures" and I'm calling you both trolls just to
somehow get revenge on my real parents. "Psychobabble", as I've said.)
It's a typical Straw Man argument intended to divert the discussion from >>> examining the psychological aspects of the narrative, and to falsely
represent an attempt to provide an in-depth analysis of the poem as a
personal attack upon himself.
Not at all. Seeing the poem as "autobiographical" allows you to present
your so-called analysis of Bob as an analysis of me, and try to justify
your own "attacks" on me. As you often do, want to label the poem
"autobiographical" (just as you want to call Bob "George") as if, a la
Orwell, the words you use somehow prove your arguments.
Good old paranoid, perpetually persecuted George.
Childish name calling noted ^^^
On Tue, 11 Feb 2025 17:11:19 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:28:12 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 14:12:44 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 20:15:36 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:If you don't have time, get your NastyGoon to search for it. In this
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, W.Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it >>>>>> has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one >>>>>> person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place >>>>>> to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the >>>>>> group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you >>>>>>> suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathologicalhttps://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems >>>>>>
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called >>>>>> this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I >>>>>> have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's >>>>>> memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
I haven't the time to go searching for the exact quote, but you had
initially maintained that it was "mostly autobiographical" or "mostly >>>>> based on your childhood," or similar words expressing the same thing. >>>>
case I have to call your bullshit. You claimed the poem was
"autobiographical", and I tried to explain to you the difference between >>>> creative literature and autobiography - repeatedly. You believe it's
autobiographical because you said it was autobiographical, and for no
other reason.
George, George, George... no autobiography is 100% accurate.
As I've told you before, I don't think the difference between creative
literature and autobiography is merely one of "accuracy." The difference
is that in the latter one is trying to be as accurate and comprehensive
as possible: to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth. Whereas in the former, one is selectively recreating an
experience, using experiences that reinforce the story.
Which has little to no bearing on one's reading a poem as as
psychoanalytical analysis of its author. An autobiography would
invariably be colored by its author's emotional feelings, and
selectively limited by their choices as to what to include, and how to present it if included.
The only difference is that in an autobiography, the author is
(supposedly) attempting to be unbiased, where as in creative literature,
the author is allowing his biases to take center stage.
Both provide
glimpses into the author as a person; and some would argue that creative literature provides a deeper glimpse as it is allowing the reader to
share in the author's emotional responses to their experiences (whereas
the former is merely relating said experiences, with the cold, clinical detachment of a reporter).
Any good psychologist will tell you that it's not so much the events
that happened to you, but your feelings about those events, that are important.
Your constant misrepresentation of the poem as an autobiography
(including misquoting me, as we've seen) indicates that you're convinced
that you just can't see that difference; you've got the idea in your
head that this is how I'd "interpret" the events of my childhood (not to
mention my young manhood).
As previously noted, I don't believe I've ever called it
"autobiographical" unless I was using it as shorthand for "semi-autobiographical" -- which I would have specified in the same
post. I realize that you don't understand the importance of context,
but there's really nothing I can do about that.
I call your poem "semi-autobiographical" or note that (as per your own statement) it was mostly based on your childhood. If you want to draw a distinction between "semi-autobiographical" and "creative literature
based on events from your childhood," go right ahead. But the
differences between the two are minimal.
"David Copperfield" is a highly fictionalized account of Charles
Dickens' childhood and young manhood. And his biographers, rightly,
refer to it when describing parallel incidents from his life. It is *because* "David Copperfield" is a fictionalized account of Dickens'
early life as seen through *his* eyes, to present *his* perception of
himself that it is so valuable a tool for discovering who Dickens really
was.
IOW: The more you've chosen to fictionalize, color, or otherwise alter
the event of your childhood, the more valuable your poem becomes as a
tool for psychoanalysis.
This is why your perception of Dr. NancyGene's and my analyses of your
poem strike you as personal attacks, whereas from my perspective the
*only* way to examine a semi-autobiographical poem on child abuse is
consider the speaker and the poet as being essentially the same
individual.
Well, no, HarryLiar, I "interpret" your comments on the poem, and "Dr."
NastyGoon's as personal attacks because you use them for personal
attacks.
And you wonder why we have diagnosed you as suffering from a persecution complex!
A good example is your opening paragraph that I quoted, where
you use your account of the poem, plus your misinterpretation of
something else I'd said, to call me a "pathological liar".
No, George. I call you a pathological liar because you have shown
yourself to be one time and time again. "Pathological liar" is a
personality characteristic that one accepts as a "given" when opening
any psychoanalytical discussion on you.
The more you
try to pretend comments like that that are not personal attacks, but
just comments on a poem, the harder it is to believe anything you say.
I can't make you believe it, George. Most patients experience an
initial sense of distrust regarding their analyst; coupled with a sense
of resistance and denial. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to
gain a patient's trust in an online forum -- especially when the patient
is suffering from a persecution complex with accompanying feelings of paranoia.
In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its >>> author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or
events might have inspired it.
That sounds like another contradiction to me. Previously you said that
"every" character in a novel represents an aspect of the author, and now
you admit that at least some are actually inspired by other people.
I've admitted no such thing. I clearly restated my opinion that "all of
the characters in any author's fictional novel are going to represent
some aspect of the author."
And again, I can only repeat that the more a poem utilizes creative imagination in its retelling of past events from your life, the more
valuable it becomes as a tool for understanding your psyche.
Despite your claims of taking the reader through Little George's home
(with the same floor plan as its real life counterpart) on a
room-by-room basis, you jump from the kitchen to the garden.
Your insistence on calling the speaker "George" is annoying (although it
is preferable to the "Boy George" nickname you previously borrowed for
him him and then insisted on calling me). I think you're just playing
with words to blur the very distinction between speaker and writer that
I'm trying to make with you. So I'm going to start calling him "Bob"
instead.
In our previous sessions, we had agreed on referring to the speaker as "George" when referring to him in his capacity as narrator (and
including the framing stanzas), and as "Little George" when referring to
the 6-year old whose story his is recalling.
It's telling how you remember the humorous use of "Boy George," but fail
to recollect our resolution to your objections.
It's even more telling
that you are "going to start calling him 'Bob'" as if in retaliation for
what you perceive to be an ongoing attack.
I am
guessing that you'd originally written the garden stanza to come first
within the body of the narrative, but had later switched it with the
kitchen stanza based on the severity of the (potentially perceived)
abuses.
No, you guessed wrong again; the stanzas were not switched. The poem
switches from the kitchen to the garden because the speaker is looking
out the window, and in the floor plan of the house (which I've told you)
the kitchen window overlook s the garden at the back of it.
That's structurally poor, and even more poorly expressed. You should
start with the garden and work your way into the house. That's just a
little constructive criticism, and not a personal attack.
In this stanza, Little George is forced to spend his summers
working in the garden -- while enviously watching the neighborhood
children. Because Little George describes their games as "mis
You seem to have "frozen up", HarryLiar. That's not a big deal, of
course; I realize that responding to a long post takes time: one often
gets interrupted, even in mid-sentence. I mentioned it only because you
and "Dr." NastyGoon have pointed to it, when I did it, as evidence that
I suffered from not just psychological but various neurological
diseases.
In this case it's a problem related to my having to access NovaBBS on my laptop.
I was drawing attention to Little George's description of the games as "mysterious" and his admission that he "never knew" what these mysteries were. Since the games forever remained cloaked in mystery, it is
obvious that Little George was employed in chores all day long. He had
no free time to play with the other children (in which case their games
would no longer be mysteries to him).
How autobiographical is your poem? Let's see.
On Wed, 12 Feb 2025 0:44:06 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Tue, 11 Feb 2025 17:11:19 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:28:12 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 14:12:44 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 20:15:36 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:If you don't have time, get your NastyGoon to search for it. In this >>>>> case I have to call your bullshit. You claimed the poem was
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, W.Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one >>>>>>> person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place >>>>>>> to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the >>>>>>> group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you >>>>>>>> suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathologicalhttps://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems >>>>>>>
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called >>>>>>> this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I >>>>>>> have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's >>>>>>> memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to >>>>>>> support his lie.
I haven't the time to go searching for the exact quote, but you had >>>>>> initially maintained that it was "mostly autobiographical" or "mostly >>>>>> based on your childhood," or similar words expressing the same thing. >>>>>
"autobiographical", and I tried to explain to you the difference between >>>>> creative literature and autobiography - repeatedly. You believe it's >>>>> autobiographical because you said it was autobiographical, and for no >>>>> other reason.
George, George, George... no autobiography is 100% accurate.
As I've told you before, I don't think the difference between creative
literature and autobiography is merely one of "accuracy." The difference >>> is that in the latter one is trying to be as accurate and comprehensive
as possible: to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth. Whereas in the former, one is selectively recreating an
experience, using experiences that reinforce the story.
Which has little to no bearing on one's reading a poem as as
psychoanalytical analysis of its author. An autobiography would
invariably be colored by its author's emotional feelings, and
selectively limited by their choices as to what to include, and how to
present it if included.
Df course a biographer is going to be selective; who would want to read
a biography that included an account of every dump their subject took in
his life? The difference is that a biographer limits (or should limit)
what they include to what actually happened to the subject, while a
creative work (which has a made-up subject (has no such restraint).
The only difference is that in an autobiography, the author is
(supposedly) attempting to be unbiased, where as in creative literature,
the author is allowing his biases to take center stage.
No, that's not a difference. Biographies (including autobiographies) can reflect their author's prejudices; one wouldn't expect a biography of
Hitler or Amin to be "unbiased" or try for equal balance. The
difference, to repeat, is that a biographer is (or should be) limited to real, verifiable events - it's an account of what really happened -
whereas a work of creative literature has no such restraint.
Both provide
glimpses into the author as a person; and some would argue that creative
literature provides a deeper glimpse as it is allowing the reader to
share in the author's emotional responses to their experiences (whereas
the former is merely relating said experiences, with the cold, clinical
detachment of a reporter).
Sure, every literary work provides some glimpse into the author. That
does not mean that every literary work is a "biography" of someone.
Any good psychologist will tell you that it's not so much the events
that happened to you, but your feelings about those events, that are
important.
Yes, it's possible to get a glimpse of an author's feelings about a
subject from what they right about it. That does not mean, as you seem
to think it means, that every thought or feeling expressed in a creative
work is a thought or feeling shared by the author.
Take the
Fountainhead, for instance, since it's a book that we both claim to be familiar with - it's reasonable to think that some of the characters' thoughts and feelings - Roark, Dominique, even Wynand - are expressing
Rand's own thoughts and feelings. It is not reasonable to suggest (as
you do) that all the characters - everyone from Ellsworth Toohey to
Pasquale Orsini - are expressing Rand's own thoughts and feelings.
Your constant misrepresentation of the poem as an autobiography
(including misquoting me, as we've seen) indicates that you're convinced >>> that you just can't see that difference; you've got the idea in your
head that this is how I'd "interpret" the events of my childhood (not to >>> mention my young manhood).
As previously noted, I don't believe I've ever called it
"autobiographical" unless I was using it as shorthand for
"semi-autobiographical" -- which I would have specified in the same
post. I realize that you don't understand the importance of context,
but there's really nothing I can do about that.
I call your poem "semi-autobiographical" or note that (as per your own
statement) it was mostly based on your childhood. If you want to draw a
distinction between "semi-autobiographical" and "creative literature
based on events from your childhood," go right ahead. But the
differences between the two are minimal.
"Semi-autobiographical" sounds like a loosey-goosey term that is tautologicaly true; on your account, every piece of writing is "semi-autobiographical". It's useless as a concept; concepts are meant
to distinguish between different things, not to blur them all together
in one big "semi-autobiographical" stewpot.
"David Copperfield" is a highly fictionalized account of Charles
Dickens' childhood and young manhood. And his biographers, rightly,
refer to it when describing parallel incidents from his life. It is
*because* "David Copperfield" is a fictionalized account of Dickens'
early life as seen through *his* eyes, to present *his* perception of
himself that it is so valuable a tool for discovering who Dickens really
was.
First off, biographers of Dickens do not simply conclude that the events
of David Copperfield happened to Dickens simply by doing a
"psychoanalysis" of the book - they actually do some work, and research
the details of Dickens's own life to find parallels with the events of
the novel.
Second, I'm not aware of any real or pretend Dickens scholar,
besides you, has ever suggested that every character in David
Copperfield (from clara to Murdstone to the keeper) is really an
"aspect" of Charles Dickens.
IOW: The more you've chosen to fictionalize, color, or otherwise alter
the event of your childhood, the more valuable your poem becomes as a
tool for psychoanalysis.
This is why your perception of Dr. NancyGene's and my analyses of your >>>> poem strike you as personal attacks, whereas from my perspective the
*only* way to examine a semi-autobiographical poem on child abuse is
consider the speaker and the poet as being essentially the same
individual.
Well, no, HarryLiar, I "interpret" your comments on the poem, and "Dr."
NastyGoon's as personal attacks because you use them for personal
attacks.
And you wonder why we have diagnosed you as suffering from a persecution
complex!
A good example is your opening paragraph that I quoted, where
you use your account of the poem, plus your misinterpretation of
something else I'd said, to call me a "pathological liar".
No, George. I call you a pathological liar because you have shown
yourself to be one time and time again. "Pathological liar" is a
personality characteristic that one accepts as a "given" when opening
any psychoanalytical discussion on you.
The more you
try to pretend comments like that that are not personal attacks, but
just comments on a poem, the harder it is to believe anything you say.
I can't make you believe it, George. Most patients experience an
initial sense of distrust regarding their analyst; coupled with a sense
of resistance and denial. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to
gain a patient's trust in an online forum -- especially when the patient
is suffering from a persecution complex with accompanying feelings of
paranoia.
In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate >>>> the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are >>>> going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its >>>> author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or
events might have inspired it.
That sounds like another contradiction to me. Previously you said that
"every" character in a novel represents an aspect of the author, and now >>> you admit that at least some are actually inspired by other people.
I've admitted no such thing. I clearly restated my opinion that "all of
the characters in any author's fictional novel are going to represent
some aspect of the author."
And you also clearly restated that authors can create imaginary,
characters using observation and imagination. Make up your mind: is an
author restricted to writing about himself, or can he write about people
and events that have nothing to do with him?
And again, I can only repeat that the more a poem utilizes creative
imagination in its retelling of past events from your life, the more
valuable it becomes as a tool for understanding your psyche.
That sounds similar to your claim that, the more a real or pretend
patient does not agree with a real or pretend "analyst's" opinions, that
only proves the analyst's opinions are correct, because it's evidence
that the patient is repressing "the truth" and is in "denial." There's
no arguing with someone who thinks it's true by definition that their
every opinion is "the unvarnished truth", and no point in trying.
<snip diversion about Sigmund Freud>
Despite your claims of taking the reader through Little George's home
(with the same floor plan as its real life counterpart) on a
room-by-room basis, you jump from the kitchen to the garden.
Your insistence on calling the speaker "George" is annoying (although it >>> is preferable to the "Boy George" nickname you previously borrowed for
him him and then insisted on calling me). I think you're just playing
with words to blur the very distinction between speaker and writer that
I'm trying to make with you. So I'm going to start calling him "Bob"
instead.
In our previous sessions, we had agreed on referring to the speaker as
"George" when referring to him in his capacity as narrator (and
including the framing stanzas), and as "Little George" when referring to
the 6-year old whose story his is recalling.
That claim sounds as absurd as your previous claim that I called the
poem "autobiographical." I may have used your terms like "Boy George" or "Little George" (in scare quotes) because you were using them. But I
never agreed to call the speaker "George" much less "George Dance" as
you've been doing in this thread. The only reason to use those names is
as a linguistic trick, to try to subliminally blur the distinction and differences between the speaker (Bob) and the author (myself).
It's telling how you remember the humorous use of "Boy George," but fail
to recollect our resolution to your objections.
One thing I keep reminding you, "Dr." Peabrain, is that I do not
"recollect" things that never happened. That is different from our
constantly failing to remember events that did happen, so please get out
of your habit of thinking that they're in any way similar.
It's even more telling
that you are "going to start calling him 'Bob'" as if in retaliation for
what you perceive to be an ongoing attack.
I'm calling him "Bob" simply so that you cannot confuse anyone into
thinking that I am Bob. Whereas if we call him "George Dance" that is confusing, since I am George Dance.
I am
guessing that you'd originally written the garden stanza to come first >>>> within the body of the narrative, but had later switched it with the
kitchen stanza based on the severity of the (potentially perceived)
abuses.
No, you guessed wrong again; the stanzas were not switched. The poem
switches from the kitchen to the garden because the speaker is looking
out the window, and in the floor plan of the house (which I've told you) >>> the kitchen window overlook s the garden at the back of it.
That's structurally poor, and even more poorly expressed. You should
start with the garden and work your way into the house. That's just a
little constructive criticism, and not a personal attack.
Noted, and dismissed. Bob is in the kitchen, looking out the window, and seeing the garden. The poem clearly says that he's looking out the
window and then that he's seeing the garden. There's no reason that has
to be spelled out further, even for the dumbest reader.
In this stanza, Little George is forced to spend his summers
working in the garden -- while enviously watching the neighborhood
children. Because Little George describes their games as "mis
You seem to have "frozen up", HarryLiar. That's not a big deal, of
course; I realize that responding to a long post takes time: one often
gets interrupted, even in mid-sentence. I mentioned it only because you
and "Dr." NastyGoon have pointed to it, when I did it, as evidence that
I suffered from not just psychological but various neurological
diseases.
In this case it's a problem related to my having to access NovaBBS on my
laptop.
No one cares what really happened to you "in this case"; which is why I
don't waste the reader's time with such explanations when I'm
interrupted when writing something. I don't because those are just
diversions (or deflections, as we call them here) that clutter up a discussion, not add to it. So let's snip that, too:
I was drawing attention to Little George's description of the games as
"mysterious" and his admission that he "never knew" what these mysteries
were. Since the games forever remained cloaked in mystery, it is
obvious that Little George was employed in chores all day long. He had
no free time to play with the other children (in which case their games
would no longer be mysteries to him).
Sure, Bob "never knew" some games my neighbor children played; but
that's no reason to think he never played with the other children. He
clearly calls them his "friends" - why would he think of them as friends
if he never even spent any time with them?
How autobiographical is your poem? Let's see.
I believe this is where you start repeating yourself, most likely by
just pasting in something you previously wrote; so it's a good place to
snip, since this is already too long.
snip
That's just like a troll, you try to call the other guy a troll.
That's just like a troll, you try to call the other guy a troll.
On Tue, 11 Feb 2025 15:32:43 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Tue, 11 Feb 2025 5:24:54 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it >>>> has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one >>>> person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place >>>> to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the >>>> group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems >>>>
Why do you lie so much, George?No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was >>>>>> pathological, lying, or
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.) >>>>>>
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological >>>>> obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called >>>> this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I >>>> have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's >>>> memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the
psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker
doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house >>>> at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually >>>> had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to >>>> use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being >>>> allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at >>>> night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none >>>> of them were commonly considered abusive.
I grew up in that era, very different ideas on punishing children in
those years.
Here I am with my family on Christmas 1967:
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1MwsSqpqfU/
By the 1960s it was becoming increasingly frowned upon to beat a child
with a belt. But be that as it may.
Beatings of that sort continued on through the 1970s, all through my
high school years.
I think by the 1980s this was phased out, since neither of my children
were ever punished in this way in school.
On Sun, 16 Feb 2025 14:15:18 +0000, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
[email protected] (W.Dockery) wrote in
news:[email protected]:
That's just like a troll, you try to call the other guy a troll.
I'm sure glad you have never called anyone a troll, that would make
you look stupid.
I thought you were proud of being a troll, Cujo?
On Sat, 22 Feb 2025 18:18:42 +0000, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
[email protected]d (Will-Dockery) wrote in
news:[email protected]:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
[email protected] (W.Dockery) wrote in
news:[email protected]:
On Sun, 16 Feb 2025 14:15:18 +0000, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
[email protected] (W.Dockery) wrote in
news:[email protected]:
That's just like a troll, you try to call the other guy a troll.
I'm sure glad you have never called anyone a troll, that would
make you look stupid.
I thought you were proud of being a troll, Cujo?
Don't try to change the subject. The topic is
The topic of this thread is the George Dance poem , Cujo.
Try to keep up.
You were the one who changed to being about trolls, dumbfuck. Does it
hurt to be that embarassingly stupid or are you used to it?
PS: If there's a vote, my ballot is for the latter, Douchebag Willie.
Wrong, Cujo, I changed nothing in this thread.
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
[email protected] (Will Dockery) wrote innews:[email protected]:
news:[email protected]:
On Sun, 16 Feb 2025 14:15:18 +0000, Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
[email protected] (Will Dockery) wrote in
That's just like a troll, you try to call the other guy a troll.
I'm sure glad you have never called anyone a troll, that would make
you look stupid.
I thought you were proud of being a troll, Cujo?
Don't try to change the subject
The subject is your trolling right now, Cujo.
On Wed, 12 Feb 2025 16:05:00 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Wed, 12 Feb 2025 15:37:35 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
No, I've discussed dozens of poems and poets here over more than two >>>>> decades.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
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote: >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your
pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.)
No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the
psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker
doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he
wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events
were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the
poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you,
that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its
author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or
events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a
dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be
analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average
reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your
own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical
reading."
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
I'm here for the poetry.
You're only here to lie and misrepresent, Harry.
While I've been discussing the poetry of Robert Creeley for a
week now.
You've made very few attempts to discuss anyone's poetry over the years >>>>>
I challenged you to pick a Bukowski
poem of you choice, and write at least one paragraph
I posted that months ago, Harry.
Look it up.
1) I'm not going to search though 1,000s of Usenet threads
I've bumped it to the top for you several times, Pendragon.
Apparently you didn't want to see it because it proves you wrong and we
all know you're not good with being proven wrong.
On Mon, 24 Feb 2025 19:16:33 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 24 Feb 2025 18:24:25 +0000, Will-Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:that I was
HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it >>>>> has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one >>>>> person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place >>>>> to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the >>>>> group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that your >>>>> pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.)
No, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!)
youpathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses
ways. Isuffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological >>>>> obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above.
https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems >>>>>
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called >>>>> this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many
thehave distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's >>>>> memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an
autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to
support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning >>>>> (His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside
speakerpsychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced >>>>> his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the
separatedoesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he >>>>> wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house >>>>> at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually >>>>> had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect, >>>>> from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to >>>>> use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing
household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being >>>>> allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at >>>>> night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment. >>>>> Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the >>>>> father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events >>>>> were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none >>>>> of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the
poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you, >>>>> that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully
yourthe two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are >>>>> going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its >>>>> author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or
events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a
dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be
analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average
reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on
own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical
reading."
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
I'm here for the poetry.
You're only here to lie and misrepresent, Harry.
While I've been discussing the poetry of Robert Creeley for a
week now.
You've made very few attempts to discuss anyone's poetry over the years >>>>>
No, I've discussed dozens of poems and poets here over more than two >>>>> decades.
I challenged you to pick a Bukowski
poem of you choice, and write at least one paragraph
I posted that months ago, Harry.
Look it up.
1) I'm not going to search though 1,000s of Usenet threads
I've bumped it to the top for you several times, Pendragon.
Apparently you didn't want to see it because it proves you wrong and we >>>>> all know you're not good with being proven wrong.
I don't open 99% of your
--
Well, that thread you should open rather than whining endlessly about
it.
The thread is easy to spot, I think the title is:
Bukowski.
I scrolled through the topics that are currently showing up and found
one titled: "Re: Charles Bukowski."
It quotes someone posting under the Username of "baloney" posting about
how he and Barfly had a "pirate" thing going on, then proceeds to quote
a Jimmy Buffett song.
I'm assuming that "baloney" is you.
"baloney" then says:
"It probably goes without saying that Buk's one of my favorites, though
his name hasn't come up much lately (the last time was prbably when I
compared Chuck's "shock" style to Buk)... Dale Houstman gave me a very
memorable paperback book blurb quote when he wrote that I was "...a
better poet than Bukowski..." or something similar.
Anyhow, I don't have the book handy and no time to Google (a few hours
of sailboat repair await today) but "Boarding House Madrigals" is the
poetry book of Buk's I'd name as a favorite out of the dozens out
there, containing many favorites which were fun to read aloud when the
time came to wake up the audience. The one where Buk writes
"...My old lady wouldn't let me sleep..." a few more lines "...so I
killed her."
and the one where he wakes up from a drunken night and finds his
friend with his big toes in his old lady's... well, you can guess
where, or know the poem already... I might look these up later, if
they're online somewhere, and post them here... great stuff."
This is *not* a critical analysis of one of Bukowski's poems
It is definitely poetry commentary, which is what we do here, Harry.
On Sun, 16 Feb 2025 8:50:21 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sat, 15 Feb 2025 11:02:16 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Wed, 12 Feb 2025 0:44:06 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Tue, 11 Feb 2025 17:11:19 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:28:12 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 14:12:44 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 20:15:36 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:If you don't have time, get your NastyGoon to search for it. In this >>>>>>> case I have to call your bullshit. You claimed the poem was
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, W.Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>>>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you >>>>>>>>>> suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above. >>>>>>>>> https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>>>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an >>>>>>>>> autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to >>>>>>>>> support his lie.
I haven't the time to go searching for the exact quote, but you had >>>>>>>> initially maintained that it was "mostly autobiographical" or "mostly >>>>>>>> based on your childhood," or similar words expressing the same thing. >>>>>>>
"autobiographical", and I tried to explain to you the difference between
creative literature and autobiography - repeatedly. You believe it's >>>>>>> autobiographical because you said it was autobiographical, and for no >>>>>>> other reason.
George, George, George... no autobiography is 100% accurate.
As I've told you before, I don't think the difference between creative >>>>> literature and autobiography is merely one of "accuracy." The difference >>>>> is that in the latter one is trying to be as accurate and comprehensive >>>>> as possible: to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the >>>>> truth. Whereas in the former, one is selectively recreating an
experience, using experiences that reinforce the story.
Which has little to no bearing on one's reading a poem as as
psychoanalytical analysis of its author. An autobiography would
invariably be colored by its author's emotional feelings, and
selectively limited by their choices as to what to include, and how to >>>> present it if included.
Df course a biographer is going to be selective; who would want to read
a biography that included an account of every dump their subject took in >>> his life? The difference is that a biographer limits (or should limit)
what they include to what actually happened to the subject, while a
creative work (which has a made-up subject (has no such restraint).
You're trying to change the terms, in order to change the meanings,
George.
How many times do I have to tell you that high school debate team
tactics are not going to work here?
You have stated, repeatedly, that you poem was based for the most part
on your own childhood. The unnamed narrator may not be George Dance,
but the events he is describing in the flashback portion of the poem are
similar to your own childhood experiences.
Your poem is, therefore, at least semi-autobiographical.
A semi-autobiographical poem can still contain purely fictional elements
(such as the narrator's psychiatric care, his revisiting his childhood
home, etc.), but it is much more grounded in reality than your
description of "creative fiction," which "has a made-up subject" and "no
such restraint (as having to limit itself to what really happened to its
subject).
The only difference is that in an autobiography, the author is
(supposedly) attempting to be unbiased, where as in creative literature, >>>> the author is allowing his biases to take center stage.
No, that's not a difference. Biographies (including autobiographies) can >>> reflect their author's prejudices; one wouldn't expect a biography of
Hitler or Amin to be "unbiased" or try for equal balance. The
difference, to repeat, is that a biographer is (or should be) limited to >>> real, verifiable events - it's an account of what really happened -
whereas a work of creative literature has no such restraint.
But I am not calling your poem autobiographical, George. I am calling
it "semi-autobiographical." There is a difference between the two, as
well. An autobiographical poem would have to be based entirely on fact.
A semi-autobiographical poem would only have to be partially based on
fact. Since your poem is partially based on fact, it is a
semi-autobiographical work.
Both provide
glimpses into the author as a person; and some would argue that creative >>>> literature provides a deeper glimpse as it is allowing the reader to
share in the author's emotional responses to their experiences (whereas >>>> the former is merely relating said experiences, with the cold, clinical >>>> detachment of a reporter).
Sure, every literary work provides some glimpse into the author. That
does not mean that every literary work is a "biography" of someone.
I haven't even so much as hinted that it would.
I'm saying that any fictional work is going to be partially
*autobiographical.* "The Simple Man" is a fictional story that I wrote
that is based on a dream that I had. Since I had the dream, the story
provides the reader with a glimpse into my subconscious. "Beyond the
Veil" is also partially autobiographical, in that the speaker's
drug-induced hallucinations are based upon my own. Both stories are
also highly fictional, and are about fictional characters... but both
stories also contain autobiographical elements.
Any good psychologist will tell you that it's not so much the events
that happened to you, but your feelings about those events, that are
important.
Yes, it's possible to get a glimpse of an author's feelings about a
subject from what they right about it. That does not mean, as you seem
to think it means, that every thought or feeling expressed in a creative >>> work is a thought or feeling shared by the author.
I notice you have a tendency to take *every* statement that a say and
twist it into an absolute. This is another tactic from High School
Debate Team 101.
I have never said that *every* thought or feeling expressed in a
creative work is a thought or feeling shared by its author. I said that
*some* of them are.
Take the
Fountainhead, for instance, since it's a book that we both claim to be
familiar with - it's reasonable to think that some of the characters'
thoughts and feelings - Roark, Dominique, even Wynand - are expressing
Rand's own thoughts and feelings. It is not reasonable to suggest (as
you do) that all the characters - everyone from Ellsworth Toohey to
Pasquale Orsini - are expressing Rand's own thoughts and feelings.
And, again, I have never made any such absolute claim.
I should also like to point out that Rand's book was written to express
her philosophy of Objectivism. As such, it would necessarily contain
characters whose personal philosophies contrast with her own.
When Rand creates a character like Toohey, he is meant to be the
embodiment of everything that she hates about Communism. She is using
him to pit Communism against Objectivism. Toohey isn't a character in
this regard, but a counter argument to her philosophy (a Straw Man
argument, as he is presented in a negative light).
However, one could argue that Rand's decision to use such a repulsive
character as Toohey to represent Communism shows how thoroughly she
detested that social philosophy and all those who supported it. In that
sense, even Toohey can tell us something about Rand.
Rand has said that Dominique Francon is based partially on herself ("in
a bad mood"). Any psychological examination of "The Fountainhead" would
have to focus on Dominique and her relationships with the various male
characters.
But a book of philosophical fiction is hardly the best example for one
to use. Philosophy is an intellectual art (a product of the ego),
whereas creative fiction stems at least partially from the subconscious.
Your constant misrepresentation of the poem as an autobiography
(including misquoting me, as we've seen) indicates that you're convinced >>>>> that you just can't see that difference; you've got the idea in your >>>>> head that this is how I'd "interpret" the events of my childhood (not to >>>>> mention my young manhood).
As previously noted, I don't believe I've ever called it
"autobiographical" unless I was using it as shorthand for
"semi-autobiographical" -- which I would have specified in the same
post. I realize that you don't understand the importance of context,
but there's really nothing I can do about that.
I call your poem "semi-autobiographical" or note that (as per your own >>>> statement) it was mostly based on your childhood. If you want to draw a >>>> distinction between "semi-autobiographical" and "creative literature
based on events from your childhood," go right ahead. But the
differences between the two are minimal.
"Semi-autobiographical" sounds like a loosey-goosey term that is
tautologicaly true; on your account, every piece of writing is
"semi-autobiographical". It's useless as a concept; concepts are meant
to distinguish between different things, not to blur them all together
in one big "semi-autobiographical" stewpot.
"Semi-autobiographical" means partially based on the author's life. It
is not "loosey-goosey" in any way. It is either partially based on
their life, or it is not. "My Father's House" is partially based on
your childhood. "The Hobbit" is not based on Tolkien's (although there
may be semi-autobiographical elements within the narrative, the book
itself is not semi-autobiographical).
I hope that isn't too complicated for you to grasp (as you seem unable
to grasp any concept that doesn't limit itself to black and white,
either/or terms).
"Semi-autobiographic" means partially based on the author's life.
A fictional book is not based on the author's life, but could contain
semi-autobiographic elements.
"David Copperfield" is a highly fictionalized account of Charles
Dickens' childhood and young manhood. And his biographers, rightly,
refer to it when describing parallel incidents from his life. It is
*because* "David Copperfield" is a fictionalized account of Dickens'
early life as seen through *his* eyes, to present *his* perception of
himself that it is so valuable a tool for discovering who Dickens really >>>> was.
First off, biographers of Dickens do not simply conclude that the events >>> of David Copperfield happened to Dickens simply by doing a
"psychoanalysis" of the book - they actually do some work, and research
the details of Dickens's own life to find parallels with the events of
the novel.
That's right, George. I never implied it was otherwise.
Second, I'm not aware of any real or pretend Dickens scholar,
besides you, has ever suggested that every character in David
Copperfield (from clara to Murdstone to the keeper) is really an
"aspect" of Charles Dickens.
Then I suggest that you read a little more. Clara and Murdstone were
based upon people from Dickens' life (Clara was based on his
housekeeper, and Dickens' stepfather was named George Murdstone). His
depictions of them represent his feelings toward the individuals they
are based on.
IOW: The more you've chosen to fictionalize, color, or otherwise alter >>>> the event of your childhood, the more valuable your poem becomes as a
tool for psychoanalysis.
This is why your perception of Dr. NancyGene's and my analyses of your >>>>>> poem strike you as personal attacks, whereas from my perspective the >>>>>> *only* way to examine a semi-autobiographical poem on child abuse is >>>>>> consider the speaker and the poet as being essentially the same
individual.
Well, no, HarryLiar, I "interpret" your comments on the poem, and "Dr." >>>>> NastyGoon's as personal attacks because you use them for personal
attacks.
And you wonder why we have diagnosed you as suffering from a persecution >>>> complex!
A good example is your opening paragraph that I quoted, where
you use your account of the poem, plus your misinterpretation of
something else I'd said, to call me a "pathological liar".
No, George. I call you a pathological liar because you have shown
yourself to be one time and time again. "Pathological liar" is a
personality characteristic that one accepts as a "given" when opening
any psychoanalytical discussion on you.
The more youI can't make you believe it, George. Most patients experience an
try to pretend comments like that that are not personal attacks, but >>>>> just comments on a poem, the harder it is to believe anything you say. >>>>
initial sense of distrust regarding their analyst; coupled with a sense >>>> of resistance and denial. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to >>>> gain a patient's trust in an online forum -- especially when the patient >>>> is suffering from a persecution complex with accompanying feelings of
paranoia.
In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate >>>>>> the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are >>>>>> going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its >>>>>> author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or >>>>>> events might have inspired it.
That sounds like another contradiction to me. Previously you said that >>>>> "every" character in a novel represents an aspect of the author, and now >>>>> you admit that at least some are actually inspired by other people.
I've admitted no such thing. I clearly restated my opinion that "all of >>>> the characters in any author's fictional novel are going to represent
some aspect of the author."
And you also clearly restated that authors can create imaginary,
characters using observation and imagination. Make up your mind: is an
author restricted to writing about himself, or can he write about people >>> and events that have nothing to do with him?
It isn't an either-or situation, George. Reality is more complicated
than that.
Perhaps this will help you to understand: It has been pointed out that
no purely fantastical creatures, places, or things have ever been
depicted in fiction (or in dreams, etc.). It has further been posited
that purely fantastic beings are *beyond the capability* of the human
mind.
For instance, a unicorn is a cross between a horse (or a goat) and an
antelope. A hobbit is pretty much a short human with hairy feet.
Chitty-chitty-bang-bang is an anthropomorphic car that can fly. Every
fantastic or supernatural thing humans have ever imagined is simply a
cross between two or more already existing things.
So, yes. I writer can use his imagination to create a fictional
character or plot -- but everything about the character and plot are
going to be drawn from things that the writer has already experienced
(or read about).
As a horror writer, some of my characters do some pretty terrible
things. These are things that I have never done, and have no plans of
ever doing. Some are fantasies of things that *a part of me* would like
to do; others are things that I find absolutely appalling. Both are
glimpses into my psyche (I fantasize about A, I deplore B).
And again, I can only repeat that the more a poem utilizes creative
imagination in its retelling of past events from your life, the more
valuable it becomes as a tool for understanding your psyche.
That sounds similar to your claim that, the more a real or pretend
patient does not agree with a real or pretend "analyst's" opinions, that >>> only proves the analyst's opinions are correct, because it's evidence
that the patient is repressing "the truth" and is in "denial." There's
no arguing with someone who thinks it's true by definition that their
every opinion is "the unvarnished truth", and no point in trying.
I have never said such a thing, George. A patient can certainly be in
denial, but that doesn't mean that *every* point of disagreement with
his psychologist is an example of denial. You are trying to make
another black and white absolute out of the extremely complex science of
psychology.
<snip diversion about Sigmund Freud>
Despite your claims of taking the reader through Little George's home >>>>>> (with the same floor plan as its real life counterpart) on a
room-by-room basis, you jump from the kitchen to the garden.
Your insistence on calling the speaker "George" is annoying (although it >>>>> is preferable to the "Boy George" nickname you previously borrowed for >>>>> him him and then insisted on calling me). I think you're just playing >>>>> with words to blur the very distinction between speaker and writer that >>>>> I'm trying to make with you. So I'm going to start calling him "Bob" >>>>> instead.
In our previous sessions, we had agreed on referring to the speaker as >>>> "George" when referring to him in his capacity as narrator (and
including the framing stanzas), and as "Little George" when referring to >>>> the 6-year old whose story his is recalling.
That claim sounds as absurd as your previous claim that I called the
poem "autobiographical." I may have used your terms like "Boy George" or >>> "Little George" (in scare quotes) because you were using them. But I
never agreed to call the speaker "George" much less "George Dance" as
you've been doing in this thread. The only reason to use those names is
as a linguistic trick, to try to subliminally blur the distinction and
differences between the speaker (Bob) and the author (myself).
If you wish your speaker to be named "Bob," I suggest that you rewrite
your poem and provide him with that name.
And, again, I am not calling your poem "autobiographical," but
"semi-autobiographical." Of course the latter is an offshoot of the
former, so it would be permissible to refer to it as "autobiographical"
in passing; but technically, it is a "semi-autobiographical" work.
For analytical purposes, I have chosen to approach the poem as if it
were a work of its author's subconscious (much like a dreamwork). Since
its author is named "George," I am referring to its narrator by that
name. This is fitting, as by examining the narrator, I am examining the
author. "Boy George" (which you find offensive) and "Little George"
(which you find less so) are used to distinguish the child from the
"flashback" stanzas from the adult narrator.
There is no "linguistic trick, to try to subliminally blur" anything,
paranoid George.
I was psychoanalyzing your poem, and couched it in precisely the same
terminology as I would have used if I had been psychoanalyzing one of
your dreams.
It's telling how you remember the humorous use of "Boy George," but fail >>>> to recollect our resolution to your objections.
One thing I keep reminding you, "Dr." Peabrain, is that I do not
"recollect" things that never happened. That is different from our
constantly failing to remember events that did happen, so please get out >>> of your habit of thinking that they're in any way similar.
There are numerous instances in the archives where *you* referred to the
character as "Little George." That in itself entails your participation
in the use of that name.
It's even more telling
that you are "going to start calling him 'Bob'" as if in retaliation for >>>> what you perceive to be an ongoing attack.
I'm calling him "Bob" simply so that you cannot confuse anyone into
thinking that I am Bob. Whereas if we call him "George Dance" that is
confusing, since I am George Dance.
You can call him whatever you like. However, I am psychoanalyzing
George Dance -- not "Bob." And, to keep that point clear, I shall
continue to use your name.
I am
guessing that you'd originally written the garden stanza to come first >>>>>> within the body of the narrative, but had later switched it with the >>>>>> kitchen stanza based on the severity of the (potentially perceived) >>>>>> abuses.
No, you guessed wrong again; the stanzas were not switched. The poem >>>>> switches from the kitchen to the garden because the speaker is looking >>>>> out the window, and in the floor plan of the house (which I've told you) >>>>> the kitchen window overlook s the garden at the back of it.
That's structurally poor, and even more poorly expressed. You should
start with the garden and work your way into the house. That's just a >>>> little constructive criticism, and not a personal attack.
Noted, and dismissed. Bob is in the kitchen, looking out the window, and >>> seeing the garden. The poem clearly says that he's looking out the
window and then that he's seeing the garden. There's no reason that has
to be spelled out further, even for the dumbest reader.
No reason except that it reads better to start the tour with the outside
of the house, and move in (increasing the intimacy room by room), ending
with the most intimate room of all (Little George's bedroom).
In this stanza, Little George is forced to spend his summers
working in the garden -- while enviously watching the neighborhood >>>>>> children. Because Little George describes their games as "mis
You seem to have "frozen up", HarryLiar. That's not a big deal, of
course; I realize that responding to a long post takes time: one often >>>>> gets interrupted, even in mid-sentence. I mentioned it only because you >>>>> and "Dr." NastyGoon have pointed to it, when I did it, as evidence that >>>>> I suffered from not just psychological but various neurological
diseases.
In this case it's a problem related to my having to access NovaBBS on my >>>> laptop.
No one cares what really happened to you "in this case"; which is why I
don't waste the reader's time with such explanations when I'm
interrupted when writing something. I don't because those are just
diversions (or deflections, as we call them here) that clutter up a
discussion, not add to it. So let's snip that, too:
If you don't care about something, you should refrain from bringing it
up.
I was drawing attention to Little George's description of the games as >>>> "mysterious" and his admission that he "never knew" what these mysteries >>>> were. Since the games forever remained cloaked in mystery, it is
obvious that Little George was employed in chores all day long. He had >>>> no free time to play with the other children (in which case their games >>>> would no longer be mysteries to him).
Sure, Bob "never knew" some games my neighbor children played; but
that's no reason to think he never played with the other children. He
clearly calls them his "friends" - why would he think of them as friends >>> if he never even spent any time with them?
I don't know, George. Why would he?
People can be friends without actually hanging out together all the
time.
On Mon, 24 Feb 2025 21:23:03 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 24 Feb 2025 19:57:31 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Sun, 16 Feb 2025 8:50:21 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sat, 15 Feb 2025 11:02:16 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Wed, 12 Feb 2025 0:44:06 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Tue, 11 Feb 2025 17:11:19 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:28:12 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 14:12:44 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 20:15:36 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, W.Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka
"HarryLime" wrote:
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you
suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above. >>>>>>>>>>> https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them
were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an >>>>>>>>>>> autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to >>>>>>>>>>> support his lie.
I haven't the time to go searching for the exact quote, but you had >>>>>>>>>> initially maintained that it was "mostly autobiographical" or "mostly
based on your childhood," or similar words expressing the same thing.
If you don't have time, get your NastyGoon to search for it. In this >>>>>>>>> case I have to call your bullshit. You claimed the poem was
"autobiographical", and I tried to explain to you the difference between
creative literature and autobiography - repeatedly. You believe it's >>>>>>>>> autobiographical because you said it was autobiographical, and for no >>>>>>>>> other reason.
George, George, George... no autobiography is 100% accurate.
As I've told you before, I don't think the difference between creative >>>>>>> literature and autobiography is merely one of "accuracy." The difference
is that in the latter one is trying to be as accurate and comprehensive >>>>>>> as possible: to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the >>>>>>> truth. Whereas in the former, one is selectively recreating an
experience, using experiences that reinforce the story.
Which has little to no bearing on one's reading a poem as as
psychoanalytical analysis of its author. An autobiography would
invariably be colored by its author's emotional feelings, and
selectively limited by their choices as to what to include, and how to >>>>>> present it if included.
Df course a biographer is going to be selective; who would want to read >>>>> a biography that included an account of every dump their subject took in >>>>> his life? The difference is that a biographer limits (or should limit) >>>>> what they include to what actually happened to the subject, while a
creative work (which has a made-up subject (has no such restraint).
You're trying to change the terms, in order to change the meanings,
George.
How many times do I have to tell you that high school debate team
tactics are not going to work here?
You have stated, repeatedly, that you poem was based for the most part >>>> on your own childhood. The unnamed narrator may not be George Dance,
but the events he is describing in the flashback portion of the poem are >>>> similar to your own childhood experiences.
Your poem is, therefore, at least semi-autobiographical.
A semi-autobiographical poem can still contain purely fictional elements >>>> (such as the narrator's psychiatric care, his revisiting his childhood >>>> home, etc.), but it is much more grounded in reality than your
description of "creative fiction," which "has a made-up subject" and "no >>>> such restraint (as having to limit itself to what really happened to its >>>> subject).
The only difference is that in an autobiography, the author is
(supposedly) attempting to be unbiased, where as in creative literature, >>>>>> the author is allowing his biases to take center stage.
No, that's not a difference. Biographies (including autobiographies) can >>>>> reflect their author's prejudices; one wouldn't expect a biography of >>>>> Hitler or Amin to be "unbiased" or try for equal balance. The
difference, to repeat, is that a biographer is (or should be) limited to >>>>> real, verifiable events - it's an account of what really happened -
whereas a work of creative literature has no such restraint.
But I am not calling your poem autobiographical, George. I am calling >>>> it "semi-autobiographical." There is a difference between the two, as >>>> well. An autobiographical poem would have to be based entirely on fact. >>>> A semi-autobiographical poem would only have to be partially based on >>>> fact. Since your poem is partially based on fact, it is a
semi-autobiographical work.
Both provide
glimpses into the author as a person; and some would argue that creative >>>>>> literature provides a deeper glimpse as it is allowing the reader to >>>>>> share in the author's emotional responses to their experiences (whereas >>>>>> the former is merely relating said experiences, with the cold, clinical >>>>>> detachment of a reporter).
Sure, every literary work provides some glimpse into the author. That >>>>> does not mean that every literary work is a "biography" of someone.
I haven't even so much as hinted that it would.
I'm saying that any fictional work is going to be partially
*autobiographical.* "The Simple Man" is a fictional story that I wrote >>>> that is based on a dream that I had. Since I had the dream, the story >>>> provides the reader with a glimpse into my subconscious. "Beyond the
Veil" is also partially autobiographical, in that the speaker's
drug-induced hallucinations are based upon my own. Both stories are
also highly fictional, and are about fictional characters... but both
stories also contain autobiographical elements.
Any good psychologist will tell you that it's not so much the events >>>>>> that happened to you, but your feelings about those events, that are >>>>>> important.
Yes, it's possible to get a glimpse of an author's feelings about a
subject from what they right about it. That does not mean, as you seem >>>>> to think it means, that every thought or feeling expressed in a creative >>>>> work is a thought or feeling shared by the author.
I notice you have a tendency to take *every* statement that a say and
twist it into an absolute. This is another tactic from High School
Debate Team 101.
I have never said that *every* thought or feeling expressed in a
creative work is a thought or feeling shared by its author. I said that >>>> *some* of them are.
Take the
Fountainhead, for instance, since it's a book that we both claim to be >>>>> familiar with - it's reasonable to think that some of the characters' >>>>> thoughts and feelings - Roark, Dominique, even Wynand - are expressing >>>>> Rand's own thoughts and feelings. It is not reasonable to suggest (as >>>>> you do) that all the characters - everyone from Ellsworth Toohey to
Pasquale Orsini - are expressing Rand's own thoughts and feelings.
And, again, I have never made any such absolute claim.
I should also like to point out that Rand's book was written to express >>>> her philosophy of Objectivism. As such, it would necessarily contain
characters whose personal philosophies contrast with her own.
When Rand creates a character like Toohey, he is meant to be the
embodiment of everything that she hates about Communism. She is using >>>> him to pit Communism against Objectivism. Toohey isn't a character in >>>> this regard, but a counter argument to her philosophy (a Straw Man
argument, as he is presented in a negative light).
However, one could argue that Rand's decision to use such a repulsive
character as Toohey to represent Communism shows how thoroughly she
detested that social philosophy and all those who supported it. In that >>>> sense, even Toohey can tell us something about Rand.
Rand has said that Dominique Francon is based partially on herself ("in >>>> a bad mood"). Any psychological examination of "The Fountainhead" would >>>> have to focus on Dominique and her relationships with the various male >>>> characters.
But a book of philosophical fiction is hardly the best example for one >>>> to use. Philosophy is an intellectual art (a product of the ego),
whereas creative fiction stems at least partially from the subconscious. >>>>
Your constant misrepresentation of the poem as an autobiography
(including misquoting me, as we've seen) indicates that you're convinced
that you just can't see that difference; you've got the idea in your >>>>>>> head that this is how I'd "interpret" the events of my childhood (not to
mention my young manhood).
As previously noted, I don't believe I've ever called it
"autobiographical" unless I was using it as shorthand for
"semi-autobiographical" -- which I would have specified in the same >>>>>> post. I realize that you don't understand the importance of context, >>>>>> but there's really nothing I can do about that.
I call your poem "semi-autobiographical" or note that (as per your own >>>>>> statement) it was mostly based on your childhood. If you want to draw a >>>>>> distinction between "semi-autobiographical" and "creative literature >>>>>> based on events from your childhood," go right ahead. But the
differences between the two are minimal.
"Semi-autobiographical" sounds like a loosey-goosey term that is
tautologicaly true; on your account, every piece of writing is
"semi-autobiographical". It's useless as a concept; concepts are meant >>>>> to distinguish between different things, not to blur them all together >>>>> in one big "semi-autobiographical" stewpot.
"Semi-autobiographical" means partially based on the author's life. It >>>> is not "loosey-goosey" in any way. It is either partially based on
their life, or it is not. "My Father's House" is partially based on
your childhood. "The Hobbit" is not based on Tolkien's (although there >>>> may be semi-autobiographical elements within the narrative, the book
itself is not semi-autobiographical).
I hope that isn't too complicated for you to grasp (as you seem unable >>>> to grasp any concept that doesn't limit itself to black and white,
either/or terms).
"Semi-autobiographic" means partially based on the author's life.
A fictional book is not based on the author's life, but could contain
semi-autobiographic elements.
"David Copperfield" is a highly fictionalized account of Charles
Dickens' childhood and young manhood. And his biographers, rightly, >>>>>> refer to it when describing parallel incidents from his life. It is >>>>>> *because* "David Copperfield" is a fictionalized account of Dickens' >>>>>> early life as seen through *his* eyes, to present *his* perception of >>>>>> himself that it is so valuable a tool for discovering who Dickens really >>>>>> was.
First off, biographers of Dickens do not simply conclude that the events >>>>> of David Copperfield happened to Dickens simply by doing a
"psychoanalysis" of the book - they actually do some work, and research >>>>> the details of Dickens's own life to find parallels with the events of >>>>> the novel.
That's right, George. I never implied it was otherwise.
Second, I'm not aware of any real or pretend Dickens scholar,
besides you, has ever suggested that every character in David
Copperfield (from clara to Murdstone to the keeper) is really an
"aspect" of Charles Dickens.
Then I suggest that you read a little more. Clara and Murdstone were
based upon people from Dickens' life (Clara was based on his
housekeeper, and Dickens' stepfather was named George Murdstone). His >>>> depictions of them represent his feelings toward the individuals they
are based on.
IOW: The more you've chosen to fictionalize, color, or otherwise alter >>>>>> the event of your childhood, the more valuable your poem becomes as a >>>>>> tool for psychoanalysis.
This is why your perception of Dr. NancyGene's and my analyses of your >>>>>>>> poem strike you as personal attacks, whereas from my perspective the >>>>>>>> *only* way to examine a semi-autobiographical poem on child abuse is >>>>>>>> consider the speaker and the poet as being essentially the same >>>>>>>> individual.
Well, no, HarryLiar, I "interpret" your comments on the poem, and "Dr." >>>>>>> NastyGoon's as personal attacks because you use them for personal >>>>>>> attacks.
And you wonder why we have diagnosed you as suffering from a persecution >>>>>> complex!
A good example is your opening paragraph that I quoted, where
you use your account of the poem, plus your misinterpretation of >>>>>>> something else I'd said, to call me a "pathological liar".
No, George. I call you a pathological liar because you have shown >>>>>> yourself to be one time and time again. "Pathological liar" is a
personality characteristic that one accepts as a "given" when opening >>>>>> any psychoanalytical discussion on you.
The more youI can't make you believe it, George. Most patients experience an
try to pretend comments like that that are not personal attacks, but >>>>>>> just comments on a poem, the harder it is to believe anything you say. >>>>>>
initial sense of distrust regarding their analyst; coupled with a sense >>>>>> of resistance and denial. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to >>>>>> gain a patient's trust in an online forum -- especially when the patient >>>>>> is suffering from a persecution complex with accompanying feelings of >>>>>> paranoia.
I've admitted no such thing. I clearly restated my opinion that "all of >>>>>> the characters in any author's fictional novel are going to represent >>>>>> some aspect of the author."In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its
author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or >>>>>>>> events might have inspired it.
That sounds like another contradiction to me. Previously you said that >>>>>>> "every" character in a novel represents an aspect of the author, and now
you admit that at least some are actually inspired by other people. >>>>>>
And you also clearly restated that authors can create imaginary,
characters using observation and imagination. Make up your mind: is an >>>>> author restricted to writing about himself, or can he write about people >>>>> and events that have nothing to do with him?
It isn't an either-or situation, George. Reality is more complicated
than that.
Perhaps this will help you to understand: It has been pointed out that >>>> no purely fantastical creatures, places, or things have ever been
depicted in fiction (or in dreams, etc.). It has further been posited >>>> that purely fantastic beings are *beyond the capability* of the human
mind.
For instance, a unicorn is a cross between a horse (or a goat) and an
antelope. A hobbit is pretty much a short human with hairy feet.
Chitty-chitty-bang-bang is an anthropomorphic car that can fly. Every >>>> fantastic or supernatural thing humans have ever imagined is simply a
cross between two or more already existing things.
So, yes. I writer can use his imagination to create a fictional
character or plot -- but everything about the character and plot are
going to be drawn from things that the writer has already experienced
(or read about).
As a horror writer, some of my characters do some pretty terrible
things. These are things that I have never done, and have no plans of >>>> ever doing. Some are fantasies of things that *a part of me* would like >>>> to do; others are things that I find absolutely appalling. Both are
glimpses into my psyche (I fantasize about A, I deplore B).
And again, I can only repeat that the more a poem utilizes creative >>>>>> imagination in its retelling of past events from your life, the more >>>>>> valuable it becomes as a tool for understanding your psyche.
That sounds similar to your claim that, the more a real or pretend
patient does not agree with a real or pretend "analyst's" opinions, that >>>>> only proves the analyst's opinions are correct, because it's evidence >>>>> that the patient is repressing "the truth" and is in "denial." There's >>>>> no arguing with someone who thinks it's true by definition that their >>>>> every opinion is "the unvarnished truth", and no point in trying.
I have never said such a thing, George. A patient can certainly be in
denial, but that doesn't mean that *every* point of disagreement with
his psychologist is an example of denial. You are trying to make
another black and white absolute out of the extremely complex science of >>>> psychology.
<snip diversion about Sigmund Freud>
Despite your claims of taking the reader through Little George's home >>>>>>>> (with the same floor plan as its real life counterpart) on a
room-by-room basis, you jump from the kitchen to the garden.
Your insistence on calling the speaker "George" is annoying (although it
is preferable to the "Boy George" nickname you previously borrowed for >>>>>>> him him and then insisted on calling me). I think you're just playing >>>>>>> with words to blur the very distinction between speaker and writer that >>>>>>> I'm trying to make with you. So I'm going to start calling him "Bob" >>>>>>> instead.
In our previous sessions, we had agreed on referring to the speaker as >>>>>> "George" when referring to him in his capacity as narrator (and
including the framing stanzas), and as "Little George" when referring to >>>>>> the 6-year old whose story his is recalling.
That claim sounds as absurd as your previous claim that I called the >>>>> poem "autobiographical." I may have used your terms like "Boy George" or >>>>> "Little George" (in scare quotes) because you were using them. But I >>>>> never agreed to call the speaker "George" much less "George Dance" as >>>>> you've been doing in this thread. The only reason to use those names is >>>>> as a linguistic trick, to try to subliminally blur the distinction and >>>>> differences between the speaker (Bob) and the author (myself).
If you wish your speaker to be named "Bob," I suggest that you rewrite >>>> your poem and provide him with that name.
And, again, I am not calling your poem "autobiographical," but
"semi-autobiographical." Of course the latter is an offshoot of the
former, so it would be permissible to refer to it as "autobiographical" >>>> in passing; but technically, it is a "semi-autobiographical" work.
For analytical purposes, I have chosen to approach the poem as if it
were a work of its author's subconscious (much like a dreamwork). Since >>>> its author is named "George," I am referring to its narrator by that
name. This is fitting, as by examining the narrator, I am examining the >>>> author. "Boy George" (which you find offensive) and "Little George"
(which you find less so) are used to distinguish the child from the
"flashback" stanzas from the adult narrator.
There is no "linguistic trick, to try to subliminally blur" anything,
paranoid George.
I was psychoanalyzing your poem, and couched it in precisely the same
terminology as I would have used if I had been psychoanalyzing one of
your dreams.
It's telling how you remember the humorous use of "Boy George," but fail >>>>>> to recollect our resolution to your objections.
One thing I keep reminding you, "Dr." Peabrain, is that I do not
"recollect" things that never happened. That is different from our
constantly failing to remember events that did happen, so please get out >>>>> of your habit of thinking that they're in any way similar.
There are numerous instances in the archives where *you* referred to the >>>> character as "Little George." That in itself entails your participation >>>> in the use of that name.
It's even more telling
that you are "going to start calling him 'Bob'" as if in retaliation for >>>>>> what you perceive to be an ongoing attack.
I'm calling him "Bob" simply so that you cannot confuse anyone into
thinking that I am Bob. Whereas if we call him "George Dance" that is >>>>> confusing, since I am George Dance.
You can call him whatever you like. However, I am psychoanalyzing
George Dance -- not "Bob." And, to keep that point clear, I shall
continue to use your name.
I am
guessing that you'd originally written the garden stanza to come first >>>>>>>> within the body of the narrative, but had later switched it with the >>>>>>>> kitchen stanza based on the severity of the (potentially perceived) >>>>>>>> abuses.
No, you guessed wrong again; the stanzas were not switched. The poem >>>>>>> switches from the kitchen to the garden because the speaker is looking >>>>>>> out the window, and in the floor plan of the house (which I've told you)
the kitchen window overlook s the garden at the back of it.
That's structurally poor, and even more poorly expressed. You should >>>>>> start with the garden and work your way into the house. That's just a >>>>>> little constructive criticism, and not a personal attack.
Noted, and dismissed. Bob is in the kitchen, looking out the window, and >>>>> seeing the garden. The poem clearly says that he's looking out the
window and then that he's seeing the garden. There's no reason that has >>>>> to be spelled out further, even for the dumbest reader.
No reason except that it reads better to start the tour with the outside >>>> of the house, and move in (increasing the intimacy room by room), ending >>>> with the most intimate room of all (Little George's bedroom).
In this stanza, Little George is forced to spend his summers
working in the garden -- while enviously watching the neighborhood >>>>>>>> children. Because Little George describes their games as "mis
You seem to have "frozen up", HarryLiar. That's not a big deal, of >>>>>>> course; I realize that responding to a long post takes time: one often >>>>>>> gets interrupted, even in mid-sentence. I mentioned it only because you >>>>>>> and "Dr." NastyGoon have pointed to it, when I did it, as evidence that >>>>>>> I suffered from not just psychological but various neurological
diseases.
In this case it's a problem related to my having to access NovaBBS on my >>>>>> laptop.
No one cares what really happened to you "in this case"; which is why I >>>>> don't waste the reader's time with such explanations when I'm
interrupted when writing something. I don't because those are just
diversions (or deflections, as we call them here) that clutter up a
discussion, not add to it. So let's snip that, too:
If you don't care about something, you should refrain from bringing it >>>> up.
I was drawing attention to Little George's description of the games as >>>>>> "mysterious" and his admission that he "never knew" what these mysteries >>>>>> were. Since the games forever remained cloaked in mystery, it is
obvious that Little George was employed in chores all day long. He had >>>>>> no free time to play with the other children (in which case their games >>>>>> would no longer be mysteries to him).
Sure, Bob "never knew" some games my neighbor children played; but
that's no reason to think he never played with the other children. He >>>>> clearly calls them his "friends" - why would he think of them as friends >>>>> if he never even spent any time with them?
I don't know, George. Why would he?
People can be friends without actually hanging out together all the
time.
That's true, Donkey.
But if Boy George "never knew" what "mysterious" games the other
children were playing, It's safe to conclude that he *never* hung out
with them.
There are only so many games that children play out doors: Hide and
Seek, Tag, Mother May I?, Hopscotch, Simon Says, Blind Man's Bluff,
Catch, Marbles, Kick Ball, Baseball, Touch Football, basketball,
croquet, horseshoes, etc. And children usually play these games *many*
times throughout the course of their childhood. It's not as if you were
to miss a game of "Tag," they wouldn't be playing it again a day or two
later.
Not only did Boy George not hang out with the other children, but he
doesn't seem to have even spoken with them. Had they been speaking, he
could have asked "What was that mysterious game you were playing
yesterday?" and they would have replied "Jacks." And the mystery would
have been solved.
Boy George had a sad and lonely childhood.
And you know what's the saddest part? He didn't even have an AI bot to
keep him company back then,
--
I suppose we all had different childhood memories, but I find it bizarre
how you obsess over the childhood of George Dance, while making up
delusional fantasies about George Dance when he was a lad.
And so it goes.
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 18:52:17 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 4:18:39 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 2:10:00 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 19:58:55 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:36:08 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
George J. Dance wrote:
My Father's House
This is my father's house, although
The man died thirteen years ago.
They said it would be quite all right
To take a drive to see it now.
Dad laid those grey foundation blocks
And built the whole thing (from a box),
Toiling after each full day's work.
I helped, though I was only six.
Look, here's the back door I would use
And here's where I'd remove my shoes
To enter; there I'd leave my things
And, when allowed, climb up these stairs.
In this room I'd wash many a dish,
Gaze out this window, and I'd wish
To be so many other places.
(Wishy-washy? Oh, I guess!)
Outside, the garden that he grew
Where I would work the summers through,
While watching my friends run and play
Mysterious games I never knew.
That room's all changed; oh, where is it,
The one chair I was let to sit?
(For boys can be such filthy things.)
Which, the corner where boys were put?
Oh ... down that hall there is a room
Where I'd be shut (as in a tomb)
After the meal, to make no noise,
To read or play alone, and then
Lights out: in bed by nine each night,
Some nights wanting to pee with fright,
Face and pyjama bottoms down
As for my father's belt I'd wait.
Oh, if I were a millionaire
I'd buy my father's house, and there
I'd build a bonfire, oh so high
Its flames would light up all the air.
~~
George J. Dance
from Logos and other logoi, 2021
Here it is, MFH.
Thank you for reposting this poem of mine, Will. While it's true that it
has been discussed a lot over the years, it also true that at least one
person wants to discuss it now; and this would be the appropriate place
to move those comments, rather than leaving them scattered all over the
group. So let's start with this one:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 16:15:27 +0000, Michael Monkey Peabrain (MPP) aka >>>>>>>>>> "HarryLime" wrote:
On Mon, 3 Feb 2025 13:06:00 +0000, George J. Dance wrote: >>>>>>>>>>>>> Why do you lie so much, George?
(That's a rhetorical question, as you've already intimated that yourNo, Lying Michael: I have never said, or even "intimated" (!) that I was
pathological lying stems from you having been abused as a child.) >>>>>>>>>>>>
pathological, lying, or
"abused as a child".
You wrote a "mostly autobiographical" poem detailing the abuses you >>>>>>>>>>> suffered as a child, George. And you're demonstrating your pathological
obsession with lying in your trio of denials, listed above. >>>>>>>>>> https://www.novabbs.com/arts/article.php?id=15801&group=rec.arts.poems
HarryLiar has manufactured yet another fake quote; I have never called
this poem "mostly autobiographical" or autobiographical in many ways. I
have distinctly told him in the past that, while some of the speaker's
memories were based on my own childhood experiences, not all of them >>>>>>>>>> were; I was using them in a work of creative fiction, not an >>>>>>>>>> autobiography of any kind. So he lied and made up a fake quote to >>>>>>>>>> support his lie.
The poem is meant to be a dramatic monolgue, in the style of Browning
(His "My Last Duchess" is a good example), meant to get inside the >>>>>>>>>> psychology of a speaker or persona. The speaker may have experienced
his childhood as "abuse" - HarryLiar calls it that but the speaker >>>>>>>>>> doesn't. The memories of it, though, have stayed on his mind, and he >>>>>>>>>> wants to get rid of those memories (symbolized by burning down the house
at the end).
It's deliberately left to the reader to decide if the speaker actually
had been abused by his father or not. I did structure it, for effect,
from the least to the most abusive-seeming experiences; from having to
use a back door and remove his shoes to enter the house, to doing >>>>>>>>>> household chores, to doing garden work in the summertime, to not being
allowed to use some of the furniture, to having to stay inside alone at
night and be in bed early, to being subjected to corporal punishment.
Adding them together like that, it's easy enough to conclude that the
father had been abusive; but I'll point out that all of those events >>>>>>>>>> were things children commonly experienced 50-60 years ago, and that none
of them were commonly considered abusive.
As Karla Rogers often reminded us:
"Try not to mistake the speaker in the poem with the writer of the >>>>>>>>> poem."
As I'd noted in my post, Karla's oft-quoted adage (oft-quoted by you, >>>>>>>> that is), is simply incorrect.
My previous post explains why:
"In fact, Karla's oft-quoted adage aside, one can *never* fully separate
the two.
For instance, all of the characters in any author's fictional novel are
going to represent some aspect of the author. Every poem stems from its
author's imagination... regardless of what external persons and/or >>>>>>>> events might have inspired it. Every literary work is similar to a >>>>>>>> dream construct in that regard; and like a dream construct, can be >>>>>>>> analyzed by a psychologist, a literary critic, or even the average >>>>>>>> reader. Since "My Father's House" was based to a large extent on your >>>>>>>> own childhood experiences, it literally begs for a psychoanalytical >>>>>>>> reading."
--
You dispute the wisdom of the mighty Karla Rogers?
Are you trying to troll
No, you're the super troll, Pendragon.
I'm here for the poetry.
You're only here for the waffles.
While you're only here to lie and misrepresent, Harry.
And so it goes.
Are you denying that you posted each of the statements listed below,
As part of a discussion with others.
Context matters.
On Mon, 24 Feb 2025 23:46:57 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 4:18:39 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 10 Feb 2025 2:10:00 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 19:58:55 +0000, HarryLime wrote:
On Sun, 9 Feb 2025 18:36:08 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
On Fri, 7 Feb 2025 19:31:54 +0000, George J. Dance wrote: >>>>>>>>>>>
On Tue, 4 Feb 2025 11:29:25 +0000, Will Dockery wrote: >>>>>>>>>>>>> George J. Dance wrote:
Context matters.
What context is there for discussing the hours of operation for local
Waffle House
It was during the pandemic, everything was different.
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