Why I am not a poet.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin built there, of clay and wattles made;
Although I'm not entirely clear on what wattles are,
It just seems like a fun idea, me in a bee-loud glade

Nine bean rows will I have there –wait, what's with all the bees?
And nine rows seems like a lot, when three will probably do just fine
I mean, it's only me, am I right, and here a rhyming word would be "peas"
Although I'm not planting peas. Maybe some cilantro.

On second thought I'll go in a minute, in a little while I'll go to Innisfree
As soon as I do that other stuff I have to do.
I have to make some calls.

***

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it got sort of dark and weird with this undergrowth

Then checked out the other, which seemed just as fair
And now that I thought about it, had perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
But as for that, why was no one walking down there?
Is there something I should know about?

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh I kept them both for another day
You would think these roads would be marked somehow!
Or there would be a map or whatever

***

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me—
I screamed and ran away, because have you ever seen Death?
With the skull-head and giant scythe?
No thanks, Death, I'll walk

p.s. Wonderland here.

Comments

[cce]

I hear you in my deep heart's core...I love this for a Monday.
Bravo...

[birchsprite]

Ahhhh I was so fed up and then I read these and they cheered me up no end......cheers!

[Patricia]

Oh my -- the first poem happens to be my FAVORITE of all time -- though your revisions make it even better.

HA! "what's with all the bees" I'm so going to giggle about that the rest of the day.

[Jane]

That was the highlight of my morning! I shall pass along the link to all of my fellow English major geek friends.

[tuckova]

Oh, well done! So well done.

[Heather B.]

I went to Girl Scout camp for several, several, way too many, years. Anyway, one of the camping units was called Innisfree so I am now well versed in that poem and can sing it.

Come to think of it a good title of that would be "Why I shouldn't be allowed to sing. Ever"

[Amy at Fannfare]

Fantastic. Thanks for the all-day smiles.

[Jen]

A woodland treasure sounds complete!
Oh, quiet moments, except for bees
who hum-so soothingly along.
A spring ish delicate little song.

The cabin, hushed and quaint.
With coffee, internet. A chance to paint
the scenery surround. And, plant!
Cilanto instead of beans supplant.

If you shall go to Innisfree
We'll excuse your absence and
wait for the.
Just give occasional notes (on the side, of course)
lest we be filled with blogging remorse!

[Jen]

except that should have been "wait for THEE"
Two "e's"
*note to self-re read, re read!!*

[elise]

Oh my, now THAT'S how I like to start the week.

Thanks, Finslippy!

[JB]

I love you even more now.

[themikestand]

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

[Blaine]

Wow!! Go Alice......and Go Jen!!!

[Kristin]

What's with all the bees...chortle. =) There's (or was - they've broken up, I think) a wonderful sorta-Celtic band out of Houston (in their words, "that great Scottish metropolis of the south") called Clandestine, who did a fabulous spooky minor-key interpretation of "Innisfree." It made the back of your neck tingle, and made you wonder what was buried out under those nine innocent-looking bean rows.

Well done!

[Sonja]

YESSSSSS! Good work.

[emily]

These were a lot of fun to read. A great way to beat the Monday blahs.

[slouching mom]

finslippy:
get a grippy.
you do many things well
but poems you'll not sell.

[odd dotty]

You. You are hilarious. And brilliant. Brilliantly hilarious!

[Mike]

you talk pretty. long time.

[lizardek]

hahahah! You are a genius! Here is a little bee poem for you (it's not mine):

The little bee is a busy soul
He has no time for birth control
And that is why
in times like these
there are so many sons of bees.

[Christine]

and I said yes, yes, very funny, yes.

[kerflop]

And this is why I love you.

[Megs]

I'm cackling here. It's not pretty.

[kim]

Hoo Ha ha ha!

[Julie]

My husband just built a wattle in the garden today. No kidding!!

[OMSH]

The last one - the last one has me rolling.

[heidi]

"Although I'm not planting peas. Maybe some cilantro." Effing brilliant! Thank you, Alice.

[Sassy]

Good grief. Great laugh. Love it.

[Mer]

Why isn't there more poetry like this?

[Elizabeth]

You are brilliant! And hilarious! And clever and pretty, too ;)

[Meredith]

Wattle is a native Australian tree. Has various varieties, beautiful flowers, hell for hayfever. :)

[Anne]

I actually saw two little wattle trees in pots at a swanky restaurant on a mountain in Italy. I love the wattle! Luckily it never gave me hayfever.

Alice your poems are the best.

[Melanie]

That last one trumps Dickinson 100%. I've never been a fan of hers, but I'm a fan of the remix (hey, you're sort of hip-hop now, with the remixing! Ghetto Alice!!)

[TSM-truth, sincerity, madness]

Ahhh, poetry. You've got somethin' special, there.

I composed an ode to my stomach (and also my stomach's reply) should you care to read, over at my blog-www.tsm.serveblog.net.

Shameless plug, but to have the likes of you reading it would truly make me immortal. And happy too.

[Heather]

All I can do is chuckle. Mega wanted to read, so I read this to him. He looked at me like I had lost my mind and then put his hands on my face, "Where's-uh pickers, Mumma?" He was only disappointed by the lack of pictures. :-)

[Sarah]

BWAHHHAHHHAHAHAH!

[Marcheline]

Thanks for reminding us that, underneath all the serious adult crap, you are still zany and funny and completely nuts.

This is really why we keep coming back!

- M

or a map or whatever... *SNORT*!!!!

[lizpenn]

These are genius. They remind me of this brilliant parody by Kenneth Koch of that famous William Carlos Williams poem that begins "I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox/and which you were probably saving for breakfast ...":

1.

I chopped down the house that you had been saving to live in next summer.

I am sorry, but it was morning, and and I had nothing to do and its wooden beams were so inviting.

2.

We laughed at the hollyhocks together
and then I sprayed them with lye.
Forgive me. I simply do not know what I am doing.

3.

I gave away the money that you had been saving to live on for the next ten years.
The man who asked for it was shabby
and the firm March wind on the porch was so juicy and cold.

4.

Last evening we went dancing and I broke your leg.
Forgive me. I was clumsy, and
I wanted you here in the wards, where I am a doctor.

[Helen]

I think the poem is about the wattle that Julie's husband built, which is woven-together twigs or similar, covered with daub(which I think is roughly mud)to make shelters in ancient times. Considering when and where the poem was written more likely than the aussie tree, no?
(I scrounged this up from my English childhood learning, confirmed by Googling and now my first-ever Finslippy comment makes me sound like an english-and-history-major geek ... which I am.)
Let me redeem it by saying I luuuurv Finslippy, Henry, and all the fab intelligent funny commenters ... you make my day.

[Mauigirl52]

Those were wonderful! Thanks!

As a former English major geek, I agree with Helen about the meaning of wattle.

For those who are interested in wattles, of course, wattle is also what they call the hang-y skin under your chin when you get on in years (or on a turkey), and, it is a term used in ship design (rather arcane).

[Trina]

You have just single-handedly made all my English teachers & professors, ever, run away screaming, because somehow They Know. (Well, all of them except Dr. Litt, maybe. He was cool.)

[Stephanie]

I love it! Throughout time artists and poets and brilliant wits have taken inspiration from the creations already around - not all turn out so well as yours though :)

My oldest is almost 12. He just finished a big 6th grade poetry project and we read a lot of Robert Frost poems together the week he was working on it. Sigh. Seems like just yesterday he was Four And A Half...

[Fi]

My parents' house is called Innisfree! This is why!