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Old 07-04-2018, 11:02 PM
Robert Pecotte's Avatar
Robert Pecotte Robert Pecotte is offline
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Default Poems for Tim

I don't know if it is permissible, but could we make this thread a tribute to Timothy Murphy in verse?

I think that it would be most fitting for all of us who have benefited from our relationship with Tim, in person or via the internet, to write a poem or two in memory of him. He and Alan were instrumental (along with many of you) in making the Eratosphere the premiere workshop for metrical poetry on the internet.

Alex, is it allowable for poets to post their ode's to Tim here in general talk ?
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Old 07-05-2018, 12:25 AM
Aaron Poochigian Aaron Poochigian is offline
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Father, I think this is a great idea. Normally, it is not permissible to post one's own poems here but we shall see if Alex or a moderator is willing to make an exception. In the meantime, we can use the Deep End (a sort of dead space for a while now) as the place to post memorial poems.

Iterum, pater, gratias magnas ago tibi,

Aaron Poochigianus
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Old 07-05-2018, 12:25 AM
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Robert Pecotte Robert Pecotte is offline
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Default For Tim Murphy

Revision of the Revision etc...

Paradise for Tim

Thistle blossoms bloom,
Imbued purple hues,
Mingled throughout an expanse
Of lush prairie grass, while
Thrushes rustle leaves,
Hurrying between a birch
Yearling and an aged oak.

Indian-grass whispers,
Veiled with evening primrose
Encircle a forlorn farmstead,
Rekindle memories once dead.

Monarchs flutter near plows
Umber like the dirt,
Rusted with age and earth.
Peals of thunder boom,
Heaven cries aloud:
Yesterday has died.

Repentant, the withered limb
Invokes the Crucified,
Paradise for Tim.


Paradise for Tim

Thriving thistles flaunt
Impressive purple hues,
Mixed within the vast expanse
Of lush prairie grass, while
Thrushes rustle leaves,
Hurrying between a birch
Yearling and an aged oak.

Indian-grass whispers,
Veiled beneath the heath,
Encircle a forlorn farmstead,
Recalling those now dead.

Mired and broken plows lie
Umber like the dirt,
Rusted with age and earth.
Peals of thunder boom,
Heaven cries aloud:
Yesterday has died.

Repentant, the withered limb
Invokes the Crucified,
Paradise for Tim.

Edited with the help of Aaron.

Former S1

Thistle blossoms bloom
Impressive purple hues,
Mingled throughout a sea
Of tall prairie grass, while
Thrushes rustle leaves,
Hurrying between a birch
Yearling and an aged oak.

Last edited by Robert Pecotte; 07-07-2018 at 07:51 PM.
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Old 07-05-2018, 03:29 AM
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Jayne Osborn Jayne Osborn is offline
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Father,
We think it's better to keep the General Talk board free of members' own poems, but Aaron's suggestion to post tributes to Tim on The Deep End is a good idea, so I've moved this thread here, and merged it with the one containing your own poem.

With best wishes,
Jayne
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Old 07-05-2018, 07:12 AM
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Robert Pecotte Robert Pecotte is offline
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Aaron, an excellent idea and Jayne has taken you up on it.

Jayne, I am perfectly happy with what you have done, and I hope that the tributes will pile up.

Sincerely,

Fr. Rob
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Old 07-05-2018, 08:02 AM
Aaron Poochigian Aaron Poochigian is offline
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Father, I am impressed. You have worked with the constraints of the acrostic "Timothy Iver Murphy RIP" very naturally, and all the imagery contributes and is apt for the man.

My relationship with Tim was so complicated that it may be decades before I write about him. I will post instead a short poem I wrote for his partner Alan about seven years ago. Tim loved this poem because, he said, it was "a call to prayer."

The Vigil

Because he was as hard to handle
as truth, which we equate with light,
go somewhere dark and hold a candle
for Alan Sullivan tonight.

Thanks for initiating this thread, Father.
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Old 07-05-2018, 08:55 AM
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I remember that poem, Aaron.
It was, and still is, a gem.

Nemo
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Old 07-05-2018, 09:24 AM
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Yes, that poem goes a long way, Aaron. As I recall it ran in Poetry.

Rick
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Old 07-05-2018, 09:36 AM
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Robert Pecotte Robert Pecotte is offline
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a couple of minor tweaks based on some helpful suggestions:

Paradise for Tim.

Thistle blossoms birth, (was: blossoms bloom)
Impressive purple hues,
Mingled throughout a sea
Of proud prairie grass, while (was: tall prairie grass)
Thrushes rustle leaves,
Hurrying between a birch
Yearling and an aged oak.

Indian-grass whispers,
Veiled beneath the heath,
Encircle a forlorn farmstead,
Recalling those now dead.

Mired and broken plows lie
Umber like the dirt,
Rusted with age and earth.
Peals of thunder boom,
Heaven cries aloud:
Yesterday has died.

Repentant, the withered limb
Invokes the Crucified,
Paradise for Tim.
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Old 07-05-2018, 10:46 AM
Aaron Poochigian Aaron Poochigian is offline
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Hello, Father.

I’m not so sure about the revisions. Maybe we should try to make the opening one through-sentence:

First, I would suggest a verb that means “show off” or “wear” at the end of line 1:

Thistle blossoms wear/sport/flaunt, etc.
Impressive purple hues,

Second, I’m not sure about “sea” (dead metaphor and problematic because sea is blue or even purple, and the blossoms are purple). Also, “mingled” suggests the purple hues are mingled with each other (to me at least).

I would suggest something like:

The something thistles flaunt
Impressive purple blossoms,
Mixed in, here and there, among
Overgrown prairie grass, while

Do not feel obliged to take my suggestions. I only want to hint at ways you might revise.

Best, best,
Aaron

. . . . .

Thank you, Nemo and Rick. It's hard for me to write about Tim and Alan. I feel I have to convey both my love for and my exasperation with the gay Republicans who tried to take over my life.

Last edited by Aaron Poochigian; 07-05-2018 at 10:56 AM.
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