§ Substitution (3): Find and replace. Systematically replace one word in a source text with another word or string of words. Perform this operation serially with the same source text, increasing the number of words in the replace string.
For this I used William Butler Yeats' "The Second Coming," a poem that is without a doubt one of the best poems ever written. Wow, now that I just wrote that I see how it instantly devalues the poem. Regardless, it is one that I must memorize sometime soon because it's a poem that stays within you, and I would never want to be anywhere without it. Take one line and see how profound it is: "Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold." BAM. It knocks the wind out of you. So many times that has been with me.
I took lyrics from Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind" to put in the second substitution poem. I think it pairs well because Dylan's infamous song is a perfect testament to the time that he was writing it, but at the same time is a timeless portrait of a terrifying sea change. Here, as with many of the other poems I put up here, I chopped up the phrases some and picked some to go with anothers even if they weren't together originally.
As far as the question for week 1, is this my own poem? Maybe. I would consider it a response to the original. But is it Dylan or me? I feel like I own it because it was my idea to pair these two together, and I think it makes enormous sense to consider a poem where I cut up some of the lyrics and matched ones I like my own. But there's something not right about that. I don't feel completely satisfied saying that. I have this kind of cranky lit critic in the back of my head, I guess remnants of my former stuffy self, saying that this is a disgrace to Yeats and how dare I and get off the grass! this is decorative only and don't you have somewhere to be....etc. Part of this semester has been about coming to terms with all three of us: the traditionalist critic, Charles/English 111, and Me. It would appear that there are so many "vs."s going on during this semester. But that's what this has been about...a personal journey through experiencing poetry as much as doing it.
Enough talk, more poetry (are they mutually exclusive?)
THE SECOND COMING
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
(1919)
THE SECOND COMING
(with my new words in bold pink)
Blowin’ and blowin’ in the widening wind
The dove cannot hear the falconer;
Years fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the sky,
The blood-dimmed cry is loosed, and everywhere
The white dove of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all answers, while the worst
Are forever of passionate intensity.
Surely some pretending is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at sea.
The Second Coming! How many people cry forever When a vast wind out of many seas Troubles my ears: a cry of banned doves;
A mountain with lion wind and the cry of a man,
A sky blank and pitiless as the times,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind blowin’, Yes’n the dove call answers.
The darkness takes again but now I see
Too many centuries of free sleep,
Free pretending. A nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough times, the hour come round at last,
Wind calls Bethlehem, can you hear?
The dove cannot hear the falconer;
Years fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the sky,
The blood-dimmed cry is loosed, and everywhere
The white dove of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all answers, while the worst
Are forever of passionate intensity.
Surely some pretending is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at sea.
The Second Coming! How many people cry forever When a vast wind out of many seas Troubles my ears: a cry of banned doves;
A mountain with lion wind and the cry of a man,
A sky blank and pitiless as the times,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind blowin’, Yes’n the dove call answers.
The darkness takes again but now I see
Too many centuries of free sleep,
Free pretending. A nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough times, the hour come round at last,
Wind calls Bethlehem, can you hear?
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