Mothers Day!

I was going to buy you

a card with hearts of pink and red,

but then I thought

I'd rather spend the money on me instead.

It's awfully hard to buy things

when one's allowance is so small,

so, I guess you're pretty lucky

I got you anything at all.

Happy Mother's Day to you.

There I said it.

Now, I'm done.

So how 'bout getting out of bed,

and cooking breakfast for your son?

Calvin and Hobbes
Bill Watterson

The Calvin and Hobbes Lazy Sunday Book

A Visit From St. Nicholas

A Visit From St. Nicholas 

by Clement Clark Moore (1822)

’T WAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that ST. NICHOLAS soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,	5
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.	10
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,	15
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;	20
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,	25
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.	30
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,	35
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;	40
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,	45
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,	50
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,	55
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

September 2013 - W.B. Yeats

September 1913 

W.B. Yates

What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone;
For men were born to pray and save;
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry `Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.

In one of his most celebrated works, Yeats laments the death of Ireland's nobility and honour; seemingly replaced by a less tangible and decidedly less moral materialism. 

This poem was written to mark the occasion of the Dublin Lockout (details of the centenary in the Independent HERE) and to protest the Dublin Corporation's refusal to house a collection of art belonging to Sir Hugh Lane (for more details see this excellent article on the Irish Times site HERE). 

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Breaking Bad - Ozymandias - Percy B Shelley

OZYMANDIAS

PERCY B SHELLEY

I MET a Traveler from an antique land, 
Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 
Stand in the desart. Near them, on the sand, 
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, 
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, 
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read, 
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, 
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: 
And on the pedestal these words appear: 
"My name is OZYMANDIAS, King of Kings." 
Look on my works ye Mighty, and despair! 
No thing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that Colossal Wreck, boundless and bare, 
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

First published in 1818

The poem above was used to launch the second half of season 5 of Breaking Bad - one of the oddest, most compelling and addictive TV series. The internet is already rife with speculation as to what it all means. Me? I just can't wait for the remaining episodes to air!

Also posted on Culturally Fixated. 

Things I like - Colette Nic Aodha

The following poem appeared in the 2013 Art Craftwork Higher Level and I thought it was too gorgeous to keep to myself!!

It's the first time that I've read anything by this homegrown (mine - so Irish, before you all get all excited) poet, but I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for more from now on!

Just perfect!

Things I like - Colette Nic Aodha

autumn leaves
old buildings
running my fingers along spines
of books

discovering museums
art
ebb of music
to the beat of your heart
jazz when dreaming

landscape with birdsong
sitting in your sheltering sun
some outdoor cafe
on the cobbled streets of Madrid

lost in the history of Spain,
learning new words,
if I have any of these
I forget to eat

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School Days Over

Leaving Certificate Poetry

• Eavan Boland
• William Shakespeare
• Michael Longley
• John Keats
• Seamus Heaney
• Elizabeth Bishop

GCSE Poetry - T'Elf

If I Have To Leave - D.E. Barrell

Natalie Williams

A Level Poetry 

• Utter Filth

O Level Poetry

• They Walked and Talked - Uche Okeke

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School Days Over Table of Contents 

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Full Table of Contents 

WoodsieGirl's Choice - In Mouldy Land - A memorial

Poetry Challenge 2013

I'm afraid I'm hopelessly behind with our challenge and posting months after the requested date. Nevertheless, I'm working hard (or hardly working?) to get us up to date. 

Here at Leeds Book Club, we're always looking for new poems and poets...well I say we...me mostly. 

This year, we've invited our friends from the blog and tweet sphere to share their favourite poems for a special person or occasion. 

Hope that you enjoy these!

Regular LBC contributer +Laura Woods @WoodsieGirl has chosen the following poem for a very beautiful reason. 

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Yesterday was a year to the day since my eldest sister, Mandi, died suddenly from a heart attack while out jogging.

I mentioned to LeedsBookClub ages ago that I fancied putting a poem on the blog in her memory. Just a tad late, but here it is...

First, a bit of background - as this may seem an odd choice for a memorial poem! 

There was a bit of an age gap between Mandi and the rest of us: she was 11 when our second eldest sister was born; 13 when me and my twin were born. So she looked after us a lot as kids, acting as combination second Mum and mischievous playmate.

A born storyteller, she always read to us a lot. She had a real gift for making the words come alive. One of our favourite books was a collection of silly poems called "the curse of the vampire's socks" - by Terry Jones. She read them so many times we soon dispensed with the book and just rattled then off by heart.

Our two favourites from this book were "Horace", about a boy who eats himself (quite disturbing, in retrospect, but very funny!); and "In Mouldy Land", which is below:

In mouldy land, in mouldy land, 

They buy their mice in tins

They race elastic bandages

And shoot whoever wins

The shops are full of cobweb pies

The buses have bad feet

There's homes for eaten sandwiches

Dead ends to every street

And yet the people live there well

As far as they can see

Add long as they've got treacle farts

And buttered bums for tea!

Cue us all bellowing the last two lines in unison, at the tops of our lungs, then collapsing into helpless laughter at the thought of treacle farts and buttered bums!

I just typed up that poem from memory - the book is long lost, but all these years later, I still know it by heart. 

When I read it, I can hear it in Mandi's voice, and hear her enormous mad laugh - she laughed louder than all of us put together.

I miss her more than I can say, but memories like this make me smile, and keep her alive.

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If you's like to see your choice posted as part of this series, then please contact me either at 

leedsbookclub@gmail.com 

or via twitter (@leedsbookclub) 

or via our facebook page. 

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James Schwartz Choice

Poetry Challenge 2013

Here at Leeds Book Club, we're always looking for new poems and poets...well I say we...me mostly. 

This year, we've invited our friends from the blog and tweet sphere to share their favourite poems. 

Hope that you enjoy these!

http://literaryparty.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @queeraspoetry
The Window of the Tobacco Shop - C.P. Cavafy
http://soundcloud.com/queeraspoetry/the-window-of-the-tobacco-shop
Classic queer poem -- so me! Also put LBC interview on my SoundCloud page
http://soundcloud.com/queeraspoetry/lbc-interview-with-james

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The Window of the Tobacco Shop

C.P. CAVAFY

They stood among many others
close to a lighted tobacco shop window.
Their glances met by chance
and timidly, haltingly expressed
the illicit desire of their bodies.
Then a few uneasy steps along the street
until they smiled, and nodded slightly.

And after that the closed carriage,
the sensitive approach of body to body,
hands linked, lips meeting.

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If you's like to see your choice posted as part of this series, then please contact me either at 

leedsbookclub@gmail.com 

or via twitter (@leedsbookclub) 

or via our facebook page. 

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Happy Library Day

Poetry Challenge 2013

Here at Leeds Book Club, we're always looking for new poems and poets...well I say we...me mostly. 

This year, we've invited our friends from the blog and tweet sphere to share their favourite poems. 

Hope that you enjoy these!

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Mrs Phelps from Roald Dahl's Matilda
Librarian par excellence!
Illustration by Quentin Blake

IF LIBRARIANS WERE HONEST

JOSEPH MILLS

“… a book indeed sometimes debauched me from my work….”
– Benjamin Franklin

If librarians were honest,
they wouldn’t smile, or act
welcoming. They would say,
You need to be careful. Here
be monsters. They would say,
These rooms house heathens
and heretics, murderers and
maniacs, the deluded, desperate,
and dissolute. They would say,
These books contain knowledge
of death, desire, and decay,
betrayal, blood, and more blood;
each is a Pandora’s box, so why
would you want to open one.
They would post danger
signs warning that contact
might result in mood swings,
severe changes in vision,
and mind-altering effects.

If librarians were honest
they would admit the stacks
can be more seductive and
shocking than porn. After all,
once you’ve seen a few
breasts, vaginas, and penises,
more is simply more,
a comforting banality,
but the shelves of a library
contain sensational novelties,
a scandalous, permissive mingling
of Malcolm X, Marx, Melville,
Merwin, Millay, Milton, Morrison,

and anyone can check them out,
taking them home or to some corner
where they can be debauched
and impregnated with ideas.
If librarians were honest,
they would say, No one
spends time here without being
changed. Maybe you should
go home. While you still can.

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This poem was suggested to us by the wonderful +Laura Woods (@WoodsieGirl) to celebrate National Libraries Day...which came and went on the 9th of February. 

Apologies for the delay!

Say hi to @WoodsieGirl on twitter or visit her awesome blogs HERE and HERE

If you's like to see your choice posted as part of this series, have a read of THIS then please contact me either at 

leedsbookclub@gmail.com 

or via twitter (@leedsbookclub) 

or via our facebook page. 

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Gazpachodragon Choice - Itaca by Constantine P Cavafy

Poetry Challenge 2013

Here at Leeds Book Club, we're always looking for new poems and poets...well I say we...me mostly. 

This year, we've invited our friends from the blog and tweet sphere to share their favourite poems. 

Hope that you enjoy these!

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@Gazpachodragon has chosen the following poem. Here's why.

My poem is Ithaca by CP Cavafy (sometimes spelled Ithaka)

 

During my formative years, post break-up with my first serious boyfriend and when I was finding my feet in the world, I stumbled across Homer's The Odyssey. Odysseus' journey back to his family on Ithaca seemed insatiably romantic; more the stuff of pink-coloured paperbacks with swooning heroines on the cover than the ancient philosophical battle tomes I expected from the Classics. I saw a stage version of it (with a particularly dashing Odysseus, which may have helped), and I swooned as he battled monsters, spurned potential lovers and bargained with the Gods, all to get home to his wife, and his island home. Of course reading it now I see it's not a Mills and Boon tale, and Odysseus is actually a bit of a cock who on his return back to his home that he loves so much promptly goes on a mass-murdering spree, but still the idea of someone battling *everything* to get back to what they love stayed with me.

 

Fast-forward a few years, and heartbroken once again (oh, how tragic our teenage years are), I was given a book of poetry that contained this poem. All of a sudden I saw the whole tale from the other side. Odysseus is off having lots of adventures and living it up with the immortals, whilst Ithaca, quiet, devoted Ithaca, sits in the ocean, glimpsing him as he gets *so* close before sweeping off again. An unrequited love that is reciprocated (what an idea), remaining firm whilst withstanding the seasons, remaining the same but everchanging. Expectations high, destiny set. Ithaka waits for you, and in turn, waits for nobody. It's a beautiful and melancholy idea. I've since studied the poem with actual scholars, dissected every word, learned the original Greek for it; but still, each time I read it, my heart feels that pull of always being what you never wanted. Ithaca has given me a wonderful journey, and yet I still do not fully understand what these Ithacas mean.

Artemis Schwebel

ITHACA

CONSTANTINE P CAVAFY

When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - do not fear them:
such as these you will never find
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare
emotion touch your spirit and your body.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - you will not meet them
unless you carry them in your soul,
unless your soul raise them up before you.

Ask that your way be long.
At many a Summer dawn to enter
with what gratitude, what joy -
ports seen for the first time;
to stop at Phoenician trading centres,
and to buy good merchandise,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensuous perfumes of every kind,
sensuous perfumes as lavishly as you can;
to visit many Egyptian cities,
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned.

Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But don't in the least hurry the journey.
Better it last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you a splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She hasn't anything else to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka hasn't deceived you.
So wise you have become, of such experience,
that already you'll have understood what these Ithakas mean. 

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Thanks so much Gazpachodragon. 

You can learn more about the cornacopia of events that she runs aacross Leeds by visiting the following:

Hello Kirsty

If you's like to see your choice posted as part of this series, have a read of THIS then please contact me either at 

leedsbookclub@gmail.com 

or via twitter (@leedsbookclub) 

or via our facebook page. 

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Table of Contents - A Poetry Moment

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Leeds Playlist Choice - Poetical Playlist

Poetry Challenge 2013

Here at Leeds Book Club, we're always looking for new poems and poets...well I say we...me mostly. 

This year, we've invited our friends from the blog and tweet sphere to share their favourite poems. 

Hope that you enjoy these!

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Huge thanks to Leeds Playlist for putting together the following for us to enjoy in celebration of it's One Year Anniversary!

Poetic Lyrics Playlist for Leeds Book Club

My submission to Leeds Book Club’s poetry challenge is a playlist of 10 songs whose lyrics read like poetry to me. There are a million I could choose from, but I finally managed to get it down to this shortlist because the words struck me upon my first listen to the songs.

These are all artists who are well known for their own particula style of songwriting. I’ve chosen a real mix, with moments of self acceptance, bitterness, obsession, tragedy, passion and wisdom
gained from life experiences all being explored. Hope you like them too!


Spotify embed code:



1. LCD Soundsystem – I Can Change – 

A desperate yearning for love, even though you know it can hurt

And love is a murderer, love is a murderer / 

But if she calls you tonight / 

Everything is all right/ 

Yeah, we know And love is a curse shoved in a hearse/ 

Love is an open book to a verse of your bad poetry/
And this is coming from me/
But I can change, I can change, I can change, I can change / 

I can change, I can change, I can change/ 

If it helps you fall in love

2. Manic Street Preachers – A Design For Life – 

Nicky Wire’s lyrics about the class divide and the stereotypes associated to the welfare system.

Libraries gave us power/ 

Then work came and made us free/ 

What price now for a shallow piece of dignity
I wish I had a bottle/ 

Right here in my dirty face, to wear the scars/ 

To show from where I came
We don't talk about love we only want to get drunk/ 

And we are not allowed to spend/ 

As we are told that this is the end

3. Corinne Bailey Rae – Like a Star – 

The imperfect reality of love

You've got this look I can't describe / 

You make me feel I'm alive/ 

When everything else is au fait/ 

Without a doubt you're on my side/ 

Heaven has been away too long/ 

Can't find the words to write this song/ 

Oh, you're lovely.

Still I wonder why it is/ 

I don't argue like this/

With anyone but you/ 

You do it all the time/
Blowing out my mind.

4. Amy Winehouse – Wake Up Alone – 

She sings a tragic song excruciatingly well. Love the descriptive language here.

This face in my dreams seizes my guts/ 

He floods me with dread/ 

Soaked in soul/ 

He swims in my eyes by the bed /

Pour myself over him/ 

Moon spilling in/ 

And I wake up alone

5. Of Montreal – The Past Is A Grotesque Animal – 

I don’t know how to explain this song apart from that it is so wonderfully bizarre the 11 minutes fly by because it has so many twists and turns – just go with it.

Somehow you've red-rovered/

The Gestapo circling my heart/

And nothing can defeat you 

No death, no ugly world/ 

You've lived so brightly/ 

You've altered everything

I find myself/ 

Searching for old selves/ 

While speeding forward/ 

Through the plate glass of maturing cells

I played the unraveler/

The parhelion/

But even apocalypse is fleeting/ 

There's no death, no ugly world/ 

Sometimes I wonder if you're mythologizing me/ 

Like I do you/

Mythologizing me
like I do you

6. Alanis Morissette – You Learn – 

I agree with the sentiment of this song entirely. You live,
you learn, and the experience just makes you stronger and wise.

I recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone/ 

I recommend walking around naked in your living room/ 

Swallow it down (what a jagged little pill)/ 

It feels so good(swimming in your stomach)/ 

Wait until the dust settles

You live you learn/ 

You love you learn/ 

You cry you learn/ 

You lose you learn/ 

You bleed you learn/ 

You scream you learn

7. India.Arie – Video – 

I think this is one of the best opening lines I’ve ever heard.

Sometimes I shave my legs and sometimes I don’t/ 

Sometimes I comb my hair and sometimes I won’t/ 

Depend of how the wind blows I might even paint my toes/ 

It really just depends on whatever feels good in my soul

I’m not the average girl from your video/ 

And I ain’t built like a supermodel/ 

But I learned to love myself unconditionally/ 

Because I am a queen

I’m not the average girl from your video/ 

My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes/ 

No matter what I’m wearing I will always be/ 

The India Arie

8. Pulp – Something Changed – 

Jarvis beautifully describing that life changing moment in an
ordinary day where chemistry strikes and a romance is born.

I wrote the song two hours before we met/ 

I didn't know your name or what you looked like yet/ 

Oh I could have stayed at home and gone to bed/ 

I could have gone to see a film instead/ 

You might have changed your mind and seen your friends/

Life could have been very different then, but something changed.

9. The Smiths – I Know It's Over – 

Morrissey is the king of melancholy lyrics, with a humorous
edge. Comparing breaking up to being buried – brilliantly dark.

And I know it's over/ 

Still I cling/ 

I don't know where else I can go/ 

It's over, it's over, it's over

I know it's over/ 

And it never really began/ 

But in my heart it was so real/ 

And you even spoke to me and said: "If you're so funny/ 

Then why are you on your own tonight?/ 

And if you're so clever/ 

Then why are you on your own tonight?/ 

If you're so very entertaining/
Then why are you on your own tonight?

10. Leonard Cohen – I'm Your Man – 

Obsessive, submissive, creepy and outstanding.

If you want a boxer / 

I will step into the ring for you/ 

And if you want a doctor/ 

I'll examine every inch of you/ 

If you want a driver/ 

Climb inside/ 

Or if you want to take me for a ride/
You know you can/I'm your man

Ah, the moon's too bright/ 

The chain's too tight/ 

The beast won't go to sleep/ 

I've been running through these promises to you/ 

That I made and I could not keep/

Ah but a man never got a woman back /

Not by begging on his knees /

Or I'd crawl to you baby /

And I'd fall at your feet /

And I'd howl at your beauty /

Like a dog in heat /

And I'd claw at your heart /

And I'd tear at your sheet /

I'd say please, please /

I'm your man

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Find our more about Leeds Playlist HERE and say hi on Twitter @LeedsPlaylist.

Leeds Book Club and it's members have contributed a few playlists and I can honestly say that I rarely have more fun than when I'm obsessing over my tunes, wondering what to include in the latest, listening to my fellow Loiners selections!

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If you's like to see your choice posted as part of this series, have a read of THIS then please contact me either at 

leedsbookclub@gmail.com 

or via twitter (@leedsbookclub) 

or via our facebook page. 

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