|
FakeSteve, you are a man of many talents. Write more!
I'm a little tied up right now, though. Will do something this weekend; Testie's idea looks promising. In the meantime, here's something I wrote for shits and giggles last winter while procrastinating on a paper. It probably won't be funny if you haven't read Beowulf. (If you haven't, Geat is pronounced Ye-aht, and Shieldings/Shield-Danes/Danes are used interchangeably in the original).
Beowulf Condensed
At Heorot did Hrothgar-king
A lavish drinking hall proclaim
Where mead in golden rivers ran
From tankards numberless to man
Through Shielding warriors of fame.
But Grendel, monster of the lake,
Foul spawn of Cain, by God's will cursed,
Rejecting happiness in booze,
Light, joyous prayers, golden hues,
With Shielding lifeblood slaked his thirst.
Across the sea came Beowulf,
A Geat thane of some renown
(Twelve winters happened first to pass)
And once-proud Hrothgar kissed his ass.
Wulf said, "I shall not let you down."
Upon foul Grendel's next return
They battled, meaning grievous harm
But Beowulf, God-bless'd and good,
Refused to turn to monster food
And severed Grendel's wicked arm.
The Shieldings' king then wined and dined
The hero from across the seas
And heaped much praise with royal voice:
Obsequious, he did rejoice
For lack of further obsequies.
A bard then sang of combat past,
Of monstrous treachery and hate -
By men inflicted. 'Twas so strong,
I heard italics in the song.
Then Grendel's mom came, most irate.
"Blood hath bought blood and body parts!"
She might have Shakespeare paraphrased,
But this had happened long before.
She took Aeschere's head, full of lore,
And her son's arm, amid drunk daze.
Our hero boasted once again
To battle evil 'neath the lake,
And Unferth, by his deeds assured,
Lent Beowulf his runic sword.
'Twas mighty Hrunting, not a fake.
In halls of vileness Beo fought.
Unarmed, she held the upper hand
Against the Geat's sword and board.
But on his side then stood our Lord
And she was vanquished from the land.
Then Beo crossed the sea once more,
Returning home with wealth and fame.
But Danes were soon by foes beset,
Betrayers, human ones at that,
And Heorot succumbed to flame.
In Geatland two kings then fell
And Beo rose to claim the throne.
He was among the best of kings:
Imposing, generous with rings.
In war his land was left alone.
A dragon woke five decades hence,
Foul-tempered snake with flaming breath
That yearned for vengeance on a thief
And burned much land in Beo's fief,
Its halitosis bearing death.
Wulf couldn't resist a monster's lure
In youth, or geriatric, now.
He called the fighters of the day:
"Come, whippersnappers, let us play!"
To slay the beast they took a vow.
But when the time for combat came
All of the thanes but one had fled.
Proud Wiglaf gave his full support,
The dragon's might had come up short,
And now the toothy one lay dead.
The Lord was backing neither side
And Beowulf was due to croak.
The man was glad to keep his word,
Grinned as he saw the dragon's hoard,
To Wiglaf said, "You're king now, bloke."
And Wiglaf spoke to Geats: "Kin,
Though we lack not in gold or food,
From foes we can't defend our land.
There is much death and woe at hand;
Our fighters' guts are saffron-hued."
|
Beowulf was the bane of my existence.
Msd long yo, might have been easier to do the paper xD It's good though. I would have tried to get extra credit.
|
You're actually an impressive writer.
|
|
|
|
|
Baaaad asssss
Defenestrate & Fanatacist are my heroes.
|
On September 21 2007 09:14 defenestrate wrote:
Hahah, badass.
On September 21 2007 09:14 MYM.Testie wrote:
Baaaad asssss
Defenestrate & Fanatacist are my heroes.
Thank you <3
|
art material, both of you
ill have to read a summary of Beowulf on wikipedia before I read the poem - i wanna enjoy it to its finest. of course they might have a copy of it at the library...
|
Valhalla18444 Posts
On September 21 2007 07:58 defenestrate wrote:
Write more!
Never, for I
Have no spark in my eye
And no fire on my brain
To write poems again
Please, let this one slide
I didn't mean it, all right?
As Miss Britney would say,
"Oops I did it again"
(And yes, I realize
I could be criticized
The winning road wasn't paved
Rhyming 'again' with 'again')
|
is awesome32269 Posts
|
Ode to Defenestrate:
Oh defenestrate!
Thou art what thine art is,
and so in rhyme,
we hear what thine heart is.
Oh hearken!,
does we when defenestrate posts.
Missing moments of boredom is what we love most.
Toast!
Is also the opposite of bread quite raw,
His tightly written lines looses lots of guffaws.
And now,
His loosed doggerel chases me like the Hounds of Hell,
Into a dark damp cave where now my vocabulary dwells.
|
Defenestrate surely you tease
Fakesteve's poems do not appease.
Lacking substance only you bring,
Walls of my mind, they do not cling.
Mine own creation, not up to par,
Fit for bathroom stalls, of a rundown bar.
A mistake just made, can you see?
Point three out when read, and PM me.
Lifted champagne glass, in your praise,
To the future of poetic days!
Effort needed, I must now cease.
Allow myself to rest in peace.
|
Steve, Testie, and all: it's a question of working on it a lot. I spend considerably more time and effort attempting to translate Russian songs and poetry. (I spend even more time on writing prose, and it still sucks like a former White House intern, but that's a story for another day).
Take for example a very short, untitled Akhmatova poem:
Сказал, что у меня соперниц нет.
Я для него не женщина земная,
А солнца зимнего утешный свет
И песня дикая родного края.
Когда умру, не станет он грустить,
Не крикнет, обезумевши: Воскресни!
Но вдруг поймет, что невозможно жить
Без солнца телу и душе без песни.
…А что теперь?
He said, none can comparison invite.
To him I earthly womankind transcend,
But I'm the winter sun's consoling light
And song primeval of his native land.
When I am dead, he will not merely grieve,
He will not, maddened, for my rebirth long,
But grasp: it is impossible to live
For bodies sunless, souls bereft of song.
…And what remains?
I had to change the meter of the even lines, and it doesn't sound a tenth as elegant as it did in the original. It also took more time than the Beowulf thingy.
Usually, the poems/songs are longer, and have more to juggle: should I compromise internal rhyme? the rhythm? sacrifice some of the meaning? Eat away too much and it's something new altogether. Sometimes, all but a single stanza goes well. I know that translations able to convey some of the original have been done before and anything short of that cannot be labeled complete. But it makes going back to writing original poems a hell of a lot easier, like going from playing B+ opponents on iccup to random public games on USEast.
Experience says some things are pointless to try. I've tutored math for the last five years, and most of my students would not be able to decently understand intermediate algebra if they devoted their entire lives to it. I can't draw worth shit, and look upon the MSPaint thread with some awe. Ditto for pro Starcraft :p But once you establish that you have that iota of ability, all you need to do is devote a lot of time to it.
O Steve the Fake, thy rhyming word
Do not with haste decry:
Of Yom Bo Sung you wouldn't have heard
If he chose not to try.
|
I'm Russian and I work as a translator... When I have the time I can translate stuff for you <<
I will translate that after soccer practice if you want n_n. From a quick glance I can tell you did pretty well.
|
On September 21 2007 11:56 MYM.Testie wrote:
Defenestrate surely you tease
Fakesteve's poems do not appease.
Lacking substance only you bring,
Walls of my mind, they do not cling.
Mine own creation, not up to par,
Fit for bathroom stalls, of a rundown bar.
A mistake just made, can you see?
Point three out when read, and PM me.
Lifted champagne glass, in your praise,
To the future of poetic days!
Effort needed, I must now cease.
Allow myself to rest in peace.
Damn, that was mad good. I feel like the only shitty writer out there xD.
|
This is just something I wrote the other day:
Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong
And carry on,
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven.
Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?
I'll find my way
Through night and day,
'Cause I know I just can't stay
Here in heaven.
|
On September 21 2007 06:14 MYM.Testie wrote:
Do a suicide note for a man leaving the world behind. If you need a challenge, make a good reason for his suicide having to do with a piece of cheese.
Also inspired by http://www.thenoobcomic.com/daily/strip221.html
Not quite what you requested, but enjoy.
The Ballad of Cheese
Away from the cities existeth a dell
Wherein with my paladin lover I dwell.
Our life in the forest was merry and gay;
Each morning my lover would bring a bouqet
Of clovers and dogrose, bejeweled with dew,
Professing a love that would always stay true.
But honor would draw him from comfort and ease
To magic dimensions of man-eating cheese.
His armor was polished, his weaponry shone,
No mount on the planet could equal his own.
His comrades were noble, with nary a knave,
Each swore to fight evil or fill up a grave.
In battle formation they rode to the gate,
Prepared to cross swords versus cheddar and fate.
At night, all alone, I returned from the stream
And slept, and in sleeping I saw in a dream
Their banners all tattered, their faces in blood,
As ravenous Roqueforts attacked in a flood.
I woke with an image: embattled, morose,
the righteous formation was gone; fighters froze.
A day's worth of battle had sapped their reserve;
A forty-foot gouda destroyed their last nerve.
My lover fought on where the cowards all failed.
Good fought against gouda; the gouda prevailed.
Upon that foul cheese bloody vengeance I swore,
And went to the city, and worked as a whore
To buy mighty weapons. Collecting disease,
I thought up new ways to torment hated cheese.
Gods, fickle as ever, had dealt me a blow:
My character level was simply too low
To enter the portal that led to the Plane.
So many foul blowjobs, conducted in vain,
Had crushed what remained of my slight self-esteem.
I went to the dell. Now I die by the stream.
My lifeblood flows on from my wrists to my groin;
My paladin lover in death I'll rejoin.
|
Shit that last one was great!
and I laughed at this too
O Steve the Fake, thy rhyming word
Do not with haste decry:
Of Yom Bo Sung you wouldn't have heard
If he chose not to try.
ty
|
omg i love reading this thread
i enjoyed the cheese one very much
|
|
|
|
|
|
EPT
