Somesuch For The Weekdone

by ratty

Since early history, when man first developed his ability to communicate, poetry arose. Unable to be recorded, this was destined to be lost to us.

However, with the introduction of the written word, poetry was able to be penned and saved for posterity.

Since such time, we have had the privilege of reading the works of great authors from the distant past and those from more recent times, (passim electi) Henry Longfellow, Guy de Maupassant, Elizabeth Browning, Byron, Kipling.

Whilst fortunate to have access to these works, we have to ask ourselves if we are truly interpreting them in a manner that was the author’s intent.

We can only imagine if a particular word was intended to be pronounced with emotion. The same applies to the intervals between words or phrases, lengthened or shortened for emphasis

However, we are now able to remove this burden from those  wishing to follow and understand the prose of the 20th and 21st centuries, and those still yet to come.

I am, of course, referring to the emergence of the modern poet, the singer/songwriter.

What is music, if not a play on emotion. Are not lyrics poetic verse ?

Click “continue reading” at the bottom of this page to avail yourself of a random example awaiting future generations.

 

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16 Comments to “Somesuch For The Weekdone”

  1. Check this out . . . beautifully sung AND by a female with tentacles !

    Like

    • I recorded this film off tv some time ago, but haven’t watched it yet. Thanks for posting this, ratty – I can now safely delete it and make space for something I might want to watch.

      Like

  2. More Weird Al for y’all.

    Like

  3. Following the excellent introduction by my esteemed colleague Mr ratty, I thought it wise to post something by a proper poet.

    The bard of Salford, nonetheless.

    Copferthis:

    Like

  4. The poetry once thought lost in time immemmorrible, has been rediscovered, passed downword, hand to mouth, in a new “johnra”, as the cricits would say.
    For example, this rusty relic of a genteel bygone age, before it were fashionable to shit in the alley:

    Here sits me
    broken hearted
    Paid 2p
    But only farted

    The oral tradition referencing a dangerous consonantal ambiguity as pointed out by my chinese mother-in-law:

    “S-s-s-s-it? S-s-s-h-it? What the deference?”

    Which of course, can but vindictivate those nameless amongst us: spelling beeists, grammar nazists, and ultimatumly, NoblySans.

    Like

    • I like “NoblySans”

      Without Nobility

      Yes, I like that !

      Whereas, before, it just suggested Without a Nobbly and was, out of sympathy, never referred to.

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      • I will have you know that my Nobbly is present, correct and in fine working order.

        My main issue at present is one of finding something useful to do with the little chap.

        I too like the idea of Nobly Sans, as I reckon that the nobility are a right bunch of, well, Nobs, and we’d be far better off without ’em. Sorry, Mater and Pater, but I thought I’d better let you know how I feel about you.

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        • What’s with all this talking to your Tomaters and Potaters ?

          Are you losing it, or what ?

          You also whine about not finding something useful to do with your Nobbly.

          Get a grip on yourself !

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  5. See – there you go again; talking about losing it.

    Dammit man, will you not listen.

    I have the matter in hand.

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  6. The next piece of musically enhanced prose is Another one bites the Dust, recited by Queen.

    Incidentally, the drummer, Roger Taylor, is a Cornishman, like me.

    In fact we come from the same City, Truro, and we’re roughly the same age.

    We went to the same disco’s and hung out in the same cafes. Probably shared the same pubs.

    Not that I ever met him, of course. Nor was he to have the privilege of meeting me.

    Also, going to different schools, it’s unlikely we shared the same pool of friends.

    His friends were pupils at a posh Private School he attended. I, and mine, were 11+ plus failures that went to a raggedy-arsed Secondary School. One of our hobbies was beating up these posh kids, except, of course, if they were bigger than us.

    Still, that doesn’t mean ol’ Roger and me don’t have a connection.

    Oh, no sirree !

    We go back a long way, as I never tire of telling people when I first meet them.

    Take it away, Rog, mate.

    Like

  7. Maybe, if Rog is as posh as you make out, he used to go to discos while you and your mates were at disco’s.

    Incidentally, I used to work with Roger Taylor, although I’m not 100% sure that he was the same bloke that ratty is talking about.

    Whenever anyone asked him if he was the drummer with Queen, he would reply “Of course I’m not, you daft twat.”

    Maybe it was all a big bluff to throw people off the scent, but he did sound more like he came from Crumpsall than Cornwall.

    Who knows, eh?

    Like

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