The book dialog game

[pdurrant]

Originally Posted by Bilbo1967

Just four words initially;

An ecstasy of fumbling

Wilfred Owen, Dulce et Decorum Est.

[Bilbo1967]

Originally Posted by pdurrant

Wilfred Owen, Dulce et Decorum Est.

Yes it is. Great poetry.

Well done, your turn.

[pdurrant]

OK, some modern poetry, a poem I particularly like, and was reminded of this week. The title is also the first line of the poem, but this is from the second stanza.

It has gone with bowed head like a defeated legion
Beneath the yoke.
What avail him now his awards and prizes,
The praise expended upon his meticulous technique,
His individual new voice?

[poohbear_nc]

Hmmmm .... totally at sea on this one ....

The diction/phrasing sound British. The (apparent) conflation of warfare with prizes & technique/voice suggest an author's battle to get published - that failed. The voice is that of a rival, or successfully published author.

OK - I've explicated your verse, but am sure I've never read it...

[pdurrant]

British? Well, yes and no. Or rather, no and yes. Sort of. Your analysis of the poem is good, if not quite right in all respects.

Here're some more lines, this time from the first stanza, since no-one's jumped in yet.

Like a van-load of counterfeit that has been seized
And sits in piles in a police warehouse,
My enemy's much-prized effort sits in piles

[poohbear_nc]

Originally Posted by pdurrant

British? Well, yes and no. Or rather, no and yes. Sort of. Your analysis of the poem is good, if not quite right in all respects.

Here're some more lines, this time from the first stanza, since no-one's jumped in yet.

"The Tale of the Remaindered Tomes"?

Now I'm sure I've never read it - but it sounds quite interesting.

[pdurrant]

For someone who hasn't come across this, that's pretty close. Let me give some more of the second stanza, just for fun. Title and author tomorrow morning, if no-one gets it meantime.

And (oh, this above all) his sensibility,
His sensibility and its hair-like filaments,
His delicate, quivering sensibility is now as one
With Barbara Windsor's Book of Boobs,
A volume graced by the descriptive rubric
"My boobs will give everyone hours of fun".

[WT Sharpe]

Originally Posted by poohbear_nc

Correct! Put on your Wizzard hat & give us the next quiz!

Finally! One I knew and everyone beat me to the punch!

[The Terminator]

Originally Posted by pdurrant

For someone who hasn't come across this, that's pretty close. Let me give some more of the second stanza, just for fun. Title and author tomorrow morning, if no-one gets it meantime.

Why aren't you in green?

[pdurrant]

Originally Posted by The Terminator

Why aren't you in green?

Only official moderation posts are in green. Otherwise it's just my username.

[pdurrant]

Originally Posted by pdurrant

Title and author tomorrow morning, if no-one gets it meantime.

OK, it's "The Book of My Enemy has been Remaindered" by Clive James. It appears (I think) in all his various poetry collections.

Would someone else like to set us a puzzle?

Spoiler:

The Book of My Enemy Has Been Remaindered
By Clive James

The book of my enemy has been remaindered
And I am pleased.
In vast quantities it has been remaindered.
Like a van-load of counterfeit that has been seized
And sits in piles in a police warehouse,
My enemy’s much-praised effort sits in piles
In the kind of bookshop where remaindering occurs.
Great, square stacks of rejected books and, between them, aisles
One passes down reflecting on life’s vanities,
Pausing to remember all those thoughtful reviews
Lavished to no avail upon one’s enemy’s book –
For behold, here is that book
Among these ranks and banks of duds,
These ponderous and seemingly irreducible cairns
Of complete stiffs.

The book of my enemy has been remaindered
And I rejoice.
It has gone with bowed head like a defeated legion
Beneath the yoke.
What avail him now his awards and prizes,
The praise expended upon his meticulous technique,
His individual new voice?
Knocked into the middle of next week
His brainchild now consorts with the bad buys
The sinkers, clinkers, dogs and dregs,
The Edsels of the world of moveable type,
The bummers that no amount of hype could shift,
The unbudgeable turkeys.

Yea, his slim volume with its understated wrapper
Bathes in the glare of the brightly jacketed Hitler’s War Machine,
His unmistakably individual new voice
Shares the same scrapyard with a forlorn skyscraper
Of The Kung-Fu Cookbook,
His honesty, proclaimed by himself and believed in by others,
His renowned abhorrence of all posturing and pretence,
Is there with Pertwee’s Promenades and Pierrots –
One Hundred Years of Seaside Entertainment,
And (oh, this above all) his sensibility,
His sensibility and its hair-like filaments,
His delicate, quivering sensibility is now as one
With Barbara Windsor’s Book of Boobs,
A volume graced by the descriptive rubric
‘My boobs will give everyone hours of fun.’

Soon now a book of mine could be remaindered also,
Though not to the monumental extent
In which the chastisement of remaindering has been meted out
To the book of my enemy,
Since in the case of my own book it will be due
To a miscalculated print run, a marketing error –
Nothing to do with merit.
But just supposing that such an event should hold
Some slight element of sadness, it will be offset
By the memory of this sweet moment.
Chill the champagne and polish the crystal goblets!
The book of my enemy has been remaindered
And I am glad.

[The Terminator]

I've never read ANY poetry so I really suck at this.

^Since you did not seize the day I will.

New book. This will likely be a whole lot easier for Americans as it is vary much rooted in part of the American experience, but maybe knowing that will help others.

“What I killed for must’ve been good!” _____ voice was full of frenzied anguish. “It must have been good! When a man kills, it’s for something…. I didn’t know I was really alive in this world until I felt things hard enough to kill for ’em…. It’s the truth, Mr. ___. I can say it now, ’cause I’m going to die. I know what I’m saying real good and I know how it sounds. But I’m all right. I feel all right when I look at it that way….”

So maybe it's just a slow day? Here is another:

“Goddamnit, look! We live here and they live there. We black and they white. They got things and we ain't. They do things and we can't. It's just like livin' in jail.”

[issybird]

I'm going to guess Richard Wright's Native Son; I haven't (to my shame) read it.