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13 Oct 15
Originally posted by Grampy BobbyI stick to the balls that I find. I can't remember the last time I ever bought a ball.
have you ever played golf and if so did you use pink, green, yellow or white balls?
my wife's favorite was white with a small butterfly on the opposite side of the brand.
16 Oct 15
4 edits
Originally posted by Ice Cold (OP)The Oven Bird
The object is to keep this thread on top of page one. A game destined to fail. 😞
There is a singer everyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past.
When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
On sunny days a moment overcast;
And comes that other fall we name the fall.
He says the highway dust is over all.
The bird would cease and be as other birds
But that he knows in singing not to sing.
The question that he frames in all but words
Is what to make of a diminished thing.
By Robert Frost
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Miss STG was born on July 19, 2009, in Vermont.
In High School she fell in love with Robert Frost's Poems.
"The Oven Bird" is one of two she learned by heart.
"coquette, i dedicated this one to you." ~Miss STG
_______________________________
"The Oven Bird: The poem opens with what first sounds like flat prosaic statement, There is a singer everyone has heard but the line rides on the expected thrust of later lines, and before it ends, it melts imperceptibly into iambics. But—we must always be saying 'but' of this poem—as we are lapsing into a regular beat, the meter flutters slightly in 'everyone' before settling down. The next line begins unexpectedly Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird The opening monosyllable is stressed doubly for sense and meter, the comma further lengthening the pause; the word is out of the familiar metrical and grammatical order, and very casual, almost rude in tone. But 'Loud' is followed by two echoing poetic compounds, and the third line is back in the swing of iambic verse, though a bit roughed up by alliteration and t-d-s sounds—almost a tongue-twister: Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.This odd talking-song, so deftly rude, is central to the growing form and to the attitude reaching a climax in the final line—the troubling sense of diminishedness, of things being less than they were. The poetry is not in this idea alone, but in the metaphor of loss-and-song expressed 'in all but words' through many sorts of indirection.
The song in the poem is not just any oven bird's song, but the singing made by the poet's words. It is very common—'everyone has heard' it—and not charming or poetic, but 'Loud.' It renews the spring song of 'other birds' ('Tree trunks sound again' ) only to remind us that summer is a tenth as good as spring, that the 'petal-fall' anticipated the approaching 'other fall.' More conventional birds, like the orioles and thrushes, do not sing in mid-summer. But the oven bird's song really isn't a song, as the language keeps insisting: he 'makes . . . trunks sound' (he hammers and drums ), 'he says that . . . he says . . . he says . . . he knows . . . he frames . . . '—a most explanatory bird. (As Frost says of prose without rhythm, it is 'declare, declare, declare.' ) If we are familiar with the 'teacher-teacher' call of the oven bird, we get the point sooner; but even without knowing the bird we hear its teaching in the paradox of song-not-song renewed in many fine poetic stresses. The metaphor is always there underground and implicit, the quality of the poem depending on the unobtrusiveness of this half-apprehended but surely heard meaning. Anyone who has walked in dry July woods will remember how the metallic refrain of the oven bird bores into ears and mind.
The metaphor is also active in the dramatic voice, which is very much in harmony with 'all-but-ness' and which resists easy reduction of the poem to 'Ah, summer!—spring's faded!' The poet's rhythm is always being steadied by prose statement, and his grammar is of the plainest. In the wager of 'one to ten,' where we might expect 'ten to one' in summer's bounty, and in the playing with various 'falls' his subtly amused tone comes out clearly enough. The restraining quality of his speech goes finely with the language he has used of the bird's song and with the question he frames in the end. But the poet outdoes the bird: he manages in not singing to sing. Tempo and feeling increase as the rhythm rides with surprising force through full stops and with what Edward Thomas beautifully called 'a quiet eagerness of emotion.' Readers who see in the poem a symbol of Frost as poet or a veiled ars poetica, should note that the symbol is not the bird but the poetic art, the 'feat of words' as a whole. But that further metaphor is only touched on: as in the best of Frost, lightness is all.
The figure implied in 'The Oven Bird'—of talking song and of unobtrusive metaphor embodied in rhythm and tone as much as in statement and image, of a growth from observation (Frost's moment of 'delight' ) to felt truth—is not only a formal pattern, but also the forming of a revelation of which the meaning is the unfolding poetic event. From The Poetry of Robert Frost: Constellations of Intention. New York: Oxford UP, 1963. Copyright © 1963 by Reuben A. Brower http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/poets/a_f/frost/ovenbrid.htm
16 Oct 15
Originally posted by Grampy Bobbymerci
[b]The Oven Bird
There is a singer everyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past.
When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
On sunny days a moment ov ...[text shortened]... ght © 1963 by Reuben A. Brower http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/poets/a_f/frost/ovenbrid.htm[/b]
16 Oct 15
are there still any doubters who think that this will someday reach 10,000?
alas, this is not a notable benchmark
it is far more relevant that Ice Cold continues to be wrong
that, dear colleagues, is all that matters
infiniti is our goal
never, never must this fall below page 1
for should that happen
we know in a bonechilling reality
that Ice Cold will reappear
and taunt us with his nauseating gloating
don't let it happen
Originally posted by Grampy BobbyThe Sound of the Trees
The Oven Bird
There is a singer everyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past.
When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
On sunny days a moment overc ...[text shortened]... pyright © 1963 by Reuben A. Brower http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/poets/a_f/frost/ovenbrid.htm
I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
Robert Frost (1874 - 1963)
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And this is the second Robert Frost Poem Miss STG learned by heart in Vermont.
She now lives alone in the Midwest with her two precious kittens, Leigh and Joey.
"Great Big Stees, I'd like to dedicate this one with a hint of melancholia to you.
Bye for now." ~Miss STG