The Art and Science of Football Play Calling

From 1996- 2010, I called every play in high school games. I had three more games and two back to back years from 2012-2014, but I haven't been a primary game play caller in a while now. The guys who have called the plays in the years since then all have done a great job and though I still have input in game planning, I do not do the 'on the play clock' decisions.

Play calling is fun, but if I am honest, I have to admit that there are now hours and hours of mental and prep time that I have today that I did NOT have when I was the primary caller in games.

Someone recently asked me if you can train play calling... and it made me spend some time thinking about it... and yes, I do think you can train someone on how to grow as a play caller.

As I have been thinking about it, I thought I would make some notes... in no particular order... thinking about calling plays and making gut check decisions in football.

I thought I would start with an example of TWO SPECIFIC CALLS I MADE DURING MY PAST- 

These two play calls are parts of 1,000's of these types of decisions. And again, for the spectator, a great call works and a poor call doesn't.

In 2007, we were playing Goodpasture (TN)  for the region championship in week 10. If there was one team that was a thorn in my coaching experience is the Cougars. They were well coached and they were very talented.

To demonstrate this look at the scores below:

2004 W- 37-23 My first game as a head coach.
2005 L- 7-21- knocked us out of a chance for playoffs- They were State runner-up
2006 L- 21-35- first of 2 games- they were state runner-up
2006 L- 7-20- 3rd round of playoffs, we finished 10-3- again...they were state runner-up
2007 L- 32-43- this is the game I am writing about, week 10 for region title
2007 L- 41-47- we drop a snap on 2nd and goal from the 1 in OT- they were state-runner-up
2008 W- 21-10- regular season- we won region title
2008 L- 21-35- they knock us out in quarterfinals and they are semifinalists
2009 W- 21-14- we finish 3-7- they get knocked out 2nd round
2010 L- Regular season 28-27- they block PAT with seconds left on the clock
2010-L- 1st round of playoffs 20-6- our starting QB does not play- my last loss as a head coach-
They were state runner-up

I had 33 losses in 7 years as a head coach and 8 of those were to Goodpasture. (24% - My head coaching career record was 47-33) .

PLAY CALL 1- My Qb in 2007 was Connor Lowery, as fine a young man as I have ever coached. Signed with Samford University, graduated in accounting, and won the award for best team player for that program. He is now a GREAT DAD and loving husband.

Connor was our version of Tim Tebow- big, strong, hard runner. Played a lot of his senior season with a separated AC joint in his shoulder.

We did a lot of pre-snap reading when we played Goody, and based on a few alignments and scouting, we checked to plays based on how they were playing their 3-4. The run game was just zone read and what we call TAG - a counter-trey scheme and called QB run.

If Goody gave us a run defense- we threw the ball, primarily to an excellent WR in Tripp Weir.
If Goody gave us a pass defense- we ran zone (mostly a fullback run or TAG- the Qb counter- trey).

Was this a good scheme? In game 1 we scored 32 points and in game 2 we scored 41 but came up short. They had amazing talent in their wing-t offense and always ran it well.

They way I remember this play call was that we scored late in the 4th quarter to reclaim the lead (which we had lost after being up big early).

And we got a STOP. Our defense always played hard.

On first down we gained 6.

We were 2 and 4 from mid-field and I knew what I wanted - TAG PASS. I had saved it all game. On tag pass we still pull the guard and tackle- we simulate the Qb run and then hit a deep play action shot.

We executed it just right. It looked like run, it sounded like run, it smelled like run- I watch Tripp Weir run a beautiful burst route- he shuffled his feet like he was blocking- the safety and corner both sucked up. And Tripp sprung free all alone.

Connor threw a beautiful ball- a lot of air. Tripp did a great job of stretching late for the catch.

These two guys had hooked up hundreds of times like this. And they had had some BIG moments.

And the ball passed millimeters past Tripps outstretched arms.

You can easily visualize the sights and sounds- the universal sound of ALLLLLLMOST!

Missing that pas was huge though because it put us behind the chains and we ended up punting and we needed points each drive... 

CALL #2

2010. Same team- same location. The QB this time was Nolan Genovese. The power receiver Sam Cranford. The game plan very similar. We scored 28 points and missed two opportunities in the red zone.

Here is one of them.

It is right before halftime. We are up by 5 points. Time for 1 play. I send the FG team out for a 19 yard field goal.

They call timeout.

As we come back, I decide that we would fake it.

We had put a ton of work that season in our kicking game. We had an amazing special teams coach that year and we had the best 'operational time' that I have ever seen a HS team have.

But we were small up front. And no matter how hard we pressed it- we could easily get run over on the front.

I thought: A) This will work B) Anytime you show a fake it might slow them down C) It is just halftime and we are moving the ball.

Every eye in that huddle, including the special teams coach, liked the idea.

We snap it. Our left TE slips down the middle. We throw the pass. It hits his hands. And then he is hit and the ball drops.

This is a GREAT kid. He is a GREAT player. And he makes that play all the time.

He was crushed on the sideline.


I went to him, hugged and said, "no big deal- let's keep fighting".

We lost by 1 point- should we have kicked the FG? The last PAT of the game was blocked.

Two calls- two outcomes.

There is a small, small, small gap between winning a losing.

But I loved every single minute of it... in the arena.

_______________________


I wanted to take a few minutes and comment on observations I have made about play calling over the years. What is a 'questionable play call'?

I have been watching a lot of football film over the last few weeks (and years) and it is always refreshing to get away from the game and come back after the computer has had time to shut down a re-boot.

When a coach is planing for a game- he is putting into his mental rehearsal a lot of information. First, he knows his team and players. He has watched them live and on film and he knows both strengths and weaknesses. He knows how healthy they are. He knows who is likely to perform under pressure and who is likely to choke. He has certain plays and players he trusts and he has certain others he does not.

Secondly, a coach tries to guess what the other team knows. As an opposing coach breaks down his team, what does he see? Who is he impressed with? Where does he see weaknesses?

Both coaches see schemes- and almost any coach knows the strong and weak match-ups of scheme. Behind the scheme are philosophical beliefs that have strengths and weaknesses as well. Some teams are very good against your philosophy and scheme- and other teams create real issues.

Thirdly, there is the plan and practice of the plan. What was new this week? How did it look? Was it repped enough to a point where the players can execute it in the game?

Finally, there is the game condition itself. How is the game going? What is the weather, field conditions, momentum?

There are many different styles and ways to call a game. I see it being very similar to playing a par 5 in golf. The drive is the field position- are we in the fairway? Then there is the risk and reward- do we lay up or go for the green in two? And you can always out think yourself a little- what is the other guy going to do? Is he coming with the blitz or will he back off in a zone?

Now- let me add one other factor- PLAY CLOCK. A good play caller has to immediately call out personnel, formation, and play- you really get no time to weigh pro and cons. That is why the excellent ones have experience and mental rehearsal to quickly pull the trigger.

The bottom line is this: it is kind of stupid to ever say "That was a dumb play call" unless you are privy to all the conditions I have described above. That is why it is very, very rare for me to even entertain the idea of questioning a play call. I will be a very supportive coach in that area.

To the common observer - A GOOD PLAY CALL WORKS AND BAD ONE DOESN'T.

I have had coaches tell me that I called a good game- it feels good- and I do believe I was a great play caller during my time at it-  but the bottom line is this- only I know when I botched a call- which means I put the formation to the wrong side of the field- or I messed up the personnel- or I called something that I knew the players struggled with- or mis-spoke.

SO THE QUESTION IS- CAN I TEACH SOMEONE HOW TO BECOME A BETTER PLAY CALLER?- and the answer is, I can show them a formula... but there is only one way to get better at doing it, and that is calling plays... over time... and then you learn from success and failure.

If I had to describe the process, I could put it in three blocks:

CHESS/ FISHING/ MENTAL REHEARSAL

CHESS

The first block in developing as a play caller is learning the deep details of scheme. This takes time and also, it takes constant updating. The schemes used today are stacked on top of all of the good schemes that precede them. Defenses are CONSTANTLY evolving, I could write a book on how the game changed from the late 1970's through today... but it would be about as long as War and Peace! And when I finished... it would already be out of date!

At the same time... it is still a game of numbers, match-ups, and space. Every defense has a hole...

but they also know where the holes are and do a great job of moving and hiding them based on field position and down/distance/situations.

This takes study.. this takes time... my suggestion is to start with YOUR system on offense and then play that system versus different defensive fronts and coverages. Your system is a language that allows you to be multiple... but also.. you can't call endless plays.

SO Chess also has pieces- Kings, Queens, bishops, pawns, knights, rooks... all with different movements and power. Likewise, your system has to take into account personnel... and if you are a high school coach.. those pieces change year to year.

FISHING

My dad taught me a lot about making the most of a 'honey hole' in fishing. You have to cast away from time to time to let the school replenish. I think the best thing I did as a play caller was to see the holes in a defense (scheme and personnel) and I wanted to hit the hole enough to make hay... but I also knew to cast away to keep the defense off balance.

And it can't be the same rhythm- hole hole- away/  hole- away -away - hole/ away- hole-hole-hole

and if you did it right... the hole never closed.

I wanted to change before they changed.

MENTAL REHEARSAL-

When I was a full time play caller- before we started the game on Friday night- I probably called the game mentally hundreds of times. I played in my mind-  first play- first drive- combinations- 2nd and short- field position- red zone- coming out- situations to call a trick- what they may be expecting and what are my tendencies? How can I change those to create the most productivity.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

Today, so much of play calling is charts and analytics.... and that is the SCIENCE needed to self scout and call games.

But the best play callers had an art to his flow as well. 

As I see the latest trends here are some final ideas:

packaged/ complimentary plays with a main call and a 'kill-kill' secondary call

menu plays to go fast- change tempo

RPO's- to help to slow down secondary run fits

You have to have balance- you have to find a way to throw and run effectively.

You have to use movement and multiple sets. I think static teams that only show a 2x2 or 3x1 set are allowing the defense to dictate the game.

You need to run on some pass downs and pass on some run downs.

In HS football- you have to throw 4-7 times deep a game.... and not just double moves. 

3rd down and long- you need to be smart- you can't throw for the sticks on every 3rd and long. 

1st down production is important.

You HAVE to have short yardage plays your team believes in. Teams that lost 3rd and short and 4th and short are going to have a hard time winning close games.

You can be too conservative and too reckless.... there is a balance.

I enjoyed posting about this.... hope it stirs coaches to grow and develop creativity and skill!

Remembering 50 Years of TEAM

One of the joys of this football season has been doing a podcast in celebration and remembrance of 50 years of football at Briarwood. In my 31 years of coaching, it is hard to stop and celebrate. As soon as you rejoice at a fun win, you have to bear down and get ready to compete again.

There is no shortcut to success, because the only thing I can really add to preparation is hard work. Years ago I wrote about the constant mental toil that churns inside weekly. The post is old, so I had to republish it (should be re-published on Sept 1, 2022)

That never changes.

And so, before long... not only has a decade gone by, before you can take a breath... it becomes 3 decades!

When I realized that our 50 year celebration was coming, I knew it was time to see if we could archive a few stories and memories. The frustration is that we will leave more out than we can document. And I do hope those that get left out of the process will be gracious!

Even this post will be just a taste of what the experience has meant to me.  As we come into another game this year, I have become more acutely aware that there is a very common theme to the teams I have been able to go to battle with... and that is IT TAKES A TEAM!

And each week, as we did another podcast- it became obvious- these guys bought into TEAM concepts!

And once a team finishes a season, what remains is the fundamentals that it takes to become a team. One of the many reasons I love football is because it is the ultimate team sport. Football requires incredible cooperation and team unity. Once I became a head coach, I began to rethink my definitions of ‘success’ and ‘achievement’ and developed the idea that one factor in our success, as a program, is if we grew into a ‘team’. Many of us know the slogans- “There is no I in Team” and T.E.A.M. “ together everyone accomplishes more”- but I want a team to be much more than a slogan.

I think all teams are products of growth. A team cannot be made in a moment; it must be developed over a period of time. The fundamental ingredients to becoming a team are love and trust. To the degree that our players and coaches can learn to love each other and trust each other will be the depth of our power as a team.

In the first third of a season, a coaching staff can begin to see the types of players on a team, where they are, and what the challenges are in the way to  'becoming one heartbeat'.  

Here are the three types of players, and each group has a unique challenge:

Stars and starters- these guys feel good about their role, but the danger is to rest and cease from the grind. They also bear a responsibility to encourage and include ALL of the players, no matter their role. My best groups over the years are appreciative of the scout team guys, the JV guys, and even the managers, filmers, and trainers.

The back-ups- increasingly, this is becoming an endangered species. A recurring theme in this culture is "if I don't play, I'm not going to stay on the team". A successful team HAS to have back-ups and coaches need to make sure they are developing these players. They aren't ready for prime time, but how do we get them there? Some players will always be a back-up. But 10 or 20 years AFTER a season, none of that matters. 

The role players- These are significant members who often go unrecognized. But we HAVE to remind them that they have VALUE! A win is enjoyed by all!

Ultimately a team is characterized by self-sacrifice and a unity of purpose. Selfishness, bitterness, cynicism, apathy, and isolation are team killers. To develop love and trust requires communication, honesty, forgiveness, tolerance, and effort. A great step to love and trust is learning to suffer together. I can point to important moments when our football teams experienced major moves in developing the team spirit that we so eagerly wait for each season and it usually follows very difficult struggles or failures. Under pressure, we learn who we can rely on. There is very little pretending in times of pain.

CULTURE MATTERS!  We want to be champions 20 years from now!

In the early 1980’s, the University of Miami won a National Championship while Harvard University lost every game that season. Sports Illustrated did a story on where the players were 10 years later and found that a large percentage of the Miami team had gone to prison or experienced other unnecessary hardships while the Harvard players were enjoying unprecedented success in life. Who really won that year? Time shows us the obvious answer.

 
The same is true at ANY school. What will we gain if we win the state championship but forfeit our soul?

 So please understand that we are seeking not only wins now, but wins for our players in life…ten, fifteen, thirty years from now. How do we do that? Here a few reminders for all of us.

 
#1 We are committed to very high standards of ethics, work, and morality.
#2 Violations of standards will bring consequences.
#3 Great athletes without character will have a hard time getting honor.

 
Parents can be a HUGE help here. Great parents demand the same standards out of their children and seek to model those standards at home. If a son is punished for disobedience or dishonesty or immorality- back that punishment with harsh consequences of your own, and hold to them.

 
If your son is tempted to quit because of high standards of work or effort- DO NOT LET HIM DO IT. Never let a son quit out of fear or dislike of work.

 
Let me say again, we do not believe we have to sacrifice wins now to win in life. We have seen that we can do both. In fact, by holding to high standards, we are better now AND we have seen that the program is producing great students, quality leaders, good husbands and fathers, and great community servants.
We do not win them all- but we believe time is demonstrating God’s blessings on the effort.

As you listen to our podcasts- this unified effort is evident!

Christianity is ALSO a team sport. Our need for the team is based on our enemy being the best one on one player in the history of the world. Our Savior beat Satan in the contest in the wilderness, but no one else has survived the encounter. We need each other to make it in this world of danger and pitfalls. 

I believe that God’s mystery is designed to bring us together in fellowship. As we struggle with the questions of Scripture and life, we have to spend time together. It is good to hear different experiences and discuss various ideas. It is good to come together, it is dangerous to drift apart. 

One of my mentors noted that most men who fall are isolated, without support or accountability. We need to make an honest effort to take time and invest in the relationships that carry us in life. For a man, it will be his spouse and a significant two or three men who are able to challenge, encourage, love, forgive, and support. The local church provides some of the greatest opportunities to develop these types of relationships.

BTW- hear this for yourself- listen to some of these podcasts... and hear team concepts in each one!

BCS Football Classics Podcast

On Apple Podcasts 

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/bcs-football-classics/id1639374758

On iHeart Podcasts

https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-bcs-football-classics-101085029/

On Spotify Podcasts

https://open.spotify.com/show/1p80B7QwuEfYyoaxmzHc9K

The Inner Life of a Coach

MY INNER LIFE DURING FOOTBALL SEASON

written mostly as a head coach in 2005

This will be my 31st year as a football coach. I have been an assistant, coordinator, head coach, and now I serve as a type of 'consultant', but the inner turmoil is the same. In 2005, I kept a journal of a typical week- and the following is a distillation of those notes:

The first time I published it- the response I get each time I post it shows that it resonates with coaches. One coach wrote me and said "I had my wife read this in hopes that she understands the madness a little more."

Once you start a season, there will be many more consecutive weeks of planning, practice, evaluations, adjustments, and competition.

I get real quiet when I am away from the team during these times... but inside, my brain is in overdrive.

If you think about it, please pray for all football coaches everywhere... the craziness NEVER stops.

A Journal.... I wanted this AM to record what seems to be the annual recurring haunting of my mind during football season.

I think about football almost every day…year round. It’s hard not to, my life is shaped like a football. I developed an early passion for it, I have a lifetime of memories, both good and bad within my football life.

I have been coaching since 1991 and the inner experience has been almost identical each year. I spend an enormous amount of inner energy rehearsing the game in my mind. I rehearse plays, formations, motions, scenarios, injuries, per game talks, post game talks, play parent conversations, pray, anxious thoughts.

My wife points out every season how quiet I am. Inside, though, it is a screaming madness. I love my family and friends, but during the rigors of a week-to-week football schedule, they seem to me like I am underwater and they are on the surface calling out to me.

I wish for my brain to turn off sometimes. I find that flipping channels on TV gives me some relief. Eating gives me relief too, but it is not good for my weight or health.

About 2 weeks into the season, I get flickers in my eyelids. It is like the film I watch burns a shadow image on my eyelids. I close my eyes and still see the faint outlines of plays, wide angle, in motion.

My week starts on a Friday night- it is after the game and I am about to watch the film of the event that I have worked for all week. After a win, it is the most satisfying feeling in all the world. When we lose, I am anxious to see all the breakdowns.

I am so keyed up on a Friday night that I will usually not get to sleep before 2 AM. I lay in bed and the rehearsal goes on and on. I see it over and over. I hear it. And I start thinking about adjustments for the next game. What about our depth? Who will center if "Dan"- gets hurt? "Joe" looked sad after the game. I hate that "Ken" is hurt.

Saturday morning I am up early, I am anxious to read about our game and all the other games. I complete the HUDL exchange with the next week’s team. College football only fuels my mind. I constantly look at what the innovators are doing. I like that blocking scheme for power.

There are other things to be done, Grass cutting, kid’s activities, social appointments, girls soccer, occasional youth football game I need to attend… Saturday night, I am in meltdown. I yearn for my bed with an enormous longing. I usually crash hard, unless the game that night is really good.

Sunday morning, I actually think about the Lord… Church today, and I am excited, Worship is a release. I do catch myself thinking football plays during lulls in the service, but I am usually caught up in the reality of my sin and the grandeur of God. I thank Him over and over.

I love teaching Sunday School during football season, it forces me to keep in the Word and prayer. It is an accountability measure. I love the fellowship. When we win, I get a lot of fun conversations. When we lose, I get some encouragement- but I am also surprised how some people run from me. Maybe it is awkward for them?… not sure.

Sunday afternoon, my freest day! A nap is welcomed! I feel human again. My family is not separated by water! I eat and rest. Football is on, but the pro game does not interest my imagination- I am a passive fan. 

Sunday night, let me forget football…but if it is a big game, forget it. The bigger the game, the faster the haunting begins. I just hope for sleep.

Monday morning- swamped with anxiousness. I work in a frenzy- I have to get the game plan started. I have to watch the opponent. I have to draft the practice schedules. Travel? Weather? Injuries? Back-up plans? School week- and yes, I am expected to do very well as a classroom teacher....

Monday afternoon/evening:- team meeting- recap of Friday- Good/bad/ugly- watch film- teach-teach-teach- lift weights-introduced the new opponent- conditioning- kicking game- 7 on 7. Coaches meetings- go over each player- how are we doing? What are challenges? What are tweaks? How do we size up the opponent? Phone calls. A parent is not happy with me and another is thrilled.

I wrap the day up between 7 and 8PM. All the way home, my mind is scheming. I play scenarios over and over. How do they see us? What will they be thinking? What might be their plans? What do we need to rep? Monday night football helps- TV is an excellent distraction, I hope the show is provocative and will shut off my brain. I close my eyes. The flicker is there. I pray. I feel so sorry for my wife, she needs more of me. But I am possessed. Lord, keep it together until the season is over. Help me take advantage of breaks and opportunities. I love my wife and children more than football. It is hard to prove that right now.

Tuesday morning- I got about 7 hours sleep unless it is a big game. If it is a big game, when I wake up- I am up. I hope is is 5:45, but sometimes it is 4:30 or 4 or sadly, sometimes 3:30. I toss and turn, pray, think, and get up.

Last time to really get opponent down- I watch the film again- who are their danger guys? Where are the weaknesses? What are the tendencies? Do they see them? How does the match ups work?

Tuesday Afternoon- BIG DAY/WORK DAY- Meetings and weights- install the plan- teach/teach/teach- Are we focused? Full pads- long, hard practice…tempo tempo- Lord, please keep us healthy-

6:30- practice ends. Usually I feel really good or bad right now. Good practice is a must! It is darker now- we are all tired. I love the laughter in the locker room- great spirit! Coaches laughing- such a great time! Thank you lord!

Tuesday night- I re-engage with the fam- so good to see them! How was the day (and I usually mean 2 days)- I look at my wife- thank you Lord for such a good woman. No words can relate the love I have for my wife of 33 years- see just can’t see it much during the haunting.

Wednesday morning- Deadlines- Scouting report finished- SS finished- playcards have to be finished, printed, laminated, distributed, I spend most of Wednesday on School and Sunday School- grading- recording- planning-

Wednesday afternoon- shorter practice- rehearsal- last reps- sometimes we review Tuesday practice tape- last weightlifting day- usually a fun practice- over at 6PM- church dinner- assistant coaches start painting the game field (update: glad these days to have a turf field).

Wednesday night- I start calling the game in my head- 1st and 10- 2nd and long- 2nd and short- good runs- good passes- 1st play- kickoff or receive?- I study the weather map and forecast- big games I start to get nervous- my stomach feels queasy-

Thursday morning- I’m pumped- it’s Thursday! Thursdays are good. I rehearse the game plan. I’m getting a mental rhythm. Time to call next week’s coach and arrange a film swap. I will sometimes take a sneak peek at the next opponent.

Thursday afternoon- quick meeting- walk thru- team devotion- get them out of here ASAP- feel good- Hay’s in the barn.

Thursday evening- I like a good college game or middle school game. Hopefully I will sleep. I work hard to have no caffeine after lunch. Good family time- End of the week is here. If I lay down and fall asleep quickly- YEAH!- If I start playing the game mentally, it may be a long night. Please don’t wake up before 5:00.

Friday morning- I’m juiced! No tie day- YES!- Quick look at weather and our equipment. Were the headsets plugged in? Mom’s prayer group list…DONE! Thank you for those prayers! Good to see our team in game day wear- I don’t feel badly at all to be in a golf shirt- LUNCH WITH BOOSTERS- fun,light- have to hurry back to class-

3:00 Coaches devotion- the most spiritually intense hour of my week. We lay it out to the Lord- a great time of fellowship- I love my coaches!

4:30 Players arrive- food arrives- I don’t want to eat, but if it is good- I do- I usually feel heavy pressure and adrenaline- I pray- I pee a hundred times from 3-7- I sometimes feel sick- The first few games I feel out of breath because I am not used to the adrenaline. Later in the year, I handle it better- pre game- I look at the other team- they look a lot better in person- I watch my team- are we focused? Smooth?

Meet with officials- I give them captains- I give them information and go through my checklist- and study their faces- is this crew going to be good to us? For some strange reason, I never feel nervous after the official’s meeting- I guess I’m fully now in the combat zone.

The locker room before the game is cool. I always pray very earnestly, Lord I can’t do this without you.

We go out and the game is always a blur. It is never predictable. Highs and lows and a roller coaster of emotional shifts in momentum. I have gotten a lot better about thinking well during the game and cutting mental mistakes down.

Nothing is more thrilling than a big win! It is the ultimate coming together of plan, work, brotherhood, and fight! Nothing wounds more than a heartbreaking loss.

After the game, I go around and hug a lot. I love seeing our players and fans happy. I see my wife and girls. They soothe me well in the losses. Thank you for being here!

And the film turns on. More flickers are burned.

When the season is over, my body totally shuts down and I get sick for about three days. A few days after that the flicker is gone and the madness is over…until next season.

Remembering English Poets- Last Post- T.S. Eliot

T.S. Eliot is mesmerizing. Though he was born in America, he expatriated to England in 1927 and is linked as one of the main founders of what we now call the modernist movement. If this series would continue, I would now move to the modern American writers who captured the mood of disillusionment with the American dream after two World Wars and the depression compelled the artists to cry out in their pain and disappointment.

When I read poetry, I often feel the freedom to analyze it as it appeals to me. I often don't know the entirety of what the artist means of felt when he composed it, but I apply it as it fits me. It is a luxury I don't have, for example, when I am working through Scripture where it is important to use the whole counsel of God's Word to inform and direct (with the Holy Spirits guidance, of course), let Scripture interpret Scripture. But with poetry,  I take a more selfish view and enjoy the luxury that it affords.

In my readings from T.S. Eliot, I often feel like he propels me in this liberty as well.

I will only quote the lines that resonate with me:

From The Hollow Men:

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

And also, the famous ending of the poem:

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

This poem always haunts me as a loss of leadership and especially leaders with virtue. In Isaiah and other Old Testament prophets, God often curses a land with bad leadership even as He prepares a ruthless army for invasion.

Israel’s Irresponsible Leaders

[9] All you beasts of the field, come to devour—

all you beasts in the forest.

[10] His watchmen are blind;

they are all without knowledge;

they are all silent dogs;

they cannot bark,

dreaming, lying down,

loving to slumber.

[11] The dogs have a mighty appetite;

they never have enough.

But they are shepherds who have no understanding;

they have all turned to their own way,

each to his own gain, one and all.

[12] “Come,” they say, “let me get wine;

let us fill ourselves with strong drink;

and tomorrow will be like this day,

great beyond measure.” (Isaiah 56:9–12 ESV)

Every time I read Hollow Men, I have to go back and read these Old Testament passages about ineffective and corrupt leaders that God uses as part of His punishment on Israel's sin.

This poem was also an inspiration of my own thought experiment when I composed a poem entitled "Hollow Men with Heavy Hatchets"  a few years ago.

The ending of the poem is also mesmerizing with its triplicate song,

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

When I first saw the movie, Apocalypse Now, and the powerful ending as Marlon Brando says, "The horror, the horror, the horror" I actually quoted "hollow men in my head".. yeah, I'm weird like that!

But that whole movie had a T.S. Eliot, stream of consciousness, vibe.

Speaking of "Stream of consciousness" how about the next mesmerizing poem:

From the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

This poem is a riot.... and it speaks to me as a man who is long divorced from the applause of the world. It is the ultimate anti-celebrity, snarky, and sober song of the 'never will be in the club' rest of us.

I often link this poem with the famous, 'I Went to a Garden Party' by Ricky Nelson (1972) after he was rejected by the audience at a concert in Madison Square Garden... to me, this poem has a lot of that sentiment.... left out, uncool, rejected, and somewhat depressed that we are old and no longer part of the scene... see if it hits you that way.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

That poem... I love to read it.. the older I get, the more it rings true. It seems to me to be the ultimate vanity of life statement.... 

And again, this poem inspired me to compose my own version of this thought WAY back... the first version of it I wrote in 1983... and it still seems more true for me today... Quarter-Filled Cups of Coffee

Finally- the last epic Eliot composition...

From The Wasteland

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

later on in the poem

I think we are in rats’ alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.

The opening line, now famous ( and famously misquoted without regard for the source) captures the entire mood of the modernist movement...

Spring only promises renewal... don't believe it... it is only going to hurt you when your hopes are dashed..

And this is where I get off of the modernist movement express... my hope springs eternal. April is not cruel, it is an ever present reminder of new life and new mercies. Yes, this world is a rat's alley.. but I wasn't made for this world.

Let us go then, you and I... not to a meaningless rejection from the garden party of the elites... let us go to the Land of the Lamb of God.

I hope you enjoyed visiting these guys... many of whom are interred in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey (I was there in 1988 and stood next to  Patrick Swayze, true story!)... I have no clue when I may write again... never know where my quirky brain goes!

This series was my "Ode to English Poets"... sorry I bypassed Yates, Auden, and many others - I even wished to do an analysis of "Convergence of the Twain"... but on to to other things

Send me an email and tell me how you are inspired by poets. jayopsis@gmail.com

Remembering English Poets- Kipling

I have been re-reading Kipling's biographical information in advance of this post. My goodness, what a life of travel and intrigue! Kipling was very English, but more a man of the world as he experienced a myriad of cultures and lived in exotic places around the globe, including time in the United States.

I am inspired to read a biography of Kipling based on this general survey and he seems controversial, complex, but admirable on many fronts. We tend to forget that he also wrote the famous Junglebook characters as well.

When I read Kipling, I always end up with the more famous of his writings, "If-" , a wonderful poem known by almost any casual reader but I actually spend more time on his poem, "Recessional", which was published for Queen Victoria's diamond jubilee. Both poems contain mighty messages of character. If-, the standard call to persevere and Recessional, the epic warning against pride and a constant need to be humble before God.

Let's start with Recessional- 1897

I was recently reminded of this poem when we got to see parts of Queen Elizabeth's royal "Platinum Jubilee' celebrations this past summer. The pomp and cheer of these types of moments are enjoyable, but also can spur traits of humanity that can be seeds of sin as well. Kipling captures this well in the bravado of English pride at the end of the 19th century.

The title itself is ironic... Kipling says "no, this isn't our peak.... if we continue in pride without a reliance or acknowledgment of God... this is our recession!"

God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The line, 'dominion over palm and pine' is a reference to how vast the British empire was at this time in history. The English rule encompassed the globe and was made even more famous by the phrase, "the sun never sets on the British Empire."

We also get here the refrain,  "Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,- Lest we forget—lest we forget!" quoted over and over. It stands as a prayer and call for national repentance and God's mercy.

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The Captains and the Kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

A clear allusion to Psalm 51- the Psalm of repentance by David in which he readily admits:

[16] For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it;

you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.

[17] The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;

a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. (Psalm 51:16–17 ESV)

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Kipling predicts the retreat of English power in the wake of this pompous pride and with a common sense reality that no empire can maintain power when stretched so thin. And we have another Biblical allusion to powerful nations that fell under God's judgment.

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

This stanza always comes to mind during football seasons where we get on win streaks. It doesn't take long for teams and fans to turn to boasting with 'wild tongues' as we get intoxicated on power. It is SO natural. One year in Nashville, my team went on a 7 game win streak and my coaches were shocked when I read this poem to them at our coaches devotion. But to a man, they agreed, that we had become to high on ourselves and that is a dangerous place to be.. you stop working and start 'resting on your laurels'... don't get me wrong- we need to enjoy times of success...but BE CAREFUL! But the grandiose things we say when we are in the zone can get pretty obnoxious!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,
For frantic boast and foolish word—
Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!

Where do we put our trust? Those without God in mind, put their trust in "reeking tube" or the power of the cannon. The iron shard is likely the shrapnel of war, but the point is clear... do we trust military might?, global power?, financial security?, technology?... or do we find a humble trust in God? Everything else is 'dust built on dust'.

I guess you can see why I like this poem even more than IF

For the sake of this post to Kipling, I am posting IF- - it is such a good and clear poem..it needs no analysis.. just enjoy. This may sound weird, but the Lynyrd Skynyrd song, Simple Man, always pops in my head after I read IF... and then the song Mama Tried by Merle Haggard, because I seem to fall short of these ideals- LOL

IF- by Rudyard Kipling (1895)

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

I think I'm only going to do 1 more post right toward the end of the month on T.S. Eliot which means I'm passing by Yeats and a few others. If you have been enjoying these or ever have a series or post you would like for me to do- let me know. jayopsis@gmail.com. I also entertain guest blog posts at times. Take care!

Remembering English Poets- Arnold

I want to apologize for skipping Robert Browning, but I find his work too dark and upsetting to spend a lot of time thinking about. I have a deep appreciation for the gift of reading. It was what my mom pressed into me at a young age. She had a way of reading that helped me to hear, taste, smell, and see what the words were describing. So my imagination was spurred and improved by good books.

I even have to admit that volumes and volumes of comic books helped as well. I read Batman, Sgt. Rock, Superman, and many others as a young boy and the pictures became alive. Then I read every Hardy Boy book ever written and spend many days at the East Lake library consuming everything I could understand.

Right after I became a Christian, a pastor gave me a New Testament copy of "Good News for Modern Man" and I read it cover to cover in about 2 days. At that time the words seemed to be burning into me and I wish it still felt that way- though I love just thinking about little phrases even today... each one like an icon on a screen that you click on and there is volumes of connecting ideas and passages.

As I moved into longer books, I noticed that I read in a voice that matched the characters that were being developed. The same is true of the Bible- I have an inner voice that is my Paul, or Peter, or Jesus... I even read Genesis with a voice I attach to a Moses.

So when I read dark novels or scenes...they become pretty graphic... much more so than any movie or video can capture. I still say that "Interview with a Vampire" is the most personified evil I have ever read in literature and was thrilled when I read the story of that novel and that Anne Rice came back to faith after those dark days of atheism captured by the vampire, Lestat.

I also have to mention the axe murder scene in Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky. That one shook me up.

So the same is true with poetry... I feel it deep in my bones.

This makes me stop and comment on Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold. The poem more popular than the poet.  Arnold was a school man raised by a family of school people. I find it sad that he died by a heart attack while running to the train station to see his daughter in April 1888!

I first read Dover Beach in the spring of 1982 and was mesmerized by the picturesque beauty of the white cliffs and was overjoyed when I got to see those cliffs in person when we went there on a mission trip in the summer of 1988. It was exactly as Arnold captured it in his poem.

I had taken a copy of the poem in my pocket for the visit (though it was daytime) and I re-read it as I watched the people on the pebble beach and could just see France in the mist across the sea.

It is a sad poem, the poet is depressed that beauty and faith seems to be on the decline. Though he is steadied by the beauty of his lover who accompanies him.

As I read the poem, I was away from my wife on a trip that lasted two seeks (and no cell phones back then- the distance and silence was awful!). We were there to participate in a Billy Graham crusade in London and had made a day trip to Dover to see the famous white cliffs and enjoy authentic fish and chips.

I too was depressed that faith had withered in England. People went to the church there on two occasions: to be married and buried. I was sad, missing my wife, but deeply impacted by the words written over 100 years earlier.

As we stood on the beach, I noticed sounds of pebbles hitting the ground around me and looked over. There were French college students who were sneering at us and throwing the pebbles at us! It seems they knew we were Americans, we were as loud and obnoxious as the stereotype they held about us.

I remember praying for them and that there would be revival in England and if we are honest, we are more like England today. We need revival in our land as well!

I haven't been back- now close to 35 years ago, but I can still feel the breeze and hear the 'grating roar of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling'.

DOVER BEACH by Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm tonight.

The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

As I grow older, it helps me to embrace these feelings and pursue the hope we have in Christ.

Yes, the reality of entropy, sin, and the curse still sweeps our minds but we can't give up faith, hope, and love. The beauty of creation still remains as proof that God is there and He does care. 

The world still throws pebbles.... and there are times we deserve it. But the love of Christ will never retreat from us.

THROWING STONES

[5] When King David came to Bahurim, there came out a man of the family of the house of Saul, whose name was Shimei, the son of Gera, and as he came he cursed continually. [6] And he threw stones at David and at all the servants of King David, and all the people and all the mighty men were on his right hand and on his left. [7] And Shimei said as he cursed, “Get out, get out, you man of blood, you worthless man! [8] The LORD has avenged on you all the blood of the house of Saul, in whose place you have reigned, and the LORD has given the kingdom into the hand of your son Absalom. See, your evil is on you, for you are a man of blood.”

[9] Then Abishai the son of Zeruiah said to the king, “Why should this dead dog curse my lord the king? Let me go over and take off his head.” [10] But the king said, “What have I to do with you, you sons of Zeruiah? If he is cursing because the LORD has said to him, ‘Curse David,’ who then shall say, ‘Why have you done so?’” [11] And David said to Abishai and to all his servants, “Behold, my own son seeks my life; how much more now may this Benjaminite! Leave him alone, and let him curse, for the LORD has told him to. [12] It may be that the LORD will look on the wrong done to me, and that the LORD will repay me with good for his cursing today.” [13] So David and his men went on the road, while Shimei went along on the hillside opposite him and cursed as he went and threw stones at him and flung dust. [14] And the king, and all the people who were with him, arrived weary at the Jordan. And there he refreshed himself. (2 Samuel 16:5–14 ESV)

[3] The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery, and placing her in the midst [4] they said to him, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. [5] Now in the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?” [6] This they said to test him, that they might have some charge to bring against him. Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground. [7] And as they continued to ask him, he stood up and said to them, “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” [8] And once more he bent down and wrote on the ground. [9] But when they heard it, they went away one by one, beginning with the older ones, and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. [10] Jesus stood up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” [11] She said, “No one, Lord.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.” (John 8:3–11 ESV)

Remembering English Poets- Tennyson

Alfred (Lord) Tennyson  is as popular today as when he was lauded as the poet Laureate for Queen Victoria in the late 19th century. 

His father, George Clayton Tennyson (1778–1831), was an Anglican clergyman who served as rector. He raised a large family and "was a man of superior abilities and varied attainments, who tried his hand with fair success in architecture, painting, music, and poetry. He was comfortably well off for a country clergyman, and his shrewd money management enabled the family to spend summers at Mablethorpe and Skegness on the eastern coast of England. Tennyson was a student of King Edward VI Grammar School, Louth from 1816 to 1820. He entered Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1827, where he joined a secret society called the Cambridge Apostles."  (source wiki)

Lotus Eaters

In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon;
And like a downward smoke, the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem …

This poem from the adventures of Oysseus (Ullysses)- The Odyssey has always impressed me. You read the account by Homer and then read this poem and you are struck by the brilliance of Tennyson. How often have I wanted to start regimens of discipline and said, NO MORE LOTUS EATING. And yet, the draw we have toward luxury and leisure is a constant tug on our souls.

Ulysses

So this may be my favorite poem of all time. I have written about it on at least three blog posts over the 18 years of jayopsis.com. I have paraphrased it- but thought this time I will deal with the text as it is. Again, reading the Odyssey by Homer give the background needed to appreciate the depth and dynamics of this verse.

Before you read it, think about an aging warrior and leader. A mover of men and nations. The battles are over and he is definitely in the last stages of his life on earth. The glory stories are fading. His will to fight and win is unmatched, but there isn't a war to go to anymore. What does that do to a man?

Tennyson masterfully imagines what that must be like. And the message is powerful.

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,

Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

The warrior- the son whose hands have no blood- the restlessness of civil leadership, the yearning of the fellowship he has with his team of warriors- and the famous end... yes, we may fail, but we are one heartbeat with an unmatched spirit to never yield.

The Charge of the Light Brigade

The Charge of the Light brigade used to bother me. It is the story of a lost battle. A brigade NOT heavily armed (thus light) is sent into a senseless battle and though they charge in valiantly, they are cut down. Tennyson released this poem just weeks after the news of this disaster came to England. 

This poem has a mesmerizing beat when read aloud. When I was teaching literature, I would read it to my class for 5 or 6 periods in a row. I never grew weary of reading it though my classes for the most part were distant and disinterested.

As I have grown older, I appreciate the courage to carry out an order even if it seems like a mistake.

In times of battle, we don't have time to sit down and reason- we must act. And the nobility of the act does deserve honor!

I

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

II

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

III

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.

IV

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

V

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.


VI

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

When I write these blogs I often wonder.... is anyone out there? When poets published their works, there wasn't analytics or like buttons.

So if you are reading this... maybe in a far away place, a strange time of night, or years past the publish date...drop me an email: jayopsis@gmail.com. And let me know if these poems stir you as they stir me. 

I'm thankful for these 'strange ministers'.

Remembering English Poets- Keats and Shelley

John Keats and Percy Bysshe Shelley both died too young: Keats by tuberculosis and Shelley by drowning. And though I don't read them regularly, both poets have some epic moments that can cause anyone to stop and appreciate the powerful ability to capture deep concepts in poetic forms.

These poets in short verse create powerful images of thought and meaning.

Keats genius elevated to special heights during 1819 in a short a period where he wrote six "Ode" poems. Five of these he penned in the spring and the last one that autumn.

Ode on a Grecian Urn
Ode on Indolence
Ode on Melancholy
Ode to a Nightingale
Ode to Psyche

OdeTo Autumn

I wish I had time to dissect each one, but I will mention a few lines and thoughts.

Ode to a Grecian Urn has a powerful message: the inevitability of change yet the picture captured on the Urn has resisted any change for years and years. There is an irony of the two lovers on the Urn who cannot kiss, but also they never grow old!

‘Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter’.

A 'romantic' theme of the power of imagination.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

All truth is God's truth and there is a deep beauty in God's nature

Ode on Indolence is a witty exploration of laziness and God's provision for His creatures, with a sharp allusion to the 'lilies of the field". Is idleness a virtue or vice? A waste of time or rest?

So, ye three Ghosts, adieu! Ye cannot raise            (The ghosts are: Love, Ambition, and Poetry)
My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass;
For I would not be dieted with praise,
A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!
Fade softly from my eyes, and be once more
In masque-like figures on the dreamy urn;
Farewell! I yet have visions for the night,
And for the day faint visions there is store;
Vanish, ye Phantoms! from my idle spright,
Into the clouds, and never more return!

Ode on Melancholy is haunting. How many young school age students have fled the poem based on the title! But it is a spell binding mystical and ironic view of grief and suffering. Is there a hidden joy when one embraces grief?

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies …            peonies are flowers

Ode to a Nightingale is a fanciful exploration of responses to the poet as hear hears (or does he?) a nightingale sing in the dark moments of the early morning.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!

Ode to Psyche is my least favorite of the 'Odes', partly because I really don't like mythology and partly because it doesn't explore much beyond does man serve god's made in their own image or desire to be worshipped as gods.

Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
In some untrodden region of my mind,
Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind …

Ode To Autumn is also clever and deep. Yes, autumn is frequently understood as an early harbinger to death. Burt Keats seems to have an understanding of the depth of this reality that doesn't fit his age.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run

Now to Shelly.... Sad story... he was bullied, wayward, staunch atheist. But I have always been captivated by his wonderful work: Ozymandias

OZYMANDIAS

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . 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!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

Ozymandius is the great Ramses of Egypt and this poem is a veiled reference to some artifacts that were being delivered to the British Natural History museum. a 14 line sonnet, there is elite narrative and meaning.

The obvious message is that the pride of man always falls to the forces of time and nature in unrelenting entropy.

But I often focus on the sculptor, the one who captured the essence of the king.

I love the idea of how he carved the passions he saw in the real man and 'stamped' it on a lifeless thing.

Did he capture the real person or is this his judgement on the leader?

Of course the pedestal was approved no doubt!

I also love the phrase, antique land

No matter how powerful or ruthless, he eventually crumbles to the sand and known no longer!

And that life was a 'colossal wreck'!

What an image!

Remembering English Poets- Coleridge

 

Did you know that Iron Maiden and Samuel Taylor Coleridge are connected? To be honest, I don't spend a lot of time with Coleridge. But his influence is seen within our cultural literacy. Coleridge and Wordsworth were good friends and the two, together, are largely credited for the rise of what we call "English Romanticism" though what is meant by "Romantic' in that sense has little to do with how we define romance today.

Coleridge has two poems that most casual readers know: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Kubla Kahn and unfortunately most folks just reduce to Coleridge as a 'poet on opium' and know little of this son of a pastor and headmaster (who passed early in Coleridge's childhood life) and the battle with poor health, anxiety, and depression when he was an adult.

The entire idea of an 'albatross around the neck' comes straight from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner as well as many other ideas and quips. And many people know of the Rime because of the famous Iron Maiden song (recorded in 1994) with the same title that tells the narrative of the poem.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is the longest major poem by the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, written in 1797–1798 and published in 1798 in the first edition of Lyrical Ballads.

The poem is a story of the experiences of a sailor who has returned from a long sea voyage. The mariner stops a man who is on his way to a wedding ceremony and begins to narrate a story. The Wedding-Guest’s reaction turns from bemusement to impatience to fear to fascination as the mariner's story progresses.

The lines that echo in my head are the ones that everyone remembers:

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

(and later in the poem)

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

Kubla Khan is a fun run through a dream that Coleridge had (opium delirium) after reading a work about the Chinese leader bearing that name, emperor of the Yuan dynasty. It is ironic that this week, Olivia Newton John passed away and the opening lines of this poem influenced the 1980 film "Xanadu" which I never saw and was a commercial flop. I did read that a portion of Kubla Kahn is quoted in the film.

Kubla Khan
BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

This, in my opinion, is the height of this poem with vivid imagery of this river. I can hear the river and picture the beauty of its appearance in my mind as it winds through caverns and the 'sunless sea".

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:

Beautiful AND dangerous

And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

And again- it is the imagery that pulls us in more than any 'story'. Though we understand the speaker in the poem wished to revive the song that would fill the pleasure dome though it was already a place of enchantment by its vast river, caves of ice, sunless sea ..... a type of paradise. And it could be that this is just the image of the decree and these are the plans he is building 'in the air'. The river, caverns, etc are there but the dome is still in the design stage.

But, true to form, there a hints of 'trouble in paradise' by the "Ancestral voices prophesying war" and the anxiety of the consequences when one is too full of the pleasures of that paradise.

Again, I haven't spent enough time meditating on it, but it is a fun read. Maybe I will have to watch the movie and listen to the track on iTunes.

Here are the lyrics to the Iron Maiden song- a 13 minute tempo changing and fun re-telling of the poem.

Rime of Ancient Mariner- Iron Maiden Lyrics

Hear the rime of the ancient mariner
See his eye as he stops one of three
Mesmerizes one of the wedding guests
Stay here and listen to the nightmares of the sea

And the music plays on, as the bride passes by
Caught by his spell and the mariner tells his tale

Driven south to the land of the snow and ice
To a place where nobody's been
Through the snow fog flies on the albatross
Hailed in God's name, hoping good luck it brings

And the ship sails on, back to the north
Through the fog and ice and the albatross follows on

The mariner kills the bird of good omen
His shipmates cry against what he's done
But when the fog clears, they justify him
And make themselves a part of the crime

Sailing on and on and north across the sea
Sailing on and on and north 'til all is calm

The albatross begins with its vengeance
A terrible curse a thirst has begun
His shipmates blame bad luck on the mariner
About his neck, the dead bird is hung

And the curse goes on and on at sea
And the curse goes on and on for them and me

"Day after day, day after day
We stuck nor breath nor motion
As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean
Water, water everywhere and
All the boards did shrink
Water, water everywhere nor any drop to drink."

There calls the mariner
There comes a ship over the line
But how can she sail with no wind in her sails and no tide?

See... onward she comes
Onward she nears out of the sun
See, she has no crew
She has no life, wait but here's two

Death and she life in death
They throw their dice for the crew
She wins the mariner and he belongs to her now
Then, crew one by one
They drop down dead, 200
She, she, life in death
She lets him live, her chosen one

"One after one by the star dogged moon
Too quick for groan or sigh
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang
And cursed me with his eye
Four times fifty living men
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump
They dropped down one by one."

The curse it lives on in their eyes
The mariner he wished he'd die
Along with the sea creatures
But they lived on, so did he

And by the light of the moon
He prays for their beauty not doom
With heart he blesses them
God's creatures all of them too

Then the spell starts to break
The albatross falls from his neck
Sinks down like lead into the sea
Then down in falls comes the rain

Hear the groans of the long dead seamen
See them stir and they start to rise
Bodies lifted by good spirits
None of them speak and they're lifeless in their eyes

And revenge is still sought, penance starts again
Cast into a trance and the nightmare carries on

Now the curse is finally lifted
And the mariner sights his home
Spirits go from the long dead bodies
Form their own light and the mariner's left alone

And then a boat came sailing towards him
It was a joy he could not believe
The pilot's boat, his son and the hermit
Penance of life will fall onto him

And the ship it sinks like lead into the sea
And the hermit shrives the mariner of his sins

The mariner's bound to tell of his story
To tell this tale wherever he goes
To teach God's word by his own example
That we must love all things that God made

And the wedding guest's a sad and wiser man
And the tale goes on and on and on

I can't decide whether to do Lord Byron or Keats next....my friend, Bob Blake likes Keats... so probably Keats next.