Lumpy pudding

Judging a poem is like judging a pudding or a machine. One demands that it work. Poetry succeeds because all or most of what is said or implied is relevant; what is irrelevant has been excluded, like lumps from pudding and 'bugs' from machinery. (Wimsatt & Beardsley)

Here we celebrate the excluded, lumpy parts of the pudding!

Nov 13, 2008 7:01pm

Lord: it is time. The summer was huge. Now:

Lay your shadows across the sun dials,

and let the winds loose on the fields.

Command the last fruit to ripen;

give it two more Southern days,

force it to completion and chase

its last sweetness into the heavy wine

He who has no house by now shall not build one.

He who is alone shall stay so for long,

shall watch, read, write long letters

and wander up and down the lanes

restlessly, as the leaves drift.

—-

(Follow the link to read the German original and 6 different English translations that don’t quite get it right)

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