Meyran Kraus

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Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

Dora Sigerson

'Twas the dream of a God,
  And the mould of His hand,
That you shook 'neath His stroke,
That you trembled and broke
  To this beautiful land.

Here He loosed from His hold
  A brown tumult of wings,
Till the wind on the sea
Bore the strange melody
  Of an island that sings.

He made you all fair,
  You in purple and gold,
You in silver and green,
Till no eye that has seen
  Without love can behold.

I have left you behind
  In the path of the past,
With the white breath of flowers,
With the best of God's hours,
  I have left you at last.

Mey Kraus
Gave up On Israel

Oh, for thousands of years
  Hebrews wandered and roamed
With ambition in hand -
To return to their land,
  To ordain it their home.

But this vision's a bluff
  If you study the state
Of the undisguised home
Of fake, ghostly 'Shalom'
  And polluted, bare hate.

So the shooting goes on;
  Palestinians yell
As they weep for the dead,
For the blood that was shed
  And the bombshells that fell.

Hell, you can't even wed
  Without having to fear
That the hall will fall down
Through a hole in the ground...
  Boy, I don't like it here.

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Romeo and Juliet, II, ii, 33-36

O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

My one betrothed fellow, why not renounce that name, forevermore?
Or maybe I should try to be another woman to help, or to guide, our sullen affair.

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Shakespeare's reply to a sonnet about him.

Matthew Arnold

Others abide our question. Thou art free.
We ask and ask: Thou smilest and art still,
Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill
That to the stars uncrowns his majesty,
Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea,
Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place,
Spares but the cloudy border of his base
To the foil'd searching of mortality;
And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know,
Self-school'd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self-secure,
Didst walk on earth unguess'd at. Better so!
All pains the immortal spirit must endure,
   All weakness that impairs, all griefs that bow,
   Find their sole voice in that victorious brow.

William Shakespeare
An Answer to Writer Arnold's Wheedling in Few Verses

To utter "I'm not flatter'd" is to bluff,
But, Arnold, at some risk, I ask thou this:
What demon-girl possess'd thou with a kiss
And forced thou to send forth this vacant stuff?
Your lips so tightly press'd against my ass -
(Like seashells to a fisher's toe, no less!
See, that's a SIMILE, metaphor-obsess'd)
Without a hint of skill, a touch of class.
"Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place"?!
Uh, calling Dr. Metre, please report...
What futile sonnet! What unbalanced pace!
Thou art a nerd, and of the dreaded sort.
   This bard's frank judgement call? It should be shot;
   'To Be or Not To Be'? Then quip: It's 'Not'.

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An analysis of a pop song.

Britney Spears
E-mail My Heart


It's been hours
Seems like days
Since you went away
And all I do is check the screen
To see if you're okay
You don't answer when I phone
Guess you wanna be left alone
So I'm sending you my heart my soul
And this is what I'll say

I'm sorry
Oh so sorry can't you give me one more chance
To make it all up to you

I can see you in my mind
Coming on the line
And opening this letter
That I've sent a hundred times
Here's a picture of us two
I look so good on you
And can't you please forgive me
For the hurt I put you through

E-mail my heart
And say our love will never die (and I)
I know you're out there
And I know that you still care (I know you care)
E-mail me back and say our love will stay alive
Forever... e-mail my heart

Meyran Kraus
'E-mail My Heart': A Feminist Study

A mere synonym for Women's Movement, Britney proves once more her cheeky, youthful-virago style, evident in her liberationist works as 'Born To Make You Happy', 'Can't Make You Love Me' and 'Will You Like Me Despite My Naive Convictions And Weak Will Power', is unhurt.
Audaciously using complicated words as 'Soul' and 'There', she tells the teen girl to take control: "Hey, you can beg your guy to forgive you for your eerie, childish ways. You can humiliate yourself in the name of love. No answer yet? So go to his house and hide in the sauna, nude! It is not a shame to play easy, honey!"
And lastly, her 'I Look So Good On You' line... What a cute idea! A woman as leisure wear! Time to retire, Adrienne Rich!

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A poem by Henry Vaughan, and 3 anagrammed paraphrases of existing poems also related to roses.

Henry Vaughan

My soul, there is a country
  Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry
  All skilful in the wars:
There, above noise and danger,
  Sweet Peace sits crown'd with smiles,
And One born in a manger
  Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious Friend,
  And - O my soul, awake! -
Did in pure love descend
  To die here for thy sake.
If thou canst get but thither,
  There grows the flower of Peace,
The Rose that cannot wither,
  Thy fortress, and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
  For none can thee secure
But One who never changes -
  Thy God, thy life, thy cure.

Christina Georgina Rossetti
The October Garden

In my Autumn garden I was fain
  To weep between these scattered roses;
I stared at one last rosebud which uncloses
To Autumn days of sun and rain
  When everyone's hard on the wane
  And can't yet heed the summer's heavy veil,
Nor even hear the nightingale.

Fancy daisies by the garden walk;
  Why, you're inferior to roses:
  More shy yet free the rosebud which uncloses
Fine-scented, young, perched on the stalk,
  The one which frosty, deft winds balk;
  Ah, perfect rose though very last of all,
Ah, perfect rose though at the fall.

Robert Herrick
The Teary Funeral Ritual of the Rose

The Rose was sick and smiling died;
So, being to be sanctified,
Near by the cot, each sighing, stood
The young and woeful sisterhood:
Some shut the eyes, as some did bring,
To wash her, water of a spring;
Few set her out when others wept,
Yet all an even fast they kept:
Unsure, the ecclesiastic nuns
The holy hymn and trental sung.
Ah yuh! what fine scent everywhere,
As any fragrance of Heaven there.
At last, when crying for the dead
And funeral rite succeeded,
They, sorry, hove one woven loom,
And closed her up as in a tomb.

William Browne
The Rose

Oh rose, as fair as ever saw the North,
Grew in a cosy garden all alone;
Such fancy flower He has not set forth,
Nor nicer garden yet was never known:
Oh, ladies sang about it morn and noon;
A canny bard of its hue ditties made;
The funny fairies by the foggy moon -
They fed the rose then kiss'd the gentle shade.
Yet - Uh! - the gardener, he much careless grew;
The wives and fairies, they weren't to stay;
Under the sun, each caterpillar chew'd
The tiny bud, then cut out every spray.
  O, save the stock! If He cues no supplies,
  The cutest bloomer of the garden dies.

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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