First crack

Went for dinner at the Old Town White Coffee shop at the former Big Splash at East Coast Park. $1.60 for a cup of coffee. Sells Ipoh, Penang favourites such as assam laksa, Ipoh Horfun.

A pleasant frothy cup of coffee but the food was not that great. Maybe breakfast is better.

Note: this article was originally mobile blogged and edited thereafter. Also want to give a puff for a new blog on coffee, Coffee Concierge. According to what I understand, "white coffee" is actually coffee that is roasted until the beans are cracked for the first time. But further investigation indicates that in the case of the Ipoh white coffee, it is coffee which has been roasted without the addition of sugar, hence it is lighter than most of the beans used in our local kopi tiams which are roasted with sugar. The caramelised sugar is what makes the beans darker.

Micro-blogging

I found this interesting article today: Mobile devices stoke 'micro-blogging' fervor. Every time I think I am catching up with the latest in the blogging/social networking world, it seems that it moves ahead of me.

All I can say is that at least I did some on the spot photo-taking and posting when I got my new cameraphone last year.

Odes to Ode

Today I had dinner with the blogger behind Not by Bread Alone and as a result started trying to find out how I would fare on a google search of "Stephen Fry poetry exercise". The answer is: quite poorly, I'm afraid. Definitely not on any of the first 5 pages and so I gave up. What I did find along the way, were reviews of The Ode Less Travelled in the New York Times, the Telegraph and the Observer. Actually I would consider only the NYT as a proper review - the Telegraph appears to be more a profile piece and the Observer merely describes the contents of the book. Also, quite a few other people have also put their poetry exercise products on-line. Just google: Stephen Fry poetry exercise and you will see them popping up.

Anyway, I have decided to come back to the next poetry exercise in the book which is on heroic verse. Instead, I'm at the section on "The Ode" where there are no exercises!! A break at last !!

In this section, Fry talks about the various "types" of odes : the Sapphic Ode (the originator was Sappho, in case anyone is not clear about the rather obvious origins of the name), the Pindaric Ode and the Horatian Ode, which are the classical odes, the Lyric Ode beloved of Keats, Shelley etc, and the anacreontic which essentially celebrates life and living.

I thought I would go round looking for exemplars of the Sapphic Ode (I don't think that there are many examples of the Pindaric or Horatian wandering around). Fry quotes Alexander Pope's Ode to Solitude as an example, as I liked the poem I reproduce it here:

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield shade,
In winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mixed; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

This poem paints a very attractive picture of the simple life, a quiet home away from the busyness of the wide world outside. Alas, the world has a habit of intruding upon such tranquil retreats.

I also found "Virtue" by George Herbert - a cheerful poem reminding us of the transience of the mortal world. As can be seen, the English form of the Sapphic Ode is 3 lines in iambic tetrameter followed by one line of two imabic feet. The rhyme scheme in these examples is ABAB, but I imagine that this can be varied somewhat.

I did find an example of a Pindaric Ode as well, but it did not appeal to me. What did appeal were Keats' Odes: to Autumn, especially. Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness indeed, of promises fulfilled and harvests reaped.



Ok - got to get back to the heroic verse now.

Poetry Exercise No. 12: The Ballad

We are now on to ballads. 4-beat and 3-beat lines alternating. It is a fairly loose form - with either 4 or 6 lines per verse, ABAB or ABCB rhyming pattern. Doesn't need to be strict tetra/trimeter, as long as the rhythm holds.

Apparently ballads have rather "low", folk origins. Fry describes it as " pub poetry... it can be macabre, brutal, sinister, preachy, ghostly, doom-laden, lurid, erotic, mock-solemn, facetious, pious or obscene....". I was reading my copy of "Everyman's Book of Evergreen Verse" to find some examples and certainly W.S. Gilbert's "The Yarn of the Nancy Bell" fits the bill. Its main feature is the refrain:

O, I am a cook and a captain bold
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight and a midshipmite
And the crew of the captain's gig.

And for those who do not know this poem, all that needs to be said is that it is a tale about cannibalism on the high seas. The whole poem can be found here (not copying it in here as this is already going to be a long post as it is). It is a fun, rollicking poem and has got a great rhythm and swing to it. Guess that is what a ballad is all about.


Ok, now for the confession. There is an exercise. We're meant to complete a ballad with the first two verses as composed by Fry:

Now gather round and let me tell
The tale of Danny Wise;
And how his sweet wife Annabelle
Did suck out both his eyes.

And if I tell the story true
And if I tell it clear
There's not a mortal one of you
Won't shriek in mortal fear.

What can I say? I must admit that this little attempt does not spark off anything in me. It is difficult enough as it is to think of a story as to why a wife would suck out her husband's eyes (beyond the obvious). I did think of an allusion to Neil Gaiman's Corinthian (a nightmare with an eye fetish) but discarded that as I felt Annabelle deserved something better. In the end I was inspired by the latest season of "Heroes" although I have tried to vary the talent in this case.

And so the poem continues:

Now Danny ever as a lad
Had eyes so sharp and bright,
That they could spot the tiniest speck
And pierce the darkest night.

One day Danny went to the fair
Some fake CDs to sell,
And who should he see standing there
But our sweet Annabelle.

Danny took one look at her and
Completely lost his heart;
And Annabelle she glanced at Dan
- And loved him from the start.

So they married, our happy pair
And built a happy home.
But that's not all, else there would be
An end to this bad poem.

For Danny's sight grew sharper still
Super vision then had he!
Eyes which could burn through wood and stone
And all that he could see.

For Danny couldn't control his gift
In fact it was a curse;
All that he saw he set aflame
And it was getting worse.

At last he asked sweet Annabelle
To save him from his pain;
To find a way for him to lose
The gift that was his bane.

Annabelle tried all that she could -
Toiling night and day
But everything that she tried failed
Until t'was one last way

So now I've come to the end of
The tale of Danny Wise;
And how his sweet wife Annabelle
Did suck out both his eyes.

I know. It stinks. But what to do. Remember - it's just an exercise!