Page:
THE NOSE KNOWS
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
OF CHAMOMILE TEA, ROSES AND FISHES
INSTRUCTIONS
1. read up on OLFACTORY MEMORY below
2. submit up to 3 poems
3. poems may be old or new
4. any genre
5. any length
6. I will post more instructions as needed...
I keep forgetting...kindly post or email me
**************************************************************
OLFACTORY MEMORY
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olfactory_memory
http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20120312-why-can-smells-unlock-memories
http://science.howstuffworks.com/life/human-biology/smell3.htm
A BOOK ABOUT OLFACTORY MEMORY
A REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18796.In_Search_of_Lost_Time
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcel_Proust
1. read up on OLFACTORY MEMORY below
2. submit up to 3 poems
3. poems may be old or new
4. any genre
5. any length
6. I will post more instructions as needed...
I keep forgetting...kindly post or email me
**************************************************************
OLFACTORY MEMORY
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olfactory_memory
http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20120312-why-can-smells-unlock-memories
http://science.howstuffworks.com/life/human-biology/smell3.htm
A BOOK ABOUT OLFACTORY MEMORY
A REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18796.In_Search_of_Lost_Time
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcel_Proust
Anonymous
ROTTEN REJECTIONS:
Even Proust Got Rejected
Nearly everyone who has ever attempted to have their writing published has received one of those unattractive letters of rejection. The hardy will try again, and no doubt get another, and another, and another, if not for the quality, then for the subject, or their timing.
Disgust at the opening of rejection letters can go on for so long, and then some of us decide that there is an alternative to these tiresome postal expenses resulting in disagreeable variations on the no. We print our own work, and go through the slightly less painful process of finding venues that will take it. I am very proud of one aspect of my self-publishing attempts; I have yet to show PST to a bookstore that refused to carry it.
Rotten Rejections, A Literary CompanionA few months back. I found a small book called Rotten Rejections. In it are letters of rejection (or sections thereof) received by some of the world's most famous writers, not the least of whom is our Marcel. His biographers had, of course, mentioned the difficulty Proust experienced in finding a willing publisher for the beginning books of Remembrance, and Proust's decision to self-publish, information that inspired me to stop sending out manuscripts and start printing this instead.
The editor who assembled Rotten Rejections, Andre Bernard, included the following delightful bit about Proust's difficulties with the world of publishing:
"In 1911 Marcel Proust had 800 pages of what was ultimately to become the huge complex of novels called Remembrance of Things Past ready for publication. Where? Who would accept such an actionless, plotless sprawl of innerness revisited? He approached the house of Fasquelle and was rejected. He went to the Nouvelle Revue Francaise and was rejected again, by a very special rejecter-- the celebrated Andre Gide. After a third publisher, Ollendorf, had refused his manuscript ... Proust decided to pay for publication himself.
Eugene Grasset published Du Cote de chez Swann (Swann's Way) in November 1913. Gide read it, and the following January wrote to Proust apologizing for the rejection, which he called the 'gravest error of the N.R.F.... one of the most burning regrets, remorses, of my life.' He explained that he had considered Proust a 'snob' and a 'social butterfly,' had only glanced at his manuscript, and had been unimpressed by what he had glimpsed. He asked pardon and the two became good friends.
Here are excerpts from two of the rejection letters received by Proust:
"My dear fellow, I may be dead from the neck up, but rack my brains as I may I can't see why a chap should need thirty pages to describe how he turns over in bed before going to sleep."
"I only troubled myself so far as to open one of the notebooks of your manuscripts; I opened it at random, and as ill luck would have it, my attention soon plunged into the cup of camomile tea on page 62 - then tripped, at page 64, on the phrase... where you speak of the 'visible vertebra of a forehead.'"
Rotten Rejections is a most amusing read for anyone who has ever attempted to get their writing published; few of its contents were more amusing, though, than the rejection memo to an undisclosed author from a Chinese economic journal, clearly an indication of a cultural adherence to politeness, unknown in the world of western publishing:
"We have read your manuscript with boundless delight. If we publish your paper, it would be impossible for us to publish any work of lower standard. And as it is unthinkable that in the next thousand years we shall see its equal, we are, to our regret, compelled to return your divine composition, and to beg you a thousand times to overlook our short sight and timidity."
http://zacker.info/pst/reject.html
Even Proust Got Rejected
Nearly everyone who has ever attempted to have their writing published has received one of those unattractive letters of rejection. The hardy will try again, and no doubt get another, and another, and another, if not for the quality, then for the subject, or their timing.
Disgust at the opening of rejection letters can go on for so long, and then some of us decide that there is an alternative to these tiresome postal expenses resulting in disagreeable variations on the no. We print our own work, and go through the slightly less painful process of finding venues that will take it. I am very proud of one aspect of my self-publishing attempts; I have yet to show PST to a bookstore that refused to carry it.
Rotten Rejections, A Literary CompanionA few months back. I found a small book called Rotten Rejections. In it are letters of rejection (or sections thereof) received by some of the world's most famous writers, not the least of whom is our Marcel. His biographers had, of course, mentioned the difficulty Proust experienced in finding a willing publisher for the beginning books of Remembrance, and Proust's decision to self-publish, information that inspired me to stop sending out manuscripts and start printing this instead.
The editor who assembled Rotten Rejections, Andre Bernard, included the following delightful bit about Proust's difficulties with the world of publishing:
"In 1911 Marcel Proust had 800 pages of what was ultimately to become the huge complex of novels called Remembrance of Things Past ready for publication. Where? Who would accept such an actionless, plotless sprawl of innerness revisited? He approached the house of Fasquelle and was rejected. He went to the Nouvelle Revue Francaise and was rejected again, by a very special rejecter-- the celebrated Andre Gide. After a third publisher, Ollendorf, had refused his manuscript ... Proust decided to pay for publication himself.
Eugene Grasset published Du Cote de chez Swann (Swann's Way) in November 1913. Gide read it, and the following January wrote to Proust apologizing for the rejection, which he called the 'gravest error of the N.R.F.... one of the most burning regrets, remorses, of my life.' He explained that he had considered Proust a 'snob' and a 'social butterfly,' had only glanced at his manuscript, and had been unimpressed by what he had glimpsed. He asked pardon and the two became good friends.
Here are excerpts from two of the rejection letters received by Proust:
"My dear fellow, I may be dead from the neck up, but rack my brains as I may I can't see why a chap should need thirty pages to describe how he turns over in bed before going to sleep."
"I only troubled myself so far as to open one of the notebooks of your manuscripts; I opened it at random, and as ill luck would have it, my attention soon plunged into the cup of camomile tea on page 62 - then tripped, at page 64, on the phrase... where you speak of the 'visible vertebra of a forehead.'"
Rotten Rejections is a most amusing read for anyone who has ever attempted to get their writing published; few of its contents were more amusing, though, than the rejection memo to an undisclosed author from a Chinese economic journal, clearly an indication of a cultural adherence to politeness, unknown in the world of western publishing:
"We have read your manuscript with boundless delight. If we publish your paper, it would be impossible for us to publish any work of lower standard. And as it is unthinkable that in the next thousand years we shall see its equal, we are, to our regret, compelled to return your divine composition, and to beg you a thousand times to overlook our short sight and timidity."
http://zacker.info/pst/reject.html
Anonymous
OLFACTORY MEMORIES
My nose has always guided me
Across the roadmap of my world
From long ago when I remember
The bliss of my cream viella nightie
An ever cautious child, I used to
Open the book of each sandwich
And sniff its contents rabbit-like
Before trusting it to my tongue
And after dreams of bogeymen
The smell of mum beside the bed
Stroking my hair with wrinkled hands
Would always settle me softly
Bumping in the back of the old Buick
I would ask dad to open the window
To catch the seductive smell of creosote
When the men were tarring the road
And winter roast on Sunday morn
From slow combustion stove
With gravy brown and garlic lamb
Was always such an incentive to get out of bed!
Summer smells of rain on dust
And fresh baked crusty bread
And homegrown roses velvet dark
that filled the house with blackberry jam
And now though sense of smell is less acute
I hold your face between my hands
And let the powerful pheromones of you
Carry me to heaven and beyond
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/olfactory-memories/
gardenlover
Forum Posts: 625
Fire of Insight
23
Joined 19th Aug 2012 Forum Posts: 625
In summer the garden smells
Of roses and sweet peas
This sweet scent casts spells
And attracts many bees
The brasher smell of coffee
Reminds you of your thirst
And when they're making toffee
The odour makes you burst
The pheromone has little smell
But has a subtle effect
It makes the genitals swell
Releasing libido unchecked
Of roses and sweet peas
This sweet scent casts spells
And attracts many bees
The brasher smell of coffee
Reminds you of your thirst
And when they're making toffee
The odour makes you burst
The pheromone has little smell
But has a subtle effect
It makes the genitals swell
Releasing libido unchecked
AlisVolatPropriis8
Forum Posts: 322
Thought Provoker
7
Joined 24th Oct 2011Forum Posts: 322
Poetical Pots-POTTERY
Earthy pots diluted aroma
simmery soothing clayey clusters
nostrils tapping its very essence
fumes of humble paitence
though it is brown pigmented fragile jar
but yet immune enough
to hold the
liquid and purify
heat
making it fresh and cool
like spring water
condensing insulation
although it is itself
baked in raw scented heat of summer
oiled twisted truth
in its basic formation
rising through stable ripples
oxidizing fragrance of
earthen emulsifiers
tangible rich poetry to the
clay artists of chastity
Earthy pots diluted aroma
simmery soothing clayey clusters
nostrils tapping its very essence
fumes of humble paitence
though it is brown pigmented fragile jar
but yet immune enough
to hold the
liquid and purify
heat
making it fresh and cool
like spring water
condensing insulation
although it is itself
baked in raw scented heat of summer
oiled twisted truth
in its basic formation
rising through stable ripples
oxidizing fragrance of
earthen emulsifiers
tangible rich poetry to the
clay artists of chastity
anna_grin
ANNAN
Forum Posts: 3367
ANNAN
Dangerous Mind
15
Joined 24th Mar 2013Forum Posts: 3367
eww
AlisVolatPropriis8
Forum Posts: 322
Thought Provoker
7
Joined 24th Oct 2011Forum Posts: 322
,i love it though its fresh kinda.
Anonymous
Garden Lover and Rakhi - thank you for starting the competition with your very good poems!
Kitty
Kitty
Anonymous
THE WISHING WELL
Nostril, nostril
What does thou smell?
Can you be my signpost
On the road of fare thee well
Awoken by the sentiment
Of fresh fallen rain
On newly cut grass
Your voice whispers
"Little lass, little lass..."
The wind takes the sound away
Lavender and rose dance in the air
Through the mirror of reflection
Time takes me there
As you stand on the threshold
A tiny smile you wear on your face
Fragile foundation, opens up
As I sniff in your fragrance
On the road of fare thee well
Nurtured by your smell
Nostril, nostril
You`re my
Wishing
Well
*Dedicated to my beloved father*
This poem isnt quite what you are after, Kitty, but I found it an interesting topic
Indeed the nose knows, the senses can tell us so much .....
Nostril, nostril
What does thou smell?
Can you be my signpost
On the road of fare thee well
Awoken by the sentiment
Of fresh fallen rain
On newly cut grass
Your voice whispers
"Little lass, little lass..."
The wind takes the sound away
Lavender and rose dance in the air
Through the mirror of reflection
Time takes me there
As you stand on the threshold
A tiny smile you wear on your face
Fragile foundation, opens up
As I sniff in your fragrance
On the road of fare thee well
Nurtured by your smell
Nostril, nostril
You`re my
Wishing
Well
*Dedicated to my beloved father*
This poem isnt quite what you are after, Kitty, but I found it an interesting topic
Indeed the nose knows, the senses can tell us so much .....
Anonymous
“Smelling Tears and Breath”
http://blogs.dixcdn.com/shine_a_light/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/child_book_dog.jpg
(The Immediate Sense)
This place I lay
in solitude
remains solemn yet.
Columns of mist
rise on green fields,
I can still smell their breath.
River rocks reflect
my lost loves in triplicate.
Purple flowers push
past the dark earth,
ancient oaks surround
as the hawk cries shrill.
And, in my moment of loneliness,
I am reminded of the irony
through this sense,
weeping on each
side of my nose.
Only the Lord knows
pain like this,
smelling tears,
killing my memory
slowly.
http://blogs.dixcdn.com/shine_a_light/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/child_book_dog.jpg
(The Immediate Sense)
This place I lay
in solitude
remains solemn yet.
Columns of mist
rise on green fields,
I can still smell their breath.
River rocks reflect
my lost loves in triplicate.
Purple flowers push
past the dark earth,
ancient oaks surround
as the hawk cries shrill.
And, in my moment of loneliness,
I am reminded of the irony
through this sense,
weeping on each
side of my nose.
Only the Lord knows
pain like this,
smelling tears,
killing my memory
slowly.
Anonymous
COMPETITION: THE NOSE KNOWS
WINNER: Rakhi Rudra
(AlisVolatPropriis8)
ALL the poems submitted were EXCELLENT.
However, I could choose only ONE winner.
Therefore all the other poems and poets are winners of an honorary admiration
for their ability and for they collegiality in supporting the competition.
With admiration for all.
Kitty
WINNER: Rakhi Rudra
(AlisVolatPropriis8)
ALL the poems submitted were EXCELLENT.
However, I could choose only ONE winner.
Therefore all the other poems and poets are winners of an honorary admiration
for their ability and for they collegiality in supporting the competition.
With admiration for all.
Kitty
AlisVolatPropriis8
Forum Posts: 322
Thought Provoker
7
Joined 24th Oct 2011Forum Posts: 322
Thankyou:)
Anonymous
Congrats Rahki!
Thanks Kitty.
Strider!
Thanks Kitty.
Strider!