I'm looking for suggestions on some excellent poetry to read that an Objectivist would appreciate. Preferably romantic and love poems, and poems that describe beautiful scenery or places.

Blackhorse: "I'm looking for suggestions on some excellent poetry to read that an Objectivist would appreciate. Preferably romantic and love poems, and poems that describe beautiful scenery or places."

So much beautiful poetry has been written that I don't know where to start with recommendations. And I don't know what poetry an Objectivist -- as opposed to any poetry-lover (I'm tempted to say: as opposed to a person) -- would particularly appreciate. I suggest you start by getting two poetry anthologies, one British and one American, and looking through them for poems and poetry you respond to. .

Off the top of my head, and in no special order, here are a few poets I love -- and for many different reasons:

Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Robert Browning
Swinburne
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Walt Whitman
Emily Dickinson
Matthew Arnold
Dylan Thomas
Keats
Housman
Rupert Brooke
Kipling
Emerson

Barbara, first of all, it's a real honor. Second, thank you for the recommendations. Some of them I have read, the ones I haven't I will be sure to look into. What I love so much about poetry is so much beauty and meaning packed into a small space (usually small). Whereas a book or a novel draws out in length, a poem is much smaller in scale, yet its depth and breadth are incredible.

One of my faves...

***


How Do I Love Thee?
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning


How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Awesom, Victor. Thanks.

Please excuse me, but I am moving this to the "Library." I will leave a shadow thread here for a day or so, then delete it.

"Aesthetics" is for philosophical discussions about aesthetics.

Michael

I love the poets of the Harlem Renaissance, Langston Hughes in particular. Here is one of my favorite Langston Hughes poem:

Montage of a Dream Deferred

by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
and then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load

Or does it just explode?

Blackhorse, have you ever read the poetry of Robert Service? He wrote of the gold-rush days in the Yukon, and his celebration of cold wild places would be familiar to someone from Montana. His poems are humorous in a gritty way.

“The Cremation of Sam McGee” is a favorite of mine.

-Ross Barlow.

Here is my all-time favorite poem. Michael wrote it for me and it is the most beautiful poem ever written. It makes me purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr


Glimpses of you
by Michael Stuart Kelly

I’ve sensed you all my earthly years,
Don’t ask me how I knew,
I’ve watched the wide world spinning
With countless signs of you.

I’ve loved you as an angel
Who never could be true.
I’ve seen so many glimpses
And countless signs of you.

Harsh plights have caused me heartaches
And often I withdrew.
That angel then would call me back
By countless signs of you.

In wars where I’ve surrendered,
When shame would have to do,
I’ve charged back into battle
Bearing countless signs of you.

And when my soul’s been weary
And love had turned taboo
I’ve overcome my apathy
Through countless signs of you.

You’re part of all I treasure,
And I’ll live my whole life through
With gratitude for finding joy
In those countless signs of you.

Leonard Peikoff has a recorded lecture he gave about poetry he liked. Check the ARI Bookstore web site. I thought some of the recommedations were trite.

Oooh... Barbara likes Emerson!

Her list is wonderful.

Here's one that I just read that really moved me, esp. on the romantic side:

Etcetera: The Unpublished Works of EE Cummings

This is one of the loveliest collections I've ever read.

This isn't in there, I think, but since there's a good amount of romance in the air, shall we revisit? It's all over the 'net so I'm not concerned with infraction... His love poetry has always knocked me flat:

Somewhere I Have Never Travelled

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

> Leonard Peikoff has a recorded lecture he gave about poetry he liked. [Chris]

My favorites: I sent the first 8 on this list to Peikoff in response to his request in the email from the his radio show in '99: He was asking for recommendations or poems his listeners liked. (I never heard his talk. Chris: Did he include any of these poems? What was HIS list?)

......
Ulysses--Tennyson
How do I Love Thee? from Sonnets From the Portuguese--Browning
Barbara Frietchie--Whittier
Sea Fever--Masefield
Chicago--Sandburg
The Highwayman--Alfred Noyes
St. Crispin’s Day speech from Henry V--Shakespeare
If--Kipling
......
Casey at the Bat--Thayer

Poems do many things: capture a mood, persuade, tell a story, capture a particular emotion, describe a scene. Here's a poem from my list above which does several of these:

Sea Fever


I MUST go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

John Masefield

Tooting horn to announce shameless self promotion...

A lot of Objectivists like my poems, a fair number of which are love poems, like this one:

There are so many enemies of love -
Suspicion, hurt, embarrassment, and fear
Begin the dusty list.

Yet somehow men and women rise above
Hostilities to hold each other dear,
All obstacles dismissed.

It may seem soft and dumb, like some sweet dove,
But underneath its eagle claws appear -
Difficult to resist.

I have a new book of poems available, and the download version is free here.

Also, I came across an ancient Egyptian love poem today, 3000 years old, it starts like this:

She is one girl, there is no one like her.
She is more beautiful than any other.
Look, she is like a star goddess arising
at the beginning of a happy new year;

The rest is here.

John Enright

Great poetry recommendations, everyone. Thanks to all.

Phil, *Sea Fever* blew me away. It has been many years since I read it, and it almost made me go right out the door and away on an adventure.

-Ross.

JRR Tolkien is most famous for his novels, but he considered his poetry to be an important part of his works. Shorter excerpts are often sprinkled throughout his books. E.g.:

“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.”

Many Tolkien fans are impatient when longer poems “interrupt” the flow of his novels. But, when these are taken in their context and relished over time, they shine like polished treasure.

“Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To seek our pale enchanted gold.”

When Phil posted *Sea Fever* by Masefield, the spirit of wandering adventure reminded me of Bilbo Baggins.

-Ross.

Thanks, Ross. I'm glad you liked it! I use many of the poems I listed on the occasions when I am paid to teach literature (which for me, when I'm allowed to design my own curriculum, is not the conventional definition of 'literature' but a combination of: Poetry, myths and legends, short stories, drama, novels, non-fiction essays, quotations, debates, songs, language puzzles...and anything else that involves the beauty, clarity, and power of the English language).

John,

It will be a while before I have time to look further, but I just glanced at your poem "Ayn Rand's Arrival" in your new book: "Does anyone guess...that someday she will write / A tale to shake the shoulders of the world."

What a beautiful, vivid, original and striking metaphor!

In my literature class this year, I will be often pointing the students to effective metaphors...I think I will find a place to use this one (giving you proper credit of course...and the one million dollar royalty check is in the mail) - I will ask them what it means, give them hints if necessary, etc.

Phil

Phil, thanks.

The poem has a funny story behind it. I wrote the first 8 lines in the 70's, and always felt it needed a second half, but could never quite write it. Then the last 6 lines came in 2003, including the metaphor you are so fond of.

John

I just read "Evangeline; A Tale of Acadie" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Wow. Such beauy and imagery and chivalry. Has anyone one else here this poem? Amazing stuff. Very uplifting and epic.

Blackhorse; I have the feeling Longfellow has lost the reputation he once had. I have never read Evangeline in the orginial but I am famaliar with the story. It is a great unrequited love story.

I only write prose. I studied poetry in college, actually with a poet-in-residence. But it just ain't me. I like free-writes, obviously.

But, I am in love. So, I took a stab, like all good writers do once they have found love. Soul-bearing time, I guess... but I got confidence because two other folks here posted their stuff. Here's a piece I wrote for my honey. Be gentle on me, folks...

Breathtaking

You are
breathtaking
I use this word with great care
and consideration

And still you remain
breathtaking

I say so since I noticed
my breath be gone and that my words
are now few and short

On most days I light our candles
and incense, and I sift through our pictures,
pictures gazed at many times over

I stare deeply into them
like I know you stare deeply into yours

Only some few small things I ken;

You said this-

“Every time you hear those train whistles, think of me.”

I do

Lately there are nothing but trains passing our window
and your fragrance on my pillow comes to me stronger
with these train-comings

You are
breathtaking,
with your dazzling,, golden soul that shines
on the temple of my heart

Rich, I don't think that I have ever read free verse. Any recommendations?

Hmmn, free verse. I'll have to think on that. I'm on a nasty ee cummings binge right now...

I'll ask my lady-- she keeps much more poetry in her library than I do...

Here's one I found recently that's not likely to turn up too often. It's a translation from Spanish, by Octavio Paz (English translation by Muriel Rukeyser), so I'll include the original Spanish after the translation, in case anyone reads Spanish and would like to read the original.

Judith

---------------------------------

WATER NIGHT
Night with the eyes of a horse that trembles in the night,
night with eyes of water in the field asleep
is in your eyes, a horse that trembles,
is in your eyes of secret water.

Eyes of shadow-water,
eyes of well-water,
eyes of dream-water.

Silence and solitude,
two little animals moon-led,
drink in your eyes,
drink in those waters.

If you open your eyes,
night opens, doors of musk,
the secret kingdom of the water opens
flowing from the center of night.

And if you close your eyes,
a river fills you from within,
flows forward, darkens you:
night brings its wetness to beaches in your soul.

--------------------------------

AGUA NOCTURNA
Le noche de ojos de caballo que tiemblan en la noche,
la noche de ojos de agua en el campo dormido,
esta en tus ojos de caballo que tiembla,
esta en tus ojos de agua secreta.

Ojos de agua de sombra,
omos de agua de pozo,
ojos de agua de sueno.

El silencio y la soledad,
como dos pequenos animales a quienes guia la luna,
behen en esos ojos,
behen en esas aguas.

Si abres los ojos,
se abre la noche de puertas de musgo,
se abre el reino secreto del agua
que mana del centro de la noche.

Y si los cierras,
un riote inuda por dentro,
avanza, te hare oscura:
la noche moja riberas en tu alma.

Why in discussing free verse do I keep remembering Robert Frost saying the "free verse was like playing tennis without a net."

Because Frost was right!

I think it's interesting to learn how to not only write, but to read. It's very attractive to some on both ends because you can do things with internal rhythms, flow...

So, where are today's Walt Whitmans or Longfellows or Dickensons? I'v fallen in a loving rapture with the beauitful, meaningful, and epic poetry of yester-year, but what poets today continue and build upon the glorious poetic mastery of yesterday?

Don't you like American Poet Laureate Billy Colins?

http://www.loc.gov/poetry/more_collins.html

Ahem...

This poem below was my very first poem in Portuguese. It was written for a protest singer, Geraldo Vandré, who was a very close and dear friend for a couple of years (I still hold much love for him in my heart). I produced some shows with him that caused a lot of national news and we literally were in the middle of a media hurricane for a while. The poem contains some indirect allusions to words from his songs, so this part is not very communicable to a foreign audience through translation. I provide a translation at the bottom.


Se for comigo

O caos que sobrar de suas mágoas,
Favor tirar da minha frente,
Pois minha passagem por aqui
Apenas foi um acidente.

Posso deixar você, amigo,
Caminhar comigo se quiser,
Mas sem tentar me ajudar
E nem tentar me envolver.

Esta estrada é tão longa, tão forte,
Que levar mais um pra mim não dá.
Fizerem uma confusão enorme
Que até hoje aí está.

E não sei quanto mais frustração e dor
a minha alma suportará,
Mas, meu amigo, por favor,
Se eu cair, me deixa lá.


If you go with me

Please get the chaos that’s left over
From your sorrows out of my way
As my passing through here
Is only an accident.

I can let you, my friend,
Walk with me if you want,
But without trying to help me,
And without trying to entangle me.

This road is so long, so tough,
That I cannot carry another.
Some have caused enormous unrest
That persists even until today.

I do not know how much more frustration and pain
My soul will bear,
But, my friend, please,
If I fall, just leave me there.


Actually, I might think about making a proper English poem out of this. There are some happy accidents of language that appeared when I translated it just now.

Michael

I like that a lot, maestro. Saw those happy accidents, too!

I would have to say my favorite poem is Ode to the West Wind by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

As regards love poetry, another favorite of mine is Alfred Tennyson's "Come Down, O Maid."

I once set this to music, which I posted on RoR a few years back.

Many thanks to the great Kate for sending me this one.






Columbus, by Joaquin Miller

Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone.
Brave Admiral, speak; what shall I say?"
"Why, say: ‘Sail on! sail on! and on!’"

My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan and weak."
The stout mate thought of home;
a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
"What shall I say, brave Admiral say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
"Why you shall say, at break of day:
‘Sail on! sail on! and on!’"

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
Until at last the blanched mate said:
"Why, now not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Admiral; speak and say"
He said: "Sail on! sail on!, and on!"

They sailed, they sailed, then spake the mate:
"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night;
He curls his lips, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth, as if to bite:
Brave Admiral, say but one good word;
What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words leapt like a leaping sword:
"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness.
Ah, that night Of all dark nights!
And then a speck –
A light! a light! a light! a light!
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time’s burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on."

Leonard Peikoff has a lecture on poetry in which he reads the poem you quote. It is a two tape set called Poems I like and Why from ARI book store.

A tender poem from a "dirty old man".


Confession
 

 
waiting for death
like a cat
that will jump on the
bed

I am so very sorry for
my wife

she will see this
stiff
white
body
shake it once, then
maybe
again

"Hank!"

Hank won't
answer.

it's not my death that
worries me, it's my wife
left with this
pile of
nothing.

I want to
let her know
though
that all the nights
sleeping
beside her

even the useless
arguments
were things
ever splendid

and the hard
words
I ever feared to
say
can now be
said:

I love
you.

Charles Bukowski

I offer a bit of word-play that has taken--or has it given--me quite a few hours of frustration and fun. I call it "The Fuzzy-Wuzzy Chronicles" because...well, you'll see why.

The Bear:
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear,
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair,
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy, was he!

The Buzzard:
Buzzy Wuzzy was a bird,
But his buzz was seldom heard,
Buzzy Wuzzy wasn't buzzy, was he!

The Cousin:
Cozzy Wuzzy was a coz,
But no relationship he was,
Cozzy Wuzzy wasn't cozzy, was he!

The Cop:
'Cause he was, he wasn't stopped,
Fuzz he was, he was a cop,
'Cause he was, he wasn't, fuzz he was, see?

I welcome any additions!! I hope to collect a whole bunch of them.

--Mindy

Mindy; I knew the first poem you quoted. I like all of them. Thanks!

Chris,

Can you list the poems Peikoff had as his favorites / greatest?

Phil; He mentioned Ogden Nash and the Columbus poem.

He specifically said not to send any E E Cummings.

I listened quite a while ago so my memory has faded.

I must also mention that Joe Duarte gave a lecture at this year's Summer Seminar on Western Poetry. The lecture and the poetry was very good.

Phil; I must add that one of the times I heard Miss Rand give the art lecture at NBI she recommend Swinburne and Victor Hugo's poetry in French.

Ayn Rand Bookstore has some recommendations:

http://www.aynrandbookstore2.com/prodinfo.asp?number=LP63M
http://www.aynrandbookstore2.com/prodinfo.asp?number=MR01M

This seems to me a very obvious suggestion. So much so that I'm a little embarrassed to put it forward. But then I see nobody else has done so yet. So maybe it's not as obvious as I'd thought.

Kipling's If?

http://www.kipling.org.uk/poems_if.htm

Best regards

Adrian

> As regards love poetry, another favorite of mine is Alfred Tennyson's "Come Down, O Maid." [Ashley Parker Angel]

Ashley, I just stumbled on this post of your from a year and a half ago. I have always loved Tennyson, but had not seen this one. It is beautiful, poignant, heartfelt.

[Quote - from Ayn Rand Bookstore]
Jason Rheins - An Introduction to the Elements of Poetry --- In this course the fundamental elements of poetic art are discussed. Drawing examples from across world literature, the course examines how versification, meter, rhyme, poetic form, metaphor and simile constitute a poem's style and serve in the realization of its theme and mood. Included with the course are three helpful review exercises with answer keys to help the student better master the basic concepts of prosody, meter and rhyme. (Audio CD; 5-CD set; 5 hours, 6 minutes, with Q & A)
[End Quote]

I wouldn't buy this for the simple reason that this individual's basic premise is wrong, elevating a non-essential or at best subordinate issue to primary attention. Sounds like he's just parroting uncritically what he learned in high school from a bad English teacher.

Poetry is NOT fundamentally (or necessarily) about prosody, meter, and rhyme or other mechanical or "technical" issues.

Just as movie appreciating (or movie-making and film school) should not be primarily or centrally about visuals and special effects and 'shots' -- which doesn't mean they have -no- role or importance. Poetry (and movies, and literature more broadly) are primarily about *meaning* not mechanics or technical issues. Normally this means: telling a story - and all the relevant principles of literature and coherence and emphasis ought to come first in the case of movies. Or in the case of poetry - not always a story is being told, but at least its then all about mood, description, evocation.

The most important thing about a literary form is its content.

A poem doesn't necessarily have to rhyme, nor does it have to repeat lines or patterns. The 'meter', length, 'foot', rhythmic element are not always important.

Focusing on whether or not a poem is in iambic pentameter or which syllable or word is accented or emphasized in school was almost enough to kill poetry for me forever. Certainly enough to obscure the actual meaning of the poem. Prosody - stress and intonation - and the rhythmic scheme are often (I might even say usually) beside the point, or at least secondary, in a great poem. If you don't penetrate to the meaning behind the metaphors and allusions and images you are not going to appreciate it any more because it has a rhythm or the teacher slaps the desk with her ruler and makes it sound like rap music.

Phil; I think the most important thing in a movie is the story. Is there an equivalent in poetry?

Chris,

This is an important question. It's a bit like asking what the most important thing is for a song.

With the exception of epic poetry or structured collection, the vast majority of poetry is on a small scale, just like songs are. The No. 1 criterion for me is for a poem to deal with a universal value. But when you are on a small scale, there are many ways to do that.

Just off the top of my head, here are my main values in a poem:

1. It must focus on a universal value (as I stated).
2. I must have an identifiable stylistic technique (which can include rhyme or not). This can vary a lot, but the important thing is to have a reason for the style and consistency with that reason.
3. It must be easily memorable. The contents of a telephone book are not easily memorable. A vivid image or emotion or story presented through disciplined words is, even if you don't recall the exact words.
4. It must have enough ambiguity to be able to be understood from different angles, but be clear enough for the reader/hearer to discern what the universal value is without rationalizing. Within the context of clarity, a poem with more angles of appreciation is usually a more profound poem while one with fewer angles is a more superficial one. That's not a quality judgment, though. A great poem can be superficial like a great parody. Just compare parody to a deep poem, say, by Robert Frost, to get what I mean.

These are things I look for.

Quality-wise, there must be truth of experience or vision. I don't know any way to set a rule for this other than personal evaluation, but I do know that there is nothing worse than seeing someone ape profundity (for deep—I call this cheap profundity) or go for the cheap rhyme (for superficial). If I never hear the lyrics of another song rhyming "love" with "thinking of" again, it will be too soon. In Portuguese, this is even worse. "Amor" (love) rhymes with "dor" (pain). You can imagine the widespread schlock...

Michael

Michael; Good answer! I still want to think about it. An earlier post mentioned Kipling. When I was four or five I can remember my father recited a Kipling poem with about "being left for dead on Afghanistan plain" which ended with "and going to your God like a soldier".

The may also explain the love people have for Robert W. Service poetry.

A very interesting book about poetry is Hofstadter's Le Ton Beau de Marot. It is in fact a book about the problems in translating poetry, but that's of course an excellent way to research the essentials of poetry. It contains countless different translations of a simple French poem by Clément Marot (~1500). I'm not a great fan of poetry, but I found this book fascinating. In particular the discussion about the meaning of constraints like rhyme and metre.

Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.

Robert Frost

Here's the beginning of a poem I wrote:

Buggy little lanterns,
Wafting through the air,
Sometimes you're not,
And sometimes you're there.

It's about lightning bugs, in case that isn't clear. What I like about it is the third and fourth lines mimic the on-off of the bugs' light. I don't know what that property would be called (rhythmic onomatopoeia?) but it is the sort of thing that poetry must have, I think.

Poetry cannot be rendered in prose, because poetry uses word combinations that aren't acceptable in prose. "If you can dream, and not make dreams your master," (Kipling's IF) shows this well. "If you can dream..." is ridiculous as a bit of prose, because everyone "can" dream. Similarly, "make dreams your master," is silly as prose, because we are the authors of our dreams, how could they control us? In poetic interpretation, however, we see that to have dreams is necessary, not childish or unrealistic. And we learn that while dreams, goals, purpose, are essential, they can be elevated above their place, and worshipped and clung to despite changes in circumstances that make them futile or tragic, or they can make us impractically single-minded.

In the context of poetry, these unusual word combinations are acceptable, and the reader "stretches" his knowledge of the words to find a meaning for their combination. If the line "works" as poetry, there is some such meaning, and it leads the reader to think of, imagine, or recall, etc., the thing written about in a "new" but not unfamiliar way.
This "new" but not unfamiliar way is a here-to-fore unconceptualized aspect of the thing or of one's experience. It is familiar in experience, but not in being put into words.
We don't put everything into words. The feeling of the cool air on one's hand when the sun is hot, the excitement of your child's surprising you with a mature insight. There are tons of things we are only able to state or communicate in sentences, paragraphs, articles, etc. Poetry tries to focus our attention precisely on some such aspect of life. Rhyme and rythm, I suspect, add to poetry by creating a sense of integration, "fit," which is needed since sentence grammar is being neglected or defied.
This post has gone on a bit on its own momentum, ahem, but I'll put it up and see what response it gets.

--Mindy