I'm also hearing that victor paul wierwille claimed to have written the poem "THE DASH." This is what happens when a small-time plagiarist thinks they can get away with EVERYTHING- they start plagiarizing bigger things, better-known things.
"THE DASH" is a poem by Linda Ellis. That's very well-known. She wrote the poem when she was in school, won some school award, then parleyed the catchiness of that poem into a writing career. I don't begrudge her ANY of that. It was her own work, and she made a career out of it successfully. The reason I bring it up is that it's so easy to FOLLOW this poem through her career. She's even sued people who printed it on their websites while correctly attributing it to her.
The poem begins....
"The Dash Poem (By Linda Ellis)
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on the tombstone
From the beginning…to the end."
I'm not going to type the rest because, although I think I have full legal right to do so, I don't want the grief of making the GSC prove in court that it is perfectly legal.
The point of the poem is that the dash in the dates on the tombstone represent the entirety of the person's life and what they did during it. So, consider how you spend your life, and make it worthwhile so that your eulogy reflects a life well-spent, how you spent "your dash."
I don't know how vpw's name got attached to that poem anywhere, but he freely claimed credit for other poems, so it would not surprise me to hear he claimed that one as well.
A less-likely possibility is that he had a habit of skipping the proper attribution, so people concluded he was saying he had written it, and thought he was honest and trust-worthy. He also did that sort of thing, and IMPLIED or INSINUATED lies rather than say them out loud. (It's a skill he taught lcm and others.) That technique was how the poem recited "for the Way Corps" was attributed to vpw, even though some people claim he correctly attributed it SOME OF THE TIME. That was a different poem, and with a few changes, it became the poem the Way Corps recognize.
ODE FOR THE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF LAWRENCEVILLE SCHOOL
June 11, 1910
I
The British bard who looked on Eton's walls,
Endeared by distance in the pearly gray
And soft aerial blue that ever falls
On English landscape with the dying day,
Beheld in thought his boyhood far away,
Its random raptures and its festivals
Of noisy mirth,
The brief illusion of its idle joys,
And mourned that none of these can stay
With men, whom life inexorably calls
To face the grim realities of earth.
His pensive fancy pictured there at play
From year to year the careless bands of boys,
Unconscious victims kept in golden state,
While haply they await
The dark approach of disenchanting Fate,
To hale them to the sacrifice
Of Pain and Penury and Grief and Care,
Slow-withering Age, or Failure's swift despair.
Half-pity and half-envy dimmed the eyes
Of that old poet, gazing on the scene
Where long ago his youth had flowed serene,
And all the burden of his ode was this:
“Where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.”
II
But not for us, O plaintive elegist,
Thine epicedial tone of sad farewell
To joy in wisdom and to thought in youth!
Our western Muse would keep her tryst
With sunrise, not with sunset, and foretell
In boyhood's bliss the dawn of manhood's truth.
III
O spirit of the everlasting boy,
Alert, elate,
And confident that life is good,
Thou knockest boldly at the gate,
In hopeful hardihood,
Eager to enter and enjoy
Thy new estate.
Through the old house thou runnest everywhere,
Bringing a breath of folly and fresh air.
Ready to make a treasure of each toy,
Or break them all in discontented mood;
Fearless of Fate,
Yet strangely fearful of a comrade's laugh;
Reckless and timid, hard and sensitive;
In talk a rebel, full of mocking chaff,
At heart devout conservative;
In love with love, yet hating to be kissed;
Inveterate optimist,
And judge severe,
In reason cloudy but in feeling clear;
Keen critic, ardent hero-worshipper,
Impatient of restraint in little ways,
Yet ever ready to confer
On chosen leaders boundless power and praise;
Adventurous spirit burning to explore
Untrodden paths where hidden danger lies,
And homesick heart looking with wistful eyes
Through every twilight to a mother's door;
Thou daring, darling, inconsistent boy,
How dull the world would be
Without thy presence, dear barbarian,
And happy lord of high futurity!
Be what thou art, our trouble and our joy,
Our hardest problem and our brightest hope!
And while thine elders lead thee up the slope
Of knowledge, let them learn from teaching thee
That vital joy is part of nature's plan,
And he who keeps the spirit of the boy
Shall gladly grow to be a happy man.
IV
What constitutes a school?
Not ancient halls and ivy-mantled towers,
Where dull traditions rule
With heavy hand youth's lightly springing powers;
Not spacious pleasure courts,
And lofty temples of athletic fame,
Where devotees of sports
Mistake a pastime for life's highest aim;
Not fashion, nor renown
Of wealthy patronage and rich estate;
No, none of these can crown
A school with light and make it truly great.
But masters, strong and wise,
Who teach because they love the teacher's task,
And find their richest prize
In eyes that open and in minds that ask;
And boys, with heart aglow
To try their youthful vigour on their work,
Eager to learn and grow,
And quick to hate a coward or a shirk:
These constitute a school,—
A vital forge of weapons keen and bright,
Where living sword and tool
Are tempered for true toil or noble fight!
But let not wisdom scorn
The hours of pleasure in the playing fields:
There also strength is born,
And every manly game a virtue yields.
Fairness and self-control,
Good-humour, pluck, and patience in the race,
Will make a lad heart-whole
To win with honour, lose without disgrace.
Ah, well for him who gains
In such a school apprenticeship to life:
With him the joy of youth remains
In later lessons and in larger strife!
V
On Jersey's rolling plain, where Washington,
In midnight marching at the head
Of ragged regiments, his army led
To Princeton's victory of the rising sun;
Here in this liberal land, by battle won
For Freedom and the rule
Of equal rights for every child of man,
Arose a democratic school,
To train a virile race of sons to bear
With thoughtful joy the name American,
And serve the God who heard their father's prayer.
No cloister, dreaming in a world remote
From that real world wherein alone we live;
No mimic court, where titled names denote
A dignity that only worth can give;
But here a friendly house of learning stood,
With open door beside the broad highway,
And welcomed lads to study and to play
In generous rivalry of brotherhood.
A hundred years have passed, and Lawrenceville,
In beauty and in strength renewed,
Stands with her open portal still,
And neither time nor fortune brings
To her deep spirit any change of mood,
Or faltering from the faith she held of old.
Still to the democratic creed she clings:
That manhood needs nor rank nor gold
To make it noble in our eyes;
That every boy is born with royal right,
From blissful ignorance to rise
To joy more lasting and more bright,
In mastery of body and of mind,
King of himself and servant of mankind.
VI
Old Lawrenceville,
Thy happy bell
Shall ring to-day,
O'er vale and hill,
O'er mead and dell,
While far away,
With silent thrill,
The echoes roll
Through many a soul,
That knew thee well,
In boyhood's day,
And loves thee still.
Ah, who can tell
How far away,
Some sentinel
Of God's good will,
In forest cool,
Or desert gray,
By lonely pool,
Or barren hill,
Shall faintly hear,
With inward ear,
The chiming bell,
Of his old school,
Through darkness pealing;
And lowly kneeling,
Shall feel the spell
Of grateful tears
His eyelids fill;
And softly pray
To Him who hears:
God bless old Lawrenceville!
For those who skipped over the entire poem, here's the relevant part again....
"IV
What constitutes a school?
Not ancient halls and ivy-mantled towers,
Where dull traditions rule
With heavy hand youth's lightly springing powers;
Not spacious pleasure courts,
And lofty temples of athletic fame,
Where devotees of sports
Mistake a pastime for life's highest aim;
Not fashion, nor renown
Of wealthy patronage and rich estate;
No, none of these can crown
A school with light and make it truly great.
But masters, strong and wise,
Who teach because they love the teacher's task,
And find their richest prize
In eyes that open and in minds that ask;"
I don't know how vpw's name got attached to that poem anywhere, but he freely claimed credit for other poems, so it would not surprise me to hear he claimed that one as well.
A less-likely possibility is that he had a habit of skipping the proper attribution, so people concluded he was saying he had written it, and thought he was honest and trust-worthy. He also did that sort of thing, and IMPLIED or INSINUATED lies rather than say them out loud. (It's a skill he taught lcm and others.) That technique was how the poem recited "for the Way Corps" was attributed to vpw, even though some people claim he correctly attributed it SOME OF THE TIME. That was a different poem, and with a few changes, it became the poem the Way Corps recognize.
. . .
In my teens I was told about this person who was believing for red drapes in an apartment or something. This story was told to me directly a number of times and I believed the persons telling it knew the person in the story looking for red drapes. Why else would they tell it this way? Later, thumbing through a book called PFAL, I realized that they took that story from VPW, or behaved as if they had had that experience. Whole fellowships are sitting around experiencing non-experiences.
I just googled "Anvil of God's Word" . . . that's one I heard a lot.
This story was told to me directly a number of times and I believed the persons telling it knew the person in the story looking for red drapes. Why else would they tell it this way?
When I was a small child, it occurred to me that, if I went to a poem whose author was anonymous, lost to time, and I began trying to connect my name to it, eventually I could get people to believe I'd written it. The thought didn't go farther than that. However, if I'd been a dishonest, serial plagiarist, like victor paui wierwille, I might have gone farther and connected my name with a poem from someone else.
Well since we’re coming clean on old sins…I used to compose a poem or song by using someone else’s meter. As an example, I loved Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” which starts out: You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht
Your hat strategically dipped below one eye Your scarf it was apricot
~ ~ ~ ~
Besides her voice and the incredible noodling of bassist Klaus Voormann, one of the things I loved about the song was the vivid lilting descriptions and I've always imagined it being said directly to the person.
My poem had nothing to do with any of the content of Simon’s song – I just wanted to imitate that style of narrative and write about a long-distance runner. I used to be on cross country track in high school…the opening of my poem went as follows…and you might notice I have a flagrant disregard for meter…I’m such a rebel:
There you were on the black track, after a race that you just won A mantle of sweat on your back was glistening from the sun
~ ~ ~ ~
In defense of inspiration and creativity or rather in my opinion there’s a huge difference between plagiarizing someone’s material and being inspired by someone’s material.
Musically I’ve followed a similar pattern when I liked a tune. And every so often I get on a kick of creating a tune that sounds like something a famous band would write. When my goal is to write a tune that sounds different from the source of my inspiration but resemble the same style it usually turns out quite unique. However, I won’t lie…I have heard responses from my audience “I wish I could hear the original”.
I love Heartbreaker by Led Zeppelin. So, I sped up John Paul Jones’ slow walking bass line…varied the scale and where I punched it…moved some notes around…and also came up with two distinct bridges…and voila – Led Zippo. It’s an instrumental – but to me it sounds like something Led Zeppelin would write…With my title, I usually give a tip of the hat to my inspiration and this particular title also alludes to my fascination with Zippo lighters back in my weed-whacking daze.
Sorry for going off-topic…just thought I’d add what plagiarizing is NOT…it’s NOT being creative.
(note I had to revise ...or recreate my poem - since I wrote it a long time ago...what I wrote in this post was from a memory - I lost the book I wrote it in. or rather I tossed the book after I took the class - deeming it "old man junk".)
Edited by T-Bone Iambic Pentasawrus Rex...I had to revise my poem since I wrote it from memory a long Prehistoric time ago :)
I don't know, I don't think using an existing model for creative inspiration necessarily constitutes plagiarism. That's not what Wierwille did. He just outright plagiarized other sources and claimed them to be his own.
I don't know, I don't think using an existing model for creative inspiration necessarily constitutes plagiarism. That's not what Wierwille did. He just outright plagiarized other sources and claimed it to be his own.
"claimed it to be his own" rhymes with "make it your own" and starts with word almost like "claim it". Phrases used often in TWI.
Victor plagiarized poetry ALL. THE. TIME. The first time I noticed this was in a fellowship meeting that was held forth in our house because the coordinator's house was briefly occupied by devil spirits. Instead of the coordinator holding forth with his own teaching, he played a tape of one from vp. Victor opened the sermon with an unattributed poem. The official TWI supplemental printed materials also included the poem with no attribution.
Victor never claimed he wrote the poem he read, but he never gave credit, honor or tribute where it was due, either. The way the poem was read, how it was situated strategically in the sermon, the context... EVERYTHING about victor's reading and reprinting this poem implied and suggested that it was written by the little man reading it.
I remember asking the "leaders" and "teachers" about the poem's author - was it vp's? They shrugged and changed the subject. I looked it up on my phone to find it was a woman. The sycophants, still reeling from Vic's tremendous holding forth, became obviously irritated with my finding. Their urge to lovingly correct me was palpable.
Apologists for vp's serial plagiarism usually cop out with, "What does is matter?" Well, it matters EVERYTHING!
Plagiarism is a lie. It is thievery. It is deception. Why do this? Why choose to prove you are the liar, the thief, the deceiver?
I remember asking the "leaders" and "teachers" about the poem's author - was it vp's? They shrugged and changed the subject. I looked it up on my phone to find it was a women. The sycophants, still reeling from Vic's tremendous holding forth, became obviously irritated with my finding. Their urge to lovingly correct me was palpable.
. . .
You looked it up on your phone . . . . later? Sorry I'm thinking the context is the 70s.
9 The devil led him to Jerusalem and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down from here.10 For it is written:
“‘He will command his angels concerning you to guard you carefully; 11 they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’[a]”
12 Jesus answered,“It is said: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’[b]”
[So, we see that even the debbil can quote scripture...]
“The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul producing holy witness
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart.
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!”
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WordWolf
We discussed this before, the previous thread is here: "If a Million People Love You"....
https://www.greasespotcafe.com/ipb/topic/7373-if-a-million-people-love-you/
Guadalupe de Saavedra's version, predating vpw and TY, is here:
https://web.archive.org/web/20091027122556/http://geocities.com/lilbevykitty/1000ppl.html
https://web.archive.org/web/20030206141507/http://donhuntington.com/poems.html
Here was TY claiming credit by attaching his own name to it....
https://web.archive.org/web/20030220000717/http://www.ohiodeathrow.com/terrell_yarbrough.htm
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WordWolf
I'm also hearing that victor paul wierwille claimed to have written the poem "THE DASH." This is what happens when a small-time plagiarist thinks they can get away with EVERYTHING- they start plagiarizing bigger things, better-known things.
"THE DASH" is a poem by Linda Ellis. That's very well-known. She wrote the poem when she was in school, won some school award, then parleyed the catchiness of that poem into a writing career. I don't begrudge her ANY of that. It was her own work, and she made a career out of it successfully. The reason I bring it up is that it's so easy to FOLLOW this poem through her career. She's even sued people who printed it on their websites while correctly attributing it to her.
The poem begins....
"The Dash Poem (By Linda Ellis)
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on the tombstone
From the beginning…to the end."
I'm not going to type the rest because, although I think I have full legal right to do so, I don't want the grief of making the GSC prove in court that it is perfectly legal.
The point of the poem is that the dash in the dates on the tombstone represent the entirety of the person's life and what they did during it. So, consider how you spend your life, and make it worthwhile so that your eulogy reflects a life well-spent, how you spent "your dash."
I don't know how vpw's name got attached to that poem anywhere, but he freely claimed credit for other poems, so it would not surprise me to hear he claimed that one as well.
A less-likely possibility is that he had a habit of skipping the proper attribution, so people concluded he was saying he had written it, and thought he was honest and trust-worthy. He also did that sort of thing, and IMPLIED or INSINUATED lies rather than say them out loud. (It's a skill he taught lcm and others.) That technique was how the poem recited "for the Way Corps" was attributed to vpw, even though some people claim he correctly attributed it SOME OF THE TIME. That was a different poem, and with a few changes, it became the poem the Way Corps recognize.
Anyway, vpw did not write the poem "The Dash."
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WordWolf
Spirit Of The Everlasting Boy
June 11, 1910
I
The British bard who looked on Eton's walls,
Endeared by distance in the pearly gray
And soft aerial blue that ever falls
On English landscape with the dying day,
Beheld in thought his boyhood far away,
Its random raptures and its festivals
Of noisy mirth,
The brief illusion of its idle joys,
And mourned that none of these can stay
With men, whom life inexorably calls
To face the grim realities of earth.
His pensive fancy pictured there at play
From year to year the careless bands of boys,
Unconscious victims kept in golden state,
While haply they await
The dark approach of disenchanting Fate,
To hale them to the sacrifice
Of Pain and Penury and Grief and Care,
Slow-withering Age, or Failure's swift despair.
Half-pity and half-envy dimmed the eyes
Of that old poet, gazing on the scene
Where long ago his youth had flowed serene,
And all the burden of his ode was this:
“Where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.”
II
But not for us, O plaintive elegist,
Thine epicedial tone of sad farewell
To joy in wisdom and to thought in youth!
Our western Muse would keep her tryst
With sunrise, not with sunset, and foretell
In boyhood's bliss the dawn of manhood's truth.
III
O spirit of the everlasting boy,
Alert, elate,
And confident that life is good,
Thou knockest boldly at the gate,
In hopeful hardihood,
Eager to enter and enjoy
Thy new estate.
Through the old house thou runnest everywhere,
Bringing a breath of folly and fresh air.
Ready to make a treasure of each toy,
Or break them all in discontented mood;
Fearless of Fate,
Yet strangely fearful of a comrade's laugh;
Reckless and timid, hard and sensitive;
In talk a rebel, full of mocking chaff,
At heart devout conservative;
In love with love, yet hating to be kissed;
Inveterate optimist,
And judge severe,
In reason cloudy but in feeling clear;
Keen critic, ardent hero-worshipper,
Impatient of restraint in little ways,
Yet ever ready to confer
On chosen leaders boundless power and praise;
Adventurous spirit burning to explore
Untrodden paths where hidden danger lies,
And homesick heart looking with wistful eyes
Through every twilight to a mother's door;
Thou daring, darling, inconsistent boy,
How dull the world would be
Without thy presence, dear barbarian,
And happy lord of high futurity!
Be what thou art, our trouble and our joy,
Our hardest problem and our brightest hope!
And while thine elders lead thee up the slope
Of knowledge, let them learn from teaching thee
That vital joy is part of nature's plan,
And he who keeps the spirit of the boy
Shall gladly grow to be a happy man.
IV
What constitutes a school?
Not ancient halls and ivy-mantled towers,
Where dull traditions rule
With heavy hand youth's lightly springing powers;
Not spacious pleasure courts,
And lofty temples of athletic fame,
Where devotees of sports
Mistake a pastime for life's highest aim;
Not fashion, nor renown
Of wealthy patronage and rich estate;
No, none of these can crown
A school with light and make it truly great.
But masters, strong and wise,
Who teach because they love the teacher's task,
And find their richest prize
In eyes that open and in minds that ask;
And boys, with heart aglow
To try their youthful vigour on their work,
Eager to learn and grow,
And quick to hate a coward or a shirk:
These constitute a school,—
A vital forge of weapons keen and bright,
Where living sword and tool
Are tempered for true toil or noble fight!
But let not wisdom scorn
The hours of pleasure in the playing fields:
There also strength is born,
And every manly game a virtue yields.
Fairness and self-control,
Good-humour, pluck, and patience in the race,
Will make a lad heart-whole
To win with honour, lose without disgrace.
Ah, well for him who gains
In such a school apprenticeship to life:
With him the joy of youth remains
In later lessons and in larger strife!
V
On Jersey's rolling plain, where Washington,
In midnight marching at the head
Of ragged regiments, his army led
To Princeton's victory of the rising sun;
Here in this liberal land, by battle won
For Freedom and the rule
Of equal rights for every child of man,
Arose a democratic school,
To train a virile race of sons to bear
With thoughtful joy the name American,
And serve the God who heard their father's prayer.
No cloister, dreaming in a world remote
From that real world wherein alone we live;
No mimic court, where titled names denote
A dignity that only worth can give;
But here a friendly house of learning stood,
With open door beside the broad highway,
And welcomed lads to study and to play
In generous rivalry of brotherhood.
A hundred years have passed, and Lawrenceville,
In beauty and in strength renewed,
Stands with her open portal still,
And neither time nor fortune brings
To her deep spirit any change of mood,
Or faltering from the faith she held of old.
Still to the democratic creed she clings:
That manhood needs nor rank nor gold
To make it noble in our eyes;
That every boy is born with royal right,
From blissful ignorance to rise
To joy more lasting and more bright,
In mastery of body and of mind,
King of himself and servant of mankind.
VI
Old Lawrenceville,
Thy happy bell
Shall ring to-day,
O'er vale and hill,
O'er mead and dell,
While far away,
With silent thrill,
The echoes roll
Through many a soul,
That knew thee well,
In boyhood's day,
And loves thee still.
Ah, who can tell
How far away,
Some sentinel
Of God's good will,
In forest cool,
Or desert gray,
By lonely pool,
Or barren hill,
Shall faintly hear,
With inward ear,
The chiming bell,
Of his old school,
Through darkness pealing;
And lowly kneeling,
Shall feel the spell
Of grateful tears
His eyelids fill;
And softly pray
To Him who hears:
God bless old Lawrenceville!
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WordWolf
For those who skipped over the entire poem, here's the relevant part again....
"IV
What constitutes a school?
Not ancient halls and ivy-mantled towers,
Where dull traditions rule
With heavy hand youth's lightly springing powers;
Not spacious pleasure courts,
And lofty temples of athletic fame,
Where devotees of sports
Mistake a pastime for life's highest aim;
Not fashion, nor renown
Of wealthy patronage and rich estate;
No, none of these can crown
A school with light and make it truly great.
But masters, strong and wise,
Who teach because they love the teacher's task,
And find their richest prize
In eyes that open and in minds that ask;"
COPYRIGHT 1910
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WordWolf
Here's The Corps Poem:
What Is The Way Corps?
Not ancient walls and ivy-mantled towers
Where dull denominational traditions
Rule with heavy hand
Believer’s deeply springing powers.
Not spacious pleasure courts
Or lofty temples of athletic fame
Where devotees of sports mistake a pastime
For life’s highest game.
Not fashion or renown
Or wealthy patronage and rich estate;
No, none of these can crown The Way Corps with light
And make it truly great.
But equipped believers, ambassadors strong and wise
Who teach because they love the teacher’s task
And find their richest prize
In eyes that open, and in minds that ask.
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Twinky
Didn't he plagiarise this one as well? Something to do with installing LCM (a "fair haired youth") as next Prez?
The Bridge Builder
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waysider
I'm starting to think this VPW fella might not have been as honest as we thought he was.
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Bolshevik
But. . . He was holding a Bible. . . Someone holding a Bible has to say nothing but the Truth, right?
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T-Bone
There’s nothing like an honest preacher
…and he was nothing like that
( I plagiarized the schtick of those 2 old farts in the balcony on the Muppet Show
)
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Bolshevik
In my teens I was told about this person who was believing for red drapes in an apartment or something. This story was told to me directly a number of times and I believed the persons telling it knew the person in the story looking for red drapes. Why else would they tell it this way? Later, thumbing through a book called PFAL, I realized that they took that story from VPW, or behaved as if they had had that experience. Whole fellowships are sitting around experiencing non-experiences.
I just googled "Anvil of God's Word" . . . that's one I heard a lot.
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waysider
Urban Legend
"...An urban legend may include elements of the supernatural ...."
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Bolshevik
Criminals.
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T-Bone
Well since we’re coming clean on old sins…I used to compose a poem or song by using someone else’s meter. As an example, I loved Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” which starts out:
You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht
Your hat strategically dipped below one eye Your scarf it was apricot
~ ~ ~ ~
Besides her voice and the incredible noodling of bassist Klaus Voormann, one of the things I loved about the song was the vivid lilting descriptions and I've always imagined it being said directly to the person.
My poem had nothing to do with any of the content of Simon’s song – I just wanted to imitate that style of narrative and write about a long-distance runner. I used to be on cross country track in high school…the opening of my poem went as follows…and you might notice I have a flagrant disregard for meter…I’m such a rebel:
There you were on the black track, after a race that you just won
A mantle of sweat on your back was glistening from the sun
~ ~ ~ ~
In defense of inspiration and creativity or rather in my opinion there’s a huge difference between plagiarizing someone’s material and being inspired by someone’s material.
Musically I’ve followed a similar pattern when I liked a tune. And every so often I get on a kick of creating a tune that sounds like something a famous band would write. When my goal is to write a tune that sounds different from the source of my inspiration but resemble the same style it usually turns out quite unique. However, I won’t lie…I have heard responses from my audience “I wish I could hear the original”.
I love Heartbreaker by Led Zeppelin. So, I sped up John Paul Jones’ slow walking bass line…varied the scale and where I punched it…moved some notes around…and also came up with two distinct bridges…and voila – Led Zippo. It’s an instrumental – but to me it sounds like something Led Zeppelin would write…With my title, I usually give a tip of the hat to my inspiration and this particular title also alludes to my fascination with Zippo lighters back in my weed-whacking daze.
Sorry for going off-topic…just thought I’d add what plagiarizing is NOT…it’s NOT being creative.
(note I had to revise ...or recreate my poem - since I wrote it a long time ago...what I wrote in this post was from a memory - I lost the book I wrote it in. or rather I tossed the book after I took the class - deeming it "old man junk".)
Edited by T-BoneIambic Pentasawrus Rex...I had to revise my poem since I wrote it from memory a long Prehistoric time ago :)
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waysider
I don't know, I don't think using an existing model for creative inspiration necessarily constitutes plagiarism. That's not what Wierwille did. He just outright plagiarized other sources and claimed them to be his own.
Edited by waysiderwording
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Bolshevik
"claimed it to be his own" rhymes with "make it your own" and starts with word almost like "claim it". Phrases used often in TWI.
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Bolshevik
Young children copy to learn LINK
Six-year-olds understand taking another's ideas is stealing LINK
Malignant Narcissism is an arrested development, they cheat their way through college and often become clergy LINK
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Nathan_Jr
Thank you, Word Wolf!
Victor plagiarized poetry ALL. THE. TIME. The first time I noticed this was in a fellowship meeting that was held forth in our house because the coordinator's house was briefly occupied by devil spirits. Instead of the coordinator holding forth with his own teaching, he played a tape of one from vp. Victor opened the sermon with an unattributed poem. The official TWI supplemental printed materials also included the poem with no attribution.
Victor never claimed he wrote the poem he read, but he never gave credit, honor or tribute where it was due, either. The way the poem was read, how it was situated strategically in the sermon, the context... EVERYTHING about victor's reading and reprinting this poem implied and suggested that it was written by the little man reading it.
I remember asking the "leaders" and "teachers" about the poem's author - was it vp's? They shrugged and changed the subject. I looked it up on my phone to find it was a woman. The sycophants, still reeling from Vic's tremendous holding forth, became obviously irritated with my finding. Their urge to lovingly correct me was palpable.
Apologists for vp's serial plagiarism usually cop out with, "What does is matter?" Well, it matters EVERYTHING!
Plagiarism is a lie. It is thievery. It is deception. Why do this? Why choose to prove you are the liar, the thief, the deceiver?
Edited by Nathan_JrRubbing in by repetition
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Bolshevik
You looked it up on your phone . . . . later? Sorry I'm thinking the context is the 70s.
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Nathan_Jr
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Nathan_Jr
No. This was just a few years ago. I was born in the 70s.
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Bolshevik
Gotcha.
*checks "Gen-X" box on Nathan_Jr's file*
LCM wrote quoted a poem once or twice:
Roses are Red
Violets or Blue
Some Poems Rhyme
Some Don't
He never cited his source. Jerk.
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Rocky
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Nathan_Jr
Right! or..... DEFLECT IT
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Rocky
9 The devil led him to Jerusalem and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down from here. 10 For it is written:
“‘He will command his angels concerning you
to guard you carefully;
11 they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’[a]”
12 Jesus answered, “It is said: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’[b]”
[So, we see that even the debbil can quote scripture...]
Even the Bard knew this centuries ago...
“The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul producing holy witness
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart.
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!”
― William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
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