Talk about poems/poets you like, post your own work, and critique others.
>>24950975O Waters cutThy great divideChaos sproutedTo make the SkyThe whirlwind sowsThe whirlwind reaps!His harvest in motionSince waylaying the Deep
/lit/ is a shitty boardi'd rather fall on a swordthan read what fags shill/lit/cels have shitty tasteand only consume wasteas swines to their swill
recently started reading poetry. i’ve always enjoyed it, but never read it much. i started reading it constantly, i read it on my phone at work, and my face has changed, the way i walk. i read one that really caught me at the right time and i was thinking about the last two lines all day, someone said ‘you look miles away’.
>>24951047another one claimed
>>24951060the most dog-true of dogs.
>>24950982yeah (uh), your poem be shitty (uh)your poem's not litty (uh)
>>24950982where were you going with this?
>>24951089>>24951129closer to the divine than u muhammed
Wrote this poem some while ago (printed in the last &). Would be interested in feedback/thoughts.
I hide small stones in the forgotten cornersCount the dust grains half heartedlyStill the certainty of sun and moon Offers some solace and measures the timeWell spent, lost forever
EverydayShowing up to the same jobHating itNo time offIrregular hoursTo hurry up and waitOn a payoff Never comingLost in shippingReorderedLost againTimeless waitingOn a gift Of it ending While they never pay himAnd he's alwaysThe first one inEternally sufferingSo he can (occasionally)RemarkThey're really screwing me hereTo transient othersIn a carparkLike one day That will make him Stop
"Cartel" - Julio Cortazar-I see the world as chaos, and at its center a rose. I see the rose as the happy eye of beauty, and at its center the worm. I see the worm as a fragment of immense life, and at its center death. I see death as the flame of nothingness, and at its center hope. I see hope as a stained-glass window singing at midday, and at its center man.
>>24951252It's not a poem.
What's the one by Kipling about a settler/pioneer making his way into an undiscovered land? Thanks in advance, pic unrel
This is a post asking for general reading recommendations.If you read past that first line then lay any collections you like on me, please, because I'm new to poetry. I'm open to anything but if that's too nebulous then "The Graveyard By The Sea", "Ulalume", and "Song of the Bell" have all stuck with me recently.
>>24952018Get a compendium
たましひのたとへば秋のほたる哉
Recently bought Chamber Music, Joyce's early book of poems. Am intrigued to read them; it's my next book on the docket.
>>24952018>new to poetryWordsworthShellyByronKeatsTennysonKiplingAll accessible and goodWelcome!
this one by Louise Gluck I found surprising... 4chan-esque
Wrote this one venting about some stressful stuff going on in my life.Can you guys recommend me poets who only write miserable poetry?
>>24952759You might like Philip Larkin
>>24950982O watersCutteth Earth,Divide,Make plenty Thine harvest - Multiply! -Tis no sin to dieNor fault to live;Harvest's bountyOf Life's joysMake complexionOf grander questionsLike wine,To sooth theOer'wrought mind.
Accidentally yoursI open up after a whileWhy notBut you ask questionsHmm – unsureOi oi, slow down I’m made of tiny bitsIf you press to hardI reset to LatinDamned if I knowI’m riffi-raffing don’t askAnywayPush yourself into an envelopeMore is comingI’ll give you the address later
>>24953261I like this
>>24953261*tooFucking idiot
>>24954941FUCK! SORRY! have some toothpaste
>>24952759>poets who only write miserable poetryThat's the only type that I write.
Your death, near now, is of an easy sort.So slow a fading out brings no real pain.Breath growing shortIs just uncomfortable. You feel the drainOf energy, but thought and sight remain:Enhanced, in fact. When did you ever seeSo much sweet beauty as when fine rain fallsOn that small treeAnd saturates your brick back garden walls,So many Amber Rooms and mirror halls?Ever more lavish as the dusk descendsThis glistening illuminates the air.It never ends.Whenever the rain comes it will be there,Beyond my time, but now I take my share.My daughter’s choice, the maple tree is new.Come autumn and its leaves will turn to flame.What I must doIs live to see that. That will end the gameFor me, though life continues all the same:Filling the double doors to bathe my eyes,A final flood of colours will live onAs my mind dies,Burned by my vision of a world that shoneSo brightly at the last, and then was gone.
>>24955066>There's just no way outStopped reading.
watched these bcc docs todayGreat Poets in Their Own Words - 1. Making It New 1908-1955https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezL8UVx_eG8Great Poets in Their Own Words - 2. Access All Areas 1955-1982https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-WCwcRZ0FjQReturn to TS Eliotlandhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TGrk3L16HjYReturn to Larkinlandhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBmFCBXh7Rg
>>24955136Dope, thank you.I do prefer articles if you know of anything similar in that form :)
>>24955125Why?
>>24955158'Just' sounds peurile, the caesura is cumbersome and ungrammatical, and the line flows horribly from the last. Besides, this is poetry. Is the best way you could think of to describe feeling trapped or hedged in that there's 'no way out'?
>>24955016Are you trying to insinuate that I don’t brush my teeth?
>>24955078enjoyed it, very depressing that slowness of death. I wish I can remain bright for every breath until my last
>>24955222I honestly can’t see why everybody who isn’t a child, everybody who’s theoretically old enough to understand what death means, doesn’t spend all their time thinking about it.
>>24955233
>>24955294alas poor yorick
A male Bisontrapped in a hotspring on a June morning diedfrom boiling water,Moments laterhis female companion sought him outnot having witnessed his demise.Attached are pictures and an address you can go to.once there you can ask to see the footage but know in advance: we are planning to shred the tape, once everyone gets a chance to see it.
On the afternoon of June 23 2013or maybe even earlierI disappeared without a trace.Name: Bishop, JosephBorn: London, 1999Height: 184 cm Eyes: Blue Hair: Brownthough I still write on passport forms black.In summer I'm found wearing a blue jacket with white patterns,black shoes, for winter - a jumper, scarf, coat, glovesbusiness suit - only when absolutely necessary.As a rule, I'm reserved and friendlyI attack only if I'm provokedand even then - not always in time - and not always the right person.I have no visible distinguishing marks.Lately, I've allegedly been seen in Szigliget, in Edinburgh,in Harlech, in Southend,in Havana, in Heiligendamm, in Madrid, in Budapest,in my office, in the supermarket, at the doctor's, on the street,late at night in Soho, the Central line,on the seashore, in the cemetery,yet I'm unable to find myself.If anybody has information concerning meplease notify me.
a Benjamin Péret poem -LES JEUNES FILLES TORTURÉESPrès d'une maison de soleil et de cheveux blancsune forêt se découvre des facultés de tendresseet un esprit sceptiqueOù est le voyageur demande-t-elleLe voyageur forêt se demande de quoi demain sera faitIl est malade et nuIl demande des pastilles et on lui apporte des herbes follesIl est célèbre comme la mécaniqueIl demande son chienet c'est un assassin qui vient venger une offenseLa main de l'un est sur l'épaule de l'autreC'est ici qu'intervient l'angoisse une très belle femme enmanteau de visonEst-elle nue sous son manteauEst-elle belle sous son manteauEst-elle voluptueuse sous son manteauOui oui oui et ouiElle est tout ce que vous voudrezelle est le plaisir tout le plaisir l'unique plaisircelui que les enfants attendent au bord de la forêtcelui que la forêt attend auprès de la maison
Thinking of starting The Faerie Queene soon. Is there anything I need to know going in?
>>24955175>'Just' sounds peurile, the caesura is cumbersome and ungrammaticalIs it, really? I thought it sounds way more consistent with the English lexicon and grammar. For context: I'm ESL, this is my translation of my own poem.The original has the first two lines starting with the same word roughly equivalent to "only", however I thought that using a different word in the second line would better convey the meaning in English. Would it really have been more lexically sound to keep something like "Only, there's no way out..." in the sense of "merely, simply".>Besides, this is poetry. Is the best way you could think of to describe feeling trapped or hedged in that there's 'no way out'?The phrase itself is a reference to certain generationally ironic song lyrics, in which the feelings of hopelessness and despair are semantically linked to a specific subway sign's design as a poetic allusion to an urban legend about the aforementioned signs, whose double meaning supposedly had been exacerbating negative emotions to the point of causing one or several suicides among people suffering from depression:"Dawn is about,There's no way out,So turn the key and we'll fly away.I need to addTo someone's padWritten with blood, like in the subway:«There's no way out»"
>>24955078Love it. I think we could nicely enjoy a drink together.
>>24955233Waste of time. Art about it is fine, even great, but just thinking about it on a casual daily basis is a waste of time.
>>24955500Not really. For early foundational works like that, you can almost always just dive right in.
>>24957099It’s a pretty arresting thought, not being anything, not being anywhere, and yet the world still being here. Simply having everything stopping for ever, not just for millions of years. And getting to the point where that’s all there is in front of you
For me, it's Gerard Manley Hopkins and the Earl of Rochester
>>24957445This guy tups
Dance floor in a OubliettePeeking moon light on the flagstoneShuffleMixed up feet Slide the dust Straddling thigh to thighShackled hipsAn Adam looking for his RibWhileThe Shape shifters play in the darkNo longing for the DayLusty dungeon nightsSearchingFor that post strap clarityCrimes punishing crimesLowering bodies from the oculus The chained unchain the living mummyAnd teach the dead to walkDancing in the earthen prisonThe afterlife has no end
Talk to me about your meters, poets of /lit/.Ten years ago I pledged myself to a project of continual improvement as an artist. I started as a prose writer but I have become a poet as a result, and as a poet I have striven to learn and perfect my use of various meters and natures of poetry, that I can deploy as the demands of my art suit me.Right now I am pretty comfortable in blank verse, rhymed iambic pentameter, and a bit of a twist on a Fourteener of my own development. I have also been learning Alexandrine and am getting more comfortable writing in that meter, too. I write in free verse sometimes too, of course.I'm trying to scour around for meters I can still conquer. I've tried my hand at dactylic hexameter, epic meter, but it's really hard to make it sound good in English. I suppose I'll at least have to learn Latin and learn to write poetry in Latin, if I want to use that meter.What meters do you guys like to write poetry in?
>>24958201I don’t think meters are things to be conquered, they’re old worn roads, useful only insofar as it gets out of the way of necessity. I don’t choose the verse as much as it’s found out by the poem itself (and often against my will).
>>24958229I definitely think they have their various uses, but I find it helpful to be intentional in finding those uses out.Alexandrine, for example, I have found useful for poetic scenes involving love and romance; something about the swing of the six feet feels romantic to me and suited for business involving couples. My twist on Fourteener, on the other hand, with thirteen syllables, I have found more useful as a strictly-narrative meter, suitable for telling a story. I find it particularly effective depicting scenes of action and combat: the line is long enough that extensive description of the events unfolding is possible in an efficient manner, and the force of the meter enhances the strength and vigor of the scene taking place, making it useful for action.Blank verse, on the other hand, I find useful for disputes and discussions; often formatted in the manner of Shakespeare or Pastoral poems, with named interlocutors using blank verse for their conversations with each other in a poetic setting of conversation.
Am I the only one who doesn't get William Blake?
>>24958236Sounds like a filing system you’ve got there. I never impose a metre on my emotions, the emotions should determine the metre - and even then constantly modify it.
Poetry sucks and is for fags.
>>24958347If it's a filing system, it's one I've come upon by my own trial and error. I'm not trying to impose it on others, but this is what works for me.
>>24951634Why is that?
>>24958498it's just modernist prose but written using predictive text
Checked out a book of Tennessee Williams' collected poetry. What do we think?
>>24959290next page, 2/2
>>24958498it don’t rhyme!
>This guy tups
>>24958899>>24959293Well I suppose that's fair… but it does have a (free) rhythm to it, largely anapestic
>>24959290>>24959291pure trash
>>24950975Good goyim.
>>24950975How do I start with poetry?
>>24961722Just fucking do it, fag
I cannot pity you,Poor pebble in my shoe,Now that the heel is sore;You planned to be a rockAnd a stumbling block,Or was it perhaps more?But now be grateful ifYou vault over the cliff,Shaken from my shoe;Where lapidary tidesMay scour your little sidesAnd even polish you.
Free pickupUsed toiletExcellent condition
more Louise Gluck, from her book Meadowlands1/3>no one foresaw that decade of insoluble dilemmas--oh unanswerable>affliction of the human heart: how to divide>the world's beauty into acceptable>and unacceptable loves!
2/3
3/3
>>24963898>>24963900>>24963905Nice
>>24963898>>24963900>>24963905These make me feel nauseous. The person who wrote these is deeply disturbed and anti-human, probably a serial killer.
>>24964721lolI'd say more a person who's been hurt before, who knows the dark, dreary side of love, relationships, and humanity.
>>24963898>And a few grow>slightly uneasy: what if war>is just a male version of dressing up,>a game devised to avoid >profound spiritual questions?this is surely her masterpiece
>>24964936Serial killers are hurt people, a product of nurture more than nature.This was written by a mind that goes to the most vapid, nauseating places and just stays there, revealing nothing, exploring nothing. Anyone who enjoys this would definitely murder if they knew they would get away with it.
>>24964947Uh huh. Well, thanks for giving it a try. I'm gonna be starting her book The Wild Iris today, which is putatively her magnum opus, so I'm sure I'll be posting poems from that here too.
>>24964947
>>24964978There are no conflicts in those poems, just one, boring, anti-human, anti-virtue pole.
>>24965058that pole is in you too. and it’d pay to recognise it.
>>24965058Sorry you feel that way, anon. Not everyone is for everyone I suppose. But yes, Gluck's poetry generally isn't cheerful and inspiring, but rather penetrating and honest, giving voice and beauty to the psychic tragedies of life, as art is meant to do.
Hello I haven't posted my poems before. Hope you like them.The golden sun from the sky,shines onto a rooftop of a red dye,on it a pearly white dove is perched,it walks on them confused.Looking around as if lost,burning in the red heat of the sun,shining bright on the heights,illuminating everything on the ground.A foreigner wandering alone,amongst strange spaces it unfolds,looking all around himself,There is nothing there for him.Spreading far its wings,It just into the air,flying away from there,away from there,into an unknown nothingness.
Call it a good marriage -For no one ever questionedHer warmth, his masculinity,Their interlocking views;Except one stray graphologistWho frowned in speculationAt her h's and her s's,His p's and w's.Though few would still subscribeTo the monogamic axiomThat strife below the hip-bonesNeed not estrange the heart,Call it a good marriage:More drew those two together,Despite a lack of children,Than pulled them apart.Call it a good marriage:They never fought in public,They acted circumspectlyAnd faced the world with pride;Thus the hazards of their love-bedWere none of our damned business -Till as jurymen we sat onTwo deaths by suicide.
>>24965105>>24965107Not bad, keep at it!
>>24965064The problem is saturating yourself in it like in those poems. Lifting up your worst parts as something worth sitting in, like bathing in your own shit and pretending you're exploring something instead of just being a disgusting piece of shit.
>>24965140the one indispensable answer to an environment bristling with things you think are bad is to go on finding out new ways in which you think they're bad. to forbid this sort of thing on moral grounds would have been to condemn moses and his fellow-israelites for defending themselves against their enemies in the wilderness, and joshua for seizing the Promised Land.
>>24965132I'm not the second guy that wrote the marriage stuff lolBut here's another one by me.A crow flies overhead cawing,Among autumnal trees,Blood red, glowing orange, shining yellow.Deep in the high mountains in a valley,I walk amongst the dead that preceded me,Solid stone overgrown with moss,The inscriptions long since faded.A rose hip grows ona dead branch,Two shepherds guide a lone cow,All is silent.The living here dwell among the dead,A cool wind shakes the world.
The piers are pummelled by the waves;In a lonely field the rainLashes an abandoned train;Outlaws fill the mountain caves.Fantastic grow the evening gowns;Agents of the Fisc pursueAbsconding tax-defaulters throughThe sewers of provincial towns.Private rites of magic sendThe temple prostitutes to sleep;All the literati keepAn imaginary friend.Cerebrotonic Cato mayExtol the Ancient Disciplines,But the muscle-bound MarinesMutiny for food and pay.Caesar's double-bed is warmAs an unimportant clerkWrites I DO NOT LIKE MY WORKOn a pink official form.Unendowed with wealth or pity,Little birds with scarlet legs,Sitting on their speckled eggs,Eye each flu-infected city.Altogether elsewhere, vastHerds of reindeer move acrossMiles and miles of golden moss,Silently and very fast.
>>24951047Which poem was it? One that I find myself thinking of a lot is the Lake Isle of Innisfree
>>24950975I don't usually write poetry but sometimes it spills out of me. let me know what you think, here’s something I wrote...You’re terrible, truly,but you’ve got an 800 sqft apartment in my mind.It’s empty, and full of webs and crawlies.Wish I could demolish it,but I’ve never taken out a roomfrom the apartment building of my mind. The nostalgia is nauseating,but there it sits. Evicted without notice and out of my control.It’s empty, but it sits waiting for the next peculiar.I’m not the issue, I know that,but the question will never fade. My mind, the bricks, the walls,you wandering down the halls.It’s where everyone lives,the layout unknown to all,yet you’ve seen a great deal. The maze was not my intention.Intense, I hear,but an accidental test,which you’ve yet again proved to be a necessity. Of course, time flows, construction continues.The building stretches as the days pass by,eventually, till it is so tall, bricks will crumble and fall. The collapse of an era, a dozen centuries.Silence, rubble, and foundation are all that is left to bear.Until then, will the bricks in your wall not nauseate me at all.Until then, they exist.Until I fall.>>24952718yea very autistic >>24962780:)
>>24950975>talk about poets you likeAt the moment, I’m reading Shakespeare, and I found Puttenham’s Arte of English Poesie inspiring as well.>post your own work>Poem for PuttenhamSitting silent, I haste to make a play:Sweet hips so round, I must devise a way-Oh no, too late: into my bowl I dive:Revive, O soul: enjoy your food today. Red lamp, brown broth: tapping the card again,A flash of white, reflection in motion: White lips, flowers, medallions, black servantsNo sense showing, nor the fairies minding.>Lunch-time VerseShining green thing, reaching above to touchPerfect skies blue: shadowy rivers redSnaking along the second dimension:Dead white monster sleeps on glassy cradle. >critique others>>24951021bawdy but full of the present>>24951252I want to like it but I can’t pay attention throughout these long lines, they leave me breathless.make good use of the comma, colon and period, for your reader’s sake.>>24951311doggerel verse that would be better called prose
English is an ugly homosexual language, give recommendations in other languages. I'll give some in spanish:Vallejo of course is the pinnacleI've been reading a lot of pizarnik and she is very beautiful, that crazy bitch.Recs in jap?
Theodore Roethke - Infirmity
>>24950975My copy of William Blake complete works that I downloaded doesn't have any pictures. I am confused and angry that a complete works of William Blake wouldn't have pictures
>>24968440Yeah, that's a book I'd say is required purchase.
>>24951047I just hope you're not a surgeon
>>24968952No; how so?
Every night and every mornSome to misery are born.Every morn and every nightSome are born to sweet delight.Some are born to sweet delight,Some are born to endless night.Auguries of Innocence
I’m going to kill God, gonna nail him to a pile of shitWon’t keep him down, that’s not the point of itI’ve never heard his voice when I’ve prayed, and it won’t start nowI’m gonna tie God to the front of a plowI want God to feel how I feel, even for a half a second
ESL here. Which of these works has a more strict meter? The shakespearean sonnets, paradise lost, pope's homer, the prelude or don Juan?
All, nothing, love – the third rate Roman usurper stretches like a cat.The empire is falling, or has fallen already. It barely registers on Saturn’s clock.Red blanket, cover my mischief. The weight of time breaks the day.The setting is precarious, the silence barely working - Stunned, the bell that nobody rings. It shouldn’t be. Someone keeps leaving smoky cups on the marble sill He must not know how warmth works – for it is winter and nobody’s home.No timestamps whatsoever, the tape is preserved from A to Z. If you want to find anything you must dig until sweat blinds you. Try to read it all backwards and see if it gains a semblance of sense The page, unlike flesh, doesn’t twitch if you pinch it. Murder will get you in trouble – reading too.
You guys ever ask AI to generate images based on your poems?
In the snowOut in the coldI pet a giant glowing catAlso I am a ghost
>>24951252Are you a vogon?
>>24968952no - something even more vital. i work in marketing.
>>24966381How exactly do you expect to appreciate the poetry in other languages without speaking them?
>>24971220I like it but it doesn't feel fully formed, like the opening isn't solid yet>>24972633Kek
>>24972634I think you have to apply to ask them in triplicate
some more Louise Gluck, this time from her putative masterpiece The Wild Iris, which won the Pulitzer for Poetry and the Poetry Society of America's William Carlos Williams Award.For me, I find much of her gloomy poetry inscrutable and elusive on the whole, yet I'm drawn to them for the myriad of beautiful and moving lines, images, and glints of feelings which do manage to fall into comprehension. And of course the poems I do manage to grasp are rewarding1/3
>>24973628every line of this one is quotable, damn
>>24973628every line of this one is insufferable and smug, damn
>>24973625>which won the Pulitzer for PoetryThis is not poetry.
>>24973625>Louise GluckLove that woman like you wouldn't believe.She has great taste in poetry too.I recommend you to check her picks for the Yale Series of Younger Poets.Picrel is from Crush by Richard Siken.Siken writes such amazing prose poetry.A lot of love in violence.Gluck talks about how Siken is trying to portray obsession and panic, but I kinda disagree: I think you need to slowread his poetry if you want to enjoy and understand its greatness, so a lot of the franticness is lost.>I find much of her gloomy poetry inscrutable and elusive on the wholeI think she was writing the Wild Iris when she had the level of depression that also Leopardi is most known for: the hatred (that turns into apathy) for the small, daily things, that is caused by depression, that reaches a point where you start to function only on an abstract level.So you can see this contraposition in her poetry between the almost satisfactory nature of simple things ("I gave you every gift,/ blue of the spring morning/ time you didn't know how to use, —") and the fundamentally bad nature of existance ("you wanted more, the one gift/ reserved for another creation").The Wild Iris is a woman so depressed, she can't even kill herself, sitting in her garden, describing it.
I've never written poetry that much before:"The blackpill is a mirrorThat reflectsA white pillAnd thatIs youYouExist"And I posted this in another thread but:“You’re like the sun you knowNot like, you’re my everything and the centre of my worldEven though you areBut likeIt lights up everything right, I can seeAnd when I can see I can go about my daySee my friends, live my little lifeBut sometimes I’ll remember that I can seeAnd I’m thankful for the lightAnd the sunAnd I can always look upAnd see you”
wanker
The Winter King and his curious eyepasses with the wind, the divine.—A single eye! A fixation!—We’ll hoard it all, the sea and I, and the destiny around my neck.We’re ghosts passing through The world’s many finalitiesDisaster and bloodshed What lies in the deep? How many Bound and thrown overboard? Canon rounds. Torn women.Their salt is tasteless
I poopiedI shartedI peepeed and I farded
>>24974529Far better than anything by Gluck. Please just stop posting that vapid shit.
>>24974343Great post :)
>>24974541Fine, I'll stop posting pics until I get started with the WH Auden book I have next.
>>24975066Slightly interesting and doesn't make me nauseous but the same kind of pointless cynic, writing emotional odes to.. petty karen issues.>what of the freedoms of poor little Joey who was forced by his economic situation to learn engineering and build the greatest cars ever made during the height of human civilization>what of the hecking victims of the Homeric poemsWho cares, faggot? Let things be the coolest things ever, that's the actual point of art, to heighten not to lower, build not destroy. This post is not art, it's criticism and cynical poetry is on the same level.
>>24975109>Let things be the coolest things ever, that's the actual point of art, to heighten not to lower, build not destroy.There's also giving voice to and beautifying tragedy and pain, anon.
>>24975109WHA used to have this talent for finding images (or rhythms or phrases) that completely won the reader's confidence. it enabled him to produce passages of mesmeric beauty ('silently and very fast').
>>24975119Neither of them are doing that. They're languishing in smug cynicism.
When you lose someone you love, Your life becomes strange, The ground beneath you gets fragile, Your thoughts make your eyes unsure; And some dead echo drags your voice down Where words have no confidence. Your heart has grown heavy with loss; And though this loss has wounded others too, No one knows what has been taken from you When the silence of absence deepens. Flickers of guilt kindle regret For all that was left unsaid or undone. There are days when you wake up happy; Again inside the fullness of life, Until the moment breaks And you are thrown back Onto the black tide of loss. Days when you have your heart back, You are able to function well Until in the middle of work or encounter, Suddenly with no warning, You are ambushed by grief. It becomes hard to trust yourself. All you can depend on now is that Sorrow will remain faithful to itself. More than you, it knows its way And will find the right time To pull and pull the rope of grief Until that coiled hill of tears Has reduced to its last drop. Gradually, you will learn acquaintance With the invisible form of your departed; And, when the work of grief is done, The wound of loss will heal And you will have learned To wean your eyes From that gap in the air And be able to enter the hearth In your soul where your loved one Has awaited your return All the time.
>>24975169Eh, I read less 'languishing' in Gluck than 'coming-to-terms-with', which is the very essence of a cathartic experience with regards to pain, loss, grief, and heartbreak.To each his own I suppose. Thanks for giving the poems I posted a shot.
>>24975066>ntil I get started with the WH Auden bookIs it another non-poetry?
Do you guys have any suggestions for entry level books about poetry? I'm not really looking for collections of poetry books, but maybe more about the creation of poetry? Of the the bits and bobs that make a poem good?
I just tookA shit inThe toiletAnd I stainedthe rim
>>24976443Sorry what I meant to write:I just tookA shitIn the toiletAnd I stainedThe rim
There's a racist element To my broque skyIf you - of your likeHappen on my worldOf falling-umbreTrialsWould you Being what you are -Stay alive?Would you drink The wormwood, baby?Or baby-cry?
>>24976020?It's a thick collected poems set.
>>24951252beautiful. it breaks dichotomy and rules and spins a freeform narrative, i really like it
Poetry is gay. Everyone who likes poetry is gay. Everyone who writes poetry is gay. You're all gay.
>>24976614I'm actually gay how did you know?
And I must bend, and bend again, to meet it,feeling the pulse of earth beneath my feet,the mountains moving inside my chest,their ancient songs echoing through my bones,while the psilocybin loosens the hinges of the world,light sliding like a river inside a dropthat refused to fall,each pulse of colour singing through my veins,the air thick with messages,the ground remembering my name.
AshiIndi tohtAndi staihdThrym
Ushh, flishhh. A beh…so.Boom, boom, … uhm. Trash? Ahi ahi – wah. Rupiterol. A bitFlushhh…tsssss. Ts. Tap.Corazon, dios mio. Aufff…BLARG!Shhh, a second
>>24955317This is a shit poem but it stuck with me, therefore I guess it's not shit. Bear chases bison.
some will wed for gold and treasurebut true love is the greatest pleasureand in true love you will findone that is graced with a noble mind
...as though these fleeting lives of ours were only fractured reflectionsof some eternal momentexpressing itself in a thousand colorsrefracted in the mirage of time's wide sandslike light through a stained glass windowfalling on colorblind eyes...
Recommend me some goodnature poets like Archibald Lampman, please.
Sunday soldiers don’t go down unless you shoot them -A dogma is a dogma, unless it’s not.Nonetheless, I genuinely don’t know.Nothing here and nothing thereCan be friends
PooPoo poo pooPeeButt pooHee hee
>>24957105presumptuous of you to assume death means "nothingness forever". that thought itself carries a lot of metaphysical assumptions. i find it strange it's become the default idea of death in modern america where scientific materialism reigns as the supreme religion
Nigger bloodShower in it!Nigger blood, running in my veins!White Nigger blood, white nigger bloodHe loved to fuck on this hot hacker girl pussy
Window faced a steep hill.Two boulders sat low.I watched stones with no will.Leave tracks in the snow.
Muffled words and strange stancesFrom mouthless dead rocksNone can trace their dancesNone can break their locksStill I heard their whispersOf our fall from graceHow Unnur's two sistersCame to rest in this placeA new star roseAs did the shoreA garden did closeFind the gold you held before
Bump
>>24951252You suck.
>>24955078Nice.
Do a poem, he saidSo I didGo home, I saidPaki scumGloucestershire council bewareThis is an actionable threatPunishable by UK law
>>24978098>>24979136The rocks clearly rolled from the top of the hill but it turns out the area was underwater around 12k years ago and had a relatively sudden uplift around the time of the big global meltwater pulses associated with the event the Atlantis and the garden myths come from which was likely partly caused by the trail of a comet.
Balls a lickingCock a throbbingLet me swallow We're both so erect
time for a poetick year—
Stubborn fish, the current is a thing of the past for you.There are bigger predators but you make them laughSo you let the riverbed tingle the bellyEach day in the sand that changesYour children not too far behind, busy learning The ins and outs of swimmingNot in opposition with the tree, or the squirrel living on it.Encounters of “you too?”, and yes, everybodyLiving here gets wet the same wayFreedom, one day, not to have a reason of being.
Every July 4th I read Whitman. Any essential poets for New Years?
>>24982137This is an actionable threatPunishable by UK lawWritten by a yank
>>24950975I finally understood this stanza by H.D.>All Greece hates >the still eyes in the white face, >the lustre as of olives >where she stands, >and the white hands.The lustre as of olives is Helen's tan she got on her legs, signifying her elopement. Her face is still white because she was disguising herself, and her hands are white because she did nothing.
>>24986316How does one recognize understanding when it comes? Why do you think it did?
>>24986735Same as anything else clicking into place, it's a holistic combination of circumstances. Coming back to something after engaging with it intensively always results in improved understanding, given enough rest, due to a specific intention working through the subconscious.Or so I think. It's really just what I think the poem means, although in this case it explains what confused me and is obvious in hindsight as well based on the narrative. And it's the way HD writes it, without directly referencing the legs (as if the Greeks are loath to think about what they did), that made me wonder, but another person may see it immediately.
>>24950975alguna recomendación de como escribir poesía en español
>>24950975Bumpaaaaa
>>24987347Seems like they just hate her and her beauty for betraying them. The imagery paints a scene like the birth of Venus, the point is she's pretty.
Waltz MacabreI bend down to kiss your hand, and it smells of musty earth and memories. Your ballgown is streaked with dried blood, your flesh pokes through the tattered dress in purple lesions and steady decay. “May I have this dance?”We whirl with abandon; we move in perfect harmony. I hold you close and stare into opaque eyes, a sunken smile is stretched like stitches over weathered skin.I waltz with the corpse of our life. Questions wriggle in your flesh like worms, answers lock your limbs in rigor mortis. You are all I have left, my revenant. My shoes are muddy, my flashlight is catching dust and carrying shadows. I have you beside me once more. I’ll exhume my grief until it no longer haunts this sepulcher.The moon is just as full as the first time we danced together.
It’s cattle, it’s alive, it’s here, ok I am a city boy, leave me aloneHey we don’t see a lot of city boys up hereLet me in, it’s alrightWho keeps honking from the other sideAh, this stupid fenceMan – what is there to be donePoor, poor thingsThey turn around and just look horrible
>>24951252If that was not to your taste, here's a translation I made of Friedrich Schlegel's sonnet "Das Athenaeum" (1800) [from the same, penultimate meanwhile].
>Kissing her hair I sat against her feet,>Wove and unwove it, wound and found it sweet;>Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes,>Deep as deep flowers and dreamy like dim skies;>With her own tresses bound and found her fair,>Kissing her hair.>Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me,>Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea;>What pain could get between my face and hers?>What new sweet thing would love not relish worse?>Unless, perhaps, white death had kissed me there,>Kissing her hair?What would you recommend as a fun poem to learn by heart? Rondel in Swinburne's first 'Poems & Ballads'
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,And bathed every veyne in swich licóurOf which vertú engendred is the flour;Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breethInspired hath in every holt and heethThe tendre croppes, and the yonge sonneHath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,And smale foweles maken melodye,That slepen al the nyght with open ye,So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages,Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;And specially, from every shires endeOf Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,The hooly blisful martir for to seke,That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
Strange is the word strangeSupposed to mean strongPoisoned by a French mageIts meaning all wrong
I searched your world for what you swore was real,For something warm, something I could feel,But found instead a carnival of lies,With laughing mouths and empty eyes.So do not ask why I curse you.You built a world where love is currencyand left me bankrupt by design.You crowned yourselves alive,and named me proof that someone must be left behind.I do not mourn you. I renounce your kind.May history forget you ever shined.For when your age dissolves and leaves no trace,The world may breathe, unburdened by your face.
>>24992006Taylor Swift on the Jews.
Poets with egosI wanna tear you motherfuckers down
>>24990749and tittes as mellonsvaste and plumpe too
Some call it companion,though it leaves no footprints.It walks the edge of sleep,unspooling the knotted threadsof your breath, until dawnstitches the sky with a needle of gold—and you rememberhow to hold what cannot be held.
7 Miles UpAbove the quilt of cloud and shadow,metal wings carve a path through thin blue.The sun holds its breath here—a sharp, unblinking eye.Below, the world folds into seams:rivers stitch the land, cities pulselike dormant embers. We floatin the arithmetic of coordinates,tethered to nothing but the humof engines gnawing the silence.Our bodies, borrowed weight,press into seats—earth’s stubborn gravity still whisperingthrough veins. The cabin air tastes of static,of hours suspended betweenwhere we were and almost there.Somewhere, a child traces the plane’s shadowskimming fields. Up here, it’s already gone—swallowed by the horizon’s pale throat.We are left with the arithmetic of wind,the way time thins, dissolveslike a sugar cube in the void.Seven miles down, the ground rehearsesits ancient script of roots and storms.We sail through the in-between,a pocket of now where the skyneither mourns nor marvels—just breathes, and lets go.
Holograph HumanA flicker in the air,a distortion where you stand.You are not solid, not fixed,but a bending of light, a suggestion.Your edges blur,bleeding into the space around you.I try to focus, to see you clearly,but you are made of layers,shifting, overlapping, never still.When I reach for you,my hand passes through,grasping at fragments,at colors that scatter like dust.You are not here, not really.You are a projection,a collection of data, of memories,of things I can’t quite name.I see you, but you are not whole.You are a reflection without a source,a shadow without a body.You are the idea of something,not the thing itself.And yet, you feel real.Your presence lingers,even as you fade,even as you dissolve into the light.I wonder if you knowthat you are not complete,that you are only a part,a fragment of something larger,something I cannot see.Or maybe you are everything,and it is I who am incomplete,reaching for you,trying to understandwhat it means to be whole.
>>24993261Poets pretending to be above ego should be shot.
>>24950975it sucks when you meet a new reader and they read anything BUT poetry, why does it filter so many? it was the main form of literature for centuries, even short stories have more readers i feel
>>24952018>>24961722i think anthologies of poetry are the best way to start, the oxford poetry anthology is good, there's also many by bloom and tehy often ease you in into the poet so you get a sense of the poetry scene through time
>>24993958why should it have more readers? poetry is written for poets. novels are written for the general public.
>>24993969Seconding an anthology. From there you should identify a poet or theme you found you liked and check out more related work
In this foreign sun,the blue of morning drifts over hills baked by heat,and she was the living warmth of earth and flesh,so distant from the pale north that once tightened my breath,a fire I had never known in the country of frost and shadow.
O little disgrace,the stones sleep under snow’s white blanket,silent witnesses to the children,and our passage becomes a fleeting echo.
