thistlepong Posted February 29, 2012 Share Posted February 29, 2012 Barbara GuestAN EMPHASIS FALLS ON REALITYCloud fields change into furniturefurniture metamorphizes into fieldsan emphasis falls on reality."It snowed toward morning," a barcarolethe words stretched severelysilhouettes they arrived in trenchant cutthe face of lilies...I was envious of fair realism.I desired sunrise to revise itselfas apparition, majestic in evocativeness,two fountains traced nearby on a lawn....you recall treatmentsof 'being' and 'nothingness'illuminations aptto appear from variable directions -they are orderly as motorsfloating on the waterway,so silence is pictorialwhen silence is real.The wall is more real than shadowor that letter composed of calligraphyeach vowel replaces a walla costume taken from spacedonated by walls....These metaphors may be apprehended afterthey have brought their dogs and catsborn on roads near willows,willows are not real treesthey entangle us in looseness,the natural world spins in green.A column chosen from distancemounts into the sky while the fontis classical,they will destroy the disturbed fontas it enters modernity and is rare....The necessary idealizing of you realityis part of the search, the journeywhere two figures embraceThis house was drawn for themit looks like a real houseperhaps they will move in todayinto ephemaral dusk andmove out of that into nightselective night with trees,The darkened copies of all trees. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Rhaegar Targaryen's Ghost Posted February 29, 2012 Share Posted February 29, 2012 The Waste Land- T.S.Eliot. Absolutely Phenomenal. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sci-2 Posted March 1, 2012 Share Posted March 1, 2012 The Way It Is There is a thread you follow.It goes among things that change.But it doesn’t change.People wonder about whatthings you are pursuing.You have to explain about the thread.But it is hard for others to see.While you hold it you can’t get lost.Tragedies happen; people get hurtor die; and you suffer and grow old.Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.But you don’t ever let go of the thread.William Stafford Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Galactus Posted March 2, 2012 Share Posted March 2, 2012 Let's see, just a couple of them...I tend to like well, fragments of poems, more like quotes, than the entire thing.„Du mußt herrschen und gewinnen, oder dienen und verlieren, leiden oder triumphieren, Amboß oder Hammer sein."-Goethe"You must rule and win, or serve and lose, suffer or triumph, either be anvil or hammer." Or how about a bit longer?Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm."Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?" –"Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?" –"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif.""Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand." –"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?" –"Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind;In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind." –"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehen?Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein." –"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dortErlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?" –"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau. –""Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt." –"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!" –Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not;In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.Or some Fröding:"Men strunt är strunt och snus är snus, om och i gyllne dosor,och rosor i ett sprucket krus är ändå alltid rosor.""But nonsense is nonsense and snuff is snuff, although in golden boxesand roses in a broken jar, are still forever roses."A quick one I learned from Alpha Centauri:"We sit together.The Mountain and I'till only The Mountain remains."-Li PoOr some classic 19th century bombasm: Tegnér "Det Eviga"Väl formar den starke med svärdet sin värld, Väl flyga som örnar hans rykten; Men någon gång brytes det vandrande svärd Och örnarna fällas i flykten. Vad våldet må skapa är vanskligt och kort, Det dör som en stormvind i öknen bort.Men sanningen lever. Bland bilor och svärdLugn står hon med strålande pannan. Hon leder igenom den nattliga värld Och pekar alltjämt till en annan. Det sanna är evigt: Kring himmel och jordGenljuda från släkte till släkte dess ord.Det rätta är evigt: Ej rotas där ut Från jorden dess trampade lilja. Erövrar det onda all världen till slut,Så kan du det rätta dock vilja.Förföljs det utom dig med list och våld,Sin fristad det har i ditt bröst fördold.Och viljan, som stängdes i lågande bröst, Tar mandom, lik Gud, och blir handling. Det rätta får armar, det sanna får röst, Och folken stå upp till förvandling. De offer du bragte, de faror du lopp, De stiga som stjärnor ur Lethe opp.Och dikten är icke som blommornas doft,Som färgade bågen i skyar. Det sköna, du bildar, är mera än stoft,Och åldern dess anlet förnyar. Det sköna är evigt: Med fiken håg Vi fiska dess guldsand ur tidens våg.Så fatta all sanning, så våga all rätt, Och bilda det sköna med glädje! De tre dö ej ut bland människors ätt,Och till dem från tiden vi vädje. Vad tiden dig gav må du ge igen, Blott det eviga bor i ditt hjärta än. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Marquis de Leech Posted March 2, 2012 Share Posted March 2, 2012 No Dylan Thomas? Heathens.Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ser Scot A Ellison Posted March 2, 2012 Share Posted March 2, 2012 RBPL,How about this one:And death shall have no dominion.Dead men naked they shall be oneWith the man in the wind and the west moon;When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,They shall have stars at elbow and foot;Though they go mad they shall be sane,Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;Though lovers be lost love shall not;And death shall have no dominion.And death shall have no dominion.Under the windings of the seaThey lying long shall not die windily;Twisting on racks when sinews give way,Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through;Split all ends up they shan't crack;And death shall have no dominion.And death shall have no dominion.No more may gulls cry at their earsOr waves break loud on the seashores;Where blew a flower may a flower no moreLift its head to the blows of the rain;Though they be mad and dead as nails,Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,I've always liked it. :)And death shall have no dominion. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
RebeccaSigyn Posted March 2, 2012 Share Posted March 2, 2012 I'm a huge Robert Frost fan & I absolutely adore Edgar Allen Poe."Fire & Ice" and "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" are my favorites from Frost.For Poe "Annabell Lee" & of course "The Raven" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sci-2 Posted March 3, 2012 Share Posted March 3, 2012 SiempreWilliam AbergShe tells me through the ventfrom the cell belowthat they're taking heron the morning train to the pinta,that the guards have already packedeverything but her sheets, blue jumpsuit, and towel.Through the floor,with my heart as with an eye,I can see her as she sitson the bunk, facecupped in her hands,elbows propped on her thighs,cheeks smudged by fingermarksand tears, her darkhair eclipsing her knees.I try to reassure herwith wisdom I do not have,and hope I try to fake,that the hammerand anvil of coming dayswill forge us intosomething stronger.By the time they unlockmy cell at breakfast,she has already gone. But lateras I walk back in my boxersfrom the shower, an older guard,the kind one, slips a noteinto my hand, whispers,She sent her love. Back in my cellI unfold a note that says,Te amo, siempre in crude lettersformed by a finger and menstrual blood. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Marquis de Leech Posted March 3, 2012 Share Posted March 3, 2012 RBPL,How about this one:I've always liked it. :)And death shall have no dominion.Yep, Thomas is awesome. Also there's A Child's Christmas in Waleshttp://classiclit.about.com/od/christmasstoriesholiday/a/aa_childswales.htmNot strictly poetry, more a poetic story, but I grew up with the 1980s TV film they made of it. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Marquis de Leech Posted March 3, 2012 Share Posted March 3, 2012 As for Poe, my favourite has to be The Bells. For sheer sound effects of language. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
RebeccaSigyn Posted March 3, 2012 Share Posted March 3, 2012 As for Poe, my favourite has to be The Bells. For sheer sound effects of language.Awesome choice I can't tell you how much I love him!"Bells, bells,bells -to the moaning and the groaning of the bells" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ser Scot A Ellison Posted March 3, 2012 Share Posted March 3, 2012 RBPL,My daughter is big ito poe right now. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Angalin Posted March 7, 2012 Share Posted March 7, 2012 The Happiest DayIt was early May, I think a moment of lilac or dogwood when so many promises are made it hardly matters if a few are broken. My mother and father still hovered in the background, part of the scenery like the houses I had grown up in, and if they would be torn down later that was something I knew but didn't believe. Our children were asleep or playing, the youngest as new as the new smell of the lilacs, and how could I have guessed their roots were shallow and would be easily transplanted. I didn't even guess that I was happy. The small irritations that are like salt on melon were what I dwelt on, though in truth they simply made the fruit taste sweeter. So we sat on the porch in the cool morning, sipping hot coffee. Behind the news of the day-- strikes and small wars, a fire somewhere-- I could see the top of your dark head and thought not of public conflagrations but of how it would feel on my bare shoulder. If someone could stop the camera then... if someone could only stop the camera and ask me: are you happy? perhaps I would have noticed how the morning shone in the reflected color of lilac. Yes, I might have said and offered a steaming cup of coffee.Linda Pastan(I have a particular fondness for this poem, as it inspired one that breathed new life into my own writing. :)) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Jojen Posted March 7, 2012 Share Posted March 7, 2012 Frost, Cummings, Yeats, Basho, Tagore, Leonard Cohen, Borges.Two of my favorites by E.E. Cummings:somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyondany 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 nearyour slightest look easily will unclose methough i have closed myself as fingers,you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first roseor if your wish be to close me, i andmy life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,as when the heart of this flower imaginesthe snow carefully everywhere descending;nothing which we are to perceive in this world equalsthe power of your intense fragility:whose texturecompels me with the color of its countries,rendering death and forever with each breathing(i do not know what it is about you that closesand opens;only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands_______________o by the byhas anybody seenlittle you-iwho stood on a greenhill and threwhis wish at bluewith a swoop and a dartout flew his wish(it dived like a fishbut it climbed like a dream)throbbing like a heartsinging like a flameblue took it myfar beyond farand high beyond highbluer took it yourbut bluest took it ouraway beyond wherewhat a wonderful thingis the end of a string(murmurs little you-ias the hill becomes nil)and will somebody tellme why people let go Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Vic-tarion Rattlehead Posted March 7, 2012 Share Posted March 7, 2012 My all-time favorites are Dante Alighieri, Alexander Pushkin ("Eugene Onegin" is a masterpiece) and... Martin Walkyier (while he's considered more a lyricist than a poet). Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyler Snow Posted March 7, 2012 Share Posted March 7, 2012 Favorite Poem- "If...." by Rudyard KiplingIF you can keep your head when all about youAre losing theirs and blaming it on you,If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,But make allowance for their doubting too;If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,Or being hated, don't give way to hating,And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same;If you can bear to hear the truth you've spokenTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winningsAnd risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,And lose, and start again at your beginningsAnd never breathe a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinewTo serve your turn long after they are gone,And so hold on when there is nothing in youExcept the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,If all men count with you, but none too much;If you can fill the unforgiving minuteWith sixty seconds' worth of distance run,Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sci-2 Posted March 8, 2012 Share Posted March 8, 2012 I stood before a silk worm one day.And that night my heart said to me,"I can do things like that, I can spin skies, I can be woven into love that can bring warmth to people; I can be soft against a crying face, I can be wings that lift, and I can travel on my thousand feet throughout the earth, my sacks filled with the sacred."And I replied to my heart,"Dear, can you really do all those things?"And it just nodded "Yes" in silence.So we began and will never cease.-Rumi Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sci-2 Posted March 9, 2012 Share Posted March 9, 2012 ATLANTIS by AudenBeing set on the ideaOf getting to AtlantisYou have discovered of courseOnly the Ship of FoolsIs making the voyage this year,As gales of abnormal forceAre predicted, and that youMust therefore be ready toBehave absurdly enoughTo pass for one of The Boys,At least appearing to loveHard liquor, horseplay and noise.Should storms, as may well happen,Drive you to anchor a weekIn some old harbour-cityOf Ionia, then speakWith her witty scholars, menWho have proved there cannot beSuch a place as Atlantis:Learn their logic, but notice how its subtlety betraysTheir enormous simple grief;Thus they shall teach you the waysTo doubt that you may believe.If later, you run agroundAmong the headlands of Thrace,Where with torches all night longA naked barbaric raceLeaps frenziedly to the soundOf conch and dissonant gong;On that stony savage shoreStrip off your clothes and dance, forUnless you are capableOf forgetting completelyAbout Atlantis, you willNever finish your journey.Again, should you come to gayCarthage or Corinth, take partIn their endless gaiety;And if in some bar a tart,As she strokes your hair, should say‘This is Atlantis, dearie,’Listen with attentivenessTo her life-story: unlessYou become acquainted nowWith each refuge that tries toCounterfeit Atlantis, howWill you recognise the true?Assuming you beach at lastNear Atlantis, and beginThat terrible trek inlandThrough squalid woods and frozenTundras where all are soon lost;If, forsaken then, you stand,Dismissal everywhere,Stone and snow, silence and air,O remember the great deadAnd honour the fate you are,Travelling and tormented,Dialectic and bizarre.Stagger onwards rejoicing;And even then if, perhapsHaving actually gotTo the last col, you collapseWith all Atlantis shiningBelow you yet you cannotDescend, you should still be proudJust to peep at Atlantis,In a poetic vision:Give thanks and lie down in peace,Having seen your salvation.All the little household godsHave started crying, but sayGoodbye now, and put out to sea.Farewell, my dear, farewell: mayHermes, master of the roadsAnd the four dwarf Kabiri,Protect and serve you always;And may the Ancient of DaysProvide for all you must doHis invisible guidance,Lifting up, dear, upon youThe light of His countenance.=-=-=So we found ourselves in an ancient place, the veryair around us bound by chains. There wasstagnant water in which lightningwas reflected, like desperationin a dying eye. Like science. Likea dull rock plummeting through space, tossingoff flowers and veils, like a bride. Andalso the subway.Speed under ground.And the way each body in the room appeared to bea jar of wasps and flies that day—but, enchanted,like frightened children's laughter.Laura Kasischke Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Chise Posted March 10, 2012 Share Posted March 10, 2012 I don't care if this is the most childish post in this thread, this thing still speaks to meA learned cat whiles away the hoursBy walking slowly round and round.To right he walks, and sings a ditty;To left he walks, and tells a tale....What marvels there! A mermaid sittingHigh in a tree, a sprite, a trailWhere unknown beasts move never seen by .... etc etc.. (ok, too lazy to actually find whole English thing) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Angalin Posted March 13, 2012 Share Posted March 13, 2012 I am reading rather than writing, and this is one I refound for the thread.The boy who nearly won the Texaco Art Competitionhe took a large sheetof white paper and on thishe made the world an african worldof flat topped trees and dried grassesand he painted an elephant in the middleand a lion with a big mane and several giraffesstood over the elephant and some small animals to fillin the gaps he worked all day had a bath this was saturdayon sunday he put six jackalsin the world and a great big snakeand buzzards in the sky and tickbirdson the elephants back he drew down bluefrom the sky to make a river and got the elephantslegs all wet and smudged and one of the jackals got drownedhe put red flowers in the front of the picture and daffodils in the bottom cornersand his dog major chewing a bone and mrs murphys two cats tom and jerryand milo the milkman with a cigarette in the corner of his mouthand his merville dairy float pulled by his wonder horse triggerthat would walk when he said click click and the holy familyin the top right corner with the donkey and cowand sheep and baby jesus and got the 40A buson monday morning in to abbey street to handit in and the man on the door saidthats a sure winner by Joe Kane Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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