Poetry. (1 Viewer)

[astro]

Even though i can fully undersand poetry here's a little piece i like:

Piazza Piece....

I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying

To make you hear. Your ears are soft and small

And listen to an old man not at all,

They want the young men's whispering and sighing.

But see the roses on your trellis dying

And hear the spectral singing of the moon;

For I must have my lovely lady soon,

I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying.



I am a lady young in beauty waiting

Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss.

But what gray man among the vines is this

Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream?

Back from my trellis, Sir, before I scream!

I am a lady young in beauty waiting.


- - - -

John Crowe Ransom

 

[Persephone87]

Dream within a dream - (don't remember who)

O God! Can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Now are thoughts Thou shall not banish
Now are visions neer to vanish
From Thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew drops from the grass.

But list, O list, - so soft and low
Thy lover's voice tonight shall flow,
That, scarce awake, Thy soul shall deem
My words the music of a dream.



Schroedingers Cat

I am the Quantum Cat
I am enclosed in a box
Isolated from the rest of the world
Within my box I experience multiple realities
I am simultaneously alive+dead and alive-dead
And all that those states entail
Open the box and you will reduce my quantum dreams to a single reality
So take care
For what you will see is what you believe in
When you open my box
I am the Quantum Cat

Virgin Youth - D.H.Lawrence


NOW and again
All my body springs alive,
And the life that is polarised in my eyes,
That quivers between my eyes and mouth,
Flies like a wild thing across my body,
Leaving my eyes half-empty, and clamorous,
Filling my still breasts with a flush and a flame,
Gathering the soft ripples below my breasts
Into urgent, passionate waves,
And my soft, slumbering belly
Quivering awake with one impulse of desire,
Gathers itself fiercely together;
And my docile, fluent arms
Knotting themselves with wild strength
To claspwhat they have never clasped.
Then I tremble, and go trembling
Under the wild, strange tyranny of my body,
Till it has spent itself,
And the relentless nodality of my eyes reasserts itself,
Till the bursten flood of life ebbs back to my eyes,
Back from my beautiful, lonely body
Tired and unsatisfied.

I LOVE D.H.Lawrence !!!

 

[Perhaps]

I won't post it because it's so long, but my favourite poem (well, almost my favourite piece of literature all together (Crime and Punishment just beats it)) would be Edgar Alan Poe's The Raven. It's beautiful.

 

[clerisy]

Originally posted by Serpentia
You can never go past ee cummings

I so agree. I love ee cummings':

HIST WHIST

hist whist
little ghostthings
tip-toe
twinkle-toe

little twitchy
witches and tingling
goblins
hob-a-nob hob-a-nob

little hoppy happy
toad in tweeds
tweeds
little itchy monsters

with scuttling
eyes rustle and run
and
hidehidehide
whisk

whisk look out for the
old woman
with the wart on her
nose
what she'll do to yer
nobody knows

for she knows the
devil ooch
the devil ouch
the devil
ach the great

green
dancing
devil
devil

devil
devil

wheeEEE


edit: darn it, the large spaces between some of the words don't come out properly.

 

[clerisy]

Also, William Blake's 'The Tyger':

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes!
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire!

And what shoulder, & what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand! & what dread feet!

What the hammer! what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain
What the anvil, what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see
Did he who made the Lamb make thee!

Tyger, tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?




That's from Blake's 'Songs of Innocence and Experience', which is one of my favourite collections of poems. 'The Tyger' presents the experienced's perspective of creation; it's interesting to compare with its 'innocence' complement, 'The Lamb' (which is dull on its own, I think, but brilliant next to The Tyger).

 

[my sharona]

THE BLACKBIRDS ARE ROUGH TODAY - Charles Bukowski

lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.

shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.

taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.

a hanky is in order your lord your
worship.

the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.

and everywhere is
nowhere---
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:

why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school---
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.

we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.

don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.