general poetry thread

Discussion in 'Literature' started by Perkwunos, 25 January 2014.

  1. Perkwunos

    Perkwunos Member

    You guys read much poetry? I figured we could have a thread to post favorite poems in and discuss, maybe discover some new writers in the process.

    I'll start off with A Girl by Ezra Pound

    The tree has entered my hands,
    The sap has ascended my arms,
    The tree has grown in my breast -
    The branches grow out of me, like arms.

    Tree you are,
    Moss you are,
    You are violets with wind above them.
    A child - so high - you are,
    And all this is folly to the world.
    • Superb Superb x 1
  2. Hakkapeliitta

    Hakkapeliitta Senior Member

    Miniver Cheevy by Edwin Arlington Robertson:

    Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
    Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
    He wept that he was ever born,
    And he had reasons.

    Miniver loved the days of old
    When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
    The vision of a warrior bold
    Would set him dancing.

    Miniver sighed for what was not,
    And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
    He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
    And Priam’s neighbors.

    Miniver mourned the ripe renown
    That made so many a name so fragrant;
    He mourned Romance, now on the town,
    And Art, a vagrant.

    Miniver loved the Medici,
    Albeit he had never seen one;
    He would have sinned incessantly
    Could he have been one.

    Miniver cursed the commonplace
    And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
    He missed the mediæval grace
    Of iron clothing.

    Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
    But sore annoyed was he without it;
    Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
    And thought about it.

    Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
    Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
    Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
    And kept on drinking.
  3. Sjoerd

    Sjoerd Senior Member Sustaining Member

    by Lord Byron

    I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
    The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
    Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
    Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
    Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
    Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
    And men forgot their passions in the dread
    Of this their desolation; and all hearts
    Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
    And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,
    The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
    The habitations of all things which dwell,
    Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,
    And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
    To look once more into each other's face;
    Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
    Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
    A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
    Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
    They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks
    Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.
    The brows of men by the despairing light
    Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
    The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
    And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
    Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
    And others hurried to and fro, and fed
    Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
    With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
    The pall of a past world; and then again
    With curses cast them down upon the dust,
    And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
    And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
    And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
    Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
    And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
    Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.
    And War, which for a moment was no more,
    Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
    With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
    Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
    All earth was but one thought--and that was death
    Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
    Of famine fed upon all entrails--men
    Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
    The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
    Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
    And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
    The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
    Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
    Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
    But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
    And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
    Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.
    The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
    Of an enormous city did survive,
    And they were enemies: they met beside
    The dying embers of an altar-place
    Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
    For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,
    And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
    The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
    Blew for a little life, and made a flame
    Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
    Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
    Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--
    Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
    Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
    Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
    The populous and the powerful was a lump,
    Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--
    A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
    The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
    And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
    Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
    And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
    They slept on the abyss without a surge--
    The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
    The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
    The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
    And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
    Of aid from them--She was the Universe.
  4. Azaeroe

    Azaeroe Senior Member

    Where dips the rocky highland
    Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
    There lies a leafy island
    Where flapping herons wake
    The drowsy water rats;
    There we’ve hid our faery vats,
    Full of berrys
    And of reddest stolen cherries.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

    Where the wave of moonlight glosses
    The dim gray sands with light,
    Far off by furthest Rosses
    We foot it all the night,
    Weaving olden dances
    Mingling hands and mingling glances
    Till the moon has taken flight;
    To and fro we leap
    And chase the frothy bubbles,
    While the world is full of troubles
    And anxious in its sleep.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

    Where the wandering water gushes
    From the hills above Glen-Car,
    In pools among the rushes
    That scarce could bathe a star,
    We seek for slumbering trout
    And whispering in their ears
    Give them unquiet dreams;
    Leaning softly out
    From ferns that drop their tears
    Over the young streams.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

    Away with us he’s going,
    The solemn-eyed:
    He’ll hear no more the lowing
    Of the calves on the warm hillside
    Or the kettle on the hob
    Sing peace into his breast,
    Or see the brown mice bob
    Round and round the oatmeal chest.
    For he comes, the human child,
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
    • Superb Superb x 2
  5. JosephRex

    JosephRex Heroic Member


    Yours? Otherwise my closest guess would be Yeats, though I suspect not.

    The Hiawatha meter, which I recall that Longfellow got from an older source, possibly Nordic. I’m sure you can fill me in on that.
  6. Azaeroe

    Azaeroe Senior Member

    It's Yeats. I wish it was mine.
  7. JosephRex

    JosephRex Heroic Member

    Well, you have good taste! :D

    Speaking of divination (as you were in the Shoutbox the other day) I wonder if you're familiar with this:
    • Like Like x 1
  8. Azaeroe

    Azaeroe Senior Member

    No, but I have been meaning to concern myself with Yeats' magical system. Thank you for the link.
    • Like Like x 1
  9. Azaeroe

    Azaeroe Senior Member

    Io venni in luogo d’ogni luce muto;
    The stench of wet coal, politicians
    . . . . . . . . . . e and. . . . . n, their wrists bound to
    their ankles,
    Standing bare bum,
    Faces smeared on their rumps,
    wide eye on flat buttock,
    Bush hanging for beard,
    Addressing crowds through their arse-holes,
    Addressing the multitudes in the ooze,
    newts, water-slugs, water-maggots,
    And with them. . . . . . . r,
    a scrupulously clean table-napkin
    Tucked under his penis,
    and. . . . . . . . . . . m
    Who disliked colioquial language,
    stiff-starched, but soiled, collars
    circumscribing his legs,
    The pimply and hairy skin
    pushing over the collar’s edge,
    Profiteers drinking blood sweetened with sh-t,
    And behind them. . . . . . f and the financiers
    lashing them with steel wires.

    And the betrayers of language
    . . . . . . n and the press gang
    And those who had lied for hire;
    the perverts, the perverters of language,
    the perverts, who have set money-lust
    Before the pleasures of the senses;

    howling, as of a hen-yard in a printing-house,
    the clatter of presses,
    the blowing of dry dust and stray paper,
    fretor, sweat, the stench of stale oranges,
    dung, last cess-pool of the universe,
    mysterium, acid of sulphur,
    the pusillanimous, raging;
    plunging jewels in mud,
    and howling to find them unstained;
    sadic mothers driving their daughters to bed with decrepitude,
    sows eating their litters,
    and here the placard ΕΙΚΩΝ ΓΗΣ,

    melting like dirty wax,
    decayed candles, the bums sinking lower,
    faces submerged under hams,
    And in the ooze under them,
    reversed, foot-palm to foot-palm,
    hand-palm to hand-palm, the agents provocateurs
    The murderers of Pearse and MacDonagh,
    Captain H. the chief torturer;
    The petrified turd that was Verres,
    bigots, Calvin and St. Clement of Alexandria!
    black-beetles, burrowing into the sh-t,
    The soil a decrepitude, the ooze full of morsels,
    lost contours, erosions.

    Above the hell-rot
    the great arse-hole,
    broken with piles,
    hanging stalactites,
    greasy as sky over Westminster,
    the invisible, many English,
    the place lacking in interest,
    last squalor, utter decrepitude,
    the vice-crusaders, fahrting through silk,
    waving the Christian symbols,
    . . . . . . . . frigging a tin penny whistle,
    Flies carrying news, harpies dripping sh-t through the air.

    The slough of unamiable liars,
    bog of stupidities,
    malevolent stupidities, and stupidities,
    the soil living pus, full of vermin,
    dead maggots begetting live maggots,
    slum owners,
    usurers squeezing crab-lice, pandars to authori
    pets-de-loup, sitting on piles of stone books,
    obscuring the texts with philology,
    hiding them under their persons,
    the air without refuge of silence,
    the drift of lice, teething,
    and above it the mouthing of orators,
    the arse-belching of preachers.
    And Invidia,
    the corruptio, fretor, fungus,
    liquid animals, melted ossifications,
    slow rot, fretid combustion,
    chewed cigar-butts, without dignity, without tragedy
    . . . . .m Episcopus, waving a condom full of black-beetles,
    monopolists, obstructors of knowledge.
    obstructors of distribution.
    • Superb Superb x 1
  10. Azaeroe

    Azaeroe Senior Member

    Bajo el yelmo quimérico el severo
    perfil es cruel como la cruel espada
    que aguarda. Por la selva despojada
    cabalga imperturbable el caballero.

    Torpe y furtiva, la caterva obscena
    lo ha cercado: el Demonio de serviles
    ojos, los laberínticos reptiles
    y el blanco anciano del reloj de arena.

    Caballero de hierro, quien te mira
    sabe que en ti no mora la mentira
    ni el pálido temor. Tu dura suerte

    es mandar y ultrajar. Eres valiente
    y no serás indigno ciertamente,
    alemán, del Demonio y de la Muerte.

    • Superb Superb x 1
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