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   Author  Topic: Your favorite poem  (Read 5180 times)
jubeth
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #15 on: October 13, 2006, 04:25:37 pm »
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Well no surprise you like that because William Blake is a brilliant poet and artist, so you obviously have good taste.

I loved the Songs of Innocence and Experience when I read them but have forgotten most of it to my shame, must add that to the pile of poems to re-read.
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #16 on: October 13, 2006, 04:28:55 pm »
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Yay, I was hoping that someone else knew his work.

What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?


That might just be my favorite line of poetry ever, hmm.
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jubeth
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #17 on: October 13, 2006, 04:36:47 pm »
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Oh this is reminding me how much I also loved 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell', I've got an edition of the complete poems of Blake knocking around somewhere so I have no excuse not to revisit him.
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #18 on: October 15, 2006, 11:15:07 pm »
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Yes, you have no excuse! I would love to get one of his books somewhere, I wonder how much they are?
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jubeth
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #19 on: October 16, 2006, 03:06:44 pm »
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I bet you could pick up a cheaper 2nd hand copy somewhere quite easily, and the usual places like Amazon will stock them if on line shopping is better for you.
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #20 on: November 10, 2006, 08:41:41 pm »
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They're all by e.e.cummings, because i'm a nerd, and i love that man.


i have found what you are like


        i have found what you are like
        the rain,

                (Who feathers frightened fields
        with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

        easily the pale club of the wind
        and swirled justly souls of flower strike

        the air in utterable coolness

        deeds of green thrilling light
                                      with thinned

        newfragile yellows

                          lurch and.press

        -in the woods
                    which
                          stutter
                                and

                                    sing

        And the coolness of your smile is
        stirringofbirds between my arms;but
        i should rather than anything
        have(almost when hugeness will shut
        quietly)almost,
                      your kiss


[somewhere i have never travelled]

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any 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 near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

anyone lived in a pretty how town     
by E. E. Cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town

(with up so floating many bells down)

spring summer autumn winter

he sang his didn't he danced his did



Women and men(both little and small)

cared for anyone not at all

they sowed their isn't they reaped their same

sun moon stars rain



children guessed(but only a few

and down they forgot as up they grew

autumn winter spring summer)

that noone loved him more by more



when by now and tree by leaf

she laughed his joy she cried his grief

bird by snow and stir by still

anyone's any was all to her



someones married their everyones

laughed their cryings and did their dance

(sleep wake hope and then)they

said their nevers they slept their dream



stars rain sun moon

(and only the snow can begin to explain

how children are apt to forget to remember

with up so floating many bells down)



one day anyone died i guess

(and noone stooped to kiss his face)

busy folk buried them side by side

little by little and was by was



all by all and deep by deep

and more by more they dream their sleep

noone and anyone earth by april

wish by spirit and if by yes.



Women and men(both dong and ding)

summer autumn winter spring

reaped their sowing and went their came

sun moon stars rain


my sweet old etcetera, e. e. cummings

my sweet old etcetera
aunt lucy during the recent

war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting

for,
my sister

isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds)of socks not to
mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers

etcetera wristers etcetera, my
mother hoped that

i would die etcetera
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my

self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et

cetera
(dreaming,
et
  cetera, of
Your smile
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)
« Last Edit: November 10, 2006, 08:42:38 pm by pointed tooth fairy » Report to moderator   Logged




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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #21 on: November 10, 2006, 08:43:53 pm »
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Beautiful, I am a fan of that as well! There's just something about the words that make me shiver, in a good way of course 
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #22 on: November 11, 2006, 12:04:08 am »
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I love middle English poetry (Shakespeare, Tennyson, Blake, etc.). However, my black poetry class has really gotten me into a lot of African-American poetry. I love this one from Bob Kaufman (1965), "Grandfather Was Queer, Too".

EDIT: This isn't my FAVORITE poem, but I really like it.  I'll post more later.



Grandfather Was Queer, Too

He was first seen in a Louisiana bayou,
Playing chess with an intellecual lobster,
They burned his linoleum house alive
And sent him off to jail.
He wrote home every day, to no avail.
Grandfather had cut out, he couldn't raise the bail.

Next seen, skiing some dusty Texas road,
An intellectual's soul hung from his ears,
Discussing politics with an unemployed butterfly.
They hung that poor butterfly, poor butterfly.
Grandfather had cut and run, he couldn't raise the bail.

Next seen on the Arizona desert, walking,
Applying soothing poultices to the teeth
Of an aching mountain.
Dentist all over the state brought gauze balls,
Bandaged the mountain, buried it at sea.
Grandfather had cut and run, he couldn't raise the bail.

Next seen in California, the top part,
Arranging a marriage, mating trees,
Crossing a rich redwood and a black pine.
He was exposed by the Boy Scouts of America.
The trees were arrested on a vagrancy charge.
Grandfather had cut and run, he couldn't raise the bail.

Now I have seen him here.  He is beat.
His girl friend has green ears;
She is twenty-three months pregnant.
I kissed them both;
Live happily ever after.
« Last Edit: November 11, 2006, 12:09:41 am by Jordanbluprplepk » Report to moderator   Logged




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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #23 on: November 11, 2006, 04:36:23 am »
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This is one of my favorites. It's called "Eternity" and is written by Arthur Rimbaud (English translation from the original French version):

It has been found again.
What ? – Eternity.
It is the sea fled away
With the sun.

Sentinel soul,
Let us whisper the confession
Of the night full of nothingness
And the day on fire.

From humain approbation,
From common urges
You diverge here
And fly off as you may.

Since from you alone,
Satiny embers,
Duty breathes
Without anyone saying : at last.

Here is no hope,
No orietur.
Knowledge and fortitude,
Torture is certain.

It has been found again.
What ? – Eternity.
It is the sea fled away
With the sun.
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #24 on: November 16, 2006, 05:12:48 pm »
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I went to a poetry reading last night ( a required attendance for that Black Poetry class of mine). It was a benefit for the Katrina Hurricane victims of New Orleans, Louisiana, US from last year.  My Black Poetry professor read. It. Was. The. Best.    *double cool*

I wanted to post one of my professor's poems. It's titled elocation (or, exit us), and to give her credit, her name is Evie Shockley. 

the city is american, so she
can map it. train tracks, highways slice through, bleed
            only to one side. like a half-red sea
permanently parted, the middle she’d

pass through, like the rest, in a wheeling rush,
afraid the divide would not hold and all
            would drown – city as almighty ambush –
beneath the crashing waves of human hell.

            the city’s infra(red)structure sweats her,
a land(e)scape she can’t make, though she knows
            the way. she’s got great heart, but that gets her where? egypt’s always on her right (it goes

            where she goes), canaan’s always just a-head,
and to her left, land of the bloodless dead.


Here's her picture.  She cut her twists to about shoulder length though. 




« Last Edit: November 16, 2006, 05:15:23 pm by Jordanbluprplepk » Report to moderator   Logged




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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #25 on: December 28, 2006, 09:01:11 pm »
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I love Bécquer... I don't know poetry in English...


RIMA LIII

  Volverán las oscuras golondrinas
en tu balcón sus nidos a colgar,
y otra vez con el ala a sus cristales
        jugando llamarán.

  Pero aquellas que el  vuelo refrenaban
tu hermosura y mi dicha a contemplar,
aquellas que aprendieron nuestros nombres...
        ¡esas... no volverán!.

  Volverán las tupidas madreselvas
de tu jardín las tapias a escalar,
y otra vez a la tarde aún más hermosas
        sus flores se abrirán.

  Pero aquellas, cuajadas de rocío
cuyas gotas mirábamos temblar
y caer como lágrimas del día...
        ¡esas... no volverán!

  Volverán del amor en tus oídos
las palabras ardientes a sonar;
tu corazón de su profundo sueño
        tal vez despertará.

  Pero mudo y absorto y de rodillas
como se adora a Dios ante su altar,
como yo te he querido...; desengáñate,
        ¡así... no te querrán!


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-¿Qué es poesía?, dices mientras clavas en mi pupila tu pupila azul.
¡Qué es poesía! ¿Y tú me lo preguntas? Poesía... Eres tú
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #26 on: December 29, 2006, 12:47:01 pm »
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Quote from: Elijahs Impact on January 02, 2006, 02:01:52 pm   

I found this one friendship:

"I wrote your name in the sand but the waves washed it away,
I wrote your name on my hand but washed it the next day,
I wrote your name on a piece of paper but accendentaly threw it away,
I wrote your name in my heart and forever it will stay."

I forget where I found and who wrote it.

my friends write that for me in my Diery and my Year book
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #27 on: January 30, 2007, 10:27:29 pm »
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The Highwayman

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
And the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight across the purple moor
And the Highwayman came riding, riding, riding
The Highwayman came riding up to the old inn door.
He’d a French cocked hat on his forehead and a bunch of lace at his chin
A coat of the scarlet velvet and britches of brown doe skin
They fitted with never a wrinkle his boots were up to the thigh
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle his pistol butts a-twinkle
His rapier hilt a-twinkle under the jewelled sky


Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark Inn yard
He tapped with his whip on the shutters but all was locked and barred
He whistled a tune to the window and who should be waiting there
But the landlords black eyed daughter, Bess the landlords daughter
Plaiting a dark red love knot into her long black hair.

But deep in the dark old Inn yard a stable wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened and his face was white and peaked
His eyes were hollows of madness his hair like mouldy hay
But he loved the landlords daughter, the landlords red lipped daughter
And dumb as a dog he listened and he heard the robber say.

One kiss my bonny sweetheart for I’m after a prize tonight
But I will return with the yellow gold before the morning light
Yet if they press me sharply and harry me through the day
Then look for me by moonlight watch for me by moonlight
I’ll come to thee by moonlight though hell should bar the way.

Up he stood in his stirrups he scarce could reach her hand
But she loosened her hair in the casement his face burned like a brand
As the black cascades of perfume came tumbling over his breast
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight oh sweet black waves in the moonlight
He tugged on his rein in the moonlight and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning and he did not come at noon
And out of the tawny sunset before the rise of the moon
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon looped across the moor
The redcoat troop came marching, marching, marching
King George’s men came marching up to the old Inn door

They said no word to the landlord they drank his ale instead
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed
And two of them knelt at her casement with their muskets by their sides
There was death at every window and hell at one dark window
For Bess could see from her casement the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up to attention with many’s a sblack personing jest
They had bound a musket beside her with the muzzle beneath her breast
Now keep good watch and they kissed her she heard the dead man say
O look for me by moonlight watch for me by moonlight
I’ll come to thee by moonlight though hell should bar the way.

She twisted her hands behind her but all of the knots held good
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood
She stretched and strained in the darkness the hours crawled by like years
Till now on the stroke of midnight cold on the stroke of midnight
The tip of one finger touched it the trigger at least was hers.

The tip of one finger touched it she strove no more for the rest
She stood up straight to attention with the muzzle beneath her breast
She would not risk their hearing she would not strive again
For the road lay bare in the moonlight blank and bare in the moonlight
And the blood in her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love’s refrain.

Tlot tlot tlot had they heard it ? The horses hooves rang clear
Tlot tlot tlot tlot in the distance were they deaf that they did not hear?
Then down the ribbon of moonlight and over the brow of the hill
The Highwayman came riding, riding, riding
the redcoats looked to their priming she stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot in the frosty silence tlot tlot in the echoing night
Nearer he came and nearer her face was like a light
Her eyes grew wide for a moment she drew one last deep breath
Then her finger moved in the moonlight her musket shattered the moonlight
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.

He turned and rode to the westward he did not know who stood
With her head bowed over her musket drenched in her own red blood
‘Twas dawn before he heard it and he slowly blanched to hear
How Bess the landlords daughter the landlords black eyed daughter
Had watched for her love in the moonlight and died in the darkness there.

O back he rode like a madman shrieking a curse to the sky
The white road smoking behind him his rapier brandished high
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon wine red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down on the highway down like a dog on the highway
He lay in his blood on the highway the bunch of lace at his throat.

Still of a winter’s night they say when the wind is in the trees
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
A highwayman comes riding, riding, and riding
A highwayman comes riding up to the old inn door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark Inn yard
He taps with his whip on the shutters but all is locked and barred
He whistles a tune to the window and who should be waiting there
But the landlords black eyed daughter Bess the landlords daughter
Plaiting a dark red love knot into her long black hair.

I just love this one. It is SOOOOOOOOO romantic
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Ti amo il mio amore blu-blue-eyed giusto. Li aspetto dietro questa mascherina di seta. Li aspetto per i secoli. Ora, il mio amore, li ho trovati e siete untouchable dalle mie mani. Ma allora ancora, allora eravate untouchable.
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #28 on: April 04, 2007, 06:10:03 am »
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  I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
    dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix;
    Angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection
    to the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night.


~the opening of Howl by Allen Ginsberg

One of my favorite poems written.

I've also been really in to Keats lately. "Eve of St. Agnes" and "When I have fears that I may cease to be" in particular.
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Re:Your favorite poem
« Reply #29 on: April 07, 2007, 11:20:13 am »
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Mine is an Irish Blessing -short, but I like it :


>May your day be touched by a bit of Irish luck,
brightened by a song in you heart,
and warmed by the smiles of the people you love!!!<


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