takeitdoen 10,626 Posted August 9, 2020 Since Violet has been released, I've noticed a lot of people are actively discussing poetry and sharing poems.I'd love to read some of your favourites, so use this thread to discuss works and artists in the medium!My favourites: Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell by Marty McConnell Wine by Raymond Carver Lookin forward to it! 8 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Flowerbomb 65,569 Posted August 9, 2020 Buddhist New Year Song by Diane di Prima https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54974/buddhist-new-year-song Resume by Dorothy Parker https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44835/resume-56d2241505225 Gloire de Dijon by D. H Lawrence https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47353/gloire-de-dijon Ulalume by Edgar Allan Poe https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44889/to-ulalume-a-ballad 3 Quote ♡ standing stoic blue and denim, eyes not blue but clear like heaven ♡ Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
IanadeIrey 61,689 Posted August 9, 2020 Love this idea! Some of my favourites: A Supermarket in California by Allen Ginsberg - https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47660/a-supermarket-in-california Blackberrying by Sylvia Plath - https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49004/blackberrying Not Waving But Drowning by Stevie Smith - https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46479/not-waving-but-drowning 4 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
LosAlamos 44 Posted August 9, 2020 Okay, great idea for a thread! Tristia by Osip Mandelstam I have studied the Science of departures,in night’s sorrows, when a woman’s hair falls down.The oxen chew, there’s the waiting, pure,in the last hours of vigil in the town,and I reverence night’s ritual cock-crowing,when reddened eyes lift sorrow’s load and chooseto stare at distance, and a woman’s cryingis mingled with the singing of the Muse.Who knows, when the word ‘departure’ is spokenwhat kind of separation is at hand,or of what that cock-crow is a token,when a fire on the Acropolis lights the ground,and why at the dawning of a new life,when the ox chews lazily in its stall,the cock, the herald of the new life,flaps his wings on the city wall?I like the monotony of spinning,the shuttle moves to and fro,the spindle hums. Look, barefoot Delia’s runningto meet you, like swansdown on the road!How threadbare the language of joy’s game,how meagre the foundation of our life!Everything was, and is repeated again:it’s the flash of recognition brings delight.So be it: on a dish of clean earthenware,like a flattened squirrel’s pelt, a shape,forms a small, transparent figure, wherea girl’s face bends to gaze at the wax’s fate.Not for us to prophesy, Erebus, Brother of Night:Wax is for women: Bronze is for men.Our fate is only given in fight,to die by divination is given to them. Once The World Was Perfect by Joy Harjo Once the world was perfect, and we were happy in that world. Then we took it for granted. Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind. Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head. And once Doubt ruptured the web, All manner of demon thoughts Jumped through— We destroyed the world we had been given For inspiration, for life— Each stone of jealousy, each stone Of fear, greed, envy, and hatred, put out the light. No one was without a stone in his or her hand. There we were, Right back where we had started. We were bumping into each other In the dark. And now we had no place to live, since we didn't know How to live with each other. Then one of the stumbling ones took pity on another And shared a blanket. A spark of kindness made a light. The light made an opening in the darkness. Everyone worked together to make a ladder. A Wind Clan person climbed out first into the next world, And then the other clans, the children of those clans, their children, And their children, all the way through time— To now, into this morning light to you. To Make A Prairie by Emily Dickinson To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few. 3 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Flowerbomb 65,569 Posted August 9, 2020 Love this idea! Some of my favourites: A Supermarket in California by Allen Ginsberg - https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47660/a-supermarket-in-california I've always loved this one 2 Quote ♡ standing stoic blue and denim, eyes not blue but clear like heaven ♡ Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
rightofjupiter 16,286 Posted August 9, 2020 Song by Brigit Pegeen Kelly The Nude Swim by Anne Sexton 2 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
takeitdoen 10,626 Posted August 10, 2020 Argh so many poems and poets I've never heard of. These selections are beautiful, thanks everyone! 1 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
ileftthisacchoneys 479 Posted April 15, 2021 okayyy, time to praise the king, carlos drummond de andrade! here's a free translation of my favorite poems by him: Spoiler Spoiler the original ones: http://www.horizonte.unam.mx/brasil/drumm1.html https://contobrasileiro.com.br/verbo-ser-poema-de-carlos-drummond-de-andrade/ 1 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
BluebirdXO 7,678 Posted April 15, 2021 Most of my favorite poems are about death, so I decided to stay positive this time: Learn To Live - Cora Coralina Spoiler I don’t know... If life is short or too long for us. But I know that nothing we endure makes sense, if we don’t touch people's hearts. Most times it’s enough to be: the receptive shoulder enveloping arm comforting word respectful silence infectious joy flowing tears caressing look gratifying wish encouraging love. And this is not something from another world. It’s what gives meaning to life. It's what makes life neither short nor too long. But it would be intense true, pure... While it lasts. Consolation at the Beach - Carlos Drummond de Andrade Spoiler Come on, don´t cry… Childhood is lost. Youth is lost. But life is not lost. The first love is over. The second love is over. The third love is over. But the hurt goes on. You have lost your best friend. You haven´t tried any traveling. You won no house, ship, or land. But you look at the sea. You haven´t written the perfect book. You haven´t read the best books Nor have you love music enough. But you own a dog. A few harsh words, In a low voice, have hurt you,. Never, never have they healed. But what about humor? There is no resolution for injustice. In the shadow of this wrong world You have whispered a timid protest. But others will come. All summed up, you should Throw yourself — once and for all — into the waters. You are naked on the sand, in the wind… Sleep, my son. Song of the Wind and My Life - Manuel Bandeira Spoiler The wind swept away the leaves The wind swept away the fruits The wind swept away the flowers And still my life was left Fuller than ever Of flowers fruits and leaves. The wind swept away the lights The wind swept away the music The wind swept away the perfumes And still my life was left Fuller than ever Of perfumes star and songs. The wind swept away my dreams And swept away too my friends… The wind swept away my women… And still my life was left Fuller than ever Of loves and women. The wind swept away the months And swept away too your similes… The wind swept all away! And still my life was left Fuller than ever Of everything. The Gates of Midnight - Cecília Meireles Spoiler The angels come to open the gates of midnight, at the very moment when sleep is deepest and silence most pervasive. The gates wheel open and unexpectedly we sigh. The angels come with their music, their tunics billowing with celestial breezes, and they sin in their fluid incomprehensible tongue. Then the trees burst forth with blossoms and fruit, the moon and the sun intertwine their beams, the rainbow unwinds its ribbons and all the animals appear, mingled with the stars. The angels come to open the gates of midnight. And we understand that there is no more time, that this is the last vision, that our hands are already lifted for goodbyes, that our feet at last are freed form the earth, freed for that flight, announced and dreamed since the beginning of births. The angels extend us their divine invitations. And we dream that we are no longer dreaming. 1 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Flowerbomb 65,569 Posted June 4, 2021 Bumping this thread Song in a Minor Key by Dorothy Parker Spoiler There's a place I know where the birds swing low, And wayward vines go roaming, Where the lilacs nod, and a marble god Is pale, in scented gloaming. And at sunset there comes a lady fair Whose eyes are deep with yearning. By an old, old gate does the lady wait Her own true love's returning. But the days go by, and the lilacs die, And trembling birds seek cover; Yet the lady stands, with her long white hands Held out to greet her lover. And it's there she'll stay till the shadowy day A monument they grave her. She will always wait by the same old gate, — The gate her true love gave her. The Garden by Moonlight by Amy Lowell Spoiler A black cat among roses, Phlox, lilac-misted under a first-quarter moon, The sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still, It is dazed with moonlight, Contented with perfume, Dreaming the opium dreams of its folded poppies. Firefly lights open and vanish High as the tip buds of the golden glow Low as the sweet alyssum flowers at my feet. Moon-shimmer on leaves and trellises, Moon-spikes shafting through the snow ball bush. Only the little faces of the ladies’ delight are alert and staring, Only the cat, padding between the roses, Shakes a branch and breaks the chequered pattern As water is broken by the falling of a leaf. Then you come, And you are quiet like the garden, And white like the alyssum flowers, And beautiful as the silent sparks of the fireflies. Ah, Beloved, do you see those orange lilies? They knew my mother, But who belonging to me will they know When I am gone. Eldorado by Edgar Allan Poe Spoiler Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old— This knight so bold— And o’er his heart a shadow— Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow— ‘Shadow,’ said he, ‘Where can it be— This land of Eldorado?’ ‘Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,’ The shade replied,— ‘If you seek for Eldorado!’ 2 Quote ♡ standing stoic blue and denim, eyes not blue but clear like heaven ♡ Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Flowerbomb 65,569 Posted December 6, 2021 I discovered a poem by Sylvia Plath a few nights ago. I've always liked her poetry but for some reason I never read her most famous one. 'Daddy' Spoiler You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time—- Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off the beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My Polack friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine, Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You—— Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two—- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through. I like how this poem tells us she tried to find her father in her husband. It sort of reminds me of Text Book 3 Quote ♡ standing stoic blue and denim, eyes not blue but clear like heaven ♡ Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Edelweiss 183 Posted December 18, 2021 I Am Vertical. Sylvia Plath But I would rather be horizontal. I am not a tree with my root in the soil Sucking up minerals and motherly love So that each March I may gleam into leaf, Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted, Unknowing I must soon unpetal. Compared with me, a tree is immortal And a flower-head not tall, but more startling, And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring. Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars, The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors. I walk among them, but none of them are noticing. Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping I must most perfectly resemble them -- Thoughts gone dim. It is more natural to me, lying down. Then the sky and I are in open conversation, And I shall be useful when I lie down finally: Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me. 0 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
MagicalTrancePotion 1,673 Posted December 18, 2021 On 12/6/2021 at 8:18 AM, Arcadia said: I discovered a poem by Sylvia Plath a few nights ago. I've always liked her poetry but for some reason I never read her most famous one. 'Daddy' Hide contents You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time—- Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off the beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My Polack friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine, Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You—— Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two—- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through. I like how this poem tells us she tried to find her father in her husband. It sort of reminds me of Text Book Have you ever listened to the audio of her reading this one? I think you should be able to find it on youtube. 0 Quote ‿︵‿︵ ♬ ♥ .。. ♥ .。. ♥ ♬ ‿︵‿︵ There are violets in your eyes There are guns that blaze around you There are roses in between my thighs And a fire that surrounds you Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
drugmunny 8,878 Posted December 18, 2021 love this thread. my all time fave: porphyrias lover by robert browning https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46313/porphyrias-lover 1 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
cherrytropico 10,798 Posted February 11 somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond - e.e. cummings ───── ♡ ───── 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 colour 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 3 Quote we’re gonna party like it’s 1949 ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ :¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ `· . ꔫ Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
one time beauty queen 18,407 Posted February 11 Leonard Cohen - Full Employment (excerpt) I see you in windows that open so wide there’s nothing beyond them, and nothing inside. You take off your sandals you shake out your hair, your beauty dismantled and worn everywhere. The story’s been written. The letter’s been sealed. You gave me a lily, but now it’s a field. 4 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
The Sun Also Rises 4,674 Posted February 11 39 minutes ago, cherrytropico said: somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond - e.e. cummings ───── ♡ ───── 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 colour 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 What a coincidence! I literally took out my vintage ee cummings book and re-read this one today! It is beautiful, one of my favourites too 1 Quote The cicadas in the sunset are your guide Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Stoned Mary in the Garden 6,656 Posted February 11 Spoiler 1 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
cunt 8 Posted July 24 Emily Dickinson is one of my all time favorite poets. I have other poems that I like better, but the Master letters remind me a lot of Lana. Here's a snippet: Quote "I will never be tired — I will never be noisy when you want to be still — I will be your best little girl —" Really reminds me of Lana — "I promise you'll barely even notice me / Unless you want to notice me". 0 Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Cult Leader 3,888 Posted July 24 The Garden of Proserpine by Algernon Charles Swinburne - https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45288/the-garden-of-proserpine 1 Quote 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖍𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖆𝖑 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites