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Thread: Poetry Recommendations

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    Registered User GreenLucky's Avatar
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    Poetry Recommendations

    I need to expand my knowledge of poets and poetry. Any recommendations where to start? (As little unrequited love, sunsets and flowers as possible.) Thank you, kindly.

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    Sailing the Void crusoe's Avatar
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    Check out the "Beats"...Norse, Ferlinghetti...ever heard of Ginsberg ?
    Buy the Ticket, take the Ride...

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    Registered User GreenLucky's Avatar
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    Thanks for the reply. I have read Howl and Other Poems by Ginsberg, and some other beat generation poets. I think I was a little vague in my post. I have never been able to get into poetry for some reason. There are some poets and poems that I like but my appreciation for poetry is limited. I would like to further my understanding and knowledge of poetry. You know, expand my horizons maaaaannnnnnnn.

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    Why not begin with Keats, Shelley and Byron? It was through them that I discovered that poetry is beautiful. What else is there to say.

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    I would think William Carlos Williams would be a good place to start.

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    A 40 Bag To Freedom E.A Rumfield's Avatar
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    Arthur Rimbaud was very very good

    I've swallowed a terrific mouthful of poison.—Blessings three times over on the impulse that came to me!—My guts are on fire. The poison's violence twists my limbs, deforms me, knocks me down. I'm dyng of thirst, I'm choking, I can't scream. It's hell, endless pain! Look how the fire flashes up! I'm burning nicely. Go on, demon!

    I'd caught a glimpse of conversion to goodness and happiness, salvation. Can I describe the vision? Hell's atmosphere won't suffer hymns! There were millions of charming people, a sweet spiritual concert, strength and peace, noble ambitions, who knows?

    Noble ambitions!

    And this is still life!— What if damnation's everlasting! A man who wants to mutilate himself is pretty well damned, right? I think I'm in hell, therefore I am. It's the catechism come true. I'm the slave of my baptism. Parents, you've created my tortures and yours.—Poor nitwit! Hell can't wield power over pagans.— This is still life! Later on, the delights of damnation will be much deeper. A crime, quick, so I can plunge into nothingness in accordance with human law.

    Shut up, will you shut up. .. ! There's disgrace and reproaches here—Satan who says the fire's contemptible, who says my temper's desperately silly.— Enough. .. ! Errors they're whispering to me, magic, misleading perfumes, childish music.—And to think I'm dealing in truth, I'm looking at justice: my reasoning powers are sane and sound, I'm ready for perfection. .. Pride.—My scalp is drying up. Help! Lord, I'm scared. I'm thirsty, so thirsty! O childhood, the grass, the rain, the lake water on stones, the moonlight when the hell struck twelve. . . . The devil's in the tower right now. Mary! Holy Virgin. . . !— Loathing for my blunder.

    Out there, aren't those virtuous souls who are wishing me well. . . ? Come.. .. I've got a pillow over my mouth, they won't hear me, they're ghosts. Besides, no one ever thinks of others. Don't come near me. I smell of heresy, that's for sure.

    No end to these hallucinations. It's exactly what I've always known: no more faith in history, principles forgotten. I'll keep quiet: poets and visionaries would be jealous. I'm a thousand times richer, let's be miserly like the sea.

    Well now! the clock of life stopped a few minutes ago. I'm not in the world any more.— Theology's a serious thing, hell is certainly way down—and heaven's above.—Ecstasy, nightmare, sleep in a nest of flames.

    How malicious one's outlook in the country. . . Satan—Old Scratch——goes running around with the wild grain. . . Jesus is walking on the blackberry bushes without bending them. .. Jesus used to walk on troubled waters. The lantern revealed him to us, standing, pale with long brownish hair, on the crest of an emerald wave. . . .

    I'm going to unveil all the mysteries: religious mysteries or natural, death, birth, future, past, cosmogony, nothingness. I'm a master of hal— lucinations.

    Listen...!

    I've got all the talents!— There's no one here and there's someone: I wouldn't want to waste my treasure.—Do you want nigger songs, houri dances? Do you want me to disappear, to dive down for the ring? Do you want that? I'm going to make gold. . . remedies.

    Then have faith in me, faith is soothing, it guides, it cures. Come, all of you—even the little children—and I'll comfort you, I'll spill out my heart for you,—the marvelous heart!—Poor men, workers! I don't ask for your prayers. With your trust alone, I'll be happy.

    —And what about me? All of this doesn't make me miss the world much. I'm lucky not to suffer more. My life was nothing but lovely mistakes, it's too bad.

    Bah! let's make every possible ugly face.

    We're out of the world, for sure. Not even a sound. My touch has disappeared. Ah, my castle, my Saxony, my willow woods. Evenings, mornings, nights, days. . . I'm worn out!

    I should have my hell for anger, my hell for conceit—and the hell of caresses: a concert of hells.

    I'm dying of tiredness. It's the grave, horror of horrors, I'm going to the worms! Satan, you joker, you want to melt me down with your charms. I demand it, I demand it! a poke of the pitchfork, a drop of fire. Ah, to come back to life again! To feast my eyes on our deformities.

    And that poison, that kiss a thousand times damned! My weakness, the world's cruelty! My God, mercy, hide me, I always misbehave!—I'm hidden and then again I'm not.

    It's the fire flaring up again with its damned!

    I've been reading some William Carlos Williams. He is also very good. So is Cesar Vallejo. TO a lesser extent Paublo Neruda. Ezra Pounds is alright. Wallace Stevens is very good. Robinson Jeffers is a great poet and criminally neglected. Anne Sexton is good sometimes. Rainer Maria Rilke is also good. Robert Browning is good. I don't like Keats. Too much prancing. Poe is really great. I don't like rhyming poems but poems words carry weight and they sing. Ogden Nash is good when he writes shorter poems. Just read around a little bit. This is a good website. http://www.poemhunter.com Some people will tell you to start with Yeats and Keats. I hate that stuff.

    William Butler Yeats
    A Drinking Song
    WINE comes in at the mouth
    And love comes in at the eye;
    That's all we shall know for truth
    Before we grow old and die.
    I lift the glass to my mouth,
    I look at you, and I sigh.

    Seriously.

    Keats is better but not by much. I dislike the way they rhyme. To me they write bad poetry.
    Last edited by E.A Rumfield; 09-22-2012 at 01:08 AM.
    Her hair was like a flowing cascade and her breasts were real awesome also.
    My ***** Better Have My Money by Fly Guy
    My ***** better have my money.
    Through rain, sleet, or snow,
    my ho better have my money.
    Not half, not some, but all my cash.
    Because if she don't, I'll put my foot dead in her ***.

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    EA - you gave two, contradictory opinions on Wallace Stevens.

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    A 40 Bag To Freedom E.A Rumfield's Avatar
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    Oops, I probably meant someone else.

    Anyway I remember a poem, I think it was by Wallace Stevens. It was relatively short. It was about a man watching working women, nurses coming home and going to their apartments. I thought it might have been A Disillusionment at Ten O'Clock but it's not. I might not have been Stevens. I am curious to know who wrote the poem.
    Her hair was like a flowing cascade and her breasts were real awesome also.
    My ***** Better Have My Money by Fly Guy
    My ***** better have my money.
    Through rain, sleet, or snow,
    my ho better have my money.
    Not half, not some, but all my cash.
    Because if she don't, I'll put my foot dead in her ***.

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    Would poems by Keats be too difficult to start with?

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    Dance Magic Dance OrphanPip's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Motherof8 View Post
    Would poems by Keats be too difficult to start with?
    Depends on the poem, many of his shorter works are quite accessible.
    "If the national mental illness of the United States is megalomania, that of Canada is paranoid schizophrenia."
    - Margaret Atwood

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    BadWoolf JuniperWoolf's Avatar
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    I started out with Andrew Marvell and Arthur Rimbaud if you don't count epic poetry.
    __________________
    "Personal note: When I was a little kid my mother told me not to stare into the sun. So once when I was six, I did. At first the brightness was overwhelming, but I had seen that before. I kept looking, forcing myself not to blink, and then the brightness began to dissolve. My pupils shrunk to pinholes and everything came into focus and for a moment I understood. The doctors didn't know if my eyes would ever heal."
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  12. #12
    Quote Originally Posted by Motherof8 View Post
    Would poems by Keats be too difficult to start with?
    Keats initially got me into poetry, and I was only about 16 so I'd say he's fairly accessible, as long as you put the effort in.
    Vladimir: (sententious.) To every man his little cross. (He sighs.) Till he dies. (Afterthought.) And is forgotten.

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    Get yourself a good anthology and browse at leisure. The Rattle Bag, edited by Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes, is a nice introduction to the world of poetry.

    If you want individual poets, you really can't go wrong with Shakespeare's sonnets. Then there's Keats, who was arguably one of the greatest poets of all time. Not liking him is one thing, but I don't know how anyone could say that he wrote bad poetry. Not all of his work is of an equal quality, but at his best he is excellent. You should read his odes and some of his sonnets, at least. Charles Baudelaire is one of my all-time favourite poets. He wrote some exquisite poetry that explores the disturbing aspects of life and human nature. His work can be deeply unpleasant yet, at the same time, incredibly beautiful.

  14. #14
    A 40 Bag To Freedom E.A Rumfield's Avatar
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    i hate the way those guy rhyme. To me it is bad poetry. And it is all such sentimental drivel. It makes me sick. I was reading some Keats I actually like his writing. A Draught of Sunshine is a good poem.
    Last edited by E.A Rumfield; 09-22-2012 at 01:09 AM.
    Her hair was like a flowing cascade and her breasts were real awesome also.
    My ***** Better Have My Money by Fly Guy
    My ***** better have my money.
    Through rain, sleet, or snow,
    my ho better have my money.
    Not half, not some, but all my cash.
    Because if she don't, I'll put my foot dead in her ***.

  15. #15
    Quote Originally Posted by E.A Rumfield View Post
    i hate the way those guy rhyme. To me it is bad poetry. And it is all such sentimental drivel. It makes me sick.
    Rhyme has been apart of poetry for hundreds and hundreds of years. Just because it's not to your personal taste, does not make the poetry bad. That's a lazy criticism.

    Feel free to articulate why rhyme makes poetry bad.
    Vladimir: (sententious.) To every man his little cross. (He sighs.) Till he dies. (Afterthought.) And is forgotten.

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