What ever you say ktd222Originally Posted by ktd222
. Do you have any specific poets you enjoy? For example I like Edgar Allen Poe (yes it may be morbid and dark at points but i love that
) and also I like a few of Lord Byron's poems.
What ever you say ktd222
JUST KEEP SWIMMING!
JUST KEEP SWIMMING!
JUST KEEP SWIMMING, SWIMMING, SWIMMING!
WHAT DO WE DO?
WE SWIM!
I've never really "read" Lord Byron's, or Poe's work. Just the past year I've been reading a lot of Wallace Steven's work. He's a genius! Before that, the authors who's work I adored, and still adore, are Elizabeth Bishop, Emily Dickinson, E.E. Cummings(to an extent, until his works give me a headache from all the weird syntax and line rearrangements), John Berryman, etc. The list could really go on forever. I guess it's not poets more than poems I enjoy...and what I see happening in poems...and what happens to me when reading particular poems.What ever you say ktd222
Last edited by ktd222; 03-14-2007 at 07:28 PM. Reason: I can't forget Rilke. He's a genius too!
Yeah, it is in the poems. There are a few of Emily Dickenson's poems that I like a a few I dislike. So your are right there.
Hey... you seem like a poet are you?
I can write poetry and I have been published a few times, but nothing big.
Last edited by hockeychick8792; 03-14-2007 at 07:55 PM. Reason: I can't spell
JUST KEEP SWIMMING!
JUST KEEP SWIMMING!
JUST KEEP SWIMMING, SWIMMING, SWIMMING!
WHAT DO WE DO?
WE SWIM!
My favourite love poem - When we two parted by Lord Byron.
frost.
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only know
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose--
But were always a rose.
This is nice. I like how Frost moves from fact, to speculating what else can signify a rose, to reverting back to the orginal fact of what a rose is when referring to this other person
Petes' radical Poetry Blog
petepoetry-bullybuster.blogspot.com
Have a look at my Radical poetry site
Cheers Petethe red
Desire
O Whistle an' I'll come to you , my girl
O Whistle an' I'll come to you , my girl
Tho' partner and parents an a' would go mad
O whistle an' I'll come to ye, my girl.
Peter Burton
Rabbie helped wi this one.
I heart Theodore Roethke.I KNEW A WOMAN
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virutes only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).
How well herwishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn and Stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).
Let seed be grass and grass turn into hay:
I'm a martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways).
What is the use of a violent kind of delightfulness if there is no pleasure in not getting tired of it.
- Gertrude Stein
A washerwoman with her basket; a rook; a red-hot poker; th purples and grey-greens of flowers: some common feeling which held the whole together.
- Virginia Woolf
LOVE
By Pablo Neruda
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.
SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light 5
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face; 10
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 15
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
-- I love LORD BYRON
Madness is my defense against Reality.
Unrequited love is a horrible thing to suffer from.
The Indian Serenade
Percy B. Shelley
I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep or night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Has led me-who knows how? -
To thy chamber-window, sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream,-
The champak odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O, beloved as thou art!
O, lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast:
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last!
"He was nauseous with regret when he saw her face again, and when, as of yore, he pleaded and begged at her knees for the joy of her being. She understood Neal; she stroked his hair; she knew he was mad."
---Jack Kerouac, On The Road: The Original Scroll
WOW!God me!I am a new comer,but deeply got lost here for so many beautiful poems.....I am from China living in Shanghai ,a good listener and spectator,but I love english cultures so much,and especially by Shelley and Lord Byron!Also here is a popular one in China by Tagore,have perfect translation in Chinese:
The furthest distance
The furthest distance in the world
Is not between life and death
But when I stand in front of you
Yet you don't know that
I love you
The furthest distance in the world
Is not when I stand in front of you
Yet you can't see my love
But when undoubtedly knowing the love from both
Yet cannot be together
The furthest distance in the world
Is not being apart while being in love
But when plainly can not resist the yearning
Yet pretending
You have never been in my heart
The furthest distance in the world
But using one's indifferent heart
To dig an uncrossable river
For the one who loves you!
I love you
But diffident to say
For I fear
At once will I die after my confidence
Never I caring my death
But I caring in mind
No one else there will love you so more!
This is by far my favorite; I think it sharply says it all in a big rush of emotion, fast and quick, the same way that it feels when you reflect on that moment with that person.
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Maria Pawlikowska - Jasnorzewska
Love
I haven't see you for a month
And nothing. Maybe I'm paler
a little bit sleepy, a little bit quiet,
but it looks possible to live without air!
(translated from Polish)
"They all crossed into forbidden territory. They all tampered with the laws that lay down who should be loved and how, and how much?"
-Arundhati Roy "The God of Small Things"
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