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Favorite poetry/poets

Discussion in 'Off Topic [BG]' started by slobake, Mar 21, 2014.

  1. slobake

    slobake resident ... something

    There may be a few of us who like poetry. Here is one of my favorites.

    Piute Creek
    One granite ridge
    A tree, would be enough
    Or even a rock, a small creek,
    A bark shred in a pool.
    Hill beyond hill, folded and twisted
    Tough trees crammed
    In thin stone fractures
    A huge moon on it all, is too much.
    The mind wanders. A million
    Summers, night air still and the rocks
    Warm. Sky over endless mountains.
    All the junk that goes with being human
    Drops away, hard rock wavers
    Even the heavy present seems to fail
    This bubble of a heart.
    Words and books
    Like a small creek off a high ledge
    Gone in the dry air.
    A clear, attentive mind
    Has no meaning but that
    Which sees is truly seen.
    No one loves rock, yet we are here.
    Night chills. A flick
    In the moonlight
    Slips into Juniper shadow:
    Back there unseen
    Cold proud eyes
    Of Cougar or Coyote
    Watch me rise and go.

    Gary Snyder
  2. GrumpiusMaximus

    GrumpiusMaximus I've Seen Things You People Wouldn't Believe

    Mar 11, 2013
    Kent, United Kingdom
    Ted Hughes' 'Crow', if anybody's read it?

    I quite like that Snyder, I'll have to check some more out.
  3. Samuel Taylor Coleridge

    "The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner" or is it "Rime"...i have forgotten

  4. slobake

    slobake resident ... something

    Haven't read "Crow" I will check it out.
    Here is another poem from and old friend and co-worker. We used to install/repair phones together.

    Telephone Repairman

    All morning in the February light
    he has been mending cable,
    splicing the pairs of wires together
    according to their colors,
    white-blue to white-blue
    violet-slate to violet-slate,
    in the warehouse attic by the river.

    When he is finished
    the messages will flow along the line:
    thank you for the gift,
    please come to the baptism,
    the bill is now past due :
    voices that flicker and gleam back and forth
    across the tracer-colored wires.

    We live so much of our lives
    without telling anyone,
    going out before dawn,
    working all day by ourselves,
    shaking our heads in silence
    at the news on the radio.
    He thinks of the many signals
    flying in the air around him
    the syllables fluttering,
    saying please love me,
    from continent to continent
    over the curve of the earth.

    Joseph Millar
  5. bkbirge


    Jun 25, 2000
    Houston, TX
    Endorsing Artist: Steak n Shake
    For me, poetry kind of begins and ends with Bukowski. Not very diverse or worldly of me I know, but I generally do not like poetry however Bukowski's I love...

    Working Out

    Van Gogh cut off his ear
    gave it to a
    who flung it away in
    Van, whores don't want
    they want
    I guess that's why you were
    such a great
    painter: you
    didn't understand
  6. slobake

    slobake resident ... something

    I also liked Kubla Khan
  7. BassyBill

    BassyBill The smooth moderator... Gold Supporting Member

    Mar 12, 2005
    West Midlands UK
    One of my own, on the death of my second cat (shortly after her sister):

    The Absent Friend
    'He was part of my dream, of course -- but then I was part of his dream, too.' — Lewis Carroll

    So now she sleeps a dreamless sleep
    And will do longer than I’ll keep
    The dreams I dream of her awake
    And able yet to give and take
    Such feelings as we once could share
    Feelings that now without her there
    Are mine alone. She cannot see
    As I still can the time that we
    Spent here together for a while
    And seeing this again still smile.

    The sleep that she sleeps now is new
    And nothing like the sleep all through
    The nights when she was here through which
    I’d feel her breathe, and stir, and twitch.
    Such sleep can end if one can wake
    And yawn and stretch and rise to take
    Just one more day alive. But now
    The last of those has gone somehow
    Though it’s not us that when we die
    Get blasted all across the sky.

    The blasted stuff leaves far behind
    The beauty of the living mind
    That makes us each a thing alert
    And not just walking, breathing dirt
    That’s why no power exists to take
    Her stuff to repair and remake
    My friend. But if that could be done
    By any method, I’d wish one
    More night for her to still be free
    To breathe, and twitch, and dream of me.
  8. in Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree....

    ah, those were the days...when we had Khans decreeing a bunch of stuff...not like now

    except, i don't remember Gene Kelly or Olivia Newton-John...

  9. slobake

    slobake resident ... something

    ^ Nice Bill. Sorry about your cat.
  10. slobake

    slobake resident ... something

    What would a poetry thread be without:

    by Lewis Carroll

    'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.

    "Beware the Jabberwock, my son
    The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
    Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
    The frumious Bandersnatch!"

    He took his vorpal sword in hand;
    Long time the manxome foe he sought—
    So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
    And stood awhile in thought.

    And, as in uffish thought he stood,
    The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
    Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
    And burbled as it came!

    One, two! One, two! And through and through
    The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
    He left it dead, and with its head
    He went galumphing back.

    "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
    Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
    O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
    He chortled in his joy.

    'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.
  11. slobake

    slobake resident ... something

  12. GrumpiusMaximus

    GrumpiusMaximus I've Seen Things You People Wouldn't Believe

    Mar 11, 2013
    Kent, United Kingdom
    I remember doing a show years ago. I learned large parts of that poem backwards. I still only know it backwards!
  13. i believe Swinburne had something to say about that:

    that no life lives forever
    that dead men rise up never
    and even the weariest river, winds somewhere safe to sea
    (sic...as best as i can remember it)

  14. BassyBill

    BassyBill The smooth moderator... Gold Supporting Member

    Mar 12, 2005
    West Midlands UK
    I met a traveller from an antique land
    Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
    Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
    Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
    And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
    Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
    Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
    The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
    And on the pedestal these words appear:
    "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
    Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
    Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
    Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
    The lone and level sands stretch far away

    Shelley - Ozymandias
  15. BassyBill

    BassyBill The smooth moderator... Gold Supporting Member

    Mar 12, 2005
    West Midlands UK
    I wander'd lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,
    A host of golden daffodils,
    Beside the lake, beneath the trees
    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

    Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle on the milky way,
    They stretch'd in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    The waves beside them danced, but they
    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: -
    A poet could not but be gay
    In such a jocund company!
    I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought.

    For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills
    And dances with the daffodils.
  16. slobake

    slobake resident ... something

    I also like "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas

    Do not go gentle into that good night,
    Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
    Because their words had forked no lightning they
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
    Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
    And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
    Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    And you, my father, there on the sad height,
    Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
    Do not go gentle into that good night.
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
  17. BassyBill

    BassyBill The smooth moderator... Gold Supporting Member

    Mar 12, 2005
    West Midlands UK
    One of my other favourites, especially at New Year - Hardy's "The Darkling Thrush"

    I leant upon a coppice gate
    When Frost was spectre-gray,
    And Winter’s dregs made desolate
    The weakening eye of day.
    The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
    Like strings of broken lyres,
    And all mankind that haunted nigh
    Had sought their household fires.

    The land’s sharp features seemed to be
    The Century’s corpse outleant,
    His crypt the cloudy canopy,
    The wind his death-lament.
    The ancient pulse of germ and birth
    Was shrunken hard and dry,
    And every spirit upon earth
    Seemed fervourless as I.

    At once a voice arose among
    The bleak twigs overhead
    In a full-hearted evensong
    Of joy illimited ;
    An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
    In blast-beruffled plume,
    Had chosen thus to fling his soul
    Upon the growing gloom.

    So little cause for carolings
    Of such ecstatic sound
    Was written on terrestrial things
    Afar or nigh around,
    That I could think there trembled through
    His happy good-night air
    Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
    And I was unaware
  18. slobake

    slobake resident ... something

    All The Mad Ones

    All the mad ones
    Sailing off into unknown kingdoms
    Have they lost their minds?
    Headed straight towards unseeable visions
    Old men with no strength
    Doing the impossible
    Old women
    Shining though like glorious starlight
    No more hiding in fearful lumps of surety
    Gone like an old cocoon

    Here is another by the same person, it doesn't have a title: :bag:

    Angry jets of war scream over the mud huts
    A desperate junkie shoves a spike waiting for relief the never comes
    She cries helpless 10-year-old tears as he leaves her ravaged and broken
    Where Lord, where is the shelter?
    I cry and scream into the silence
    WHAT? I scream
    The phone rings like a shot of cold water to the face
    It’s Frank next door he needs a ride to the hospital
    I forget about everything else and rush out the door.
  19. BassyBill

    BassyBill The smooth moderator... Gold Supporting Member

    Mar 12, 2005
    West Midlands UK
    slobake - I think your poetry quotes show how you need to be able to follow rules before you can break them. Kind of like music, really.

    Poetry is not random. Quite the reverse. Random jottings are random (and sometimes interesting). But they're not necessarily poetry.
  20. chuck norriss

    chuck norriss Banned

    Jan 20, 2011
    I love Wislawa Szymborska (sp) a little old lady from Poland who won the Nobel Prize. C.K. Williams is also incredible.