Recommend me some poetry! Page 2

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  • Deleted user 13 June 2009 00:13:01
    faux_carnation wrote:
    All poetry is shit

    /someone had to say it

    Except for Blake.
  • FWB 13 Jun 2009 00:15:03 56,343 posts
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    I remember writing a poem about writing a poem in school. Was pretty obnoxious - tho not swearing - and dismissed all poetry as a joke. I got kicked out of the class for it. The teacher for that class was a bit sensitive.
  • sargulesh 26 Aug 2009 12:45:16 3,281 posts
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    Not all poetry is shit.
  • Deleted user 26 August 2009 12:55:41
    Gremmi wrote:
    faux_carnation wrote:
    All poetry is shit

    /someone had to say it

    Except for Blake.
    And Larkin. They're the only two I still read for pleasure.
  • Alastair 26 Aug 2009 13:23:29 24,272 posts
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    A young nancy boy from Khartoum
    Took a lesbian whore to his room
    As he put out the light
    He said "Let's get this right
    Who does what and with which and to whom?"
  • BanjoMan 27 Aug 2009 16:14:18 13,692 posts
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    Milton's Paradise Lost or gtfo.
  • Deleted user 27 August 2009 16:21:36
    TS Elliot, Wilfred Owen, John Milton and John Donne were staple reading when I was younger and I'm surprised how much I go back to some of them later in life (TSE and Owen in particular)

    Not too fussed on 'modern' poetry to be honest
  • wizbob 27 Aug 2009 16:52:47 926 posts
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    You probably want something short and pithy for calligraphy. How about some Edward Gorey, Elizabeth Bishop or Emily Dickinson?
  • Deleted user 27 August 2009 17:00:38
    There are four poems by Pamela Gillilan called Come Away, When You Died, Two Years, and Four Years (and they need to be read in that order) which I find really incredible. Four Years can be read at http://www.pamelagillilan.co.uk/ but without the previous three it loses a lot of its power.

    And +1 for Larkin. Even though he was a tosser. Singlehandedly demonstrates why you mustn't judge art by the artist.
  • mal 27 Aug 2009 17:14:46 29,326 posts
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    Any poetry read out by Ian McMillan is good poetry.
  • Deleted user 27 August 2009 19:40:44
    Does Dr Suess count?

    I doubt it, but 'The Places You'll Go' is beautiful and really surprised me when I bought and read it to my son - better yet 'Fox in Socks' - hardly poetic in terms of the artistic merit but thought I would throw it in the mix as people have varying opinions...
  • Deleted user 27 August 2009 19:56:40
    Leolian'sBro wrote:
    BanjoMan wrote:
    Milton's Paradise Lost or gtfo.
    Seriously?

    I concur - its hard work at first but by Book 3 The Argument it really kicks in
  • President_Weasel 27 Aug 2009 20:07:47 12,355 posts
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    They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
    They may not mean to, but they do.
    They fill you with the faults they had
    And add some extra, just for you.

    But they were fucked up in their turn
    By fools in old-style hats and coats,
    Who half the time were soppy-stern
    And half at one another's throats.

    Man hands on misery to man.
    It deepens like a coastal shelf.
    Get out as early as you can,
    And don't have any kids yourself.
  • StixxUK 27 Aug 2009 20:12:14 8,331 posts
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    I just read the title, I'm not going to read the thread, but...

    GAY.
  • Deleted user 27 August 2009 20:47:50
    Nice to see the research you have put into the topic has not affected your grey matter Stixx.

    I feared for a minute there you might rip a hole in the space-time continum with your senstitive side and start waxing lyrical about Baudelaire and Shakespeare

    However I think 100 bench-presses ought to define your macho-ness

    hut hut
  • Jeepers 27 Aug 2009 20:51:40 16,611 posts
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    Too many years ago, I enjoyed Miroslav Holub. He worked as an immunologist, and it's clearly had a massive influence on his writing. Vanishing Lung Syndrome is my favourite collection.

    Sample follows:

    We aren't the Fores of New Guinea
    we don't indulge in ritual cannibalism
    we don't harbour the slow virus that
    causes degeneration
    of the brain and spinal cord with spasms, shivers,
    progressive dementia and
    the typical grimace

    We just smile,
    embarrassed, we smile,
    embarrassed, we smile,
    embarrassed, we smile.
  • Gruff 27 Aug 2009 21:07:03 3,601 posts
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    Sophie Hannah's poetry is very accessible for a simple person like me :)
  • President_Weasel 27 Aug 2009 22:35:24 12,355 posts
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    If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
    Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
    So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
    And wait for supports like a soldier.
    Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .

    When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
    And the women come out to cut up what remains,
    Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
    An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
  • Metalfish 27 Aug 2009 22:36:52 9,191 posts
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    I'm a big fan of this one.
  • BanjoMan 28 Aug 2009 10:28:03 13,692 posts
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    Leolian'sBro wrote:
    BanjoMan wrote:
    Milton's Paradise Lost or gtfo.
    Seriously?
    For me, yes. I'm on a gothic literature vibe at the minute though.
  • caligari 9 Jan 2014 19:06:15 17,945 posts
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    I will remember the kisses
    our lips raw with love
    and how you gave me
    everything you had
    and how I
    offered you what was left of
    me,
    and I will remember your small room
    the feel of you
    the light in the window
    your records
    your books
    our morning coffee
    our noons our nights
    our bodies spilled together
    sleeping
    the tiny flowing currents
    immediate and forever
    your leg my leg
    your arm my arm
    your smile and the warmth
    of you
    who made me laugh
    again.

    Charles Bukowski
  • localnotail 9 Jan 2014 21:45:45 23,072 posts
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    That's a rare peaceful piece, he's normally a lot less mellow.

    The Genius Of The Crowd

    there is enough treachery, hatred, violence, absurdity in the average human being to supply any given army on any given day

    and the best at murder are those who preach against it
    and the best at hate are those who preach love
    and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

    those who preach god, need god
    those who preach peace do not have peace
    those who preach peace do not have love

    beware the preachers
    beware the knowers
    beware those who are always reading books
    beware those who either detest poverty
    or are proud of it
    beware those quick to praise
    for they need praise in return
    beware those who are quick to censor
    they are afraid of what they do not know
    beware those who seek constant crowds for
    they are nothing alone
    beware the average man the average woman
    beware their love, their love is average
    seeks average

    but there is genius in their hatred
    there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
    to kill anybody
    not wanting solitude
    not understanding solitude
    they will attempt to destroy anything
    that differs from their own
    not being able to create art
    they will not understand art
    they will consider their failure as creators
    only as a failure of the world
    not being able to love fully
    they will believe your love incomplete
    and then they will hate you
    and their hatred will be perfect

    like a shining diamond
    like a knife
    like a mountain
    like a tiger
    like hemlock

    their finest art

    Edited by localnotail at 14:20:19 10-01-2014
  • INSOMANiAC 10 Jan 2014 14:19:15 4,681 posts
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    My stuff...
  • mal 29 Jul 2015 18:05:53 29,326 posts
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    'Everyone Hates the English' by Kit Wright

    Everyone hates the English,
    Including the English. They sneer
    At each other for being so English,
    So what are they doing here,
    The English? It’s thick with the English,
    All over the country. Why?
    Anyone ever born English
    Should shut up, or fuck off, or die.

    Anyone ever born English
    Should hold their extraction in scorn
    And apologise all over England
    For ever at all being born,
    For that’s how it is, being English;
    Fodder for any old scoff
    That England might be a nice country
    If only the English fucked off!
  • Deleted user 29 July 2015 18:23:01
    “Your Dog Dies” by Raymond Carver–

    It gets run over by a van.
    you find it at the side of the road
    and bury it.
    you feel bad about it.
    you feel bad personally,
    but you feel bad for your daughter
    because it was her pet,
    and she loved it so.
    she used to croon to it
    and let it sleep in her bed.
    you write a poem about it.
    you call it a poem for your daughter,
    about the dog getting run over by a van
    and how you looked after it,
    took it out into the woods
    and buried it deep, deep,
    and that poem turns out so good
    you’re almost glad the little dog
    was run over, or else you’d never
    have written that good poem.
    then you sit down to write
    a poem about writing a poem
    about the death of that dog,
    but while you’re writing you
    hear a woman scream
    your name, your first name,
    both syllables,
    and your heart stops.
    after a minute, you continue writing.
    she screams again.
    you wonder how long this can go on.
  • mal 29 Jul 2015 19:12:38 29,326 posts
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    'The Back Seat of My Mother's Car' by Julia Copus:

    We left before I had time
    to comfort you, to tell you that we nearly touched
    hands in that vacuous half-dark. I wanted
    to stem the burning waters running over me like tiny
    rivers down my face and legs, but at the same time I was reaching out
    for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in,
    cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole-fingers grasping
    the dusty August air. I pressed my face to the glass;
    I was calling to you – Daddy! – as we screeched away into
    the distance, my own hand tingling like an amputation.
    You were mouthing something I still remember, the noiseless words
    piercing me like that catgut shriek that flew up, furious as a sunset
    pouring itself out against the sky. The ensuing silence
    was the one clear thing I could decipher –
    the roar of the engine drowning your voice,
    with the cool slick glass between us.

    With the cool slick glass between us,
    the roar of the engine drowning, your voice
    was the one clear thing I could decipher –
    pouring itself out against the sky, the ensuing silence
    piercing me like that catgut shriek that flew up, furious as a sunset.
    You were mouthing something: I still remember the noiseless words,
    the distance, my own hand tingling like an amputation.
    I was calling to you, Daddy, as we screeched away into
    the dusty August air. I pressed my face to the glass,
    cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole-fingers grasping
    for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in
    rivers down my face and legs, but at the same time I was reaching out
    to stem the burning waters running over me like tiny
    hands in that vacuous half-dark. I wanted
    to comfort you, to tell you that we nearly touched.
    We left before I had time.
  • Fab4 29 Jul 2015 21:29:49 8,923 posts
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    The Keeper of Sheep (excerpt) by Fernando Pessoa, writing as Alberto Caeiro

    I never kept sheep,
    But it is as I did watch over them.
    My soul is like a shepherd,
    Knows the wind and the sun,
    And goes hand in hand with the seasons
    To follow and to listen.
    All the peace of Nature without people
    Comes to sit by my side.
    But I remain sad like a sunset
    As our imagination shows it,
    When a chill falls at the side of the valley
    And you feel night has come in
    Like a butterfly through a window.

    But my sadness is calm
    Because it is natural and right
    And is what there should be in the soul
    When it is thinking it exists
    And the hands are picking flowers without noticing
    which.
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