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new goon-written prose poem dropped, fellas https://twitter.com/alloy_dr/status/1657769123852570632
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# ? May 18, 2023 00:29 |
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# ? Jun 5, 2024 05:57 |
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Tree Goat posted:new goon-written prose poem dropped, fellas Oh hey, it’s Hegel! Great stuff.
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# ? Jul 6, 2023 04:52 |
It's fuckin' brilliant and I I wish I knew more ways to publicize it.
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# ? Jul 7, 2023 12:40 |
In 1802, a thief named Niels Heidenreich stole two priceless horns of gold from the Royal Chamber of Arts in Copenhagen and melted them down into gold coins. The picture below show replicas made from drawings of the horns. Shortly afterwards, the Danish poet Adam Oehlenschläger wrote his poem The Gold Horns, inspired by the theft. The poem posits that the gods took the horns back because humanity did not appreciate their sublime nature. It helped kickstart the romantic revival in Danish art and literature and is one of, if not the, most famous poems in the country. The poem was translated into English by George Borrow around 1826. The translation is, imo, a bit wobbly, but it is the only way to read the poem in English, so here it is below. I have included the original Danish in italics. The Gold Horns posted:The Gold Horns
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# ? Sep 2, 2023 20:54 |
This thread deserves more activity. Where are all the poetry goons? Anyway, here is my latest poem and the first to be published in a print magazine. I think that fulfills the thread title requirements .
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# ? Nov 25, 2023 10:21 |
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Nicanor Parra, Memories Of Youth posted:All I'm sure of is that I kept going back and forth,
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# ? Nov 25, 2023 17:36 |
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Cyprian Norwid in translationquote:The Small Circle quote:The Source
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# ? Nov 25, 2023 18:07 |
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quote:I In memory of wb yeats by auden
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# ? Dec 1, 2023 10:22 |
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# ? Dec 2, 2023 02:08 |
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# ? Dec 2, 2023 05:00 |
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SimonChris posted:Anyway, here is my latest poem and the first to be published in a print magazine. I think that fulfills the thread title requirements . Woo! Congrats! Jrbg posted:In memory of wb yeats by auden I’ve always loved this poem a whole lot. Here’s one I read today that intrigues me. I like it when poetry evades straightforwardly likeable and positive emotions like “I love you” or “the light in the trees is very pretty”. The continuing vitality and zest for life of the speaker of this poem seems selfish, almost obscene. But he defends himself nobly and ends movingly, and makes me think that we all do the same thing really: move on with our lives despite loss. quote:Hymn to Priapus
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# ? Dec 13, 2023 21:32 |
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Remorse for Any Death Jorge Luis Borges (trans. WS Merwin) Free of memory and hope, unlimited, abstract, almost future, the dead body is not somebody: It is death. Like the God of the mystics, whom they insist has no attributes, the dead person is no one everywhere, is nothing but the loss and absence of the world. We rob it of everything, we do not leave it one color, one syllable: Here is the yard which its eyes no longer take up, there is the sidewalk where it waylaid its hope. It might even be thinking what we are thinking. We have divided among us, like thieves, the treasure of nights and days.
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# ? Dec 18, 2023 16:30 |
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Just committed this one to memory. I saw someone once explain it as being in the tradition of poems like Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress”, which I think illuminates it very nicely. quote:Late Hymn From The Myrrh-Mountain
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# ? Dec 26, 2023 17:27 |
https://www.threepennyreview.com/the-committee-weighs-in/ posted:I tell my mother
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# ? Jan 5, 2024 09:26 |
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William Empson, Poem about a Ball in the Nineteenth Centuryquote:Feather, feather, if it was a feather, feathers for fair, or to be fair, aroused. Round to be airy, feather, if it was airy, very, aviary, fairy, peacock, and to be well surrounded. Well-aired, amoving, to peacock, cared-for, share dancing inner to be among aware. Peacock around, peacock to care for dancing, an air, fairing, will he become, to stare. Peacock around, rounded, to turn the wearer, turning in air, peacock and I declare, to wear for dancing, to be among, to have become preferred. Peacock, a feather, there, found together, grounded, to bearer share turned for dancing, among them peacock a feather feather, dancing and to declare for turning, turning a feather as it were for dancing, turning for dancing, dancing being begun turning together, together to become, barely a feather being, beware, being a peacock only on the stair, staring at, only a peacock to be coming, fairly becoming for a peacock, be fair together being around in air, peacock to be becoming lastly, peacock around to be become together, peacock a very peacock to be there.
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# ? Jan 8, 2024 15:50 |
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Dream Song 12 "Sabbath" by John Berrymanquote:There is an eye, there was a slit.
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# ? Jan 10, 2024 07:48 |
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"What The Sexton Said" by Vachel Lindsayquote:Your dust will be upon the wind
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# ? Jan 10, 2024 07:52 |
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Would love to hear any thoughts on the Empson and Berryman, both of which I’m having trouble getting a purchase on. Berryman’s like that for me. Some of it I tune into right away and it’s brilliant. And the rest I’m like “huh?” Empson I only know the super famous stuff.
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# ? Jan 10, 2024 17:56 |
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The content of the Berryman to me is a nightmare about being caught on the wrong side of an obscure and inscrutable force of change, and evokes that really eerie dream-feeling of being pursued and not knowing why. (Possibly for desertion of a battle in defense of "tradition" in the second stanza.) With that said, I think it's sublime because of its language. "Nights run. Tes yeux bizarres me suivent / when loth at landfall soft I leave." are the kind of lines that poets spend a career trying to get their hands on. And the image of a witch skulking through a graveyard to a church in broad daylight for unknown purposes is insanely cool and haunting
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# ? Jan 10, 2024 22:37 |
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Nitevision posted:Dream Song 12 "Sabbath" by John Berryman this one's about doing the walk of shame after a one night stand
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# ? Jan 10, 2024 23:32 |
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been really liking jean toomer latelyquote:Seventh Street sa won't preserve the formatting but you can read it here also
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# ? Jan 10, 2024 23:34 |
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thehoodie posted:this one's about doing the walk of shame after a one night stand Please say more if you're serious, I'm still figuring out how to read this son of a gun
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# ? Jan 11, 2024 00:21 |
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It can’t be denied that these are bangin’ lines: Belle thro' the graves in a blast of sun to the kirk moves the youngest witch. Watch. Thanks for the thoughts on the rest! Here’s another Berryman that I really like: quote:A Strut for Roethke
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# ? Jan 11, 2024 00:35 |
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thehoodie posted:been really liking jean toomer lately cane is one of my favorite collections/novels/prose poems/whatever you want to call it
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# ? Jan 11, 2024 00:58 |
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Nitevision posted:Please say more if you're serious, I'm still figuring out how to read this son of a gun I was mostly shitposting and it is pretty dumb but it kind of works? Maybe not a one night stand per se but an evening tryst turning to morning. quote:There is an eye, there was a slit. This is pretty self evident. "Slit"? It's like he's not even trying to hide it. quote:Nights walk, and confer on him fear. Some more euphemistic language. His lover had to loosen her chokehold? Sounds like Henry and his lover are into some weird poo poo. quote:Henry widens. How did Henry House I'm sure Henry widened, alright. What did he "come" upon, I wonder? quote:Nights run. Tes yeux bizarres me suivent Nights walked earlier and now they "run" away and are gone. His lover's strange eyes watching as he reluctantly leaves in the morning. quote:The soldiers, Coleridge Rilke Poe, Henry rejects the romantic tradition. He is one of the "toddlers" with new age ideas of love and sex. Perhaps the toddlers also connect to the reproductive aspect of sex? "O" enjambing to mimic the brief pause before orgasm? Or the reluctance to leave his lover's side? Then the Sunday church bell rings, the judgemental churchgoers (wearing "snoods") judge Henry, tired from his evening tryst. quote:What now can be cleard up? from the Yard the visitors urge. This could either be Henry or his lover (or both), dashing off to church as apostate(s).
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# ? Jan 11, 2024 02:47 |
I'll keep tooting my own horn as long as it fulfills the title requirements
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# ? Jan 13, 2024 10:36 |
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A friend of mine just published her first poetry collection with a big publisher here in Canada. It's doing well but I want to spread the word since it's a very good collection. Here's her poem which was a runner-up in a national competition a few years back. Family Affair they say we are a family that is good at death / i make a decision to hold a seminar on how to live / i schedule this party for my uncles on the first day of spring / my dead uncles play hooky with the afterlife slipping out of their graves while the ground unthaws / the earth still soft i could never play hooky myself / all my childhood my mother kept her hand wrapped around my wrist / a lightweight shackle that held me down all nights / a weight my mother gifted to me for my own sake the taste of iron swirling in the mouth henceforth / there was no option she had no other option / used a coconut shard to scoop out the pulp of the night. my dead uncles arrive to the seminar an hour late / they hover above the chairs in my backyard / my living uncles arrive after the dead ones and the reunion is a big family affair / my uncles grabbing one another grabbing me / grabbing all the seminar pamphlets out of my hands papers with titles like / interactions with the police / explaining health complications to your doctor / drugs and you? my uncles hand me back this polite literature / they insist upon an idea that in the afterlife / there is no time for posturing over anything other than perhaps a garden / someone you love deeply the truth of it they insist / is that most of living you never really learn the police come through / as they always do / breaking the warmth of the reunion / my uncles are squished together around a table playing dominos the police lean over and ask to play / the police lean over to claim that Someone has called about the noise / the police are leaning over what noise, i ask. half of the people here are dead. / my dead uncles do not speak in the presence of force / is that not what you wanted this is the living of not knowing and wanting more / a scoop of survival at the cost of pride / now that the police have arrived the party must end / my dead uncles / must return to the earth / before night / when the ground hardens / and although the party starts late / it ends late / if not as late as we wanted / but i still i feel so loved / I hold all my uncles together / they hold me in the spring we get used to the sun / staying for long my favourite void is from the valley of lateness / i love lateness / i love it like i love my uncles / my late uncles / my late late uncles both living and dead / oh, how i love / the suggestion that the earth can extend / that there will always be room for more time. https://www.penguinrandomhouse.ca/books/717999/the-seventh-town-of-ghosts-by-faith-arkorful/9780771004452 The collection itself examines Blackness and family and crawling out of depression to fall in love with the world and life again. Read it!
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# ? Mar 31, 2024 21:38 |
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# ? Jun 5, 2024 05:57 |
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Nocturne by Louis MacNeicequote:The dark blood of night-time chawn: n. dialect: gap, cleft or rift caused by excessive coldness.
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# ? May 29, 2024 10:13 |