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Declan MacManus
Sep 1, 2011

damn i'm really in this bitch

Poems are way cool and come in all different shapes and sizes. The one unifying factor for poetry is that every culture in the world has it and that no one ever seems to know how to teach it in school. It's also the rare form of writing that isn't dominated by dudes

Some cool poems that you probably read in high school and should give another shot:
-We Real Cool by Gwendolyn Brooks
-Howl by Allen Ginsburg
-I Sing the Body Electric by Walt Whitman
-the red wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams
-Nikki-Rosa by Nikki Giovanni
-The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot

A list of influential or otherwise accessible poets to get started on:
-T.S. Eliot
-John Donne
-Emily Dickinson
-Walt Whitman
-Seamus Haney
-Dylan Thomas
-Isaac Rosenberg
-Matsuo Basho
-Kobayashi Issa

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Declan MacManus
Sep 1, 2011

damn i'm really in this bitch

Stravinsky posted:

Robert Frost is the Thomas Kinkade of american poetry.

He is garbage and his poo poo is only popular because it's easy to understand and broad enough to apply to anything.

Declan MacManus
Sep 1, 2011

damn i'm really in this bitch

Poutling posted:

That list is pretty western-centric with 2 Japanese haiku guys thrown in at the end. I would add at least Pablo Neruda and Rainer Maria Rilke to the list, and maybe Cavafy and Czeslaw Milosz.

That is entirely fair. In my defense, I was mostly gearing it towards Western audiences, but Neruda is a pretty gross omission on my part. :)

Poutling posted:

You read a lot of world lit in fiction and I think you hit the same issues that you would there that you would in poetry. I hear this is especially true for Japanese literature where the kanji chosen can sometimes have 2 or 3 different meanings and can add layers to a passage that are not easily translated into English. I think the key is to find the right translator who can capture not only the direct translation but the spirit of the poem. Translating itself is an art form.

As long as they're not doing an Ezra Pound style hackjob I think there's artistic merit to a translation but it becomes a separate work, filtered through the eyes of a translator. Something neat I saw in a translation of Nahuatl poetry was that they included a glossary of Nahuatl terms with a few different definitions for each so that the reader was empowered to make their own translation. It would be a shame to miss out on poems written in another language, though.

Declan MacManus
Sep 1, 2011

damn i'm really in this bitch

Walh Hara posted:

In addition, what are peoples opinion in regards to reading poetry not in your mother language? More concrete, are there English authors/poems that are more friendly towards/readable for people who have English as second language? Seems to me there is a difference in being fluent enough that you can understand nobels compaired to being fluent enough to really understand poetry.

It's tough because I'd say the majority of poetry relies upon cultural cues and context along with the implicit meanings of words and statements. That and the ambiguity of language informs a lot of it (and is why poetry is so difficult) and that's really hard to transcend. That being said, I think imagery translates well, so poets like Dickinson, Robert Lowell, some Stephen Crane stuff, and Sharon Olds might be a good place to start. What kind of poetry/poems are you into?

Declan MacManus
Sep 1, 2011

damn i'm really in this bitch

Poetry is all about the rhythm. I recommend going to a poetry reading (as dull as that might sound on paper) just to get a feel for the breadth of cadences possible in verse. Most song lyrics would be pretty dumb if you only ever read them on a page (although many of them are still very dumb).

Declan MacManus
Sep 1, 2011

damn i'm really in this bitch

Stravinsky posted:

In other poetry news, I also read former New Jersey poet laureate and also former living person Amiri Baraka. While he is no Robert Frost, I really do appreciate Baraka's in your face confrontational attitude. The fact that he was even made a poet laureate for any place is amazing in and of itself and I am really not surprised that some people were a little uneasy about that.



PYF Poet Laureates



quote:

Cherrylog Road

Off Highway 106
At Cherrylog Road I entered
The ’34 Ford without wheels,
Smothered in kudzu,
With a seat pulled out to run
Corn whiskey down from the hills,


And then from the other side
Crept into an Essex
With a rumble seat of red leather
And then out again, aboard
A blue Chevrolet, releasing
The rust from its other color,


Reared up on three building blocks.
None had the same body heat;
I changed with them inward, toward
The weedy heart of the junkyard,
For I knew that Doris Holbrook
Would escape from her father at noon


And would come from the farm
To seek parts owned by the sun
Among the abandoned chassis,
Sitting in each in turn
As I did, leaning forward
As in a wild stock-car race


In the parking lot of the dead.
Time after time, I climbed in
And out the other side, like
An envoy or movie star
Met at the station by crickets.
A radiator cap raised its head,


Become a real toad or a kingsnake
As I neared the hub of the yard,
Passing through many states,
Many lives, to reach
Some grandmother’s long Pierce-Arrow
Sending platters of blindness forth


From its nickel hubcaps
And spilling its tender upholstery
On sleepy roaches,
The glass panel in between
Lady and colored driver
Not all the way broken out,


The back-seat phone
Still on its hook.
I got in as though to exclaim,
“Let us go to the orphan asylum,
John; I have some old toys
For children who say their prayers.”


I popped with sweat as I thought
I heard Doris Holbrook scrape
Like a mouse in the southern-state sun
That was eating the paint in blisters
From a hundred car tops and hoods.
She was tapping like code,


Loosening the screws,
Carrying off headlights,
Sparkplugs, bumpers,
Cracked mirrors and gear-knobs,
Getting ready, already,
To go back with something to show


Other than her lips’ new trembling
I would hold to me soon, soon,
Where I sat in the ripped back seat
Talking over the interphone,
Praying for Doris Holbrook
To come from her father’s farm


And to get back there
With no trace of me on her face
To be seen by her red-haired father
Who would change, in the squalling barn,
Her back’s pale skin with a strop,
Then lay for me


In a bootlegger’s roasting car
With a string-triggered I2-gauge shotgun
To blast the breath from the air.
Not cut by the jagged windshields,
Through the acres of wrecks she came
With a wrench in her hand,


Through dust where the blacksnake dies
Of boredom, and the beetle knows
The compost has no more life.
Someone outside would have seen
The oldest car's door inexplicably
Close from within:


I held her and held her and held her,
Convoyed at terrific speed
By the stalled, dreaming traffic around us,
So the blacksnake, stiff
With inaction, curved back
Into life, and hunted the mouse


With deadly overexcitement,
The beetles reclaimed their field
As we clung, glued together,
With the hooks of the seat springs
Working through to catch us red-handed
Amidst the gray breathless batting


That burst from the seat at our backs.
We left by separate doors
Into the changed, other bodies
Of cars, she down Cherrylog Road
And I to my motorcycle
Parked like the soul of the junkyard


Restored, a bicycle fleshed
With power, and tore off
Up Highway 106, continually
Drunk on the wind in my mouth,
Wringing the handlebar for speed,
Wild to be wreckage forever.

Kind of reminds me of Eugenides for some reason but not in a good way

Declan MacManus
Sep 1, 2011

damn i'm really in this bitch

CestMoi posted:

I got some T.S Eliot poems because I'd never read them before and The Wasteland is pretty drat deece. I'm now trying to overcome my gag reflex against writing in books so I can write down all the cool things I like and look fun and interesting in coffee shops.

I have a lot of sperg book nerd friends that will buy two copies of a text: one for marking up and one for leaving pristine.

Declan MacManus
Sep 1, 2011

damn i'm really in this bitch

FactsAreUseless posted:

So, prose poetry. What do you think of it? Does it count as "real" poetry? I'm quite fond of prose poetry, since I think poetry's defining characteristic isn't its rhythm or structure, but its density of thought and content.

Prose poetry is totally real poetry and anyone who tries to tell you that something doesn't "count" as poetry is usually wrong

Declan MacManus
Sep 1, 2011

damn i'm really in this bitch

Hieronymous Alloy posted:

e e cummings was pretty awesome. He's easy to dismiss as the gimmicky poet who didn't use punctuation but he's very much worth reading.



I think this is what most people think of when they're like "poetry is inaccessible"

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Declan MacManus
Sep 1, 2011

damn i'm really in this bitch

A human heart posted:

That sounds cool, what's the collection called?

Can't remember, it had a pretty generic name. I think it's on Project Gutenberg though.

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