Ccs posted:

According to New Criticism as my professor described it there is only one correct interpretation for each image or symbol or line in a poem. Close Reading suggests that we can deduce exactly what this is for a correct reading of a poem.

jagstag posted:

here's some poems by miroslav holub that i took pics of because im lazy ft. my unkempt bed and chipping nail polish

CestMoi posted:

I hope you're reading him in the intended language of his poetry, Arabic

MockingQuantum posted:

Hello poetry thread, I'm doing the forums reading challenge this year and I've decided to try and rekindle my former love of poetry, so to that end, I would like a wildcard poetry book for the reading challenge. It can be anything (please be gentle) as long as it's not impossible to find. I also only speak English, unfortunately.

MockingQuantum posted:

TBH I haven't read much of anything in years. In college I liked Anne Sexton, Sara Teasdale, Lord Byron, T.S. Eliot, Kahlil Gibran, Wisława Szymborska... I was just getting into more modern poetry but couldn't tell you any names off the top of my head. I'm sure there's tons of poets I read a lot that I'm totally forgetting, such is life

Mighty Crouton posted:

Any James Merrill fans out there? Feel like he's the most 🔥🔥 American poet since Wallace Stevens.

http://www.ronnowpoetry.com/contents/merrill/SelfPortrait.html

Also his voice is glorious: https://www.kwls.org/key-wests-life-of-letters/james-merrill-on-elizabeth-bishop-archives/

Laboratory Poem posted:

Charles used to watch Naomi, taking heart
And a steel saw, open up turtles, live.
While she swore they felt nothing, he would gag
At blood, at the blind twitching, even after
The murky dawn of entrails cleared, revealing
Contours he knew, egg-yellows like lamps paling.

Well then. She carried off the beating heart
To the kymograph and rigged it there, a rag
In fitful wind, now made to strain, now stopped
By her solutions tonic or malign
Alternately in which it would be steeped.
What the heart bore, she noted on a chart,

For work did not stop only with the heart.
He thought of certain human hearts, their climb
Through violence into exquisite disciplines
Of which, as it now appeared, they all expired.
Soon she would fetch another and start over,
Easy in the presence of her lover.

A. Questions posted:

*Why is every atom of Palestine’s ash an open wound?
*How does this wound create life with the implements of death?
*Is Palestine’s history an autumn that has migrated beyond the seasons?
*Why does the face of humanity wrinkle in the language of Arab leaders? And why is this language clogged with trains that run only on dead-end tracks that never end? And why are those tracks built by leaders who wage battles on trees and water?

E. A Hymn Bracing for the End posted:

Many gray hairs on my head,
but in my insides only the down of childhood.
Take away your alchemy, dear Poetry, raise it, discipline it, and teach it to mingle our bodies with our dreams;
how time can earn a place among our days and nights,
how minutes grunt in our veins like wild horses.
In your name, I flee myself to be myself,
and in your name I become joy and sadness in one inhale,
and I clamp my lips on your secrets.

The sky hangs like a rare painting in the earth’s museum,
and each is fighting to prove he alone stole it.
Up high, the sky’s seventh ceiling bucks and shudders, about to fall.
Why are harlots and pimps given another great role to play?
And in the name of the sky, must we awaken Job, Jeremiah, and Isaiah to display their afflictions again in al-Quds, and to confess how happy and free they once were?

Go on you way, dear Heaven.
Leave me a while to check on my limbs.

chernobyl kinsman posted:

ya this but also read it on http://blakearchive.org/ so you can read them as they were meant to be read: as part of a bugfuck crazy series of prints engraved and inked by a lunatic

here are the songs of innocence, for example

quote:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

quote:

I thought Zen poems
were supposed to sound wise.

Now I'm going to buy
as much beer as five dollars

can buy and drink it
right here on the sofa

chernobyl kinsman posted:

this sucks

quote:

This is no mountain,
But a house,
No rock of solitude
But a family chair,
No wilds
But life appearing
As life anywhere domesticated,
Yet I know the gods are here,
And that if I touch them
I will arise
And take majesty into the kitchen

cda posted:

I did not. I have the penguin classics edition. Is there something wrong with it? I thought it was pretty good, though that book is depressing in a way few books are.

Zesty Mordant posted:

CestMoi posted:

the creative convention poetry thunderdome thread created in november is already longer than this, the dedicated book forum thread for talking about poetry

Lawman 0 posted:

So I'm looking for good modern poetry does anyone have good collections on hand that I should get from the library?

thehoodie posted:

been really liking jean toomer lately

sa won't preserve the formatting but you can read it here also