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Joined: Wed January 02, 2013 6:02 am Posts: 9712 Location: Tristes Tropiques
Poetry sucks
_________________
VinylGuy wrote:
its really tiresome to see these ¨good guys¨ talking about any political stuff in tv while also being kinda funny and hip and cool....its just...please enough of this shit.
Last edited by Mickey on Fri January 07, 2022 10:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Joined: Tue January 01, 2013 3:35 pm Posts: 32244 Location: Buenos Aires
The strings, as if they knew the lovers are about to meet, begin to soar, and when he marches in the door they soar some more—half ecstasy, half pain, the musical equivalent of rain— while children who have grown up with one stare steal further looks across a crowded room, as goners tend to do.
My father loved it too, warned me at dinner that he’d be a wreck long before the final trio came (Ja, ja, she sighed, and gave him up forever); he found his Sophie better late than never and took the fifth about his silent tears but like him I’m a softie, with a massive gift for feeling blue.
I went with others, threw bouquets and caution to the whirling wind, believing that the rhapsody on stage would waft its wonders up to our cheap seats; but mirrors can be beautiful fierce cheats, delusions of an over-smitten mind; I relished trouser roles until I had no petals left to strew.
Up, down the avenue I wandered like a ghost, I wondered why a miracle is always a mirage, then plodded home and set back all the clocks, spent hard-won funds installing strong new locks, telling myself if violence like this could never sound like violins, I would to art, not life, be true.
And I am trying to fathom the way I got from there to here, the joy that snuck up when I’d sworn off joy: we’ve made a sterling start, we’ve got a plan to watch it on your satin couch downtown and I’ll be there upon the stroke of eight, bearing in my trembling ungloved hand a silver rose for you.
I got to experience the Sylvia Plath exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery this past Monday. Reading her poetry was one of the first times that poetry has affected me beyond utter confusion and an aching surge of futility. I hate that I'm so completely stupid about poetry. Hate, hate, hate it. But Plath's stuff, much of it rough and/or unpublished, really hit me. I have her Ariel collection. Maybe I should read that.
Joined: Tue September 24, 2013 5:56 pm Posts: 47017 Location: In the oatmeal aisle wearing a Shellac shirt
durdencommatyler wrote:
I got to experience the Sylvia Plath exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery this past Monday. Reading her poetry was one of the first times that poetry has affected me beyond utter confusion and an aching surge of futility. I hate that I'm so completely stupid about poetry. Hate, hate, hate it. But Plath's stuff, much of it rough and/or unpublished, really hit me. I have her Ariel collection. Maybe I should read that.
You should watch Paterson! I think you would love it.
Joined: Tue January 01, 2013 7:41 am Posts: 19719 Location: Cumberland, RI
tragabigzanda wrote:
durdencommatyler wrote:
I got to experience the Sylvia Plath exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery this past Monday. Reading her poetry was one of the first times that poetry has affected me beyond utter confusion and an aching surge of futility. I hate that I'm so completely stupid about poetry. Hate, hate, hate it. But Plath's stuff, much of it rough and/or unpublished, really hit me. I have her Ariel collection. Maybe I should read that.
You should watch Paterson! I think you would love it.
The poetry in Patterson was very good. The movie was pretty good, too; I'd love to watch it again.
I got to experience the Sylvia Plath exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery this past Monday. Reading her poetry was one of the first times that poetry has affected me beyond utter confusion and an aching surge of futility. I hate that I'm so completely stupid about poetry. Hate, hate, hate it. But Plath's stuff, much of it rough and/or unpublished, really hit me. I have her Ariel collection. Maybe I should read that.
You should watch Paterson! I think you would love it.
The poetry in Patterson was very good. The movie was pretty good, too; I'd love to watch it again.
Joined: Sat January 05, 2013 7:30 am Posts: 8199 Location: nothing
There are cemeteries that are lonely, graves full of bones that do not make a sound, the heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness, like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves, as though we were drowning inside our hearts, as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.
And there are corpses, feet made of cold and sticky clay, death is inside the bones, like a barking where there are no dogs, coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere, growing in the damp air like tears of rain.
Sometimes I see alone coffins under sail, embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair, with bakers who are as white as angels, and pensive young girls married to notary publics, caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead, the river of dark purple, moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death, filled by the sound of death which is silence.
Death arrives among all that sound like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it, comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no finger in it, comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no throat. Nevertheless its steps can be heard and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.
I'm not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see, but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets, of violets that are at home in the earth, because the face of death is green, and the look death gives is green, with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf and the somber color of embittered winter.
But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom, lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies, death is inside the broom, the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses, it is the needle of death looking for thread.
Death is inside the folding cots: it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses, in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out: it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets, and the beds go sailing toward a port where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral
Nothing but Death ~Pablo Neruda
_________________ crazy strong wind on the ride back had to mega pump the quads
Joined: Thu January 24, 2013 4:32 am Posts: 20850 Location: Surrounded by Wokes. Please send help.
Have a drink they're buying, Bottom of, bottle of denial, Big guy, big eye, watching me, Have to wonder what it sees, Progress, laced with, ramifications, Freedom's big plunge. Pull the innocent from a crowd, Raise the sticks then bring 'em down , If they fail to obey, If they fail to obey. For every tool they lend us, a loss of independence. I pledge to my grievance to the flag, Cause you don't give blood, then take it back again, We're deserving of much more. Progress, taste it, invest-it-all, Champagne breakfast for everyone. Break the innocent when they're proud, Raise the stakes, then bring 'em down, If they fail to obey, If they fail to obey. Pledge my grievance to the flag, Aw come on, don't give blood, then take it back again, We're all deserving something more. I want to breathe, part of the seen, I want to taste, everyone I see, I want to run, when I'm up high, I want to run to the sea, I only want life to be, I just want to be, I will feel alive as long as I am free.
Joined: Sat January 05, 2013 7:30 am Posts: 8199 Location: nothing
my lover's got humor she's the giggle at a funeral knows everybody's disapproval I should've worshiped her sooner
if the heavens ever did speak she's the last true mouthpiece every Sunday's getting more bleak fresh poison each week
if I'm a pagan of the good times my lover's the sunlight to keep the Goddess on my side she demands a sacrifice drain the whole sea get something shiny something meaty for the main course that's a fine looking high horse what you got in the stable? we've a lot of starving faithful that looks tasty that looks plenty this is hungry work
no masters or kings when the ritual begins there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin in the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene only then I am human only then I am clean
_________________ crazy strong wind on the ride back had to mega pump the quads
Joined: Wed January 02, 2013 6:02 am Posts: 9712 Location: Tristes Tropiques
Mickey wrote:
harmless wrote:
I've just come in here to say that all this "mentioning books I haven't heard of" crap is British poet-shaming.
British poetry is just J.H. Prynne, Martin Corless-Smith, and a bunch of farts.
Still true. Rotten little island
_________________
VinylGuy wrote:
its really tiresome to see these ¨good guys¨ talking about any political stuff in tv while also being kinda funny and hip and cool....its just...please enough of this shit.
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