Poetry Megathread: so much depends upon a little forums thread glazed with

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CestMoi: Sep 16, 2011

I don't really have much of a reason it's just uninteresting and bad. It sounds bad.

# ? Feb 1, 2016 10:36

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# ? Apr 25, 2024 01:08

BravestOfTheLamps: Oct 12, 2012; by FactsAreUseless; Lipstick Apathy

Was browsing Philip Larkin's Complete Poems in the library. For some reason his oeuvre just seems like an extension of the first stanza of Eugene Onegin. I like his irreverence.

# ? Feb 1, 2016 16:24

Catfishenfuego: Oct 21, 2008; Moist With Indignation

BravestOfTheLamps posted:

Pandering chicken-scratches if you ask me, and I love Scotland.

Apparently not enough to know that Orcadians are generally not considered Scots by either themselves or their southern neighbours.

# ? Feb 1, 2016 21:35

BravestOfTheLamps: Oct 12, 2012; by FactsAreUseless; Lipstick Apathy

Orkney isn't part of Scotland?!

e: but seriously ok

BravestOfTheLamps fucked around with this message at 05:40 on Feb 2, 2016

# ? Feb 2, 2016 05:37

iccyelf: Jan 10, 2016

CestMoi posted:

I don't really have much of a reason it's just uninteresting and bad. It sounds bad.

We have bi-polar tastes. Have you read any Peter Orlovsky? I think Roggenbuck straight up jacked his poo poo. He's much, much better but not as well known. You might like it.

# ? Feb 2, 2016 15:11

CestMoi: Sep 16, 2011

Just read Frist Poem and Snail Poem and they are nice + a lot nicer than Roggenbuck. I don't really see the similarity either other than not spelling things right, Roggenbuck always seems like a really stupid Whitman to me, like he's tried to nick the Whitmany, positive, SOng of Myself way of writing without knowing how to write something that sounds good.

# ? Feb 2, 2016 21:43

iccyelf: Jan 10, 2016

You might be right. I'm not overly familiar with Whitman. I was more thinking about how Orlovsky enjambs disparate lines in order to by-pass the intellect and get at an emotion. It seems like Roggenbuck does the same poo poo but in the vernacular of social media.

# ? Feb 3, 2016 02:03

CestMoi: Sep 16, 2011

Today I bought History by David O'Hanlon which is a really recently published collection of poems by someone I have never heard of before and they're pretty nice! A lot of them are heavily inspired by Greek myths I cba to type one of the long ones here's a short one called Sisyphus

And the boulder rolls back
down the hill. I almost laugh.
I've wept enough. This is my joy:
to see the globe, my entire world,

fall away and - ha! - crash,
then to descend in its wake,
relishing the downhill run,
arms thrown out, a child again.

# ? Feb 15, 2016 23:29

doug fuckey: Jun 7, 2007; hella greenbacks

Barring the chance that your poem happens to be unimaginably good, no one should probably ever mention 1. The ocean 2. The universe. First mention of waves and I'm done before the rest of th truck of images pass by. That and making up cute new compound words is very hell and those poems do that too.

# ? Feb 16, 2016 04:06

A human heart: Oct 10, 2012

Zesty Mordant posted:

Barring the chance that your poem happens to be unimaginably good, no one should probably ever mention 1. The ocean 2. The universe. First mention of waves and I'm done before the rest of th truck of images pass by. That and making up cute new compound words is very hell and those poems do that too.

I was reading this article about Gerald Murnane recently and apparently when he was teaching creative writing he would always tell people to not write about the ocean, because he considers it an 'enemy'.

# ? Feb 16, 2016 09:22

CestMoi: Sep 16, 2011

Zesty Mordant posted:

Barring the chance that your poem happens to be unimaginably good, no one should probably ever mention 1. The ocean 2. The universe. First mention of waves and I'm done before the rest of th truck of images pass by. That and making up cute new compound words is very hell and those poems do that too.

But it's so big and mysterious

# ? Feb 16, 2016 14:19

iccyelf: Jan 10, 2016

A human heart posted:

I was reading this article about Gerald Murnane recently and apparently when he was teaching creative writing he would always tell people to not write about the ocean, because he considers it an 'enemy'.

Haven't heard that name in awhile. Are you Australian?

Best Poem Ever.

The --
Ocean.

# ? Feb 16, 2016 14:41

A human heart: Oct 10, 2012

NZ actually, but I know about him because he's had stuff published by Dalkey Archive.

# ? Feb 16, 2016 23:24

iccyelf: Jan 10, 2016

A human heart posted:

NZ actually, but I know about him because he's had stuff published by Dalkey Archive.

Oh cool. I didn't know that. A lot of Australian critics want to put him on the shelf with Bolano. I'll have to check Dalkey.

# ? Feb 17, 2016 06:06

iccyelf: Jan 10, 2016

double post.

# ? Feb 17, 2016 06:06

CestMoi: Sep 16, 2011

Is Shelley translating Oedipus Tyrannos as Swellfoot the Tyrant the ugliest poetical decision ever made??? Discuss.

# ? Mar 16, 2016 19:44

s7indicate3: Aug 22, 2012; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Any love for my boy E.E. Cummings?? His unique poetic stylings inspired a generation of American poets. Granted, his stuff might appear inaccessible to someone unfamiliar with his oeuvre but I really urge goons to give it a good shot. As long as you keep yourself from trying to 'master' his poems you'll find that they are really quite beautiful. I'll post one I particularly like. Something about it brought me back to the innocence of my childhood.

EDIT: The formatting gets messed on the forum so I'll just link it here http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176657

s7indicate3 fucked around with this message at 03:59 on Mar 17, 2016

# ? Mar 17, 2016 03:24

Rabbit Hill: Mar 11, 2009; God knows what lives in me in place of me.; Grimey Drawer

CestMoi posted:

Is Shelley translating Oedipus Tyrannos as Swellfoot the Tyrant the ugliest poetical decision ever made??? Discuss.

Shelley deserved a solid asskicking.. "I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!" I mean, how could he even stand to face himself in the mirror each day knowing he had written those lines, wirh those exclamation marks? Truly shameful.

# ? Mar 17, 2016 05:02

icantfindaname: Jul 1, 2008

edgar allen poe is pretty cool i guess? is that better than the two roads diverged guy or am i going to be shipped off to the tasteless slob camp?

# ? Mar 17, 2016 06:53

Mr. Squishy: Mar 22, 2010; A country where you can always get richer.

Yes, but only for thinking he's pretty cool, not because Frost is any good.

# ? Mar 17, 2016 11:09

CestMoi: Sep 16, 2011

icantfindaname posted:

is that better than the two roads diverged guy or am i going to be shipped off to the tasteless slob camp?

Yes, and yes.

# ? Mar 17, 2016 15:10

CestMoi: Sep 16, 2011

Rabbit Hill posted:

Shelley deserved a solid asskicking.. "I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!" I mean, how could he even stand to face himself in the mirror each day knowing he had written those lines, wirh those exclamation marks? Truly shameful.

I can't bring myself to hate a line like that it's too fun.

# ? Mar 17, 2016 15:11

Arcsech: Aug 5, 2008

s7indicate3 posted:

Any love for my boy E.E. Cummings?? His unique poetic stylings inspired a generation of American poets. Granted, his stuff might appear inaccessible to someone unfamiliar with his oeuvre but I really urge goons to give it a good shot. As long as you keep yourself from trying to 'master' his poems you'll find that they are really quite beautiful. I'll post one I particularly like. Something about it brought me back to the innocence of my childhood.

EDIT: The formatting gets messed on the forum so I'll just link it here http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176657

ee cummings owns. He's definitely my favorite poet, both for his more abstract works:

And his more traditional (if still a little oddball) poetry:

ee cummings posted:

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn�t a lie,
Life would be delight,�
But things couldn�t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn�t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I�d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn�t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,�
Yet they�d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn�t be we.

# ? Mar 17, 2016 23:04

s7indicate3: Aug 22, 2012; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Arcsech posted:

ee cummings owns. He's definitely my favorite poet

I love that visual poem. I see it as a leaf as it rocks back and forth before inevitably hitting the ground. All moments of its decent in suspension and immortalized through language. Also, trademark word-in-word play with "l(oneliness)". He kind of does it in this poem with "w(here)". Its a great poem and, despite its length and difficulty, I challenge people to give it a try.

Re-reading the poem I noticed what maybe is some interplay with "l(a" and "my father moved through dooms of love" with the line " My father moved through theys of we, / singing each new leaf out of each tree"

quote:

my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if (so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which
floats the first who, his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father�s fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.

Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer�s keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly (over utmost him
so hugely) stood my father�s dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn�t creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.

Scorning the Pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend
less humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is

proudly and (by octobering flame
beckoned) as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he�d laugh and build a world with snow.

My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine, passion willed,
freedom a drug that�s bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear, to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am

though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit, all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth
�i say though hate were why men breathe�
because my Father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all

EDIT: Dropped more knowledge

s7indicate3 fucked around with this message at 21:03 on Mar 19, 2016

# ? Mar 19, 2016 20:40

oneforthevine: Sep 25, 2015

Rabbit Hill posted:

Shelley deserved a solid asskicking.. "I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!" I mean, how could he even stand to face himself in the mirror each day knowing he had written those lines, wirh those exclamation marks? Truly shameful.

Shelley is probably the best of the Romantic poets, though, is the thing. Yeah, that line by itself is kind of "we get it," and I had a great Romantic lit professor who thought it was the worst thing Shelley ever wrote, but I think it comes from a fundamental misinterpretation of "Ode to the West Wind" and Shelley's stuff as a whole.

So the wind in Shelley is an image of philosophical necessity, going as far back as Queen Mab, which kind of establishes his whole poetic language. And this image pops up again and again in his mid-period poetry: it's in Prometheus Unbound, reconfigured as Demogorgon's law, and it's in "The Masque of Anarchy" as the voice of the Earth. And both of those poems could, I guess, be interpreted with the wind as a positive force, though it's definitely still a violent one.

But then suddenly in "West Wind" the wind's actually kind of a huge jerk, right? Literally every other bit of nature cowers before it, and it drives literal "pestilence-stricken multitudes" out of its sight like dead leaves. So I think there's this really fascinating thing going on where Shelley still believes in necessity as a controlling force driving the universe, even if he's gotten really disillusioned with it in the aftermath of the Peterloo Massacre.

So as to that specific line, he's begging necessity to start giving a poo poo about human needs - "Be thou me!" is a literal call for necessity to emulate social radical Percy Bysshe Shelley, who "falls upon the thorns of life" and "bleeds." So it's not so much "poor, pitiful me" as it is "get on my level."

Shelley's a crazy good writer. If all you know are the lyrics, you're missing out on his coolest stuff.

# ? Apr 10, 2016 10:01

A human heart: Oct 10, 2012

I'm reading this little small press book of poems by cool Italian guy Adriano Spatola that I found ages ago for like 2 dollars and he has some cool imagery, for example

quote:

Majakovskiiiiiiij

(exordium)
this extreme dissolution systematically carried
to the limts of violence and up to the land of fire
up to the stagnant agitation in the rendering of rhythm
to the catastrophes of organisms in casual circumstances
inside the phagocytic cities in bodies encrusted with salt
under a bruised moon rolling across the pool table

(narratio)
with some enthusiasm but already flexible enough to confirm
everything to confirm her who loves insistently
that vegetates ramified in the pneumatic void of her story
the tactile prognosis the exceptional stupefying clarity
the domestic plague the fever expanding in the universe
with some enthusiasm but always flexible enough to confirm
everything to confirm her who loves insistently

(partitio)
every single word is now a tempest of gestures
a reflex of her rebellions or the pleasing shadows
of the tree that put in motion frees itself of beetles
the tough web-footed the woody stimulus excited in the instruments
to open to emphasize in certain moments of the day
at the backs of animals hunted in the exploded spectacle
of hunted animals that slip into the material

(probatio)
a reflex of her rebellion the pleasing shadow
that vegetates ramified in the pneumatic void of her story
the stagnant agitation in the rendering of rhythm
that vegetates in the pneumatic void of her story
with some enthusiasm but always flexible enough to confirm
with the tough web-footed the woody stimulus excites in the instruments

(repetitio)
digital memories still lacking in the composition
the marine assumption the partial gardens the liquid impulses
the catastrophes of organisms suspended in the universe
the castrated horses that waste time in deep caverns
under a bruised moon that rolls across the pool table
at the backs of animals hunted in the exploded spectacle
of hunted animals that slip into the material

(peroratio)
every single word has been a tempest of gestures
the tree put in motion has stripped itself of leaves
the leaf put in motion has stripped itself of fingers
the finger put in motion has stripped itself of horses
the horse put in motion has stripped itself of fingernails
ah the tactile prognosis ah the domestic plague
with some enthusiasm but everything variable enough to confirm
everything to confirm her who loves insistently

# ? Apr 20, 2016 11:17

DoctorG0nzo: May 28, 2014

Shelley is great specifically because he's a babydick weirdo honestly

I really have a fondness for Byron though, "I literally cannot stop loving beautiful women and it's making me depressed"

# ? Apr 20, 2016 17:30

Bandiet: Dec 31, 2015

Hey.

Anybody read Margaret Atwood's poetry? I just finished The Handmaid's Tale and enjoyed it, so now I'm curious to read her poetry, although I don't know what it's like.

# ? Jun 10, 2016 05:02

FactsAreUseless: Feb 16, 2011

Bandiet posted:

Anybody read Margaret Atwood's poetry? I just finished The Handmaid's Tale and enjoyed it, so now I'm curious to read her poetry, although I don't know what it's like.

She's a decent poet but it's not as good as her prose. I do really love one of her poems, Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing. If you get a chance, though, check out her microfiction collection Good Bones. It's not poetry, but it has some very short pieces with elements of poetry.

quote:

The world is full of women
who�d tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
and a day job.
Right. And minimum wage,
and varicose veins, just standing
in one place for eight hours
behind a glass counter
bundled up to the neck, instead of
naked as a meat sandwich.
Selling gloves, or something.
Instead of what I do sell.
You have to have talent
to peddle a thing so nebulous
and without material form.
Exploited, they�d say. Yes, any way
you cut it, but I�ve a choice
of how, and I�ll take the money.

I do give value.
Like preachers, I sell vision,
like perfume ads, desire
or its facsimile. Like jokes
or war, it�s all in the timing.
I sell men back their worse suspicions:
that everything�s for sale,
and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see
a chain-saw murder just before it happens,
when thigh, rear end, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple
are still connected.
Such hatred leaps in them,
my beery worshippers! That, or a bleary
hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads
and upturned eyes, imploring
but ready to snap at my ankles,
I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge
to step on ants. I keep the beat,
and dance for them because
they can�t. The music smells like foxes,
crisp as heated metal
searing the nostrils
or humid as August, hazy and languorous
as a looted city the day after,
when all the rape�s been done
already, and the killing,
and the survivors wander around
looking for garbage
to eat, and there�s only a bleak exhaustion.
Speaking of which, it�s the smiling
tires me out the most.
This, and the pretence
that I can�t hear them.
And I can�t, because I�m after all
a foreigner to them.
The speech here is all warty gutturals,
obvious as a slab of ham,
but I come from the province of the gods
where meanings are lilting and oblique.
I don�t let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I�ll whisper:
My mother was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.
That�s what we tell all the husbands.
There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around.

Not that anyone here
but you would understand.
The rest of them would like to watch me
and feel nothing. Reduce me to components
as in a clock factory or abattoir.
Crush out the mystery.
Wall me up alive
in my own body.
They�d like to see through me,
but nothing is more opaque
than absolute transparency.
Look--my feet don�t hit the marble!
Like breath or a balloon, I�m rising,
I hover six inches in the air
in my blazing swan-egg of light.
You think I�m not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you�ll burn.

# ? Jun 10, 2016 14:28

s7indicate3: Aug 22, 2012; THUNDERDOME LOSER

Bandiet posted:

Hey.

Anybody read Margaret Atwood's poetry? I just finished The Handmaid's Tale and enjoyed it, so now I'm curious to read her poetry, although I don't know what it's like.

Atwood's poetry is all similar in nature. Usually she takes a feminist angle on patriarchal mythology to dimensionalize female figures in mythology. My favourite in that genre is : http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/detail/32778

That being said, as a Canadian literature student I have had to read a lot of Atwood and can report that the poem that mostly gets taught is "Tricks With Mirrors", which for whatever reason lacks a poetry foundation page. So here it is

quote:

Tricks with Mirrors

i

It's no coincidence
this is a used
furniture warehouse.

I enter with you
and become a mirror.

Mirrors
are the perfect lovers,

that's it, carry me up the stairs
by the edges, don't drop me,

that would be back luck,
throw me on the bed

reflecting side up,
fall into me,

it will be your own
mouth you hit, firm and glassy,

your own eyes you find you
are up against closed closed

ii

There is more to a mirror
than you looking at

your full-length body
flawless but reversed,

there is more than this dead blue
oblong eye turned outwards to you.

Think about the frame.
The frame is carved, it is important,

it exists, it does not reflect you,
it does not recede and recede, it has limits

and reflections of its own.
There's a nail in the back

to hang it with; there are several nails,
think about the nails,

pay attention to the nail
marks in the wood,

they are important too.

iii

Don't assume it is passive
or easy, this clarity

with which I give you yourself.
Consider what restraint it

takes: breath withheld, no anger
or joy disturbing the surface

of the ice.
You are suspended in me

beautiful and frozen, I
preserve you, in me you are safe.

It is not a trick either,
it is a craft:

mirrors are crafty.

iv

I wanted to stop this,
this life flattened against the wall,

mute and devoid of colour,
built of pure light,

this life of vision only, split
and remote, a lucid impasse.

I confess: this is not a mirror,
it is a door

I am trapped behind.
I wanted you to see me here,

say the releasing word, whatever
that may be, open the wall.

Instead you stand in front of me
combing your hair.

v

You don't like these metaphors.
All right:

Perhaps I am not a mirror.
Perhaps I am a pool.

Think about pools.

# ? Jun 14, 2016 14:56

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# ? Apr 25, 2024 01:08

thehoodie: Feb 8, 2011; "Eat something made with love and joy - and be forgiven"

Anyone have any experience with Ugly Ducking Presse Books? They are having a 40% off sale on books from June 18 - 25 and I dunno what's good. Apart from the translation of Yevgeny Baratynsky, who is a rad Russian poet from the 1800s. Any other recs?

# ? Jun 15, 2016 21:23

The Something Awful Forums > The Finer Arts > The Book Barn > Poetry Megathread: so much depends upon a little forums thread glazed with

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