/lit/ - Literature

So I just finished Un Saison En Enfer and my mind is full of fuck. Was this the ranting of an angry teenager or a genius mind tearing itself to pieces?

Who is your favorite poet, /lit/?

>le feelio when no qt3.14 rimbaud bf

Pfft, that Verlain shot me in the hand, Bad shot, Faggot. piss off. I hit to ethopia.

no...

>>3508436
>>3508454

Well, I'll be honest with you. This sonnet (named voyelles) was written by the French poet Arthur Rimbaud; he wrote it when he was just 17. In fact, he wrote, with 16, a poem even more astonishing: The Drunken Boat (Le Bateau Ivre).

I never liked much of modern poetry (my hero, for example, is Shakespeare), but Rimbaud is, for me, a special case.

Besides the fact that his work was produced when he was only a teenager, he lived one of the most wildest and bizarre lifes I've ever heard. I suggest you search this poet, who not only read his poems, but also a biography.

Pic related: it's him.

He wouldn't have said "no".

>>3167457

>People just read it at 16 to feel smarter than they are.

I wouldn't sell them short - teens can be pretty damn bright sometimes

This morning I woke up alone
Found a note by the phone
Saying maybe, maybe I'll be back some day
I wanted to look for you
You walked in I didn't know just what I should do
So I sat back down and had a beer and felt sorry for
Myself.

Let her cry...if the tears fall down like rain
Let her sing...if it eases all her pain
Let her go...let her walk right out on me
And if the sun comes up tomorrow
Let her be...let her be.

Get her to read to you in Italian. Read her what she wants to hear, Wuthering Heights or something like that.

Well done on getting to read to a qt Italian. I was discussing French poetry and drama with a Norwegian and a German the other week. It was wonderful but now they don't seem to want to spend time with me. It hurts.

What's the difference between poetry and lyrics? Can lyrics be poetry?

pic just because.

how has no one said rimbaud?

Is there such a thing like rateyourmusic.com but for books? You know, you rate books that you've read, get recommendations and shit.

But Yeats is my favourite.

It's revealed once more.
What? Eternity.
It's the sea run off
With the sun.

Sentinel soul,
Whisper your confession
Of the empty night
And the burning day.

From human approval,
From common urges
You must free yourself,
And make your own way.

For from you alone,
Satiny embers,
Duty breathes
Without anyone saying: finally!

There's no hope,
No enlightenment.
In the quest for knowledge,
Only pain is certain.

It's revealed once more.
What? Eternity.
It is the sea run off
With the sun.

"Eternity" - Arthur Rimbaud

I hope you have found what it is everyone on this planet doesn't seem to see but continues to be searching for.

ALL YOU MUTHAFUCKIN' FAGGOTS PUT YO HANDS UP YO
FOR THE MUTHAFUCKIN' KING OF /lit/ ARTHUR RIMBAUD
WITH MY RIM-JOB SONNET AND MY DRUNKEN BATEAU
I WAS SLICING ALEXANDRINES
IN HALF LIKE A SURGEON
AND GAVE IT UP AT NINETEEN
WHEN YOU WUZ STILL A VIRGIN
I SHOVED FOURTEEN FUCKING INCHES INTO VERLAINE'S BOWELS
AND I STILL COULD FIND THE TIME TO COLORIZE THE VOWELS
CAUSE YOU KNOW IT
DRUNKEN BO-AT
WUZ AHEAD OF ITS TIME
AND I ILLUMINATE IN PROSE AS PERFECT AS I RHYME
THEN I RUN AWAY TO ISLINGTON, GET SHOT IN THE HAND,
ABANDON ART AND PANSIES WHO WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND,
FIND SUN HAVE FUN RUN GUNS DOWN HERE IN DARKEST ABYSSINIA
ONCE MARRIED TO MY ABSINTHE LIKE AENEAS TO LAVINIA,
I STILL GOT TIME NOW FOR ONE MORE BRIDE
WHO WANTS A SEASON IN HELL
AND A REASON TO YELL
MY NAME OUT AS MY COCK GOES SO DEEP INSIDE
AS I'M FUCKING YOU
IN YOUR TROU VELU....
REMEMBER RIMBAUD'S THE MUTHAFUCKA WHO SAID "O" WAS BLUE

rimbaud was a handsome dude. i'm hetero and i would probably let him give me a handjob.

Rimbaud !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Must fuck

Le dormeur du val

C'est un trou de verdure où chante une rivière,
Accrochant follement aux herbes des haillons
D'argent ; où le soleil, de la montagne fière,
Luit : c'est un petit val qui mousse de rayons.

Un soldat jeune, bouche ouverte, tête nue,
Et la nuque baignant dans le frais cresson bleu,
Dort ; il est étendu dans l'herbe, sous la nue,
Pâle dans son lit vert où la lumière pleut.

Les pieds dans les glaïeuls, il dort. Souriant comme
Sourirait un enfant malade, il fait un somme :
Nature, berce-le chaudement : il a froid.

Les parfums ne font pas frissonner sa narine ;
Il dort dans le soleil, la main sur sa poitrine,
Tranquille. Il a deux trous rouges au côté droit.

-Arthur Rimbaud

tell me that isn't the face of a /b/tard...

>>1547281
;___;