/lit/ - Literature

UPON READING A COMMENT FROM A YOUNG MAN CONFUSED AS TO WHY IT ALWAYS SAYS TRANSLATED FROM 'THE' GERMAN

The German is one of
the most well read individuals
in the world.
For a long time he has been reciting
entire books to English people
so they can translate them.
He is overshadowed by The French
in some things,
lacks the energy of The Spanish
and The Italian, pehaps,
but he has his own peculiar
nobility.
I would like to hear more from The English,
personally,
though he seems to always be travelling
as you never find him at home.

>>19159966
This is not a haiku
This is not a fucking haiku
This is NOT a haiku.

posted this in another thread already but here it is again

>>19159977
reminds me of something i'd read in a dusty old european novel by T.H White or something, very dope.

>>19159985
based

>>19160120
i had a laugh at the last line. very good. very good.

>>19160142
lol thanks man, very much appreciated

Normally I come into these threads and post not entirely serious poems, or I write one off the cuff and post it straight away, normally a silly one. This is mine, actually too >>19159977 based on a comment I made in another thread that I thought had a funny idea behind it (and no one gave me a >you for it, which disappointed me very much).

This one in the image is not silly though, not on purpose at least. I never post serious things. I was very pleased for a couple of minutes after I wrote it, and then I thought, My God, that's emo as fuck. But still I love the title of it, and the rhyme of the title with the first stanza, gold/sold, and the half rhyme of soul/sold and their alliteration.

I'm in two minds about poems which have line breaks after just a word or two, consistently. Something about it seems very feminine to me. I don't know.

What makes a good sonnet?
How do I make up clever metaphors?
How do I write like John Donne?

I proudly present a parable for puzzlement and perplexitude predicated upon a profligate partiality to pretentious prolixity and patterned pronunciation. Previously, as I was petting my pretty pussycat, I perceived a putrid pungency. I promptly pinpointed the precise place where this pugnacious and penetrating perfume is produced. One pales at its permeation when pulling personal pelage from a plugged perspiration purgation pipe. I purposed to point out this perturbing peculiarity to my parents so they could procure a purifying prescription for my poor precious pudding, but upon propounding to press my proboscis into her pelt post the passing of a period of pensive paranoia, the pestiferous problem was propitiously prevailed over, presumably through prudent and proper preening practices. I have since postulated that the principle of palpable poor presentation was a parole of perianal protein. Of the possible prospects of proclaiming a parallel to this predicament in the process of pleasant propinquity with pets, I propose the poverty of perspicacity to profess.

judge not our swollen glance and hollow jaws
just to hide our dreaming eye
that winter wind will close forever; we darers of grace the bitter wind will cripple

>>19160273
trash robot gobbledeygook.

my poetry's too good for this shithole. here is a consolatory 'pillar

>>19160262
>What makes a good sonnet?

Like all poetry, balance of sound control and imagery control and conception.

>How do I make up clever metaphors?

Sit in meditation and reading.

>How do I write like John Donne?

Read Donne a lot and try to imitate him over and over again.

>>19159977
Pretty cute, I have nothing really negative to say other than I wouldn’t Really seek it out as its own poem but I also would not be displeased if I saw it in a prose book.

>>19160192
Be more concrete, you’re not creating an illusion meaning you’re not submerging me into another world. I don’t see your internal world.

FANTASM OF CRYSTAL

Fantasm of crystal illume
The spectral delusions of my
Paradisal mental gloom,

I sing not of the earthen eye
Made resplendent by humanly
Acquired riches lacking I,

Songs from an ancient wrinkled sea
Engraved with sigil-vowels wrought
Writhing through the essence of me,

These songs I sing of sun and naught
But one and not the many grey
Beguiled illusions born from thought,

Shimmers molten forms casting stray
Unknown and eldritch living lights
Into an infinite array,

And with each light I see I write
Aleph in the soul of my soul
Adorned with omegas of night,

Look upon this the inmost scroll
Where writ are the words of idols
Bound eternally to extol,

I.

IN PASTICHE OF THE PROSE RHYTHM OF DEMOSTHENES

in my thirtieth winter of life I saw dreams, though I had my spear and my shield, I was barren. I saw the cities built by the hands of the sons of our sons, their towers were titans of stone, writhing pythons of glass and ebon armored roads, yet their cities were black and desolate of life.

i strike, strike, strike at the glass and call out the men, spear in hand I strike and lose grip of shield and spear, empty citadels Sabring through lonely skies, what is pierced by their hands? who holds power over the spiraling pillars, the spears of the ghost-lands? strike, strike, strikes the sky, empty of men and of sun.

dimly first a light descends, dimly a great light leaps from abyssal darkness, pierced as with spear in hand, lightning lighteth and thundereth across the riven sky, rived again, bursting with boundless lights, each colored crimson, sapphire, emerald, amber, boundless, lurid come the faces of the ancients.

lightning like spears descends and striketh the towers, life reborn, life renewed and the children of men, their faces painted in ancient colors and shapes, they roar and shouts of joy thunder throughout the air, like a spear, the thunder striketh me, shouts resound, from dream I awake in my thirtieth winter.

The Sun
Me holding my pocket fan
Feeling them droplets from the dam
The field trip, so fun

>>19159966
>fix my garbage.
>My creativity has suffered recently
>A woman I have never met is ruining my life
>God I Hate instagram
>Will rate next post.

Title: True?

Romance, no chance
Just bantz

Loose pussy and pants

Please, on your knees
Thanks

Does anyone on this board except for Cumgenius actually know what a poem is?

>>19160937
>Me holding my pocket fan
>Feeling them droplets from the dam
I liked how these lines flowed into one another.
That's all I liked really.
>>19160828
Filtered as usual. But I have no complaints when it comes to form. I would like to see you do something short, simple and fun.
>>19160262
Questions with no answers, rhyme or point to be found.
>>19159985
Best.
>>19160120
Prose
>>19159977
The German this
The German that

I don't like pic related very much any more, but the editor thought it was good enough to print.

>>19161219
poetry is the only art not consumed by its 'fans.' it is an art divided between snobs, who refuse to accept any but classical poetry, and other snobs, who ape contemporary poets with none of the requisite skill or understanding. then there's everybody else, who look upon poems like an ornament, something pretty to post on their blogs without ever really reading or understanding what they're posting.

>>19161252
I think a problem for me is I do not like to read comical writing, I like my comedy dumb and visceral, so that only really leaves really light summerish stuff. Though I sometimes write rap because I find the stuff a fun challenge, how’s this?

flashes, shakti dances, clocks, sea, ashes,
ghostly maimed masses tamed by flame lashes,
tied branches, shame crashes, fame palaces,
pied holy pride lowly died lonely bride wholly
bridled, idle or Michael, idol-whore you’re trifle,
come drum I cry from Bible recital,
by el’s primal spells, my spinal hell-shells swell,
died, cyclical tides rise, dwells sickle-dyed cells,
knells cycle, bells spiral, welters living waters,
alters type and category, giving striped glory,
Glass-God’s Altar , past true man’s horror-euphoria,
trans-phantasmagoria.

>>19161219
He knows what a poem is?

>>19161321
poetry is so easy I write it with my hands in different configurations

>>19161383
yes he's a dumbass but he's one of the 1% of people that knows that poetry is more than just lazy prose with le wacky line breaks

>>19161353
The rhyme is there. Would not hire you as a ghost writer though. What is this the 19th century. This is a comtempary verse

Check
Came and went
It was spent

But

Lit like paris
Ice go static
It's a Patak

Philipe, Bojour
I need more
Bandz

At the sands
Bet

Get
Pussy wet

Like the water
In this ice

50K
On dice

>>19161321
>who refuse to accept any but classical poetry
I hate classical poetry frankly. As far as I'm concerned, OLD THING = BAD

>>19161672
>OLD THING = BAD
When it comes to poetry.

>>19161212
>My creativity has suffered recently
Channeled my suffering and created this an hour ago. Its too vague though. Its not really about the girl that's been driving me crazy and appearing in my dreams almost constantly. HELP ME.

L.A
Girl on the gram
Do you strip, do you cam

For cash
For fun

What have you done

For fame
For lust

For clout
I trust


>I need a better ending. It doesn't flow as well as I would like to with the rest of the poem.
>crate one for me please.

>>19160342
Yeah this is it

for one night
spite, spite, spite, spite
forget grackles
and jerk

‘member firecrackers
it’s all ash after
no one can stoke
a dead thing

>>19161778
Ty, I wrote it probably over ten years ago

>>19159966
Title: The tattoos are whos?

No clothes
But a rose

On your chest
So

A basic bitch
At best

>>19159985
It really isn't. Haikus are drawn from nature. Maybe you know that.

>>19161219
i open these threads just to cringe; sometimes i'll post criticism but there's no point - the people posting here don't want criticism they just post it to the 4chan void and discard anything but praise, they will never improve because they don't pay enough attention to know that (a) there is a right way to do these things, and (b) they're doing it wrong.

>>19161672
I’m on the opposite end really, I have not liked any contemporary style poem nor poet I’ve come across at any point, and not due to lack of exposure, I’ve tried going to the local bookstore and reading one book of contemporary verse a day, I found it only instilled a hatred for the stuff in me. What do you see in it?

>>19159966
>>19159985
>>19159985
>OP is a fag
>two nukes were not enough so
>i write poetry

>>19159966
Lust and disgust
Such a lovely contrast
Like fireflies in the dusk
By a heavy hand crashed

>>19162686
what about eliot? where does your interest stop? modernism?

>>19162788
Nah, I don’t even really care for Elliot nor pound nor Hilda or the like. And not for lack of trying I’ve read nearly all of pounds poetry, I’ve read large chunks (books worth) of Elliot and hilda and so forth. Largely my interest dies after the decadent art movements die, so I like dudes like Clark Ashton smith, George sterling, Donald Sidney fryer and so on. I love the ancients, I love Elizabethan and Jacobean lit, I love the romantics and symbolists/decadents, but it feels like writing loses almost all track of sound, vivid imagery and so forth right around the 50s. Even someone like nabokov I would give only his best works 4/5 and I’ve read his more obscure stuff like ebb and flow, it is not genuinely not good. I guess part of it is, I don’t have any existential crisis/dread and I am very religious/mysticism minded, I also like a lot of technical perfection. Believe it or not while I dislike Joyce’s prose, I’m fond of his poetry, but his poetry is very traditional. I absolutely do not like John ashberry, Auden, Lawrence nor any writer who has a fixation on irony, humor, sexuality or contemporary cultural rot.

Of the Ezra pound poems this one I’d probably my favorite or second favorite and it’s just him aping Bertran de born.

LOQUITUR: En Betrans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up of strife.
Eccovi!
Judge ye!
Have I dug him up again?

The scene is his castle, Altaforte. “Papiols” is his jongleur. “The
Leopard,” the device of Richard (Cœur de Lion).

I

Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace.
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let’s to music!
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.

II

In hot summer have I great rejoicing
When the tempests kill the earth’s foul peace,
And the light’nings from black heav’n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven skies God’s swords clash.

III

Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
Better one hour’s stour than a year’s peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there’s no wine like the blood’s crimson!

IV

And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And prys wide my mouth with fast music
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might ’gainst all darkness opposing.

Cont

>>19162858
V

The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth’s won and the swords clash
For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.

VI

Papiols, Papiols, to the music!
There’s no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle’s rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges ’gainst “The Leopard’s” rush clash.
May God damn for ever all who cry “Peace!”

VII

And let the music of the swords make them crimson
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
Hell blot black for always the thought “Peace”!

looked at the sky
seen
gods eye staring at me

wind that whistles
at night
for a fragile heart
in a world falling
apart

i wait for you
in the cold
in the dark

and im watching the stars
fade away
trying to
find a reason to care

Some more Dante. Inferno, Canto 5, lines 25-51. A translations is easier to judge — i.e. how closely does it follow the original? Here's a link to the Italian, with translations by Mandelbaum & Longfellow:

https://digitaldante.columbia.edu/dante/divine-comedy/inferno/inferno-5/

broken machines
roots and rocks pile upon skeletons
ancient fires
scar the sky
dead stars above crumbling cities
mens eyes, now shattered windows
the stars collapse
we fall into forever

>>19162628
Nah, some ppl listen. I'm 50 so I'm mature enough to know I'm wrong oh, about 90% of the time

>>19161622
That just means that you agree with his definition of a poem

>>19163733
Not bad

sometimes
It stops
doesn't rhyme
truth drops
only slime
you've got
'no divine'
refuse
joining lies:
on
common cause.

but the hills are at their place
and the rivers run
we are sitting in the maze
most of us are dumb
so go days, and so go years
prisoners of doubt
while..
poetry. poetry. fashioning images
of some better threads
and some better..
without greed make dance
perhaps that is also a prayer.

>>19159966
In search of Death
I found but Life
His own hands held
That dreadful Scythe

>>19164724
i don't understand it but i like it

You left my sight and went inside
my mind, an image of a rose.
You left my eyes and went beside
my heart, my soul, it's you they chose.

I can avert my eyes from part
that I don't want to know or see.
Yet I can not avert my heart
from what I love, from loving thee.

There is no joy if you're not here
by minute, hour, even year.
In growing night, in dying fear,

we stand together, lips are near
and when the final hour's near,
by rain is washed away each tear.

>>19162686
>What do you see in it?
The future I guess.
Something that is engaging, smart and open to the masses. Something you can take at face value and still get something out of it. But with some deeper meaning that can be found through a deeper reading of the text. So there is something for everyone. Something that tackles comtempary subjects in an insightful way. Something that uses comtempary language so its current. I don't think it exists yet though. I try to push the buck personally. But I'm just some anonymous asshole on a message board. Other people here write some good stuff on occasion that I quite enjoy. So I have hope for the future.
>>19159985
I thought this was quite good for example.

wearing girls panties
laying, comfortably numb
i might wank later

It smells like burnt toast
Oh god, I'm having a stroke
Ohh ohh eugh uhg ouegh

>>19159966
ordered at such a great cost
variety burrito
forsake the salads all lost
all i taste is cilantro

>>19165493
one too many butterbars

>>19165216
Honestly I completely disagree on the nature of contemporary poetry.


>The future I guess.

For example I don’t see in the poetry modernism onwards anything new, I see poetry dying from decadence, it’s the same pattern that orators saw from the movement from attic to asiatic aesthetics in Greece, of simplistic to complex to masturbatory to the point it has no pleasure for anyone.

>Something that is engaging,

I don’t believe most contemporary poetry is engaging because it’s written for the appreciation of other poetry writers rather than like a finely crafted product.

>smart and open to the masses.

I think it fails on both regards, openness because the average person feels that poetry is either a purely emotional question or so smarmy and odd looking that they cannot relate, and so much of it by destroying valuation of musicality and vividness of imagery 100% cuts off all appeal to the outsider.

>Something you can take at face value and still get something out of it.

The vast majority of contemporary poetry isn’t face value but requires context of the writer, whether their sexuality, their culture, their literary interests, something they’re reacting to or interacting with, it is not face value at all in most cases.

>But with some deeper meaning that can be found through a deeper reading of the text.

Much of the contemporary poetry is emotion fests with no depth, the most shallow analysis of capital or really low quality literary analysis though.

>So there is something for everyone.

The actual form of writing which has energy, excitement and openness is rap not contemporary poetry and that’s because they focus 100% on musicality. This is also why meter persists in rap, if you study rap you’ll find many of them adhere to strict anapestic, dactylic and trochaic meters, this is to me proof that their sole concern is mass appeal and that fixation on sound quality in the older style genuinely has power, because rap has no allegiance to classicism or what have you, they have no reason to obey meter strictly if not for the power they see in it.

>Something that tackles comtempary subjects in an insightful way.

I find it genuinely inferior to philosophy or even lowly YouTube videos on this end.

>Something that uses comtempary language so its current.

I don’t see why you would even want normal contemporary language, and not elevated language, elevated language is pretty and even not just elevated but specific registers have value, I genuinely believe there’s much more genuine poetry of value in music production, whether folk songs or pop than people setting out to do contemporary style verse.

>I don't think it exists yet though.

Eh your ideal doesn’t sound that extreme no reason to be so down on yourself.

>Other people here write some good stuff on occasion that I quite enjoy. So I have hope for the future.

I didn’t much care for the not-a-haiku poem honestly.

>>19161672
>>19161699
Is it just one retard that incessantly posts trash like this or is it a burgeoning 'style' for you people that post in these threads.

>>19159985
Did Nael write this?

I want to legit make $1, 000, 000 dollars somehow

I've never been big on poetry but recently I've found that reading stuff that seems kind of cryptic or like it could be a prophecy very inspiring to give me ideas for my painting and other art projects. Only example I can think of right now is the lyrics to the chauffeur by duran duran for what kind of thing I'm talking about. I recently read the divine comedy, it also gave me a similar feeling although the language was a little bit too difficult since I am esl. Can you recommend me any good ones? Thanks in advance.

>>19165911
William Blake’s prophetic works especially Milton and Jerusalem, all of paradise Lost. There’s many more but these are universally inspiring and titanically mystical.

>>19165911
Also the Bible especially Zechariah, Isaiah, Ezekiel, John and revelation in your own language are obviously Titans, Arthur brown and David Bowie’s music are both good options. Lot of prog rock and folk similar will go for more mystical lyrics, check out king crimson and current 93.

>>19165960
>>19165990
Thanks, I appreciate it.
Will write these down and check them out

>>19164770
based actual poet

>>19165651
>Honestly I completely disagree on the nature of contemporary poetry.
Yea. I would separate what comtempary poetry is from from what it could be.
>>19165651
>The actual form of writing which has energy, excitement and openness is rap not contemporary poetry and that’s because they focus 100% on musicality. This is also why meter persists in rap, if you study rap you’ll find many of them adhere to strict anapestic, dactylic and trochaic meters

What if you took this energy and cut the music out of it. Made it something read instead of something heard. That would be interesting. Would it work?

>I don’t see why you would even want normal contemporary language

It gives the work a time and a place. Its also easier to understand. Anything else feels Larpy frankly.
>>19165694
This one >>19165694 is not even a poem.
I wrote it and I would not call it a poem.
Its an example of modern song writing.

Of a dying ox
Or maybe it was a sheep
A long sip of an unending bowl
That they could see from anywhere
A fire that was told it was wild and explosive
That was the marvel
That was the goal
As unreachable as sadness
And untouchable as happiness
It was begged for and cried over
Pitiless tears, they ran through dirty hands
The same two hands shared by all
Though some a little
Till waters this high came and swept them in the undertow
A man cries a lot at once and he dries up
Some weep endlessly in this room they made
Built with the same two hands many used
And they bite each other's arms
And they were beaten and ravaged
And by the time it was all understood they were swept away
By waters this high
Compassion could be understood if it were not for
Oxen or sheep or tears or hands
What's this language
There's binary and texture and knowledge and all of this filth we get
A night now lives less than the god that is raised
And razed would it be if otherwise
Rays of hope could glitter if not for the bitter bread that was eaten to garnish hunger
It was never ended for you or any of these people
How regretful
And so the bitterness grew
In a regretful manner, sir
In a regretful way, sir
In a regretful heart, sir
In a torn sea
With waters that came up this high
Nobody knew where it came from
Years had passed and nobody noticed
A pauper could have came in by the door
And nobody would have known
Nobody would have known better what to do if that happened
And now they only weep bitterly over and over again
But never once did they dry up
And all they had left were two hands

>>19166087
Thanks mate. First time posting in a poetry thread. Glad you liked it.

>>19163706
Mbaum's meh, but serviceable prose rendering; Longfellow deviates, but is a better technical rendering For English readers/writers

>>19161212
>Title: True?

>Romance, no chance, just bantz

>Loose pussy, and pants

>Please, on your knees, thanks

bump

now i leave to go to work
a chore i wish that i could shirk
to stay at home and read all day
and live another's life away

Speak softly and we may still find common ground

You can walk this Earth unwetted soil but for rain
You can spit weak shoots, neither wild nor barren
You can reek of decay though you cry out in vain:
I live I live, and echo it on the walls, the marsh streets and bricks
Hardly and barely, take root
Ashes, fall on and on,
Tentatively, you can sleep the night fallow
And wake or not, to a feast of husks
Lay your tears down shallow
And your fears down weary
Lay your arms at the door, and cry out for the end
She might look on and on untempted
She might shed a glance
You can call for her
And may it be, for the fortunate, his final cry

>>19159966
FUck.
Shit shit fuck.
Shit fuck shit.

Piss.