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/lit/ - Literature

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12941383 No.12941383 [Reply] [Original]

Does anyone have good poems about happy emotions like peace, calmness and joy?

I find many such poems are trite and not very genuine.
I guess this is because sadly real inner peace is very rare.
It's like it's much easier to do the Screwtape Letters than the opposite or Songs of Experience over Songs of Innocence.

>> No.12941455

>>12941383
Try Chinese or Japanese poetry, specially haiku. You could start with Issa or Buson.

>> No.12941479

>>12941455
I get what you mean about oriental poetry and I can look into this but translated poetry is kind of poop.

>> No.12941513

>>12941479
Oh, do not be childish. We all know that translated poetry its not ideal, but it's far from poop. In translations what we usually loose are the rhythms, prevalent in the melopeiaic poetry, but the ideas and the images tends to stay, depending on how good the translator is. Haiku is usually a fanopeiaic poetry, where images prevail. Don't be an infant and start reading.

>> No.12941746

>>12941513
I'm not sure i should trust your opinions on happy poetry.

>> No.12943820

>>12941479
Guess what, one of the best poems on what you're looking for was originally written in polish

>> No.12943937

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

>> No.12944097

>>12943820
Share it, then

>> No.12945181

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.