/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.1539812]

What is your favorite poem?

[Fabulous !!GXZe+d0RTva No.1539814]

The Ballad of Reading Gaol

yours?

[Anonymous No.1539821]

>>1539814

lol stop trolling. Mine is Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand.

[Anonymous No.1539824]

>>1539814

This.

[Ordinary !!3Q3MeZSR+Er No.1539826]

>>1539821

Funny.

[Tofu !s7vSX9lhAI No.1539829]

>>1539821
Funny.

Imma say this sonnet by Shakespeare:
When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young.
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both side thus is simple truth suppress'd:
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
Oh! love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

[Tofu !s7vSX9lhAI No.1539830]

Ah shit, I got hivemined by Ordinary

[Anonymous No.1539834]

Ode to the West Wind by Shelley

so beautiful ;_;

[No.1539839]

wasn't there a thread for this 30 secs ago?

[Virginia W00F !!GThm5VqxqDi No.1539846]

The Wasteland, dummy.

[Anonymous No.1539851]

>>1539839

>>1538901

Page 1 is a long way off.

[Anonymous No.1539880]

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

[Anonymous No.1539904]

Were you but lying cold and dead,
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither, and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast;
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me, because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and hasten away,
Though you have the will of the wild birds,
But know your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:
O would beloved that you lay
Under the dock-leaves in the ground,
While lights were paling one by one.

[nancy pelosi invented crack !!sLz+fwCdMOg No.1539908]

pale fire
>mfw

[Neuro !qdUPARcrn. No.1539911]

The Odyssey

[nancy pelosi invented crack !!sLz+fwCdMOg No.1539912]

oh by the way, anybody have a pdf link or know a really good website that analyzes the waste land. not shitty "disillusionment of postwar blah blah blah" but actual detailed commentary on each line

[Anonymous No.1539915]

'If' by Rudyard Kipling

Always makes me feel alpha as fuck.

[Anonymous No.1539919]

I don't have just one, but:

Buffalo Bill's defunct
Who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion
And break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus
He was a handsome man
And what I want to know is
How do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death

[Stagolee !0Pey/QLK3E No.1539922]

the love song of j alfred prufrock

ts eliot has so many good poems, he's the only poet i can stand to read.

but "if" like >>1539915 said is good too

[Tofu !s7vSX9lhAI No.1539933]

>>1539915
Have you seen this?
http://vimeo.com/1305608

I prefer Invictus by William Ernest Henley, because it has an iota of subtly

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

[Anonymous No.1539934]

>>1539922
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfZhfbTujvA

[Virginia W00F !!GThm5VqxqDi No.1539953]

>>1539922
Hey...

hey.

I think so too.

[Anonymous No.1539974]

>>1539933

No, I haven't, pretty cool. I prefer the one with Jules' speech from Pulp Fiction, which I would consider poetry as well. Invictus is also another great "come at me bro" poem.

This thread is now about manly poems.

[Anonymous No.1539971]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gifEn61dZBc

Yeah, yeah. I'm a plebeian that likes a drunken fuck.

[Stagolee !0Pey/QLK3E No.1539978]

>>1539934
>typical /lit/ poster

[Anonymous No.1539995]

>>1539812>>1539812>>1539812>>1539812>>1539812>>1539812>>15
39812>>1539812>>1539812>>1539812>>1539812

Love is a dog from hell
fuck yea

[Anonymous No.1540160]

Jabberwocky.
troll face.jpg

[Anonymous No.1540642]

The Housewifes Lament

[Logos !!orjNr7fOhSx No.1540646]

Skunk Hour
by Robert Lowell

Nautilus Island's hermit
heiress still lives through winter in her Spartan cottage;
her sheep still graze above the sea.
Her son's a bishop. Her farmer
is first selectman in our village;
she's in her dotage.

Thirsting for
the hierarchie privacy
of Queen Victoria's century,
she buys up all
the eyesores facing her shore,
and lets them fall.

The season's ill--
we've lost our summer millionaire,
who seemed to leap from an L. L. Bean
catalogue. His nine-knot yawl
was auctioned off to lobstermen.
A red fox stain covers Blue Hill.

And now our fairy
decorator brightens his shop for fall;
his fishnet's filled with orange cork,
orange, his cobbler's bench and awl;
there is no money in his work,
he'd rather marry.

One dark night,
my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull;
I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down,
they lay together, hull to hull,
where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . .
My mind's not right.

A car radio bleats,
"Love, O careless Love. . . ." I hear
my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,
as if my hand were at its throat. . . .
I myself am hell;
nobody's here--

only skunks, that search
in the moonlight for a bite to eat.
They march on their soles up Main Street:
white stripes, moonstruck eyes' red fire
under the chalk-dry and spar spire
of the Trinitarian Church.

I stand on top
of our back steps and breathe the rich air--
a mother skunk with her column of kittens swills the garbage pail.
She jabs her wedge-head in a cup
of sour cream, drops her ostrich tail,
and will not scare.

[Ralph Wiggum !!RbKRCS+NEzU No.1540648]

The Prophet, if you would count that.

[Anonymous No.1540653]

Ode to a Nightingale

[Anonymous No.1540654]

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I'll fuck you with a rake

[Anonymous No.1540660]

Lovesong - Ted Hughes

He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains

Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was

Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall

Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop

In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage

In the morning they wore each other's face

[Anonymous No.1540673]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gifEn61dZBc

This.

[Anonymous No.1540675]

>>1539971

Oh djeez someone allready posted it. Weird.

[Anonymous No.1540683]

That one about the dead chick at the beach by Poe. Can't remember the name.

Also the one thats like something something ancient mariner.

[Anonymous No.1540701]

>>1540660

Holy shit, I love it. Is this in a specific collection you would recommend?

[Anonymous No.1541166]

This

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Charge_of_the_Light_Brigade_(poem)

[Anonymous No.1541191]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5IERp2OdJs

[Anonymous No.1541852]

>>1540701
It's from Crow and I highly recommend it. Birthday Letters also has a similar feel and may be easier to find.

[Anonymous No.1541862]

>>1541166
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MWmQdp1uEI

[Behemoth !!Twl3DmqEY/B No.1541880]

>>1539880
Well, I'll be damned. Somebody on /lit/ finally got around to posting Wallace Stevens in one of these.

Here's a favorite of mine by Hart Crane

"Chaplinesque"

We make our meek adjustments,
Contented with such random consolations
As the wind deposits
In slithered and too ample pockets.

For we can still love the world, who find
A famished kitten on the step, and know
Recesses for it from the fury of the street.
Or warm torn elbow coverlets.

We will sidestep, and to the final smirk
Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb
That slowly chafes its puckered index towards us,
Facing the dull squint with what innocence
And what surprise!

And yet these final collapses are not lies
More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane;
Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise.
We can evade you, and all else but the heart:
What blame to us if the heart live on.

The game enforces smirks; but we have seen
The moon in lonely alleys make
A grail of laughter of and empty ash can,
And through all sound of gaiety and quest
Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.