/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.17097400]

What is the poem that brings to you the most intense feeling of beauty, meaning, compassion, or awe?

[࿇ C Œ M G E N V S ࿇ !KNDYwWWmRs No.17097438]

>>17097400
>[...] the most intense feeling of beauty, meaning, compassion, or awe[.]


...

[Anonymous No.17097443]

>>17097400
The Waste Land, with it's apocalyptic desolation culminating in a world that finally understands the importance of peace and compassion

[Anonymous No.17097477]

>>17097400
Mariana, by Tennyson

[Anonymous No.17097485]

>>17097400
readers will only find the very beauty for which they are ready

[Anonymous No.17097509]

>>17097485
but how do i be ready for more beauty bro :(

[Anonymous No.17097549]

>>17097509
a raw algorithmic model would be Kierkegaards triad of aesthetic life, ethical/scientific life, and religious life. if you're on stage 1, then Milton will bore you, if you're on stage 3, you probably think less of Heine than of Wagner.

[Anonymous No.17097553]

>>17097400
Paradise Lost.

[Anonymous No.17097557]

>>17097438
worthless post. kys

[Anonymous No.17097593]

>>17097553
Any favorite passages from there?

[Anonymous No.17097608]

>>17097443
The Wasteland is a very beautiful and strange poem, full of longing and confusion, a desire to strike out and make sense of what immeasurable madnesses constitute the sought of ambiguity.

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

>>17097477
>Mariana, by Tennyson

Tennyson enters into the profound pain and bleak beauty made ornament of his tumultuous and uncertain time, he is chained but exultant, he cries out in tempered dress.

With blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange:
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

--------
very good choices anons
Tennyson is a hundred years before Eliot but they are part of the same stream of undoing, they breathe the same love for changing poetry from English rigor to the uncountable possibilities of the then tendriling modern mind.

[࿇ C Œ M G E N V S ࿇ !KNDYwWWmRs No.17097734]

>>17097557


MY POSTS ARE AKIN TO MIRRORS.

[Anonymous No.17098053]

>>17097400
the faerie queene

[Anonymous No.17098077]

>>17098053
This although>>17097553 is a great choice as well

[Anonymous No.17098078]

Endymion by Keats

[Anonymous No.17098168]

Lord Byron -- The Prisoner of Chillon
No matter how many times I read that I always cry.

[Anonymous No.17099929]

bump

[Anonymous No.17099992]

>>17097400
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

[Anonymous No.17100005]

>>17099992
BASED

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17100041]

Psalm 73 no matter the translation gets me crying semi-consistently.


There’s a scene early in Dante’s purgatorio of him being grasped by one of the spirits for a hug but passes through and the way he paints the image of a misty land. Dead and alive, the angel, his breath and all of it in its allegorical form has moved me to tears multiple times contemplating the image.

Blake’s auguries of innocence and marriage of heaven and hell at times are both extremely awe inspiring.

I find it difficult any religious person could read hallaj’s love prayer-poems to Allah and not be moved by their gravity.

The 359th poem of Petrarch has such an ethereal quality that it is unlike anything I’ve read elsewhere.

The vision of tundale in a word is magical; what do I mean by magical.

The ethereal in Keats is when you have enhanced by imagination the objects to the point where they’ve lost all saline qualities and become of a mercurial level. This is a minimum requirement for the experience of the magical.

The second minimum must be a matter-of-factness, of a kind of existential certainty only shown in for example fairy tales, it is the woodsman who doesn’t question his being he simply is a woodsman. In this is actually a kind of dasein but of a eternal level, all that can be is there in that moment, and yet though this is the fullness of the qualities there is still the third factor

The paradox of knowledge/aberrant arcane light= the third minimum is that there is an all pervading experience of mystery, but not in the sense of a definite mystery with a possible answer, but an aesthetic mystery that the more you see, the more you learn, the more mysterious it feels and tastes, it is an ephemeral feeling and idea, something non-graspable, infinitely deep, the taoists called this “dark” or xuan, it also means profound, unsearchable

In the fusion of these 3 is the purest magical aesthetic

Thus to summarize, it must be paradoxically filled with a sense of ethereal imagination, which is to say, material objects elevated to a mercurial-sulphuric height, and these must be in some regard eternal and not particular images which fully embody the being of the archetypes And the revealing of these must produce a sense of dark and passing profoundity, akin to entering a temporary liminal state and seeing something impenetrable and unexplainable.


So for example, I walk in a cloudy grey sky covered but very verdant and green field filled with trees and within it I find a strange entrance to go within the earth and come across an idol that floats and has various esoteric glyphs and letters upon it.

The green field is not a specific green field, it is the ideal platonic green field. The idol is not an idol but it is all idols. The letters and glyphs don’t have a specific meaning because they represent all magical sigils and all glyphs of the occult and so on. This is a briatic art of the divine forms.

My favorite is the psalms

[Anonymous No.17100102]

>>17100041
>a good effortpost from a tripfag
who thought it possible, take my backhanded compliment anon

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17100237]

>>17100102

Thanks anon, got any poems you’d consider magical?

[Anonymous No.17100268]

>>17097400
>beauty, meaning, compassion, or awe

everything that should be expunged from poetry, poem that disgraces and parodies all this kitsch, is the one I will champion.

[Anonymous No.17100274]

>>17097400
The sweet dreams are made of this pasta

[Anonymous No.17100281]

>>17100237
I'm a sucker for Theognis
>Great Phoebus, when Our Lady Leto with her slender arms about the palm-tree brought Thee forth beside the Round Water to be fairest of the Immortals, round Delos was all filled with odour ambrosial, the huge Earth laughed, and the deep waters of the hoary brine rejoiced.

>Muses and Graces, Daughters of Zeus, who came of yore to the wedding of Cadmus and sang so fair a song, ‘What is fair is dear, and not dear what is not fair,’ —such was the song that passed your immortal lips

and there's another about him sealing his poems with his lovers name and being remembered thereafter but I can't find it online

[Anonymous No.17100307]

>>17097400
Any poem you read together with.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WYeDsa4Tw0c

[Anonymous No.17100313]

A farmer's child
Hulling rice
Arrests his hands
To look at the moon

I love its ambience and simplistic beauty.
Might not invoke intense feelings but has that extremely ambient simplistic vibe

[Anonymous No.17100362]

>>17097400
where's that

[Anonymous No.17100402]

>>17097400
>>17100362
didn't take long, the photo was made by nejc košir somewhere in slovenia
https://www.pexels.com/photo/conifer-daylight-environment-evergreen-338936/
here it is in the original size

[Anonymous No.17100450]

For who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallow'd up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of sense and motion?

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17100457]

>>17100268

What’s wrong with things that are pretty and beautiful, anon?

[Anonymous No.17100481]

>>17100457
it's the guy from that kinkade thread on /his/ who took a posh persona to troll people who didn't mind kinkade, don't worry

[Anonymous No.17101664]

bump

[Anonymous No.17101676]

>for me it's Ozymandias

[Anonymous No.17101688]

>>17101676
based

[collocoll !!oNLo8SzKv5R No.17102113]

many of buson's haiku give me goosebumps

the boatman's straw coat
under the storm:
a flowered robe

ha! winter moon
since this temple has no door
the sky's been so high

[Anonymous No.17102136]

I like Pangur Ban, desu

[Anonymous No.17103022]

I like Annabel Lee.

[Anonymous No.17103086]

Down where the mermaids
Pluck and play
On their twangling harps
In a sea green day...