Poetry thread;Ezra pound edition

[Anonymous No.17442311]

Poetry thread

Post your favorite poems, talk about poets, ask questions about poetry

Post your own poems & Rate
Do both
No rate No feedback

Write a poem for the thread if you have to.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lX0h1KSM5fs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hkJQg-Y4tec

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

***

Alba

As cool as the pale wet leaves
of lily-of-the-valley
She lay beside me in the dawn.

***

Reflection

I know that what Nietzsche said is true,
And yet
I saw the face of a little child in the street,
And it was beautiful.

***

In Epitaphium

Write me when this geste, our life is done:
“He tired of fame before the fame was won.”

***

Ts’ai Chi’h

The petals fall in the fountain,
the orange-coloured rose-leaves,
Their ochre clings to the stone.

[Anonymous No.17442353]

One of my many favorites by Pound:

The Faun

Ha! sir, I have seen you sniffing and snoozling
about among my flowers.
And what, pray, do you know about
horticulture, you capriped?
'Come, Auster, come Apeliota,
And see the faun in our garden.
But if you move or speak
This thing will run at you
And scare itself to spasms.'

*********************************

I’ve been reading Hart Crane today and have been conducting a self-driven close reading of the wasteland. Always reading Rimbaud, and have currently taken a liking to Marianne Moore and James Wright. Currently writing a poem now but don’t feel like sharing it. It’s going okay though

[Anonymous No.17442365]

Also bump, I want people to reply.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17442370]

The song of the Irish marshes by Dunsany

WHEN morn is bright on the mountains olden
Till dawn is lost in the blaze of day,
When morn is bright and the marshes golden,
Where shall the lost lights fade away
And where, my love, shall we dream to-day?


Dawn is fled to the marshy hollows,
Where ghosts of stars in the dimness stray
And the water is streaked with the flash of swallows
And all through summer the iris sway.
But where, my love, shall we dream to-day?


When night is black in the iris marshes,
And noisy towns of the world’s dismay
Are all forgotten as Tyre and Tarshish,
Or Tyre and Tarshish are real as they,
Then day’s a mirage and dreams are day.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17442400]

Dreamland by Poe

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule --
From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE -- out of TIME.

Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the dews that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters -- lone and dead, --
Their still waters -- still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.

By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead, --
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily, --
By the mountains -- near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever, --
By the grey woods, -- by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp, --
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls, --
By each spot the most unholy --
In each nook most melancholy, --
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the Past --
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by --
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth -- and Heaven.

For the heart whose woes are legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region --
For the spirit that walks in shadow
'Tis -- oh 'tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not -- dare not openly view it;
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.

[Anonymous No.17442419]

Certain trials--midnight miles
Travel on past sunset smiles
Turn the knob, spin dusty dials--
Static sob from Ville d'Ailes

Catch, ungrasp: serpent's tail
River asp on plodded trails
Lying bare, the word unmailed
Dries and dies in winds unsailed

Gardens sit, now ever fallow
Harvests past betrayed the shallows
Burning thoughts that chew on tallow
Distant thunder, soothed by aloe

Here at last in nameless towns
Rusted bolts are melted down
Give the man a burdened crown
Desert thoughts can never drown

From the past through dusty dials
Trumpets sound from Ville d'Ailes

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17442433]

>>17442353
I’ve not read much hart crane but I’ve been considering deep diving him due to how much praise I’ve seen other anons lap over him. Think it’s the kind of thing i’d be into what with the context of the other two poems I’ve posted?

I’m interested in Moore’s work because I also write in syllabics.

[Anonymous No.17442467]

Hugh MacDiarmid's Eemis Stane

I’ the how-dumb-deid o’ the cauld hairst nicht
The warl’ like an eemis stane
Wags i’ the lift;
An’ my eerie memories fa’
Like a yowdendrift.

Like a yowdendrift so’s I couldna read
The words cut oot i’ the stane
Had the fug o’ fame
An’ history’s hazelraw
No’ yirdit thaim.

>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtEp2ZQ_Jic
explanation by MacDiarmid
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C87TuHX6Z60

[Anonymous No.17442477]

>>17442433
I just kind of started reading him today, didn’t know people on here liked him too. My gf got me an anthology of 20th cen American poetry and I liked the selections of his. He’s definitely quite difficult - I’d say closer to Eliot than Pound in terms of style. He’s a real ass dude for throwing himself off a boat into the Gulf of Mexico and dying for sure. Idk, just check his stuff out online it’s worth it.

Also been reading Robert Lowell. Always reading his stuff

[Anonymous No.17442490]

John gould fletcher's Rain in the Desert. Maybe the best balance between beauty/readability and density i've come across in the imagists.
Many of hd's and aldington's poems are just masturbatorily dense and allusive, to the point that i can't get into the beauty of them and lose patience too much. Pound and fs flint have great balances as well.

[Anonymous No.17442497]

>>17442311
Goddamn, I love Ezra Pound. No Homo.

'Ιμέρρο

Thy soul
Grown delicate with satieties,
Atthis.
O Atthis,
I long for thy lips.
I long for thy narrow breasts,
Thou restless, ungathered.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17442501]

>>17442467
How do you feel about Robert Burns? Was reading some of his stuff the other day,

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a pannic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell-
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

Thy wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

[Anonymous No.17442516]

>>17442477
Robert lowell is FANTASTIC. Life studies blew my mind and made me reconsider my own writing. Gets better with every read as well.
>>17442433
Hart crane is fantastic, but uneven. Check out legend, at melville's tomb, voyages, the broken tower, and if those interest you try his epic poem(?) the bridge.
He was consciously responding to ts eliot in the bridge and trying find a more positive judgement on the same problems. He's another poet that rewards hundreds of rereads.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17442526]

>>17442490
Nice imagery in that one, I liked the sky-serpents lines.

I actually kinda absolutely despise what I’ve read from HD, all I’ve read is her book Helen in Egypt which is a rather long poem, but I found that she just didn’t have the capacity to create the over arching image she wanted fast enough, far too long for such a small effect, the line breaks and rhythm also felt largely arbitrary and every page beginning with a prose section explaining what she meant also left a sour taste in my mouth. I just didn’t find any musical aspect or strange beauty or brevity or anything really in HD’s work.

>>17442477
I’ll check him out, thanks!

[Anonymous No.17442531]

>>17442501
i love Burns dearly

Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han' ,
In ev'ry hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.

The war'ly race may riches chase, -
An' riches still may fly them, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en ,
My arms about my dearie, O;
An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie , O!

For you sae douce , ye sneer at this;
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O:
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw ,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.

>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YICDCjGaEKQ

[Anonymous No.17442545]

>>17442311
Before
You hit the wall

You think
You have it all

The pride
Before the fall

Its effects
Us all
>>17442365
hi

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17442556]

>>17442516
I like these lines

Frosted eyes there were that lifted altars;
And silent answers crept across the stars.

This fabulous shadow only the sea keeps.

Of Melville’s tomb and the broken tower, I found broken tower the more enjoyable, I’m sure judging by It I can extract some pleasure from his style if I dig around.

[Anonymous No.17442559]

>>17442311
I may be lost
In a sea of metaphor

But that doesn't mean
Your not a whore

I will see your ass
When we get ahore

[Anonymous No.17442569]

>>17442526
My fav hd poem is probably eurydice. Her sea garden collection is generally good but poems like oread make no sense out of its context, i dont care what anyone says. Its really great how well they reinforce eachother but honestly suck alone. Eurydice isnt like that though.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17442634]

>>17442569
I’ll check it out.

Spenser’s 13th sonnet


In that proud port, which her so goodly graceth,
whiles her faire face she reares up to the skie:
and to the ground her eie lids low embaseth,
most goodly temperature ye may descry,
Myld humblesse mixt with awfull majesty,
for looking on the earth whence she was borne,
her minde remembreth her mortalitie:
what so is fayrest shall to earth returne.
But that same lofty countenance seemes to scorne
base thing, and thinke how she to heaven may clime:
treading downe earth as lothsome and forlorne,
that hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy slime.
Yet lowly still vouchsafe to looke on me,
such lowlinesse shall make you lofty be

[Anonymous No.17442654]

Rhapsody on a windy night by ts eliot. Doesn't get enough praise.

Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions.
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Half-past one,
The street-lamp sputtered,
The street-lamp muttered,
The street-lamp said, "Regard that woman
Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin."

The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smooths the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and eau de Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain."
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.

The lamp said,
"Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."

The last twist of the knife.

[Anonymous No.17442732]

>>17442516
I actually came across Life Studies the other day and found it really interesting, seeing this now I'll probably look into it.

Does anyone have Prose Poem works? I've read all the major ones and I really loved Getrude Stein's Tender Buttons but could not find anything like it.

Decay - Georg Trakl(this is one of my favorite poems of his, a combination of Leopardi and Rimbaud, yet still so unique)

At evening, when the bells are tolling peace,
I follow the wondrous flights of birds,
Which gathered long like pious pilgrims' trains,
Vanish afar in autumn's clear expanses.
Meandering through the garden filled with twilight
I dream about their brighter destinies
And scarcely feel the hours' pointers move.
So follow I their paths above the clouds.
A breath of decay then makes me shudder.
The blackbird laments in leafless branches.
The red vine on the rusty railings wavers,
While like a dance of death with pallid children
Around dark rims of wells, which slowly weather,
Blue asters shivering in the wind are drooping.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17442833]

>>17442732
While it’s not any good In my opinion I myself have written some prose poems in the Arabic saj/Chinese fu style of rhyming/sootsayer prose.

The demon conjurer

a dream did seem to pass before my eyes, I saw lord of the flies who said “if you are wise, gather the great grimoire of honorious, you will become notorious, your face glorious, by Morpheus you will overcome Even Orpheus in ingenuity and the praise of men.” then I awoke and I remembered what he spoke, the terrible tome I sought for much time, for ages I sought the pages all found except one, it was now mine and now was the time

, it instructed to invoke Ayperos, “draw in dirt during dust these symbols, an angel’s ambient body and a lions large head, tail of a hare, spine of bear and foot of a goose and remember the name of the reigning royal Childwho is crowned and conquering, Christ the chimera of crooked man and the straight line and light of God, in the indomitable circle assemble the symbols”


I hollowed the book and followed it to the letter “tire demon or devil come by circle and its center “ the devil came and with a bellow of his stomach mocked my mighty circle and conjuration “your book lacked one symbol, you have no power my maw shall gnaw your flesh and Rend your soul the moment you walk outside the circle” I felt great fear as death drew near i was a mere mortal in his delirious sphere my mind was rendered blind before the fiery fiend and in blindness the bright inmost light ignited within the depths of my dark soul from the spark of remembrance of the crowned and conquering Christ i broke my fear


and spoke these words “your lord the prince of the birds of the air is bound and sweared obedience to the great God in that same name I cast you down and cast you back into the flame, the bitter sting, return in shame to your dwelling and be bound by the bravery of the begotten Son who holds the keys to hell and death” in a moment the demon vanished by my lord it was vanquished and I thanked the Great god by whom I banished the fiend, I cleaved to god to be cleaned in my inmost self and saw a vision of the celestial host,


i gave all my focus towards an ascent just as moses did so that I may attain theosis, slowly the Holy Spirit drew near me and like morning dew the presence was upon me, no longer do I seek fame but I cleave to the god who came to my rescue and seek to learn the mysteries of god and await the return of the god who earned for me my eternal salvation

[Anonymous No.17442880]

>>17442732
Do it, i found sections 3 and 4 to be the best. They came about because his therapistaked him to write the story of pt 2 for therapy and he decided to do poems. He birthed confessional poetry from it. Great shit.

[Anonymous No.17442920]

>>17442833
Wow, your just wrong Asemlen...this stuff is good.

I know you like Blake and Spenser and this stuff is reminiscing of that but with a lot of Mysticism stuff thrown in. I seen you post your poem "For the one sleeping gently upon a bed of stone" on /x/ and here and although I yet to read it you posted a really lengthy analysis of it, how did that poem come to be was it written with this in mind or did you come up with it after knowing you were going to write in such a way i'm curious to know

>>17442880
Thanks, sounds like stuff thats right down my avenue

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17442956]

>>17442920
Hey thanks a lot! I am first and foremost a mystic and I see poetry as just another means of development of contemplation towards God. I love the highly mystical poets so when I write poetry it’s going to have to magnify the mystical and ethereal themes to as high of a level as I can possibly induce.

As for that other Poem, I’m a strong believer in the ideas of Poe and nerval, Art should be an act of total and utter demiurgy/sun-genesis. Meaning I actually begin with the end and work backwards, so I Planned the mystical meaning and gematria first then worked out corresponding images, divisions and so forth and at the final part began to write the first part of the first letter of the poem. There is value to stream of consciousness and letting it flow, however I believe for my purposes absolute control is absolutely superior. Here’s a stream of conscious free verse I’ve written so you can see the contrast in style/tone.

eli eli lama sabachtani
far far away far far away
Eli eli lama sabachtani
crystal eye crying eternal Aleph
God is not yet I am God is not dead yet I am
so far so far eli eli the illusion falls
sabaoth sabachtani

there black iris spiral door
and gently rests three
three
three
thrice fold cross broken in the center
its not a command it’s a test
“if he marks my face and curses my name, I am surely blessed”

idol of I my eye on my little take-worm
if you curse my name in your name
I will enter your secret place
it’s an empty desire just an empty desire
an endless empty Love blazing black and white
Burning all of the idols and wormy Gods
burning with inmost Light
If you’re interested anon, I recently wrote up a heavily poetic based short story, it’s around 7 pages. If desired I’ll link it.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17443127]

A poem by stenbock

THE night was full of fever and unrest,
The hours went drearily and wearily,
But at the sunrise I arose and blest
The amber light that shimmered on the sea.
Before, the moon was growing over pale,
A mystical white mist fell freezingly,
An Angel came and moved away the veil,
Whose amber footsteps shimmered on the sea.
Gabriel, sent to Mary long ago,
With flame-like feet bent down adoringly,
Christ shall soon come to ease us of our woe, Because thy footsteps shimmer on the sea.

[Anonymous No.17443203]

>>17442311
Is anyone going to post their own stuff. That makes these threads good.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17443219]

>>17443203
I’ve posted some of my trash, post one of yours anon! Make one on the spot if necessary

[Anonymous No.17443241]

>>17443219
There these
>>17442545
>>17442559
Where are yours

[Anonymous No.17443259]

>>17443241

>>17442833
This one and

>>17442956

And here’s another,I wrote up a four page break down of this following poem but I won’t post it not to overwhelm the thread.

For the One sleeping upon A bed of Stone

I passed among silver trees
who’s fruits singed gold songs
abounding in the never old
dreams of the daily born dancing Dawn

the sky image drawn
of the softest smile
ever forgotten
and yet remembered

silent slithers the secret serpent
the Wolf Wails in the wintry wastelands
terrible talons toy with dead flesh
but All-blest sees the eye of the Heart

soft and plain is the scent
which renders the heavens Rent
beauty lays herself bare
if you look without a care

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17443270]

>>17443241
Ah sorry, lost the trip to bump another thread. Apologies.

[Anonymous No.17443302]

Red water grass:
A light for me
Sun, dear Home,
A more insightful eye
With never a center.

[Anonymous No.17443332]

>>17442833
>>17443259
your stuff filters me.
>>17443302
What does it mean.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17443358]

>>17443332
Sorry friend! I’ll post a final poem then I’ll stop so As to not overwhelm the thread with my stuff. This one should be more approachable.

I know there’s something missing
but I can’t remember what
an image of strangers kissing
or of my mouth being forced shut

a coldness creeps across my spine
is it callous or crying
or is it collected and fine
a memory of one lying

reminds me of a rare sensation
the lie remains but not the liar
perhaps its a premonition of cessation
or a phantasy of forgotten desire
filling my every perception with fire

[Anonymous No.17443363]

>>17442956
>>17443127
Yea, I can tell from this one that, although you prefer not to, the rhythm created via the stream consciousness is actually nice. Particularly the first stanza:
>eli eli lama sabachtani
>far far away far far away
>Eli eli lama sabachtani
>crystal eye crying eternal Aleph
>God is not yet I am God is not dead yet I am
>so far so far eli eli the illusion falls
>sabaoth sabachtani
I'll admit I'm not 100% keen on some of these terms but the structure and rhythm could really let anyone enjoy these casually if they just follow the flow. I'm sure there's some rhyme structure dissection that someone could do for the first stanza that would make sense.
I'm interested in the poetic short story if you don't mind? Although I'm the anon that shilled Gaspard de la Nuit from the other day, I'll check on here later to read it.

>>17443203
I usually never post my own stuff own here cause I'm afraid that I'll end using it in a poem i intend to seek publishing for and they'll backtrack it to here. Sometimes I due share stuff in its infancy stage though, its just lines from prior poems I've written that always come back to me and they'll all be in a particular theme so I just rather not share but nonetheless here's a poem that I don't mind sharing

The Soul and the Lagoon

The bank of serenity leaps forth and floats,
As fluorescent dust goes and goes.
Why can’t I feel any growth?
Tree roots and jungle vines strangle my hope.

To sit and ponder what the eclipse said.
Trees are lavender against indigo sky,
The stark black orb by burning lights
A binding glare brands an empty reality among nacreous threads

Endless day and endless night each one stitched into the last,

Artificially tied to an endless patchwork a marine shaded quilt, an elongated trim.
Caught and looped in an endless tube, a permeated slide
When can I step out with my feet?
When can I grin with sincere means?
When can I grow as one and make endless leaps?

So insincere a mock,
Nothing but a synthetic promise,
Not natural but manufactured

It definitely gets worse and worse and the ending feels really bad but I could not think of anything else at the time. Though I'm still proud of it because I think it's a perfect depiction of the image I had in mind then.

[Anonymous No.17443390]

>>17443332
>What does it mean.
I don’t know. I usually try not to think while I am writing poetry.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17443489]

>>17443363
>The bank of serenity leaps forth and floats,
>As fluorescent dust goes and goes.
>Why can’t I feel any growth?
>Tree roots and jungle vines strangle my hope.

Enjoyable stanza but the final word of “hope” makes the imagery too “mushy” aesthetically.

> To sit and ponder what the eclipse said.
>Trees are lavender against indigo sky,
>The stark black orb by burning lights
>A binding glare brands an empty reality among nacreous threads

First line is utilitarian so passable, line two is lovely, line three corresponds well in contrast to line 2, line four however is too long, i’d re-write the entire line but work back in the “ nacreous threads”


>Endless day and endless night each one stitched into the last,

Feels like you lost stamina here

>Artificially tied to an endless patchwork a marine shaded quilt, an elongated trim.

Artificial is a odd turn to the imagery, I dislike the work marine as it doesn’t contrast well to the ornate description.

>Caught and looped in an endless tube, a permeated slide

Marines and tubes in your imagery are a tad bit distracting.

>When can I step out with my feet?
>When can I grin with sincere means?
>When can I grow as one and make endless leaps?

I like repetition so I’m fine with this.


>So insincere a mock,
>Nothing but a synthetic promise,
>Not natural but manufactured

Feels like some musical lyrics that would be greatly assisted by musical accompaniment but I get the idea, feels very distant from the first stanza.
All in all, I see skill my friend, just don’t let your lack of stamina get into you and remember unity in intent and effect. Here’s that story I spoke of.

https://pastebin.com/ZpXyBtDy

Do tell me your thoughts about it friend, betcha can’t guess what inspired it. (Something very mundane actually!)

[Anonymous No.17443528]

>>17443363
>I'll end using it in a poem i intend to seek publishing for and they'll backtrack it to here
Is it a question of authorship or a question of optics?

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17443536]

>>17443528
Probably optics, but I wouldn’t know as I’ve no intention to ever publish. How many of you anons write and practice poetry without intending to ever publish?

[Anonymous No.17443586]

>>17443536
I might self publish, If I get enough material written down. I don't know how many pages that would be or how to format it. But it is a goal. Most of my stuff is pretty short. But one poem per page would look the best in my opinion. I could add illustrations as well. But that would be a little much. What would be a good minimum page count? If there was one poem per page.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17443624]

>>17443586

Most people consider 300 pages to be too long, but poetry goes by rather fast. I would say 100-140 pages is safely in a persons attention span and gives you enough meat to have a decent range of poems but it really depends on the kind of poetry you write I would imagine. But I wouldn’t know as I can only speak from my experience of reading itself.

[Anonymous No.17443960]

>>17443489
Nice image(i'll save it), very reminiscent of the poem. Thanks for the praise I honestly really appreciate it.

Ok to this behemoth of a piece https://pastebin.com/ZpXyBtDy

The beginning was so fresh and invigorating as he was looking at the lake with his father and then when he was walking back after his father had sung the song in the woods and then slowly the serenity of the night seeped in and a whole different mood came that was different than the bright day that had just past and when this women had walked on the water and went "boop" on his nose completely threw me out of the trance entirely in a good way! I half-expected her to come and speak in an entrancing and with antiquity but the dialogue between the two was so causal and funny which led me to think: Why would I assume a supernatural goddess to speak in riddles or romantic era language in such a contemporary age? It was actually quite funny to me, not much dialogue to that point so it threw me for a whirl. When it began to talk of the man's journey back after many years to the lake(which was now frozen), the change and difference of the area were certainly felt and I appreciate the vividness. The end scene with the ribbon enwrapping them both, the soul and heart skewered to complete/make him whole and the conjoing of their souls...shit i mean what can i say.

I liked it a lot, my only critique would be that the beginning did not read as if the man had written it rather than if the child had but you could say this is because of well the world of the child is made. The story of the fisherman and the sea was also a bit confusing in some parts but overall awesome stuff though I definitely did not think it was going to be what it was.
>betcha can’t guess what inspired it (Something very mundane actually!)

Do tell, I honestly have no idea

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17443959]

Two poems by Melville

DISINTERMENT OF THE HERMES

WHAT forms divine in adamant fair-
Carven demigod and god,
And hero-marbles rivalling these,
Bide under Latium’s sod,
Or lost in sediment and drift
Alluvial which the Grecian rivers sift.

To dig for these, O better far
Than raking arid sands
For gold more barren meetly theirs
Sterile, with brimming hands

THE APPARITION

The Parthenon uplifted on its rock first challenging the view on the approach to Athens.

ABRUPT the supernatural Cross,
Vivid in startled air,
Smote the Emperor Constantine
And turned his soul’s allegiance there.

With other power appealing down,
Trophy of Adam’s best !
If cynic minds you scarce convert,
You try them, shake them, or molest.

Diogenes, that honest heart,
Lived ere your date began ;
Thee had he seen, he might have swerved
In mood nor barked so much at Man.

[Anonymous No.17444035]

here's one of my favourite poem by one of my favourite poet: Pierre Reverdy. Fittingly, the last verse is one of my favourite verse ever and is amongst the ones that made me love poetry.
I included a mediocre translation for the sake of it.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17444055]

>>17443960
Thanks a lot anon! From what you’ve said I was able to induce the right affects and changes in tone as was intended, I feel personally my poems first few lines are a bit weak but serviceable. I figured if I take the prose poem/saj Style and just tone it down a little bit(with some more formal poetry spliced in at points) that would create a semi unique atmosphere/writing style that’d be somewhat enjoyable.

I’m glad the final scene was what I desired, an explosion of weird but relevant scenes.

I mostly kept the dialogue to a minimum partially for atmosphere and partially as I believe my lack of skill with dialogue would be too distracting from the heavy imagery and concepts I wanted to communicate. Shame the fisherman poem wasn’t smooth enough.

As for what inspired it, a few days ago a friend of mine mentioned how he used to watch bleach (unsure if you’ve ever watched it) and I remembered watching it when it first aired, so I watched an episode myself and decided “let me capture this feeling of nostalgia but heighten it by increasing the youth, the strangeness and the beauty of the girl”

Obviously there’s still Kabbalistic and hermetic and Jungian allegories hidden in the text along with odd little bits of folk lore, but the primary aesthetic template was Rukia.(trashy weeb garbage, I know, still, inspiration is inspiration)

That’s why she had the black dress, the ice/coldness aspects, sword, Strawberry juice (ichigo means strawberry) the heavy moon aspect, even the red ribbon and the soul being pulled out. Hahahahaha

[Anonymous No.17444363]

>>17444055
>but the primary aesthetic template was Rukia.(trashy weeb garbage, I know, still, inspiration is the inspiration)
lol, I've never watch bleach although I have watched anime before, and not sure if this is reason or not but I knew a girl that looked exactly like Rukia and did cosplay, not of her but just in general. Now that I'm remembering she also wore a Haori that is very similar to Rukia's Kimono from what I see in google images yea no this could be refined to be really good, although I myself recognized that dialogue is not the best thing in there it got the job done.
>Obviously there’s still Kabbalistic and hermetic and Jungian allegories hidden in the text along with odd little bits of folklore
I was wondering the Dad was a deity of sorts or some sort of allusion.

Although I don't watch anime now animes I watched a long time ago before like Darker than Black and some other stuff inspires me more than I'd like to admit(I actually wrote a poem after watching Serial Experiments Lain because it inspired me so much). I write a lot of my stuff on my phone notes app because ideas usually come to me before I'm about to sleep which keeps me up till I write them out, I know Nabokov kept index cards under his pillow.

>>17444035
I liked this a lot, very well done, and it's very short. I have to say I was never a fan of special spacing but when it's done like this it's really beautiful I think it requires skill to do it well and some contemporary poets I see use it willy nilly, in a way I don't really get.

[Anonymous No.17444380]

I have written a few poems. I think they might be good enough to submit.
Can anyone recommend good places to test the waters?

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17444580]

>>17444363

Hey that’s pretty cute, the cosplay thing I mean! And yeah I need to work on my dialogue but I like minimal dialogue in a way. The way I usually get around that is I’ll just put a philosophy rant/internal contemplation I actually had, since that way that’s as much of my interior and real as it gets.

And yeah I consider this a first draft I’m sure if I put another day in it, it would be a pretty okay short story.

And man, don’t feel embarrassed if you get inspiration from normal or nerdy media, way I see it, the decadents didn’t mind taking aesthetics from Asian schlock, and inspiration should be used wherever it is found. I usually write down in my notes the major aspects, themes, gematria and the like if I get hit with inspiration and then work it out. (Also lain is kino)

As for the esoteric meanings of the story,

Cont.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.17444586]

>>17444580
Lowkey, the Father is the partzuf/face of chokmah, which is divine wisdom and the archetype of the father and creative force, he wielded the axe (which his song made time) because in Kabbalah and hermetic stuff, time is Saturn and the primary mother/female, who is raped/dominated/controlled by the father. Thus the Father wielding the axe. The ages of the child is first 8(which is esoterically the number of the sun/tiphereth via the 8 paths and various other means ) and then 32(the entire tree of life has 10 spheres and 22 paths, a full day cycle is 24 hours, thus the fullness of the sun, the entire complete manifestation of the latent potential of the symbol of the sun is the entirety of the tree of life. Notice how the father divided and reintegrated slain trees, this is an allegory for how qlippoth are reintegrated into the divine light of Ain soph through the processing of the etz chaim.) 8+32+16(the age of the female in the story is said to be twice the age of the child) equals 48 which is esoterically YHVH in gematria when you count the value of it in tarot. YHVH of course being Jehovah, the entirety of creation.

The sun/tiphereth is of course the Son allegorically, so we have the Y and V of YHVH in the father and son of the story, so where are the double H? The mother and the daughter? The mother is thrice form as is traditional, as Crone/devouring time (the axe), as beautiful mysterious woman (The moon itself ) and as playful young girl (the young girl itself)

This reflection is showed by the moon reflecting on the waters, as the water is controlled and reflects. Thus her first coming down from the moon and then her being found in the waters.

Symbolically the daughter, the female of our story is the anima mundi, the Anima of our main character also. The red ribbon I intended to imply Love as it is the only thing which can connect earth and heaven.

There’s of course other little aspects I could go into, such as how 16 is the 16 kalas/aspects of nature in tantra and how the moon normally has 8 phases but within tantra has a further double division which makes 16, which is understood to be the feminine half of the 32(tree of life) in grantian occultism. But blah. I’m blabbering on here. Everything is intended and pre planned for occult significance. Even the amount of blank lines is intended as if all lines are counted including the blank lines, you receive a count of 237 lines which is the same as the numeric value of “Rukia”

[Anonymous No.17445281]

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty—

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
—Till elevators drop us from our day . . .

I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene
Never disclosed, but hastened to again,
Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;

And Thee, across the harbor, silver-paced
As though the sun took step of thee, yet left
Some motion ever unspent in thy stride,—
Implicitly thy freedom staying thee!

Out of some subway scuttle, cell or loft
A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets,
Tilting there momently, shrill shirt ballooning,
A jest falls from the speechless caravan.

Down Wall, from girder into street noon leaks,
A rip-tooth of the sky's acetylene;
All afternoon the cloud-flown derricks turn . . .
Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still.

And obscure as that heaven of the Jews,
Thy guerdon . . . Accolade thou dost bestow
Of anonymity time cannot raise:
Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show.

O harp and altar, of the fury fused,
(How could mere toil align thy choiring strings!)
Terrific threshold of the prophet's pledge,
Prayer of pariah, and the lover's cry,—

Again the traffic lights that skim thy swift
Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars,
Beading thy path—condense eternity:
And we have seen night lifted in thine arms.

Under thy shadow by the piers I waited;
Only in darkness is thy shadow clear.
The City's fiery parcels all undone,
Already snow submerges an iron year . . .

O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.