/dps/

[Anonymous No.20399985]

In this thread we discuss everything poetry.
Share your favorite poems.
Share new poems you've read recently.
Share your own poems and critique others.
Talk about poets, the history of poetry, the highs and lows, the evolution of forms and about symbols and what they do.

[Anonymous No.20399998]

No:
I don't want anything.
I already said:
I don't want anything.
Don't come to me with conclusions!
The only conclusion is to die.
Spare me all the doctrines of art!
Don't talk to me about morality!
Do away with metaphysics!
Do not enumerate me the conquests of science! (of science, O my God, of science!) - of science, of arts, of modern civilization!
If they have the truth, what do I care?
By the way, I am crazy and with full right.
With full right, do you understand?
For God's sake, leave me alone!
Do you want me common, married, taxed?
Do you want me like the opposite, like the opposite of something?
I am what I am, let it be!
Go to the devil without me
or let me go to the devil alone!
Why do we have to go together?
Don't grab me by the arm!
I don't like to be grabbed by the arm.
I want to be alone.
I already told you: I want to be alone.
How annoying that I should be sociable!
O blue sky - heaven of childhood -
eternally empty, perfect truth, in which the sky breaks!
O revisited sorrow, Lisboa of yore of today!
Nothing you give, nothing you take, nothing you are of what I feel!
Leave me in peace!
I do not waver, for I never waver....
As long as the abyss and the silence line, I want to be alone.

[Anonymous No.20400005]

No:
I don't want anything.
I already said:
I don't want anything.
Don't come to me with conclusions!
The only conclusion is to die.
Spare me all the doctrines of art!
Don't talk to me about morality!
Do away with metaphysics!
Do not enumerate me the conquests of science! (of science, O my God, of science!) - of science, of arts, of modern civilization!
If they have the truth, what do I care?
By the way, I am crazy and with full right.
With full right, do you understand?
For God's sake, leave me alone!
Do you want me common, married, taxed?
Do you want me like the opposite, like the opposite of something?
I am what I am, let it be!
Go to the devil without me
or let me go to the devil alone!
Why do we have to go together?
Don't grab me by the arm!
I don't like to be grabbed by the arm.
I want to be alone.
I already told you: I want to be alone.
How annoying that I should be sociable!
O blue sky - heaven of childhood -
eternally empty, perfect truth, in which the sky breaks!
O revisited sorrow, Lisboa of yore of today!
Nothing you give, nothing you take, nothing you are of what I feel!
Leave me in peace!
I do not waver, for I never waver....
As long as the abyss and the silence waver, I want to be alone.

[Anonymous No.20400107]

>>20400005
That's a poem by Pessoa btw. Translated with machine translation from German.

[Anonymous No.20400110]

>>20400107
>Translated with machine translation from German.
What does that mean?

[Anonymous No.20400119]

>>20400110
It means I generated the translation via https://www.deepl.com

[Anonymous No.20400133]

>>20400119
Surprisingly good in that case.

[Anonymous No.20400214]

>>20399985
awful film. awful teacher. responsible for the inane faggotry that is "dark academia".

[Anonymous No.20400216]

>>20400214
why is he an aweful teacher, teach?

[Anonymous No.20400222]

>>20400216
You have to be 18+ to use this website, go back to reading Rupi Kaur

[Anonymous No.20400240]

>>20400222
i asked for your opinion on the movie. I'm not interested in what you've read as a teenage girl

[Anonymous No.20400246]

>>20400214
Hey that's cool and all, but this thread is about poetry. (The film is just a symbol here for a popular movie many of us saw as children and likely enjoyed, maybe it even contributed to our interest in literature. I know it doesn't depict teaching realistically, but it's also literally a kids movie, don't take it too seriously.)

[Anonymous No.20400259]

>>20400246
sorry i just really hate that film and the kind of people it can produce

[Anonymous No.20400323]

>>20400259
I get it. What's your favorite poem?

[Anonymous No.20400346]

>>20400323
i don't have a favourite anything. Lycidas is a favourite, and so is Love Song of Prufrock (I know that isn't the exact title, and I know it's a "basic" choice), I also like In A Station Of The Metro. I'm a big fan of modernist poets, but overall when it comes to "favourites" i think of the things i really like and then all of the other things i really like and there's too much stuff i'm too fond of to pick one above the rest. After School, Street Football, Eighth Grade is an interesting poem too, I liked it a lot after realising I was a faggot. I 'm not so sure how I feel about it now. Also W.H Auden's poem on Iceland.

[Anonymous No.20400349]

>>20400346
and some Ashbery, sorry, lol, i type too much

[Anonymous No.20400354]

>>20400349
>>20400323
>>20400346
and unironically some of the crap poems i wrote as a teen

[Anonymous No.20400994]

>>20400349
Based. Love Ashbery. The thread that's up about him right now is the best thread in the catalog currently.
>>20400354
Care to share any?

[Anonymous No.20401003]

>>20400349
>Ashbery
Full on homo. Wish I was an Arab so I could throw your faggot ass off a roof.

[Anonymous No.20401163]

>>20399985
the Psalms are my favorite poems

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20401284]

Recently found this poet and a think I like him, he’s still alive.

His name is David Macleod Black, he’s studied in a lot of formal poetry, he’s also a published psychoanalyst and he’s pretty into religion.

Here’s a poem of his.


The Happy Crow


If a crow were to find the brawny carcase
of an elephant killed by tumbling in the
pride of life from a cliff above the Ganges;
and that carcase were floating down the flooded
stately river among its mango trees and
jewelled peacocks, the season being Springtime;
and that crow were to think (preening himself de-
liciously!), What a pretty trip I have be-
fore me!, perching then blithely upon the carcase;
and were thereon for days and weeks and even
months to gorge on that quite unwarranted stack of
blood-stained flesh as the powerful Ganges bore it
on among those delights; and if that crow were
to be carried, intoxicated, final-
ly – head bursting, heart roaring, beak still at its
wrenching and swallowing – out to sea, and then still
farther, far out to sea, to where the skyline
is sea only; and if that crow, marooned on that
stinking flies'-nest of bones and sinews (now more than
half awash, and in sight of sinking), were at
length devoured by the great fish Timitimingala –
that, O King, said the Sage, would be much like the
fate of him that pursues the loves of this world.

[Anonymous No.20401325]

This is a nice little poem by J. H. Prynne, from "The Land of Saint Martin" (1976).

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20401363]

>>20400214
Never seen it because it looks faggy, people think of poetry as effeminate and faggy in the common sphere currently, so the people attracted to it are often raging homosexuals. This is no fault of poetry but one of how it’s depicted.

Imo the only way you’d make a good movie about poetry is by adaption of poetry, anything else is p masturbatory.

[Anonymous No.20401371]

>>20399985
this guy is a bad guy in a movie, but he was a goodguy in the real life of it all. he died too young & he is the reason I love poetry.

my captain iz dead & he called me NAWANDA instead of NEIL

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20401954]

Left in oblivion

In oblivion’s lacuna I live my days,
Locus to nothingness and left to walk alone,
Fragmented to figments i am ignant and dazed.

Ligament of legs, I stay stagnant as stone,
Though I walk and groan as a wheel that has rust,
Gloam is the dust of a charnelhouse fresh fed bone.

Brushed with the sepulchral fulgar I still thrust,
Through the dark painted places of the night,
Where the spark of light is faint as a hush.

Where the mark of life is the stain of a dye,
Where the char is rife in the brain,
And the knife must slice it to open the eyes.

Colors, irresistible iridescence, fall as rain,
Brawl the main with unearthly flowing streams,
Not as silver but with gold pave the lanes,

Lift my mind and shift the sallow dream,
Make hallowed the shallow sight of my eyes,
Casr an arrow to my heart so I may see,

As a sword pierces the soul I die,
As an arrow vered by the vever of Eros,
i was naught, I am shot, I arise,

Through my winnowing i thinned the dross,
Though the jeering world tossed me about,
I have cleft close and have won the cross.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20402334]

Gonna bump this thread with a poem I wrote a few days ago.

Song of Foam.

the Undulating sky, a flowing blue-eyed sway,
the Heiroglyphs of earth are written in red clay,
the ululating sea, the cry of an old lay.

a vial filled with soul, the blood-red wilted rose,
green-gold chrysalid of aleph’s metamorphose,
with careless mouths they cry, the cry of the black crows.

ego, each soul, streams whole, dreams flow, things go, so slow,
so fast they flame the furious full foison goes,
through to the whistle of the whip of lightning gross.

grossly as speech spoken broken crumbled open,
grossly as speech jumbled mumbling in motion,
grossly as murmured susurrus singing oceans.

grape vine’s grape’s cluster up, great wines raise summer‘s cup,
nigh’s highest point past white light’s brightest joy casts night,
ape’s whine pained hungered grunts, day time’s phase cover’s up.

mind’s crisis joins passed nights, binds lifeless coins at sites,
fanes shrines jade sculpture’s cut plates nine names thunders floods,
blind childish voice grants rights, bind’s vice is noise can’t write.

harmony sing for me in new shapes formed from me;

who brought me,
proof godly,
through knot speech?
You promptly,
move thought’s reach,
choosed copies,
fused awfully.
Would God See
Good partly
wode hardly?
brutes trod thē
fruits God leaves,
soon moth’s eat
womb brought meat,
tomb fraught heath’s,
gloom wrought scenes,
rooms gnawed clean,
loom’s naught’s reach.
who’d stop thē
doom’s throb seeks
through God’s Peace
booned lots least
moon Prod’ beast
strew bodies
through darkly
rues, harshly
hues gone, ceased,
choose on dreams,
hoofed fauns leap,
woods, lawns, leafs,
Zeus dawn’s chief,
Nous spotty
used flawed weaves,
loosed broad heaves
through wrought speech
You Cloth me,
Truth God’s Peak.


to terror and the thunder of the night of life,
by Blazon and by bolt of mind I pry from strife,
the edge the blade the spine and handle of the knife.

and this is it, the knife of mind which pours the gouts,
and this is it, the knife of thought which slays the doubts,
and this is it, the knife of Art which flings the shroud.

i do not wander lonely as a cloud on breeze,
i pierce the daffodil and shout aloud the keys,
key! call! cry! gate! door! steps! by the man’s mouth I seize!


these these these these I seize and yet I am not pleased,
no less no more no yes no or no yet nor least,
the most i seize the ghost and boast sweet peace’ release.

striped as the stripes of whipped water,
in welts waver
the sounds of nature resounds ever.

dappled as time that dews and tans the leaf brightly,
from green to tawny,
both dawns in amber sheens.

time sings “me” “make you kin with me, akin to me”
makes of me from thee,
this is free, this is light, this is three, made aright.

Cont

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20402336]

>>20402334
this is light and life and lief to laughing in love,
coveted by clock and comb and cell of the touch,
riven by much and given as such to slave some.

how long is much the master of the some?
until the much is summed,
until the sun and sunflower is one,

is it infinite ongoing continuous unending and limitless?
is it limited? stillborn? ruinous?
being beyond being one behind one?

none the sum and cut the one to become the wondrous,
just in justice, lust in lustrous, one in wondrous,
Lord the crux and compass, numerous and wondrous.

lord your more,
than door or floor,
than lore or core,
than hoary war,
than stories of glory.

luminous and lovely lord,
the storehouse of the hues suffusing,
no, fusing, through the loosening,
of the rhythms humming and spinning,

the tumbling,
of tumulus,
with tumultus!

burster of graves!
freer of slaves!
looser of chains!
pulser of veins!
humor of brains!
ruler of planes!

life to the limbs! revery of the thoughts flowing,
life to the limbs! liberty of the thaws moving,
life to the limbs! synergy of the things oozing!

you ripple and you dapple through,
“what to do?
make it new.”


now foam, foam, foam with wannish figures,
with whispered pictures,
signed with the fingers,
of lingering thoughts.

the taste of old ways gone, of things far gone so long,
i hear the song again but something sounds so wrong,
it looks the same and yet, its changed, it looks so gone.

the foam, the foam, the foam, I roam by word,
striped as the white sky lined by birds,
stir the foam.

cascades of colors cataracts,
crumbling the crucibles of black,
bursting to wild and fanged figures.

they file, they throng, they stream,
like a dream,
their eyes share the same gleam.

they ream the rim with froth,
teeming to the brim the broth,
of thoughts beteemed the diadem of thought.

they cloth with cloths of diaphanous sensuous senses,
they cloth with cloths of tremulous excesses,
they cloth with cloths of strange women with foreign voices.

with an outrageous gait they have bereaved
of rest the raging senses of the man,
raging the rage of him as;

the rage of struck drum,
the rage of wild flute,
the rage of plucked string,
and the kingly rage of singing.

turn my rage to manly theme!

I bring,
the king,
a manly spring!

Cont

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20402340]

>>20402336
spring from me spring of stilted wave,
as my song bubbles in still waves,
usher from hill and usher from cave,
gush as a geyser from the cave.

geyser, skies blur, eyes turn, fires rise and burn,
free as a flame I dart the main and seas churn,
earth is dispersed,

earth is cursed,
earth is girth,
earth is burst!

all being barred, bereft of raft or craft or graft,
i grasp with gasps the staff,
of halved halfs halved by wrath,

laughing mad with gladness i crack the crash jag zags,
i drink to dregs the drag and push the drooping nous,
through the neck down past the legs,

it returns in shades regurgitated,
it seems worth the faith,
he’s worth the wait.


you foam my God.

i asked myself what makes distinct,
The triune unity,
i saw one continuity,
defined by being linked.

i Saw love,
I touched love,
i saw love foam.

what is formal distinction?
the thing as it is,
in human depiction,
and in selfsameness.

then I divide the man from man,
but who divides the God from God?

two is a composite being,
conjoint of lasting and fleeting,
of strong and weakling.

and one’s defined by two and none,
and these are the three things sublime,
ever in alignment

what comes before both? what makes both?
it is love it is love it is love it is love.

for Love is unified as one and more,
is crucified by more than one.
for love must love, and in self loves.

thus love is touched by love,
thus father son and dove,
are Love, love’s Loved and Love’s love.

Unified by division, divided by unity,
continuous in being thus One and root of one,
the root and shoot and fruit of truth.

thus God foams God,
thus God knows God,
thus God shows God.

foaming to self with Love of Love in a love endless,
God forms a kind of trellis of his precious breath,
his self is terraced by his self, is paved by self.

Cont

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.20402345]

>>20402340
For God reveals to God his God,
his rod has plot the even and the odd,
to reveal each part of God to God through God.

in time he trods and trods examining the whole,
the multiplicity of his attributed soul,
their aspects endless and yet they show;

one being, one aspect, one attribute,
in one abstraction.

atop a lake whose depths were bottomless,
i saw the foam of an unpassing moment,
foam to the top of the lake translucent,
arising from the deep with sprays of effluvia,
intoxicated with its poison,
i saw a lurid serpent,
upon its head was writ a mystery.

“DEUS ABSTRACTUS EST DEUS ABSCONDITUS”

and the ringed body of it was tainted with the many colors of the earth,
and the face hurt with the hurt felt by the scorned lover and the scorned father,
and the writhing form cried awful tears corrupt with pangs and twangs of pain and hurt,
and the black waters streamed forth the reflections of the horned monster.

i saw beyond,
the flawed pond,
To God’s font.


nothings strange,
and no sea-change,
can estrange,
from my gaze,
your rayed face,
ancient of days,
who formed the clay,
who fixed the way,
who fed the stray,
who heard me pray,
who took the weight,
who took the pain,
who filled the vain.
who stilled the brain,
who wilt that trains
of angels flame
as dancing flames,
singing the flame
that flames the flame,
the name which names,
the frame which frames,

the same the same the same the same the same!

God of my Mind!
in foam I bind,
an awful sign,
for it is mine.

Sign of God and signified!
most magnified and dignified!
you are one God unified!

“Mercury a myrrh sea a blurry flurry,
to satiate the thirsty on their journey,
from earthly dirty things to pearly worthiness.”

not so, I chant the names.

effervescence, spindrift, surf, spume, froth,
i intoning the names of the things wrought,
to give by God from God to God’s each thought;

the dome of the stone, the home of the foam.

in idolatry of the personality I rise,
casting against the skies the shadows from my eyes,
for I cast off and gain the guise of aye,
at last I stain my sighs and cries,
with astral chains and lies,
i die, i die,
arise,
I.

[Anonymous No.20402996]

>>20401325
Feels scatter brained